hokosa kept his promise. on the morrow of his first attendance therehe was again to be seen in the chapel, and after the service was overhe waited on owen at his house and listened to his private teaching.
day by day he appeared thus, till at length he became master of thewhole doctrine of christianity, and discovered that that which atfirst had struck him as childish and even monstrous, now presenteditself to him in a new and very different light. the conversion ofhokosa came upon him through the gate of reason, not as is usual amongsavages--and some who are not savage--by that of the emotions. giventhe position of a universe torn and groaning beneath the dual rule ofgood and evil, two powers of well-nigh equal potency, he found nogreat difficulty in accepting this tale of the self-sacrifice of thegod of good that he might wring the race he loved out of theconquering grasp of the god of ill. there was a simple majesty aboutthis scheme of redemption which appealed to one side of his nature.
indeed, hokosa felt that under certain conditions and in a morelimited fashion he would have been capable of attempting as muchhimself.
once his reason was satisfied, the rest followed in a naturalsequence. within three weeks from the hour of his first attendance atthe chapel hokosa was at heart a christian.
he was a christian, although as yet he did not confess it; but he wasalso the most miserable man among the nation of the sons of fire. theiniquities of his past life had become abominable to him; but he hadcommitted them in ignorance, and he understood that they were notbeyond forgiveness. yet high above them all towered one colossal crimewhich, as he believed, could never be pardoned to him in this world orthe next. he was the treacherous murderer of the messenger of god; hewas in the very act of silencing the voice that had proclaimed truthin the dark places of his soul and the dull ears of his countrymen.
the deed was done; no power on earth could save his victim. within aweek from the day of eating that fatal fruit owen began to sicken,then the dysentery had seized him which slowly but surely was wastingout his life. yet he, the murderer, was helpless, for with this formof the disease no medicine could cope. with agony in his heart, anagony that was shared by thousands of the people, hokosa watched thedecrease of the white man's strength, and reckoned the days that wouldelapse before the end. having such sin as thus upon his soul, thoughowen entreated him earnestly, he would not permit himself to bebaptised. twice he went near to consenting, but on each occasion anominous and terrible incident drove him from the door of mercy.
once, when the words "i will" were almost on his lips, a woman brokein upon their conference bearing a dying boy in her arms.
"save him," she implored, "save him, messenger, for he is my onlyson!"owen looked at him and shook his head.
"how came he like this?" he asked.
"i know not, messenger, but he has been sick ever since he ate of acertain fruit which you gave to him;" and she recalled to his mind theincident of the throwing of a fruit to the child, which she hadwitnessed.
"i remember," said owen. "it is strange, but i also have been sickfrom the day that i ate of those fruits; yes, and you, hokosa, warnedme against them."then he blessed the boy and prayed over him till he died; but whenafterwards he looked round for hokosa, it was to find that he hadgone.
some eight days later, having to a certain extent recovered from thisshock, hokosa went one morning to owen's house and talked to him.
"messenger," he said, "is it necessary to baptism that i shouldconfess all my sins to you? if so, i can never be baptised, for thereis wickedness upon my hands which i am unable to tell into the ear ofliving man."owen thought and answered:--"it is necessary that you should repent all of your sins, and that youshould confess them to heaven; it is not necessary that you shouldconfess them to me, who am but a man like yourself.""then i will be baptised," said hokosa with a sigh of relief.
at this moment, as it chanced, their interview was again interrupted,for runners came from the king requesting the immediate presence ofthe messenger, if he were well enough to attend, upon a matterconnected with the trial of a woman for murder. thinking that he mightbe of service, owen, leaning on the shoulder of hokosa, for already hewas too weak to walk far, crept to the litter which was waiting forhim, and was borne to the place of judgment that was before the houseof the king. hokosa followed, more from curiosity than for any otherreason, for he had heard of no murder being committed, and his olddesire to be acquainted with everything that passed was still strongon him. the people made way for him, and he seated himself in thefirst line of spectators immediately opposite to the king and threeother captains who were judges in the case. so soon as owen had joinedthe judges, the prisoner was brought before them, and to his secrethorror hokosa recognised in her that woman to whom he had given thepoison in exchange for the basket of fruit.
now it seemed to hokosa that his doom was on him, for she wouldcertainly confess that she had the drug from him. he thought of flightonly to reject the thought, for to fly would be to acknowledge himselfan accessory. no, he would brazen it out, for after all his word wasas good as hers. with the prisoner came an accuser, her husband, whoseemed sick, and he it was who opened the case against her.
"this woman," he said, "was my wife. i divorced her for barrenness, asi have a right to do according to our ancient law, and i took anotherwoman to wife, her half-sister. this woman was jealous; she plagued mecontinually, and insulted her sister, so that i was forced to driveher away. after that she came to my house, and though they saidnothing of it at the time, she was seen by two servants of mine tosprinkle something in the bowl wherein our food was cooking.
subsequently my wife, this woman's half-sister, was taken ill withdysentery. i also was taken ill with dysentery, but i still live totell this story before you, o king, and your judges, though i know notfor how long i live. my wife died yesterday, and i buried her thismorning. i accuse the woman of having murdered her, either bywitchcraft or by means of a medicine which she sprinkled on the food,or by both. i have spoken.""have you anything to say?" asked the king of the prisoner. "are youguilty of the crime whereof this man who was your husband charges you,or does he lie?"then the woman answered in a low and broken voice:--"i am guilty, king. listen to my story:" and she told it all as shetold it to hokosa. "i am guilty," she added, "and may the great man inthe sky, of whom the messenger has taught us, forgive me. my sister'sblood is upon my hands, and for aught i know the blood of my husbandyonder will also be on my hands. i seek no mercy; indeed, it is betterthat i should die; but i would say this in self-defence, that i didnot think to kill my sister. i believed that i was giving to her apotion which would cause her husband to hate her and no more."here she looked round and her eyes met those of hokosa.
"who told you that this was so?" asked one of the judges.
"a witch-doctor," she answered, "from whom i bought the medicine inthe old days, long ago, when umsuka was king."hokosa gasped. why should this woman have spared him?
no further question was asked of her, and the judges consultedtogether. at length the king spoke.
"woman," he said, "you are condemned to die. you will be taken to thedoom tree, and there be hanged. out of those who are assembled to tryyou, two, the messenger and myself, have given their vote in favour ofmercy, but the majority think otherwise. they say that a law has beenpassed against murder by means of witchcraft and secret medicine, andthat should we let you go free, the people will make a mock of thatlaw. so be it. go in peace. to-morrow you must die, and mayforgiveness await you elsewhere.""i ask nothing else," said the woman. "it is best that i should die."then they led her away. as she passed hokosa she turned and looked himfull in the eyes, till he dropped his head abashed. next morning shewas executed, and he learned that her last words were: "let it come tothe ears of him who sold me the poison, telling me that it was but aharmless drug, that as i hope to be forgiven, so i forgive him,believing that my silence may win for him time for repentance, beforehe follows on the road i tread."now, when hokosa heard these words he shut himself up in his house forthree days, giving out that he was sick. nor would he go near to owen,being altogether without hope, and not believing that baptism or anyother rite could avail to purge such crimes as his. truly his sin hadfound him out, and the burden of it was intolerable. so intolerabledid it become, that at length he determined to be done with it. hecould live no more. he would die, and by his own hand, before he wascalled upon to witness the death of the man whom he had murdered. tothis end he made his preparations. for noma he left no message; forthough his heart still hungered after her, he knew well that she hatedhim and would rejoice at his death.
when all was ready he sat down to think a while, and as he thought, aman entered his hut saying that the messenger desired to see him. atfirst he was minded not to go, then it occurred to him that it wouldbe well if he could die with a clean heart. why should he not tell allto the white man, and before he could be delivered up to justice takethat poison which he had prepared? it was impossible that he should beforgiven, yet he desired that his victim should learn how deep was hissorrow and repentance, before he proved it by preceding him to death.
so he rose and went.
he found owen in his house, lying in a rude chair and propped up bypillows of bark. now he was wasted almost to a shadow, and in the palepinched face his dark eyes, always large and spiritual, shone withunnatural lustre, while his delicate hands were so thin that when heheld them up in blessing the light showed through them.
"welcome, friend," he said. "tell me, why have you deserted me oflate? have you been ill?""no, messenger," answered hokosa, "that is, not in my body. i havebeen sick at heart, and therefore i have not come.""what, hokosa, do your doubts still torment you? i thought that myprayers had been heard, and that power had been given me to set themat rest for ever. man, let me hear the trouble, and swiftly, forcannot you who are a doctor see that i shall not be here for long totalk with you? my days are numbered, hokosa, and my work is almostdone.""i know it," answered hokosa. "and, messenger, /my/ days are alsonumbered.""how is this?" asked owen, "seeing that you are well and strong. doesan enemy put you in danger of your life?""yes, messenger, and i myself am that enemy; for to-day i, who am nolonger fit to live, must die by my own hand. nay, listen and you willsay that i do well, for before i go i would tell you all. messenger,you are doomed, are you not? well, it was i who doomed you. that fruitwhich you ate a while ago was poisoned, and by my hand, for i am amaster of such arts. from the beginning i hated you, as well i might,for had you not worsted me and torn power from my grasp, and placedthe people and the king under the rule of another god? therefore, whenall else failed, i determined to murder you, and i did the deed bymeans of that woman who not long ago was hung for the killing of hersister, though in truth she was innocent." and he told him what hadpassed between himself and the woman, and told him also of the plotwhich he had hatched to kill nodwengo and the christians, and to sethafela on the throne"she was innocent," he went on, "but i am guilty. how guilty you and iknow alone. do you remember that day when you ate the fruit, how afterit i accompanied you to the church yonder and listened to yourpreaching? 'your sin shall find you out,' you said, and of a suretymine has found me out. for, messenger, it came about that in listeningto you then and afterwards, i grew to love you and to believe thewords you taught, and therefore am i of all men the most miserable,and therefore must i, who have been great and the councillor of kings,perish miserably by the death of a dog.
"now curse me, and let me go."
