The howls became a roar,blind passion was changed into purposeful fury.Who were these white men to march so boldly into the presence of the King without even the formality of sending an envoy ahead?
For the King of Bekwando,drunk or sober,was a stickler for etiquette.It pleased him to keep white men waiting.For days sometimes a visitor was kept waiting his pleasure,not altogether certain either as to his ultimate fate,for there were ugly stories as to those who had journeyed to Bekwando and never been seen or heard of since.Those were the sort of visitors with whom his ebon Majesty loved to dally until they became pale with fright or furious with anger and impatience;but men like this white captain,who had brought him no presents,who came in overwhelming force and demanded a passage through his country as a matter of right were his special detestation.On his arrival he had simply marched into the place at the head of his columns of Hausas without ceremony,almost as a master,into the very presence of the King.Now he had come again with one of those other miscreants who at least had knelt before him and brought rum and many other presents.A slow,burning,sullen wrath was kindled in the King's heart as the three men drew near.
His people,half-mad with excitement and debauch,needed only a cry from him to have closed like magic round these insolent intruders.
His thick lips were parted,his breath came hot and fierce whilst he hesitated.But away outside the clearing was that little army of Hausas,clean-limbed,faithful,well drilled and armed.He choked down his wrath.There were grim stories about those who had yielded to the luxury of slaying these white men -stories of villages razed to the ground and destroyed,of a King himself who had been shot,of vengeance very swift and very merciless.He closed his mouth with a snap and sat up with drunken dignity.Oom Sam,in fear and trembling,moved to his side.
"What they want?"the King asked.
Oom Sam spread out the document which Trent had handed him upon a tree-stump,and explained.His Majesty nodded more affably.The document reminded him of the pleasant fact that there were three casks of rum to come to him every year.Besides,he rather liked scratching his royal mark upon the smooth,white paper.He was quite willing to repeat the performance,and took up the pen which Sam handed him readily.
"Him white man just come,"Oom Sam explained;"want see you do this."His Majesty was flattered,and,with the air of one to whom the signing of treaties and concessions is an everyday affair,affixed a thick,black cross upon the spot indicated.
"That all right?"he asked Oom Sam.
Oom Sam bowed to the ground.
"Him want to know,"he said,jerking his head towards Captain Francis,"whether you know what means?"His forefinger wandered aimlessly down the document.His Majesty's reply was prompt and cheerful.
"Three barrels of rum a year."
Sam explained further."There will be white men come digging,"he said;"white men with engines that blow,****** holes under the ground and cutting trees."The King was interested."Where?"he asked.
Oom Sam pointed westward through the bush.
"Down by creek-side."
The King was thoughtful "Rum come all right?"he asked.
Oom Sam pointed to the papers.
"Say so there,"he declared."All quite plain."The King grinned.It was not regal,but he certainly did it.If white men come too near they must be shot -carefully and from ambush.He leaned back with the air of desiring the conference to cease.Oom Sam turned to Captain Francis.
"King him quite satisfied,"he declared."Him all explained before -he agree."The King suddenly woke up again.He clutched Sam by the arm,and whispered in his ear.This time it was Sam who grinned.
"King,him say him signed paper twice,"he explained."Him want four barrels of rum now."Trent laughed harshly.
