“Science will have no mysteries for Bones,” said Hamilton bitterly,
“except perhaps the science of keeping the company accounts, and the
science of doing a simple job without making a hash of it.”
Sanders chuckled quietly.
“Bones must have spent a fortune on his correspondence lessons—but
there’s nothing selfish about him: he passes on all he learns.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Hamilton darkly.
A fortnight after Bones had received these volumes of instruction, he
gathered together the Houssas on the square, and with them their wives
and families, and pointed to the star-encrusted sky, for it was a
glorious night in early December—such a night as English astronomers
dream about but never see.
“All people listen,” said Bones in the Arabic of the Coast. “What are
these little stars you see? Some are suns and some are worlds, greater
than all this world——”
“Lord,” interrupted a sergeant of Houssas respectfully, “if they be
suns, why is it night, for all men know that when the sun shines it is
daytime? Yet these little things shine only at night.”
Bones explained laboriously, more or less inaccurately, and at the end
violently.
Sergeant Abiboo reported the lecture to Hamilton.
“There is no doubt, Militini,” he said, “that the lord Tibbetti is sick
with the fever. For, as your lordship knows, when men are ill they
imagine strange things, such as people walking about with heads like
crocodiles.”
“Why do you say this, Abiboo?” asked Hamilton.
“Because, lord,” said the sergeant decisively, “Tibbetti told us that
these stars are suns, when all men know they are stars, being the
spirits of the dead, according to the Kaffirs, but, as we true believers
know, the bright eyes of the blessed houris that look down from
Paradise.”
Bones, in disgust, turned from astronomy to biology. In consequence
there was a marked coldness in the demeanour of the Houssas, and women
scowled at him from their huts when he walked through the lines.
One Kano lady laid a complaint before Sanders.
“Tibbetti has shamed us all, for he told us that we were monkeys _cala
cala_, and lived in trees and had tails; also that all men were once
fishes, which is a terrible thing to say.”
“The lord Tibbetti has made you a great riddle,” said Sanders tactfully,
“but because you are a stupid woman you cannot understand its mystery.”
He passed a hint to Hamilton, and Hamilton, who never hinted, brought
Bones to the carpet.
“You’re demoralizing the detachment, Bones, with this pseudo-science of
yours. Keep off biology and astronomy, and confine your lectures to
metaphysics.”
Bones brightened.
“Thank you, Hamilton, dear old officer. I don’t know much about physics,
but what about the odd spot of chemistry, dear old sir? Why does a
seidlitz powder fizzle? You don’t know, old boy! Don’t pretend you
do——”
“Metaphysics has nothing whatever to do with chemistry,” said Hamilton
coldly.
“Then,” demanded the scornful Bones, “why call it physics—I ask you,
dear old thing? Don’t answer if you feel you’re incriminating your jolly
old self.”
Bones was due for a trip to the Akasava. There were palavers to be held,
a certain amount of taxation to be collected. More especially, Sanders
wanted exact information as to what was happening at Kobala’ba.
The night before Mr. Tibbetts left on his journey, Hamilton uttered a
word of warning.
“When you get to Makara’s village don’t be scientific—if you are,
confine yourself to insects. You can’t do any harm there. If you start
working off little pieces about the universe to the bloodthirsty
Akasava, you’ll probably start a couple of wars. And I absolutely forbid
you to talk about evolution. The Darwinian theory is distinctly
unpopular amongst the Houssas. It may bring you into some disrepute with
people who hunt monkeys and eat fish——”
“Tell them about bees, Bones,” put in Sanders. “An object lesson in
industry will do the Akasava no harm.”
“A little astronomy, dear old Commissioner!” pleaded Bones. “What about
the jolly old constellation of O’Brien? What about Beetlegrease, the
notorious and ever famous star that’s a hundred and fifty million times
bigger than the sun?”
“Orion and Betelgeuse are the two words you’re groping for,” said
Hamilton sternly, “and you’ll not say a word about them. You remember
the trouble we had with the Northern Ochori people over the moon, sir?”
Sanders nodded.
Long before Bones had taken science seriously, he had explained to the
wild and terrified people of the Ochori the substance, character and
origin of the lunar orb, with disastrous consequences; for the Northern
Ochori, who blamed Bosambo for everything that had happened to the world
since its beginning, gathered their spears and went up against their
paramount chief. You cannot overturn settled convictions without
producing unexpected reactions, and it took Sanders the greater part of
a year to convince these misguided people that their first information
about the moon was correct, namely, that it was the bright hole in the
sky through which M’shimba-M’shamba made his entrances and exits from a
disturbed and storm-swept earth.
Kobala’ba is not easily reached. The motor-launch dropped Bones at the
scarcely visible mouth of the shallow river, and for four days he was
paddled through bush and grass and virgin mosquito hordes—a painful
experience.
He came to Kobala’ba in the dark of an evening; and, knowing him to be
at hand, the villagers burnt a big bonfire on the beach, which served
the double purpose of beacon and illumination.
It was not the chief Makara who met him, but T’lini, his wife, a very
tall and supple girl of seventeen.
“Lord, I see you! I am T’lini, wife of Makara.”
“I see you, T’lini,” said Bones, peering at her. “Yet I think I would
rather see the chief, your husband, for I do not make palaver with
women.”
He looked left and right along the crowded beach. Not a warrior was to
be seen; only these straight, ebony figures regarding him gravely. She
read his thoughts and said:
“There are few men in this village, lord Tibbetti, and these put
themselves to bed early, because of the cold air of night which gives
them pain in their throats.”
Bones gaped at her.
“Good lord!” he said, in English.
“Also, lord,” she went on quickly, “these women you see are the wives of
our warriors, and they are so happy that they dance with joy because
their men are kind. And every day we work in the fields whilst our
husbands go hunting in the forest.”
Bones screwed his monocle into his eye, and T’lini shrank back in
terror.
“Tell me, T’lini, are you of this village?”
She nodded, which meant “No.”
“I come from B’lini on the river. Makara bought me for a bag of salt,
also my own sister and the daughter of my father.”
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