X Henry Hamilton Bones

Lieutenant Francis Augustus Tibbetts of the Houssas found himself at a disadvantage with his chief and friend. No matter how correctly he behaved—saluting whenever a salute was possible, clicking his heels in the German manner he had acquired during a year at Heidelberg, or greeting his superior with such stiff formality that it bordered on the insolent—he could never overcome one fatal obstacle to avoidance: he had to eat at the same table as Hamilton.

Bones was hurt. Hamilton had treated him shamefully, not as one brother officer should treat another. Hamilton had spoken harshly and cruelly about a mission he had entrusted to his subordinate, and with which that unfortunate subordinate had lamentably failed to cope.

Up in the Akasava country, a certain wise man named M'bisibi had predicted the coming of a devil-child, born on a night when the moon lay low upon the river and certain rains had fallen in the forest. This child was to be called "Ewa," which is death. His mother would die first, then his father, and he would grow up to be a scourge to his people and a pestilence to his nation. Crops would wither at his passing, fish would float belly-up in the river, and until this Ewa M'faba himself departed, only misfortune would come to the N'gombi-Isisi.

Thus M'bisibi prophesied, and his word spread up and down the river, for the prophet was old and accounted wise even by Bosambo of the Ochori.

Hamilton learned of it soon enough and sent Bones post-haste to await the arrival of any unfortunate infant tactless enough to appear at such an inauspicious moment, fulfilling M'bisibi's prediction. But Bones went to the wrong village, ignoring his steersman's and his sergeant's warnings. Fortunately, by reliable account, no child had been born there, and the prophecy remained unfulfilled.

"Otherwise," said Hamilton, "the child's life would have been on your head."

"Yes, sir," said Bones.

"I didn't tell you there were two villages called Inkau," Hamilton admitted, "because I didn't think you were fool enough to go to the wrong one."

"No, sir," agreed Bones patiently.

"Naturally," said Hamilton, "I assumed the prospect of saving innocent babies would be sufficient motivation."

"Naturally, sir," said Bones with forced geniality.

"I've reached a conclusion about you, Bones," said Hamilton.

"Yes, sir," said Bones, "that I'm an ass, I suppose?"

Hamilton nodded—it was too hot to speak.

"It was an interesting conclusion," said Bones thoughtfully, "not without originality when it first occurred to you, but as a conclusion, if you'll pardon my criticism, sir—if you'll forgive me for suggesting—calling me an ass, apart from being contrary to the spirit and letter of the Army Act—God save the King—it's a bit below the belt, sir." And he left his superior without another word.

For three days they sat at breakfast, lunch, and dinner without exchanging anything beyond polite requests to pass the bread or salt. Hamilton was so busy that he might have forgotten the quarrel, but Bones never missed an opportunity to remind his commanding officer that he was mortally offended.

One evening, as dinner reached the stage where the two young officers sat primly side by side on the verandah sipping coffee, neither speaking, the silence might have ended with a conventional "Good night" and the punctilious salute Bones always gave and Hamilton always returned. But a dark figure appeared, crossing the parade ground hesitantly, as if unsure of his way, and finally approached through Sanders' garden to the edge of the verandah.

It was a small boy, very thin, Hamilton could see in the half-darkness. The boy was as naked as the day he was born, and carried a single paddle.

"Boy," said Hamilton, "I see you."

"Wanda!" the boy said in a frightened tone, hesitating as if deciding whether to bolt or to complete his dangerous errand.

"Come up here," said Hamilton kindly.

He recognized by the dialect that the visitor had come a long way, and indeed he had, for his canoe was hidden among the elephant grass a mile from headquarters, and he had spent three days and nights on the river. The boy came up, embarrassed and frightened, and stood twiddling his toes on the unaccustomedly smooth floor.

"Where are you from, and why have you come?" asked Hamilton.

"Lord, I have come from the village of M'bisibi," said the boy. "My mother sent me because she fears for her life—my father is away on a great hunt. As for me, my name is Tilimi-N'kema."

"Speak on, Tilimi the Monkey," said Hamilton, "and tell me why your mother fears for her life."

The boy was silent for a moment, evidently trying to recall the exact words that had been drilled into his young head, repeating parrot-fashion the lesson he had learned.

"Thus says the woman my mother," he began at last, with the flat, monotonous delivery common to all children reciting a lesson, "on a certain day when the moon was full and the rain fell in the forest so that we all heard it, my mother bore a child who is my own brother. And, lord, because she feared the things old M'bisibi had said, she went into the forest to a certain witch doctor, and there the child was born. In my opinion," said the lad, with a curious air of wisdom that young natives often possess, "it was better she did that, for they would have made a sacrifice of the child. When she returned and they asked her, she said the boy had died. But the truth, lord, is that she left the baby with the witch doctor, and now—" he hesitated again.

"And now?" prompted Hamilton.

"Now, lord," said the boy, "the witch doctor, whose name is Bogolono, demands that she bring him rich gifts at the full of every moon, because her son, my brother, is the devil-child M'bisibi predicted. If she fails to bring gifts, he will take the child to the village, and that will be the end."

Hamilton called his orderly.

"Give this boy something to eat," he said. "Tomorrow we'll discuss this further."

When the boy and the orderly were out of earshot, he turned to Bones.

"Bones," he said seriously, "I think you'd better leave quietly for M'bisibi's village, find the woman, and bring her to safety. You know the village," he added unnecessarily, "the one you missed last time."

Bones left without saluting, making no reply.

Bosambo, his arms folded across his brawny chest, looked curiously at the deputation that had come to him.

"This is a bad business," said Bosambo. "When minor chiefs do wrong, that is bad; but when great kings like your master Iberi support such wrongdoing, that is the worst of all. Even though M'bisibi is a wise man, as we all know—indeed the only wise man among your people—if he has brought out this devil-child and prepares a sacrifice, then M'ilitani will come quickly with his soldiers, and there will be an end to little chiefs and big chiefs alike."

"Lord, that will be so," said the messenger, "unless all the chiefs in the land stand together in brotherhood. And because we know Sandi loves you, and M'ilitani also, and that Tibbetti himself is as gentle with you as a brother, M'bisibi sent this message: 'Go to Bosambo and say, M'bisibi, the wise man, invites him to a great and fearful council concerning several devils. Tell him also that great evil will come to this land, to his land and mine, to his wife and the wives of his counselors, and to his children and theirs, unless we make an end of these devils.'"

Bosambo, chin resting on clenched fist, regarded the other thoughtfully.

"This cannot be," he said with a troubled voice. "For even though I die and all that is dear to me passes from this world, I cannot do anything unlawful in the eyes of Sandi, my master, and the great ones he has left to enforce the law. Tell M'bisibi this from me: I think he is very wise and understands ghosts and such matters. Also say that if he places curses upon my huts, I will come with my spearmen, and if anything happens, I will hang him by the ears from a high tree, even though he consorts with ghosts and commands whole armies of devils. This discussion is over."

The messenger carried the word back to M'bisibi and the council of chiefs and elders who sat in the meeting house. Old as he was and wise, M'bisibi shuddered, for he knew that what Bosambo said, he would do. For it is peculiar to no race or color that old men love life more dearly than the young.

"Bogolono," he said, turning to the witch doctor who sat beside him, strings of human teeth looped about his neck and his eyes ringed with white ashes, "you shall bring the child, and it shall be sacrificed according to custom, as it was in the days of my fathers."

They chose a spot in the forest where four young trees stood at the corners of a rough square. With bush knives they cut away the tender branches, leaving four pliant poles that bled sticky sap. Carefully they bent the trees until their tops nearly met, carving the tips to fit together. To these four ends they fastened ropes—one for each arm and each ankle of the devil-child—and with other ropes they held the saplings in place.

"Now this is the magic of it," said M'bisibi. "When the moon is full tonight, we shall first sacrifice a goat, then a fowl, casting certain parts into a fire made of white gum. I shall make marks upon the child's face and belly, then cut these ropes so that to the four corners of the world we cast out this devil, and he will trouble us no more."

That night came many chiefs: Iberi of the Akasava, Tilini of the Lesser Isisi, Efele (the Tornado) of the N'gombi, Lisu (the Seer) of the Inner Territories. But Lilongo—as they called Bosambo of the Ochori—did not come.

Bones reached the village two hours before the time of sacrifice, landing with twenty Houssas and a small Maxim gun. The village seemed peaceful, no sign of anything unusual. Except that it was deserted except for old people and children. M'bisibi was an hour—two hours—four hours in the forest. He had gone north—east—south—no one knew where.

The evasive answers made Bones uneasy. He scouted the paths and found signs that people had gone in all three directions. He sent the gun back to the Zaire, divided his men into three groups, and took the middle path himself with half a dozen soldiers.

For an hour he trudged, getting lost and finding his way again. He came to another fork and split his small force again. Eventually, he found himself alone, struggling over rough ground in darkness broken only by his electric torch, making for a faint red glow that showed through the trees ahead.

M'bisibi held the child upon his outstretched hands—a fat little baby with large, wondering eyes that stared solemnly at the dancing flames, sucking its brown thumb contentedly.

"Behold, chiefs and people," said M'bisibi, "this child, born as I predicted, filled with devils!"

Baby turned his head, his neck creased with fat, and said "Ah!" at the fire, and chuckled.

"Even now the devils speak," said M'bisibi, "but soon you will hear them screaming as I scatter them to the four winds." He moved toward the bent saplings.

Bones, face scratched and bleeding, uniform torn in a dozen places, came swiftly behind him.

"My bird, I think," said Bones, and scooped up the child unceremoniously.

Picture Bones with a baby under his arm—a baby indignant, outraged, uncomfortable, its face twisted in a cry.

"Lord," gasped M'bisibi, "what do you seek?"

"What I've already got," said Bones, brandishing his automatic Colt. "Tomorrow you'll answer for your crimes."

He backed into the woods, sensing trouble.

He heard the old man's roar: "O people... this white man will release devils upon the land!"

Then a spear thudded into a tree trunk, and another—for his soldiers were far away—and the crowd of exorcists, mad with rage at what Tibbetti was doing, closed in.

"Thunk!" A spear struck Bones' boot.

"Shut your eyes, baby," said Bones, and fired into the mob. Then he ran for his life. Over roots and fallen trees he stumbled and fell, his tiny passenger yelling desperately.

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Bones. "What the dickens are you screaming about, hey? Haven't I just saved your life, you ungrateful little devil?"

Periodically he stopped to check his compass. He knew the chase continued, but he took grim satisfaction in knowing he had left the path and was deep in the forest. Then he heard faint shots—one, two, three—and grinned. His pursuers had run into his Houssas.

Exhausted, the baby finally fell asleep. Babies were surprisingly heavy—Bones had never noticed before—but he fashioned a sling from his sword belt and continued more easily.

He knew M'bisibi's men would be scared off now, so he rested for half an hour. Then a leopard came padding silently through the forest, eyes glowing green. Bones sat up and shone his torch at the startled beast, which growled in fright and scampered away.

The growl woke the baby, hungry and unhappy. Bones tried to soothe him. "He's a wicked old leopard," he said, "to wake a child in the middle of the night!" He offered his little finger as a pacifier, and eventually the baby dozed off again.

Lieutenant Tibbetts checked his compass. He had heard the shots to the east, but he dared not head straight there for fear of running into enemies retreating toward the river. He slept fitfully for two hours, then woke to a fierce tugging at his nose.

He sat up, laid the yowling infant on the soft ground, and stood, arms akimbo, monocle in place, surveying his noisy companion.

"What the deuce are you making such a row about?" he asked indignantly. "Have a little patience, young fellow, be a bit more reasonable, dear old baby!"

The baby continued its loud protest, in a language older than words, complaining of the cruelty and thoughtlessness of his elder.

"I suppose you want food," said Bones in dismay, looking around helplessly. He searched his haversack and found a biscuit; his flask had half a cup of warm tea. He fed the baby soaked biscuit and drank the tea himself.

"You need a bath or something," said Bones sternly, but it was another hour before he found a pool to bathe the child.

At three in the afternoon, as near as he could judge—his watch had stopped—he found a path, but missed it again and realized he had lost his compass.

Bones looked at the wide-awake child. "Dear old companion," he said gloomily, "we are lost."

The baby smiled.

"Nothing to laugh about, you little fool," said Bones.

"I do not know where Lord Tibbetti is," said M'bisibi sullenly.

"You will know before the sun sets," said Hamilton, "or you will hang from a tree, old man—a swift death by Ewa!"

"I have searched, my lord," replied M'bisibi. "All my hunters have combed the forest, and we have not found him. This is all we could find on the path." He produced Bones' compass from under his cloth.

"The child is with him?"

"So they say," said M'bisibi, "though my magic tells me the child will die, for how can a white man who knows nothing of babies keep it alive? Yet," he added cautiously, "if this child is truly a devil-child, he might lead Tibbetti into terrible danger and return unharmed."

"He'll lead you to something worse," said Hamilton grimly. He ordered a soldier to rig a noose from a strong branch. The sight of it made M'bisibi suddenly cooperative. He dispatched messengers and drums to summon his people. Every half-hour the Zaire's gun boomed. Hamilton tramped through the woods, his heart sinking with each passing hour.

"I tell you, lord," said his headman, "Tibbetti is surely dead, and the child too. This forest is full of ghosts and wild beasts, and many deadly snakes."

They entered a clearing where the grass grew thick and flowers hung in heavy white clusters.

In the center, a long, sinuous shape—dark brown, patterned with green and vermilion—swayed and hissed at something on the ground.

"Good heavens!" cried Hamilton, reaching for his revolver, but before he could draw, he heard a sharp crack. The snake fell back, a bullet having passed through its head. Then he saw Bones—in shirt sleeves, bare-headed, with his pipe in his mouth—coming through the trees with a pistol in hand.

"Naughty boy!" said Bones reproachfully, scooping up a squalling brown baby from the ground. "Didn't Daddy tell you not to go near those horrid snakes? Daddy will spank you—" He caught sight of Hamilton, froze, then clutched the baby and saluted. "Baby present and correct, sir."

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Hamilton, after Bones had bathed and dined.

"Do with what?" asked Bones.

"With this." Hamilton pointed at a crawling baby who was looking up at Bones for approval.

"What do you expect, sir?" said Bones stiffly. "His mother is dead, his father gone. I feel responsible for Henry."

"Henry?" asked Hamilton.

Bones gestured grandly. "Henry Hamilton Bones, sir. The child of the regiment, adopted by me to be a prop for my old age."

"Good heavens!" gasped Hamilton. He went aft to collect himself, then returned to peek at a domestic scene: Bones had put the screaming baby in his own rubber bath and was gingerly scrubbing him with a mop.