Tài liệu The Great White Queen docx

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But this is not a school story, although its preparatory scenes take
place at school. Some preparatory scenes must take place at school; but
the drama generally terminates on the broader stage of the world. Who
cares for a rehearsal, save those who have taken part in it? I vow, if I had
never been at Tregear's I would skip the very mention of his name. As it
is, however, I often sigh to see the shadow of the elms clustering around
the playground, to watch the moonbeans illumine the ivied wall oppos-
ite the dormitory window. I often dream that I am back again, a Cæsar-
hating pupil.
Dr. Tregear, commonly called "Old Trigger," lived at Upperton, a sub-
urb of Eastbourne, and had accommodation for seventy boys, but during
the whole time I remained there we never had more than fifty. His ad-
vertisements in local and London papers offering "Commercial training
for thirty guineas including laundress and books. Bracing air, gravel soil,
diet best and unlimited. Reduction for brothers," were glowing enough,
but they never whipped up business sufficiently to attract the required
number of boarders. Nevertheless, I must admit that old Trigger, with all
his faults and severity, was really good-hearted. He was a little sniffing,
rasping man, with small, spare, feeble, bent figure; mean irregular fea-
tures badly arranged round a formidable bent, broken red nose; thin
straggling grey hair and long grey mutton-chop whiskers; constantly
blinking little eyes and very assertive, energetic manners. He had a con-
stant air of objecting to everything and everybody on principle. Knowing
that I was an orphan he sometimes took me aside and gave me sound
fatherly advice which I have since remembered, and am now beginning
to appreciate. His wife, too, was a kindly motherly woman who, because
being practically homeless I was often compelled to spend my holidays
at school, seemed better disposed towards me than to the majority of the
other fellows.
Yes, I got on famously at Trigger's. Known by the abbreviated appella-
tion of "Scars," I enjoyed a popularity that was gratifying, and, bar one or
two sneaks, there was not one who would not do me a good turn when I
wanted it. The sneaks were outsiders, and although we did not reckon
them when we spoke of "the school," it must not be imagined that we
forgot to bring them into our calculations in each conspiracy of devil-
ment, nor to fasten upon them the consequences of our practical jokes.
My best friend was a mystery. His name was Omar Sanom, a thin
spare chap with black piercing eyes set rather closely together, short
crisp hair and a complexion of a slightly yellowish hue. I had been at
Trigger's about twelve months and was thirteen when he arrived. I well
4
remember that day. Accompanied by a tall, dark-faced man of decided
negroid type who appeared to be ill at ease in European clothes, he was
shown into the Doctor's study, where a long consultation took place.
Meanwhile among the fellows much speculation was rife as to who the
stranger was, the popular opinion being that Trigger should not open his
place to "savages," and that if he came we would at once conspire to
make his life unbearable and send him to Coventry.
An hour passed and listeners at the keyhole of the Doctor's door could
only hear mumbling, as if the negotiations were being carried on in the
strictest secrecy. Presently, however, the black man wished Trigger
good-day, and much to everyone's disgust and annoyance the yellow-
faced stranger was brought in and introduced to us as Omar Sanom, the
new boy.
The mystery surrounding him was inscrutable. About my own age, he
spoke very little English and would, in conversation, often drop uncon-
sciously into his own language, a strange one which none of the masters
understood or even knew its name. It seemed to me composed mainly of
p's and l's. To all our inquiries as to the place of his birth or nationality
he remained dumb. Whence he had come we knew not; we were only
anxious to get rid of him.
I do not think Trigger knew very much about him. That he paid very
handsomely for his education I do not doubt, for he was allowed priv-
ileges accorded to no one else, one of which was that on Sundays when
we were marched to church he was allowed to go for a walk instead, and
during prayers he always stood aside and looked on with superior air, as
if pitying our simplicity. His religion was not ours.
For quite a month it was a subject of much discussion as to which of
the five continents Omar came from, until one day, while giving a geo-
graphy lesson the master, who had taken the West Coast of Africa as his
subject, asked:
"Where does the Volta River empty itself?"
There was a dead silence that confessed ignorance. We had heard of
the Russian Volga, but never of the Volta. Suddenly Omar, who stood
next me, exclaimed in his broken English:
"The Volta empties itself into the Gulf of Guinea. I've been there."
"Quite correct," nodded the master approvingly, while Baynes, the fel-
low on my left, whispered:—
"Yellow-Face has been there! He's a Guinea Pig—see?"
I laughed and was punished in consequence, but the suggestion of the
witty Baynes being whispered round the school was effective. From that
5
moment the yellow-faced mysterious foreigner was commonly known as
"the Guinea Pig."
We did our best to pump him and ascertain whether he had been born
in Guinea, but he carefully avoided the subject. The information that he
came from the West Coast of Africa had evidently been given us quite in-
voluntarily. He had been asked a question about a spot he knew intim-
ately, and the temptation to exhibit his superiority over us had proved
too great.
Not only was his nationality a secret, but many of his actions puzzled
us considerably. As an instance, whenever he drank anything, water, tea,
or coffee, he never lifted his cup to his lips before spilling a small quant-
ity upon the floor. If we had done this punishment would promptly have
descended upon us, but the masters looked on at his curious antics in
silence.
Around his neck beneath his clothes he wore a sort of necklet com-
posed of a string of tiny bags of leather, in which were sewn certain hard
substances that could be felt inside. Even in the dormitory he never re-
moved this, although plenty of chaff was directed towards him in con-
sequence of this extraordinary ornament. It was popularly supposed that
he came from some savage land, and that when at home this string of
leather bags was about the only article of dress he wore.
If rather dull at school, he very soon picked up our language with all
its slang, and quickly came to the fore in athletics. In running, swimming
and rowing no one could keep pace with him. On foot he was fleet as a
deer, and in the water could swim like a fish, while at archery he was a
dead shot. Within three months he had lived down all the prejudices that
had been engendered by reason of his colour, and I confess that I myself,
who had at first regarded him with gravest suspicion, now began to feel
a friendliness towards him. Once or twice, at considerable inconvenience
to himself he rendered me valuable services, and on one occasion got me
out of a serious scrape by taking the blame himself, therefore within six
months of his arrival we became the firmest of chums. At work, as at
play, we were always together, and notwithstanding the popular feeling
being antagonistic to my close acquaintance with the "Guinea Pig," I nev-
ertheless knew from my own careful observations that although a
foreigner, half-savage he might be, he was certainly true and loyal to his
friends.
Once he fought. It was soon after we became chums that he had a
quarrel with the bully Baynes over the ownership of a catapult. Baynes,
who was three years older, heavier built and much taller, threatened to
6
thrash him. This threat was sufficient. Omar at once challenged him, and
the fight took place down in the paddock behind a hedge, secure from
Trigger's argus eye. As the pair took off their coats one of the fellows jok-
ingly said—
"The Guinea Pig's a cannibal. He'll eat you, Baynes."
Everybody laughed, but to their astonishment within five minutes our
champion pugilist lay on the ground with swollen eye and sanguinary
nose, imploring for mercy. That he could fight Omar quickly showed us,
and as he released the bully after giving him a sound dressing as a cat
would shake a rat, he turned to us and with a laugh observed—
"My people are neither cowards nor cannibals. We never fight unless
threatened, but we never decline to meet our enemies."
No one spoke. I helped him on with his coat, and together we left the
ground, while the partisans of Baynes picked up their fallen champion
and proceeded to make him presentable.
Like myself, Omar seemed friendless, for when the summer holidays
came round both of us remained with the Doctor and his wife, while the
more fortunate ones always went away to their homes. At first he
seemed downcast, but we spent all our time together, and Mrs. Tregear,
it must be admitted, did her best to make us comfortable, allowing us to
ramble where we felt inclined, even surreptitiously supplying us with
pocket-money.
It was strange, however, that I never could get Omar to talk of himself.
Confidential friends that we were, in possession of each other's secrets,
he spoke freely of everything except his past. That some remarkable ro-
mance enveloped him I felt certain, yet by no endeavour could I fathom
the mystery.
Twice or thrice each year the elderly negro who had first brought him
to the school visited him, and they were usually closeted a long time to-
gether. Perhaps his sable-faced guardian on those occasions told him
news of his relatives; perhaps he gave him good advice. Which, I know
not. The man, known as Mr. Makhana, was always very pleasant to-
wards me, but never communicative. Yet he made up for that defect by
once or twice leaving half-a-sovereign within my ready palm. He ap-
peared suddenly without warning, and left again, even Omar himself be-
ing unaware where he dwelt.
Truly my friend was a mystery. Who he was, or whence he had come,
was a secret.
7
Chapter
2
OMAR'S SLAVE.
Omar had been at Trigger's a little over two years when a strange incid-
ent occurred. We were then both aged about sixteen, he a few months
older than myself. The summer holidays had come round again. I had a
month ago visited my uncle in London, and he had given me to under-
stand that after next term I should leave school and commence life in the
City. He took me to his warehouse in Thames Street and showed me the
gas-lit cellar wherein his clerks were busy entering goods and calling out
long columns of amounts. The prospect was certainly not inviting, for I
was never good at arithmetic, and to spend one's days in a place wherein
never a ray of sunshine entered was to my mind the worst existence to
which one could be condemned.
When I returned I confessed my misgivings to Omar, who sympath-
ised with me, and we had many long chats upon the situation as during
the six weeks we wandered daily by the sea. We cared little for the
Grand Parade, with its line of garish hotels, tawdry boarding-houses and
stucco-fronted villas, and the crowd of promenaders did not interest us.
Seldom even we went on the pier, except to swim. Our favourite walks
were away in the country through Willingdon to Polegate, over Beachy
Head, returning through East Dean to Litlington and its famed tea-
garden, or across Pevensey Levels to Wartling, for we always preferred
the more unfrequented ways. One day, when I was more than usually
gloomy over the prospect of drudgery under my close-fisted relative, my
friend said to me cheerfully:
"Come, Scars, don't make yourself miserable about it. My people have
a saying that a smile is the only weapon one can use to combat misfor-
tune, and I think it's true. We have yet a few months more together be-
fore you leave. In life our ways will lie a long way apart. You will be-
come a trader in your great city, while I shall leave soon, I expect, to——"
and he paused.
"To do what?" I inquired.
8
"To go back to my own people, perhaps," he answered mechanically.
"Perhaps I shall remain here and wait, I know not."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait until I receive orders to return," he answered. "Ah, you don't
know what a strange life mine has been, Scars," he added a moment later
in a confidential tone. "I have never told you of myself for the simple
reason that silence is best. We are friends; I hope we shall be friends al-
ways, even though my enemies seek to despise me because I am not
quite white like them. But loyalty is one of the cherished traditions of my
people, and now that during two years our friendship has been firmly
established I trust nothing will ever occur to interrupt it."
"I take no heed of your enemies, Omar," I said. "You have proved
yourself genuine, and the question of colour, race, or creed has nothing
to do with it."
"Perhaps creed has," he exclaimed rather sadly. "But I make no pre-
tence of being what I am not. Your religion interests me, although, as
you know, I have never been taught the belief you have. My gods are in
the air, in the trees, in the sky. I believe what I have been taught; I pray
in silence and the great god Zomara hears me even though I am separ-
ated from my race by yonder great ocean. Yet I sometimes think I cannot
act as you white people do, that, after all, what my enemies say is true. I
am still what you term a savage, although wearing the clothes of your
civilization."
"Though a man be a pagan he may still be a friend," I said.
"Yes, I am at least your friend," he said. "My only regret is that your
uncle will part us in a few months. Still, in years to come we shall re-
member each other, and you will at least have a passing thought for
Omar, the Guinea Pig," he added, laughing.
I smiled too, but I noticed that although he endeavoured to appear
gay, his happiness was feigned, and there was in his dark eyes a look of
unutterable sadness. Our conversation drifted to a local cricket match
that was to be played on the morrow, and soon the gloomy thoughts that
seemed to possess him were dispelled.
It was on the same sunny afternoon, however, that a curious incident
occurred which was responsible for altering the steady prosaic course of
our lives. The most trifling incidents change the current of a life, and the
smallest events are sufficient to alter history altogether. Through the
blazing August afternoon we had walked beyond Meads, mounted
Beachy Head, passed the lighthouse at Belle Tout and descended to the
beach at a point known as the Seven Sisters. The sky was cloudless, the
9
sea like glass, and during that long walk without shelter from the sun's
rays I had been compelled to halt once or twice and mop my face with
my handkerchief. Yet without fatigue, without the slightest apparent ef-
fort, and still feeling cool, Omar walked on, smiling at the manner in
which the unusual heat affected me, saying:
"Ah! It is not hot here. You might grumble at the heat if the sun were
as powerful as it is in my country."
When we descended to the beach and threw ourselves down under the
shadow of the high white cliffs to rest, I saw there was no one about and
suggested a swim. It was against old Trigger's orders, nevertheless the
calm, cool water as it lazily lapped the sand proved too tempting, and
very shortly we had plunged in and were enjoying ourselves. Omar left
the water first, and presently I saw while he was dressing the figure of a
tallish, muscular man attired in black and wearing a silk hat approaching
him. As I watched, wondering what business the stranger could have
with my companion, I saw that when they met Omar greeted him in nat-
ive fashion by snapping fingers, as he had often done playfully to me.
Whoever he might be, the stranger was unexpected, and judging from
the manner in which he had been received, a welcome visitor. I was not
near enough to distinguish the features of the newcomer, but remember-
ing that I had been in the water long enough, I struck out for the shore,
and presently walked up the beach towards them.
Omar had dressed, and was in earnest conversation with a gigantic
negro of even darker complexion than Mr. Makhana. Unconscious of my
approach, for my feet fell noiselessly upon the sand, he was speaking
rapidly in his own language, while the man who had approached him
stood listening in meek, submissive attitude. Then, for the first time, I
noticed that my friend held in his hand a grotesquely carved stick that
had apparently been presented by the new-comer as his credential, to-
gether with a scrap of parchment whereon some curious signs,
something like Arabic, were written. While Omar addressed him he
bowed low from time to time, murmuring some strange words that I
could not catch, but which were evidently intended to assure my friend
that he was his humble servant.
In spare moments Omar had taught me a good deal of his language.
Indeed, such a ready pupil had I been that frequently when we did not
desire the other fellows to understand our conversation we spoke in his
tongue. But of what he was saying to this stranger, I could only under-
stand one or two words and they conveyed to me no meaning. The negro
was a veritable giant in stature, showily dressed, with one of those
10
gaudily-coloured neckties that delight the heart of Africans, while on his
fat brown hand was a large ring of very light-coloured metal that looked
suspiciously like brass. His boots were new, and of enormous size, but as
he stood he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, showing that he
was far from comfortable in his civilized habiliments.
Without approaching closer I picked up my things and dressed rap-
idly, then walked forward to join my companion.
"Scars!" he cried, as soon as I stood before him. "I had quite forgotten
you. This is my mother's confidential adviser, Kouaga."
Then, turning to the grinning ebon-faced giant he uttered some rapid
words in his own language and told him my name, whereupon he
snapped fingers in true native fashion, the negro showing an even set of
white teeth as an expression of pleasure passed over his countenance.
"We little thought that we were being watched this afternoon," Omar
said to me, smiling and throwing himself down upon the sand, an ex-
ample followed by the negro and myself. "It seems that Kouaga arrived
in Eastbourne this morning, but there are strong reasons why none
should know that he has seen me. Therefore he followed me here to hold
palaver at a spot where we should not be observed."
"You have a letter, I see."
"Yes," he said slowly, re-reading the strange lines of hieroglyphics.
"The news it contains necessitates me leaving for Africa immediately."
"For Africa!" I cried dismayed. "Are you going?"
"Yes, I must. It is imperative."
"Then I shall lose you earlier than I anticipated," I observed with heart-
felt sorrow at the prospect of parting with my only chum. "It is true, as
you predicted, our lives lie very far apart."
The negro lifted his hat from his brow as if its weight oppressed him,
then turning to me, said slowly and with distinctness in his own tongue:
"I bring the words of the mighty Naya unto her son. None dare dis-
obey her commands on pain of death. She is a ruler above all rulers; be-
fore her armed men monarchs bow the knee, at her frown nations
tremble. In order to bring the palaver she would make with her son I
have journeyed for three moons by land and sea to reach him and deliv-
er the royal staff in secret. I have done my duty. It is for Omar to obey.
Kouaga has spoken."
"Let me briefly explain, Scarsmere," my friend interrupted. "Until the
present I have been compelled to keep my identity a secret, for truth to
tell, there is a plot against our dynasty, and I fear assassination."
"Your dynasty!" I cried amazed. "Are your people kings and queens?"
11
"They are," he answered. "I am the last descendant of the great Sanoms
of Mo, the powerful rulers who for a thousand years have held our coun-
try against all its enemies, Mahommedan, Pagan or Christian. I am the
Prince of Mo."
"But where is Mo?" I asked. "I have never heard of it."
"I am not surprised," he said. "No stranger has entered it, or ever will,
for it is unapproachable and well-guarded. One intrepid white man ven-
tured a year ago to ascend to the grass plateau that forms its southern
boundary, but he was expelled immediately on pain of death. My coun-
try, known to the neighbouring tribes as the Land Beyond the Clouds,
lies many weeks' journey from the sea in the vast region within the bend
of the great Niger river, north of Upper Guinea, and is coterminous with
the states of Gurunsi and Kipirsi on the west, with Yatenga on the north-
west, with Jilgodi, Aribinda, and Libtako on the north, with Gurma on
the east, and with the Nampursi district of Gurunsi on the south."
"The names have no meaning for me," I said. "But the fact that you are
an actual Prince is astounding."
With his hands clasped behind his head, he flung himself back upon
the sand, laughing heartily.
"Well," he said, "I didn't want to parade my royal ancestry, neither do I
want to now. I only tell you in confidence, and in order that you shall
understand why I am compelled to return. During the past ten years
there have been many dissensions among the people, fostered by the en-
emies of our country, with a view to depose the reigning dynasty. Three
years ago a dastardly plot was discovered to murder my mother and my-
self, seize the palace, and massacre its inmates. Fortunately it was frus-
trated, but my mother deemed it best to send me secretly out of the
country, for I am sole heir to the throne, and if the conspirators killed
me, our dynasty must end. Therefore Makhana, my mother's secret
agent, who purchases our arms and ammunition in England and con-
ducts all trade we have with civilized countries, brought me hither, and I
have since been in hiding."
"But Makhana has been bribed by our enemies," exclaimed the big
negro, who had been eagerly listening to our conversation, but under-
standing no word of it save the mention of Makhana's name. Turning to
Omar he added: "Makhana will, if he obtains a chance, kill you. Be
warned in time against him. It has been ascertained that he supplied the
men of Moloto with forty cases of rifles, and that he has given his pledge
that you shall never return to Africa. Therefore obey the injunction of my
royal mistress, the great Naya, and leave with me secretly."
12
"Without seeing Makhana?" asked Omar.
"Yes," the black-faced man replied. "He must not know, or the plans of
the Naya may be thwarted. Our enemies have arranged to strike their
blow three moons from now, but ere that we shall be back in Mo, and
they will find that they go only to their graves. Kouaga has made fetish
for the son of his royal mistress, and has come to him bearing the stick."
"What does the letter say?" I asked Omar, noticing him reading it
again.
"It is brief enough, and reads as follows," he said:
"'Know, O my son Omar, that I send my stick unto thee by our trusty Kou-
aga. Return unto Mo on the wings of haste, for our throne is threatened and thy
presence can avert our overthrow. Tarry not in the country of the white men,
but let thy face illuminate the darkness of my life ere I go to the tomb of my
ancestors.
"Naya.'"
I glanced at the scrap of parchment, and saw appended a truly regal
seal.
"And shall you go?" I asked with sorrow.
"Yes—if you will accompany me."
"Accompany you!" I cried. "How can I? I have no money to go to
Africa, besides——"
"Besides what?" he answered smiling. "Kouaga has money sufficient to
pay both our passages. Remember, I am Prince of Mo, and this man is
my slave. If I command him to take you with me he will obey. Will you
go?"
The prospect of adventure in an unknown land was indeed enticing.
In a few brief words he recalled my dismal forebodings of the life in an
underground office in London, and contrasted it with a free existence in
a fertile and abundant land, where I should be the guest and perhaps an
official of its ruler. He urged me most strongly to go as his companion,
and in conclusion said:
"Your presence in Mo will be unique, for you will be the first stranger
who has ever set foot within its capital."
"But your mother may object to me, as she did to the entrance of the
white man of whom you just now spoke."
"Ah! he came to make trade palaver. You are my friend and confid-
ant," he said.
"Then you suggest that we should both leave Eastbourne at once,
travel with Kouaga to Liverpool and embark for Africa without return-
ing to Trigger's, or saying a word to anyone?"
13