Part 6 (1/2)

They carried the lad home, and she nursed him day and night, but life ebbed away; and one Sunday morning when all was quiet and beautiful, she heard again that strange wailing sound which told of peril and death.

She rushed to the scene. The men were blowing smoke from a lighted palm leaf into the lad's nose, rubbing pepper into his eyes, and shouting into his ears to keep back the spirit.

”Silly babies,” she could not help saying to herself.

”He is dead,” cried the chief, and giving the body to Ma he shouted in a terrible voice:

”He has been killed by sorcerers, and they must die! Where is the witch-doctor?”

The witch-doctor came, an evil-looking man with cunning eyes, and after humming and hawing he blamed the people in a village near the spot where the accident happened.

”Off! seize them!” called the chief to his freemen.

But a swift foot had secretly carried a warning to the village, and Chief Akpo and his followers had fled. Only a dozen men, and some women and babies who could not run, were captured, and they were loaded with chains and brought to Ekenge and imprisoned in a yard.

Ma felt that this was a big affair, and perhaps the turning-point in her life amongst the Okoyong.

”If these people are killed,” she said, ”all my work will be undone. I must prevent it at any cost.”

And first she went away by herself and knelt down and prayed, and then came back calm and strong.

She knew what the natives liked, and hoping to please and soften Edem, she said to him, ”I am going to honour your son.” From her boxes she brought out fine silk cloth of many colours, s.h.i.+rts and vests and other clothes, and put them on the dead body. The head was shaved and painted yellow, and upon it was wound a turban, and above that a black and scarlet hat with plumes of feathers, and an umbrella. To one hand was tied a stick, and to the other a whip. Last of all a mirror was placed in front of the dead eyes, because the people believed the spirit would see what had been done and be glad. There he sat, the lifeless boy, with all his finery, a sad queer sight. When the people came in they yelled with delight, and danced and called for rum to make merry. Barrel after barrel was brought and emptied, and they began to grow wild, leaping about with swords and guns, and singing their weird tribal songs.

”Humph!” said Ma, ”my cure seems to be as bad as the disease. Still, they have forgotten the prisoners.”

These were chained to posts, and expected every minute to have their heads chopped off. They were all very miserable. The babies were crying, and there was a girl of fifteen who clung weeping to her mother, and ran up to any one who came, saying piteously, ”Oh, I'll be a slave for life if only you will spare my mother.”

Ma turned to Mr. Ovens. ”We must not leave these poor creatures. You will watch by day, and I will watch by night, and we may save them yet.”

So time and time about these two sat on guard. They had no weapons, they were alone in the midst of a drunken mob, and yet they had no fear, for they trusted G.o.d and believed that He would take care of them.

Because they were there, Edem and his brother chiefs did not touch the prisoners. Some days pa.s.sed. Then one afternoon Ma saw little brown objects lying on a stone. ”Esere beans!” she exclaimed in alarm. These beans grow on a wild vine, and are very poisonous. She knew they were to be crushed and put in water, and given to the prisoners with the idea of finding out who was guilty of the death of Etim. Of course all who drank the water would die, and the people would believe that justice had been done. That was the only kind of justice they knew.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ESERe BEAN.]

Ma sought out the chiefs and told them they must not do this wicked thing, and when they put her aside she followed them about and begged and worried them until they became angry.

”Let us alone,” they cried. ”What does it matter? Your G.o.d will not let the innocent die.”

Their followers grew excited, and some of them lost control of themselves and hustled Ma and threatened her.

”Make the dead live,” they snarled, ”and we shall give you the prisoners.”

Ma's reply was to sit down and look at them with stern eyes.

”I will not move from here,” she said firmly, ”until you set all these poor people free.”

It was night. Stealthy steps came into the yard. In the darkness Ma saw two men take away one of the mothers. She looked at the woman going to her death, and at the others, who pled with her to remain, for they feared this was a trick to get her away. What should she do? Praying and hoping that she was right, she ran after the mother, and was just in time, for the woman was raising the poisoned water to her lips.

”Don't,” cried Ma, and giving her a push she said, ”Run.” In an instant both jumped into the bush and made for Ma's hut.