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_Title:_ The People of the River
_Date of first publication:_ 1912
_Author:_ Edgar Wallace (1875-1932)
_Date first posted:_ Apr. 13, 2019
_Date last updated:_ Apr. 13, 2019
Faded Page eBook #20190454
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[Cover Illustration]
_By the same author_
THE BLACK ABBOTT
THE CLUE OF THE NEW PIN
THE COUNCIL OF JUSTICE
THE CRIMSON CIRCLE
THE DOOR WITH SEVEN LOCKS
THE FORGER
THE FOUR JUST MEN
THE GOLDEN HADES
THE INDIA RUBBER MEN
THE JOKER
THE MAN WHO MARRIED HIS COOK
MR. J.G. REEDER RETURNS
THE NORTHING TRAMP
TRAITOR’S GATE
WHITE FACE
THE YELLOW SNAKE
=The=
=People of the River=
=Edgar Wallace=
First published in Great Britain
by Ward Lock & Co. Limited
Copyright © Edgar Wallace
CONTENTS
I. A CERTAIN GAME………………. 7
II. THE ELOQUENT WOMAN…………… 23
III. THE AFFAIR OF THE LADY MISSIONARY 36
IV. THE SWIFT WALKER…………….. 50
V. BRETHREN OF THE ORDER………… 62
VI. THE VILLAGE OF IRONS…………. 77
VII. THE THINKER AND THE GUM-TREE….. 90
VIII. NINE TERRIBLE MEN……………. 105
IX. THE QUEEN OF THE N’GOMBI……… 122
X. THE MAN ON THE SPOT………….. 132
XI. THE RISING OF THE AKASAVA…….. 144
XII. THE MISSIONARY………………. 166
XIII. A MAKER OF SPEARS……………. 179
XIV. THE PRAYING MOOR…………….. 195
XV. THE SICKNESS MONGO…………… 209
XVI. THE CRIME OF SANDERS…………. 230
XVII. SPRING OF THE YEAR…………… 243
To
SIR SAMUEL SCOTT, BART., M.P.
I
A CERTAIN GAME
SANDERS had been away on a holiday.
The Commissioner, whose work lay for the main part in wandering through
a malarial country in some discomfort and danger, spent his holiday in
travelling through another malarial country in as great discomfort and
at no less risk. The only perceptible difference, so far as could be
seen, between his work and his holiday was that instead of considering
his own worries he had to listen to the troubles of somebody else.
Mr. Commissioner Sanders derived no small amount of satisfaction from
such a vacation, which is a sure sign that he was most human.
His holiday was a long one, for he went by way of St. Paul de Loanda
overland to the Congo, shot an elephant or two in the French Congo, went
by mission steamer to the Sangar River and made his way back to Stanley
Pool.
At Matadi he found letters from his relief, a mild youth who had come
from headquarters to take his place as a temporary measure, and was
quite satisfied in his inside mind that he was eminently qualified to
occupy the seat of the Commissioner.
The letter was a little discursive, but Sanders read it as eagerly as a
girl reads her first love letter. For he was reading about a land which
was very dear to him.
“Umfebi, the headman of Kulanga, has given me a little trouble. He wants
sitting on badly, and if I had control . . .” Sanders grinned
unpleasantly and said something about “impertinent swine,” but did he
not refer to the erring Umfebi? “I find M’laka, the chief of the Little
River, a very pleasant man to deal with: he was most attentive to me
when I visited his village and trotted out all his dancing girls for my
amusement.” Sanders made a little grimace. He knew M’laka for a rascal
and wondered. “A chief who has been most civil and courteous is Bosambo
of the Ochori. I know this will interest you because Bosambo tells me
that he is a special protégé of yours. He tells me how you had paid for
his education as a child and had gone to a lot of trouble to teach him
the English language. I did not know of this.”
Sanders did not know of it either, and swore an oath to the brazen sky
to take this same Bosambo, thief by nature, convict by the wise
provision of the Liberian Government, and chief of the Ochori by sheer
effrontery, and kick him from one end of the city to the other.
“He is certainly the most civilised of your men,” the letter went on.
“He has been most attentive to the astronomical mission which came out
in your absence to observe the eclipse of the moon. They speak very
highly of his attention and he has been most active in his attempt to
recover some of their property which was either lost or stolen on their
way down the river.”
Sanders smiled, for he himself had lost property in Bosambo’s territory.
“I think I will go home,” said Sanders.
Home he went by the nearest and the quickest way and came to
headquarters early one morning, to the annoyance of his relief, who had
planned a great and fairly useless palaver to which all the chiefs of
all the land had been invited.
“For,” he explained to Sanders in a grieved tone, “it seems to me that
the only way to ensure peace is to get at the minds of these people, and
the only method by which one can get at their minds is to bring them all
together.”
Sanders stretched his legs contemptuously and sniffed. They sat at chop
on the broad stoep before the Commissioner’s house, and Mr. Franks—so
the deputy Commissioner was named—was in every sense a guest. Sanders
checked the vitriolic appreciation of the native mind which came readily
to his lips, and inquired:
“When is this prec—when is this palaver?”
“This evening,” said Franks.
Sanders shrugged his shoulders.
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