King without even the formality of sending an envoy ahead? For the King
of Bekwando, drunk or sober, was a stickler for etiquette. It pleased
him to keep white men waiting. For days sometimes a visitor was kept
waiting his pleasure, not altogether certain either as to his ultimate
fate, for there were ugly stories as to those who had journeyed to
Bekwando and never been seen or heard of since. Those were the sort of
visitors with whom his ebon Majesty loved to dally until they became
pale with fright or furious with anger and impatience; but men like this
white captain, who had brought him no presents, who came in overwhelming
force and demanded a passage through his country as a matter of right
were his special detestation. On his arrival he had simply marched into
the place at the head of his columns of Hausas without ceremony, almost
as a master, into the very presence of the King. Now he had come again
with one of those other miscreants who at least had knelt before him and
brought rum and many other presents. A slow, burning, sullen wrath was
kindled in the King's heart as the three men drew near. His people,
half-mad with excitement and debauch, needed only a cry from him to have
closed like magic round these insolent intruders. His thick lips were
parted, his breath came hot and fierce whilst he hesitated. But away
outside the clearing was that little army of Hausas, clean-limbed,
faithful, well drilled and armed. He choked down his wrath. There were
grim stories about those who had yielded to the luxury of slaying these
white men--stories of villages razed to the ground and destroyed, of
a King himself who had been shot, of vengeance very swift and very
merciless. He closed his mouth with a snap and sat up with drunken
dignity. Oom Sam, in fear and trembling, moved to his side.

"What they want?" the King asked.

Oom Sam spread out the document which Trent had handed him upon a
tree-stump, and explained. His Majesty nodded more affably. The document
reminded him of the pleasant fact that there were three casks of rum to
come to him every year. Besides, he rather liked scratching his royal
mark upon the smooth, white paper. He was quite willing to repeat the
performance, and took up the pen which Sam handed him readily.

"Him white man just come," Oom Sam explained; "want see you do this."

His Majesty was flattered, and, with the air of one to whom the signing
of treaties and concessions is an everyday affair