A LONG CHASE, AND A HAPPY TERMINATION THEREOF

Knowing that unless we advanced with more than ordinary speed we could not hope to overtake our friends for several days ­a stern chase being proverbially a long one ­we travelled a great part of the night as well as all day; and on our third day after quitting the scene of the curious hunt described in the last chapter, we descried the fugitives descending the river about a quarter of a mile ahead of us.

Unhappily we made a stupid mistake at this time.  Instead of waiting until we were near enough to be recognised, we shouted to our friends the moment we saw their canoe.  I cannot say that we knew them to be our friends, but we had every reason to suppose so.  The result of our shout was that they supposed us to be enemies, and paddled away as if for their lives.  It was in vain that we tried to show by signs that we were not enemies.

“Yell!” cried Peterkin, turning to Makarooroo, who sat close behind him.

Our guide opened his huge mouth, and gave utterance to a yell that might well have struck terror into the heart of Mars himself.

“Stop! stay!” cried Peterkin hastily.  “I didn’t mean a war-yell; I meant a yell of ­of peace.”

“Me no hab a yell ob peace,” said Makarooroo, with a look of perplexity.

“I should not suppose you had,” observed Jack, with a quiet laugh, as he dipped his paddle more energetically than ever into the stream. ­“The fact is, Peterkin, that we shall have to go in for a long chase.  There is no doubt about it.  I see that there are at least four men in their canoe, and if one of them is Mbango, as we have reason to believe, a stout and expert arm guides them.  But ho! give way! `never venture, never win.’”

With that we all plied our paddles with our utmost might.  The chase soon became very exciting.  Ere long it became evident that the crews of the two canoes were pretty equally matched, for we did not, apparently, diminish the distance between us by a single inch during the next half-hour.

“What if it turns out not to be Mbango and his party after all?” suggested Peterkin, who wielded his light paddle with admirable effect.

Jack, who sat in the bow, replied that in that case we should have to make the best apology and explanation we could to the niggers, and console ourselves with the consciousness of having done our best.

For some time the rapid dip of our paddles and the rush of our canoe through the water were the only sounds that were heard.  Then Peterkin spoke again.  He could never keep silence for any great length of time.

“I say, Jack, we’ll never do it.  If we had only another man, or even a boy.” (Peterkin glanced at Njamie’s little son, who lay sound asleep at the bottom of the boat.) “No, he won’t do; we might as well ask a mosquito to help us.”

“I say, lads, isn’t one of the crew of that canoe a woman?” said Jack, looking over his shoulder, but not ceasing for an instant to ply his paddle.

“Can’t tell,” answered Peterkin. ­“What say you, Mak?”

“Ye-is, massa,” replied the guide, with some hesitation.  “Me tink dat am be one ooman’s arm what wag de paddil.  Oh! yis, me sartin sure now, dat am a ooman.”

“That being the case,” observed Jack, in a tone of satisfaction, “the chase won’t last much longer, for a woman’s muscles can’t hold out long at such a pace.  Ho! give way once more.”

In less than five minutes the truth of Jack’s remark became apparent, for we began rapidly to overhaul the fugitives.  This result acted with a double effect:  while it inspirited us to additional exertion, it depressed those whom we were pursuing, and so rendered them less capable than before of contending with us.  There was evidently a good deal of excitement and gesticulation among them.  Suddenly the man in the stern laid down his paddle, and stooping down seized a gun, with which, turning round, he took deliberate aim at us.

“That’s rather awkward,” observed Jack, in a cool, quiet way, as if the awkwardness of the case had no reference whatever to him personally.

We did not, however, check our advance.  The man fired, and the ball came skipping over the water and passed us at a distance of about two yards.

“Hum!  I expected as much,” observed Jack.  “When a bad shot points a bad gun at you, your best plan is to stand still and take your chance.  In such a case the chance is not a bad one.  Hollo! the rascal seems about to try it again.  I say, boys, we must stop this.”

We had now gained so much on the fugitives that we had reason to hope that we might by signs enable them to understand that we were not enemies.  We had to make the attempt rather abruptly, for as Jack uttered his last remark, the man in the stern of the canoe we were chasing, having reloaded his gun, turned round to aim at us again.  At the same time the rest of the crew suddenly ceased to paddle, in order to enable their comrade to take a steady aim.  It was evident that they rested all their hopes upon that shot disabling one of our number, and so enabling them to escape.  Seeing this, Makarooroo in desperation seized his rifle and levelled it.

“No, no,” said Peterkin, hastily holding up his hand.  “Give me your rifle, Mak; and yours, Ralph.  Now then, stop paddling for a moment; I’ll try an experiment.”

So saying, he sprang to his feet, and grasping a rifle in each hand, held them high above his head, intending thus to show that we were well-armed, but that we did not intend to use our weapons.

The device was happily successful:  the man in the other canoe lowered the gun with which he was in the act of taking aim at us.

“Now, boys, paddle slowly towards the bank,” cried Peterkin, laying down the rifles quickly and standing erect again with his empty hands extended in the air, to confirm the fugitives in regard to our good intentions.  They understood the sign, and also turned toward the bank, where in a few minutes both parties landed, at the distance of about two hundred yards from each other.

“Mak, you had better advance alone,” said Jack.  “If it is Mbango and his friends, they will know you at once.  Don’t carry your rifle; you won’t need it.”

“Nay, Jack,” I interposed; “you do not act with your usual caution.  Should it chance not to be Mbango, it were well that Mak should have his rifle and a companion to support him.”

“O most sapient Ralph,” said Peterkin, “don’t you know that Jack and I have nothing to do but sit down on this bank, each with a double-barrel in his hand, and if anything like foul play should be attempted, four of the enemy should infallibly bite the dust at the same time?  But you’d better go with Mak, since you’re so careful of him.  We will engage to defend you both. ­Hollo, Puggy! take the line of our canoe here and fasten it to yonder bush.”

The latter part of this remark was addressed to Njamie’s little boy, whose name we had never learned, and who had been called Puggy by Peterkin ­not, let me remark, in anything approaching to a contemptuous spirit.  He evidently meant it as a title of endearment.  We had tacitly accepted it, and so had the lad, who for some time past had answered to the name of Puggy, in utter ignorance, of course, as to its signification.

Mak and I now advanced unarmed towards the negroes, and in a few seconds we mutually recognised each other.  I was overjoyed to observe the well-known face of Okandaga, who no sooner recognised her lover than she uttered a joyful shout and ran towards him.  I at the same time advanced to Mbango, and grasping his hand shook it warmly; but that good-hearted chief was not satisfied with such a tame expression of good will.  Seizing me by the shoulders, he put forward his great flat nose and rubbed mine heartily therewith.  My first impulse was to draw back, but fortunately my better judgment came to my aid in time, and prevented me from running the risk of hurting the feelings of our black friend.  And I had at that time lived long enough to know that there is nothing that sinks so bitterly into the human heart as the repulse, however slightly, of a voluntary demonstration of affection.  I had made up my mind that if the dirtiest negro in all Africa should offer to rub noses with me, I would shut my eyes and submit.

I observed among the crew of Mbango’s canoe a female figure who instantly attracted my attention and awakened my sympathy.  She was seated on a rock, paying no attention whatever to the events that were occurring so near to her, and which, for aught she could tell, might be to her matter of life or death.  Her hands hung idly by her side; her body was bowed forward; her head drooped on her breast; and her whole appearance indicated a depth of woe such as I have never before seen equalled.

I pointed to her and looked at Mbango in surprise.  He looked first at the woman and then at me, and shook his head mournfully; but being unable to speak to me, or I to him, of course I could not gather much from his looks.

I was about to turn to our guide, when the woman raised her head a little, so that her face was exposed.  I at once recognised the features of Njamie, Mbango’s favourite wife, and I was now at no loss to divine the cause of her grief.

Starting up in haste, I ran away back at full speed towards the spot where our canoe lay.  Jack and Peterkin, seeing how matters stood, were by that time advancing to meet us, and the little boy followed.  I passed them without uttering a word, seized the boy by the wrist, and dragged him somewhat violently towards the place where his mother sat.

“Hollo, Ralph,” shouted Peterkin as I passed, “see that you don’t damage my Puggy, else you’ll have to ­”

I heard no more.  The next instant I stood beside Njamie, and placed her boy before her.  I have never in my life witnessed such a mingling of intense eagerness, surprise, and joy, as was expressed by the poor woman when her eyes fell on the face of her child.  For one moment she gazed at him, and the expressions I have referred to flitted, or rather flashed, across her dusky countenance; then giving utterance to a piercing shriek, she sprang forward and clasped her son to her bosom.

I would not have missed that sight for the world.  I know not very well what my thoughts were at the time, but the memory of that scene has often since, in my musings, filled me with inexpressible gladness; and in pondering the subject, I have felt that the witnessing of that meeting has given additional force to the line in Scripture wherein the word “love” alone is deemed sufficiently comprehensive to describe the whole character of the Almighty.

Here, on the one hand, I beheld unutterable, indescribable woe; on the other hand, unutterable, inconceivable joy ­both, I should suppose, in their extremest degree, and both resulting from pure and simple love.  I pondered this much at the time; I have pondered it often since.  It is a subject of study which I recommend to all who chance to read this page.