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Updated: May 29, 2025
Smallpox rages in Africa as it rages nowhere else in these days. The natives fight it or bow before it as before an ancient and deeply dreaded foe. It was nothing new to them, and it would have been easy enough for Jack and Oscard to prove to their own satisfaction that the presence of three white men at Msala was a danger to themselves and no advantage to the natives.
The next morning brought further rumours of approaching danger, and it seemed certain that this news must have filtered through Durnovo's fortified camp further up the river. This time the report was more definite. There were Arabs leading the tribes, and rumour further stated that an organised descent on Msala was intended.
"Somethin'," he reflected, "that'll just curl his back hair for 'im; that's what I'll write 'im." Msala had been devastated, and it was within the roofless walls of Durnovo's house that Joseph finally wrote out laboriously the projected capillary invigorator.
"We were married at Sierra Leone by the English chaplain. My father, who is dead, kept a hotel at Sierra Leone, and he knew the ways of the half-castes. He said that the Protestant Church at Sierra Leone was good enough for him, and we were married there. And then Victor brought me away from my people to this place and to Msala. Then he got tired of me he cared no more. He said I was ugly."
Within the outer covering there was a second envelope of paper, likewise secured by a string. Finally, the man produced a small note, which showed signs of having been read more than once. This he handed to Jocelyn with an absurd air of importance. She opened the paper and read: "To MARIE AT MSALA, Send at once to Mr.
"Before you were married?" said the English girl. "Before little Nala came?" The man grinned. He looked back over his shoulder towards one of the huts, where a scraggy infant with a violent squint lay on its diaphragm on the sand. "Where do you wish me to go?" asked the proud father. "To Msala on the Ogowe river." "I know the Ogowe. I have been at Msala," with the grave nod of a great traveller.
"No." "And yet he says there is danger?" There was a strange, angry look in her great dark eyes which Oscard did not understand. "He says that the tribes are within two days' march of his camp." She gave an unpleasant little laugh. "He does not seem to have thought of us at Msala."
In twenty days he had covered the distance between the Plateau and Msala, stumbling on alone, blinded, wounded, sore-stricken, through a thousand daily valleys of death. With wonderful endurance he had paddled night and day down the sleek river without rest, with the dread microbe of the sleeping sickness slowly creeping through his veins.
So they buried Victor Durnovo between the two giant palms at Msala, with his feet turned towards the river which he had made his, as if ready to arise when the call comes and undertake one of those marvellous journeys of his which are yet a household word on the West Coast.
While absorbed in the intricacies of pursuit while anathematising tendrils and condemning thorns to summary judgment Jack Meredith was not losing sight of his chance of getting back to the little village of Msala. He knew that he had only to follow the course of the stream downwards, retracing his steps until a junction with the Ogowe river was effected.
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