Samory's Stronghold
:
The Great White Queen
THROUGH dense dark forests and over great open grass-lands, passing
several villages, we were carried forward many days, still bound and
never allowed to have our hands free except during our meals.
The face of Kouaga grew more brutal and fierce as we proceeded, and he
urged on the carriers until we found ourselves travelling at a pace that
for African natives was amazing.
Omar spoke little.
He was always pre-occupied and thoughtful. He had told
me that he now regretted having brought me with him from England, but I
assured him that our misfortunes were not of our own seeking, and urged
him to be of good cheer.
Truth to tell, my heart was full of dark forebodings. I saw in the ugly
countenance of Kouaga expressions of deadly hatred, and I knew that they
were of ill-portent. Yet to escape in that deadly bush, extending for
hundreds and hundreds of miles, dark, monotonous and impenetrable, meant
certain death even if we eluded the watchful vigilance of this muscular
negro.
One day, when passing through a forest village, a half-naked savage
rushed towards us brandishing his spear and uttering a loud yell, but
whether expressive of hatred or joy I knew not. Suddenly, as he
approached the hammock in which Omar was lying, my friend addressed him
in some tongue that was strange to me, but to which the native answered
readily.
"As I thought, Scars!" Omar shouted to me in English a moment later. "We
have travelled away from Mo, crossed Tieba's territory, and have now
entered the country of the great Mohammedan chief Samory, my nation's
bitterest enemy. It was he who seized my father by a ruse and sent his
head back to my mother as a hideous souvenir."
"But what object has Kouaga in bringing us here?" I asked.
"I cannot imagine," he answered. "Unless he travelled to England, for the
sole purpose of delivering me into the hands of our enemies. Three times
within the last five years has Samory attempted to invade our country,
but each time has been repulsed with a loss that has partially paralysed
his power. All along the right bank of the Upper Niger his bands of
hirelings and mercenaries, whom we call Sofas, are constantly raiding for
slaves. Indeed Samory's troops are the fiercest and most merciless in
this country. They are the riff-raff of the West Soudan and are a terror
to friend and foe, a bar to the peaceful settlement of all lands within
the range of their devastating expeditions."
"Do they make raids towards your country?" I inquired, for I had heard
long ago of this notorious slave-dealing chief.
"Yes, constantly. They are pitiless marauders who lay waste whole
kingdoms and transform populous districts into gloomy solitudes. While on
my way from Mo to England we passed through Sati, a large market town at
the convergence of several caravan routes, which was only three months
before a prosperous and wealthy place situated fifty miles south of our
border. We found everything had been raided by the Sofas, who had sacked,
burned or destroyed what they were unable to take away. Heaps of cinders
marked the sites of former homesteads, the ground was strewn with
potsherds, rice and other grain trodden under foot, while our horses
moved forward knee deep in ashes. The whole land, lately very rich,
prosperous and thickly peopled, was a melancholy picture of utter
desolation."
"Do you think we have actually fallen into Samory's hands?" I asked.
"I fear so."
"But is not Kouaga Grand Vizier of Mo? Surely he would not dare to take
us through the enemy's land," I said.
"Do you not remember that when he met us at Eastbourne he forbade us to
inform Makhana of our intended departure?" he answered. "He had some
object in securing our silence and getting us away from England secretly.
It now appears more than probable that my mother has dismissed and
banished him, and he has gone over to our enemy, Samory, who desires to
seize our country."
"In that case our position is indeed serious," I observed. "We must do
something to escape."
"No," he said. "We cannot escape. Let's put on a bold front, and if we
find ourselves prisoners of the slave-raiding chief, I, at least, will
show him that I am heir to the Emerald Throne of Mo."
As each day dawned we still held upon our way, until at length, under a
broiling noon-day sun, we crossed a wide stretch of fertile grass-land
where cattle were grazing, and there rose high before us the white
fortified walls of a large town of flat-roofed Moorish-looking houses. It
was, we afterwards learnt, called Koussan, one of Samory's principal
strongholds.
As we approached the open gate, flanked on either side by watch-towers
and guarded by soldiers wearing Arab fezes and loose white garments, a
great rabble came forth to meet us. We heard the din of tom-toms beaten
within the city, joyous shouts, and loud ear-piercing blasts upon those
great horns formed out of elephant tusks.
Thus, in triumph, amid the howls and execrations of the mob, Omar, son of
Sanom, and myself, were marched onward through the gate and up a steep
narrow winding street, where the solidly-built houses were set close
together to obtain the shade, to the market-place. Here, amid the
promiscuous firing of long flint-lock guns and quaint ancient pistols,
such as one sees in curiosity shops at home, a further demonstration was
held, our carriers themselves infected by the popular enthusiasm, seeming
also to lose their senses. They heaped upon Omar every indignity, scoffed
and spat at him, while my own pale face arousing the ire of the fanatical
Mohammedan populace, they denounced me as an infidel accursed of Allah,
and urged my captors to kill me and give my flesh to the dogs.
Truly we were in pitiable plight.
I looked at Omar, but heedless of all their threats and jeers, he walked
with princely gait. His hands were tied behind his back, his head erect,
and his eyes flashed with scorn upon those who sought his death.
Presently, turning sharply to the left, we found ourselves in another
square which we crossed, entering a great gateway guarded by soldiers,
and as soon as we were inside the heavy iron-studded doors closed with an
ominous clang. I glanced round at the thick impregnable walls and knew
that we were in the Kasbah, or citadel. Gaily-dressed soldiers were
leaning or squatting everywhere as we crossed the several court-yards,
one after the other, until, by the direction of one of the officials who
had joined us on entering, we were led through a low arched door, and
thence a dozen soldiers who had come forward hurried us down a flight of
dark damp steps into a foul noisome chamber below.
Struggles and protestations were useless. We were pushed forward into a
deep narrow cell lit only by a tiny crack in the paving of the court
above and the door quickly bolted upon us.
"Well, this is certainly a dire misfortune," I said, when we had both
walked round inspecting the black dank walls of our prison. "I wonder
what fate is in store for us?"
"Though they destroyed my jujus, they cannot invoke the curses of Zomara
upon me," he said. "The Crocodile-god will not hear any enemies of the
Naya."
"But have you no idea whatever of the motive Kouaga has had in bringing
you hither?" I asked.
"Not the slightest," he answered, seating himself at last on the stone
bench to rest. "It is evident, however, that he is a traitor in the pay
of Samory. On each occasion when the Moslem chief endeavoured to conquer
our country, it was Kouaga who assumed the generalship of our troops; it
was Kouaga who fought valiantly for his queen with his own keen sword; it
was Kouaga who drove back the enemy and urged our hosts to slaughter them
without mercy; and it was Kouaga who, with fiendish hatred, put the
prisoners to the torture. In him my mother had a most trusted servant."
"He doesn't seem very trustworthy now," I observed. "It seems to me we
are caught like rats in a trap."
"True," he said. "We are beset by dangers, but may the blessings of their
Allah turn to curses upon their heads. It may be that our ignominious
situation will not satisfy the malice that Samory has conceived against
me, but if a single hair of the head of either of us is injured, Zomara,
the Crocodile-god, will punish those who seek our discomfiture."
It occurred to me that it was all very well to speak in this strain, but
as no man is a prince except in his own country, it seemed idle to expect
mercy or pity. Omar was in prison for some unknown offence, and I was
held captive with a well-remembered threat from Kouaga that my life
should be sacrificed.
For six hours we remained without food, but when the light above had
quite faded, three soldiers with clanging swords unbarred the door and
pushed through some water in an earthen vessel and some fufu, a kind of
dumpling made of mashed African potato. During the night, disturbed by
vermin of all sorts, including some horrible little snakes, we slept
little, and at dawn we were again visited by our captors. The next day
and the next passed uneventfully. For exercise we paced our cell times
without number, and when tired would seat ourselves on the rough stone
bench and calmly discuss the situation.
The Naya, the mysterious Great White Queen, had ordered Omar to return
with all haste, yet already two moons had run their course since we had
landed in Africa. This troubled my companion even more than the fact of
being betrayed into the hands of his enemies.
The tiny streak of light that showed high above our heads grew brighter
towards noon, then began slowly to decline. Before the shadows had
lengthened in the court above, however, the sound of our door being
unbarred aroused us from our lethargy, and a moment later, three soldiers
entered and told us to prepare to go before the great ruler Samory. Omar,
attired only in a small garment of bark-cloth, took no heed of his
toilet, therefore we at once announced our readiness to leave the
loathsome place with its myriad creeping things, and it was with a
feeling of intense relief that a few minutes later we ascended to the
blessed light of day.
Marched between a small posse of soldiers, we crossed the court to a
larger and more handsome square, decorated in Arab style with horseshoe
arches and wide colonnades, until at the further end a great curtain of
crimson velvet was drawn aside and we found ourselves in a spacious hall,
wherein many gorgeously attired persons had assembled and in the centre
of which was erected a great canopy of amaranth-coloured silk supported
by pillars of gold surmounted by the crescent. Beneath, reclining on a
divan, slowly fanned by a dozen gaudily-attired negroes, was a
dark-faced, full-bearded man of middle age, whose black eyes regarded us
keenly as we entered. He was dressed in a robe of bright yellow silk, and
in his turban there glittered a single diamond that sparkled and gleamed
with a thousand iridescent rays. His fat brown hand was loaded with
rings, and jewels glittered everywhere upon his belt, his sword, and his
slippers of bright green.
It was the notorious and dreaded chieftain, Samory.