bosambo was a monrovian. therefore he was a thief. for just as most swedes are born fair and with blue eyes, and most spaniards come into this world with swarthy skins, so all monrovians come into this life constitutionally dishonest.
in another place i have told the story of the chief's arrival in sanders's territory, of the audacious methods by which he usurped the throne, of that crazy stool of chieftainship, and i hinted at the sudden and unexpected ends, discreditable to bosambo, which befell the rightful heirs to the chieftainship.
bosambo was a good man by many standards—christian and pagan. he ruled his people wisely, and extracted more revenue in one year than any previous chief had taken from the lazy ochori in ten years.
incidentally he made an excellent commission, for it was bosambo's way to collect one for the government and two for himself. he had in those far-off days, if i remember rightly, been an unruly subject of the president of liberia. before a solemn tribunal he had been convicted of having stolen a buoy-bell which had been placed in the fairway to warn navigators of a wreck, and had converted the same to his own use. he had escaped from captivity and, after months of weary travelling, had arrived in the ochori country.
sanders had found him a loyal man, and trusted him in all matters affecting good government. there were others who did not trust bosambo at all—notably certain chiefs of the isisi, of the akasava, and of the n'gombi.
these men had measured their wits with the foreigner, the ruler of the ochori, and been worsted. and because of certain courageous acts performed in the defence of his country it was well known from one end of the territories to the other that bosambo was "well loved by sandi," who rumour said—in no complimentary manner—was related to the chief.
as to how this rumour arose bosambo knows best. it is an elementary fact that travelling news accumulates material in its transit.
thus it came about that in monrovia, and in liberia itself, the fame of the ex-convict grew apace, and he was exalted to a position which he never pretended to occupy. i believe a liberian journal, published by a black man, or men, so far forgot the heinous offence of which bosambo stood convicted as to refer to him as "our worthy fellow-citizen, mr. bosambo, high commissioner for the ochori."
he was a wealthy prince; he was a king. he was above commissioner sanders in point of importance. he was even credited with exercising an influence over the home government which was without parallel in the history of the coast.
bosambo had relatives along the coast, and these discovered themselves in ratio with his greatness. he had a brother named siskolo, a tall, bony, and important man.
siskolo was first in importance by reason of the fact that he had served on one of his majesty's ships as a krooman, that he had a smattering of english, and that he had, by strict attention to business during the period of his contact with white men, stolen sufficient to set him up in liberia as a native storekeeper.
he was called mr. siskolo, and had ambitions at some future period to become a member of the legislative council.
it cannot be said with truth that the possession of a brother such as bosambo was gave him any cause for pride or exaltation during the time when bosambo's name in liberia was synonymous with mud. it is even on record that after having denied the relationship he referred to bosambo—when the relationship was a certainty beyond dispute—as a "low nigger."
when the liberian government, in its munificence, offered an adequate reward for the arrest of this law-breaker, mr. siskolo, in the most public-spirited way, through the columns of the press, offered to add a personal reward of his own.
then the public attitude of liberia changed towards bosambo, and with this change siskolo's views upon his brother also underwent a change. then came a time when bosambo was honoured in his own land, and men spoke of him proudly, and, as i have indicated, even the public press wrote of him in terms of pride.
now mr. siskolo, as is recounted, gathered around him all people who were nearly or distantly related to him, and they ranged from the pure aboriginal grandfather to the frock-coated son-in-law, who ran a boot factory in liberia.
"my friends and my comrades," said mr. siskolo oracularly, "you all know that my dear brother bosambo has now a large territory, and is honoured beyond any other coloured man upon this coast. now i have loved bosambo for many years, and often in the night i have wrestled in prayer for his safety. also, i have spoken well about him to all the white men i have met, and i have on many occasions sent him large sums of money by messenger. if this money has not been received," continued mr. siskolo stoutly, "it is because the messengers were thieves, or robbers may have set upon them by the wayside. but all my clerks and the people who love me know that i sent this money, also i have sent him letters praising him, and giving him great riches."
he paused, did mr. siskolo, and thrust a bony hand into the pockets of the dress trousers he had acquired from the valet of the french consul.
"i have called you together," he said slowly, "because i am going to make a journey into the country, and i am going to speak face to face with my beloved brother. for i hear that he has many treasures in his land, and it is not good that he should be so rich, and we, all of us who are related to him in blood, and have loved him and prayed for him for so many years, should be poor."
none of the relations who squatted or sat about the room denied this. indeed, there was a murmur of applause, not unmixed, however, with suspicion, which was voiced by one lakiro, popularly supposed to be learned in the law.
"all this is fine talk, siskolo," he said; "yet how shall we know in what proportion our dear relation bosambo will desire to distribute his wealth amongst those of us who love him?"
this time the applause was unmistakable.
mr. siskolo said haughtily: "after i have received treasure from my dear brother bosambo—my own brother, related to me in blood, as you will all understand, and no cousin, as you are—after this brother of mine, whom i have loved so dearly and for so long, has given me of his treasure, i will take my half, and the other half i will distribute evenly among you."
lakiro assumed his most judicial air.
"it seems to me," he said, "that as we are all blood relations, and have brought money for this journey which you make, siskolo, and you yourself, so far as i know, are not finding so much as a dollar, our dear friend and relative bosambo would be better pleased if his great gifts were distributed equally, though perhaps"—and he eyed the back-country brethren who had assembled, and who were listening uncomprehendingly to a conversation which was half in english and half in monrovian—"it would be better to give less to those who have no need of money, or less need than we who have acquired by our high education, expensive and luxurious tastes, such as champagne, wine and other noble foods."
for two days and the greater part of two nights the relations of bosambo argued over the distribution of the booty which they so confidently anticipated. at the end of a fortnight siskolo departed from liberia on a coasting steamer, and in the course of time he arrived at sanders's headquarters.
now it may be said that the civilised native—the native of the frock coat and the top hat—was mr. commissioner sanders's pet abomination. he also loathed all native men who spoke english—however badly they spake it—with the sole exception of bosambo himself, whose stock was exhausted within fifty words. yet he listened patiently as siskolo unfolded his plan, and with the development of the scheme something like a holy joy took its place in sanders's soul.
he even smiled graciously upon this black man.
"go you, siskolo," he said gently. "i will send a canoe to carry you to your brother. it is true, as you say, that he is a great chief, though how rich he may be i have no means of knowing. i have not your wonderful eyes."
siskolo passed over the insult without a word.
"lord sandi," he said, dropping into the vernacular, for he received little encouragement to proceed in the language which was sanders's own. "lord sandi, i am glad in my heart that i go to see my brother bosambo, that i may take him by the hand. as to his treasure, i do not doubt that he has more than most men, for bosambo is a very cunning man, as i know. i am taking him rich presents, amongst them a clock, which goes by machinery, from my own store, which could not be bought at any coast port under three dollars, and also lengths and pieces of cloth."
mr. siskolo was up early in a morning of july. mr. siskolo in a tall hat—his frock coat carefully folded and deposited in the little deckhouse on the canoe, and even his trousers protected against the elements by a piece of cardboard box—set out on the long journey which separated him from his beloved brother.
in a country where time does not count, and where imagination plays a very small part, travelling is a pleasant though lengthy business. it was a month and three days before siskolo came to the border of his brother's territory. he was two miles from ochori city when he arrayed himself in the hat, the frock coat, and the trousers of civilisation that he might make an entry in a manner befitting one who was of kin to a great and wealthy prince.
bosambo received the news of his brother's arrival with something akin to perturbation.
"if this man is indeed my brother," he said, "i am a happy man, for he owes me four dollars he borrowed cala-cala and has never repaid."
yet he was uneasy. relations have a trick of producing curious disorder in their hosts. this is not peculiar to any race or colour, and it was with a feeling of apprehension that bosambo in his state dress went solemnly in procession to meet his brother.
in his eagerness siskolo stepped out of the canoe before it was grounded, and waded ashore to greet his brother.
"you are indeed my brother—my own brother bosambo," he said, and embraced him tenderly. "this is a glorious day to me."
"to me," said bosambo, "the sun shines twice as bright and the little birds sing very loudly, and i feel so glad, that i could dance. now tell me, siskolo," he went on, striking a more practical note, "why did you come all this way to see me? for i am a poor man, and have nothing to give you."
"bosambo," said siskolo reproachfully, "i bring you presents of great value. i do not desire so much as a dollar. all i wish is to see your beautiful face and to hear your wise words which men speak about from one end of the country to the other."
siskolo took bosambo's hands again.
there was a brief halt whilst siskolo removed the soaked trousers—"for," he explained, "these cost me three dollars."
thus they went into the city of the ochori—arm in arm, in the white man's fashion—and all the city gazed spellbound at the spectacle of a tall, slim man in a frock coat and top hat with a wisp of white shirt fluttering about his legs walking in an attitude of such affectionate regard with bosambo their chief.
bosambo placed at the disposal of his brother his finest hut. for his amusement he brought along girls of six different tribes to dance before this interested member of the ethiopian church. nothing that he could devise, nothing that the unrewarded labours of his people could perform, was left undone to make the stay of his brother a happy and a memorable time.
yet siskolo was not happy. despite the enjoyment he had in all the happy days which bosambo provided of evidence of his power, of his popularity, there still remained a very important proof which siskolo required of bosambo's wealth.
he broached the subject one night at a feast given in his honour by the chief, and furnished, it may be remarked in parenthesis, by those who sat about and watched the disposal of their most precious goods with some resentment.
"bosambo, my brother," said siskolo, "though i love you, i envy you. you are a rich man, and i am a very poor man and i know that you have many beautiful treasures hidden away from view."
"do not envy me, siskolo," said bosambo sadly, "for though i am a chief and beloved by sandi, i have no wealth. yet you, my brother, and my friend, have more dollars than the grains of the sand. now you know i love you," bosambo went on breathlessly, for the protest was breaking from the other's lips, "and i do these things without desire of reward. i should feel great pain in my heart if i thought you should offer me little pieces of silver. yet, if you do so desire, knowing how humble i am before your face, i would take what you gave me not because i wish for riches at your hands, but because i am a poor man."
siskolo's face was lengthening.
"bosambo," he said, and there was less geniality in his tone, "i am also a poor man, having a large family and many relations who are also your relations, and i think it would be a good thing if you would offer me some fine present that i might take back to the coast, and, calling all the people together, say 'behold, this was given to me in a far country by bosambo, my brother, who is a great chief and very rich.'"
bosambo's face showed no signs of enthusiasm.
"that is true," he said softly, "it would be a beautiful thing to do, and i am sick in my heart that i cannot do this because i am so poor."
this was a type of the conversation which occupied the attention of the two brothers whenever the round of entertainments allowed talking space.
bosambo was a weary man at the end of ten days, and cast forth hints which any but bosambo's brother would have taken.
it was:
"brother," he said, "i had a dream last night that your family were sick and that your business was ruined. now i think that if you go swiftly to your home——"
or:
"brother, i am filled with sorrow, for the season approaches in our land when all strangers suffer from boils."
but siskolo countered with neatness and resolution, for was he not bosambo's brother?
the chief was filled with gloom and foreboding. as the weeks passed and his brother showed no signs of departing, bosambo took his swiftest canoe and ten paddlers and made his way to the i'kan where sanders was collecting taxes.
"master," said bosambo, squatting on the deck before the weary commissioner, "i have a tale to tell you."
"let it be such a tale," said sanders, "as may be told between the settling of a mosquito and the sting of her."
"lord, this is a short tale," said bosambo sadly, "but it is a very bad tale—for me."
and he told the story of the unwelcome brother.
"lord," he went on, "i have done all that a man can do, for i have given him food that was not quite good; and one night my young men played a game, pretending, in their love of me, that they were certain fierce men of the isisi, though your lordship knows that they are not fierce, but——"
"get on! get on!" snarled sanders, for the day had been hot, and the tax-payers more than a little trying.
"now i come to you, my master and lord," said bosambo, "knowing that you are very wise and cunning, and also that you have the powers of gods. send my brother away from me, for i love him so much that i fear i will do him an injury."
sanders was a man who counted nothing too small for his consideration—always excepting the quarrels of women. for he had seen the beginnings of wars in pin-point differences, and had watched an expedition of eight thousand men march into the bush to settle a palaver concerning a cooking-pot.
he thought deeply for a while, then:
"two moons ago," he said, "there came to me a hunting man of the akasava, who told me that in the forest of the ochori, on the very border of the isisi, was a place where five trees grew in the form of a crescent——"
"praise be to god and to his prophet mohammed," said the pious bosambo, and crossed himself with some inconsequence.
"in the form of a crescent," sanders went on, "and beneath the centre tree, so said this young man of the akasava, is a great store of dead ivory" (i.e., old ivory which has been buried or stored).
he stopped and bosambo looked at him.
"such stories are often told," he said.
"let it be told again," said sanders significantly.
intelligence dawned on bosambo's eyes.
two days later he was again in his own city, and at night he called his brother to a secret palaver.
"brother," he said, "for many days have i thought about you and how i might serve you best. as you know, i am a poor man."
"'a king is a poor man and a beggar is poorer,'" quoted siskolo, insolently incredulous.
bosambo drew a long breath.
"now i will tell you something," he said, lowering his voice. "against my old age and the treachery of a disloyal people i have stored great stores of ivory. i have taken this ivory from my people. i have won it in bloody battles. i have hunted many elephants. siskolo, my brother," he went on, speaking under stress of emotion, "all this i give you because i love you and my beautiful relations. go now in peace, but do not return, for when my people learn that you are seeking the treasures of the nation they will not forgive you and, though i am their chief, i cannot hold them."
all through the night they sat, bosambo mournful but informative, siskolo a-quiver with excitement.
at dawn the brother left by water for the border-line of the isisi, where five trees grew in the form of a crescent.
"lord," said bosambo, a bitter and an injured man, "i have been a christian, a worshipper of devils, a fetish man, and now i am of the true faith—though as to whether it is true i have reason to doubt." he stood before sanders at headquarters.
away down by the little quay on the river his sweating paddlers were lying exhausted, for bosambo had come by the river day and night.
sanders did not speak. there was a twinkle in his eye, and a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth.
"and it seems to me," said bosambo tragically, "that none of the gods loves me."
"that is your palaver," said sanders, "and remember your brother loves you more than ever."
"master," said bosambo, throwing out his arms in despair, "did i know that beneath the middle tree of five was buried ten tusks of ivory? lord, am i mad that i should give this dog such blessed treasure? i thought——"
"i also thought it was an old man's story," said sanders gently.
"lord, may i look?"
sanders nodded, and bosambo walked to the end of the verandah and looked across the sea.
there was a smudge of smoke on the horizon. it was the smoke of the departing mail-boat which carried siskolo and his wonderful ivory back to monrovia.
bosambo raised a solemn fist and cursed the disappearing vessel.
"o brother!" he wailed. "o devil! o snake! nigger! nigger! dam' nigger!"
bosambo wept.
