HELL S 
 PLAYGROUND 
 
 IDA VERA SIMONTON
 
 UBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 
 p< 
 
 7 
 
 X X
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 BY 
 
 IDA VERA SIMONTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 1912
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 To the Memory of a Perfect Mother, 
 this, my first book is dedicated 
 would it were more worthy! 
 
 I. V. S. 
 
 New York, July, 1913
 
 IN EXPLANATION 
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND is written not for the idly 
 curious, the thrill-hunters, the gourmets of sensationalism, 
 but for the thoughtful, the students of history and psychol 
 ogy, the dissectors of life, the truth-seekers. 
 
 The story has to do with primal conditions: savages and 
 savagery. It lacks the niceties and embroideries and per 
 fumes of civilization; it is crude and shocking, essentially 
 so. It is a record of the debauching life of the African 
 tropics; the methods of government; the duties and oppor 
 tunities of the white trader; the nature of the negro sav 
 ages; the almost hopeless problems of colonization and 
 Christianization ; and the demoralization which follows the 
 unnatural imposition of the rule of one race over another. 
 
 For centuries the West Coast of Africa has been the 
 dumping ground for Europe s undesirables and so un 
 healthy is the climate that life is one continuous battle for 
 existence. The best class of white men are not attracted 
 to it. The average white trader and government official, 
 freed from all restraint, deprived of the society of white 
 women and the commonest things to which civilization has 
 accustomed them, breathing the atmosphere of sameness, 
 stagnation and sensuality, early shed the veneer of civiliza 
 tion. They revel in tyranny, licentiousness and brutality; 
 they are a law unto themselves : a law of menace and destruc 
 tion; they out-savage the very savage. 
 
 To some readers the author s treatment of missions and
 
 missionaries may seem harsh, but she has only penned con 
 ditions as she found them. She lived among missionaries 
 of all denominations, including the Mohammedans and the 
 Copts. No one knows better than she how noble and heroic 
 are these laborers in savage Africa s unproductive vineyard. 
 They have preached and prayed, taught and encouraged 
 under the most unhealthy and depressing and discouraging 
 conditions; they have pressed on and ever on where even 
 greed for wealth and territory has turned back discouraged ; 
 and many of them have laid down their very lives for their 
 savage charges for the death toll has been, is, and ever 
 will be, a heavy one. The author also knows that the little 
 transient good effected by the white missionaries in no way 
 compensates for their sufferings, deprivations and deaths ! 
 Such noble men and women are needed nearer home, where 
 the bulb of Christianity is indigenous and needs only care 
 and attention to cause it to flower bountifully. 
 
 A Polar bear has as much need of a sealskin sack to 
 keep him warm as has an African savage of the raiment 
 made for him by well-meaning, God-serving and God 
 fearing white women. Neither does the savage need houses 
 to shelter him nor cultivated products to nourish him. 
 Lavish nature and torrid heat have made him an improvi 
 dent animal, sensual and lazy. He is what he is from the 
 very beginning of time. His native superstitions, beliefs, 
 abominable practices and nudity are as much a part of him 
 as are his peculiar odor, his black skin and his kinky hair. 
 They are there to stay, and the negro savage is best let 
 alone. In the bush the realities are respected; at the 
 mission a farce is innocently played: a farce so far as any 
 lasting benefit to the savage accrues, but a tragedy where 
 the health and lives of their white teachers are concerned. 
 
 The English, the greatest colonizers in the world, have 
 demonstrated in their African possessions that to respect
 
 IN EXPLANATION 
 
 native superstitions and customs is the only way to effect 
 ively control the natives and secure from them the bound 
 less wealth of their great country. The so-called civilized, 
 Christianized savage is as subtle as a Brahmin and as 
 much to be feared. The attempt to live on brotherly terms 
 with the negro is demoralizing to the negro. Highly imi 
 tative, he takes on all the vices of the white man and none 
 of his virtues. He returns to his bush town and he dis 
 seminates the bad, never the good. There are some lovable 
 traits in the true bush negro, but none at all in the so-called 
 civilized creature. 
 
 Unhealthy and demoralizing as the West Coast of Africa 
 is, from the time of the Carthaginians and Phoenicians, 500 
 B. C., it has been eagerly frequented by traders in search 
 of slaves and wealth. In the latter part of the 14th Cen 
 tury, the Portuguese discovered the Congo, one of the great 
 rivers of the world. They rounded Good Hope and set 
 tled Natal on the southeast coast. In the 18th Century, 
 England alone took 3,000,000 slaves from these West 
 Coast ports, and many of them were brought to America. 
 They are the forebears of our southern negroes. In addi 
 tion to the above number of slaves, 2,500,000 more were 
 lost either in the treacherous surf, which girds Africa like a 
 wall, or died from exposure and disease. Liberia is also on 
 this coast and so is the French Congo, wherein Paul du 
 Chaillu discovered that wonderful anthropoid, the gorilla. 
 Quite recently, Livingstone and Stanley sailed this West 
 Coast, and just a little over one year ago, for the first time 
 in the history of American commerce, a trading ship sailed 
 direct from New York to secure some of its trade for which 
 Europeans have fought for centuries. The flag followed 
 the trader out there and the unhealthy traffic in human 
 flesh was succeeded by the quest for the commodities neces 
 sary to civilization in which the Dark Continent abounds.
 
 IN EXPLANATION 
 
 After all, we Americans have some link with HELL S 
 PLAYGROUND, and, revolting and repellent though its 
 life may be, to researchers and students that which w is 
 ever interesting and instructing. 
 
 IDA VERA SIMONTON. 
 
 New York City, August, 1912.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 OFF the west coast of Africa a terrific tornado raged. 
 Forked lightning rent night s Stygian veil, and, with un 
 canny brilliancy, uncovered yawning, heaving depths 
 beneath and angry heavens above; rain descended in 
 straight, destructive streams like shrapnel from an ex- 
 haustless reservoir; a fog siren moaned like a lost soul, 
 and, now and then as though escaping from Pluto s 
 realm, came the timid, ghost-like tinkle of a half -sub 
 merged bell. 
 
 In treacherous seas the Nigeria tossed with her engines 
 slowed down; waves like huge batteries hammered her 
 bow, drenched her deserted decks and threatened to pound 
 her to pieces ; malignant, warring winds shrieked through 
 her rigging; furled canvases tugged at fastenings; oil 
 bags were wrenched from bow and sides and hurled vin 
 dictively through turbulent space. Aloft, the lookout 
 clung for his life, his eyes, keen as gimlets, attempting 
 to bore night s opaque wall ; lashed to his scanty foothold 
 and drenched by furious seas the quartermaster cast the 
 lead and in deep-throated tones sang out the soundings. 
 From the bridge, through the growling of thunder, the 
 shrieking of winds and the bombardment of rain and seas, 
 came the skipper s commands in sharp, crisp sentences. 
 
 1
 
 2 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Hurried feet crossed slippery decks ; nimble figures 
 climbed swaying ladders ; lives were risked without fear 
 or hesitation. Every man of the crew was at work or 
 else stood by for orders. The fight was an unequal one: 
 untrammeled Nature against man s confined resources. 
 
 With the grip of a Titan and jaws hard set, the man 
 at the wheel forced the Nigeria s prow into the very teeth 
 of the tornado and battled to hold her course. Winds, 
 seas and rain attacked at the same time and from all 
 directions, causing the steamer to groan from stem to 
 stern as, with timbers and bolts a-quiver, she plunged 
 into abysmal depths until the ocean s very bed seemed 
 reached, then, like some huge leviathan, she shook her 
 sides, and up, UP, UP she crawled to mountainous 
 heights, only to be repulsed again and again by the fury 
 of rampant Nature ! 
 
 Below, ports and doors were closed and securely fas 
 tened. Not a soul slept. Along a narrow alleyway, a 
 dark-robed priest stumbled back and forth, his long fin 
 gers caressing his beads, his pale lips tightly compressed. 
 In such moments appeals are mute. 
 
 In a stuffy, inside cabin, the body of a young nun, 
 and the only woman aboard, rolled to and fro in tempo 
 with the ship s mad plunging. Of all those on that 
 storm-tossed, floating world, she alone was at rest ; death 
 had mercifully silenced mortal terror and eased physical 
 pain. 
 
 But different was the scene in the smoking room : 
 neither quiet nor repose was there. Smoke from burn 
 ing tobaccos of many kinds, odors from spirits, fresh 
 and stale ; the distinctive smells of human beings packed 
 into small, ill-ventilated space added distressingly to an
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 3 
 
 already surcharged and depressed atmosphere ; and each 
 man, according to his nature, did his best to appear in 
 different to Nature s tirade. In groups they were, none 
 sat alone ; none had that courage, for in proximity there 
 is comfort. Glass after glass of scorching liquors were 
 drained for the false courage therein ; other men denied 
 themselves lest shaking fingers attest their nervousness ; 
 others attempted games of chance, despite scattering 
 chips and falling cards ; still others lied viciously of 
 dangers braved and lived through ; each and every man 
 groped for courage in self-deception. 
 
 Old coasters sat deep in their chairs, their feet far 
 apart and planted firmly on the floor. Toying with 
 pegs of brandy and soda, they pretended to revel in the 
 night s horrors and added to them by their loud-mouthed 
 conversation, which, with ghoulish glee, was fashioned to 
 torture the first-time-out men. 
 
 " Twas in just such a storm as this that the Helene 
 Woermann went down," said Longworthy, nonchalantly. 
 " Men were drowned like rats in a flooded gutter not 
 a soul left to 
 
 " She floundered at night," cut in Haywood, " but 
 how about that French steamer that only two months 
 ago went down right off here in broad daylight and on 
 as fine a day as you d want to see? " 
 
 " That s so," drawled old Wallace. " It don t mat 
 ter whether it s night or day, ships just have to go down 
 they can t help themselves - every mile of this bally 
 west coast s marked with wrecks and I wouldn t be sur 
 prised if we went down any minute." 
 
 There was silence among the tcnderfeet ; a silence of 
 fear, of curiosity to know the worst.
 
 4 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Gimme my choice," opined Boynton, " and it s quick 
 slide down the neck of a shark rather than a shallow hole 
 in the infernal bush where beastly vultures ll dig me out 
 and make merry over me carcass." 
 
 " Me too," cried Haywood and Longworthy in 
 chorus. 
 
 " Speaking of vultures reminds me of Jimsy Craig," 
 recalled Wallace. " He preferred the rusty-razor route 
 to a slow cash-in with vultures setting outside waiting for 
 his carcass but the vultures got him anyway. Poor 
 Jimsy ! " 
 
 " Steward ! Brandy, neat ! " 
 
 It was Cartwright, a tenderfoot, who spoke. His voice 
 was thin, painfully so. 
 
 " Brandy reminds me of LaRue," remarked Long- 
 worthy, lightly as though he were recalling a pleasant 
 event. " He swore he d never die sober. He kept his 
 oath. Tornado like this. Lightning like flames from 
 hell. One took a fancy to rum-soaked LaRue. Quick 
 combustion. Finish ! " 
 
 " Yes, and twas on just such a night as this, with 
 all hell let loose," began old Wallace in his slow, irrita 
 ting drawl, when Kingsf ord interrupted : 
 
 " Shut up, damn you, shut up ! Ever since Liver 
 pool you ve done nothing but dig up moth-eaten horrors 
 fit only for retailing in hell ! We grant you the climate s 
 notoriously bad, the natives ain t hail-fellows-well-met; 
 and because we re alive at sundown s no reason we ll 
 see sunrise, but there s a time to let up and it s come 
 now ! " 
 
 " Yes, it s come now," seconded Cartwright. " If 
 we ve got to go to-night, let our last moments be as
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 5 
 
 pleasant as possible. No use swallowing more agony 
 than we have to." 
 
 " Fine soldiers of fortune you chaps are," Long- 
 worthy taunted. " We re off Hell s Playground ; get 
 into the game, you ll have a better chance ; come on : 
 laugh, drink, be merry, to-morrow belongs to no man." 
 
 As though to corroborate his words, the Nigeria made 
 a deeper plunge, causing men to clutch at iron-fastened 
 tables to keep their equilibrium, while lightning flashed 
 through the room in incessant streams, fiend-driven rain 
 became more insistent, and thunder growled nearer, 
 nearer ! 
 
 Kingsford forced himself to his feet ; Longworthy s 
 taunt loaned power to his voice, and, holding his glass 
 aloft, he cried : 
 
 " Up, everybody ! Let s drink to Hell s Playground ; 
 may the devil do his damnedest, but not before we ve had 
 a go at Africa s voluptuous daughters and had a run for 
 our money." 
 
 A pandemonium of hysteria followed as strained nerves 
 sought relief before impending annihilation. Men were 
 on their feet cursing madly, vehemently, venomously, all 
 save one and he kept his chair, his glass remained un 
 touched on the table ; his eyes were looking through 
 ports whose curtains were as naught against the insist 
 ence of the hissing lightning. The play of the elements 
 fascinated him. He had never before witnessed such a 
 boisterous, tropical night, such a tirade of Nature upon 
 so grand and terrible a scale. 
 
 Kingsford was stung to renewed resentment. 
 
 " What s the matter with you, the Honorable Cecil 
 Huntingdon," he demanded, in a shrill, sarcastic staccato.
 
 6 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Afraid to drink to truth? Better swim back to 
 England and mother; Hell s Playground is no place for 
 nincompoops ! " 
 
 He emphasized the last word and its syllables came 
 slowly, derisively. 
 
 Like a flash, Huntingdon was on his feet. His eyes 
 blazed dangerously and his young, lithe, athletic form 
 was tense for action. 
 
 " He s drunk, Huntingdon, don t mind him," assuaged 
 Haywood, placing himself between the two men. 
 
 " Drunk," shrieked Kingsford, losing all control of 
 himself. " I m no more drunk than the rest of you. 
 This bally aristocrat s on me nerves. He belongs at 
 Mamma s tea-table." 
 
 With a spring, Huntingdon was upon Kingsford; he 
 snapped Kingsford s jaws shut and commanded in a low, 
 vibrant voice, which stewards hastened to obey : 
 
 " Take the fellow below and lock him in ! " 
 
 Fighting and kicking viciously and cursing Hunting 
 don roundly, Kingsford was unceremoniously led below. 
 
 Silence followed his exit. 
 
 The artillery of the heavens was immediately over 
 head ; the thunder was deafening ; like fingers of live 
 devils lightning played on this man and then on that; 
 winds rose higher and higher; the fury of the seas in 
 creased, and on all sides the water gurgled like demons 
 hungry for prey. 
 
 On the after-deck something gave way and there fol 
 lowed a rending, a groaning, as though the Nigeria s 
 very vitals were being forced apart ! 
 
 Eyes of men met!
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 7 
 
 Instinctively there was a drawing together, a feeling 
 of oneness, of common peril ! 
 
 Stripped was each man of his mask ! 
 
 Breathing was difficult ! 
 
 Pretense no longer supportable ! 
 
 Pipes and cigars went out ! 
 
 Excruciating silence reigned ! 
 
 There came terrific blasts as though overhead worlds 
 were exploding! 
 
 For a second the Nigeria poised in mid-air as though 
 to resist the perils besieging her, then, punished for her 
 audacity, she was dragged violently dozen, down, down! 
 
 Glasses and bottles spilled their contents and toppled 
 to the floor ! 
 
 Money, chips, cards, followed in quick succession. 
 Back and forth they rolled on the floor with nerve-de 
 stroying clatter! 
 
 Men, hollow-eyed and nerveless, held their breath and 
 waited; waited helpless, inert; a hell of hells horrible in 
 its intensity ! 
 
 In the compass of seconds was crowded a century of 
 agony. 
 
 " Like rats in a flooded gutter that s the way they 
 would perish ! " so said the old coasters, the men who 
 knew ! 
 
 The imperiled were going to pieces under that awful 
 menace ! when suddenly a cry cut the air like steel plunged 
 into molten metal. It was one word, only one: that of 
 MOTHER ! and it was wrung from a boyish throat. 
 
 Its terror, finality, petition for aid, were agonizing, 
 yet it eased the insufferable tension.
 
 8 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Unmindful of the plunging ship, Huntingdon leaped 
 to the boy s side and grasped his shoulders. 
 
 " It s pretty rough, old man, I know. But Hains has 
 the ship s nose right in the teeth of it. That s the way 
 he fights. Let s face it that way, you and I together, 
 old chap, you and I together ! " 
 
 Sincere, spontaneous were Huntingdon s words ; cour 
 ageous his bearing, comforting his manner. Men were 
 dragged from the very depths of physical fear. 
 
 Haywood squared his shoulders and pulled down the 
 coat of his uniform. He was again a soldier, an empire 
 builder, fearless and brave. 
 
 Stifling, hot, though the room was, Wallace tightly 
 buttoned up his coat. He, too, was ready ! 
 
 Longworthy s thoughts were not pleasant, if twitching 
 lips and wrinkled brows speak true, but suddenly, his 
 features grew rigid, he sat back in his chair, grasped its 
 arms, and was ready ! 
 
 Boynton, unconscious of his actions, opened a jack- 
 knife and commenced to whittle the stem of his pipe ; 
 then, conscious, he dropped knife and pipe, sat back, 
 and waited. 
 
 The four old coasters ; Huntingdon, the tenderfoot, 
 and Hertford, the boy, were grouped together, their 
 faces towards the bow ! 
 
 Suddenly Cartwright joined them. 
 
 A look, just one, passed swiftly from eye to eye. 
 
 Strong men were confessed and cowards were be 
 trayed ! 
 
 Cowards lay prone upon the floor, faces hidden, fingers 
 stuffed in ears. 
 
 Knees long unaccustomed to supplication s bow now
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 9 
 
 bent in abject terror! Lips unused to pray tried to 
 fashion petitions to the Most-High 1 
 
 The Nigeria pitched and plunged, quicker and shorter, 
 as a drowning thing in her death throes ! 
 
 With an unearthly cry a steward collapsed on a table, 
 then tumbled hard to the floor ! His cheek was split 
 open, blood deluged his white coat. 
 
 But men saw naught, heard naught but their own 
 thoughts. 
 
 Acts which the dead past seemed to have buried sprang 
 into magnified existence. 
 
 Hidden crimes cried aloud, and good deeds were silent. 
 Death, the relentless, the revealer, stalked abroad. Men 
 saw themselves as they were, loathsome creatures from 
 which their own natures recoiled. 
 
 Women trooped by, one by one : a mother ; a sister ; a 
 wife ; a sweetheart ; a toy of the moment ; women of all 
 kinds ; a world of them, accusing, mocking, comfort 
 ing ! 
 
 When life s forces were stretched to their fullest and 
 the tension was at breaking point, an unusually sharp ex 
 plosion overhead was followed by others in quick suc 
 cession, receding farther and farther away and diminish 
 ing in intensity until the heavens reverberated with what 
 seemed random shots let go from rapidly-retreating can 
 non ; the lightning was not so vivid, nor quick, nor near, 
 and the wind grew less wild ! 
 
 A comparative calm reigned above, while the sea con 
 tinued to pound and menace, and the ship plunged and 
 rocked, plunged and rocked ! 
 
 Wallace removed his cap and mopped the sweat from 
 his brow.
 
 10 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Cartright sat down. 
 
 Huntingdon released the boy. 
 
 Haywood undid his high military collar. 
 
 Boynton and Longworthy mechanically stooped and 
 picked up cards and chips. 
 
 Cowards uncovered their heads. 
 
 Crouching men scrambled to their feet. 
 
 Fitful came the lightning flashes ; the thunder was 
 spasmodic and faint in the distant heavens, when Boyn 
 ton spoke : 
 
 " Palaver set. West coast tornadoes always steal off 
 like that after scaring human beings to death. We ll 
 plunge and pitch for hours yet, but I ll gamble on our 
 skipper. He s Irish and luck s always with the Irish 
 when it ain t forninst them." 
 
 " Here s to Hains," cried Wallace. " May God bless 
 im and the divvil ne er scorch the hair on his hide." 
 
 The game of life was again taken up. 
 
 Cowards became brave and strong men assumed care 
 lessness. But moods were softer, less vehement ; less 
 positive were acts and words ; the air was still surcharged 
 with death s menace. 
 
 " A west coast tornado s like passion, the harlot, who 
 masquerades under the name of love," declared Haywood. 
 " Hell s flame while it lasts, then I say, Steward, now 
 we will have a drink. No alloys ; straight pegs, 
 brandy? " 
 
 Every head inclined favorably. And when the drinks 
 were served, old Wallace drawled: 
 
 " Yes, this coast s got a peculiar brand of everything: 
 climate, diseases, white men, justice, women and slander. 
 They ll greet us to-morrow at Sierra Leone."
 
 11 
 
 " And Sierra Leone s my port," sighed Boynton. 
 
 Silence fell, and, one by one, men stole off to bed. 
 The horrors of the night killed all enthusiasm natural 
 before the first port of a long sea voyage, and the croak 
 ing of the old coasters had left tenderfeet dubious 
 whether or not they cared to go ashore before their des 
 tinations were reached. 
 
 Haywood and Longworthy were alone, having a night 
 cap. The conversation was of the tornado lived through 
 and the actions of the different men. 
 
 " I tell you, Longworthy, when death beckons, every 
 man s cards are down on the table and you get the color 
 of his soul. Gad, didn t the blood of Huntingdon s il 
 lustrious and noble ancestors flare up gloriously ! He 
 ought to be in the army 
 
 " There s some scandal why he isn t," interrupted 
 Longworthy, the commoner, the man of trade. " I ve 
 traveled this coast too many times and lived Africa s 
 life too long to be fooled. He s the black sheep of the 
 family all right and he s sent out here for the climate 
 to make quick work of. A pretty tale they tell ! Be 
 trothed to Lady Marjorie, old Lord Grahame s daugh 
 ter, poor and proud the whole pack o them, and this 
 chap coming out here to Hell s Playground to make his 
 own pile ! That sounds romantic, but it don t hide the 
 truth from me. You know as well as I do that this 
 west coast has been for years the dumping ground for 
 Europe s undesirables, and this Huntingdon s one of 
 them. The like of him to engage in trade ! " and Long- 
 worthy s contemptuous sneer was pronounced. " He 
 don t know any more about trade than 
 
 " You do about gentlemen," snapped Haywood, the
 
 12 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 soldier and man of good breeding. " Peers are going 
 into trade daily they ve got to, and Cecil Huntingdon, 
 the youngest son of Lord Bedford his mother, you 
 know is the Duke of Granville s daughter shows pro 
 gression and independence to break away from polo, 
 bridge and the tiresome but gay life of the King s very 
 set and come out to rough it and wrestle wealth from 
 the great African forests. I admire his grit and no man 
 can insult him in my presence ! " 
 
 " Well, there s one consolation. Hell s Playground 
 isn t any respecter of pedigree. If the climate don t 
 get Huntingdon, the mammies will," and Longworthy 
 chortled sardonically. " A full-blooded, young chap 
 like him can no more live without women than I can exist 
 without air to breathe. The first thing he ll do will 
 be to set up a harem." 
 
 " I hope not," aud Haywood sighed reminiscently and 
 mournfully. 
 
 " Gad, Haywood, you re not going to turn sky pilot 
 and warn tenderfeet against the ladies of color. I 
 thought you were a soldier." 
 
 Longworthy s sneer killed the gentle in Haywood, and 
 he cried : 
 
 " You re right, Longworthy, Huntingdon s blonde 
 beauty ll play havoc with the mammies, and his tall stat 
 ure, kingly bearing and natural dignity 11 win half his 
 battle in trade. The savages will kotow to him on sight 
 and if he ll not get in too deep with the ladies, he stands 
 a pretty good fighting chance of making his pile and 
 marrying the Lady Marjorie. Gad, Longworthy, I m 
 glad Sierra Leone s at hand. These thirteen days and 
 nights have been agony to me. I couldn t stand it
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 13 
 
 another day. I m anxious to see the Yorubas Captain 
 Collingwood left with Morrison. I ll take one; you can 
 have the other, if she ll suit." 
 
 " She ll suit all right. Collingwood s an epicure where 
 women are concerned and what s good enough for him 
 is good enough for yours truly all right. The bally 
 ship s on me nerves, too, and a bit of women s society ll 
 be welcome after the abstemious voyage of the ship, eh, 
 old chap? " 
 
 Haywood laughed amorously and ordered another 
 drink.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN his cabin, Huntingdon pulled at his calabash pipe. 
 He was unconscious of the heat, the pounding of the 
 sea, the tossing of the ship. His thoughts were of the 
 fast-moving events of the past three months. What a 
 battle royal he had with his imperious mother to get her 
 consent to his entering trade ; then, it was only gained by 
 his agreeing to pose before the world as off on a long 
 hunting trip to Africa for big game. 
 
 " To hunt," the Lady Bedford said, " is the pastime 
 of kings, but were the world to know that a son of mine 
 was engaged in plebeian trade, our noble forbears would 
 leave their graves and come to torture me. Your an 
 cestors were gentlemen, Cecil dear; they never earned a 
 shilling in their lives ! " 
 
 But Huntingdon was tired of money lenders and sick 
 of the efforts made by his mother to keep going in the 
 world into which they were born. His oldest brother, 
 and heir to the title, had married for wealth, a woman 
 older than himself and one he respected but did not love. 
 Huntingdon s -fiancee, the Lady Mar j one, was, like Hunt 
 ingdon, long on mortgaged estates and short of cash. 
 He loved her deeply and truly, too deeply and truly to 
 ask her to share poverty and pretense with him. She 
 was worth winning, worth working for, worth throwing 
 over ancestral traditions for. It is true he shrank from 
 trade at home, but Africa was so far away he would be
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 15 
 
 spared the eye-drooping and the shoulder-shrugs of his 
 noble relatives and friends. He was not yet strong 
 enough to brave them. It was only his great love for 
 Marjorie that had recently made a man of him, that fired 
 the ambition to dare, to do, to create for himself and 
 her. He appreciated the pain and humiliation he caused 
 his mother by his decision to enter trade. His mother 
 had made a girl of him because daughters were denied 
 her. She would be lonesome without him, for his father. 
 Lord Bedford, hated bridge and drawing-rooms, teas 
 and bazaars, and, save where court etiquette demanded 
 it, he never accompanied his lady. 
 
 But what a brick the mater was after all ! She not 
 only fitted him out properly for a three-years stay in 
 Africa, but had bade him go forth and conquer ! 
 
 The influence of his father secured for him a position 
 for one year as trader with the British firm of John Holt 
 & Company at Cape Lopez in the Congo Franfais, just 
 under the equator. The salary was less than he was 
 wont to throw away in tips, but it was rich in what he 
 needed most and must have : experience. He would come 
 in direct touch with the natives ; he would learn barter 
 and sale and the values of native products ; he would 
 study the business from the ground up. After his year 
 of apprenticeship, he would branch out a trader on his 
 own account, his father having promised if he made good 
 in that one year, to get together sufficient capital to float 
 an independent trading company of which he, Cecil, 
 was to be the head. Trading houses established on the 
 coast for upwards of one hundred and fifty years would 
 have to be competed with, but the country was so rich in 
 products necessary to civilization that a new company,
 
 16 
 
 properly financed and managed, could not but reap vast 
 profits. 
 
 In consulting with Mr. Holt in Liverpool, Hunting 
 don was told the truth about his berth : the monotonous, 
 isolated life ; the unhealthy climatic conditions ; the 
 treachery of the natives. But Huntingdon s loins were 
 girded for a fight, and obstacles to be combated, only 
 whetted his determination to succeed. 
 
 In his two years as an independent trader he expected 
 to lay the foundation of a fortune sufficient for him to 
 marry upon. After his marriage, he would return to 
 Africa only periodically to look after his interests and 
 to increase his holdings. He would put first class men 
 in local charge, and in ten years, or perhaps a less time, 
 he would have an income large enough to sustain Mar- 
 jorie and himself in the state befitting their birth. 
 
 Mighty, indeed, were his plans for a tenderfoot, but 
 youth and inexperience are confident and brave only 
 graybeards draw back and hesitate. 
 
 The long voyage out, which the old coasters had 
 designated as thirteen days and nights of almost unen 
 durable torture and monotony, was of absorbing inter 
 est to Huntingdon. Worlds were revealed to him of 
 whose existence he had never even dreamed. The ship 
 was small ; the company a motley one ; not at all the 
 usual sort found aboard an ocean liner. Men were of 
 high and low degree ; others scarce knew their names, or 
 else hid their true ones under an euphonius sobriquet. 
 Each man was for himself, each was a soldier of fortune 
 out to try his luck on the notorious west coast of 
 Africa. 
 
 That coast and to-morrow were at hand. Hunting-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 17 
 
 don turned to meet them. He flung wide his port and 
 gazed into the night. 
 
 The storm had passed. 
 
 The heavens were a blue-black velvet canopy studded 
 with diamonds of fiery brilliancy. There was no moon, 
 and in the offing lay Africa, silent, mysterious and secre 
 tive ! 
 
 Huntingdon tried to pierce the blurred coast line. 
 But no definite shape formed. All was shadowy, elu 
 sive, like Africa s early history a matter of conjecture, 
 a myth, yet, withal, terribly real. 
 
 As he mused, blue-black night faded ; one by one the 
 stars silently made way for a blue dream-world out of 
 which the continent of Africa was born and took definite 
 shape; then, with a suddenness that startled, final shad 
 ows disappeared before the gentle caress of rosy-fin 
 gered dawn ; sunbeams danced on silver-crested waves 
 which but a few hours since were ridden by demons of 
 the deep, and revealed was Africa, no longer dark and 
 mysterious, but sun-flooded and enticing ! 
 
 After leagues and leagues of monotonous sea level and 
 limitless sky, Sierra Leone arose from the sea s very rim 
 a mountain of surpassing beauty. The arid sunlight 
 played upon it with startling brilliancy, revealing tree- 
 smothered heights embowered in effervescent vegetation 
 and efflorescent flowers, and throwing into bold relief the 
 sun-scorched, sandy wharfs and the crooked, winding 
 streets of Freetown ; the long, red-tin-roofed factories 
 and white houses of the Europeans, and the mud huts 
 of the natives. 
 
 And Sierra Leone Iron Mountain smiled a wel 
 come. Sierra Leone which centuries before Christ scared
 
 18 
 
 off Hannibal, the Carthaginian, and centuries later sent 
 the Portuguese away in terror by the roaring of its 
 winds ! 
 
 How harmless Africa appeared in the brilliant sun 
 light, clothed in nature s most fetching garb eternal 
 summer. 
 
 Huntingdon was thrilled through and through. 
 Whistling blithety he made his toilet ; he clothed himself 
 in immaculate white ; he was anxious to set foot on the 
 land from which he would compel wealth ; to explore a 
 British colony at first hand; and, above all, to stretch 
 his limbs in exercise. His active temperament had 
 chafed against the confinement of the ship. But the 
 first long leg of the journey was over, from now on 
 ports were more frequent and at every one he determined 
 to go ashore.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HUNTINGDON was the first white man on deck. Na 
 tives in dug-outs surrounded the steamer and, begging 
 coins, dived into the water after them, to come up smil 
 ing, the coin held between their gleaming teeth. Such 
 rapid, accurate diving Huntingdon had never before wit 
 nessed, and he was only too glad to empty his pockets 
 of loose change. 
 
 Up the Nigeria s ladders climbed the most perfect 
 specimens of black humanity Huntingdon eve" gazed 
 upon. They were the noted Krus, who are the back 
 bone of the white man s trade in Africa. Clothed in 
 singlet and loin cloths, or only the latter, each man was 
 a Hercules, and Huntingdon watched them dexterously 
 unload the cargo for Freetown. 
 
 With Longworthy and Hay wood, Huntingdon went 
 ashore. Freetown, the Port Said of the west coast, 
 and one of the most infamous slaving ports that has 
 passed into history, interested him keenly and surprised 
 him mightily. He expected tropical dreariness ; he 
 found the bustle and activity of Europe. The scene 
 was un-African to the highest degree; ships were un 
 loading and loading, coaling, and being, overhauled; 
 trained black troops were going aboard transports ; raw 
 recruits were being taken therefrom ; great cranes and 
 dredges were at work, and on the beach were cosmopoU 
 itan crowds, speaking divers tongues. There seemed ev- 
 
 19
 
 20 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 ery civilization and every want of it. Dressed-up Euro 
 peans and Asiatics elbowed almost nude bush negroes. 
 Arabs, Berbers and Mohammedan negroes were pictur 
 esque in turban and burnouse; Turks and Persians in 
 baggy trousers, broad, brilliant silk sashes and the fez; 
 white women were conspicuous by their absence and 
 white men by their deathly pallor, their languor and 
 their simple dress of white duck or khaki. 
 
 Nude negroes Huntingdon expected nor was he of 
 fended at first sight of them, but the dressed-up variety 
 seemed members of a grotesque minstrel show gotten up 
 for the white man s amusement. One couple was espe 
 cially mirth-producing and yet utterly unconscious of 
 it. The woman weighed at least three hundred pounds 
 and was garbed in a loose mother-hubbard made of print 
 goods of flaming purple covered with a bold de 
 sign of luridly colored peacocks. Her dress stood out 
 like a balloon over stiffly-starched, white embroidered 
 petticoats ; conspicuously displayed were ankles like a 
 Percheron s, fat, ugly legs, salmon pink stockings, and 
 broad, flat feet forced into tan European shoes with 
 bursted sides. On her high, conical-shaped head with its 
 mass of woolly hair was perched a bit of a black straw 
 sailor hat; she reeked to high heaven of trade perfume 
 and she was literally loaded with near-gold European 
 jewelry. She smiled broadly at Huntingdon, and, 
 through the cavity once occupied by two front teeth, 
 she lisped in English in a musical voice : 
 
 " Good day to you, master." 
 
 Longworthy guffawed gleefully and nudging Hay- 
 wood in the ribs, he cried : 
 
 " Didn t I tell you the tenderfoot had us all skinned
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 21 
 
 on mammy palaver. G wan, Huntingdon, follow her 
 up ! She could be worse, but not much ! " 
 
 The companion of the Sierra Leone mammy was a 
 pewce of a man, thin, old and wrinkled. He didn t 
 weigh one hundred pounds and he wore a cast-off dress 
 coat of a white man over a pair of red- and blue-striped 
 Turkish trousers. Coat and trousers were too large for 
 him. His arms were lost in the long sleeves of the coat, 
 its tails swept the ground, and its lapels were thrown 
 back, completely hiding his shoulders and exposing a 
 chest covered with tribal marks. The trousers were 
 turned back above his knees from whence they drooped 
 disconsolately and would have dragged on the ground 
 save for something which supported them under the fold. 
 
 Another mammy, in addition to her mother-hubbard 
 and many underskirts, wore tightly wound about her fat 
 hips a broad cotton scarf of Turkey red with huge yel 
 low polka dots. Emphasized were her enormous hips. 
 She did not walk; she just edged forward in sections 
 like a huge jellyfish. 
 
 " Opera bouffe with all its trimmings," Huntingdon 
 remarked, thoroughly amused, when he abruptly stopped 
 and gazed in silent admiration upon a native bush cara 
 van making its way to the beach. The caravan was 
 large and the carriers heavily laden with long, narrow 
 baskets stuffed with native products. The loads were 
 carried on their backs and supported from the forehead 
 by a broad band of plaited grass causing their heads 
 to constantly droop in a fatiguing manner. The car 
 riers were dirty and spent and had evidently traveled 
 far. So slight were their loin cloths that they might 
 have been nude and about their necks were unsightty
 
 22 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 ju-ju l charms to guard them from evil. They walked 
 slowly and in single file. The faces of the men were 
 hard and set, repulsive and brutal ; the mouths of the 
 women and children were open, indicating thorough 
 exhaustion ; the breasts of the women were flat, shrivelled 
 and ugly, and in addition to the loads on their backs, 
 in front, suspended from their necks in a piece of cloth 
 or hide, the women bore their children. 
 
 For the first time the tragedy of the African bush was 
 brought home to Huntingdon ; horses, drays, roads were 
 not there; all carriage was head portage and the labor 
 ers were a free people who toiled not for themselves but 
 for the white man. 
 
 Longworthy, the man of trade, was decrying the lack 
 of transport facilities and cursing the negro for his lazi 
 ness, when Haywood expostulated, translating Hunting 
 don s very thoughts. 
 
 " After all, Longworthy, it s the poor devil of a negro 
 who slaves and it s the white man who reaps the profits 
 of this wealthy continent. Don t forget, that without 
 the negro the white man would have no business here and 
 Africa would keep her wealth." 
 
 It was such an unheard of thing for a white man, and 
 a soldier, to defend the native that Longworthy cried in 
 astonishment : 
 
 " Good heavens, Haywood, you must be tapped by 
 the sun ! " 
 
 " Not at all, Brother Longworthy, but I believe in 
 giving the devil his due." 
 
 " He gets his due all right. Don t we pay him for 
 every tap of work he does for us 
 
 i Local name for fetish, superstition.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 23 
 
 " And don t we flog him unmercifully when he won t 
 work " 
 
 " He ought to be flogged the lazy 
 
 " Say, Longworthy, how much work would a white 
 man do if nature provided every want for him as she 
 does for these negroes eh, answer me? " 
 
 " Well, she don t, then why lug that in " 
 
 " Answer my question, please. Would you work un 
 less you had to " 
 
 " I m damned if he ain t sun-tapped, Huntingdon. 
 We d better get him under shelter some place." 
 
 " I m no more sun-tapped than you are. Answer me 
 this, then ; what is it we do with the natives and their 
 lands when they are no longer of use to us? " 
 
 " Why, dammit it, Haywood, you soldiers kill more 
 negroes than we traders do." 
 
 " But answer me, please, Longworthy, what is it we 
 do" 
 
 " Ah, cut it " 
 
 " I ll answer my own question then. When we ve de 
 stroyed the rubber vines in a district and scoured it 
 clean for ivory and robbed the natives of everything 
 else they possess, we desert the land and cast the natives 
 aside like squeezed lemons. We call it exploitation, 
 colonization, but it s robbery 
 
 " Hell, all colonies are built on dead men s bones 
 
 " That doesn t alter facts, and cruelty is cruelty and 
 inhumanity inhumanity no matter under what guise they 
 are administered 
 
 " It s you soldiers who administer them 
 
 " I m not denying that 
 
 " Mebbe not, but you re becoming weak-kneed. Gad,
 
 24 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon, I believe the erstwhile Captain Haywood 
 of the Royal Irish Fusiliers ll be turning sky-pilot and 
 casting his life among these brutes who d kill him at 
 the first opportunity and chop him too if they didn t 
 fear the vengeance of the very body of men to whom he 
 belongs. Every nigger s a cannibal at heart and secret 
 poisons and poisoned arrows are their favorite past- 
 times." 
 
 " You re right, Longworthy, about the cannibal and 
 the poisons," Haywood admitted, overlooking the insult 
 to his courage, because he knew that Longworthy meant 
 no insult, that anger is quick to come and quick to go on 
 the coast, that the climate is responsible for most of 
 the shortcomings of the white men. " Still, because the 
 negro does work for us indifferently, I acknowledge, 
 his efforts ought to be appreciated, and because the 
 negroes don t arise in a body and massacre us and keep 
 other white men from landing on their coast ought to 
 earn them some consideration." 
 
 " It ought, but it don t," grumbled Longworthy, as 
 he lead the way into the modern post office, where post 
 cards, letters and cables were sent off to Europe. 
 
 Then followed a promenade through Freetown. Its 
 narrow, hard-packed, sandy streets, without sidewalks, 
 were blinding as molten metal under the fierce radiance 
 of the African sun. 
 
 The heat was not the dry, blasting sort Huntingdon 
 had anticipated; it was of palm-house mugginess and 
 so dense and heavy that he seemed enveloped in a hot, 
 steaming blanket which deluged him with sweat, pre 
 vented his getting a full breath, and made his legs seem 
 like ton weights, and, though his brain willed them for-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 25 
 
 ward, they were loath to obey. For the first time he 
 experienced thorough enervation ; his pith helmet was 
 also tight and made his head ache and it seemed as 
 thought metal rods at white heat were being plunged into 
 his eyes. He was thoroughly wretched, but he forced 
 himself on ; he laughed at the grandiloquent names of 
 the various streets printed on boards nailed askew on 
 corner palm trees ; he admired the modern market on 
 Market Street and took Longworthy s word for it that it 
 contained every article exported from, or imported to, the 
 colony, but he had no desire to explore it ; however, he 
 paused in admiration amidst the native markets where fat 
 mammies and slender bush-women under the shelter of 
 huge, black European umbrellas, haggled over their wares 
 spread out on the ground in calabashes of all shape and 
 sizes, crowding streets and impeding traffic. Noisy was 
 the babel of tongues, and Huntingdon marveled at the 
 good-natured disorder of it all. 
 
 In and out of a low, one story, frame building labeled 
 King s Own Bar natives were passing ; beneath the legend 
 Sara Cole, Trader, in the doorway of her little shop 
 stood the proprietress. She smiled broadly when Hunt 
 ingdon stopped and glanced over her stock arranged on 
 crude boxes on the sidewalk. He was thinking how 
 hideous were the bold, colored designs on the heavy 
 white china dishes, how utterly unnecessary to the negro 
 were the European clothing prominently displayed to 
 attract his attention, when two tiny girls, one about five 
 and the other about three years of age, with only a 
 strand of beads about their waists, advanced, balancing 
 on their little well-poised heads copper basins holding 
 water. They were slender and dainty as though a Phid-
 
 26 
 
 ias had carved them from ebony, and they didn t notice 
 the admiring white man until they came full upon him, 
 then, the littlest one, startled, let drop her pan of water 
 and ran away screaming, while the other stood stock 
 still, too paralyzed to move. When Huntingdon passed 
 on, she ran as fast as she could go and she too screamed 
 at the top of her thin, childish voice. 
 
 " I say, old chap," Longworthy called out, " look at 
 the enormous girth of those cottonwoods ! Africa s full 
 of big timber and one day the world must look to her 
 for lumber; if the negroes could be made into practical 
 workmen, an enterprising white man could make millions 
 out of her forests." 
 
 Huntingdon knew that Longworthy spoke from actual 
 experience and he was eager to hear him expound his 
 ideas how best the timber could be worked, but such 
 complete lassitude suddenly possessed him and so blind 
 ing were the sun-baked streets after the sea s undulating 
 surface, that it was all he could do to keep his eyes open 
 and remain upright. In positive agony he followed his 
 friends, until, no longer able to endure, he cried : 
 
 " I say, don t you chaps mind this infernal heat? " 
 
 " Of course we do," answered Haywood. " But 
 there s no use growling about it. What s that quota 
 tion : Lead on, Zeus, where thou wilt. If follow I 
 must, Vd rather go smiling and free, than spuling and 
 in chains." 
 
 For several seconds Huntingdon gazed in silence upon 
 Haywood, then he asked solemnly : " Doesn t it hurt, 
 old chap, to spout classics in the tropics at this hour in 
 this infernal heat? " 
 
 Before Haywood could reply, Longworthy ejaculated:
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 27 
 
 " Was that classics? I thought it was Marie Cor- 
 relli," and pulling off his limp collar and removing his 
 coat, he threw them to a passing boy l and led the way 
 to the club. 
 
 Morrison immediately joined them. He was a fussy 
 little Englishman in whites with a broad, red silk cum- 
 merband wound about his thin hips. 
 
 " I ve got some baggage for you, Captain Haywood. 
 Yorubas : 
 
 " Softly, softly, Morrison. We ve got to first intro 
 duce Mr. Huntingdon to the club, hence the coast, then 
 he s one of us." 
 
 " First time out, Mr. Huntingdon ? " demanded Mor 
 rison. 
 
 " Cut your fool questions," growled Longworthy. 
 " Does he look like a vet? " 
 
 " Never can tell, never can tell," gurgled Morrison, 
 fussily, wriggling in his seat and drumming on the table 
 with his fingers. 
 
 " For Christ s sake," yelled Longworthy, " get away 
 from me with your rotten frazzled nerves. You ll have 
 mine going next and destroy all the good I ought to have 
 from my respite in Europe." 
 
 " Hang on to your temper, brother Longworthy, and 
 your nerves ll take care of themselves," admonished 
 Haywood. 
 
 Longworthy s temper let go. 
 
 " People in glass houses oughtn t to hurl rocks." 
 
 " My nerves ain t on edge ! " 
 
 " The hell they ain t ! " 
 
 " If I didn t know you for an otherwise decent chap, 
 Longworthy, I I d box 
 i Servant of any age.
 
 28 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " The man ain t born who can lick me 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen," soothed Morrison, " here s 
 to the only land on earth : Merrie England, and to our 
 King and Queen, God bless them." 
 
 Helmets were off, men were on their feet, and argu 
 ment was forgotten. Conversation was of England and 
 the wagging of the world in civilized countries, when 
 Haywood whispered to Morrison : 
 
 " Lead us to the mammies." 
 
 In a brick bungalow, surrounded by a wide veranda 
 and reached by a long flight of wooden steps, Morrison 
 brought forth the Yorubas. They were full-grown 
 negresses, with slow-moving amorous eyes, sensuous 
 mouths and gleaming white teeth. 
 
 The prettier of the two ran to Huntingdon and tried 
 to take his hand, but Haywood turned the girl about, 
 minutely examined her, then commanded : 
 
 " Get down to the Nigeria on time. No didoing. 
 Look the other one over, Longworthy." 
 
 " Oh, she s all right," expostulated Morrison. " Col- 
 lingwood s guarantee for both." 
 
 " Yes, but how long is it since Collingwood sailed and 
 who has had the mammies since then? An ounce of in 
 spection s worth a hogshead of trouble," growled Long- 
 worthy, examining the girl. 
 
 " You don t suspect me! " cried Morrison. 
 
 " Never can tell, never can tell," and Longworthy 
 mimicked Morrison s tones and words at the club. 
 
 " You re all right," finally agreed Longworthy. 
 " Get down to the Nigeria on time and see that you 
 don t get lost on the way, savvy? " and he pinched the 
 girl s arm none too gently.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 29 
 
 " I say, Mr. Huntingdon," cut in Morrison, eagerly. 
 " I can get you a Timene. New to white man, but such 
 a beauty she s worth the training." 
 
 " Thanks, Morrison, I ll nose about for myself." 
 
 " Sec that you nose sure," retorted Longworthy, 
 acridly. " Even an old coaster s often fooled." 
 
 Huntingdon leisurely turned and examined the cheap 
 prints on the rough, wooden walls ; then, slowly, he 
 sauntered to the verandah. 
 
 " He s a bit squeamish, eh? " remarked Morrison. 
 
 " Oh, he ll work out of it," answered Haywood. 
 
 " The quicker, the better for him," growled Long- 
 worthy. 
 
 Haywood followed Huntingdon to the verandah, and, 
 placing his hand on Huntingdon s shoulder, he said, 
 affectionately : 
 
 " This mammy palaver, it s a serious thing, my boy. 
 The best guarantee is the wife-that-was of an English 
 man gone home even that s not sure. My young 
 Yoruba s taken with you. You can have her. The 
 sooner you load up the better for you ; it s the custom 
 of the country." 
 
 " Thanks, old chap, but I won t load up just yet. 
 No offense, I hope? " 
 
 " It s your funeral," and Haywood shrugged his 
 shoulders, dismissing the subject. " I m due at the bar 
 racks on Tower Hill. Come along and see our West 
 Indian regiments. Finest in the land. We recruit our 
 Colonial troops here, you know." 
 
 But Huntingdon was too fatigued for further exer 
 tion. It was all he could do to get to the beach, and 
 take canoe for the Nigeria. Thoroughly spent, he sank
 
 30 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 into his long steamer chair and fell into a dose, from 
 which he was awakened by the soft, musical laughter of 
 women, and a grunt of disapproval from old Wallace 
 stretched in a chair beside him. 
 
 The laughter came from the Yorubas, who were cross 
 ing the deck. The brilliant sunlight brought out their, 
 grace, their symmetry, their youth, their picturesque 
 ensemble. Their feet, arms and neck were bare and 
 their polished skin shone like rich ebony, while draped 
 over a short, striped petticoat and brought up under the 
 arms, across the breasts, was a cloth of fine texture whose 
 bright hues effectively set off slender throats, swelling 
 bosoms and tapering arms and whose clinging quality 
 outlined forms sylph-like, sinuous and tempting. Their 
 heads were swathed in fascinating silken kerchiefs and 
 they walked with superb poise and grace. But for 
 Huntingdon the artistic effect was spoiled because of 
 the cheap European beads and bracelets and the nauseat 
 ing odor of trade scent. 
 
 Just a few feet from the white men, the Yorubas 
 stopped, and, affecting an earnest conversation, they 
 shot sly glances at the white men, and coquettishly ar 
 ranged their necklaces and bracelets. 
 
 " I thought you d attract the baggage," sneered Wal 
 lace. " Women are all alike - snares to bag men, and 
 we re fool enough to run into the net. I doubt if the 
 oldest of those girls is sixteen, yet they re as wise as owls, 
 and they remind me of royal pythons ; slow-moving, 
 languid, gorgeously rigged out, and apparently harmless, 
 but once in their toils, the very sap of life is squeezed 
 out of ye! Steer clear of them, me boy, steer clear 
 But can ye, that s the palaver; can ye? "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 31 
 
 " Africa certainly breathes sex, Mr. Wallace." 
 
 " Smellin calico s man s general pastime if it ain t, 
 then he ain t normal or else there ain t no petticoats 
 floating about. How many of us are true to our women? 
 So bally few you can t find em. Where are the white 
 men now? Off shore, mammy- palavering. No, sir, you 
 can hide it all you ve a mind to, but all men think about 
 is women. D ye reckon it s the climate and spirits alone 
 that sends men off their nuts out here? Not by a long 
 shot; it s mostly wenches. Here comes another piece 
 of baggage the three o em s been sent aboard for 
 somebody s use." 
 
 A very young girl joined the Yorubas. She was of 
 the Jakri tribe, and her slight, graceful, childish figure 
 was seductively outlined by a single piece of rich, red, 
 soft cloth, drawn tight across her gently swelling 
 bosoms. Her coloring was rich copper, and her face 
 was unusually piquant for a native s. 
 
 " She s not more n thirteen," went on Wallace, disgust 
 lilting through his tones, " and she ll keep thin, ornery 
 like that till she s twenty, then she ll commence to get 
 fat. At twenty -five she ll be ugly fat, and at thirty- 
 five she ll be an old hag, but she ll be that sooner if she 
 bears pickins. Then in her old age she ll return to her 
 native town and live on the fame that s hers because she 
 was wife to a white man. Say what you will, Mr. 
 Huntingdon, mammy palaver moves the world, it s meat 
 and drink to us. When we re sold, Ave damn the women ; 
 when they re sold, they damn us. So it goes on, attrac 
 tion and repulsion, so-called love and hate eternal re 
 petition." 
 
 " You re quite right," agreed Huntingdon, filling his
 
 32 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 pipe, lighting it, then handing the tobacco pouch to the 
 old coaster. Wallace helped himself and through puffs 
 of smoke he said a bit sadly : 
 
 " Fellers feel more equal when tobacco s a-burninV 
 
 It was the first time the old man had ever acknowl 
 edged Huntingdon s superior caste, and, ignoring the 
 implication, Huntingdon said hastily : 
 
 " Men must have their fling an affair now and then 
 puts some sauce into life. Who d be an anchorite? " 
 
 " Wise men, out here," laconically replied Wallace. 
 
 The men smoked for some time in silence, then the old 
 coaster continued: 
 
 " I hear, Mr. Huntingdon, that you re affianced to a 
 bonny lady at home. It s the divvil s own time ye ll have 
 out here to be true to her, and, if ye ll take the advice of 
 an old rake who s been ruined by black wenches, ye ll 
 leave them severely alone. Me wife and kiddies got 
 wind of me mammy-palaverin out here and for twenty- 
 odd years they ve never recognized me. I went home 
 this time solely to make peace but me woman s one of 
 them critters who never could overlook a nigger wench, 
 or any other sort ; no, sir, I m done for " the old fel 
 low sighed, then he continued in his customary reckless 
 spirit, " The natives know the value of their women and 
 they play upon all that is ornriest in us and we ve got to 
 pay the piper. More fools us. Look at them * * * 
 over there," and, raising his voice he yelled at the women : 
 " Get below where ye belong or I ll kick you into the 
 sea." 
 
 The women turned abruptly and upset an old Hausa 
 merchant, picturesque in turban and burnouse and hung 
 with decorated leathers which he was about to offer to
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 33 
 
 the white men. Laughing at the old Mohammedan s 
 discomfiture, the women balanced themselves lightly 
 upon the companion ladder, then disappeared below just 
 as Skipper Hains stentorian tones sang out : 
 
 " I say, Mr. Wallace, why don t you bring Mr. Hunt 
 ingdon for ard here to watch the deckers come off? 
 He ll see more native life right here than in all his tramp 
 about Freetown and without the fatigue of exertion and 
 danger from sun-stroke." 
 
 On the foredeck, seething with cinematographic bril 
 liance beneath the blinding, arid sun, was a panorama of 
 activity and warring colors, of ornate clothing and of 
 bush nudity that held Huntingdon enthralled. It was 
 the excitement of a general exodus, amidst a babel of 
 tongues, as family after family poured over the Nigeria s 
 sides, scrambling for places, while others were crowding 
 the ladders and still others waited below in lighters for a 
 chance to board the ship. Fat mammies bundled to 
 the very eyes in European clothing and burdened with 
 enormous packs and babies climbed awkwardly over the 
 bulwarks, while the scantily draped, slender bush-woman, 
 pipe in mouth, load balanced lightly on head and a bab} r 
 slung securely from her shoulder in a strip of animal s 
 hide, followed nimbly after, and, with eager, alert eyes, 
 sought out the best place for the encampment of her 
 family during the long voyage down the coast. Alterca 
 tions were many and heated as women fought for posi 
 tions ; babies cried lustily as their tender noses and 
 toes were jammed and bruised; children clothed princi 
 pally in beads and ju-ju charms clung to their mother s 
 limbs, wide-eyed, yet calm ; while men swaggered about
 
 34 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 unencumbered and free, for it was the East where 
 women are as mud beneath the feet of their masters and 
 slaves to their whims. 
 
 Conspicuous were a group of Mohammedans return 
 ing from a pilgrimage to Mecca. The men were tall, 
 gaunt, lean, and black as the shades of night, with green 
 turbans on their heads and their bodies fascinatingly 
 swathed in voluminous white. Their feet were thrust 
 into huge goat-skin sandals and across their shoulders 
 were slung small leathern cases containing a line from 
 El Koran. Behind them trailed awkward human bundles 
 enveloped in white. They sought out the starboard 
 deck, which was less crowded because it contained no 
 shade. One by one they sank on the deck, the bundles 
 cast aside their ghost-like wrappings and revealed were 
 fat, ugly, repulsive negresses, several of whom suckled 
 infants, while a little girl of perhaps two years of age 
 leaped from her mother s arms and toddled about, bump 
 ing into others and laughing gleefully. She was per 
 fectly formed and about her neck, wrists, waist and 
 ankles were pale blue beads which contrasted beautifully 
 with her ebony skin. Again the artist in Huntingdon 
 was aroused and he longed to possess her, but, like 
 mother, like daughter, he reflected, and he contented 
 himself with watching the child s graceful movements 
 while old Wallace remarked: 
 
 " Mohammedanism s the religion for these negroes be 
 cause it permits what they ve always enjoyed: plurality 
 of wives, and it takes from them their greatest vice, get- 
 tin drunk. One sober nigger is worth a whole raft of 
 drunken so-called Christian niggers. Anyhow, it ain t 
 no place to send white women out here to teach God-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 35 
 
 palaver to a lot of heathen who don t want to be taught, 
 who don t want to and won t change their ways and 
 who were a bally sight better off before they were taught 
 the difference between right and wrong. These savages 
 are Mwmoral, they ain t immoral, until Christian mis 
 sionaries get after them and make hypocrites and liars 
 out o them. I haven t lived thirty years out here for 
 nothin and I tell you a nigger s a nigger and he ll always 
 remain one. You savvy don t you, that them freaks 
 of women and little girls in mother-hubbards and them 
 boys in little shirts over cloths and those men mostly 
 in night shirts are rigged out like that by the mission 
 aries? Look at that specimen over there," and the old 
 coaster pointed out a boy of perhaps fourteen wearing 
 a much-too-small calico shirt ending just above a pot 
 belly with an abnormal navel and a much-too-long cloth 
 which prevented his taking a step without holding it 
 up. " Ain t he the ornriest-looking freak you ever saw 
 compared with those bush-boys clothed only in a 
 girdle? " 
 
 " The bush-boy certainly looks more natural," Hunt 
 ingdon agreed. 
 
 " Might as well buy sealskin sacques for a polar bear 
 as send clothing to these heathen one needs em about 
 as much as t other. If you was down there you d smell 
 the stink of them dressed-up niggers," and the old 
 coaster fairly spat disgust. " I can spin you tales, and 
 true ones too, about missionaries that would make your 
 head swim 
 
 " Please, Mr. Wallace," interrupted Huntingdon, in 
 whom the Anglican faith was strong, " leave me some of 
 the beliefs in which I ve been brought up."
 
 36 
 
 " Ah, me boy, you ve left civilization and Christianity 
 far behind and you ll learn more in one month about the 
 folly of attempting them here than you d glean in a 
 lifetime from the readin of books and the mouthin s 
 of sky-pilots. You can t make anything but a nigger 
 out of a nigger and you can t change their centuries 
 of superstitions and habits over night and that s what 
 the missionaries are trying to do. And the result? 
 Making hypocrites, liars and conscious sinners where be 
 fore only naturalness existed. If that s religion, then 
 sky-pilots had better rest at home. Look at the niggers 
 down there, a lot of beasts snarlin for lairs, and then 
 cast your eyes upon them Mohammedans. The latter s 
 mindin their own business and stickin to theirselves. 
 Poor though them beggars are, they think they ll ne er 
 see Mahomet s Paradise unless at least once in their life 
 time they make the journey to Mahomet s grave, and so 
 they scringe and screw and when they ve got enough 
 together to pay their way, off with their wimmin and 
 their pickins they start. It takes them months, some 
 times years to trek it, but years ner distance don t count 
 with them ; they live only to die, and they thrive on 
 what would starve a fasting monk as on they trek to 
 Mecca. Repeatedly they run afowl of roving Arabs 
 and Berbers and are robbed of their little, but other and 
 more fortunate pilgrims help them out, for charity, you 
 savvy, is one of their greatest virtues. There was a sky- 
 pilot on the voyage going home with me last time who 
 was so ignorant and bigotted that he wouldn t even 
 acknowledge that there could be any virtues at all in a 
 Mohammedan. To him Mohammedans and savages are 
 alike : both heathen. And one time when I called to pay
 
 S7 
 
 my respects to an English mission lady up on the Niger, 
 there was a sewin class goin on and standin off wist 
 fully lookin on wit a child tuggin at her breasts was a 
 young woman who was actually sufferin to join the 
 others, but the English lady would have none o her * be 
 cause says the mission lady she s a Magdalene. Sez 
 I, D ye come out fer to save sinners or saints? Sez the 
 lady, She s a common person, a huzzy. Sez I, An 
 what s the others ? Proper wives, sez the lady. Oh, 
 they are, sez I ; well I ll be tellin your Saintship that 
 all them women belong to one man and in his town last 
 night that one there a-teachin the others was offered 
 to me for six pence Ah, ye needn t be blushin and 
 turnin yer head, sez I ; and ye can t make fish o one 
 and fowl o the other when old Wallace is by, and that 
 night I walked back to the town of the old chief s to 
 settle the palaver in me own mind why one should be 
 called a Magdalene and the others classed as saints. And 
 what d ye think I found the Magdalene was a Mag 
 dalene because a man who had bought her as his wife 
 didn t pay for her in full and her father took her from 
 him and sold her to a man who offered to pay a little 
 more for her, but that skunk also defaulted and the 
 poor girl was sold to a dried-up ape old enough to be 
 her father. Now it s known how many marriages this 
 girl s made, but there s no way o tellin how much mixin 
 up the other lot s done, owned as they are by an onery 
 old beast who lives off the wages of the bodies of his 
 women. And that selfsame night back to their native 
 town comes the missiongirls, and with the Magdalene 
 they were all up to their dirty, bush tricks. Now what 
 have ye got to say to that? "
 
 38 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon made no answer, and, after a time, the 
 old coaster remarked, apropos of the Mohammedan 
 women : 
 
 " Did ye ever in all your life see such ugly, stinldn 
 women! If they re the sort in Mahomet s heaven, then 
 every Mohammedan ought to turn Christian." 
 
 The old coaster chortled at his own joke, then, re 
 senting Huntingdon s continued silence, muttering to 
 himself he wandered away. 
 
 Huntingdon had forgotten Wallace nor did he hear 
 his rambling, drawling narrative. He was completely 
 absorbed in the Mohammedans. He admired their poise, 
 their indifference. The pitiless sun beat down upon them 
 with all its relentless ardor, but they heeded it not ; their 
 eyes roamed seaward over the water s blinding surface 
 indifferent to its glare ; noises vibrated about them, but 
 they heard them not ! Motionless as milestones of Fate 
 they remained tranquil and unmoved amidst the life and 
 unrest of the present. What perfect detachment: to 
 ignore the present, to dream always and only of the fu 
 ture: Mahomet s heaven with its principal delights the 
 houris! The East enthralled Huntingdon ; her languor, 
 her fanaticism permeated his very arteries while imagina 
 tion s wings flew with him to the swift-flowing, sacred 
 Nile on whose bosom lazily float broad khiassas, laden 
 with bersim, and -feluccas, bearing natives and donkey- 
 boys; where blue-robed women fill their goolahs; where 
 the faithful perform their ablutions, then, their sandals 
 laid aside, kneel on the banks, and, with their faces to 
 wards Mecca, pray to the One and Only God; where a 
 gang of conscripts, chained ankle to ankle on their way to
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 39 
 
 the river are silent and indifferent to their fate as is the 
 way of the True Believer! 
 
 Then in memory s train came Cairo with its myriad 
 nameless mosques and minarets; its houses of white 
 stone and plaster, with flat roofs fashioned into gardens 
 and promenades ; its narrow, noisy bazars with their 
 little mushrabieh panels, from behind which peep out 
 women of the East, clothed as the East in barbaric 
 splendor, as merchants haggle over antichi with gullible 
 tourists from the new West ! 
 
 Colossal, awe-inspiring loom the pyramids of Gizeh 
 and Sakkara, tombs of mighty rulers returned to the 
 dust from whence they sprung, and the Sphinx of 
 Ephesus, inscrutable, disdainful and sarcastic, taunts 
 the present with its secrets and defies time to decipher 
 them ! The Sphinx, fitting symbol of Egypt s peoples, 
 transcendentally alluring and romantic and mysterious 
 with a thousand incomputable yesterdays ; the riddle of 
 the past, the wonder of the present, the defier of the 
 future, and withal a true Moslem : fatalistic and silent. 
 Time has gone and time may come, but the Sphinx turns 
 the same scarred countenance to human gaze, indifferent 
 to the thoughts of men ; indifferent to Time s assaults ; 
 inexorable as Fate itself; a monument of permanence 
 amidst constant change! 
 
 How hot and waste and still lies the Sahara, a vast 
 sea of opalescent sand, beneath the scorching, blasting 
 sun and the invading khamsin, and now and then in the 
 vast expanse, stretching hundreds and hundreds of miles, 
 is an oasis as a gem in a cloth of faded gold. To it, 
 across paths familiar to the feet of untold centuries
 
 40 
 
 come : caravans of awkward camels, their eyes inquisitive 
 and restless in their small heads, their ever-moving jaws 
 chewing the cud of knowledge of Moslem and her peo 
 ples ; Berbers and Arabs riding like the winds, their 
 swathed bodies one with their noble white steeds ; sais 
 plodding patiently beside laden donkeys ; pilgrims a-f oot, 
 weary and thirsty ! For cool and restful is the shade of 
 the date palms, nourishing is their sweet nut, and re 
 freshing is the water! 
 
 Tis early morn at Assiout and Abyssinian slaves are 
 being sold in the market place; their supple, smooth, 
 rounded youth and big, open, wondering eyes, contrast 
 ing sympathetically with the shriveled skin and piercing, 
 crafty, half-closed eyes of the aged Arabian slave- 
 dealers. 
 
 Tis high noon, all nature rests and the pitiless sun 
 reigns supreme. 
 
 Gorgeous is the sunset o er the Mokkattan Hills ; 
 plaintive is the evening sky ; mysterious is submerged 
 Philae under a brilliant moon; majestic and silent is 
 Pharaoh s Bed at Assouan. 
 
 Tis night ! Dingy cafes, thick with the tobaccos of 
 the east, breathe assignations, lust and crime. Coffee is 
 thick and perfumed with ambergris; drugs are many and 
 stupefying; and Orientals and Occidentals are fasci 
 nated unto helplessness by the lure of it all ! 
 
 Oh, Egypt, the sorceress, the betrayer, the seducer, 
 the enchantress ! 
 
 Oh, Ramadam, the fast by day ; the hours of lazy 
 dreaming; the sunset signal; the call of the Muezzins; 
 the uncovering of millions of cooking pots ; the escape 
 of their tempting odors ; the night of gorging and feast-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 41 
 
 ing and orgy, then the peep of day from out Nile s 
 sacred bosom when all True Believers turn towards the 
 East and demand pardon for their sins from Allah, the 
 One and Only God ! 
 
 And now the khamsin is blowing: that hot wind of 
 Egypt and the Soudan, that withers and parches the 
 skin until it cracks in its misery ! 
 
 Tribesmen and fierce dervishers bow down before it. 
 
 Allah kerim.i 
 Allahu akbar.% 
 La ilaha illa-llah. 3 
 
 Through the remembered moan of wind and rush of 
 sand o er Huntingdon s sensitive being there flowed the 
 plaintive sing-song of the river workers : 
 
 Turn, O, Sakkia, turn to the right and turn to the left. 
 
 The Nile floweth by night and the balasses are filled at dawn; 
 
 The maid of the village shall bear to thy bed the dewy gray goolah 
 
 at dawn; 
 Turn, O, Sakkia. 
 
 Then followed the weird Alla-haly m alla-haly; the 
 monotonous beat of darabukheh and the brisk music of 
 the exciting fantasias. Ghawsees sway voluptuously in 
 the Oriental dance ; their reddened eyelids, fringed with 
 heavy lashes darkened with kohl, languorly open and 
 close, permitting fleeting glimpses of eyes, dark and 
 moist ; tiny, white teeth gleam provokingly through car 
 mine-tinted lips ; bracelets clink musically on rounded 
 wrists and ankles, swelling bosoms rise and fall in amor- 
 
 1 God is bountiful. 
 
 2 God is most great. 
 
 s There is no Deity but God.
 
 42 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 cms rhythm and the vermiculations of the abdomen grow 
 wilder and wilder, stealing from men their senses and 
 planting therein the ardent sting of desire ! 
 
 Thus in Huntingdon s brain the spiders of memory 
 wove an intricate design, without rhyme or continuity, 
 of Egypt, Luxor, Karnak ; of crooked, winding, filthy 
 streets ; of pariah dogs ; of vermined, ragged beggars ; 
 of hapless fellaheen; of minarets, whole citadels of 
 them; of kiosks; of temples; of Muezzins; the constant 
 chanting of prayers, of petitions and the perpetual 
 thanksgiving to the ever-present and terrifying Prophet. 
 
 Huntingdon withered beneath the scorn of the white- 
 clad, silent Mussulman, for him, a Nazarene and an un 
 believer! He recognized what an insignificant creature 
 he was, viewed from the aisles of their great antiquity ! 
 
 La ilalia illa-llah! 
 
 Conscription, corvee, death are received with a shrug 
 the fatalistic malaish of the True Believer. All is 
 written, it must come to pass ! 
 
 The Orient, the irresistible, passion-begetting, sense- 
 disturbing Orient! Musty as Time itself, rotten with 
 disintegration ; putrid and decadent with the offal of cen 
 turies and peoples, crimes and virtues, lust and greed ! 
 History making, history destroying! A dust heap of 
 debris, a monument of preserved education ! A riddle 
 and a Paradox ! An assertion and a denial ! 
 
 Huntingdon was alone on the upper deck : the only 
 white man who felt the Call of the East and succumbed 
 to its witchery. 
 
 A sunset gun boomed in the harbor of Freetown. 
 
 Huntingdon attuned his ear, awaiting the Muezzin s 
 call to prayer. The material call did not reach him, but,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 43 
 
 below, every Mussulman s face was turned towards 
 Mecca. Sandals were removed and chaplets brought 
 forth. Solemnly, silently, now rising to their full 
 height, now prostrate on the deck, indifferent to the 
 jeers of men and the mocking laughter of women, prayers 
 were silently offered to Allah, the one and only God. 
 
 Him the Just, the Living, the Irresistible; the Great 
 est Giver; the Great Provider; the One who opens to 
 truth the hardened hearts of men; the Only, the Eternal, 
 the Immutable One! 
 
 There is no other God but God and Mahomet is His 
 Prophet! 
 
 Oh, the lure of Allah, the seduction of the East ! 
 Huntingdon went down before them as does a sand-heap 
 before the onrushing khamsin. He leaned heavily 
 against the ship s railing, his head dropped on his arms 
 and drowsiness o ercame him. The heat of Africa s 
 sun was in his arteries, over-exertion tenanted him. He, 
 hypercivilized and of a long race of England s noblest 
 and best men, was but a sensitive instrument, high pitched 
 and high strung, awaiting a player to bring forth the 
 melody of laughter or the wail of tears. He was but a 
 puppet, a marionette for Africa, the inexorable, to do 
 with as she willed ! 
 
 Near the horizon line in the west, the sun, a flaming 
 disk of fire, hung low, bathing the world in vivid pink 
 and gold, but for a breath of time only, for, like a heavy 
 plummet let fall by a hand tired of holding it, it was 
 plunged precipitously downward. Left behind were 
 streamers of gorgeous colors which, spreading o er ex 
 panse of water and sky, quickly dissolved into soft, 
 amber shades, the precursors of the mystic velvety blue
 
 44 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 of the plaintive African night, while in the east a slen 
 der crescent showed the moon at her birth ! 
 
 Suddenly Huntingdon, the human reed, shivered vio 
 lently in the chilled breath of impersonal night, then a 
 harsh, vibrant call rang out bringing him back with a 
 jerk to the present and the mundane. 
 
 It was the half-hour bugle before dinner. Mechanic 
 ally, Huntingdon went below to dress. 
 
 Boynton gave a farewell dinner to his fellow passen 
 gers and to his cronies from Freetown. It was a 
 bandobust which would give him something agreeable 
 to think about in his lonely bush life. What mat 
 tered it though he borrowed money with which to pay 
 for wines and viands, what mattered it that he and his 
 merrymaking companions abetted Africa in her relent 
 less warfare against the white alien ! Men wanted to 
 forget the hour, the place ; reckless was their abandon 
 nor thought they of consequences. The orgy oppressed 
 Huntingdon. He wanted to be alone, in the night with 
 Africa - alone with the dreams that lilted drowsily 
 through his fever-touched brain. 
 
 On the upper deck he gazed listlessly out into the 
 night. He had no knowledge of how long he sat there, 
 nor of his thoughts. He knew only that Captain Hams 
 hand was on his shoulder and the Irishman s hearty voice 
 cried : 
 
 " It s no place for ye, me lad, out in the African night. 
 The dews bring dysentery and death. Come ! " 
 
 In the skipper s quarters forward electric lights beamed 
 attractively and broad low divans invited relaxation and 
 repose. On one of them Skipper Hains threw himself,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 45 
 
 and, motioning Huntingdon to outstretch on another, he 
 ordered champagne with plenty of ice, and growled: 
 
 " Land on shore s a-simmering like a mud cake in a 
 blast furnace, me lad. It s glad I am to be on board 
 again." 
 
 He appeared not to notice Huntingdon s silence nor 
 the languor that possessed him, but he gave him most 
 of the wine, which, coupled with the home-like atmosphere 
 of the skipper s quarters, brought back Marjorie and 
 England to Huntingdon and caused him to demand 
 abruptly : 
 
 " I say, Skipper, d you believe in love? " 
 
 The skipper s blue eyes danced merrily and delicious 
 and thick was his brogue: 
 
 " Thot s wan av thim dom fool questions, and me an 
 Irishman from Belfast ! It s all the gurrls I love, so 
 let s drink to our wimmin, me lad, our port in the storms 
 of life, our compass in dangerous channels and strange 
 roadways ! May they never know the worst of us and 
 we see only the best in them. Chin, chin ! " 
 
 Both men drained their glasses, and a woman s laugh 
 floated up from amongst the deckers. 
 
 " It s lots of mammy-palaver I ve seen, me lad," con 
 fessed Skipper Hains, his serious thoughts driving the 
 brogue from his speech. " There re only two sorts of 
 women in the world : the good and the bad. Even the 
 worst old rooster that comes out to this coast respects a 
 good woman, but as to the other sort they didn t be 
 come so by themselves and I won t sling mud at them. 
 I m human and I don t expect women nor men to be 
 angels. And I m Irish and a pair o red lips are mighty
 
 46 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 tempting, but these long coast voyages and the uncer 
 tainty of life keep me from marrying and having a nest 
 of me own, but sometimes sometimes and the 
 laughter died out of the merry blue eyes and the skipper 
 never finished his sentence. 
 
 Huntingdon sensed the skipper s loneliness and was 
 silent with him and in that silence a friendship between 
 the two men was born that was to endure for life. 
 
 Six bells rang out and the skipper sprang to his feet, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " Bedtime, me lad. I m Irish and I need all the sleep 
 I can get. After to-night and for the next ten days 
 it s not much off the bridge I ll be. We re approaching 
 the most treacherous part of the coast and it s mother s 
 sons like ye, Irish Hains has in his keeping. Irish 
 Hains is called the best skipper that sails this coast and 
 he must live up to his reputation. If it lies in his power 
 to take ye safely out and bring ye back again, he ll 
 do it, for neither spirits nor wenches nor gambling games 
 can seduce him from his post." 
 
 Huntingdon smiled. 
 
 " I know, me lad, it s blarney ye think I m giving ye, 
 but it s many a squadron of blue divvils Irish Hains has 
 seen retreat under full sail before a stiff breeze of 
 blarney." 
 
 As Huntingdon s slim, white clad figure disappeared 
 down the companion ladder, Hains called out : 
 
 " And if thim same blue divvils come after ye, seek 
 out Irish Hains, for it s not lonesome ye need to be on 
 the Nigeria, and don t forget to be after taking your 
 daily dose of quinine in the morning." 
 
 Huntingdon s cabin was stifling after the skipper s
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 47 
 
 cool quarters ; the air-chute charmed no breeze from the 
 humid night, but it brought to Huntingdon the gossip 
 of the native crewboys who attended their masters pleas 
 ure. Every little act of the white man was commented 
 upon, confidential affairs were made public property. 
 
 After what seemed an eternity, Huntingdon heard 
 Boynton take leave of his compagnons de voyage and the 
 going ashore of the visitors from Sierre Leone, then the 
 gentle wash of the waters against the Nigeria s side lulled 
 him to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 RELUCTANT morning crept forth from a thick haze ; 
 Sierra Leone sweltered beneath vaporous clouds ; not a 
 wind stirred, and the heavy, moist heat continued. 
 
 By ten o clock coaling was finished ; hatches were 
 closed ; surf boats hung from their davits ; crewboys 
 took their place among the deckers; anchor was pulled, 
 and without any fuss, the Nigeria was off on the long 
 trail. 
 
 Towards noon, the fog lifted, but the dead calm con 
 tinued ; higher and higher climbed the thermometer ; the 
 heat was withering ; the glare of the sun blinding. 
 
 A stoker looked out from the shade of the fore peak, 
 his pale, thin, nervous face contrasting sharply with the 
 full, black, stolid faces of the deckers, who, under the 
 pitiless sun, lay in all attitudes of abandon. It was 
 difficult to tell where one family began and the other 
 ended, so jumbled together were they, like friendly 
 cattle. Some slept ; others gazed into space ; nobody 
 talked ; nobody moved ; the East knows how to live the 
 East. 
 
 Suddenly, a woman threw off her cotton covering and 
 stretched herself flat on the deck. Towards the fiery 
 heavens her face was turned. A spasm of acute pain 
 wrung her heavy features ; perspiration streamed from 
 her ; she dug her nails into the deck ; she muttered some 
 low words ; those nearest her drew away, giving her more 
 room and then her child was born ! 
 
 48
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 49 
 
 There was no excitement ; not even comment. Her 
 own family looked on indifferently for it was Africa 
 where women are numbered with the beasts. 
 
 The mother slept the sleep of exhaustion. Event 
 ually, she would awake, rub the infant with palm-oil, 
 hang ju-ju charms about its tender neck, and suckle it, 
 as beasts suckle their young! No kiss, no caress would 
 be its joy ; no wrapping in soft, protecting cloths ; no re 
 joicing, no christening; no comments by loving relatives 
 and admiring friends. Unattended it came into the 
 world, unattended it would pass through the world, un 
 attended it would leave the world. Each must fight his 
 own battle! Woe to the weakling and the timid! 
 
 Unlike the foredeck, the upper deck was deserted. It 
 was suicide for a white man to remain thereon. The 
 main deck was double-canvased in an attempt to keep 
 out the sun s blinding glare, and on its sunny side cooks 
 mates and galleyboys passed lazily back and forth, in 
 differently attending to their duties. 
 
 A galleyboy, clad only in trousers, bearing a tureen 
 of hot soup to the forecastle hands, was bumped into 
 by a Sierre Leonion cretvboy. The dish crashed to the 
 deck ; two scalded, frightened men glared at each other, 
 then came the argument in pidgin English. Each ac 
 cused the other. Blows were about to descend, when 
 the Second Officer happened by. The crewboy was 
 ordered to the forward deck and forbidden to leave it. 
 The galleyboy was commanded to clean the deck. 
 
 He slouched away, only to slouch back again carry 
 ing a pail and a mop. Indifferently and indolently he 
 swabbed the deck, then, with his elbows resting on the 
 lower rail, he gazed steadfastly at the strip of blinding
 
 50 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 silver water athwart his vision. His head dropped to 
 the scuttle and he slept, to be rudely awakened by the 
 vicious kick of a passing deck hand, followed by the 
 sardonic laughter of a big, burly negro who all but dozed 
 over his task of polishing brass trimmings. 
 
 The galleyboy growled ominously, murder looked 
 from out his eyes, deep set under low brows ; sullenly he 
 slouched aft where he stopped to tell his troubles to 
 the Sierre Leone washerman, only to receive another kick 
 for his pains ; then swearing softly, he disappeared. 
 
 To the washerman all clothing looked alike. Coarse, 
 much-soiled flannels were commingled with fine, fairly 
 clean white linens. The work was bad, but it was the 
 only kind available. White men could take it or leave 
 it; they took it with a curse as they take everything 
 Africa deals out to them. 
 
 Just then tenderfeet were experiencing some of the 
 phases of hell the old coasters had pictured to them. 
 Nor were the old coasters exempt from suffering; each 
 and every man was absolutely miserable, as, on the 
 shaded side of the main deck, they lay outstretched on 
 long steamer chairs, unwashed and dishevelled. Heads 
 ached; throats were parched; eyeballs burned; nerves 
 were all a-quiver; odors of cooking smote sensitive 
 nostrils, and nausea hovered over men theretofore 
 strangers to it. It was the day after the night before 
 and that night had been a strenuous one. No man s 
 temperature was normal; movement meant a deluge of 
 perspiration and there was but one desire: to remain 
 inert and quaff long, cool drinks. 
 
 Very few went below to luncheon and several of those 
 got but a whiff of the dining-saloon when they scrambled
 
 51 
 
 back to their deck chairs. Stewards were the only ones 
 with life in them, and they served drinks eagerly for 
 they knew their tips would be large. 
 
 With the going down of the sun, a slight breeze came 
 up, and Huntingdon, looking for diversion, went among 
 the deckers. He paused in amazement before the newly- 
 born baby ; never, in all his life did he see anything like 
 it: the tiny, unclothed atom lay on its mother s breast, 
 pink, wrinkled like a monkey and curled up like one. 
 His sensitive, refined nature revolted at its treatment ; he 
 forgot that he had left civilization and its customs far 
 behind, so he went to his cabin and returned with soft, 
 white linen and a rich, woolen shawl. 
 
 Although he made it clear that the gifts were for the 
 protection of the baby, the mother smiled broadly ; osten 
 tatiously she wound the linen about her head, then she 
 arose, and, keenly alive to the sensations of envy aroused 
 in her less fortunate sisters, she slowly draped the 
 magnificent shawl about her hips, tucked the infant in 
 the front of it and deliberately walked about. 
 
 The other women crowded around Huntingdon, and, 
 thrusting their children at him, demanded gifts in divers 
 tongues. 
 
 " Back away, Mr. Huntingdon," called Skipper Hains 
 from the bridge. " It s full of contagion every one of 
 them is, annyhow they ve no business to pester ye." 
 
 A withered negro, dressed in a ragged, filthy night 
 shirt and a disreputable straw hat, complained that he 
 was sick for belly! 
 
 " Leave him to me, Mr. Huntingdon," called the skip 
 per. " I ll be after putting an end to the pestering of 
 ye," and, whistling gayly, the nimble skipper descended
 
 52 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the ladder, sought his quarters and mixed a stiff dose of 
 capsicum, epsom salts, quinine and rot-gut! 
 
 The skipper s whistle gave notice that he was up to 
 some deviltry and white men came to life and crowded 
 the main deck forward. 
 
 The begging negro was summoned. Explaining to 
 his brothers the honor conferred on him, with great dig 
 nity he mounted the ladder, and, at sight of the drink 
 awaiting him, his face cracked into minute wrinkles of 
 pleasure, he rubbed his stomach in anticipated delight, 
 he reached out a hand calloused and wrinkled like a 
 gorilla s. 
 
 The e} r es of the white and the black men were full 
 upon him ; the former waiting the amusement sure to be 
 afforded them, the latter in envy. 
 
 The negro took one swallow, then gagged. 
 
 " Down with it, you blue spotted Son of Ham," bel 
 lowed the skipper, his blue eyes ablaze with laughter, his 
 arm uplifted as though he would strike the wretch. 
 
 " Down with it," yelled old Wallace, while other men, 
 both white and black, laughed their keen delight. 
 
 The negro reluctantly drank the concoction, his eyes 
 almost bulging from his head ; his Adam s apple working 
 riotously up and down his long, shrivelled neck ; his 
 black, cracked lips puckered tragically, comically. As 
 the fiery liquid ate into his alimentary canal, he drew up 
 his shirt and with both hands violently rubbed his 
 stomach ; he stuck out his long tongue ; he opened and 
 closed his eyes vigorously ; from one foot to another he 
 hopped, then, doubled almost in two, he started for 
 the ladder. Highly amused and vociferously express 
 ing that amusement, well-directed kicks from the white
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 53 
 
 man sent the negro flying down the ladder to the fore- 
 deck, where his own received him boisterously and 
 roughly. Thus did pride precede a humiliating tumble, 
 but Huntingdon was never again bothered. 
 
 The next day the Black Republic of Liberia was left 
 behind, and, as the Nigeria slowly continued along 
 Africa s historic coastline, the rollers grew longer and 
 higher and a mirage off shore and the extraordinary 
 refraction emphasized all the more the miseries of the 
 long voyage. Theretofore, the coast had been indis 
 tinct, blurred, and Huntingdon s romantic mind had pic 
 tured it mountainous and alluring as at Sierra Leone, 
 but, alas, it was flat, monotonous and low-lying ; all sea 
 level. Four lines of color paint the picture: one, long 
 and blue-gray, for the sea ; over that the snow-white 
 length of surf; then the yellow strip of sand cut off 
 by the interminable dark green border of the vegetation 
 from out of which stand the palms, and last above all 
 the line of the sky s blue. 
 
 That was all for weary eyes to look upon day after 
 day and league after long league ! The maddening 
 monotony and sameness of it all ate into the very soul 
 of the exiles, and made snarling beasts of them. 
 Tempers let go, quarrels took place over nothing ; out 
 rageous slanders were concocted and spread ; men, who 
 at home fled the house at mere mention of Avash da} r , 
 for whole days at a time watched the washerman at his 
 task, fairly dancing with demoniacal glee when fine 
 linens came forth scorched and ruined ! 
 
 Huntingdon swore at the condition of his shirts, he 
 vowed he would never wear them again, but the wise 
 cabin steward tucked them away in Huntingdon s kit
 
 54 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and there came a day when Huntingdon was glad to 
 get them. At night gambling was again indulged in ; 
 stakes were high, playing reckless. Salaries for years 
 ahead were anticipated ; many I. O. U s were issued. 
 
 Food, too, was monotonous, tasteless and unappetising 
 and from much drink and little exercise, men took on 
 flesh rapidly. Huntingdon and Haywood resented their 
 growing waist lines, but Wallace and Longworthy both 
 ered about nothing save the slow passing of leaden-heeled 
 time. 
 
 At last Grand Bassam on the Ivory Coast was sighted, 
 and, abreast of it three miles off shore, the Nigeria cast 
 anchor in a confused sea resembling breakers. Plainly 
 visible in the offing were the masts of a sunken steamer ; 
 but the beach was hidden behind a wall of high-leaping 
 spray and the angry roar of the surf drowned all other 
 sounds. The Nigeria rocked so like a thing of cork 
 that the mammy-chair was necessary to convey pas 
 sengers to the surf boats waiting to receive them. The 
 chair is a huge palm-oil puncheon, out of which several 
 staves are sawed and a bottom put to the hole as a seat. 
 To dangle in it from a crane, with angry seas dancing 
 far beneath, is an experience dreaded by the bravest. 
 
 About Hertford, Kingsford and two other tender- 
 feet whose destination was reached, old Wallace croaked 
 like a bird of evil on the pleasures of the descent of 
 the mammy-chair; the treachery of the seas ; the hunger 
 of the watchful sharks, and the yellow fever of a partic 
 ularly virulent type prevalent in Grand Bassam. 
 
 Despite the terrors awaiting and the dangers threaten 
 ing him, Huntingdon could no longer endure the confine 
 ment of the ship. He must have change even though it
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 55 
 
 led to his death. Old Wallace did his best to dissuade 
 him from seeking that surf-menaced, dangerous shore, 
 but Huntingdon was obdurate. When with a thud the 
 mammy-chair dropped to the deck, he was the first one 
 to step into it. 
 
 Hertford and two other tenderfeet followed, then 
 came the braggart, Kingsford, taking care to sandwich 
 himself securely between the others. 
 
 " Good-by, good health and good luck," had been 
 repeated over and over again, and Kingsford had just 
 broken forth in blustering bravado : 
 
 " Now to show these old croaks that we ain t the jelly 
 fish they think us. I ain t seen anything yet that can 
 bowl me over. Let er ," when with a sudden jerk, 
 up and out, shot the mammy-chair. 
 
 The breath left Huntingdon s lungs ; his eyes, ter 
 ror-widened, gazed down upon heaving depths and bob 
 bing surf boats, oh, so far away ! It didn t seem pos 
 sible for the chair to connect with the boats, and hungry 
 blue sharks were everywhere ! 
 
 However, he clung fast to the chair and did his best 
 to retain his breakfast. To give up food before that 
 jeering, onlooking crowd, was the epitome of agony. 
 Then, as if the crowd were waiting for that very thing, 
 up floated Wallace s command : 
 
 " Let er go, boys ; don t mind us. You ll feel better 
 if you give up ; we re here to be amused ; we need it ; 
 we re rotting away for want of it; don t be stingy, give 
 up!" 
 
 A stoker from the fore-peak shouted sarcastically : 
 
 " Ah, hold on t yer guts, you coves ! Don t enter 
 Hell s Playground showin white livers."
 
 56 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Young Hertford, up in the air, tortured beyond en 
 durance, essayed to jump from the chair, but again came 
 the stoker s voice : 
 
 " Set down, you fool, or you ll never git a chance to 
 set down again." 
 
 A white-clad, white-faced creature wobbled uncer 
 tainly and began to wretch. 
 
 It was Kingsford. 
 
 Wallace danced with glee and shouted : 
 
 "Aha, how s the jellyfish now; gwan, give up, the 
 sharks re hungry ! " 
 
 All this time a black man stood with signalling arm 
 erect, watching for the surf boat to come up on the 
 swell and ready to signal the man at the donkey-winch 
 when the proper time for lowering came ! 
 
 At last his arm dropped ! 
 
 As suddenly as the chair had shot up and out, 
 abruptly and swiftly, it descended as a thing dragged 
 down by relentless fate. Huntingdon s very vitals 
 heaved convulsively ; then there were a collision, a dump 
 ing into a narrow, unsteady space, a jangle, a pull, a 
 shooting upward and away of the chair, a tossing, pitch 
 ing surf boat and white men half dead with fright and 
 unmistakably seasick were afloat upon an undulating, 
 blinding sea, huddled on the thwarts of a rudder canoe 
 between two banks of native paddlers perched on the 
 gunwales like women on side-saddles ! 
 
 As the shore was approached, the roar of the surf in 
 creased in volume and waves fought each other like 
 angry beasts, sending up a wall of spray which seemed 
 impenetrable. In the breakers, contending, unseen forces 
 seized the canoe and tried to tear her from the restrain-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 57 
 
 ing hands of the paddlers, but without avail, and fright 
 ened, sea-drenched white men crawled on the backs of 
 negroes and were landed on the beach out of harm s way. 
 
 Huntingdon gazed upon the Nigeria, oh, so far away, 
 and he felt suddenly and strangely desolate ! He 
 wanted to board her again, and at once ; he had no 
 desire for exercise or to explore Grand Bassam ! Sol 
 emnly he took leave of the others ; there was no rancor 
 then between him and Kingsford, oh, no ! Africa was a 
 hard life, the climate deadly ; it was certain that some, 
 perhaps all, of them would never again climb a ship s 
 side on a return voyage ! Huntingdon demanded to be 
 at once taken off to the Nigeria. 
 
 The rudder canoe lay well up in the sand and Hunt 
 ingdon recognized at once that to launch her was no 
 easy task. He wondered how the Krus and the Acer as 
 would go about it. 
 
 The Kru who had borne him to shore, again took him 
 on his back and stowed him in the center and bottom of 
 the canoe ; then paddlers and beachmen ranged them 
 selves on either side of the canoe, grasping the thwarts 
 well down, ready to lift the boat out of her sand-dock and 
 shove her off at a favorable opportunity. Hunting 
 don marveled further how any human being dare enter 
 those breakers, let alone attempt to land and take away 
 men and cargo ! He knew full well what the paddlers 
 were watching and waiting for; that they could not set 
 forth at will, they must await the inrolling of a favor 
 able swell. 
 
 Now that danger was at hand, fear fled from the white 
 man ; he watched wave after wave come in and break with 
 deafening noise and astounding fury, nor did he mind
 
 58 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the spray that drenched him. He was a sportsman, 
 keen for the fray ! It was human ingenuity versus im 
 personal but powerful opponents. The rapidly reced 
 ing sand and the explosion and spray revealed the tre 
 mendous force of the undercurrents, and over Hunting 
 don rushed ardent admiration for the Portuguese, who 
 in the fourteenth century braved that coast and left 
 their traces in the whitewashed forts and little dreary 
 towns that now and then break the weary monotony of 
 the horizon line. Huntingdon recalled how European 
 colonization followed the trader, and he paid full trib 
 ute to those early men pirates, brigands and slave- 
 dealers though they were who had the courage to 
 defy treacherous seas, hostile natives and the all-blasting 
 sun ! 
 
 A favorable swell came rolling in. The Krus took 
 a firmer hold on the thwarts and braced themselves for 
 quick action. At the rudder in the stern stood the cox 
 swain, his body bent forward, his eyes narrowed and 
 set like a vulture s making ready for sudden descent 
 upon its prey. 
 
 On and on came the roller, growing in height and vol 
 ume ! The eye of every black man was upon it ! It was 
 a canoe length away ! It rushed under the nose of the 
 canoe ! The canoe was mounting its ridge, when a quick 
 command fell from the lips of the coxswain ! His knees 
 and hands gripped the tiller! Beachmen and paddlers 
 gave a mighty shove ! The canoe was afloat on the ex 
 pended wave ! Simultaneously, so as not to overbalance 
 the boat, every paddler leaped to his seat on the gun 
 wale, his back to the prow ; beachmen scrambled back 
 to shore through the turbulent eddies, and, aided by a
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND . 59 
 
 peculiar sculling motion of the paddles, the coxswain 
 dexterously kept the nose of the canoe seaward. 
 
 The backward pull of the undercurrents became 
 manifest and Huntingdon wondered why the coxswain 
 restrained his men instead of urging them forward, but 
 he did not wonder long, for, in the space where they 
 would have been had they dashed forward, a tremendous 
 wave broke and it was all the black men could do to 
 keep the canoe from spinning about and capsizing. 
 Huntingdon ducked under the thwart when the roller 
 broke, but not a black man changed his position ; their 
 eyes were intent on the coxswain who was eagerly study 
 ing the incoming seas. 
 
 One, two, five, ten minutes passed. They seemed 
 an eternity to Huntingdon and he marveled how the 
 strength of the blacks held out. Nor was he the only 
 anxious one. Better than he the natives knew the 
 treachery of the surf which girds their country like an 
 almost impenetrable wall and of the heavy annual toll 
 in human lives exacted by it ; the millions of pounds 
 sterling lost in cargo. 
 
 Suddenly, another quick command fell from the cox 
 swain s lips ; there was another display of prompt, con 
 certed action ; again the canoe shot forward, then was 
 checked, then urged forward again. An expert oars 
 man himself, Huntingdon recognized full well what fin 
 ished art it was to coddle and coax a canoe beyond the 
 danger line of undertow and breakers. 
 
 The open sea was gained, and, back and forth as 
 one man, flashed the blades of the paddlers. Their 
 stroke was rhythmic, effective, and the canoe fairly 
 leaped forward under its impetus. The white-topped
 
 60 
 
 rollers came and went, now long, now short as the canoe 
 took swell after swell and rode them gracefully to the 
 next ridge ; here and there a porpoise leaped high, and 
 off to the south a whale blowed. 
 
 The sun shone brilliantly upon the nude backs of 
 the paddlers and threw into bold relief a magnificent 
 display of muscles developed to the highest perfection. 
 Not an ounce of energy was misspent ; nor did paddling 
 seem an effort, as, lightly balanced on the gunwales and 
 with no purchase save that afforded by their cross-locked 
 legs, the paddlers swayed back and forth, gracefully and 
 easily, their guttural r-r-r-r-r s keeping time with their 
 stroke. 
 
 The team work was superb and to Huntingdon an 
 international regatta at Henley seemed amateurish in 
 comparison. Huntingdon fully comprehended why 
 those mighty Neptunes were the backbone of the white 
 man s trade in Africa and, as his eyes and close watch 
 ing showed his admiration, the paddlers smiled like 
 pleased children, exposing white, perfect teeth. 
 
 The Nigeria reached, Huntingdon lightly leaped from 
 the bobbing canoe into the mammy-chair. The latter 
 held no terror for him then ; he was all enthusiasm and 
 he explained to Longworthy, Wallace and Haywood 
 that such an exhibition of expert canoe-handling was 
 well worth any fear he had felt or danger he had en 
 countered. 
 
 The coxswain was given two guineas by Huntingdon 
 for himself and his men, and loud and hearty were the 
 thanks which floated up to the Nigeria. 
 
 The next day while Skipper Hains slept, a Kru 
 and an Accra got into a fight. They pommelled each
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 61 
 
 other lively before the First Mate could have them 
 separated and cast into the hatch until such time as 
 the skipper could administer punishment. It was nearly 
 half a day later when Hains, clad in fresh whites, and 
 armed with a short cashing-go, 1 descended to the fore- 
 deck. 
 
 The whole ship was excited. While the exiles would 
 have welcomed any diversion however slight, a fight 
 was something they never dreamed of and because it 
 was at hand, they crowded forward for coigns of ad 
 vantage. Huntingdon and old Wallace succeeded in 
 throwing their legs over the ship s railing upon which 
 they climbed, while at their backs were Longworthy and 
 Haywood. The forecastle head was filled with pushing 
 stokers and deck hands, and the excited, jabbering 
 deckers were thrust back to make room for the com 
 batants. 
 
 The sudden change from the gloomy depths of the 
 hatch to blinding daylight was too much for them. 
 They clapped their hands over their eyes and uncertain 
 were their legs. They were a sorry sight, too, covered 
 with blood, grease and perspiration. 
 
 Flecking his cashing-go across their calves in a man 
 ner which caused the wretches to wince, the skipper 
 demanded the cause of the palaver. 
 
 " Them Acca stole my woman last night and I never 
 look um," complained the Kru, in a deep voice with 
 murder in it. 
 
 Loud and ribald was the laughter of the white men, 
 echoed by the deckers. 
 
 1 Whip of hippopotamus hide.
 
 62 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 "Silence!" roared Skipper Hains. "Accra, make 
 answer ! " 
 
 " Me, I never look him woman. Woman look me. 
 Me, I never mek mouth so," came the vigorous denial. 
 
 " You re a liar " old Wallace began to shout, but 
 the skipper s voice drowned his words : 
 
 " Don t you sons of Ham savvy fight-palaver ain t 
 permitted on any ship? " 
 
 There was no response from the culprits, but white 
 men wiggled and chortled, deckers grunted, children 
 giggled and a woman laughed shrilly and unmusically. 
 It was she who was the cause of the disturbance. 
 
 " Answer," commanded the skipper in an awful voice, 
 " don t you savvy fighting s against ship s rules? " 
 
 The heads of the two culprits nodded a reluctant 
 " yes." 
 
 " So ye do, d ye? Well, now your punishment for 
 disobedience. Here you " and the skipper summoned 
 a deck hand who carried a lump of waste. " Rub the 
 stinking grease off them niggers and let em stand up 
 and fight each other proper." 
 
 The deck hand set to, but he was too slow for the 
 vigorous Irishman. Hains grabbed a piece of waste, 
 and, throwing it to Sampson, a powerful Km, he yelled: 
 
 " Get off them grease one time, Sampson. I ve got 
 other fish to fry than settling palavers for black pip 
 pins." 
 
 The cleaning process was anything but gentle, and 
 everybody enjoyed it except the sufferers. 
 
 Skipper Hains laid down the rules. 
 
 " At each other fair and square and fight it out. No
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 63 
 
 kicking or punching. The first man who fouls I ll 
 kick hell out of. Now go ! " 
 
 Unaccustomed to fair fight, the negroes fouled re 
 peatedly. The skipper cut in with his cashing-go, leav 
 ing welts and bruises behind. 
 
 Suddenly the Accra s knee shot upwards and with 
 tremendous force was driven into the Kru s groin. 
 Down dropped the Kru with a frightful cry of acute 
 pain ! 
 
 The cowardly thrust enraged the white men. " Give 
 him hell, Skipper, give him hell," yelled Huntingdon. 
 
 But the skipper needed no prompting. He beat the 
 Accra unmercifully; he called him swine and all the 
 choice words included in his vociferous vocabulary ; he 
 felled him, then kicked him to his feet. 
 
 Sampson helped the Kru to arise ; again the negroes 
 faced each other and the skipper commanded : 
 
 " One more round and it s to be the finish this time 
 and no more fouling, savvy? " 
 
 For several solemn seconds the Kru and the Accra 
 studied each other. Murder was in their pose and both 
 were suffering visibly. The Kru s left eye was swollen 
 shut and blood was trickling down the Accra s throat 
 where the cashing-go bit. Their powerful chests heaved 
 like hard-worked bellows and their big nostrils dilated 
 rapidly as air was pumped into exhausted lungs. Their 
 wind gained, the skipper thundered: 
 
 " GO ! " 
 
 With lowered heads and like enraged bulls the men 
 sprang for each other; each clutched the other s neck 
 and head butted head viciously. No other than a 
 negro s could have withstood the pounding. Eyes were
 
 64 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 bruised; noses flattened; the Kru s upper teeth cut 
 through his lip; the Accra s chin went in and the hot 
 blood spurted forth in sticky streams. 
 
 White and black men yelled with glee : all were on 
 a level now savages clamoring for blood. 
 
 The skipper tried to separate the combatants. 
 
 "Let em alone, Skipper!" came from Huntingdon. 
 
 " It s too pretty a sight to shut off ! " cried Haywood. 
 
 " Let it be to a finish ! " yelled Longworthy. 
 
 " At him, you Kru! " commanded old Wallace. 
 
 " Come on, you Accra! " urged Cartwright, " there s 
 lots of fight yet in both of you ! " 
 
 The heads of the negroes were pressed so closely 
 together that cheek bruised cheek, blood commingled 
 with blood, and there was no chance for butting. Sud 
 denly, the fingers of the Accra closed on the Kru s wind 
 pipe! 
 
 Again the skipper s fury was great; repeatedly on 
 the Accra s head his cashing-go descended but the Accra 
 continued to choke the Kru until he had him flat on the 
 deck ! 
 
 At the foul act, white men cried their indignation : 
 
 " Kill him, Skipper, kill the brute ! " 
 
 Huntingdon led the descent to the foredeck ; deckers 
 pushed and crowded ; trampled children screamed with 
 fright ; the excitement was terrific ! 
 
 " Mr. Whiting, clear the deck ! " came the skipper s 
 stentorian command. 
 
 " McGrew, Kinney, Sampson, the Kru, clear the 
 deck ! " ordered Whiting, grabbing a chair and break 
 ing it over the heads of the deckers nearest him ; while 
 McGrew laid on with a piece of cable ; Sampson used
 
 65 
 
 his mighty fists, and the skipper faced the white men 
 and in a low tone said: 
 
 " Back to your deck, gentlemen ; this is no example 
 to set to negroes ! " 
 
 The white men slowly obeyed, and the skipper cried : 
 
 " To the hatch with the Accra! Nothing to eat until 
 Lagos, then ashore with him never again to be taken 
 aboard an Elder-Dempster boat." 
 
 The Kru lay unconscious in a pool of blood ; his eyes 
 stared; his tongue hung out, lacerated by his teeth, and 
 his face was pulp. Dr. Young, the ship s surgeon, ad 
 vised sending him to the forecastle. A steamer chair 
 was folded, the wounded man was placed thereon and 
 borne forward, followed by the doctor and the skipper. 
 
 The deckers were wrought to a high pitch of ex 
 citement; they gesticulated wildly, and, in a babel of 
 dialects, some denounced the Accra, others accused the 
 Kru. 
 
 Hay wood, the military man, was alert. If the Kru 
 were killed, he feared a tribal riot blood for blood is 
 the universal law of the savages ; no death goes un 
 avenged. 
 
 In a low voice he expressed his fears to those about 
 him: 
 
 " Should these black devils range themselves against 
 us, we white men will be powerless. Stay you here 
 while I descend among the deckers and under no con 
 sideration appear to notice me or follow me. I don t 
 like the actions of those two big Krus down there; if 
 their brother dies, and I fear he will, and the news should 
 leak out, the Krus will demand the life of the Accra 
 and then there ll be hell to pay ! "
 
 66 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Every white man recognized the gravity of the situa 
 tion, and, as Haywood lazily descended among the 
 deckers and carelessly edged himself between the two 
 burly Krus, white men were apparently engaged in de 
 sultory conversation, yet their every sense was alert and 
 each regretted his firearms packed safely away in the 
 hold ! 
 
 Hay wood s suspicions were confirmed ; the Krus in 
 their own dialect were discussing the serious condition of 
 their brother and one of them threatened to get the 
 Accra at the first opportunity. 
 
 There was only one thing to do ; to notify the skipper 
 to keep the Kru s condition a secret ! 
 
 Slowly towards the forecastle Haywood advanced, but 
 directly in his path was a tall, stately Mohammedan, 
 who was evidently the leader of his party. 
 
 Huntingdon attempted to pass him by, but the fellow 
 kept his stand. 
 
 Haywood was amazed. Did the Mohammedan divine 
 his purpose? Did he belong to the same secret society 
 as the Krus, a society of murderers, cruel and vin 
 dictive, dreaded alike by white men and black men? 
 
 The situation was indeed serious. 
 
 Like a flash carelessness fell from Haywood, he was 
 the soldier, imperious and dauntless. 
 
 " Stand aside ! " came his military command. 
 
 The Mohammedan moved not, but from out his ghostly 
 wrappings a long arm crept slowly, and majestically 
 pointed towards the west. 
 
 Every eye followed that gesture. 
 
 In the intensely blue vault of the sky a well-defined
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 67 
 
 and regular arch of dark clouds was forming about 
 a dense white one ! 
 
 Every decker, sailor and old coaster knew what that 
 meant ! 
 
 A tornado ! 
 
 The fight was forgotten ! 
 
 Men scrambled for shelter ! 
 
 Gusts of wind swept the ship ! 
 
 There came swift, sharp detonations of thunder, and 
 streams of acute lightning, increasing in volume and 
 activity. 
 
 Bending low to combat the wind, the skipper hurriedly 
 crossed the foredeck and mounted the ladder to the 
 bridge, crying his commands as he went. Canvases 
 were furled and the Nigeria was brought almost to 
 anchor, her prow towards the tornado. Wind, lightning 
 and seas battled for hours, then came the calm, followed 
 by a deluge of rain. It was just such another storm 
 as had been experienced off Sierra Leone, but the long, 
 monotonous voyage had prepared the tenderfeet for 
 almost anything. 
 
 Huntingdon went below to dress for dinner, but the 
 smell of the close ship brought on mal-de-mer. He 
 hastily donned a great rain coat, and, pulling a soft hat 
 over his eyes, he sought the deck. 
 
 In the gangway he ran into the Jakri and upset her. 
 He helped her up, intending to release her immediately, 
 but the rocking of the ship caused him to hold her close 
 in his arms so as to keep his balance. 
 
 " Mr. Huntingdon want me? " coaxed the girl, allur 
 ingly, smiling into the white man s face and pressing her
 
 68 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 slim body close against his. A wave of cheap cologne 
 assailed Huntingdon s nostrils. Roughly he set the 
 girl on her feet, and hurried above. 
 
 Exerting all his strength, he pushed open the great 
 storm door and stepped onto the deck. Suddenly, the 
 door banged shut behind him leaving him at the mercy 
 of the tornado. His hat was snatched from his head 
 and sent sailing through space and his coat flapped 
 angrily about him. The night was as dark as Erebus; 
 wind and rain held sway and the deck Avas deserted, 
 drenched and slippery. He turned to go in, but a 
 severe gust of wind sent him spinning down the deck 
 and brought him hard against the taffrail. It was a 
 wonder he was not propelled overboard. Instead, he 
 dropped into the scupper where he lay pelted by rain, 
 washed by heavy seas and tortured by blinding lightning. 
 
 He knew he must at once make an effort to return 
 below. Holding tight to the rail, he forced himself to 
 his feet and was conscious of acute pain in his right 
 hand. With his head bent almost to his knees he tried 
 to grope his way across the deck, but the wind again 
 blew him off his feet and inrushing seas again swept 
 him into the scupper. On his hands and knees and dig 
 ging his finger nails into the deck he slowly crawled 
 to the door; he pulled with all his might, but could not 
 open it. 
 
 Wind, rain and lightning continued to torture him and 
 death threatened. He determined to make for the skip 
 per s quarters, but a glance in that direction revealed 
 an exposed stretch of deck over which the wind blew 
 so violently that it were folly to attempt to combat it ! 
 
 There was nothing to do but to tackle the door again.
 
 69 
 
 He strained, he pulled, he tugged! The pain in his 
 hand was intensified, and the warm blood trickled forth. 
 He was drenched to the skin and miserably seasick ! He 
 must get the door open ! 
 
 He grabbed the knob in both hands, and, planting his 
 feet firmly against the under sill, he pulled steadily. 
 Suddenly, the door shot open, and, had he not been pre 
 pared, he would again have gone spinning down the 
 deck. 
 
 After the fresh night air, the smell of the close ship 
 enhanced his seasickness, but pressing his lips hard 
 together he forced himself below to Dr. Young s cabin. 
 
 There was a hesitancy about opening the door; Dr. 
 Young was visibly embarrassed, and a red Kwitta cloth 
 showed from under the berth. Huntingdon recognized 
 it as the cloth worn by the Jakri, but he said nothing. 
 
 Dr. Young reported no bones broken, and, care 
 fully cleansing and dressing the hand, he went into a 
 long description about the care of wounds in the tropics. 
 They heal slowly ; sometimes never ; infection has to be 
 guarded against in every possible manner; he advised 
 washes of permanganate of potassium. 
 
 Did Huntingdon know of the great danger of guinea 
 worm in unboiled, unfiltered drinking water? Of the 
 agony its removal entailed? Of the slow recovery of 
 the patient, of his frequent death? 
 
 Did Huntingdon know about prickly heat? Of the 
 prevalence of smallpox, syphilis? The fatality of 
 blackwater fever? The increasing deaths from sleep 
 sickness? The danger from mosquito and jigger bites? 
 The constant menace from serpents and wild animals? 
 
 Yes, Huntingdon had been warned of all those things
 
 70 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 by Wallace. That old croak had dwelt so long and lov 
 ingly upon the pleasures (?) in store for tenderfeet 
 that every one of them, Huntingdon not excepted, 
 had, at one time or other, imagined himself already a 
 corpse ! 
 
 " The reason old Wallace and some more old coasters 
 have escaped," went on the doctor, " is because even 
 when drunk they never neglect their daily dose of qui 
 nine ; they never sleep without a mosquito bar ; they 
 avoid drafts; they have all foliage cut away from their 
 living quarters ; they drink only boiled water ; they al 
 low no water thrown about; they don t permit natives 
 to prepare chop in their utensils. Self-preservation s 
 a habit with them. Cultivate the habit yourself, and 
 you ll pull through all right. Africa s pretty bad, yet 
 prevention and care do wonders." 
 
 Slowly the red cloth was being withdrawn under the 
 berth, and, when it was no longer visible, Dr. Young was 
 greatly relieved, and, although he gave Huntingdon no 
 chance to say anything, he talked less rapidly. 
 
 " You know, dear old chap, that malaria s hell and 
 it attacks the weakest part of the constitution ; you must 
 protect your ankles ; wear mosquito boots all the time. 
 Any man who don t guard against malaria that is 
 the mosquito is a fool and the sooner the world is 
 rid of him, the better for the world. Every day at four 
 o clock have your boy put down your mosquito bar; 
 make him tuck it under the mattress, not let it hang on 
 the floor; scrub out dark corners at least once a month 
 with Jeyes fluid. See that your bathing water s clean ; 
 and when you tramp through swamps, wear good, thick 
 canvas leggings to avoid craw-crate; it s also hell
 
 71 
 
 comes in sores ; infernally itchy, but if you scratch 
 there s danger of infection from your nails. Nearly all 
 natives have craw-craw and their quarters are beds of 
 contagion ; avoid them. Natives never isolate any infec 
 tious diseases and they d rather hide lepers and sleep 
 sickness patients than deliver them to the governments 
 for treatment ; it s a wonder to me a plague don t break 
 out all over Africa and communicate itself to Europe 
 but on second thought, that s not likely, for the vultures 
 eat the dead well, hand s in as fine a shape as I can 
 put it come in to-morrow and I ll dress it again, and 
 to-night better take about twenty grains of quinine 
 and in the morning some fruit salts ! " 
 
 He bowed Huntingdon out. 
 
 " The old fool," chortled Huntingdon. " I wouldn t 
 care a rap if he had the whole Jaltr i tribe of girls under 
 his bunk ! " 
 
 The Km died during the night. So secretly was 
 he immediately consigned to the sea s depths that his 
 death did not become generally known until after the 
 Accra had been delivered to the British authorities at 
 Lagos. 
 
 In the meantime, the rain continued, the fog horn 
 tooted ominously, and seas were hostile. Axim, Se- 
 kondi, Cape Coast Castle, Accra and Lagos were left 
 behind. The mammy-chair ceased to amuse, men were 
 losing heart for jest, final partings were near. Al 
 ready the company was noticeably smaller and men were 
 depressed almost beyond endurance. The epitome of 
 misery was reached the night before Fo^ados. 
 
 The white men were gathered in the dining-saloon ; 
 silent and retrospective they leaned on the tables or else
 
 72 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 lounged on divans. Neither gambling nor intoxicants 
 brought any relief from the insistence of the maddening 
 present. 
 
 A white-clad, pale-faced steward sauntered slowly to 
 the piano. Other times he had been eagerly importuned 
 for music, but not so now ; men were too far in the depths 
 to do aught but gaze steadfast at the four walls of 
 their little floating world and wish for the end of the 
 voyage. 
 
 Listlessly the steward seated himself at the piano and 
 his fingers wandered idly over the keys. His raised 
 eyes encountered a closed port against which the sea 
 broke violently. From the instrument there came an 
 improvisation echoing the night wind and the sobbing 
 sea ; deep thunder, too, rolled forth and died away 
 then, evidently following the trend of the player s 
 longing, came the piano s wail : 
 
 Be it ever so humble, there s no place like home! 
 
 The music was but a whisper, but it fell like mighty 
 hammer strokes on quivering, sensitive hearts 
 
 Midst pleasures and palaces 
 
 Men listened in silence 
 
 Wherever I roam 
 
 At heart-strings tugged longings so acute as to be 
 torture 
 
 Be it ever so humble 
 
 The notes came slowly, softly, tremulously drawn 
 out 
 
 There s no place 
 
 Then the crescendo of anguish was reached and the 
 piano sobbed: 
 
 like home!
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 73 
 
 It was too much to ask men to bear, too much ! In 
 a hoarse voice Haywood cried: 
 
 " For Christ s sake, man, something else, something 
 else!" 
 
 Yes, anything else but Home Sweet Home, that heart 
 rending reminder of other times, other places ; anything 
 else but that awakener of remorse, regret! 
 
 Berths were sought, not for sleep, but to think, to 
 go back over Time s pages while regret wailed dismally 
 and persistently : Too late, too late! 
 
 kL; 
 
 And first, within the porch and jaws of Hell, 
 Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent 
 With tears; and to herself oft would she tell 
 Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent 
 To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament 
 With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, 
 Would wear and waste continually in pain. 
 
 SteS?* 
 
 Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, 
 
 Whirled on each place, as place that vengeance brought; 
 
 So was her mind continually in fear, 
 
 Tost and tormented with the tedious thought 
 
 Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; 
 
 With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, 
 
 Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. 
 
 SACKVILLE. 
 
 While Huntingdon s thoughts never once dwelt on 
 death as a release from the present, yet with all his heart 
 and soul he wished the long voyage would end with sun 
 rise ; but he knew how many more leagues had to be 
 traversed before Cape Lopez was reached and he reso 
 lutely made up his mind to endure. 
 
 However, there were two men on the Nigeria who did 
 not to seem to mind the horrors of the night. They were
 
 74 
 
 Dr. Young and Cartwright who threw dice until sun 
 rise. Young lost every cent he possessed and more, for 
 which he made out an I. O. U. with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " I m pretty hard hit myself, old man," Cartwright 
 consoled ; " I haven t got a clear quid coming to me for 
 months, but, I say, gimme the Jakri and we ll call it 
 square." 
 
 " Right you are, old man, she s yours, but watch her ; 
 you can t trust a native woman out of your sight." 
 
 Dead slow, on the full, morning tide, the flat-bot 
 tomed Nigeria steamed through a mud-colored lagoon, 
 shut in all around with mangroves and inhabited by 
 crocodiles and hippopotami. Infinitely depressing was 
 the heavy moisture, and, as the steamer progressed, a 
 part of the dark wall seemed rather to recede than an 
 opening to be disclosed and there was Foi^ados : a few 
 old hulks lying low in the water, a sad-looking light 
 house and several tin-roofed bungalows erected on low 
 piles ! 
 
 The place seemed the end of the earth and simply 
 reeked with flatness and everlasting dreariness. Yet 
 Fo^ados River is one of the myriad mouths of the 
 great Niger, that river of wealth and treachery so 
 dreaded by white men. Many of their number have 
 embarked thereon, and few, pitifully few have returned, 
 and those who have, bear for all eternity on their 
 pinched faces the pallor and the weariness with which 
 Africa marks her victim. In the delta dug-out canoes 
 drift past and a few naked aborigines disclose themselves 
 on the bank, their neighborhood already betrayed by the 
 empty gin bottles which lie in the slime among the gaunt 
 roots of the depressing mangroves. The river itself is
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 75 
 
 very wide and pea-soup in color ; when a crocodile slides 
 hideously into its hiding depths, or a fall of mud dis 
 turbs it, the splash is of some liquid more dense than 
 water, and a swirling but no light ripples follow the 
 disturbance. Always the river looks evil, secretive, 
 treacherous. 
 
 And it was up this River of Hell that Longworthy 
 and Cartwright were bound. The exiles felt the tragedy 
 of it all, and midst solemn silence the departing white 
 men took their places in the launch that was to take 
 them to Burutu, where the little paddle-stern wheeler 
 awaits Niger passengers. 
 
 The Mohammedans, who were bound for Ada on the 
 River, Longworthy s Yoruba and Cartwright s Jakri 
 were also in the launch, and the only sound that broke 
 the brooding stillness was the puffing of the engine and 
 the gay good-bys the departing women called to the 
 Yoruba of Haywood. 
 
 In silence Huntingdon, old Wallace and Haywood 
 watched the launch until she was out of sight. Certes 
 it was, the same body of men would travel together never 
 again, never again ! 
 
 The next day at Calabar, in Southern Nigeria, Hay- 
 wood and old Wallace were left behind, and to Hunt 
 ingdon the steamer seemed a house of dead from which 
 loved ones had departed forever. But many and reiter 
 ated were the promises to write to each other, and Hunt 
 ingdon found cheer in the thought of such letters. 
 
 The Nigeria continued her way in a sea of haze, 
 smokes offshore completely blotting out the offing and 
 the heat daily increasing as the equator was approached. 
 The German Cameroons was left behind, and off Libre-
 
 76 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 ville, the capital of the Congo Franfais, the Nigeria 
 anchored only long enough to discharge cargo ; then the 
 equator was crossed, the rain ceased, and at four o clock 
 on a brilliant afternoon in June Cape Lopez hove in 
 sight, a glittering streak of sand, dotted here and there 
 with low buildings set against a background of dense 
 bush. The long, tedious voyage was ended and Hunt 
 ingdon was truly thankful. Resolutely he put all un 
 pleasant memories behind him and he turned to Cape 
 Lopez and the future.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE anchor was overboard and Skipper Hains cried: 
 
 " It s the end of the earth ye might as well be, me 
 lad, as far s life s concerned here and ye ll grow rusty 
 unless ye look sharp. And if it s a bit o advice I 
 might be after giving ye, don t ye mind gossip, keep 
 away from the wenches, attend to your own affairs and 
 get out of the bally country as soon as ye can and 
 be remembering, me lad, that Irish Hains is your friend, 
 come what will ; he s Irish and he s poor, save in good 
 wishes to his friends and he knows the meaning of 
 the word friend, don t be after forgetting that ayther." 
 
 Huntingdon grasped the honest fellow s browned 
 hand, but e er he could thank him, the skipper was peer 
 ing through his glasses, and, focusing them on shore, he 
 espied two canoes putting out from the English trading 
 houses of John Holt and Hatton and Cookson. 
 
 " Moore s in Cookson s gig, and Smithson, the man 
 you re to replace, is in the other; he s got a white man 
 with him, but he must be a newcomer. He s unknown to 
 me but you can bet on it he s a Britisher for the 
 English and the French don t mix well." 
 
 The contrast in the three white men who came up the 
 Nigeria s ladder was great. Smithson and Moore were 
 in white, the third man was in kakhi. Smithson was 
 slight, highly nervous, rather refined and young. Moore 
 was likewise young, but he was tall and raw-boned, with 
 
 77
 
 78 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 a huge calabash pipe in a slit of a mouth. He walked 
 with a swagger as confidential as John Bull s own and 
 his fists with their great, bony knuckles looked as though 
 they could hit. Both men were pale, startlingly so, 
 while the third man was round, rosy, chubby, jolly and 
 all motion. He looked and acted like a school boy out 
 for a lark. 
 
 " Thanks, Mr. Huntingdon," said he, Sadler by name, 
 " for landing on the beach and removing from me the 
 stigma of tenderfoot. I ve been out six months. I m 
 skipper of the Oka. She s a little Ogowe river steamer 
 belonging to John Holt. The jolly show s broke down 
 and I m living with Smithson until repairs are made. 
 Only old Nick himself knows how long that ll be. Noth 
 ing moves out here. You ll get so rotten sick of the 
 moth-eaten country that you ll punch niggers just for 
 excitement." 
 
 Sadler was a tonic. Both Skipper Hains and Hunt 
 ingdon were attracted to him. 
 
 Skipper Hains blue eyes danced, and he said : 
 
 " Ah, Skipper Sadler, it s us old seadogs that can 
 top these landlubbers every time. It s a self-appointed 
 guarjian I ve been to Mr. Huntingdon. Now I appoint 
 ye my successor. If he don t do what s right, be after 
 telling me when I come back, and achune us we ll con 
 coct his punishment." 
 
 The skipper ordered champagne. 
 
 " Vivre la France, pomme-de-terre-frit," cried Moore. 
 
 "It s no toast like that I ll be drinking," objected 
 Skipper Hains. " To Ireland, God bless her ! " 
 
 " And to England ! " added Huntingdon. 
 
 " Chin, chin ! " came the hearty chorus.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 79 
 
 " Be good and God bless ye," Hains cried as the gigs 
 made for the shore. Then he was heard to bellow : 
 " Sampson, make them polka dotted sons of Ham get 
 off cargo one time, or I ll " 
 
 Over Cape Lopez brooded dreariness, silence and 
 sloth. There wasn t a native canoe in sight, nor was 
 there any landing pier. The sea beat monotonously 
 upon a barren beach, piled here and there with immense 
 logs awaiting shipment to Europe. 
 
 " Behold your mansion," little Sadler shouted at Hunt 
 ingdon, indicating a wooden bungalow set high on piles 
 and surrounded by a great veranda. " And that long 
 shed there just south of it s the trading factory. Wel 
 come to your domain, O, Great White King," and the 
 little skipper salamed in a truly comical manner. 
 
 On the veranda, furnished with dilapidated steamer 
 chairs and a much-scarred table, were the servants. 
 
 " Come forth, you King of Pots and Pans, you De- 
 spoiler of Food, you Mixer of Dirt, you Handler of 
 Secret Poisons, you Unwashed Chef, come forth Few- 
 Clothes and greet your new master, the Great White 
 King." 
 
 A villainous specimen of the Bantu race gingerly ad 
 vanced. He was tall and thin and wriggled like a snake. 
 He wore old khaki trousers and a very much soiled old 
 white duck coat, minus buttons. Craft and cunning 
 were written all over his brutal, repulsive face. He was 
 uncomfortable in clothing and Huntingdon concluded 
 he seldom wore any. 
 
 " Master, I pleased to look you," he said in guttural 
 tones, his restless eyes on Sadler s fists. 
 
 " Down on your knees, you cannibal, you scum of hell,
 
 80 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and greet the Great White King proper," the little 
 skipper bellowed in tones worthy of Captain Hains, " or 
 I ll " and the wag brought his fist against the palm of 
 his hand with a resounding whack. 
 
 Few-Clothes fairly grovelled at Huntingdon s feet 
 and shouted: 
 
 " Good night, Master, Great White King, I pleased 
 to look you." 
 
 Sadler gave the fellow a vicious kick and told him to 
 be off and " get chop l ready one time." 
 
 " Now Ngumbe," Sadler continued, " no chimpanzee 
 tricks, or I ll bind you hand and foot and feed you to 
 the drivers. 2 This is Ngumbe, O Great White King, 
 the houseboy and next in importance after Chef Few- 
 Clothes. He s maid of all work, the guardian of your 
 kit, and the greatest liar and thief unhamstrung." 
 
 Ngumbe was about eighteen years of age, lithe and 
 supple as a sapling, wearing his indifferent white ducks 
 easily and well. He bowed low and gracefully and said 
 in round, full, clear, pleasing tones : 
 
 " Good evening, Master Huntingdon, Great White 
 King, Ngumbe, houseboy to Master Smithson, look 
 you with pleasure for him eye ; you be proper white man, 
 proper master." 
 
 Be he thief, liar, flatterer, or any other detestable 
 thing, Huntingdon liked the boy s appearance; he 
 opined that he had grown up in the service of white 
 men and was thoroughly familiar with their ways. 
 
 Of the three remaining sennteurs Sadler said : 
 Them be jack-wash, cook s-mate, and that grinning 
 ape s Mbega, raw material just from the bush and boy 
 
 i Food. 2 Carnivorous ants.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 81 
 
 for you, O Great White King. You ll have a picnic 
 training him, but if you don t want the job, I ll do it 
 for you." 
 
 The boys grovelled in turn, and Mbega, young, tall, 
 thin and awkward, wearing only an old loin cloth and 
 ju-ju charms entwined with his scapulars, grinned a 
 most prodigious grin exposing teeth the envy of the 
 most expert dentist who ever lived. 
 
 " Sunlight, where s Sunlight ! " Sadler then bellowed. 
 
 " I live, Master," a deep voice spoke quietly and a big 
 savage stepped on to the veranda. 
 
 " Me boy, O Great White King. He s black as the 
 shades of hell so I named him Sunlight." 
 
 Sunlight bore himself with the case and grace of an 
 untamed thing accustomed to freedom and untrammelled 
 space. But with the sublime was mingled the ridiculous. 
 Over a loin cloth he wore a cast-off khaki coat of his 
 master so small and tight that it drew back his shoulders, 
 restricted the free use of his arms and exposed a power 
 ful chest, the envy of the athletic Huntingdon. He 
 looked stolidly at Huntingdon and muttered something 
 in his native tongue. He could not speak English. 
 
 " Dee sous," 1 said Sadler laconically, sprawling in a 
 chair and extending his chubby feet. Solemnly and 
 deliberately the savage removed Sadler s boot and 
 stocking and with a great knife carefully dug out the 
 jigger. 
 
 Drinks were ordered of Ngumbe, and Smithson took 
 Huntingdon within to show him the bungalow. 
 
 It consisted of a great dining- and living-room with 
 bedrooms leading off from either side. Ragged, grass 
 
 1 Local name for jigger.
 
 82 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 mats were strewn on the rough, unclean plank floor ; a 
 crude sideboard stood with feet in tins of oil and water ; 
 open doors and yawning drawers disclosed odds and 
 ends of men s apparel melanged with catsup, mustard 
 and tobasco sauce bottles, corkscrews and drinking 
 glasses. The carpet settee was the saddest looking 
 implement of unrest eyes ever saw ; the flat-topped desk 
 with pigeonholes up the back was littered with, and 
 jammed full of, papers ; the crude dining table and chairs 
 were survivals of the fittest for many a scar they bore. 
 Bedrooms contained the scantiest of crude furniture ; 
 beds were draped in enormous mosquito bars ; tin trunks, 
 resting on split glass bottles, were piled one on the other, 
 and soiled and torn clothing lay just where their wearers 
 had flung them. 
 
 Huntingdon never before beheld such a drab, un 
 cleanly, depressing, human habitation. There was not 
 one redeeming feature, one gentle touch showing that 
 civilized men dwelt therein. Huge spider webs and mud- 
 houses of wasps were everywhere and the very air 
 reeked with squalor and poverty. It was a sharp, cruel 
 contrast to the exquisite, harmonious environment in 
 which he was reared, and he determined to change every 
 thing when he was in full charge. 
 
 Left alone with Moore on the veranda, little Sadler 
 cried : 
 
 " I m for him," and he jerked his thumb towards the 
 bungalow. " As a rule I m not keen on aristocrats, but 
 you just can t help liking this Huntingdon." 
 
 " A bally fool you made of yourself and him calling 
 him Great White King," Moore sneered. 
 
 " Well, if you looked as much of a king as he does,
 
 83 
 
 you d wear a crown and be so rotten tyrannical there d 
 be no living with you. Gad, but he s a one-time winner ! 
 He s the real thing. He don t need to say a word, he 
 don t need to act, he just is and that s aristocracy." 
 
 " You bet Fll pump out of him the truth of his being 
 out here. You can t make me swallow the tale that 
 he s here for trade. I wonder what the scandal is 
 that" 
 
 " You ve got the gall of a leopard, Moore, but it 
 won t work in this case," Sadler interrupted. " You ll 
 be just as wise after you ve pumped as you were before 
 you commenced and a jolly sight more tired. Ain t you 
 afraid he ll steal your fat slob from you? " 
 
 " Go to hell," and Moore arose and looked over the 
 drinks set on the table by Ngumbe. He helped himself 
 to a generous portion of pernaud l then turned to Hunt 
 ingdon, who with Smithson and Sadler, approached the 
 table : " Here s a welcome to Mr. Huntingdon, good 
 health and good luck." 
 
 " Chin, chin," responded Sadler and Smithson, then 
 Huntingdon toasted the others. 
 
 It was sundown. 
 
 Pith helmets were replaced by large, soft, gray felt 
 Wideawakes. Huntingdon noticed that the traders were 
 close-shaven like convicts. He ran his fingers through 
 his luxuriant blond hair and wondered if he d be more 
 comfortable if it were shorn. 
 
 In answer to his thought, Sadler said: 
 
 " I ll clip you clean to-morrow, Mr. Huntingdon ; 
 hair s too hot. You know we ve got to wear a sun hat 
 from sunup to sundown, and after that until bedtime 
 
 1 Absinthe.
 
 84 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 some sort of soft hat to ward off insect bites. This is 
 a bally jolly country, I don t think." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Mr. Huntingdon, many coast beauties 
 brought down on the ship? " Moore suddenly demanded. 
 
 " The usual number, I believe." 
 
 " Who were aboard? " 
 
 " Captain Haywood of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, 
 Longworthy of the Royal Niger Company, and old 
 Wallace of " 
 
 " That bunch," and Moore shrugged his shoulders 
 contemptuously. " Lots of gambling and drinking? " 
 
 Huntingdon nodded. 
 
 "Who went broke?" 
 
 " I didn t play bank, old chap," Huntingdon drawled 
 in his laziest West-End tones. 
 
 Behind Huntingdon s back the delighted Sadler poked 
 Moore s ribs and nudged Smithson. 
 
 There was silence. 
 
 Black night fell. 
 
 One light gleamed on Lopez Bay, just off shore. It 
 was a red lantern on the stern of the little Oka. 
 
 Soon another light, a fire, leaped forth on the sandy 
 beach. It was the watch commencing his night s vigil 
 over the mahogany logs. Tides were high and danger 
 ous and liable to send the logs adrift at any time. 
 
 Ngumbe lighted a lamp and set it on the table. A 
 horde of mosquitoes immediately came to life and at 
 tacked Huntingdon s ankles. He wore white canvas 
 low-cuts but the others wore mosquito boots. Sadler 
 leaned over and blew out the light. 
 
 Huntingdon was led to talk of Europe and civiliza 
 tion, then Smithson abruptly demanded if he had brought
 
 85 
 
 out many firearms and much ammunition. Huntingdon 
 replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " You d best declare them, then, the first thing in the 
 morning; anyhow you ve got to make official calls. I ll 
 go with you." 
 
 " Thanks, old man," drawled Huntingdon, " but I ve 
 got a permit from the Minister of the French Colonies 
 admitting my kit, firearms and ammunition free, also a 
 permit to hunt any game there might be." 
 
 " Tain t worth the paper it s written on," Moore 
 sneered. " France is far away and out here Douanes 
 and Commandants do as they please. Best declare your 
 stuff and don t commence by getting in wrong. The 
 Pomme-de-terre-frits 1 can make it hell for you all right." 
 
 " Because you re in wrong you don t need to think 
 that everybody else is," retorted Sadler. 
 
 " The Douane s a half-breed from Martinique," 
 Moore went on, ignoring Sadler. " We ve dubbed him 
 gourmand because the natives must first bring all fresh 
 foods to him and we get what s left, which is often noth 
 ing. The Commandant puts away a litre of absinthe 
 a day." 
 
 " How much do you guzzle? " jibed Sadler. 
 
 Again Moore ignored the little skipper, and went on: 
 
 " The Commandant looks like a puffed-up poodle dog, 
 with his thick lips and waxed, upturned mustachios. 
 His pop eyes are rimmed with black circles ; kidneys are 
 worked out by too many spirits. Parlez-vous franfais, 
 M sieu Huntingdon? " Moore s pronunciation was 
 flat, purely Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 " Out, Monsieur, je il parle bien couramment," and 
 
 1 The Fried Potatoes a derisive term for the French.
 
 86 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 so truly French was Huntingdon s pronunciation and 
 so easily came the words that Sadler taunted Moore 
 about his bastard French and advised him to stick to 
 English. 
 
 Moore retorted by calling Sadler a beggar and chiding 
 him for receiving the Great White King (pronounced 
 with great sarcasm) in tattered khaki. " If you ain t 
 got the price to get the Loango tailor to make you some 
 new clothes, I ll lend it to you." 
 
 " Thanks, Angel Face, but I ve no desire to wear na 
 tive-made clothes and appear the scarecrow the sky-pilots 
 are. They can wear nigger clothes, but I won t and 
 that reminds me, the sky-pilots are coming down from 
 Lambarene to the Rest House here." 
 
 " Well, I guess they won t stay long ; we ll make the 
 atmosphere so blue that they ll run back to the bush in 
 a hurry," Moore threatened. 
 
 " As they live right next door to you, Purest of Men, 
 one glance at you and your fat slob nigger wench ll turn 
 the trick." 
 
 " What missionaries are coming down, Sadler? " 
 Smithson demanded. " The bachelor with the snaky 
 eyes or the bride and groom ? " 
 
 " Bachelor nothing ! " Moore cut in derisively. 
 " He s got his black beauty just the same as the rest 
 of us ; as for the bride and groom, they may call them 
 selves that but everybody knows the lady s an old hand 
 at spoon-palaver. She came out here some time ago 
 and she went from mission to mission, trying marriage 
 a la carte with the sky-pilots until M sieu Leon hitched 
 up with her." 
 
 " Moore, I wouldn t have your putrid mind for all
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 87 
 
 the revenue of the French Congo," and deep disgust was 
 in Smithson s tones. 
 
 " Revenue of the French Congo ! " Moore sneered. 
 " It s bankrupt, the Pomme-de-terre-frits don t make 
 enough money to pay running expenses, so every colonial 
 official goes it for himself, grinding the natives to ab 
 ject poverty and getting all he can for himself because 
 he fears he won t get his salary. I haven t been in 
 trade out here ten years without finding out some things ; 
 this trade war between the French and the natives ain t 
 ended by a long shot. I presume you ve heard tell of 
 it, Huntingdon? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. All England is interested wherever her 
 trade is hit." 
 
 " And it s hit, all right," Moore went on. " In dis 
 tricts not declared open to trade by the Berlin act, 
 British and other traders have been driven out and they d 
 been here ages before the Pomme-de-terre-frits were ever 
 thought of and they brought with them the only civiliza 
 tion that ever came to those places. You ve no idea, 
 Huntingdon, of the poverty of this colony ; natives are 
 reduced to the slavery of beggary and dependents where 
 they were once contented and masters." 
 
 " Is Cape Lopez affected? " asked Huntingdon. 
 
 Moore was lighting a cigar and Smithson answered : 
 
 " Yes, and no ; trade can t be restricted here because 
 of the Berlin act, but because of the closing of British 
 factories in other districts, naturally less imports are 
 brought in and less exports go out of Cape Lopez you 
 know Cape Lopez would have no existence whatsoever 
 were it not the coast outlet for the Ogowe, the greatest 
 strictly equatorial river in the world, flowing, as it does,
 
 88 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 hundreds of miles along the equator through forests 
 rich in rubber, ivory, palm oil and timber. Oh, you ve 
 struck the right territory, Mr. Huntingdon, to make 
 money out of trade, if you ll hang on and not get dis 
 couraged but " Smithson s voice died away ; into 
 his eyes came a great weariness and his whole figure 
 drooped pitifully. 
 
 Sadler tried to cover up his friend s misery by bel 
 lowing: "What s the matter with chop? It s past 
 eight. Come on, Smithson, let s see what the palaver 
 is." 
 
 " Rum," Moore chortled as the two men disappeared. 
 " You bet your life I don t permit such slackness around 
 my place. Chop with me to-morrow night, Hunting 
 don, and I ll show you how to run a place." 
 
 " Thanks, Mr. Moore, but I ll see first what the other 
 gentlemen have framed up." 
 
 " They ll come, don t fear. They never miss a chance 
 for a decent feed ; anyway, we ve got to depend on each 
 other for company ; so we see a lot of each other, too 
 damn much Smithson s a regular fish-wife for gossip ; 
 he spreads news about everybody except himself and he s 
 mighty close-lipped about that. He s come down in 
 the world, it s easy to see that, and I don t believe 
 Smithson s his real name. You can see he s a gentle 
 man for he spouts every lingo under the sun, but he is 
 an all-fired gossip." 
 
 Moore waited for Huntingdon to ask questions, to 
 exchange gossip with him, at least to express an opinion, 
 but Huntingdon was silent. 
 
 " Last dry season," went on Moore, " we had the great 
 and unusual excitement of having two white ladies here
 
 89 
 
 at the same time: wives of the Gourmand and the Com 
 mandant. Oh, Mamma ! but they had a rummy time ; 
 I suspicion there was an exchange of femmes, but noth 
 ing doing so far s you could notice it. But, you savvy, 
 virtue with the Pomme-de-terre-frits consists in not be 
 ing found out." 
 
 Again Moore stopped, expecting Huntingdon to say 
 something, but again Moore was disappointed. 
 
 " Apropos of the ladies," Moore continued, " I was 
 sure you d bring a black beauty down with you ; nearly 
 everybody stationed in the French Congo gets a Ga- 
 bonaise at Libreville. One educated at the American 
 mission s the best ; she s taught cleanliness and the ways 
 of the white man ; she speaks English, French and the 
 native lingoes and she can help you a lot in the factory." 
 
 " What s the principal tribe about here? " Hunting 
 don abruptly demanded. Moore s gossip did not in 
 terest him save where it conveyed information about the 
 country. 
 
 " Ouroungo, but don t think of taking one of their 
 stinking, ugly women," Moore answered eagerly, mis 
 taking Huntingdon s interest. " They re stupid too, 
 while the Gabonais are the Jews of the West Coast and 
 you can t beat em in trade. The Commandant has a 
 Gabonaise; Ndio s her name. Gad, but she s a pippin ! 
 She can have me, but she looks higher than traders, but 
 why don t you steal her from the Commandant? You re 
 of the nobility and she ll come a-running for you" 
 
 " Think so? " and Huntingdon s sarcasm was so fine 
 that Moore didn t get it. 
 
 " Boots and Saddles ! There s no comparison be 
 tween you and the Commandant! Everybody knows
 
 90 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 you re a nabob, out here to learn the business for a year, 
 then to go it alone. Say, there s puncheons of mone} 
 in the timber business ; forests re simply reeking with 
 valuable lumber. What the devil do you want to grub 
 for old man Holt for a whole year? Chuck it; I ll tell 
 you how to go it alone, only I must keep under cover 
 so s not to lose me berth. You can divide with me sub 
 rosa." 
 
 Huntingdon felt like kicking Moore out of his sight. 
 Instead he offered him a delicious Habana, struck a 
 match, and held it until Moore got the tobacco aglow ; 
 then he drawled: 
 
 " Thanks, Moore, but I ve one year s service ahead of 
 me, then I ll welcome suggestions." 
 
 " Come to chop! " bellowed Sadler. 
 
 " Chop s generally rotten," Moore whispered, " and to 
 night it ll be worse for there s some palaver on." 
 
 After the blackness without, the light, which emanated 
 from a huge, oil lamp with a white glass shade suspended 
 low over the dining table, was blinding, and it was some 
 seconds before Huntingdon s eyes accustomed them 
 selves to its glare, then emphasized were the table and its 
 contents. The cloth was rumpled, unclean and badly 
 laid; an array of toothpicks, catsup, mustard, salt and 
 pepper bottles, tins containing butter, milk and marma 
 lade, a huge stack of thickly cut bread, and a 
 battalion of wine, whisky, beer and cordial bottles were 
 crowded in the center of the table so as to leave space 
 for plates and the rest of the food. 
 
 " I m sorry, Mr. Huntingdon," Smithson apologized, 
 " for keeping you waiting your first night with us, but 
 the chef s drunk."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 91 
 
 " Don t apologize, Mr. Smithson," answered Hunting 
 don, heartily. " I can appreciate how it is ; I dare 
 say the best native servants are unreliable 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," broke in Moore. " Slack master, 
 slack servants. The Commandant s Loango s the best 
 chef in the whole French Congo. Why don t you steal 
 him, Sadler? " 
 
 Marked sarcasm was in Moore s demand; he never 
 dreamed that Sadler would take him up, but the little 
 skipper promptly boasted : 
 
 " He s ours." 
 
 " Ah, don t count your chickens before they re 
 hatched ! " sneered Moore. 
 
 " What d you bet I can t get him? " 
 
 " Anything you like." 
 
 " Anything I like," and Sadler imitated Moore s sar 
 casm. " You talk as though you owned something. 
 Make it a tin of decent cheroots." 
 
 " Cheroots it is when you produce the chef de cuisine ." 
 
 " Leave off the trimmings, I ll get the Loango." 
 
 The serviettes and the plated-ware were borrowed 
 from Moore and bore the mark : Chargeurs-Reunis. 
 
 " Moore, you old thief," cried little Sadler. " Can t 
 you afford stuff without stealing from the steamship 
 company ? " 
 
 " There re not mine ; I borrowed them from the Com 
 mandant. I never lend my outfit to anybody I know 
 better." 
 
 " You mean you re too rotten stingy 
 
 " Shut up, you two," Smithson commanded. " You 
 never meet but you scrap ; let s at least have our meals in 
 peace."
 
 92 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Ngumbe and Mbega served dinner. Ngumbe wore a 
 fairly clean white duck coat, buttoned tight, and he 
 proved himself an efficient servant, but Mbega was the 
 bushboy pure and simple. His cloth was tied about 
 his neck and draped only the front of his body leaving 
 his back bare. 
 
 He attempted to hand soup across Sadler to Hunting 
 don. Infuriated, Sadler struck out, sending Mbega, soup 
 and all, to the floor, his head coming hard against Sad 
 ler s chair. 
 
 " You Monkey-Face," raged Sadler, boisterously as 
 though he were aboard a ship in a gale of wind ; then, 
 catching sight of Mbega s filthy hands, he rapped him 
 viciously over the head, and bellowed : " Go wash em, 
 or I ll cut em off." 
 
 With a run Mbega made for the galley. He returned 
 wiping his hands on a towel stiff with dirt, then he 
 rammed the towel between his legs, against the bare 
 flesh! 
 
 Cork floated in Sadler s wine. He dashed the wine in 
 Mbega s face, and ordered him to fetch another glass. 
 The bushboy retired to the shadows, whisked the towel 
 from between his legs, spat in the glass, rubbed it vigor 
 ously until it shone, and filled it with clear wine ! 
 
 The food was plentiful and of good quality, but it 
 was spoiled in the preparing. It was mostly from tins; 
 the exceptions being native chicken and palm-cabbage. 
 The former was thin and tough and Sadler complained 
 that a sausage machine ought to be served with it. Palm- 
 cabbage is the root of the palm tree and while it has a 
 peculiar, fine flavor, different from anything Hunting 
 don had ever eaten, and is palatable and refreshing,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 93 
 
 Huntingdon regretted that a beautiful, graceful palm 
 is sacrificed that man might eat of its heart. 
 
 " Gad," cried Moore in whose soul poetry and re 
 finement dwelt not, " I d eat my fellow man rather than 
 starve, wouldn t you, Huntingdon?" 
 
 " I can t say, Mr. Moore, what I might do in an ex 
 treme case, but I don t think I d voluntarily starve to 
 death if I could find any sort of nourishment." 
 
 " People in civilization make me sick," went on Moore 
 sneeringly, " boasting what they d do in extreme cases ! 
 Much they know what it is to be hungry, to be where 
 you can t get any food or water or even the commonest 
 things of life. Gad, they ought to come out here to my 
 first station at Ninge-Ninge 
 
 " They ought to have been with me in the Transvaal 
 before the Boer war and before it was civilized as it is 
 now, when I was out there on my first engineering job," 
 cut in Smithson, but, noticing the eager curiosity of 
 Moore, and resenting the hateful, familiar manner in 
 which he drew nearer as though he would compel con 
 fession from his lips, Smithson never finished what he 
 meant to say and Moore lost the chance of hearing the 
 prettiest bit of gossip that had ever come his way. For, 
 as Moore suspicioned, Smithson was of a good British 
 family, a son in whom parents hopes were high, an 
 Oxford graduate and a gentleman by birth, but 
 colonies have ruined more than one well-bred, promising 
 young man, and they will continue to ruin men as long 
 as colonies are what they are. 
 
 " So you were in the Boer war, eh, Smithson " began 
 Moore, inquisitively, but affecting drunkenness Smith- 
 son sang:
 
 94 
 
 Come where the booze is cheaper, 
 Come where the mugs hold more, 
 Come where the boss is a bit of a joss, 
 Let s go to the pub next door. 
 
 Ngumbe was pouring out black coffee and Moore 
 yelled : 
 
 " I want tea ! " 
 
 " Yes, give im tea," answered Sadler, " he ain t used 
 to anything else. Hatton & Cookson feed their men tea 
 because it s cheaper 
 
 " You re a liar," screamed Moore. " Hatton s much 
 better to his men than old man Holt is and we were 
 the first on this coast, too 
 
 " Yes, you were slavers, that s what you were," taunted 
 little Sadler. 
 
 The drinks were telling on the men and their tempers 
 were ugly. 
 
 " So would Holt have been if he had been out in them 
 days 
 
 " Hatton still employs slaves 
 
 " What the devil s the difference who niggers belong 
 to so long as they work ; anyhow, Smithson knows that 
 an old-fashioned slave s a better workman than the gen 
 eral run of native to-day, ain t it so, Smithson ? " 
 
 " True palaver, Moore. I say, Huntingdon, I 
 wouldn t have a mission nigger about the place if I were 
 you," and again the traders broke forth in denunciation 
 of missionaries making old Wallace s accusations mild 
 in comparison. 
 
 Twas midnight when Moore demanded: 
 
 " Gig ready, Smithson? "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 95 
 
 " No. Boys had a mighty big cargo to take off the 
 Nigeria to-day ; they re in bed. Mbega can light you 
 home." 
 
 " If I had known you d be so bally careful of your 
 niggers I d have had mine wait nice way to treat a 
 guest g wan and he roughly shoved Mbega in 
 front of him. 
 
 " Good night, sweet one," rollicked little Sadler. 
 
 Moore s retort was a long, vociferous oath, and Sadler 
 broke forth in the cockney ballad: 
 
 If her eyes could only smile, 
 If her lips could only speak, 
 But she s only a beautiful picture 
 In a beautiful golden frame. 
 
 As Huntingdon entered his sleeping room, little Sadler 
 cried : 
 
 " I say, tenderfoot, don t forget to shake the sheets, 
 sleep on your shoes and don t walk about in bare feet. 
 Scorpions, centipedes, snakes, roaches, and the terror 
 that biteth by night are abroad but happy dreams, if 
 you can get them." 
 
 To be transplanted from the niceties and refinements 
 of an exquisite, civilized home to superlative crudity and 
 disorder and uncleanliness, is harsh and contrastly, but, 
 as Huntingdon tucked the worse-for-wear mosquito bar 
 under a none-too-clean mattress, he muttered: 
 
 " It s certainly opera bouffe with all its trimmings. 
 I wonder what Marjorie and the mater would say could 
 they see me now, but what people don t know can t keep 
 them awake."
 
 96 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The terror that biteth by night, however, did keep 
 Huntingdon awake, until he took several big drinks of 
 whisky, which, combined with all he had drunk during 
 the evening, stupefied him so that he was oblivious to 
 everything.
 
 HUNTINGDON awoke early. He always did when he 
 drank too much. He ordered Ngumbe to bring him a 
 cold tub. The water was none too clean nor was there 
 much of it. Huntingdon emptied a whole bottle of violet 
 ammonia into it, which caused Ngumbe to sniff vigor 
 ously and remark : 
 
 " Them scent be plenty fine too much. How much he 
 cost, master? " 
 
 " I no savvy, Ngumbe," answered Huntingdon, kindly, 
 closing the door. 
 
 " Master," and Ngumbe s head was stuck through the 
 open window, " sundown be proper time for bath for 
 white man and water must be hot." 
 
 " Thanks, Ngumbe, but go away now, I wish to be 
 alone." 
 
 " Me, I savvy white man palaver, plenty, plenty ; me, 
 I be proper boy for Mister Huntingdon, the Great 
 White King," and Ngumbe hastened to the galley to 
 describe to the other servants that the Great White King 
 bathed in a whole tub of scent, that his underwear was 
 past anything for fine he had ever seen, and that the 
 Great White King had begged him to be his own special 
 boy, all of which was swallowed as truth by the others 
 and Ngumbe was considered a very superior creature in 
 deed! 
 
 97
 
 98 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Feeling fit and fresh after his bath, Huntingdon 
 sauntered to the beach. 
 
 The early morning was plaintive. The skies were a 
 soft blue, so characteristic of the equator, and the waters 
 of the bay reflected them. 
 
 It seemed a long, long while before sunrise, but, grad 
 ually, water and skies took on warmer hues and in the 
 east a tinge of gold appeared, communicating itself to 
 all nature by ribbons thrown from a common center. 
 Then rapidly growing brighter and brighter, they con 
 verged in a spot on the ocean s brim from whence there 
 suddenly leaped a ball of brilliant fire, blinding and mag 
 nificent, as the Sun rose majestically into his kingdom! 
 
 The soul of Huntingdon responded to Nature s 
 ecstatic call. He drank in great draughts of the salt 
 laden air; he gazed into space unoccupied and silent; 
 he recognized the great difference between active Eu 
 rope and somnambulant Africa. Marked was the absence 
 of the rush, rattle and roar of civilization, the throb of 
 incessant life beating with a defined purpose ; there were 
 no streets, roads, houses, beasts of burden and vehicles; 
 no monotonous round of engagement keeping to be en 
 dured, no heavy, sombre clothing to be worn ; there was 
 naught but freedom, total, absolute freedom. Hunting 
 don threw out his arms and embraced the whole world. 
 He was as a man released from long imprisonment. He 
 read no menace in the absence of the things to which he 
 was accustomed ; he knew only the ecstasy of the pres 
 ent; he was thankful that there were no distractions to 
 interfere with his learning the business which had 
 brought him there; he was anxious to begin work at
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 99 
 
 once for every moment well-spent brought him nearer 
 Marjorie and happiness. 
 
 The brilliant sunlight showed up the bungalow in all 
 its sordidness. Last night s shadows had been kind, but 
 again Huntingdon reflected that everything would be 
 cleaned and put in decent shape when Smithson left and 
 he was in full charge. 
 
 For the present Huntingdon was content with ordering 
 everything from his bedroom, having it cleansed thor 
 oughly and his own things set up therein. 
 
 Untubbed and slattern, Smithson and Sadler came to 
 the breakfast table. Smithson s pallor was distressing; 
 his khakis were old and soiled; his coat was minus but 
 tons, exposing an indifferent singlet. His breakfast was 
 an enormous dose of quinine, coffee and brandy. 
 
 Sadler yelled loud for fruit salts ; and, clouting 
 Ngumbe over the head for failing to put them on the 
 table, he shoved the quinine towards Huntingdon, yell 
 ing: 
 
 " Take that dope and become like Smithson : a corpse 
 walking round to save funeral expenses." 
 
 Huntingdon took the drug because physicians had 
 told him he must if he would preserve his health. 
 
 Bad as was the dinner the night before and wretched 
 the service, breakfast was worse. Huntingdon recog 
 nized that some attempt at improvement had been made 
 on his arrival. Now that he was installed, he could take 
 things as they came. The only things fit to eat were 
 the native-grown coffee, which he took black, and the 
 papayes. The latter were large, luscious, and delicious. 
 
 After breakfast, Sadler brought forth a pair of scis-
 
 100 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 sors and on the front veranda he proceeded to cut Hunt 
 ingdon s hair. 
 
 Holt s creissboys and passing natives gathered and 
 in silence they intently gazed upon the curling, blond 
 locks which fell slowly and unevenly from the dull scis 
 sors. Never before had they beheld hair which shone 
 like the sun and curled like the young bamboo palms ; 
 it must be indeed the distinguishing mark of a Great 
 White King ! 
 
 Sadler fully appreciated its effect upon the super 
 stitious savages, and, in solemn tones, he decanted upon 
 the value of the hair as a charm to ward off all evil. 
 No death could come to its wearer from secret poisons 
 or wild beasts ; sterile women were made to bring forth 
 young; a mother could have a man or a woman child, 
 whichever she preferred ; enemies were indicated ; theft 
 guarded against ; indifferent beaux were seized with con 
 suming love for him or her who would be adored; the 
 sick were healed; the afflicted were comforted; the blind 
 were caused to see ; the lame to walk ; in short, the hair 
 of the Great White King was a charm more potent than 
 any concocted by native sorcerers and witch doctors and 
 much cheaper ! 
 
 Credulous as babes, the savages eagerly devoured 
 every word that fell from the white wag s lips. 
 
 Sickness, death and bad luck of any sort are but dif 
 ferent manifestations of ju-ju and charms are the only 
 safe-guard against them. 
 
 Huntingdon essayed a laugh, but a sharp poke in his 
 neck from the scissors caused him to desist. Out 
 stretched on a steamer chair, his eyes half closed mask 
 ing his amusement, lay Smithson. He loved the little
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 101 
 
 skipper and was happiest when he played the mounte 
 bank. 
 
 The first native to recover after Sadler s decantation 
 was the officious Ngumbe. He demanded the magic hair 
 of the Great White King. But, shoving him aside, Sad 
 ler bade the giant, Sunlight, carefully gather up the hair 
 and sell it for a shilling the charm. The giant tucked 
 away in his cloth a handful of hair for his own use and 
 in the native town beyond he sold the rest of it for clay 
 pipes, leaves of tobacco, boxes of matches and plates 
 of salt. 
 
 Huntingdon eagerly sought a mirror. He laughed at 
 his appearance; it completely altered his looks, and he 
 felt sort of queer, yet comfort must be had at any price. 
 
 " I ll make a trader* out of Sunlight yet," Sadler 
 boasted. 
 
 " Better teach him English first," Smithson advised. 
 " I presume you ve recognized, Mr. Huntingdon, that 
 pidgin English is a language in itself and it s astonish 
 ing how prevalent it is in the bush, going to prove that 
 we British were the first to carry trade, hence civilization, 
 into the interior and our being ousted by the French is 
 indeed a great calamity. King Leopold s the head of 
 this restricted trade rumpus. Not content with his mal 
 treatment of the natives in his private domain, the Congo 
 Beige, he has butted in here, ousting out everybody else 
 but the French companies which he controls. Tis true 
 that Hatton and Cookson and Holt have secured dam 
 ages in the courts of Europe for loss of trade, but those 
 damages are nothing in comparison to what the trade 
 is really worth but, come along, I ll show you over 
 the factory, then we must make official calls."
 
 102 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The tin roof of the factory made it hot and the win 
 dows were few and afforded little ventilation. The floor 
 was of dirt, which Sadler said was filled with jiggers and 
 other " bally " tortures. A small selling space was par 
 titioned off in front where goods were displayed, and 
 the rear was used as a storeroom. 
 
 Itula, the shop boy, clad in neat khaki, was young 
 and spoke intelligent English. He immediately rec 
 ognized in Huntingdon a man worthy of respect and 
 homage, while Huntingdon was agreeably surprised in 
 Itula and pleased to have such a valuable assistant. 
 
 A decrepit old native followed Huntingdon into the 
 factory and began to whine : 
 
 " I be proper frien f er Inglees," but Sadler warned : 
 
 " Pay no attention to him, Huntingdon, he s getting 
 ready to strike you for a dash. 1 Come on back and look 
 the storeroom over." 
 
 The place was dark and Huntingdon stumbled over a 
 pile of something soft, which Sadler explained was 
 crude rubber. Huntingdon took a handful of it to the 
 light to examine it. It was in small balls, of a dirty 
 white color and of unpleasant odor. Smithson ex 
 plained the method of gathering it and the prevailing 
 market price. He decried the ruthless destruction of 
 rubber vines and trees by the natives and the French 
 lack of foresight in not insisting upon the nurturing of 
 old vines and trees, and the planting of new ones. 
 More vines and trees were destroyed in one year than 
 could be grown in ten. " The French are not coloniz 
 ers," was Smithson s final remark. 
 
 " I thought they were," answered Huntingdon. 
 
 i Gift, tip.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 103 
 
 " Algiers is mightily improved under the French, I hear 
 the Senegal is too, and look at Madagascar " 
 
 " I ve been in Algiers, Madagascar and the Senegal," 
 answered Smithson. " They re not so well governed as 
 they might be; their interiors continue pretty much in 
 their primitive states. As for the French Congo, did 
 you go ashore at Libreville, the capital of Gaboon? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It and Brazzaville on the Congo River are dead as 
 door nails ; and immediately outside of those two ports, 
 bush and savagery still hold sway. Trade s fallen off 
 enormously and the French are too short-sighted to rec 
 ognize that it s all from their own acts. You can t 
 force a monopoly in anything but absolute necessities. 
 The black man can get along without the white man ; 
 he has demonstrated it by his life ages before he ever 
 saw a white man, but the latter must have the co 
 operation of the negro. The French have made and are 
 daily making great mistakes. Because the government 
 has, without the leave of the native, granted exclusive 
 trading concessions on land which has belonged to the 
 natives from time out of mind, and because the con 
 cessionaires charge the natives with theft if they fell 
 timber or hunt ivory, the negroes hide from the govern 
 ment and refuse to trade with the concessionaires. And 
 the result? Chaos all round. The natives sit idle in 
 their native towns surrounded by worse conditions than 
 existed before a white man came among them. For up 
 wards of one hundred and fifty years in some districts 
 open trade has been established; the white man became 
 a necessity ; the natives became dependent upon him ; 
 they were content to gather their products and exchange
 
 104 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 them for the trinkets of civilization, absolutely no use to 
 them ; but suddenly competitive trade was forced out and 
 the monopolists not only put up the prices of well-known 
 imports but substitute in their stead unknown inferior 
 products at superior prices ! Accused of theft by the 
 concessionaires, and punished therefor by the govern 
 ment, the natives are reduced to absolute beggary. They 
 have nothing, yet out of nothing they are expected to 
 pay an annual tax to the government! Now the con 
 cessionaires accuse the government of having taken 
 them in, of demanding an exorbitant price for terri 
 tories already worked out." 
 
 " Are the concessions really worked out, Smithson? " 
 
 " No. They re destroyed, as I ve explained, but 
 plantations of rubber and oil-palms can be made and 
 nurtured and the yield will be great ; but, of course, 
 it takes time, and the French have so impoverished them 
 selves by bad management that they can t afford to wait, 
 hence government and the concessions are bankrupt. 
 Come on, we must make those calls, otherwise your kit 
 might be searched and your firearms and ammunition 
 confiscated no matter what papers you have from the 
 Government at Paris." 
 
 The white men had scarce left the factory, when 
 Makaya, the Commandant s chef slouched in. Sadler 
 immediately sent Itula on a errand to a bush town which 
 would require some hours time. He wanted to be alone 
 with the Loango. 
 
 Makaya was undersized, greasy and crafty ; his front 
 teeth were out and through them his tongue showed like 
 a strip of red calico. He wore a flannel nightshirt, 
 much too large, stuffed into a pair of balloon Turkish
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 105 
 
 trousers of red and blue striped madras drawn tight 
 about his thin waist by a broad, leather belt. He was 
 about thirty-five years of age and smug with the sat 
 isfaction of a lady-killer. For Makaya, chef to the 
 Commandant, was an attractive dandy to the ladies of 
 Cape Lopez. His bump of conceit was inordinately de 
 veloped and tricky Sadler turned a stream of seduction 
 full upon it. 
 
 Makaya wanted two fathoms of British print goods. 
 
 Generally, the natives had to take what Sadler gave 
 them. But Makaya was permitted to make a selection 
 from a number of pieces, while Sadler said, flatteringly : 
 
 " Makaya, you certainly are a measly-looking mut, 
 but you can chef to the king s own taste, blow me pipes 
 if you can t." 
 
 Makaya puffed up like a pock-marked frog under the 
 downpour of the white man s guile. He squirmed in his 
 balloon trousers ; he shoved his hands into his pockets ; 
 he rolled his tongue about his open mouth and his little 
 eyes gleamed with satisfaction, but he said nothing. 
 
 " Makaya, you look them Great White King what 
 come for beach yesterday and what just now take walk 
 with Master Smithson ? " 
 
 " I look um, Master Sadler. Him be fine pas French- 
 mans." 
 
 " Him be fine pas all white man ; " boasted Sadler. 
 " Him be big king for him country big white 
 king. You savvy king, Makaya? " 
 
 " Sure I savvy. He pas chief. He pas everybody 
 for fine." 
 
 " King Huntingdon him say to me, Master Sadler, 
 you fit for find me chef, proper chef? I fit, Great
 
 106 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 White King, I tell him. I fit for make book 1 to send to 
 Loango for get cook to come for the Great White 
 King." Suddenly Sadler shut off the guile, and de 
 manded : 
 
 " What else does Makaya, chef to Commandant, 
 want? " 
 
 " Stink water." 
 
 Sadler handed out a bottle of perfume so strong that 
 it screamed through the cork. 
 
 The Loango sniffed it repeatedly, asked the price of 
 it and stowed it in his shirt. 
 
 " Yes," continued Sadler, " I go now for make book 
 for Loango cook to come. You fit to take them book 
 to post office? " And Sadler reached for a box of letter 
 paper. 
 
 " Master Sadler? " 
 
 " Umph, you want buy something more? " asked the 
 guileless one, knowing well what was in the mind of the 
 Loango. 
 
 " Me, Makaya, Loango, chef to Commandant, I fit for 
 chef for Great White King." 
 
 " Sure, Loango, chef for Commandant, fit for chef 
 for Great White King. But Commandant he never lef 
 Makaya go. And me, I never thief other white man s 
 chef; " and in Sadler s big blue eyes was the innocence 
 of a suckling babe. 
 
 " Them Commandant him pay me thirty francs 
 month." 
 
 " Thirty francs a month! For a Loango chef? " 
 Emphasized was Sadler s contempt, followed by the 
 boast : " Great White King him pay thirty-five francs 
 
 i Letter.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 107 
 
 and him dash, plenty, plenty stink water and pomade, 
 rum and tacco every Saturday night t Him live jus fer 
 dash him chef. Him be big king, proper king." 
 
 The Loango leaned over the counter and asked ear 
 nestly : 
 
 " You look um say so ? " 
 
 " Umph ! My mouth him never mek lie-palaver. But 
 Makaya he prefer chef for them Commandant" 
 
 " Me I fear them chicotte. 1 Frenchmens mek plenty 
 chicotte-pa.]a,ver." 
 
 " And Loango him like them palaver and him stay by 
 Frenchman," sneered Sadler. 
 
 The Loango ignored the sneer, and complained: 
 
 " Messure Commandant, him no cadeau 2 me lavande 
 and rum." 
 
 " Them French no be proper master," condemned Sad 
 ler. " King Huntingdon cadeau all him peoples stink 
 water, plenty, plenty, and rum, good, stiff, British rum ! 
 It pas absinthe for fine," and Sadler smacked his 
 lips. 
 
 " Me, I never look um so," confessed the Loango, 
 sadly. 
 
 " Never look proper rum, rum pas absinthe for fine ! 
 Poor Makaya, chef Loango. That s because him never 
 chef for proper master. French no be proper master 
 for black man. Him give black man rot-gut all time. 
 Rot-gut fit only fer nigger. 3 White King fit cadeau him 
 chef, proper rum." 
 
 1 French for cashing-go. 
 
 2 Gift. 
 
 3 Slave. Term of great opprobrium. To apply it to a free na 
 tive is apt to bring serious results.
 
 108 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Him cadeau him chef rum, rum all same white man 
 takes?" and Makaya s eyes blazed with incredulity. 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 " How much them rum cost? " 
 
 " Ah, gwan, French master never pay you plenty 
 money for buy proper English rum." 
 
 " Lemme look what them bottles look like." 
 
 Sadler brought out an unlabelled bottle. It was the 
 vilest rum in stock. 
 
 " White man take him ? " and Makaya puckered his 
 cracked black lips. 
 
 " Sure white man take him. I ll have one now," and 
 Sadler raised the bottle to his mouth. 
 
 Makaya passed the back of his hand over his dry 
 lips, and gasped, hungrily : 
 
 " Him be fine, pas absinthe for fine? " 
 
 " Taste him and see," and suddenly Sadler held out 
 the bottle. 
 
 Taken by surprise the Loango cried: 
 
 " Me drink all same as Master Sadler " 
 
 Yes, and all same rum what King Huntingdon 
 drink. Put him for belly ! " 
 
 Makaya took a tremendous draught. 
 
 It nearly suffocated him, proof though he was against 
 most trade stuff. 
 
 " Ain t he fine, Makaya," and Sadler brought down 
 his fist hard on the Loango s shoulder. " Don t he pas 
 absinthe for strong? " 
 
 " He pas all things for strong," choked Makaya 
 through his burning esophagus. " King Huntingdon, 
 him take um? "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 109 
 
 " Sure. White man throat be strong, strong, 
 STRONG! " 
 
 Makaya reluctantly handed back the bottle. 
 
 " Keep him. Plenty more live for inside," and Sadler 
 gestured magnanimously towards the storeroom. Sud 
 denly, he doubled up, rubbed his stomach and in agony 
 cried: " Oh, Makaya, Master Sadler he ketch sick for 
 belly. He fit get medceen. Wait ! " and Sadler plunged 
 into the storeroom. 
 
 Left alone, Makaya did what Sadler wished him to 
 do. He drank again and again of the fiery liquid. 
 
 When Sadler reappeared, Makaya swayed uncer 
 tainly. 
 
 " Makaya him sick for head? " asked the guileless one 
 in pronounced sympathy. " Them rum fix you up, have 
 some more." 
 
 Again Makaya drank greedily, then he thrust the 
 almost empty bottle into his shirt and started towards 
 the door, but he was so drunk he stumbled into a pile of 
 stone-china dishes and sank among the debris. 
 
 Sadler closed his fists. He wanted to pommel the 
 drunken brute, but he controlled himself. He had an 
 end to gain. 
 
 Makaya looked stupidly at Sadler; his eyes blinked; 
 his red slit of a tongue protruded restlessly, and from 
 his shirt ran two streams ; one of rum and the other of 
 perfume. The clash of odors was sickening, and Ma- 
 kaya s head wobbled over the fumes, then he fell face 
 down among the broken dishes. 
 
 Sadler dragged him into the storeroom, deposited 
 him behind some barrels, then chortled:
 
 110 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " You beast, if the rats don t eat you, I guess we ll 
 have a proper cook. You ll sleep past the Comman 
 dant s dinner time and you ll be too jolly well scared 
 to brave his wrath. Allans, as the Frog-eaters say." 
 Little Sadler lightly kissed the tips of his fingers 
 and returned to the front of the factory. He lived in 
 a gale of jollity for the rest of the day. But it was 
 morning before Makaya regained full consciousness. 
 The wretch cried out his fear of the Commandant and 
 begged Sadler to get the Great White King to protect 
 him. After much importuning and many, many prom 
 ises from the Loango never to drink again and to live 
 only to cook the finest dishes white men ever put into 
 his mouth, Sadler magnanimously promised that King 
 Huntingdon would protect " the Loango chef, Makaya, 
 from the wrath of the Commandant and the whole damn 
 French Army ! " 
 
 Sadler didn t believe in doing things by halves and 
 Makaya s seduction and abduction were a fact accom 
 plished.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN the meantime Smithson and Huntingdon were pro 
 ceeding on their official calls. The sand was so heavy 
 that it was too much for Huntingdon, and, weak though 
 Smithson was and consequently slow his walking, Hunt 
 ingdon could not keep up with him. Huntingdon s 
 stiff leather, tan shoes with thick soles were dreadfully 
 heavy and impeded progress, while the hot sand burned 
 through them and tortured his feet. He envied Smith- 
 son his light-weight, tan, soft-leather mosquito boots, 
 which reached nearly to his knees. He had none in his 
 kit and he thought he had brought everything he 
 would need. Smithson said that the German factory 
 kept the boots in stock and advised Huntingdon to get 
 several pairs at once. 
 
 Few natives were abroad; they stared at the new 
 comer with open admiration, then pleasantly greeted: 
 
 " Mbolane." 
 
 "Aye mbolane," responded Smithson continuing 
 his way. 
 
 " Aye," came the satisfied, savage grunt, as they too 
 continued their way, looking back and smiling, satis 
 fied at last that a Great White King had come to dwell 
 among them. They sensed the difference between as 
 sumed tyranny and natural supremacy. They may 
 cringe before the former and in their heart vow ven 
 geance against it, but to the latter they tender voluntary 
 
 111
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 allegiance, willing service and fealty so far as they 
 are capable of faith toward any white man. For 
 when it comes to a crisis black men will cling together 
 against the white man every time. Among themselves 
 they are great respecters of caste and deep-seated are 
 their love and allegiance to their superiors ; their 
 kings, chiefs, and headmen cannot err ; theirs the power 
 of life or death and their judgments are irrevo 
 cable. It has been so from time out of mind, it will 
 continue to be so as long as savages are savages. Cus 
 toms cannot be uprooted over night nor can the habit 
 of centuries be annihilated with a blow, the white man s 
 thought to the contrary notwithstanding. 
 
 To make walking less heavy, before the Government 
 buildings of Cape Lopez, a band of chained prisoners in 
 charge of a Senegalese tirailleur was strewing straw. 
 They gave way at the approach of the white men and 
 the guard stood attention. He was a magnificent speci 
 men of a black man and he shouldered his carbine easily 
 and gracefully. His uniform was dark blue, his fez 
 was red with a long, dangling tassel and he was bare of 
 feet. 
 
 The government buildings, ramshackle and badly in 
 need of repairs, were of the low, bungalow type, set on 
 piles and surrounded by verandas. 
 
 Smithson had sent word to the Commandant announc 
 ing their call at that hour, otherwise the Commandant 
 might not be dressed and would refuse to see them. 
 
 A reed-grown path lead through a dusty, sandy, neg 
 lected garden to the Commandant s veranda, and a 
 houseboy in clean whites escorted the white men to the 
 Commandant s bureau a large, barren room, con-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 113 
 
 taining a littered-up desk, a cabinet file and some heavy, 
 wooden chairs. 
 
 The Frenchman appeared, glowing from recent scrub 
 bing, dressed in immaculate white and smelling strongly 
 of perfume. Moore had correctly described him : he 
 did look like a puffed-up poodle dog, lazy and overfed, 
 and he was the sycophant exaggerated. He was over 
 joyed to hear la langue francaise spoken so deliciously 
 and perfectly by a foreigner; deep was his humiliation 
 and shame that he could not speak the beautiful Eng 
 lish. With a flourish he viseed Huntingdon s passport; 
 he made out with great pleasure and much ostentation a 
 permis de sejour for six months, or longer, and tendered 
 it to Huntingdon with his plus grands hommages; he 
 knew Huntingdon was of la haute noblesse, un gentil- 
 homme entitled to the utmost respect and deference ; all 
 of which grated false on the Englishmen and revealed the 
 Commandant s peasant origin. 
 
 Then the Commandant lead the way to his private 
 veranda screened with Venetian blinds of bamboo. Di 
 vans and easy chairs there were, mats and reading mat 
 ter, but the place reflected the master and it was neither 
 reposeful nor comfortable. It didn t ring true. Cham 
 pagne, dainty biscuits and Habana cigars were served. 
 Under the influence of the wine, the Commandant la 
 mented the monotonous, barbarous country ; he was 
 trlste, miserable sans son jolie femme; malaria and the 
 rains had left him thin, meagre; Africa was so inhospit 
 able and la belle France si distant! Les indigenes were 
 treacherous, lazy cochons; they refused to pay impot; 
 they preferred to sleep comme les betes and expected 
 France to feed and keep them. They did not appreciate
 
 114 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 him, le grand Commandant du Cape Lopez who loved 
 them like children ; for punishment he wished they all 
 had but one head that he might strike it off at a blow! 
 He commiserated with himself until tears gathered in 
 his frog-like eyes ; he blew his nose vigorously ; he poured 
 absinthe into his wine glass, added much sugar and little 
 water, and drank it greedily. Then his mood changed ; 
 he grew eloquent upon the delights of absinthe; it was a 
 beautiful woman, a goddess ; the grand remedy for la 
 tristesse; it brought dreams more voluptuous than any 
 material delights! Mon Dwu, la belle Absinthe! He 
 who had never experienced her delights was accursed of 
 the gods ! 
 
 Several native chiefs were announced by the boy, but 
 the Commandant s gloss had dimmed before absinthe, 
 and he raged : 
 
 " Shut up, you pig, interrupt me again and I ll have 
 you chicotted! " 
 
 He wrang Huntingdon s hand and cried when he bade 
 him adieu ; le grand due Huntingdon must come again, 
 and often, to relieve the gloom of the Commandant s 
 triste existence ; but to Smithson he said nothing, he 
 ignored him completely. 
 
 " The old hypocrite," raged Smithson, " had you been 
 a mere pleb like the rest of us, scant treatment and short 
 shrift for you. The French, even the best of them, 
 don t like us and never will ; and these sycophantic, petty 
 officials lick the heels of any man above them by the 
 accident of birth. That reptile s having another drink 
 and perhaps off to sleep. His bureau can take care of 
 itself. Look at Cape Lopez! Here you find the A B 
 C of the whole French Colony! stagnation, rottenness,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 115 
 
 barrenness, degradation. Did you ever see anything so 
 disreputable in all your life as those government build 
 ings ; and anybody less worthy to administer the law 
 than that creature? " 
 
 " They could be worse, but not much," Huntingdon 
 answered promptly. He believed in reputable govern 
 ment quarters and he detested poseurs. 
 
 The postmaster was a pale, sickly chap with his 
 trousers draped mostly about his thin ankles. He, too, 
 fairly cringed before Huntingdon ; he, too, indulged in 
 sugary speech from which Smithson was excluded; and 
 with courtly bows and many flowery compliments he took 
 leave of Huntingdon. 
 
 " Puppets, marionettes, pulled by the string of caste," 
 cried Smithson, disgusted. " Give me a man and I don t 
 care a ground-nut what his ancestry is. I say, Hunt 
 ingdon, behold the Plains of Mandji," and Smithson 
 pointed across a flat plateau spotted here and there with 
 scrub grass and disappearing in the distance into dense 
 vegetation. " There s a Hunter s Paradise ; the play 
 ground of rare animals, some dating beyond the Miocene 
 Age. Many a good tussle I ve had there with the bush- 
 cow, the most formidable of all animals ; as for leop 
 ards, they re so bold fire won t keep em away, and many 
 a good shot I ve had at them on a bright night from my 
 own veranda. It s nothing at all unusual for a cat to 
 steal to the very camp fire and tear a child away. Oh, 
 you ll get hunting and a-plenty ! I can t begin to name 
 all the animals, for some of them have never been named ; 
 as for birds, the air s full o them." 
 
 " I m awfully keen for a hunt, old man," enthused 
 Huntingdon.
 
 116 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Best get one then before I set out for N djole; any 
 way, you might as well play while I m here, you ll have 
 to stick close enough when I m gone, especially till you 
 get the hang of things." 
 
 " I say, Smithson, old chap, I don t know a bally 
 thing about trade, don cher know." Huntingdon s 
 frankness was that of a growing boy, his drawl that of a 
 West-End dandy. 
 
 " Bluff it ; bluff sends the world around. We never 
 get any new lines of goods ; merchandise is the same as 
 it has been for half a century ; only cash is allowed 
 over the counter, no barter and trade at all; goods are 
 marked in plain figures. I ll put the selling prices on 
 the last invoices that came in ; you can study them and 
 when you ve once learned them, you ll be all right; 
 however, Itula s the wisest native I ever had about me 
 in all " then suddenly conscious that he was becoming 
 personal, he cried : " Did you ever in all your life see 
 any place so dreary, so God-forsaken, so end-of-the- 
 earthy as Cape Lopez? This thick, dirty stretch of 
 sand is our only promenade. You re getting a sample 
 of walking; it s not conducive to exercise, is it? " 
 
 " Decidedly not ! still, there s the sea ; it is ever chang 
 ing ; then there are the plains and beyond them the shad 
 owy, mysterious bush which I m so anxious to explore," 
 Huntingdon enthused. Stopping to pick up a cocoa 
 nut, and pointing to the cocoanut palms, he exclaimed: 
 "Aren t they majestic with their long fronds of dull 
 green bending gracefully from the tufted trunks of old 
 sepia, and isn t it wonderful that such a nutritious nut 
 should come from such barren soil? " Then, as the 
 odor of turpentine smote his nostrils, he looked about
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 117 
 
 and discovering a mango tree, he sought its motherly 
 shade, and cried, feeling of the fruit which was small 
 and hard and far from ripe, " Ah, Smithson, I don t 
 think I ll corrode here; it s all too new, too interest 
 ing, so entirely different to what I ve ever before 
 known ! " 
 
 " Enthuse while you can, old man," advised Smithson 
 gently, " it ll soon wear off ; but try to take in the mean 
 ing of this desolate beach; notice how separate, dis 
 cordant are the indifferent habitations of the white men 
 and their trade depots. I tell you, Huntingdon, if it 
 were not for the monthly call of steamers no white man 
 could stand this sameness. It s got me going and if I 
 don t get away from it soon, you ll plant me here," and 
 he stopped before a small space enclosed with a crude 
 fence of upright bamboo splits. Depressions showed 
 here and there in the inhospitable sand but of other mark 
 there was none indicating the last resting place of the 
 unfortunate white men who had gone the way of Africa 
 and the flesh. It was a sad, desolate spot and Hunting 
 don wished he had not seen it. He made no comment and 
 passed on, but Smithson complained, pathetically : 
 
 " Cape Lopez is enough of a boneyard without some 
 fiend planting that additional reminder there to taunt 
 us every time we pass. Huntingdon, old man, could 
 anything be more depressing, more horror-begetting than 
 that lonely half-acre, those gaunt, rattling cocoa-nut 
 palms and the eternal sob of the restless sea casting 
 itself in misery on the shifting sands of the treacherous 
 beach? " 
 
 Huntingdon s reply was sympathetic, acquiescent si 
 lence.
 
 118 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " I must get away from here one time, I can t stand 
 it much longer, my friend." 
 
 " All right, old chap, when you will. I m here to 
 relieve you and I m ready to begin right now." 
 
 " Thanks, but there s some things I must do before I 
 go. Anyhow, at N djole there s nothing but bush. The 
 sea, the Atlantic, is some direct communication with 
 home, and that s a lot of comfort at times, when 
 its sob and eternal restlessness don t torture worn-out 
 nerves. I ll tire of the bush too. It s nothing but reek 
 ing vegetation ; your very vitals turn green gazing at it, 
 and the torrential rains eight months the rainy season 
 endures eight interminable - - hell-enduring - 
 months." 
 
 His tones died off in a sad monotone, expressing 
 more than did his words. Huntingdon was again vividly 
 impressed with the white man s misery in the black man s 
 country, yet such misery would never come to him ! oh, 
 no! He was there to gain wealth and Marjorie. He 
 would so guard himself that Africa s onslaughts would 
 pass him by. He was young, strong, healthy. He 
 would put up a stiff fight. HE would NOT go under ! 
 
 Oh, the faith of youth and inexperience! Tis sub 
 lime! 
 
 Into the Douane s gate Smithson turned, and again 
 barren sand led to the very door of the bungalow. 
 
 The Douane immediately appeared all smiles, dressed 
 in immaculate white and hung with medals. He was a 
 Creole, languorous, indolent, somnambulant, about thirty 
 years of age and clothed with the soft fat that comes of 
 easy living. His eyes were large, velvety and a rich, 
 moist brown ; his thick, dark lashes curled like a woman s ;
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 119 
 
 his blue-black hair was ripples of waves ; his mustache 
 was short with up-turned ends; his complexion was 
 cafe au lait; his lips were full, red, and sensual and his 
 teeth were even, white and rounded. 
 
 A gourmand and a half-breed, Moore called him; an 
 egoist the French would name him, but to Huntingdon 
 he was exceedingly interesting. He was strongly indi 
 vidual of the tropics, part and parcel of them : the cold, 
 gray north would blast and kill him. 
 
 He spoke the perfect English of the educated for 
 eigner ; he showed no surprise at Huntingdon s permis 
 d apporter d arms dans la Colonie Francaise and he 
 made out a permis de chasse, presenting it to Huntingdon 
 with his plus grands hommages, but there was nothing 
 servile nor sycophantic about him ; he was a gentleman, a 
 man of culture, refinement, travel ; the first one of the 
 kind Huntingdon met on the west coast. And white 
 men dubbed him half-breed! But breeding is breeding 
 no matter what dress it assumes or complexion it betrays. 
 
 The Douane led the way to his private verandah 
 where a revelation of ease and comfort burst upon Hunt 
 ingdon and delighted him. Finely woven bamboo shades 
 hid the verandah from public gaze and permitted a 
 perfect, subdued view of the littoral. Low, comfortable 
 chaises longues, and small tables were of Madeira rattan ; 
 the floor was strewn with native hand-woven mats of 
 rich, brilliant hues ; there were the latest novels in 
 Spanish, French, Italian and English. Baudelaire s 
 Les Fleurs du Mai lay open on a teakwood tabouret, 
 on a chaise longue piled with soft cushions covered 
 with cool, fresh linens, were Pierre Loti s Desenchantee, 
 Paul Adams Veu d Amerique, and Hichens Garden
 
 120 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 of Allah. Water bottles of red c\a.j fashioned like 
 birds hung from the rafters by stout lianes coaxing 
 coolness from the circumambient air. On the rear of 
 the veranda a table was laid with a snowy-white, well- 
 ironed cloth and set with a single breakfast service of 
 delicate white china with a narrow gold band. 
 
 To the table the Douane advanced, and, at his com 
 mand; "Petit marmiton," a smallboy appeared. He 
 was picturesque in a brilliant red cloth and headdress 
 and a white coat buttoned up tight with a high military 
 collar. He listened attentively while the Douane spoke 
 in the Ouro-ungo dialect, then softly he placed two extra 
 chairs at the table. The Douane bade his guests be 
 seated ; he begged their permission to partake of his 
 petit dejeuner; he asked them what refreshment they 
 would have. At that instant the houseboy appeared 
 in a well-fitting fresh white uniform, bearing on a tray a 
 glass of fresh milk from the cocoanut; cafe-au-lait, 
 dry toast and a papaye. The visitors declared in favor 
 of the cocoanut milk. The marmiton, at the Douane s 
 command, brought forth a number of the nuts, from 
 which the Douane selected the best and ordered the milk 
 extracted therefrom. The Douane spoke of the benefi 
 cial qualities of the milk as a morning beverage: it 
 regulates the system, helps ward off fever, etc. ; then 
 in French he commanded the Iwuseboy to take a bag of 
 the nuts to Holt s ! 
 
 Smithson was astounded at such generosity, but he 
 was too well bred to show it; however, when the gour 
 mand, who was never known willing to relinquish any 
 thing, offered to keep Holt s supplied with fresh vege 
 tables that rare boon in that country of sand and
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 121 
 
 blasting drought followed by a deluge of eight months 
 rain Smithson imagined it a chimera of his fever- 
 laden brain. 
 
 " God a Mighty," he exclaimed when he and Hunting 
 don were homeward bound, " such unheard-of generosity 
 will simply upset the whole colony. It s the first time 
 in the gourmand s history that he s given away anything 
 to eat as for vegetables, Lord, they re worth their 
 weight in gold ! You ve no idea what garden-making 
 is out here and how rare it is for European seeds to 
 germinate. This generosity s the most surprising thing 
 that s ever happened on this coast ; it ll simply upset 
 the colony ! " 
 
 Sadler was delighted. He knew Huntingdon was a 
 one-time winner, and with the joy of a mischievous boy, 
 he spread the wondrous news of the Great White King s 
 conquest of the half-breed gourmand. Moore was con 
 sumed with jealousy, so were the other traders, and the 
 natives marveled what manner of a white man he was 
 who could conquer the all-powerful and much-feared 
 Douane!
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THAT night Moore greeted his guests with cocktails 
 already mixed and a shout to his two boys : " Pass 
 chop! " 
 
 Although his bungalow was flush with the sand, and 
 its veranda small, yet throughout the little establish 
 ment order and cleanliness prevailed. 
 
 A lamp with a colored shade hung low over the table, 
 and threw a roseate glow over everything. The table 
 was well-laid and spotless ; the linen well laundered ; the 
 silver, china and glass, though of inferior quality, shone 
 from vigorous polishing, and at each plate was this 
 menu, elaborately written with much flourishing of ink : 
 
 Lentil soup. 
 
 Eggs fried in butter with sauce tomato. 
 Fresh fish avec sauce de vin blanc. Pati de f ois gras a la Chinoise. 
 
 Lettuce with mayonnaise. 
 Braised celery. Grilled poulet avec dressing francaise. 
 
 Chocolate custard with whites of eggs on top. 
 
 Red and white wine, brandy, creme de menthe. Caf6 noir. Tea. 
 
 Chocolate candy. 
 
 Despite the execrable French of the menu, every dish 
 was delicious, the service first-class, but to Huntingdon 
 blatant and jarring was Moore s boasting: butter, eggs, 
 milk, potatoes and fresh vegetables though ordinary in 
 civilization were luxuries there; butter and milk were 
 obtainable only in tins and were very expensive ; pota- 
 
 122
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 toes cost two shillings the kilo from German steamers, 
 as for vegetables, " after I heard you made such a 
 grand-slam to-day with the gourmand, I sent a book 
 telling him you were coming to chop to-night and asking 
 what fresh stuff he could contribute. He sent the let 
 tuce and six fresh eggs, voua le cutard! " 
 
 The other three men gazed in amazement at Moore, 
 then little Sadler cried: 
 
 " Moore, you ve got the g d est nerve of any 
 white man I ever heard of ! Striking the gourmand for 
 chop when you know bally well he hates you ! " 
 
 " Oh, he accuses everybody of making out false ex 
 port vouchers," Moore defended. " I say, Huntingdon, 
 this is chop as is chop, n est ce pas? " 
 
 " Very fine, indeed, Mr. Moore. We must try to get 
 a decent cook, gentlemen," and Huntingdon addressed 
 Sadler and Smithson. 
 
 " Yes, it s all in the servants," Sadler agreed. 
 
 " Oh, I don t know, I think the man at the head s what 
 counts," bridled Moore. " If a white man s slack, his 
 surroundings are slack. I won t put up with it." 
 
 " Ah, gwan," sneered Sadler, " come up to Holt s to 
 morrow night and we ll serve you grub that ll put yours 
 in the fo cas le class." 
 
 " Best find a chef first," admonished Smithson. 
 
 " Leave that to me," and Sadler thought of the ab 
 ducted Loango. " Might as well bring up those 
 cheroots, Moore ; you ll have to pay em." 
 
 " You talk like a drunken man," gibed Moore. 
 "Find a chef! Where ll you get him? Besides you 
 haven t linen and dishes enough to set before even a 
 half-breed."
 
 " You can t eat dishes and tablecloths but I ll 
 guarantee you mil devour " but Sadler got no further, 
 for a big scorpion fell from the rafters to his head and 
 bounced to his plate. He jumped up with a yell and 
 commanding a boy to take the thing away and kill it, 
 he rammed his wide-awake low on his head and advised 
 the others to put theirs on too. The conversation thus 
 drifted to deaths from poisonous insects, from snakes 
 and wild animals, leopards in particular. Huntingdon 
 thought the long-bowing on the Nigeria was pretty far 
 fetched, but it was nothing in comparison to that now 
 indulged in for his benefit. Sadler passed on to the 
 tenderfoot the delightful (?) stories heaped upon him 
 on his arrival on the coast, augmented by his personal 
 experiences and the promptings of Moore and Smithson. 
 
 Coffee, tea, cigars and creme de mentlie were served 
 on the veranda. 
 
 The night was hot and still save for the insect life 
 that sings and chirps through the African darkness and 
 the white men were enjoying a smoke in silence, when, 
 suddenly, a harsh, discordant bell struck near at hand, 
 causing Smithson to start violently and to curse Moore. 
 
 " I never hear the bally thing," Moore defended. 
 " But the watch don t know that. He sounds the bell 
 every half-hour; it keeps him awake and the logs don t 
 get away with the tide. I say, Huntingdon, when you 
 take charge, begin by being master and remaining so ; 
 give your orders and make them be carried out; a 
 negro don t improve by petting; once you treat him 
 as a human being, he has nothing but rotten contempt 
 for you, and " 
 
 " Who wants a sermon ! " Sadler cut in. " Come on,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 125 
 
 Moore, order a cashing-go and a lantern and let s give 
 the tenderfoot a lesson in blackbirding ." 
 
 A short distance across the plain the bamboo shacks 
 of the natives, with thatched roofs, stood on either side 
 of a narrow, hard-beaten road, and the little town was 
 wrapped in slumber, but in another second, it was awake 
 and in panic. Sadler kicked in doors, flared a lantern 
 in sleeping faces, and forced men, women and children 
 into the open. 
 
 The majority of them were undraped ; others had their 
 loin cloths torn off by Moore and Sadler. The savages 
 were forced to dance to the tempo of cashing-gos 
 beaten livety upon their nude bodies. They took any 
 pose and executed any movement to escape the blows of 
 their white tormentors. 
 
 Huntingdon was disgusted. A natural, willing native 
 dance, no matter of what abandon, would have interested 
 him, but not that banal farce. 
 
 He turned away, when Moore flung a young girl to 
 wards him, crying: 
 
 " G wan, Huntingdon, take her for a wife. She s a 
 beaut." 
 
 The girl cowered, affrighted, but, recognizing the 
 Great White King, she timidly put her arms about him 
 and silently begged his protection. Gently, the white 
 man lead her to her hut, put her in and closed the door. 
 
 Chivalry towards a savage woman sent the other white 
 men into hysterical laughter and brought forth such 
 loathsome suggestions, that abruptly Huntingdon sum 
 moned Mbega and a lantern and went home. So stern 
 was he that none of the others had the courage to stay 
 him or utter a word.
 
 126 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 In the morning Chief Ragundo of the Ouroungoes 
 called with a number of his most eligible women, hoping 
 that the Great White King would purchase one for a 
 wife, but Smithson, then sober, spared Huntingdon by 
 sending the old chief away with gifts of rum and tobacco 
 for himself and his women. 
 
 Huntingdon had been silent all morning and tried to 
 seek seclusion in his room. To ease the tension, Sadler 
 suggested a hunt for the morrow Sunday, and 
 Ogula, the shootman, was summoned. 
 
 Guns were gotten out, overhauled and loaded ; belts 
 were stuffed with ammunition and a start at four in the 
 morning was agreed upon. 
 
 As it was then Saturday afternoon, Smithson and 
 Sadler, accompanied by Huntingdon, went to the fac 
 tory to help Itula pay off the crewboys. 
 
 Huntingdon got his first lesson in native trading. 
 Although the natives were eager to exchange their wages 
 for the white man s goods, they haggled so long and 
 changed their minds so often that the white men lost 
 their tempers and consigned them to perdition and eter 
 nal torture by way of shoving them none too gently out 
 of the factory. Instead of driving them away, it caused 
 them to return ; their decisions were prompt and soon 
 the tiresome week-end business was over with. 
 
 Keenly interested, Huntingdon stood to one side, tow 
 ering head and shoulders over the other white men. 
 Sharp, too, was the contrast between them and him. 
 They wore old singlets and trousers and indifferent sus 
 penders ; their great felt hats were pushed far back on 
 their heads, they were soaked with perspiration and 
 plainly disturbed by the heat, the exertion of trading
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 127 
 
 and the actions of the natives. If the heat depressed 
 Huntingdon, he did not show it. As usual he was in 
 fresh whites and well-groomed, his pose was indolent, 
 graceful and easy, but his eyes and mind were active. 
 Those were the people who must aid him wrestle wealth 
 from their land ; he must know them, if he were to suc 
 ceed and succeed he would for he had set his mind 
 upon it and for a man of his determination to aver is to 
 do. Something of the meaning of the tremendous task 
 he had taken upon himself was slowly dawning upon 
 him, and, like the men of his race when combat is immi 
 nent, he was girding his loins for the fight. He had to 
 go it alone and he determined to conserve all his energies 
 for the effort. 
 
 He had not the slightest idea what tremendous effect 
 his imperious looks and seemingly indifference were 
 having on the natives. His thoughts were not once on 
 himself, but on the work ahead of him, and when men 
 and women murmured towards him : 
 
 " Tata otangani Huntingdon," * he not only did not 
 know the meaning of the words but he never once sus 
 pected that it was their voluntary acknowledgment of 
 his superiority and their acceptance of him as their 
 Great White King. But Sadler and Smithson knew 
 the meaning of those words and the actions of the na 
 tives, and when, at sundown, French, Belgian, Swiss, and 
 German traders called to welcome Huntingdon to the 
 coast, little Sadler took great pains to tell them all about 
 the sensation Huntingdon made and the unsolicited 
 homage the natives rendered him. 
 
 Moore swaggered in at dinner time. He was posi- 
 
 i Huntingdon, Great White King.
 
 128 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 tive Sadler had found no cook and he was fully prepared 
 to demand the immediate payment of the cigars. Great 
 then was his astonishment and chagrin when promptly 
 at 7:30 Makaya sent in an excellent dinner and proved 
 himself to be the best chef in the whole of the Congo 
 Fran9ais. Moore paid his loss with good grace, and, 
 although he could not coax from the little skipper how 
 the chef was secured, when he left, Sadler told the whole 
 story in detail to the others and sent them to bed laugh 
 ing and happy. 
 
 At four o clock Sunday morning, Huntingdon and 
 Ogula were on hand all read} 7 for the hunt, but it was 
 noon before Sadler and Smithson arose. Sadler ex 
 plained he wouldn t hunt on Sunday not because he 
 held sacred the day but that he " wanted to get one 
 in on old man Holt by hunting on a work-day." Smith- 
 son confessed that he was too nervous to hold a gun, but 
 both white men solemnly promised to set out early the 
 next morning without Moore, who was never known to 
 keep appointments or promises. 
 
 Again Ogula was admonished to be ready in the morn 
 ing " before sun he ketch for top and while moon he 
 live." 
 
 The stolid face of the big savage betrayed nothing of 
 his thoughts, but, when Huntingdon asserted that he 
 must hunt if only for the exercise, Ogula drew himself 
 up, and, looking full into the face of Huntingdon, said 
 earnestly : 
 
 " I savvy, King Huntingdon. Ogula live for come." 
 
 Sadler was highly pleased at.Ogula s evident liking 
 for the tenderfoot and he remarked to Smithson that it 
 was well Huntingdon was in the service of John Holt
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 129 
 
 else he would have all the natives begging him for work 
 and trading with him to the detriment and loss of the 
 other trading houses. 
 
 The Sunday afternoon dress parade was the largest 
 and most gorgeous Cape Lopez had ever seen, all on 
 account of the Great White King, whose fame was 
 spreading throughout the land. 
 
 The wives of the white men were conspicuous in 
 mother hubbards, but no petticoats stood out as at Sierra 
 Leone and no wads of fat were distorted into bunches 
 as was the case with the corsetted native women who 
 had boarded the Nigeria off Calabar in Southern Nige 
 ria. The majority of the Cape Lopez women wore new, 
 bright loin cloths, turbans made from gaudy silk ker 
 chiefs, and tightly rolled black, European umbrellas bal 
 anced crosswise on their heads. Men were clad in odds 
 and ends of cast-off European attire; new and old 
 trade cloths; flannelet nightshirts and singlets. One 
 dandy was conspicuous in a brilliant red trade cloth, a 
 khaki coat with huge brass buttons, a white plush high 
 hat and a walking stick thick as a bludgeon. Every 
 head turned to look after him, and at either side of him 
 trotted a boy and girl aged about four, nude as the 
 day they were born. Smithson explained that no mat 
 ter how keenly the winds blew, children were seldom 
 bundled up, while their elders not only put on all the 
 clothing they possessed, but wrapped their heads and 
 throats with woolen scarfs and at night all negroes slept 
 with their heads towards the fire and their feet out in 
 the cold. 
 
 The European hat of a by-gone period led to a dis 
 cussion of the trading days in the Sixteenth Century
 
 130 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 when wily Dutch merchantmen exchanged old hats and 
 perukes for rubber, ivory, beeswax and the strands of 
 the elephant s tail. From the latter necklaces and brace 
 lets are made and so universally are they worn by natives 
 of all ages and sexes that Smithson opined they were 
 the oldest jewelry extant. " It s strange," Smithson 
 concluded, " why such a huge creature as the elephant 
 has such a small tail and why a tiny monkey has such 
 a large one." 
 
 " I know why," spoke up Sadler after the manner of 
 a small boy eager to reply to a question of the teacher, 
 " monkeys need long tails to swing from tree to tree 
 when promenading, but if an elephant had as long a tail 
 as his big body entitles him to, when the drivers are on 
 a rampage, every creature from a cockroach to a leopard 
 would leap on the fleeing elephant s tail and the poor 
 beast would be so overloaded that he d drop down and 
 then the drivers would chop him tail and all; so the 
 first elephant mother, wise in her generation, broke off 
 the tail of her first daughter and exacted from the child 
 an oath to continue the practice with her daughter and 
 thus send the custom down through succeeding years ; so 
 when the drivers come and every living thing flees for 
 its life before them, the elephant has as good a chance of 
 escape as has a snake or a leopard or an antelope." 
 
 " And where might you have gained such wisdom, my 
 dear Sadler?" Huntingdon asked, amusement and af 
 fection in his tones. 
 
 " I not only took it in with my mother s milk but I 
 learned it from countless bob-hang-overs at London 
 music and concert halls and from six-penny popular 
 editions for which all my boyish earnings were spent and
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 131 
 
 for which extravagance I got many lamb -bastings from 
 my darling mother; which said beatings were so fre 
 quent that at night I never could sleep until two things 
 happened," and Sadler stopped to light a cigarette. 
 
 "What things?" demanded Smithson, like Hunting 
 don highly interested and admiration and affection ap 
 parent in his voice. 
 
 " I got the beating and said my prayers." 
 
 " No doubt you deserved the beatings," laughed Hunt 
 ingdon. 
 
 " I was the biggest devil the Lord ever let live with 
 out punishing him unless you call my being here in 
 Hell s Playground punishment, and I came here of my 
 own accord because not a living soul is left me at home," 
 then, conscious that he was growing sentimental, he 
 cried comically : " O Great White King, have you no 
 ticed what perpetual hunting the niggers find in their 
 own wooly heads and how they are always slaughtering 
 game, preferably in the sight of the white man ? " 
 
 " Yes, I ve noticed it and I d clip every native s head 
 close, if I could 
 
 " Don t do it ! " broke in Smithson ; " leave something 
 to the imagination." 
 
 The Dress Parade continued until sundown. All Cape 
 Lopez knew that Huntingdon had not yet selected a wife 
 and every woman considered herself a candidate for the 
 position and was out in all her finery hoping to arrest 
 his eye. Back and forth they paraded slowly, stopping 
 now and then to glance back, presumably to see who was 
 following or what was happening behind, but in reality 
 as an excuse to linger in front of Holt s bungalow. 
 Because of the heat and the sun s glare the white men
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 were not visible, but the keen eyes of the savages dis 
 cerned their white-clad forms behind the bamboo shades. 
 
 However, there was one woman in Cape Lopez who did 
 not participate in the exhibition and Sadler and Smithson 
 remarked her absence. 
 
 She was Ndio, the Gabonaise, mistress to the Com 
 mandant. 
 
 " She s too imperious to indulge in any such vulgar 
 ity," said Smithson. 
 
 " A good-looking woman don t have to chase a 
 man he does the chasing," said little Sadler. " I say, 
 Huntingdon, this Gabonaise s a hummer. Take her 
 from the Commandant all s fair in wench- and trade- 
 palaver out here, and she won t be nearly so hard to 
 seduce as was the Loango. I confess, however, Moore, 
 Smithson and yours truly had a go at the seduction 
 game, but she wouldn t even turn her nose up at us ; 
 we re not in her class. She goes in only for the best, 
 and as you re a topnotcher and a really truly Great 
 White King, send for her and she ll come one time." 
 
 " Think she would, old chap? " remarked Huntingdon, 
 highly amused. " I ll look her up at the first oppor 
 tunity and make a proposition of marriage to her " 
 all of which he had no intention of doing. Not that 
 women did not appeal to him, but he meant to be true 
 to Marjorie; besides, he needed all his vitality for the 
 battle ahead of him. 
 
 Sundown brought Moore, polished and clean and red 
 olent of trade scent, He didn t even take the trouble, 
 so he explained to Huntingdon, to arise for the hunt; 
 he knew Smithson and Sadler had no notion of going;
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 133 
 
 however, lie would take Huntingdon alone to the bush 
 on the morrow ; he was never known to " break a ren 
 dezvous or fail a friend." 
 
 " Rats!" was Sadler s terse ejaculation.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HUNTINGDON was sound asleep when a light touch on 
 his arm startled him and caused him to reach for his 
 revolver, but a hand stayed him and Ogula whispered : 
 
 " Master, moon he die. Time tek walk fer bush. 
 Me, Mbega, Ora, ready, one time." 
 
 By the aid of a lantern, Huntingdon silently, and 
 quickly dressed. He felt like a convict without his 
 morning tub, but he was trying his best to comply with 
 Africa s ways. 
 
 Shouldering his magazine rifle, he set forth. 
 
 On the veranda he paused, fascinated by the scene 
 before him. 
 
 Black night still reigned, but on the beach there leapt 
 forth a blazing fire, around which were gathered shades, 
 large, repellent and unnatural, like demons from 
 the underworld plotting man s destruction. It was the 
 watch s fire about which were gathered Ndatuma, the 
 watch, Ogula, Mbega and Ora. 
 
 Huntingdon advanced boldly. Though his feet made 
 no sound on the heavy sand, the savages were aware of 
 his approach. They received him in silence. Mbega 
 took a kettle from the fire and poured hot coffee into a 
 tin. Unhesitatingly, as though he had never heard of 
 secret poison, the white man drank the coffee. 
 
 The eyes of the savages were full upon him. Never 
 did he look so noble, so fearless ; never did the blood of 
 
 134?
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 135 
 
 his proud ancestors so gloriously show itself ! Tall and 
 magnificent as was the savage, Ogula, the white man 
 held his own. Each was an excellent specimen of his 
 race: the crude, unlettered bushman, and the hyper- 
 civilized white man ; one a slave to fetishism, degrading 
 superstitions ; the other a product of civilization, an ob 
 server of God s laws ; one of the equator with its torrid 
 heat and blasting sun ; the other of the north with its 
 cold, gray winters and delightful summers ; one, un 
 clothed and revelling in that nudity ; the other clothed 
 from head to heel and comfortable in that clothing ; 
 one, as black as the shades of night and as mysterious ; 
 the other, white, like the day, to be read by him who 
 would. 
 
 Huntingdon became conscious of the uncanny still 
 ness of all things and the insistent stare of the savages. 
 
 The Bay of Mandji, as the natives call Lopez Bay, 
 was a vacant, silent void, save, now and then, when its 
 waters stole on the beach with a sigh, as though a rest 
 less soul had found repose, while the fire s red glow 
 emphasized the size and brutality of the savages and 
 glinted along their keen hunting knives peeping from 
 out their cloths. 
 
 Mechanically, Huntingdon s fingers felt for the trig 
 ger of his gun. According to habit, when he set out, 
 he was well provided with gold. Had Ogula seen it and 
 had his murder been planned? 
 
 Suddenly funereal wings scraped over Huntingdon s 
 helmet ; and, at the same moment, an unearthly scream 
 came from the bush beyond ! 
 
 Fear, absolute fear, held this son of the Bedfords 
 and the Granvilles. Fear of the unknown : Africa s
 
 136 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 sleepless mystery and her peoples ; that thing encircling 
 his head, and the weird cry from the shadowy bush ! 
 
 Huntingdon longed to slay the creature over his head, 
 but he had not the strength to move a muscle ! Like 
 one petrified he stood, his eyes in the eyes of the savages. 
 
 The fire seemed to glow brighter; to hunt out his 
 cowardice, to expose it to those stolid, silent, observant 
 savages. He suffered eons of misery. Then the thing 
 above his head flew into the fire. 
 
 It was a bat, only a bat ! 
 
 Again came the unearthly screech from the bush, and 
 " Plantaineater ! " Ogula, the savage, grunted. 
 
 Huntingdon was himself again. Lightly he held 
 forth the tin for more coffee. 
 
 Then Ogula delivered a speech, slowly, deliberately 
 and impressively, evidently the verdict of a conference. 
 
 " Master Huntingdon, him be proper white man. 
 Me, Ogula, and Mbega and Ora and Ndatuma be him 
 proper friends." 
 
 " Aye," grunted the others. 
 
 Thus Huntingdon passed muster with the savages. 
 Not only were his height, his kingly bearing, his ap 
 parent fearlessness, his blond beauty extremely impres 
 sive in the fire s light, but his hunting togs confessed a 
 knowledge of hunting, of the bush and its ways. His 
 suit and helmet were of dark green khaki, which har 
 monizes best with sandy wastes and dank jungle. 
 Had he come forth in staring white or in yellow khaki, 
 like most tenderfeet, a shining target for skulking game, 
 the savages would have grunted their contempt and fol 
 lowed him begrudgingly. 
 
 Ogula said something in the native dialect, and,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 137 
 
 througli throbbing somnambulance, along the heavy, 
 sandy beach, Ora led the way, carrying a lighted lantern. 
 
 All was silent and dark within the few habitations of 
 the white men. No guard stood before the Comman 
 dant s and the Douane s. 
 
 How easy it would be for the savages to steal upon 
 and rid themselves of their oppressors ! Huntingdon 
 wondered what stayed the hand of the black man. 
 Their present condition under the French government 
 was not a comfortable one and it was growing daily 
 more intolerable. 
 
 But Huntingdon s thoughts did not dwell long upon 
 the black man s sorrows. With every step he took the 
 wine of life flowed more blithely through his healthy 
 veins and the spirit of adventure was quick with him. 
 
 He was off on his first African hunt ; to penetrate for 
 the first time the primeval world of which he was totally 
 ignorant ; to pit his training against the natural cun 
 ning of its denizens. 
 
 He wondered what game he would bag. He hoped 
 he would get an elephant and a buffalo ; he longed to 
 take back to Holt s big game worth while. Recalling 
 that he was in the gorilla country of Paul du Chaillu, 
 he wondered what he would do were he to meet a gorilla 
 face to face ! Great indeed is the creature s strength, 
 and the rencounter would not be a pleasant one unless 
 Huntingdon sighted him at a distance great enough to 
 blaze away with his .303 loaded with soft-nosed bullets. 
 And the monkeys? Would they throw cocoanuts at 
 him, and why couldn t he trap a number of them, teach 
 them to play polo and take them home with him for the 
 amusement of ennuyed men and women?
 
 138 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Marjorie should have all sorts of interesting crea 
 tures. He would start them to England in the early 
 spring, so that they would have the summer months in 
 which to become acclimated. He would have to send 
 something else than birds and animals to his mother; she 
 did not like animals. She tolerated the hounds only 
 because they were part of their country life. If he only 
 had the hounds with him now ! Would they not point 
 the game? But, alas, the equatorial sun would compel 
 their being tied up in the shade all day long, and to an 
 animal a leash is torture. No, they were better at 
 home ; so were his polo pony and Bryce, his valet. But 
 his mother and Marjorie could not understand why left 
 behind were the animals and the valet and other things 
 to which he had all his life been accustomed. Was 
 Africa not like India, with all the niceties and sociability 
 of diplomatic circles? Was he not off for a ripping 
 good time among civilized men and civilized surround 
 ings? Oh, yes, he was off for a ripping time, midst 
 enchanting surroundings, but the voyage out was such 
 a long one he did not care to have the hounds and the 
 pony he loved submitted to close confinement on ship 
 board, and as for Bryce, he was old and his wife was 
 blind and his place was at home with her. Anyhow, 
 there were many trained native servants and Hunting 
 don would have as many of them as were necessary for 
 his comfort. So the truth was kept from the two 
 human beings Huntingdon loved best and they had not 
 the slightest idea of the real environment in which 
 he was to dwell for the next three years. His letters 
 written on board the Nigeria spoke only of the interest
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 189 
 
 of the long voyage as Huntingdon viewed it from 
 Liverpool to Sierra Leone and after that he invented 
 pleasantries. 
 
 These thoughts, too, were brushed from his mind, for, 
 like the men of his race, body and soul he surrendered 
 himself to the thing at hand. So to the bush he marched 
 blithely, whistling merrily, to the delight and wonder of 
 the savages, for they do not whistle. 
 
 Nor was he ruffled when he found Moore still asleep. 
 He reveled at the chance to go alone into the bush with 
 the savages. Suppose they did murder a white man for 
 a mere blanket ; suppose they murdered him now for his 
 firearms and the money he had about him? Every 
 hunt has in it the danger of exploding firearms and 
 attacks from wild beasts and serpents. Multiplied 
 dangers only enhance the joy of braving them. 
 
 Huntingdon tried to make himself clear in the little 
 pidgin English he had picked up. 
 
 " Ogula, you fit fer tek Master Huntingdon for bush 
 for look bushcow? " 
 
 " I fit, Master, proper fit," and Ogula reared his head 
 proudly. 
 
 " You savvy them bush, Ogula." 
 
 " Me? I savvy him proper. Me, I be proper shoot 
 man mpolo, mpolo, 1 Me I mek so aver since I be small 
 boy all same so " and he measured a trifle above the 
 white man s knee. Then, with eloquent gestures and in 
 low, guttural tones, he pantomimed game, little and big, 
 timid and bold. 
 
 Huntingdon instinctively read human beings ; let 
 i Great, great.
 
 140 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Ogula be otherwise a murderer, a liar and a thief, there 
 was no doubt he was bold, strong and experienced in 
 woodcraft. 
 
 " Master fit gimme me nuther shootman ? " he sud 
 denly demanded. 
 
 " I fit." 
 
 " We look um," and Ogula led the way south along 
 the beach to some rude huts hidden among the bamboos 
 and mangroves. In one of them he held short converse. 
 He emerged, followed by a savage larger and more mag 
 nificent than himself. He, like Ogula, wore the scanti 
 est of loin cloths, but, instead of a gun, he was armed 
 with a long spear, pointed with iron. 
 
 " Him be my proper brudder, Master," explained 
 Ogula, proudly. " Him and me have all same mudder 
 and fadder. Him name be Nkombi Kakhi. We be 
 Nkomis from Mboue. Him savvy Englis for him 
 mouth, all same like me, Ogula, him brudder." 
 
 " Good evening, Master Huntingdon, tata otangani 
 mpolo," said Nkombi Kakhi solemnly. " I be proper 
 shoot man, all same like my brudder, Ogula Kakhi. 
 I fit fer take walk for bush. Fouru mbani, mbani," 
 and he held four fingers before the lantern. 
 
 Huntingdon comprehended he was naming his wages 
 for the day. They were four something, but what, he 
 had no means of knowing. 
 
 " Fouru mbani, mbani be all right," he agreed. 
 
 " Aye," grunted Nkombi Kakhi. 
 
 Without further palaver the line of march was formed, 
 and, in single file, the men started for the bush. 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi led the way ; then came Ora with the 
 lantern and Huntingdon s scatter gun ; Ogula with his
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 141 
 
 blunderbuss on his shoulder and a bark powder box 
 slung across his broad back ; Huntingdon with his rifle, 
 and, last, Mbega with a chop box on his head and sev 
 eral sticks of manioc dangling from his neck. 
 
 The one-man-wide path zigzagged across the Plains 
 of Mandji, and not a word was spoken. The stars were 
 large and near, scintillating like great arc lights, and, 
 now and then, one of them plunged headlong into limit 
 less space. 
 
 How strange it all seemed: no hunting party in pink 
 and spurs ; no horses, no dogs, no retainers, none of the 
 fanfare accompanying a made-to-order hunt at home, 
 where men ride recklessly after hounds to round up a 
 lonely fox, or a hare, or possibly both ! 
 
 Suddenly a dark wall arose. 
 
 " Bush," grunted Ogula, the shootman. " No fit to 
 look um till day he ketch," and he dropped on the 
 ground, followed by the others. 
 
 The minutes dragged slowly. 
 
 The night chorus swelled louder and louder: frogs, 
 crickets, cicadas, katydids, sang in tuneless stridulation, 
 insistent and rasping. 
 
 In the bush beyond there was a cracking of twigs, 
 betraying the prowling of wild beasts ; suddenly, a 
 monkey screamed like a frightened woman; a hyena 
 laughed in harsh staccato, and the thin cry of bats 
 was followed by a cough, on the ground and near at 
 hand. 
 
 " Njego" muttered Ora, in an awesome whisper, 
 hastily smothering his light. 
 
 The heads of the savages bent low; they listened with 
 every sense alert, their hunting knives ready.
 
 142 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon never knew how close death was as a 
 leopard slunk by intent upon a gazelle. 
 
 Then there came a cracking of twigs, the startled, 
 sharp cry of the gazelle, a short struggle, and the rapid 
 flight of the bush cat. 
 
 The savages relaxed ; they stretched full length on the 
 ground ; danger from that source had passed. 
 
 Silence fell, deep, profound, terrible. It held more 
 menace than did the pulsating, unseen life so suddenly 
 and mysteriously hushed. 
 
 The savages were so quiet they might have been part 
 of inanimate nature herself. 
 
 Night s dewy breath burrowed to the very marrow 
 of Huntingdon s bones. Yet he feared to shiver, feared 
 to break that all-embracing, terrifying stillness. It had 
 fallen swiftly and without warning as though some 
 monster had gripped all nature by the throat and throt 
 tled her before she had time even to gasp ! 
 
 Huntingdon felt the superiority of the savages. They 
 rested, tranquilly and naturally, while he was agitated 
 and unnatural. If now, in the darkness, in that clammy 
 stillness, he must needs battle for his life, what availed 
 the schooling of civilization against the natural cunning 
 of the savage? 
 
 After all, what is civilization? Can it overcome death 
 when the final summons comes? Can it alter one little 
 law in the vast infinite? On the threshold of the Great 
 Unknown does the civilized not suffer more acutely 
 than the savage? His the power to conjecture the 
 hinted-at might-be s of eternity. Save where the witch 
 doctor, the sorcerer and secret poisons are concerned, 
 the savage knows no mental torture, he knows naught of
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 143 
 
 the agony of the sins of commission and of omission, the 
 dreadful knowing of hydra-headed Remorse ! Is he not 
 then superior to the white man? Does not his very 
 savagery, his ignorance, clothe him in a sort of bravery 
 impossible to the civilized? Huntingdon s thoughts 
 suddenly failed him, for, without warning, a cry, sharp 
 and shrill, cut the uncanny stillness, and Huntingdon 
 shivered with fright. He held his breath, waiting for 
 he knew not what, when other cries of the same timbre 
 followed, and a flock of partridges flew from their roost 
 ing place! 
 
 " Day he ketch," and Ogula pointed towards the east. 
 
 Out of the womb of blue-black night there crept an 
 ethereal blue, that blue that makes of Africa a dream 
 world of entrancing delights ; a creation of Merlin, the 
 magician, where shadows are noiselessly banished and 
 into being comes day s countless glories. 
 
 Drowsily the bay awoke from the arms of Shadow- 
 land. It stretched itself languorously and amorously. 
 Its impressionable bosom reflected the sky s soft color 
 ing, while away off, towards Fetish Point, whitecaps 
 danced, where bay and ocean met. 
 
 Again the pageant of morning enthralled Hunting 
 don. He would have liked to dream on, for several hours 
 until the sun arose, but in the bush the chase beckoned, 
 and the savages were already on the march. 
 
 " Plenty beef tek walk," exclaimed Nkombi Kakhi, his 
 eyes keenly searching the plains. " Master fit fer tek 
 plenty, mpolo! " 
 
 Huntingdon hid his amazement as signs unnoticed by 
 him were readily interpreted by those men of the bush. 
 Yet all his faculties were at work. He determined to
 
 144 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 learn the ways of the wild folk ; to fashion his behavior 
 after that of the savages, for he realized that hunting 
 in Africa was a science in itself. 
 
 He followed the savages into gloom and dampness ; the 
 air was heavy and foul; his new, leather hunting boots 
 slipped repeatedly and he would have fallen but crowd 
 ing vegetation at which he blindly clutched kept him up 
 right. The path was narrow, and he could not see it; 
 he wondered how the savages went along so rapidly and 
 sure-footed and how they protected their eyes from the 
 swaying overgrowth. He lowered his chin and let his 
 stout helmet bear the brunt of it. He felt as though he 
 were burrowing after some beast through walls of dense 
 growth which threatened every second to close in upon 
 and smother him ; he was drenched to the skin with per 
 spiration and the heavy dew which dripped all about it 
 as though it were raining; but not a protest or sign of 
 weariness escaped him as he followed close on the heels 
 of his guides with Mbega just behind him. 
 
 Gradually, the shadows lifted and revealed was the 
 jungle ! 
 
 Time and time again had Huntingdon tried to picture 
 the primeval bush, but not once had his mental camera 
 registered anything like that Garden of Nature run riot. 
 The growth was astonishingly dense, forming galleries 
 intricate, shadowy, mysterious and leading far away. 
 There were labyrinths within labyrinths, a network of 
 tangled vines and creepers decorated lavishly, wantonly 
 and superbly. Not the slightest thing, high or low, was 
 acquit of burden -b earin g : stems of trees, fallen logs, 
 and interlaced lianes contained worlds of their very own, 
 as green upon green and all shades of green were crowd-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 145 
 
 ing, pushing, fighting for space, climbing up and ever 
 up away from density, shadows, foul miasmas and dank, 
 reeking vegetable mold towards the heights where the 
 sun shone and winds frolicked and the rains fell. 
 
 The lush and reek of green, of every hue and shade, 
 would have depressed, repulsed, had not artistic Nature 
 blended with it bold splashes of brilliant, harmonizing 
 colors. Ipomeae shaded from palest blue, through all 
 the shades of the prism to deepest red ; broad-leafed 
 Hibisci flowered with white and yellow blooms ; deep 
 yellow Thunbergia and gorgeous-hued Convolvuli peeped 
 forth here and there and everywhere ; great mangroves 
 blushed in scarlet berries and silk cottonwoods rollicked 
 with bursting, downy pods. Timid orchids of various 
 hues encouraged by bold elephant-ear ferns, a sort of 
 lichen that grew to the trees, crawled up and ever up 
 to great heights where garlands of aromatic jessamine 
 swayed to and fro in the very ecstasy of life and where 
 the climbing calamus palm, a dainty, green fringe hung 
 in fascinating festoons, forming the crowning glory to 
 the parasitical growth of bizarre forms which every 
 where arrested the eye and impeded progress ! 
 
 Huntingdon stepped aside to possess himself of an 
 Argrcecum orchid. 
 
 Crash ! 
 
 He wallowed in mire which clung to him like axle 
 grease. He regained his footing with difficulty. What 
 looked like solid earth was but dense growth mask 
 ing malodorous, pestilential underworlds, grewsome 
 and repellent, the home of creeping, crawling, eye 
 less things, the grave of bloom and leaf and shrub and 
 tree!
 
 146 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 But never was grave so cunningly and fascinatingly 
 hidden. 
 
 There were thorny shrubs ; prickly smilax ; stout reed 
 Costus, fully fifteen feet high ; gigantic clumps of gray- 
 green grass ; purple-leafed Cissus; aloes blushing in 
 coral reds ; masses of Zingeberaceae and Arums with 
 gorgeously colored leaves midst a perfect wilderness 
 of stemless ferns drooping like huge plumes and swaying 
 at the slightest touch of human or of beast. 
 
 Trees were many and diverse ; of all sizes and shapes, 
 health and vigor, youth, and old age, decline and death ! 
 Termites, too, were there, always hungry, never satisfied, 
 never at rest! Time, too, demanded his toll. Many 
 died that fewer might live. The battle for the survival 
 of the fittest was relentlessly and continuously fought ; 
 life and death walked hand in hand ; the seared, the 
 yellow, looked over the shoulder of youth and bloom ; 
 autumn and summer seasoned together as growth upon 
 growth, a hungry horde, an army of green, fought for 
 life and supremacy, midst dull obscurity and eternal 
 gloom and foul-smelling, poisonous vapors ! 
 
 Huntingdon reveled in it all now depressed when 
 sinking in mire and leaf-mold, now elated when on firm 
 ground he stopped to admire the different blooms, 
 delicate, fragile and without perfume. 
 
 He wished Marjorie were with him to enjoy it. He 
 knew he could never effectively describe it to her for 
 to no human is given the art to paint Nature in all her 
 nuances, to tint with words a faithful reproduction of 
 the real ! 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi stood silently by Huntingdon as he 
 examined the bush. Unknown to the white man, the
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 147 
 
 black man s keen eyes pierced shadows underneath and 
 overhead. Danger was everywhere ! above and below, 
 and roundabout; it might come any second, from any 
 direction and the savage was acutely alert. 
 
 A strong, disgusting odor assailed Huntingdon s nos 
 trils, overpowering even the jungle s dank breath. 
 
 "Him be cat," explained Nkombi Kakhi. "White 
 man call urn civet. Plenty live." Then, after a pause, 
 the savage said, with pride : " Black man too, him got 
 name for all t ing what live for we country." 
 
 Huntingdon smiled inwardly at the simplicity of the 
 great bushman. He was as a child enumerating his 
 toys and naming them. 
 
 A plaintive cry came from the gloomy depths, fol 
 lowed by a quick rustling, coming nearer. 
 
 " Monkey live," whispered Nkombi Kakhi, as a small, 
 yellowish monkey looked mildly down. Then a white- 
 nosed monkey, a red-headed monkey and a black monkey 
 became visible, but, startled at the presence of human 
 beings, they leaped from tree to tree, scrambled over 
 tangled vines and were gone. 
 
 " Gorilla he live too? " questioned Huntingdon. 
 
 " Njina live one, one. Him mek roar so " and 
 Nkombi Kakhi roared deep and long. " Pas lion for 
 strong." 
 
 " Chimpanzee, he live too? " 
 
 " Plenty, plenty." 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi was again in the lead, and Huntingdon 
 followed. 
 
 " Nchouna, nchouna," the savage suddenly shrieked 
 with terror and was off like mad. 
 
 Huntingdon stood still, paralysed with fear.
 
 148 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Was a leopard overhead making ready to spring, or 
 was a deadly cobra spitting at him from below ! 
 
 He was not long in doubt. 
 
 On his entire body he felt sharp, painful stings. Red- 
 brown ants swarmed all over him. At his feet was the 
 army he had routed. There were millions of them ! 
 
 Huntingdon recalled old Wallace s croaking about 
 the driver ants, corroborated by Sadler, Smithson and 
 Moore. Woe to the human being who fled not at their 
 first sting. He never lived to flee again ! He was de 
 voured and his bones picked as clean as though jackals 
 had been at work ! 
 
 No doubt about it ; the drivers could bite. 
 
 " Nchouna, nchouna! " warned Nkombi Kakhi from 
 a safe distance. " Mek so," and the bushman gestured 
 for the white man to leap. 
 
 Huntingdon did so. 
 
 But the stings went with him. They became intoler 
 able. 
 
 " Fit to tek them so," and Nkombi Kakhi indicated 
 that Huntingdon must strip himself. 
 
 Huntingdon s impulse was to scorn the suggestion. 
 But he was glad to comply and let Nkombi Kakhi help 
 kill the drivers on his body and rid his clothing of them. 
 
 Some distance ahead, the rest of the caravan reposed 
 upon a fallen log. 
 
 " Nchouna" briefly explained Nkombi Kakhi. 
 
 The delay was sufficiently accounted for. 
 
 The march proceeded for some time in silence. 
 
 " Crack ! " it was Ogula s gun that spoke, and at a 
 sharp command from the savage, Ora was off like an 
 arrow, bending low the better to pass through the
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 149 
 
 tangled growth, while Ogula k ept up a running conver 
 sation with him, advising what direction to take and 
 what he would find. 
 
 Then Ora uttered one word, and Ogula announced: 
 
 " Him be leopard. Ora look um." 
 
 Huntingdon masked his impatience for his first sight 
 of an African leopard. He had been told it was more 
 handsome than the Asiatic, its spots being very distinct 
 and clear and the coloring more pronounced. He heard 
 Ora returning through the brush, the twigs breaking 
 under his feet, and Huntingdon wondered how one man 
 could carry a leopard. Verily the savages did strange 
 and wonderful things ! 
 
 Nearer and nearer came Ora ; he was close at hand, 
 and great indeed was Huntingdon s surprise when not 
 a leopard, but a great eagle was laid at his feet ! Its 
 breast was spotted like a leopard s and it measured fully 
 seven feet from tip to tip of its wings ! 
 
 " Him be leopard of the air and him name for we peo 
 ples be guanionien," explained Nkb mbi Kakhi. 
 " Guanionien mek so," and he worked his legs and arms 
 indicating high, rapid flight. " Tree mpolo, mpolo, 
 never ketch him feet. Him live for top, so and 
 straight and high went Nkombi Kakhi s arms. 
 
 The bird was left behind, and the march proceeded. 
 
 The path led into a mangrove swamp where giant 
 trees with countless branches like wriggling snakes 
 crawled in all directions. Huntingdon s ankles were 
 twisted and tortured from slipping upon the slimy 
 feelers, which, like the fingers of gaunt skeletons, grasp 
 and overthrow the unwary. He was infinitely relieved 
 when his guides plunged into a morass covered with
 
 150 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 papyrus fully eighteen feet high and emerged on the 
 bank of a picturesque rivulet diapered with duck weeds, 
 water ferns and ambatch. 
 
 The savages balanced themselves on one elbow, and 
 drank deeply of the running water. The ambatch was 
 in full bloom, and Huntingdon stooped to examine its 
 orange-hued flowers, when he drew back, fascinated by 
 a brilliant monitor lizard, fully six feet long which lay 
 asleep in the shade, and by the nose of a crocodile 
 dangerously near. He had no desire for intimate ac 
 quaintance with the man-eating saurian, and he quickly 
 moved to the side of Ogula. The latter pointed to a 
 broad depression which showed plainly through the pa 
 pyrus on the other side of the stream and grunted: 
 
 " River Horse." 
 
 No hippopotamus was visible, but hoof prints lead in 
 all directions from the stream, betraying a much-fre 
 quented drinking spot for game. 
 
 Ogula was intently studying the ground. 
 
 " Beef lib this way," he finally grunted. Disdaining 
 the sticky depths, he plunged into the morass. 
 
 Huntingdon was about to follow, when Nkombi Kakhi 
 bent his broad back, and lightly carried Huntingdon 
 across. 
 
 A savannah, wind-swept and barren, was reached. 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens. After the somber 
 shadows of the bush its glare pained Huntingdon, and 
 the heat was of bake-oven temperature. Yet the open 
 was a relief after the dank, foul-smelling jungle. 
 
 Under the shade of immense cottonwoods at the edge 
 of the plain, Ogula commanded a halt. 
 
 He gave express, minute instructions to Mbega.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 151 
 
 Then, followed by Ora and Nkombi Kakhi, he went forth 
 to reconnoitre. 
 
 Mbega at once built a fire of twigs and prepared 
 Huntingdon s breakfast. 
 
 Huntingdon was glad of the rest ; he was hungry and 
 tired ; his feet pained him horribly and he was mud and 
 slime almost to his waist and so wet was his coat from 
 the excessive perspiration that he could have wrung it. 
 But, as he ate his breakfast of hot coffee, boiled eggs 
 and bread and butter, his clothing dried, then, stretch 
 ing himself in the shade, he gave himself to his pipe 
 and relaxation. 
 
 He was too drowsy for thought and was lazily 
 gazing at Mbega, when he saw the bushboy suddenly 
 drop on all fours, and, with his great knife in his mouth, 
 crawl cautiously towards the bush. 
 
 Huntingdon was instantly alert; he sat up, grasped 
 his rifle and waited. 
 
 He was conscious of a soft tread in the bush, then 
 he saw the tall grass move in response to the creature 
 stealing through it. E er long a tiny gazelle advanced 
 timidly to the open, and, startled by the on-crawling 
 bushboy, stood still. 
 
 Huntingdon took his sights, but e er his hand could 
 obey the impulse of his brain to fire, a thrilling tragedy 
 took place which held him fascinated. A huge python 
 suddenly seized the gazelle in his teeth, crushed the life 
 out of it, then enormously extending his jaws and emit 
 ting great quantities of saliva, slowly and torturously 
 he commenced to swallow the gentle creature, head first ! 
 Its sides heaved convulsively and its delicate legs 
 twitched violently. The spectacle was too much for the
 
 152 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 white man, and his soft-nosed bullet flattened itself in 
 the head of the snake, killing him instantly. The snake 
 was fully twenty feet long and his coloring was distinc 
 tive and beautiful, but Huntingdon would not permit 
 Mbega to skin him. He wanted none of it ; he resented 
 the creature s attack upon the antelope, yet, had another 
 antelope appeared, Huntingdon would have blazed away 
 and killed it on sight such is the consistency and 
 mercy of man ! 
 
 The noise of Huntingdon s shot brought back the 
 others. 
 
 In a few words, but with eloquent gestures, Mbega 
 explained what had happened. 
 
 It brought forth no comment. 
 
 Ogula reported that a herd of buffalo had recently 
 passed. He suggested proceeding softly, softly to the 
 leeward. 
 
 The trail was taken up. 
 
 In silence the hunters crept along the shadowy bush, 
 at the edge of the plain, then boldly advanced over sun 
 baked space. 
 
 Despite his recent food and rest, Huntingdon suffered 
 from thirst and fatigue. For the first time in his life 
 his gun was a burden and his clothing oppressed and 
 hampered him. He was soft after the sea voyage. 
 He ought to have had better sense than to set out so 
 soon on a strenuous hunt ! 
 
 In a sandy depression was a stagnant pool, from 
 which Mbega drank greedily. He caught Hunting 
 don s eye as he arose and from the chop-box he brought 
 forth a bottle of Bordeaux wine! Huntingdon drank 
 it eagerly.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 153 
 
 Of course Mbega had drink with him, but Hunting 
 don had not thought to demand it. However, it was not 
 Mbega Huntingdon had to thank for his well-supplied 
 chop-box. It was Ogula, Ogula who had at first glance 
 recognized in Huntingdon a superior even among white 
 men ; a man he was proud of and willing to serve ; a man 
 he was content to call master. 
 
 A big chief was Ogula among the Nkomis. His 
 name meant tornado and Ogula was worthy of that 
 name. He was fearless and bold. When he once made 
 up his mind to charge man or wild beast, he never hesi 
 tated. He rushed forth with incredible speed. He 
 bore down his prey by virtue of his very audacity. 
 
 And over there, behind those squat bushes, Ogula 
 sat, a little in advance of his white master his ears 
 attuned to the bush and its myriad sounds, his eyes 
 in admiration and awe on the strange white man, who 
 sat silent and indifferent, as though he had known the 
 bush and its denizens all his life. Ogula thought on 
 other white men he had served ; men restless, nervous, 
 without endurance, and at heart cowardly. He had 
 nothing but contempt all the great contempt of the 
 savage for any form of weakness. And now to his 
 country had come a man worthy of respect and faithful 
 service, a man who was indeed a Great White King ! 
 
 Thus the wait began. 
 
 Huntingdon crouched in deep grass ; bugs of all sorts 
 crawled over him ; wasps buzzed in his ears ; mosquitoes 
 tortured him and he was covered with sandflies, but he 
 remained motionless. 
 
 He remembered that he and the quarry were stalking 
 each other. The quarry s life depended upon his eye-
 
 154 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 sight, his sense of smell, of hearing; and, most impor 
 tant of all, he was at home, and on the defensive ! 
 Huntingdon s life depended upon his senses, his ability 
 to make himself a part of his surroundings, to sight and 
 fire on the instant. His was the greater danger. He 
 was an intruder, his senses less keenly developed than 
 that of the beasts ! 
 
 He noticed how Ogula s skin and dingy loin cloth 
 toned in with the surroundings. He could not see the 
 other savages but he knew they were there, inanimate as 
 the very bush itself! 
 
 He determined to endure just as long as the savages 
 did. To remain inert like them. He pondered on the 
 astonishing density of, and activity in, the bush. 
 
 The seemingly dead spot simply teemed with incessant 
 life. 
 
 Termites were voraciously feeding ; ants were con 
 structing wonderful houses of clay; drivers were mak 
 ing a bridge over a depression ; wasps were busy on mud- 
 houses ; enormous spiders, the greatest he had ever seen 
 and said to be the largest in the world, were weaving 
 huge webs. 
 
 A green pigeon perched inert upon a bush; here and 
 there an owl dozed; a sunbird with its peculiarly con 
 stituted tongue sipped honey from an amaryllis; gor 
 geous butterflies chased each other playfully ; moths 
 were laying eggs ; bees were gathering honey ; insect fed 
 upon insect ; big preyed upon little. 
 
 Birds known only in the museums of Europe were 
 everywhere : large turacos ; magnificent blue plantain- 
 eaters ; gray parrots with brilliant pink tail feathers ; 
 elegantly plumed peafowls ; pink flamingoes ; white peli-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 155 
 
 cans ; cranes ; ibis ; egrets ; small, graceful honeysuck- 
 ers ; sun birds gorgeous as j ewels ; black swallows with 
 a solitary spot like silver on the throat ; seagulls, herons 
 and marabouts. 
 
 Huntingdon s hand was stayed. He knew a time 
 would come for bird shooting. Now the wait was for 
 bigger game. 
 
 On the ground were spoor and droppings. Hunting 
 don studied the difference between new and stale traces. 
 
 The sun was overhead. 
 
 High noon had come. 
 
 The heat was oppressive. It arose from the sandy 
 wastes in waves, blistering and blasting. 
 
 Huntingdon s position became irksome. He could no 
 longer stand the assault of insects. He longed to get 
 up and stretch. He essayed to rise, when, on his sensi 
 tive ear was borne the nervous tread of some animal on 
 the watch. 
 
 Interest banished fatigue. 
 
 Again he was motionless. Every sense was alert. 
 
 The nervous tread passed to the rear and Ogula be 
 gan to crawl cautiously forward. Huntingdon fol 
 lowed. Through an opening in the bush, he saw a sight 
 that banished all fatigue and brought him the greatest 
 delight of his whole life. 
 
 Rolling on the hot, scrub-grass-dotted plain was the 
 unsuspecting game : a buffalo bull and two cows ! 
 
 Huntingdon s excitement was so intense, that gone was 
 all precaution. He was on his feet, his eyes along the 
 barrel of his rifle. 
 
 Quick as he was, the game was quicker! Alarmed, it 
 was on the run, heading for cover.
 
 156 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon forged to the opening, so that impeding 
 branches would not turn aside his shot. 
 
 Ogula was provoked because the white man had so 
 recklessly disturbed the quarry, but his sullenness was 
 no sooner born than it gave way to wonder, as Hunting 
 don s rifle spoke, once, twice, thrice ! 
 
 A cow dropped in her tracks ; another disappeared 
 in the bush, wounded, leaving a trail of blood on the 
 white sand. The bull, the first to scent danger, sud 
 denly stopped in his mad flight and turned to face his 
 pursuers ! 
 
 Huntingdon, Ogula and Nkombi Kakhi were advanc 
 ing on a quick run. Ogula s gun had not yet spoken, 
 but as the bull charged furiously forward, he aimed and 
 fired ! The shot grazed the bull s flank. With head 
 down, and straight for Huntingdon, the maddened, in 
 furiated creature charged ! 
 
 With lowered gun, Ogula was rapidly stuffing shot 
 home ! 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi braced himself, his spear held aloft ! 
 
 Mbega, scared, hugged the earth ! 
 
 Ora stood still in his tracks. He carried Hunting 
 don s scatter-gun but he knew not how to use it. Sud 
 denly he grasped its butt and stood on the defensive ! 
 
 On came the bull, gaining momentum as he sped ! 
 His eyes were wild and the sun was full in them. 
 Huntingdon recalled the vindictiveness of the animal, 
 his almost human desire for vengeance. 
 
 Huntingdon was never so sure of eye, nor steady of 
 nerve and hand. He knew his danger, and beneath it 
 his judgment was cool, his wits clear! 
 
 He meant to plug the beast s eyes, one after the
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 157 
 
 other a double shot in which he was proficient, but 
 o er his head something whizzed through space ! 
 
 Twas Nkombi Kakhi s spear, hurled with unerring 
 aim and almost superhuman force ! 
 
 It caught the advancing beast in the nose and caused 
 him to throw up his head in protest! 
 
 At one and the same time, the guns of Huntingdon 
 and Ogula spoke! 
 
 The double shot was buried in the brute s throat ! 
 
 So great had been his impetus, that he continued to 
 plunge forward; then, suddenly, like a lead thing, he 
 dropped. 
 
 Huntingdon rushed forward and was about to bend 
 over the animal so eager was he to examine his first bush- 
 cow, when something took him from behind, lifted him 
 up and deposited him out of reach of the bull s legs ! 
 
 Twas Nkombi Kakhi, stern disapproval on his face, 
 and his voice was harsh as he muttered: 
 
 " White man damn fool look niare l so. Him no be 
 dead look um ! " 
 
 Huntingdon looked. 
 
 Fighting to rise, kicking viciously, and endeavoring 
 to annihilate his enemies, the buffalo finally and reluc 
 tantly yielded the ghost. 
 
 Huntingdon turned to where the wounded cow had 
 fallen. She was nowhere to be seen ! A trail of blood 
 led to the bush. 
 
 This time it was Ogula who stayed Huntingdon. 
 
 " Master, niare from bush look white man. White 
 man no fit fer look um. This one, he be plenty, plenty." 
 
 The excitement of the chase over, the game bagged, 
 
 i Buffalo.
 
 158 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon was suddenly overwhelmed with lassitude ; 
 he was glad to seek the shade, to stretch out at full 
 length, to remain tranquil while his hunters took their 
 first meal of the day ; then, they too rested, after which 
 the bull was cut down the middle, loaded on bamboo 
 poles and shouldered by the savages. 
 
 The homeward march was slow and tiresome, the least 
 attractive of the day s hunt, and one which hunters 
 would cheerfully and gladly dispense with. But all 
 pleasures have their attendant miseries. 
 
 From the spot where the gazelle and python lay, a 
 pair of vultures arose. 
 
 Huntingdon was too tired to shoot at them. 
 
 After the sandy, hot plain, the shadows and damp 
 gloom of the bush were welcome. 
 
 Huntingdon was again bathed in perspiration. It 
 oozed through his cartridge belt. The hat band of his 
 helmet rubbed his head sore. His ankles twisted and 
 turned in the underbrush. His feet were burned and 
 blistered from his heavy shoes. He felt strangely dis 
 turbed, restless, nervous. 
 
 Twas sundown when he reached the bungalow. He 
 welcomed the sea breeze and uncovered his head. 
 
 Smithson, Sadler and Moore were on the veranda 
 sipping pernaud. 
 
 Their excuses were many for not having kept their 
 engagement. 
 
 Moore complained loudest of all. He thought 
 Huntingdon had never meant to go ; that he was only 
 bluffing ! 
 
 As Huntingdon swallowed a great draught of ab 
 sinthe, he sank heavily into a chair and stretched out his
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 159 
 
 legs. His shoes, new that morning, were skinned and 
 torn. 
 
 " Jove ! the bally things do hurt," was all he said, but 
 Smithson dropped on one side of him and Sadler on the 
 other. They removed his puttees and found his ankles 
 so swollen that the shoe laces were imbedded in and 
 lacerated the flesh. They cut the laces, but pull as 
 hard as they could, the shoes would not budge ! 
 
 Ogula stood by and tendered his knife. 
 
 " You butcher them, Ogula," said Smithson. " You 
 be surer for hand than white man." 
 
 Ogula deftly cut the shoes from vamp to tip. Hunt 
 ingdon s balbriggan socks were stained with blood and 
 stuck to his heels. 
 
 Before the white men knew what he was about, with 
 either hand, Ogula had jerked off a sock! Hunting 
 don s heels were rubbed raw to the bone ! 
 
 Huntingdon winced once, that was all. He straight 
 ened himself and tried to push his feet under him, out 
 of sight, but the white men understood. 
 
 Smithson gave quick command. 
 
 Ngumbe disappeared, to return with grease, powder, 
 antiseptic cotton and ligatures. 
 
 Gently as a woman, Smithson dressed the heels and 
 teased : 
 - " So the tenderfoot would a-hunting go ! " 
 
 " I went," answered Huntingdon, grimly. 
 
 " And the penalty s not one I d care to pay," croaked 
 Moore. " You re liable to have raw heels for an indefi 
 nite souvenir. Mebbe, they ll never heal in this cli 
 mate. You ll get craw-craw sure! Well, pleasant 
 scratching."
 
 160 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Ah, shut up, you Old-bone-yard," cried Sadler. 
 " Other people s blood ain t as rotten as yours. You ll 
 be all right, Mr. Huntingdon in a few days. Where s 
 your socks and squeeter boots ? " 
 
 But Huntingdon s feet refused to go into his boots, 
 soft, pliant and large though the latter were. 
 
 Sadler stole off to the factory and returned with an 
 enormous pair of list slippers. 
 
 " There s your size, Mr. Huntingdon," he cried. 
 " Regular seven leaguers. Into them and don t let me 
 hear another growl from you ! " 
 
 Huntingdon smiled into the little skipper s ruddy, 
 good-natured, youthful face. 
 
 Where was the selfishness the old coasters had 
 croaked of? Not there among those Englishmen. 
 
 " Hurrah for the tenderfoot," yelled Sadler. " You 
 got your bushcow, old sport. Blood tells even if it 
 does trickle out of your heels." 
 
 Vivre la France, pomme-de-tcrre-frit," shouted 
 Moore. " Who says the English can t shoot ! " 
 
 " You don t call yourself a shot," derided Sadler, 
 looking the great Moore over insolently. " You didn t 
 show up this morning because you re such a rotten shot 
 you didn t want to make an ass of yourself before a real 
 hunter." 
 
 " G wan, you don t know the muzzle from the butt," 
 Moore retaliated. 
 
 A shrill blast from Smithson s whistle ended the 
 palaver. 
 
 Ngumbe was ordered to get the buffalo ready for 
 butchering. 
 
 There were much shouting and bustle in the rear.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 161 
 
 Boys from all directions were gathering for their 
 share of the beef. 
 
 On the plain, women were constructing racks on which 
 to roast it and children were sent for firewood. 
 
 The night was soft and black. The watch s fire 
 blazed on the beach, and from the little Oka a red light 
 shone. 
 
 " Ready, Master," announced Ngumbe. 
 
 On the rear veranda a picturesque scene presented 
 itself. 
 
 Huge lanterns hung from the low grass-mat roof 
 directly over a crude table on which lay the bull, a 
 hunting knife with an edge as keen as a lancet stuck 
 in his thigh. 
 
 Grouped about with distended eyes and gleaming 
 teeth were the crewboys and the hunters. 
 
 Their presence had another purpose besides securing 
 a share of the beef. When a kill is made it is custom 
 ary to send choice pieces of beef to all white men in 
 the immediate neighborhood. The boy who delivers it 
 is sure of a generous portion of tobacco as a reward. 
 
 The light fell full upon Smithson as he stood over 
 the bull. He was in white ; his great felt wide-awake 
 was on the back of his head and his sleeves were rolled 
 up. A refined, quick, bright figure he was, encircled by 
 black, unclothed, wicked-looking savages, who watched 
 his every move, striving for the most advantageous po 
 sitions. Each wanted to be the first to catch the beef 
 and be off with it, to receive the reward its delivery 
 would bring. From the shadows, Huntingdon looked 
 on, intensely interested. Sadler was with him, but 
 Moore preferred the front veranda and pernaud.
 
 162 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Deftly and expertly Smithson cut up the bull. 
 
 The brains and a part of the fillet were hurled at 
 Makaya, who was commanded to at once prepare a good 
 supper. 
 
 Then followed pretty play and action. 
 
 As the pieces of beef were thrown over Smithson s 
 head, they were eagerly caught, and nimble feet were 
 off to obey Smithson s commands, which rang out one 
 after another, clear and peremptory. 
 
 " Mr. Moore, one time ! " 
 
 " The Douane! " 
 
 " The Commandant! " 
 
 " The Chef de Poste! " 
 
 " Monsieur LeBlanc ! " 
 
 And so on through the list of white men at Cape 
 Lopez. 
 
 Ogula had shouldered the remainder of the beef to be 
 divided among the men, when Nkombi Kakhi emerged 
 from the gloom. 
 
 " Master Huntingdon, foura mbani, mbani," and 
 again he held up four fingers. 
 
 " You damned old skinflint," roared Sadler. " Four 
 francs ! I guess not. Shilling be proper wages for one 
 day s hunt. Don t give him any more, Huntingdon. 
 Only sets a bad example and makes us pay more." 
 
 " It s our bargain," and Huntingdon handed over the 
 money. 
 
 "You no dash us tacco and rum?" next asked 
 Nkombi Kakhi. 
 
 " It s the custom," explained Smithson, " after a suc 
 cessful hunt, or other day s hard work, to set up the 
 tacco and rum."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 163 
 
 " All right. Let Itula give the proper amount to 
 Ogula to be divided up and charge it to me." 
 
 " Master Huntingdon be fine too much," said Nkombi 
 Kakhi, disappearing in the night. 
 
 Besides Moore, there were two other guests for din 
 ner: Monsieur Bouchard, who was to assume command 
 of the Ville de Maranhao when she came up the coast, 
 and Monsieur Pottier, who was to succeed Bouchard. 
 
 The dark, bushy beards of the Frenchmen formed a 
 great contrast to the smooth faces of the Englishmen. 
 
 There was no elaborately written menu like Moore s ; 
 the table was laid in the old slovenly manner; and 
 Mbega employed the soiled towel, which he kept stowed 
 between his bare legs when it was not needed. But 
 Makaya sent in a delicious meal of 
 
 Cream of tomato soup. 
 Grilled fresh mullet with butter sauce. 
 
 Bushcow s brains with brown sauce. 
 
 Fillet of Bushcow with French fried potatoes. 
 
 French pickles. Roast Chicken. 
 
 Lettuce salad with French dressing. 
 
 Bread. Butter. Gruyere cheese. 
 
 Red and white wine. Champagne. 
 
 Cafe" noir. Tea. 
 
 Monsieur Bouchard declared that the abduction of 
 the Loango by Sadler was the richest tale Cape Lopez 
 had enjoyed in many a moon. He mimicked the great 
 rage of the Commandant; he spoke of the unheard-of 
 generosity of the Douane in giving edibles to Hunting 
 don ; and of Huntingdon s fame which was spreading 
 farther throughout the bush, then he asked Huntingdon 
 to tell him of the day s hunt. 
 
 Huntingdon was all enthusiasm. Graphically he set
 
 164 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 forth the events of the day. He had never seen any 
 thing like the manner in which Nkombi Kakhi hurled his 
 spear and the ease with which the bull was carried home. 
 Of his own sufferings he said nothing. However, 
 Moore did, but Monsieur Bouchard cut in with: 
 
 " If Monsieur Huntingdon will hunt with the same en 
 thusiasm this time next year as he did to-day, I shall 
 be enchanted to set up the most recherche feast of which 
 the Ville de Maranhao is capable." 
 
 " And if Monsieur Huntingdon should not hunt with 
 the same pleasure one year hence, it will be his delight 
 to set before Monsieur Bouchard and his friends the 
 most elaborate feast possible in Cape Lopez," answered 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 Which wager was duly pledged in champagne. 
 
 Pettier was small and wiry, with a muddy, pimply 
 complexion. He had sloping shoulders and wore his 
 trousers principally about his ankles. He had a lean 
 and hungry look and appeared as though he couldn t get 
 enough to eat. He was more interested in the viands 
 than he was in the conversation, until the coffee was 
 served, then both he and Bouchard were revelations. 
 
 Upon their celebrated actors and writers and painters 
 they enthused, showing great knowledge of their lives 
 and their works. 
 
 Moore was the only one out of it, for little Sadler 
 showed a vast knowledge gained in poring over six 
 penny editions. 
 
 Literature from ^Eschylus to Mark Twain was dis 
 cussed; painting, from Leonardo da Vinci to Sargeant; 
 sculpture, from Phidias to Rodin ; music, from the an 
 cient Greek choruses to rag time and cake walks.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 165 
 
 Twas midnight when the enjoyable evening ended. 
 
 After the departure of the Frenchmen, Sadler bel 
 lowed over Mbega, who had fallen asleep on the veranda : 
 
 " On, MacDuff, you fish-scented son of Ham ; on with 
 your snoring, and be thrice damned if you wake up 
 before cock s speak."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 EARLY the next morning the white men were awak 
 ened by the excited cry of Ngumbe: 
 
 " Master, Master, logs no live ! Tide he take um ! " 
 
 The dire news brought Smithson, Sadler and Hunt 
 ingdon with a bound to the veranda. Not a log was 
 left on the beach and there was evidence that the tide 
 had been heavy and strong, and that Ndatuma, the 
 watch, had slept at his post. The rum of the feast the 
 night before had been too much for him, and, aware of 
 the great loss of the logs and the punishment he merited 
 and would surely get, he was hidden in the bush, and he 
 had sense enough never again to apply to John Holt s 
 for work. 
 
 Smithson s whistle shrieked shrilly, creisiboys came 
 running, and Sadler commanded : 
 
 " The gigs one time ! All hands f or ard ; we ve got to 
 chase up them logs and save as many as possible." 
 
 High and dry on the beach were three surf boats, 
 but there were hands enough only for two. The other 
 traders were appealed to, but LeBlanc, the Frenchman, 
 was the only man who sent men, and he loaned five stal 
 wart Ouroungoes. 
 
 " Put on all your rags, Huntingdon," little Sadler 
 advised. " It s an all-day souse in the briny - 
 
 " Yes, and take a peg, Huntingdon, a stiff one," 
 broke in Smithson, who was extremely nervous and was 
 
 166
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 167 
 
 helping himself to brandy and quinine, " and some 
 quinine, too ; it s fever for all of us, but if I ever lay 
 hands on that hound, Ndatuma, I ll murder him in cold 
 blood. Coffee s all we have time for now, Ngumbe ; but 
 get chop ready one time, plenty, plenty ; go to the 
 Commandant, the Douane and Chief Ragundo and tell 
 them Master Smithson must have crewboys; double 
 wages for everybody and big dashes of tacco and rum. 
 Master must have boys! " 
 
 " I savvy, Master." 
 
 " Makaya, Makaya," shouted Smithson, and in his 
 nervousness he reiterated his commands ; " no time to 
 wait now for breakfast; see that plenty chop s given to 
 Ngumbe and Mbega, and get it ready one time so s you 
 can send it as soon as enough boys are found to man 
 the third canoe, then send it down coast as fast as oars 
 can pull them, savvy? " 
 
 " Me, I comprends," quietly answered the Loango, 
 turning again to the galley, where he was heard to com 
 mand the Jack -wash to get " poulets and viands ready 
 toute de suite." 
 
 It was shortly after six o clock when the two canoes 
 shoved off, and again Smithson called forth his com 
 mands to the servants left behind. Again and again 
 they were cautioned to have plenty of chop and drink 
 and to get the canoe manned and sent off one time. 
 
 The early morning breeze was refreshing, the sea was 
 choppy, and the tide was favorable. Almost simul 
 taneously the crews set up a plaintive boat song and 
 pulled steadily for several hours. The white men re 
 laxed and rested, but, gradually, the breeze died; the 
 might of the sun grew momentarily greater ; and the sea
 
 168 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 became smooth and gleamed like polished jet. The re 
 flection from it was so great that Huntingdon s eyes 
 seemed to bore through his head and his feet were tor 
 tured almost beyond endurance. Raw and sore though 
 they were from yesterday s hunt, he had forced them 
 into tan, waterproof boots, which he then knew were not 
 the proper sort, and he envied Smithson and Sadler their 
 mosquito boots and their indifference to the present. 
 They both slept outstretched in the bottom of the canoe, 
 their helmets well down over their eyes and their heads 
 in the slight shade afforded by the thwarts. Hunting 
 don was seated in the stern with Ora, who held the tiller. 
 He wore no spine pad and it was as though a steady 
 stream of intense heat were playing on his back. 
 
 The song of the men ceased ; their stroke was mechan 
 ical and not so strong, yet the tide continued with them 
 and fairly good speed was made. 
 
 Suddenly Ora cried : 
 
 " Timber live ! " 
 
 Beyond the vision of the white men were the first 
 beached logs. 
 
 Immediately, Smithson and Sadler sat up, alert, and, 
 hammering on the gunwale with his cashing-go, Sadler 
 commanded : 
 
 " Negesa, negesa! " 1 
 
 The crewboys responded and the canoes shot for 
 ward. 
 
 Abreast of the logs, both white and black men 
 
 plunged into the water. The tide was out and there 
 
 was no surf. The white men discarded their coats, and, 
 
 clad only in singlets and trousers with helmets pushed 
 
 i Make haste, make haste.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 169 
 
 well down over their eyes, each of them personally su 
 perintended the salvage of a log. The work was heavy, 
 the heat continued to stoke up and there wasn t a breath 
 of air. 
 
 The salt water and his heavy boots caused such acute 
 agony to Huntingdon s raw heels, that he had a crewboy 
 pull off his boots, and for the rest of the day, Hunt 
 ingdon, the erstwhile dandy of Mayfair and Belgravia, 
 went about unshod like a savage. 
 
 " I say, Smithson," he finally cried, " why can t Ora, 
 the headman, superintend the job and save us this ex 
 posure ? " 
 
 " Because headmen haven t any more brains than 
 other natives and the latter have none at all. If you 
 want anything accomplished in this bally country, you ve 
 got to oversee it yourself. You don t think I m doing 
 this for the fun of it, do you? Left to themselves, 
 these beggars would have returned with a log one, one, 
 swearing by all the gods they haven t got that no other 
 timber was visible within fifty miles. These beasts are 
 liars of the first calibre, and Legree s the only sort of a 
 white man who gets work out of negroes." 
 
 Despite his misery, Huntingdon could not help smil 
 ing at little Sadler. His cheeks were distended by great 
 wads of chewing tobacco and he cried continuously : 
 
 " On, on, you hairless Mexican pups, work and it s 
 tacco and rum till your bellies split and your eyes 
 drop from your lousy skulls ! On, on, you chocolate- 
 hued MacDuffs, and the first nigger who shirks I ll 
 murder ! " 
 
 Huntingdon, too, fell to cursing and belaboring the 
 natives.
 
 170 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " That s right ; go it, tenderfoot," cried little Sadler, 
 delighted. " A nigger hates a white man s oath worse 
 than he does his fists, so give em hell and more hell." 
 
 Thus, twixt belaboring and cursing and the promis 
 ing of rewards, the crewboys were urged to greater 
 efforts. 
 
 The white men pulled continuously at brandy, and, 
 every now and then, Smithson sought the canoe where 
 he kept his quinine bottle and took large doses of the 
 drug. Huntingdon, too, took a big dose, but Sadler 
 continued in his refusal to take any. 
 
 High noon and resting time came, but no chop and 
 Ngumbe appeared. From sun and exposure the white 
 men were dizzy and faint. Smithson s eyes were sunken 
 in his head, they glowed unnaturally, his cheeks were 
 flushed with fever, but not one drop of sweat appeared. 
 On the other hand, Sadler and Huntingdon perspired 
 profusely. 
 
 Like the white men the negroes had taken no break 
 fast and the machinery of their bodies was rapidly run 
 ning down. Their food also depended upon Ngumbe. 
 Every man longed for a drink of water too, but explora 
 tion had failed to find water and nobody had thought to 
 bring any along. Thirsty, hungry and pretty well 
 spent, work was an effort. Still the white men persisted 
 and urged the negroes on. Smithson knew that rest and 
 shade ought to be sought, but he likewise was aware of 
 the value of the present moments. The remaining logs 
 were higher up on the beach and the sand in which they 
 were embedded had dried, making their removal a 
 stupendous task. Besides, the tide had turned and 
 although it would eventually float the beached logs, night
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 171 
 
 would have then fallen and danger from man-eating 
 sharks was too great to permit of further work. 
 
 At last there came a shout over the water and Ngumbe 
 arrived with Mbega, chop and fourteen extra crewboys. 
 It was two o clock. 
 
 Rice for the men was immediately portioned out; 
 they separated into jams, 1 a cook to each jam. The 
 cooks sought wood, made fires and boiled the rice, while 
 the other crewboys rested in the shade. 
 
 In the fetish house of a small, abandoned village just 
 off the beach were huddled the white men. The house 
 was merely a roof of dried grass on slanting uprights 
 which threatened to fall any second, but it afforded the 
 greatest thing the white man needed, and that was shade. 
 
 Dirty and wet and clad only in loin cloths, Mbega 
 and Ngumbe placed the food on a water-soaked pack 
 ing case. In silence and ravenously the white men 
 pulled at tough chicken, ate cold potatoes thick with 
 palm-oil, and swallowed great quantities of hot coffee 
 and Bordeaux wine. No thought was given to knives 
 or forks, nor to table etiquette. Hunger tortured; all 
 else was forgotten. 
 
 Smithson was the only one who spoke and what he 
 said was pitiful and expressed volumes : 
 
 " I feel like a convict, homeless, friendless, and sen 
 tenced to penal servitude for life." 
 
 One by one the white men were satiated; one by one 
 they rolled over on the ground and slept. 
 
 Black men, too, slept, and the lapping of the waters 
 on the rafted logs was the only sound that broke the 
 silence of the equatorial tropics. 
 
 i Squad, gang.
 
 172 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Ordinarily, two hours rest are daily taken after the 
 midday meal, but time was precious, and in one short 
 hour, Ora s whistle sent both white and black men again 
 into the water. 
 
 The tide was rapidly coming in, but it was not yet 
 strong enough to float the embedded logs. Crowbars 
 and cables were necessary to dislodge them. All hands 
 were pulling on the cable wound about an enormous log, 
 when the rope broke and the negroes were sent sprawling 
 in all directions. They rolled on the sand, laughing 
 boisterously, but severe lashes from the cashmg-gos of 
 the white men caused them to scramble to their feet and 
 stand in line for further effort. 
 
 Sadler took the crowbar from Ora ; he put half the 
 force to shoving the log and the other half to pulling 
 on a new cable. 
 
 There was silence as the negroes pushed, pulled and 
 strained. The hollows in their powerful, nude backs 
 grew deeper as muscles and ribs arose in great welts on 
 either side thereof. Sweat ran from their bodies as 
 though pails of water had been thrown over them. 
 
 " Move it, boys," cried Huntingdon, in appreciation 
 of their efforts and in admiration of their wondrous 
 strength, " and it s rum and tacco a whole week for 
 each." 
 
 Every native heard and registered the promise, but 
 not one of them glanced towards the white man, so great 
 was the strain of pushing and pulling. But the log 
 never budged. 
 
 " Stop a moment ! " commanded Smithson, seeking a 
 crowbar and giving another to Huntingdon, " Rest and 
 breathe deep for a few moments now come on,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 173 
 
 Sadler and Huntingdon, crowbars under with mine! 
 Boys, steady on the cable pull ! " 
 
 Silence ! Men pushed and pulled with all their might ! 
 Slowly and reluctantly the log responded to the concen 
 trated effort and slightly quivered. A new hold on 
 the crowbars, harder pushing, more strenuous pulling, 
 the log moved, she was out of her bed and off down the 
 sand ! Part of the force was left to roll her into the 
 water and raft her, and the rest were already at work 
 on another log. 
 
 Thus the strenuous labor went on. 
 
 The tide was high and strong ; the rafted logs bumped 
 each other lively ; the sun was losing his heat, the water 
 was up to the armpits of the white men and they 
 were chilled through and through and were thoroughly 
 exhausted. 
 
 They cried for wine. There wasn t any ! Coffee, 
 then. There wasn t any of it, either ! Chop, then. 
 Not a morsel of food was left ! The ravenously hungry 
 white men had eaten it all at one sitting. 
 
 The oaths poured on the head of Ngumbe were enough 
 to grill the wretch, and there would have been a dead 
 negro had Smithson or Sadler got within arm s length 
 of him. But he fled to the water, only to come back 
 howling with fear; a blue shark dashed by, and between 
 the devil and the shark, the negro chose the devil. But 
 he had nothing to fear now from the white men ; the 
 shark not only took their attention, but it was six 
 o clock, sundown and flood tide ! 
 
 Work had to be abandoned. 
 
 Out of two hundred logs escaped, only sixty-six were 
 rescued !
 
 174 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The homeward pull was slow and torturesome. The 
 canoes, towing the logs, had tide and wind against them. 
 They showed no lights, for Ngumbe never once thought 
 to bring lanterns. But the white men were too far 
 spent for further vituperation. They were drenched 
 with spray, cold from the night s breeze and thoroughly 
 miserable. They crouched in the bottom of the canoe. 
 They were too far gone even to rest or sleep. For the 
 first time in many moons the crewboys worked without a 
 curse, threat or blow from their white masters. 
 
 Twas midnight when the canoes put into Holt s 
 beach. The white men dragged themselves to the 
 bungalow ; they spoke no word ; they stopped not for 
 food and drink ; in their damp clothing, they dropped 
 like logs into their beds ! 
 
 It had indeed been a day of African pleasantry. 
 
 The next morning three silent, pale white men met 
 at breakfast; eating was a pretense; dull lassitude and 
 fever reigned ! 
 
 Inert, but with eyes wide open and brilliant, Smith- 
 son lay on a steamer chair on the veranda gazing out 
 over the bay ; Sadler sought the little Oka and slept on 
 her deck; Huntingdon dressed his sore heels and longed 
 for ice for his throbbing head and aching throat ! For 
 the first time he recognized what luxuries in Africa are 
 the most commonplace things of civilization ! There 
 was naught to do but to endure, and, like a true soldier, 
 he endured in silence !
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 SUNUP Saturday the Ville de Maranhao loomed large 
 on the southern horizon line. 
 
 Her passengers looked like corpses returning to Eu 
 rope for burial ! They were outstretched on deck chairs, 
 too miserable to do aught but glance at the few visitors 
 from Cape Lopez ! 
 
 The ship s surgeon, the stewardess and several of the 
 crew were down with dysentery ! 
 
 Matadi, Leopoldville and Brazzaville were reported 
 infernally hot, dry and dirty ! Rain had not fallen for 
 over a year! 
 
 Smallpox and sleeping sickness were epidemic. 
 Thousands of natives were dying. White men too were 
 passing away. One blew out his brains in the delirium 
 of black water fever. Another because he could not 
 stand the agony of the removal of a guinea worm. 
 
 Not one pleasant rumor was reported ! 
 
 The white men of Cape Lopez shrugged their 
 shoulders and helped Bouchard celebrate his promo 
 tion to the captaincy of the Ville de Maranhao and to 
 take leave of Cape Lopez. 
 
 Huntingdon saw a proper burst. It commenced Sat 
 urday night with dinner and ended Sunday midnight 
 with the sailing away of the French steamer. 
 
 While white men made merry within, natives went at 
 a savage pace on the plains. 
 
 175
 
 176 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Bouchard was generous with rum and tobacco. The 
 natives yelled and shouted as loud as they could; they 
 pounded on all sorts of tin and enamel cooking uten 
 sils, and, amidst general pandemonium and drunkenness, 
 the disgusting contortions called dancing began. 
 
 The scene was brilliant with blazing fires. 
 
 Two lines of dancers were formed, the men on one 
 side, the women on the other. 
 
 At either end were drummers, beating furiously with 
 bare palms upon enormous tam-tams. 
 
 Singing, yelling, crying, and generally letting off 
 steam, up and down between the lines, men and women 
 danced, never together and one after the other. 
 
 About the loins of the women were bands of cloth 
 pulled so tight that the abdomen was sharply defined 
 and its contortions emphasized. 
 
 The dance was anything but graceful : feet never 
 left the ground, but were scraped back and forth, and 
 the abdomen was exercised violently. 
 
 Men, women and children had exactty the same swing, 
 the same rhythm, the same shuffling of feet, the same 
 wriggling of the body. 
 
 Wilder and wilder beat the drummers ! They were 
 now astride the tam-tams. Faster and faster gyrated 
 the natives ! Losing control of themselves, they reeled, 
 and fell exhausted. One by one they arose and went 
 at it more recklessly ! 
 
 When pleasures paled within, white men joined the 
 orgy without. Greater was the uproar. More sug 
 gestive the dancing, encouraged by the plaudits and 
 suggestions of the white men. 
 
 The abandon was savage, wild !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 177 
 
 Rum and mimbo l seemed endless. It was gulped down 
 continuously. Huge goblets of it were drained at a 
 draught. Throats seemed aluminum, so little effect 
 had the fiery liquids upon them. At length outraged 
 nature rebelled and daylight found white and black ex 
 hausted. Close together they lay in drunken stupor. 
 
 With splitting heads, and nerves all wrong, the white 
 men awoke one by one, and, kicking women out of their 
 way, they sought the shade of their respective bunga 
 lows, where they lay about unshorn, scantily clothed 
 and thoroughly wretched. They called for drink, and 
 more drink. 
 
 Stupefied, they slept till nightfall. 
 
 Again they gathered at Bouchard s, but little pre 
 tense was made of taking food, and champagne was 
 drunk exclusively. Every man insisted upon opening 
 wine to bid the good Bouchard bon voyage. 
 
 Bouchard was doing his best to sober up to take 
 command of his ship. At first, he objected to his guests 
 ordering wine from their own factories, but men s tem 
 pers were such that to give in to their wishes was the 
 only way to avoid a general riot. 
 
 On the plains the natives were again going their 
 savage pace. The din and racket were again enough 
 to split the aching heads of white men, but the latter 
 were too far in liquor to comprehend anything save to 
 keep going. Moore sang a suggestive song which was 
 boisterously applauded and followed by others. 
 
 It was midnight. Bouchard s departure was at hand. 
 
 Bon voyage, bonne sante, and bonne chance were 
 spoken and drunk to repeatedly, then, with linked arms 
 i Native whisky.
 
 178 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and singing La Machitte, the march to the water began. 
 But the heavy sandy beach was zigzaggy, uncertain ; the 
 water seemed far, very far away and the route to it a 
 high mountain with no top ; all effort was needed for 
 walking and the song ceased. Then Bouchard boasted 
 of what he was going to do as commander of the VUle 
 de Mara/rihao. 
 
 The deposed captain took offense and demanded to 
 know why he should be so insulted by one he considered 
 his plus cher ami. 
 
 A duel hovered in the air, when the Douane broke 
 forth: 
 
 " We are sauvage, sauvage, worse than the blacks to 
 end up a delightful revelry like snarling beasts ! " 
 
 Men fell on each other s necks. Nobody remembered 
 to have done any snarling, everybody was the best of 
 friends and it was an irreparable loss because the good 
 Bouchard, a camarade and friend and jolly good- fellow, 
 must take command of a ship and set out for civiliza 
 tion ! How triste, how miserable everybody would be 
 without him ! 
 
 Everybody sniffed, then everybody cried. It were 
 as though mourners were taking leave of a corpse. 
 
 Finally the surf boat was reached and men tumbled 
 into it. Some tumbled into the water too, and were 
 fished out by the ship s crew, who were sober, despite 
 the fact that they had sat in attendance upon their new 
 commander from eight until midnight ! 
 
 The boat had put out, when a great shout came over 
 the sand. 
 
 Wildman, the Swiss, had been left behind. Up and 
 down the beach he ran, shouting for the boat to return.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 179 
 
 Then, as she continued her way, he offered his whole 
 fortune, the trade goods in his shop, everything he pos 
 sessed for a pirogue 1 to take him off to the French 
 steamer. 
 
 But not a native canoe was visible, nor was a sober 
 paddler to be found. 
 
 Poor little Pettier! The burst was his cachet. He 
 never woke up. They found him under the fierce morn 
 ing sun dead ! 
 
 At sundown, without prayer or psalm, they shoveled 
 him into the sand in the little graveyard on the beach. 
 His coffin was an empty gun case. O erhead great, 
 gaunt cocatiers sighed mournfully and upon the sands 
 the waters of the Bay of Mandji sobbed an eternal re 
 quiem over the tenderfoot who was blasted e er he had a 
 chance to look about. Hell s Playground claimed him 
 early ! 
 
 White men were saddened, but not for long. Men 
 do not dwell much in their thoughts out there. More 
 absinthe and brandy were stowed within to keep 
 thoughts down. 
 
 Moore came up to Holt s in an ugly mood. 
 
 He accused Huntingdon of being too stuck up to take 
 part in their good times. He swore that he saw Hunt 
 ingdon sneak off when a black woman tried to catch him 
 about the neck. Huntingdon had insulted Bouchard, 
 the Douane, the Commandant, the whole French govern 
 ment. 
 
 " If you re too damn fine to do as the rest of us white 
 
 1 Canoe.
 
 180 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 gentlemen do, why we ll let you alone," he raged. " We 
 ain t hankering after society that ain t hankering after 
 us. You ll be glad to have us take you back, after 
 you ve tasted a bit of Africa s cursed monotony." 
 
 " Speak for yourself," defended Sadler, the rage 
 of a bull in his voice and resentment in his attitude. 
 " Since when have you become such good friends with 
 the Pomme-de-terre-frits. You re always blubbering 
 about your hatred of them, and, if you had your way, 
 you d blow every one of em to hell. Suppose you go 
 and do it." 
 
 " When I come back again, you ll know it you and 
 your of a Great White King t "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SMITHSON S departure for N djole was fixed for the 
 following Saturday night. He was to leave on the Av- 
 ant-Garde. 
 
 A whole week was given to conscientious work. 
 
 Sadler and Smithson explained things to Hunting 
 don with patience and exactness. 
 
 Itula was to remain. He was an excellent shopboy, 
 but a thief. Huntingdon was to keep an eye on him, 
 but in secret. Open suspicion would cause him to make 
 a great haul; he would run off and Huntingdon s loss 
 would be great. 
 
 Mbega declared to Srnithson that Huntingdon was a 
 proper master. That meant the bushboy would stand 
 by Huntingdon as much as a native is capable of fidelity 
 towards a white man. Smithson encouraged Mbega and 
 advised him that Huntingdon would reward him greatly 
 for faithful service. To Huntingdon Smithson said: 
 
 " Mbega s crude, but you d better keep him. A black 
 friend counts out here, when white men forget the mean 
 ing of the word. Nkombi Kakhi, and Ogula, the shoot- 
 man, will stand by you also. You ve got them for keeps. 
 You ve lost no time getting vassals. Hang on to them. 
 And further safeguard yourself by taking a wife. 
 There s something in the air, in the sun s heat, in the 
 general precipitation of nature that engenders unholy 
 desires in the holiest of men. Don t try to fight them 
 
 181
 
 182 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 you ll only lose out. Again, the natives can t imagine 
 any man s living to himself. They ll think you re queer 
 bewitched, and they won t come near you. Then 
 your cake ll be dough and you might as well go back 
 to civilization for your plans ll come to naught here." 
 
 " Is it as bad as that, old man ? " 
 
 " Indeed, it is. Take a daughter of Chief Ragundo. 
 It ll secure you his friendship and influence. He wields 
 great power among various tribes and he s the most 
 powerful chief in this section of the country ; also, he s 
 on good terms with the French. He settles many dis 
 putes too knotty for civilized jurisprudence." 
 
 Huntingdon was further advised to keep up the pre 
 tense of being a Great White King. It was his biggest 
 asset. He could continue to dispense the largess of a 
 king with gifts insignificant to him, but superb to sav 
 age simplicity. 
 
 He was told some of the tales about him spread 
 throughout the bush by Nkombi Kakhi, and Ogula, the 
 shootman. 
 
 He had killed a vulture a mile in the air! 
 
 He stopped a wounded, on-rushing, mad bull simply 
 by the power of his blue eyes ; the bull fell prostrate 
 and, although he kicked the white man again and again, 
 he could neither bruise nor harm him 1 
 
 He had shot a python in the neck and caused the bul 
 let to curve in such a manner as not to wound a tiny 
 gazelle the serpent was in the act of swallowing! The 
 gazelle was restored whole and followed the white man 
 home ! 
 
 Huntingdon laughed heartily at the garbled versions 
 of facts.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 183 
 
 " Don t laugh, old man, at the superstitions of the 
 savages nor at their tales," advised Smithson. " Re 
 spect native customs, and you ll not be sorry. The 
 savages are fond of display and long on caste. Call a 
 free native a nigger and it s worth your life. That 
 term of opprobrium is applied only to slaves." 
 
 " I thought the French had freed all the slaves." 
 
 " By no means ; slavery s still the open sore of Africa 
 and it won t be healed in our time nor in the time of our 
 great grandchildren, if ever. The natives still buy and 
 sell slaves among themselves, and all captives in tribal 
 wars are made slaves ; however, if any slave goes to a 
 white man and demands his freedom, he s free in the 
 French legal sense, but the natives still consider him a 
 slave, and in his own soul the man still feels himself a 
 slave." 
 
 " It s difficult then to introduce new forms, customs 
 and laws among the natives ? " 
 
 " Very, and that s why civilization has made such little 
 headway here. Traders were admitted where mission 
 aries and government men were either driven out or 
 eaten, hence Moore was right the other day when he told 
 you that trade has done more to civilize this country 
 than France has ever done, and that trade was British 
 trade. As to native customs, the natives believe implic 
 itly in their sorcerers or witch doctors and no amount 
 of civilization or religion can change them." 
 
 " Is there any native religion at all? " 
 
 " Yes, that of superstitious fear. The natives have 
 no God as we have, nor do they live rightly because of 
 any punishment that might come to them from His 
 anger, but they do pay dashes, as they call their
 
 184 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 offerings of palm-nuts and other food, to a bad spirit 
 so that he will not bewitch them. In other words, they 
 take no note of good, but they do bribe something which 
 they know to be evil to keep away from them and not 
 harm them. Ju-ju s a religion difficult to explain and 
 to understand; you ve got to live with these people and 
 imbibe things gradually. You can be on the safe side 
 by never deriding their beliefs no matter how ridiculous 
 they may seem to you ; respect kings and chiefs ; do not 
 laugh at their tatterdemalion display ; keep on as you 
 have begun, for you ve unconsciously begun right. 
 The natives, children as they are in many ways, must 
 have some superior being to kotow to, and they ve taken 
 to you naturally. Your battle with them is won ; you ll 
 get all the trade you can handle and, if you ll take my 
 advice, you ll stick strictly to business for the three years 
 you have allowed yourself, then you ll go back home, 
 marry your sweetheart and for God s sake stay there." 
 
 " Thanks, old man," Huntingdon began, but Smith- 
 son cut in: 
 
 " Now I m going to tell you how to make money 
 quick; that s all you re here for, isn t it? " 
 
 " That s all, old chap," and Huntingdon, interested, 
 listened attentively. 
 
 " This trade-palaver on between the French and the 
 natives can be worked to your profit." 
 
 " Indeed? I thought all along it would operate 
 against me." 
 
 " Au contraire. Listen. Wherever the Berlin Act 
 has not designated a district open to trade, competitive 
 trade has been driven out, as you have already been told." 
 
 " Yes."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 185 
 
 " Well, in those districts, as you have also been told 
 and I want you to mark this well and remember it, for 
 it s the key to your success the French monopolists 
 have done away with standard goods of a standard mar 
 ket value and substituted inferior goods at inferior 
 prices. A native is slow, very slow to accept something 
 new in lieu of something old to which he has become 
 accustomed, especially if the substitute is inferior in 
 value and higher in price. Now it s a fact that the thin, 
 narrow French prints in no way compare with the heavy, 
 wide prints of the British and the Germans in universal 
 use when open trade existed. Then take tobacco the 
 greatest legal tender here, for every native from a young 
 child, male and female, to ancient men and women, smoke 
 continuously, the natives were accustomed ever since 
 the white trade first came among them to the broad, 
 Virginia leaf at a standard fixed price, the kilo. Show 
 a bushman, who has never seen a white man, a head of 
 Virginia leaf tobacco, and he immediately recognizes its 
 trade value, as you recognize that of a bob or a quid. 
 Now in lieu of that tobacco, the French have substi 
 tuted an inferior, unknown brand at a higher price. 
 The natives won t have it, for two reasons: primo, be 
 cause it doesn t smoke as well ; secundo, its cost is 
 greater, while native products offered in exchange are 
 lessened in value and very often condemned and appro 
 priated by the French." 
 
 " Bad business." 
 
 " The worst in the world, because the natives refuse 
 to trade with the French, and concessionaires who did 
 a profitable business in open trade days, are now bank 
 rupt. The concessionaires blame the government for
 
 186 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 having unloaded worn-out territory, and the government 
 blames the concessionaires for their lack of business 
 policy in doing away with standard goods of a standard 
 trade value. The natives demand redress from the gov 
 ernment, but what can it do? It has let out concession 
 aire rights for an annual stipend ; everything therein, 
 thereon, or thereunder every hector named in the trade- 
 grant belongs to the concessionaire; let the native cut 
 a log of ebony, secure a point of ivory, or kill a fish- 
 eagle, it belongs to the concessionaire, granted to it by 
 the government without the consent of, or payment to, 
 the native owner." 
 
 " I thought one of the first laws of civilization is the 
 right to enjoy in peace one s own possessions? " 
 
 " So it is, but the natives, who have been in possession 
 of these lands from time out of mind and who still con 
 tinue in possession of them can t even call a plantain 
 their own, if the concessionaire demands it and confis 
 cates it. It s a positive truth that free natives are cast 
 into prison for theft for gathering the products of 
 their own lands ! " 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " 
 
 " Robbery, oppression and slavery ! It s natural for 
 a nation to fight for commercial supremacy, but where 
 that fight narrows into a crushing, paralyzing trade 
 monopoly, it becomes robber economy, fatal in the end 
 to the robber." 
 
 " True." 
 
 Throughout the entire colony commerce is dead 
 due, it is said, to the depreciation in the price of rubber. 
 Why, the French haven t even the courage of their own 
 sins and now that they ve reaped the reward of their
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 187 
 
 crimes, they continue to place the blame everywhere else 
 than where it belongs. Instead of propitiating the na 
 tives, flattering them by giving thcrn the choice of a wide 
 range of trade goods as one would surfeit a child with 
 playthings, the French concessionaires first restricted the 
 choice of playthings, then permitted no choice at all 
 and attempted to force on the natives something they 
 don t want. That s not business, especially here, in 
 this hell hole, where it is the native alone who counts. 
 He existed ages before he knew there was such a crea 
 ture as a white man and he can go on existing without 
 him, but without the cooperation and friendship of 
 the native, the white man might just as well pack up and 
 get out." 
 
 " Can t the white man ever become acclimated enough 
 to work the country? " 
 
 " Never. He can oversee, yes, but the labor must 
 be done by the natives. They alone can withstand the 
 fierce sun and battle with the diseases endemic and epi 
 demic to their lands. White men have been out here, 
 some of them for upwards of thirty years, but what are 
 they? Physical wrecks, from their affairs with native 
 women " 
 
 " Why don t white traders bring their wives out? " 
 
 " Climate. No white woman save a missionary ever 
 permits her children to be born here or remains for any 
 length of time. Huntingdon, you can t understand how 
 really wretched this climate is until you ve lived 
 through a succession of seasons ; then it s not so bad 
 here on the coast as it is in the interior. In the dry 
 season Cape Lopez is the health resort of this part of 
 Africa."
 
 188 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Won t civilization ever come here as it has in East 
 and South Africa? " 
 
 " Never, else it would have been here long ago. You 
 can t overcome natural deleterious conditions ; you can t 
 stop eight months rain, nor water four months drouth ; 
 it s impossible to purify jungles, to kill their poisonous 
 insects and vapors, impossible ! " 
 
 " But the wealth s here? " 
 
 " Plenty of it and therefore the French are silly asses 
 to stop up the avenues from whence it must flow to 
 them, and that s through the natives. I ve been all 
 through the bush, I know the feelings of the natives. 
 They call it thief-palaver, and it is thief -palaver. Noth 
 ing for nothing is the dictum of all righteousness. How 
 dare any one people defy all right? The French give 
 worse than nothing for something; they ve robbed the 
 native and they continue to rob him. He is left noth 
 ing, yet out of nothing he must pay a yearly tax to 
 the government. I told you all this the other day, but I 
 repeat it, for it has a direct bearing on your success. 
 To get something from nothing is an utter impossibility. 
 Something s got to give way. It does. The natives are 
 crushed to the earth and they never rise again. France 
 in her greed has killed the goose that laid the golden 
 egg. Now, France might find other geese, but who can 
 resuscitate dead geese? " 
 
 " Bad policy, very bad policy ! " ejaculated Hunting 
 don. 
 
 " How would a civilized man act were an unbidden 
 stranger to enter his home, take possession of it, and 
 demand the wherewith to keep him there? " 
 
 " The owner would be justified in ousting the intru-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 189 
 
 der and he would be upheld by every court in the world." 
 " Just so. Yet a whole army intrudes itself upon the 
 French Congo and compels the native to support it 
 that it might continue to oppress him. Native troops 
 go into a town and take food from the very mouths of 
 babies. You ve no conception of the cruel tyranny 
 one black man in the name of the law exerts over another ! 
 You ve got to see it to appreciate it. Claim jumping is 
 resented in every part of the civilized Avorld, and I don t 
 see why an exception should be made in an uncivilized 
 country especially where the natives continue to sit on 
 the claim. If possession is nine-tenths of the law, shall 
 only one-tenth prevail? Shall there be one law for the 
 White and another for the Black? Now, you and I, 
 Huntingdon, belong to the greatest colonizing country 
 in the world ; the building up of our colonies has been by 
 no means free from stain, yet, I claim, that equity should 
 know no color nor creed, and I also know that equity is 
 not the rock upon which colonies are built. It is grab 
 and continue to grab as long as there is anything to grab, 
 then, when nothing more can be wrung out of the grab, 
 it is thrown aside, and the ears of colonizers are deadened 
 to the wail of those passed up by the clinking of gold 
 to be had in other grabs not yet preempted by the white 
 man." 
 
 " Have the natives no redress from the wrong per 
 petrated on them by the concessionaires? " 
 
 " As I started out to say, Huntingdon, the natives 
 have demanded an adjustment of their wrongs, but 
 what can the government do? They ve taken and con 
 tinue to take an annual stipend from the concession 
 aires for the exclusive exploitation of certain territories ;
 
 190 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 if the natives are permitted ownership of that which is 
 legally their own, the French government is liable to 
 breach of contract with the traders, hence monetary 
 damages." 
 
 " But wherein lies the greatest wrong? " demanded 
 Huntingdon. " Isn t it where the majority are op 
 pressed to the gain of a few? " 
 
 " Certainly it is, but the French government tempo 
 rizes and temporizes ; and in the meanwhile, native towns 
 have fallen into decay, young men and young women 
 have run away from them to open trade districts where 
 work is to be had; old men and old women, once a 
 power unto themselves, and leaders of powerful tribes, 
 sit disconsolate and wretched, contrasting the prosperity 
 and happiness of open trade days with the restricted 
 trade conditions of to-day. No comparison so keen as 
 that of a savage where only two things are to be com 
 pared. They contrast the poverty of to-day with the 
 prosperity of open-trade days. From the government 
 the natives hide, because they fear imprisonment for 
 nonpayment of taxes which they cannot possibly raise; 
 they refuse to work their lands and have their products 
 condemned and themselves arrested for theft ; conces 
 sionaires can t get laborers and all is chaos. Now here s 
 where you come in. Find out what concessions are 
 about to go under; have your solicitor go to their home 
 offices in France or in Belgium, buy them out, operate 
 them ostensibly by French companies, and put in a few 
 men that you know to be trustworthy. Once in posses 
 sion, the hint can be dropped to the natives that you re 
 the real owner, and you ll have applications for work
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 191 
 
 and more products willingly brought to you than you 
 can conceive of, or could get in any other way." 
 
 " Thanks, old man, it s awfully kind of you," said 
 Huntingdon, gratefully. " I ll act on your hint." 
 
 " I presume you can command all the capital you 
 need? " 
 
 " Yes. If I make good the governor will see to that. 
 We re to have a corporation of which I m to be the 
 head." 
 
 " Good ! Get busy about those concessions as soon 
 as you can. There s no time like the present, things 
 move slowly out here, Europe s far away for correspon 
 dence, and life s so uncertain."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 As Huntingdon and Smithson chatted confidentially, 
 whistling carelessly, Sadler swaggered aft to the galley. 
 
 In the doorway sat Makaya digging a jigger from his 
 foot with a paring knife. 
 
 " Then you mek chop for them knife without wash 
 ing him? " 
 
 " I fit for wish um, Mon Dleu I fit 
 
 " You re a liar ! But if I ketch you at it " and 
 Sadler s fists came together. " Say, Makaya, you savvy 
 them fine, fine drinking cups of King Huntingdon? " 
 
 " I savvy." 
 
 " Fetch one." 
 
 Makaya brought forth a cup of rhinoceros horn. 
 
 " Now fetch rimgo." l 
 
 Their voices vibrated through sleepy space. Curi 
 ous, Mbega, Ogula and Ngumbe came from their rest 
 ing places, and gathered about Sadler and the Loango. 
 
 " Put them ningo for cup, Makaya ! " 
 
 The Loango obeyed. 
 
 " Look them cup for outside, you wild-eyed bushpigs. 
 Him ketch all same water no live? " 
 
 Four pairs of distended eyes minutely examined the 
 outside of the cup, wondering what the palaver was 
 about. 
 
 i Water. 
 
 192
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 193 
 
 " Throw them water out. Look outside them cup 
 again. He ketch all same, eh? " 
 
 Again a lengthy and minute examination in tense si 
 lence. Then, growing superstitious, the natives backed 
 away. 
 
 " Them cup all same water live, water no live? " de 
 manded the little skipper. 
 
 No one answered. The restless eyes of the savages 
 betrayed their desire to run away. 
 
 "Answer!" and Sadler kicked Ngumbe, viciously. 
 
 " Them cup all same water live, no Jive," admitted 
 Ngumbe, weakly. 
 
 " Here you, Makaya, now put the rest of them water 
 in them cup ! " 
 
 The Loango reluctantly obeyed. His hand was nerv 
 ous ; fear was alive within him, and in the others too. 
 
 " Put them cup for ground ! " Sadler commanded. 
 
 The Loango was glad to be rid of it. He backed 
 away, followed by the others. 
 
 " Here, you black-skinned vermin, get round close, 
 in a circle! " and Sadler punched the savages, one after 
 the other, forcing them to form a circle about him. 
 
 Slowly he gazed at each, and, when abject fear of 
 what was to follow held the savages motionless, suddenly, 
 Sadler pulled from his pocket a twig bearing green 
 leaves, and dangled it in their faces ! 
 
 They drew sharply away affrighted ! 
 
 Farther and farther apart they edged, then Mbega 
 started to run ; the others essayed to follow, but Sadler 
 bellowed : 
 
 " Stay here, you brutes, or I ll make every damn 
 nigger drink the bally stuff." The threat caused the
 
 194 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 savages to reluctantly gather again about their tormen 
 tor, and he yelled : " Makaya, you wretch, name them 
 thing ! " 
 
 " Mboundu, mboundu," whispered the Loango, in a 
 voice hollow with fear, his thin form vibrating nervously. 
 
 " What he be for? " demanded Sadler, relentlessly. 
 
 " Him be poison, proper poison," came from the ter 
 rified Loango. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " rollicked Sadler. " You know your devil 
 ish medceen then the truck you feed to suspected 
 criminals. Guilty they live for ground, 1 not guilty 
 they don t live for ground. I speak true for mouth? " 
 and again Sadler shoved the twig in the faces of the 
 savages. 
 
 " True ! " muttered Ogula, the giant, childish with 
 fear, while Mbega clung to the earth in abject terror; 
 and Ngumbe held his breath. For mboundu, the great 
 trial poison, is universally dreaded ! 
 
 Dramatically Sadler dropped on his haunches, and 
 bent over the cup. 
 
 " Gimme a knife," he yelled. 
 
 Not a savage moved. Mbega still kept his face close 
 to the earth. 
 
 " Mbega, you bush pig, gimme your knife ? " 
 
 " Never got um, Master, never got urn," the wretch 
 whined. 
 
 " Get up, then, or I ll make you chew off this jolly 
 mboundu with your teeth." 
 
 Mbega quickly arose, and Ogula took a great hunting 
 knife from his cloth and eagerly extended it. 
 
 "You re waking up, are you?" And Sadler spat 
 
 iDie.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 195 
 
 in the giant s face. " Ah, it s a good thing there s some 
 devil that makes your cowardly hearts submit to your 
 masters. Now, come closer ! " 
 
 The savages were again reluctant to obey, and, slash 
 ing the air viciously with the knife, Sadler threatened : 
 
 " I>on t be all day or I ll carve you into bits, one 
 after the other." 
 
 Again the savages slowly closed around Sadler. 
 
 Although inwardly laughing, the little skipper s lips 
 were set in a straight line and his blue eyes were hard 
 as steel. 
 
 Dramatically he scraped the bark of the strychnine 
 into the cup, the eyes of the savages watching his every 
 move ; over and about the cup he danced a sailor s 
 hornpipe, emitting piercing gallery-god whistles which 
 shrieked through space to the dense bush beyond from 
 whence they were thrown back in mocking echoes ; then, 
 suddenly, he took up the cup in one hand and with the 
 other he briskly stirred the mixture, holding it close to 
 the faces of the savages and crying in terror-sustaining 
 tones : 
 
 " Look them cup for outside, look um, you fiends 
 from hell, look um ! " 
 
 The eyes of the savages almost started from their 
 heads as the cup slowly discolored! 
 
 There was no restraining the savages noAV ; they were 
 off on the wings of superstitious fear, and little Sadler 
 yelled : 
 
 " Hit the breeze lively, you fiends from hell, and 
 never forget that witch doctor for King Hunting 
 don tell him when black man make medceen for him 
 belly ! "
 
 196 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Moore didn t come near all week, although Smithson s 
 departure for N djole was known all over Cape Lopez. 
 
 On Saturday night Huntingdon and Sadler went 
 aboard the Avant-Garde to see their comrade off. 
 
 Moore was drinking with her captain, LeBlanc, the 
 Frenchman, and Wildman, the Swiss. 
 
 He took no notice of his compatriots. Nor they of 
 him. They might have been utter strangers to each 
 other. 
 
 The night was divine. 
 
 The moon was big, round and low, shedding a silvery 
 radiance over all things, and tingeing them with romance. 
 
 A gentle, cooling breeze tempered the heat. 
 
 Africa throbbed with entrancing witchery. 
 
 In silence the white men walked the little deck. 
 
 Suddenly, Smithson stopped and sighed: 
 
 " Ah, why can t Africa always be like this, livable and 
 beautiful? " 
 
 There was such a world of tragedy in his voice, that, 
 for the first time in his life, the irrepressible Sadler 
 found no voice for raillery and mockery. Hunting 
 don, too, was silent. The night breeze alone answered 
 Smithson and what it said cannot be interpreted by men. 
 
 Smithson gazed steadily out over the bay, which, under 
 the moon, was an expanse of shimmering silver, but from 
 the land, distinct and clear, came the mournful swish 
 of the gaunt cocotlers. 
 
 " Dead men s bones, that s what they rattle like fit 
 ting sentinels for that hole in the ground on those 
 forsaken sands and the moan of the sea God, will 
 only eternal sleep shut them out will " 
 
 Huntingdon and Sadler stole away.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 197 
 
 " He s got the jim-jams bad," whispered little Sadler. 
 " His complexion s the color of the Ogowe." 
 
 " I guess he s in for it, poor old chap," commiserated 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 " I say, Huntingdon, you ve got what is it the 
 Frenchies say you ve got aplomb. Use it now on 
 him," and Sadler jerked his head towards Smithson. 
 
 " What would you suggest? " 
 
 " Get on shore without making circuses of ourselves. 
 I feel like bolting without even saying good-by." 
 
 " That would never do." 
 
 " I savvy that but I ain t got no words to fit. If 
 it was to swear, I d be all right, but palaver like this 
 ah, gwan you know how to handle it the Pomme- 
 de-terre-fritters say that you re never left when it comes 
 to doing the proper thing at the proper time. Use your 
 savery fairey as Moore calls it." 
 
 Huntingdon led Sadler around the deck, and, ap 
 proaching Smithson from the other side, he yawned, 
 wearily, and said in tired, drawling tones: 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Sadler, we ve been hitting it up pretty 
 lively since I landed on the beach. I m just about as 
 far gone as I can go without dropping all together. I 
 hope this breeze keeps up still I m tired enough to 
 sleep even in Hades." 
 
 " Yes, and I m tired too," agreed Smithson, " but 
 whether I ll sleep or not is another matter. I dread 
 the trip ahead of me. Ten days or two weeks of monot 
 onous misery. Traveling at a snail s pace during the 
 day. At night tying up at a wood pile or a mangrove 
 tree, food for mosquitoes and wet heat. Ah, well ; tis 
 Hell s Playground. Good-by, my friends. Good health
 
 198 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and good luck. They sound a farce out here but it s 
 the conventional good-by of the coast and we ve got 
 to be conventional even in farce." 
 
 He laughed in a tired, pathetic manner. 
 
 " An revoir, old chap," cried Huntingdon, warmly 
 wringing Smithson s hand and forcing life into his tones. 
 " Until we meet again. Take care of yourself. 
 Good luck, good health, and many, many thanks." 
 
 " Until next time, old man," was all Sadler said 
 all he could say. 
 
 The Avant-Garde was to leave on the early morning 
 tide, so as to make the flats at Yombe Point, one of the 
 many mouths of the Ogowe. 
 
 From the beach Huntingdon and Sadler again called 
 good-by and waved their hats in farewell. 
 
 Smiths on leaned over the rail and smiled at them. 
 The moonlight fell full upon him. He was all in white ! 
 He drooped, pathetically. 
 
 The deck was deserted. He was alone, but from the 
 salle a manger came Moore s boisterous cry : 
 
 " Vive La France, Pomme-de-terre-frit! " followed by 
 the cockney song: 
 
 Come where the booze is cheaper, 
 Come where the mugs hold more, 
 Come where the boss is a bit of a joss, 
 Let s go to the pub next door!
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN four weeks, Ngumbe arrived in a canoe. 
 
 " Master Smithson, he live for ground," he said 
 lightly, as though delivering news of a good time. 
 " King Huntingdon, you fit for tek me as houseboy. I 
 be proper boy for big White King. Bushboy never 
 pas me for white man palaver." 
 
 Neither by voice nor gesture did Huntingdon betray 
 the shock to his nerves by the abrupt news of Smith- 
 son s death. 
 
 " I fit take you, Ngumbe," he said quietly. " Fall 
 into your old place \ " 
 
 " Hello there, Monkey Face, what s the palaver? " 
 rollicked Sadler. 
 
 " Smithson s dead Sadler, he s gone," said 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 The laughter died from Sadler s eyes. 
 
 " What it be? " he asked gently, of Ngumbe. 
 
 " Fire ketch master s skin. All blankets from fac 
 tory, no get warm. Skin he burn, blood he cold. Him 
 bushi&oman mek medceen. No good. Sweat never 
 ketch. Him ask for brandy. Master put litre for 
 belly. He sleep, one day, two day, three day worms 
 he ketch " 
 
 " Enough, Ngumbe ! " commanded Huntingdon. 
 " Report for duty in the morning! " 
 
 Silence fell between the two white men. 
 199
 
 200 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " I think Smithson must have felt it too that it 
 was good-by," said Sadler after a time. " Moore, the 
 shrimp ! " 
 
 Huntingdon remained silent. 
 
 HOAV awful to die alone, in the bush, away from loved 
 ones from Marj orie ! 
 
 Sadler literally threw Huntingdon out of the factory. 
 
 " Go hunt, do as you jolly well please, but get out 
 of my sight. I ll not be here much longer. The Oka ll 
 be soon in trim. Then you ll have to do time. But 
 not now. Sneak ! " 
 
 A deeper feeling for the little skipper gripped Hunt 
 ingdon. He understood! 
 
 Moore swaggered in to gossip of Smithson s death. 
 But he had scarce passed the threshold of the factory, 
 before Sadler raged: 
 
 " Get your deceitful mug out o here, or I ll crack 
 it for you." 
 
 Moore wanted to argue, but Sadler disappeared in the 
 storeroom. 
 
 Huntingdon sought the Douane. 
 
 " Monsieur le Douane, Mr. Smithson, my compatriot, 
 is dead," he announced without preamble. 
 
 " Sacre cceur! " 
 
 In the Creole s handclasp lay a world of sympathy. 
 Then he spread out his jeweled fingers, shrugged his 
 shoulders and consoled: 
 
 " He has left ennui, la tristesse, this country barbare. 
 He is to be envied ! " 
 
 Silence fell ; silence, the language of the strong ; si 
 lence, the comforter of the suffering ! 
 
 Huntingdon dropped on a divan. He gazed out o er
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 201 
 
 the bay. He recalled Smithson in the moonlight; his 
 prescience of death ! 
 
 Twas opera bouffe no more ! Hell s Playground was 
 a reality ! 
 
 The Douane picked up de Maupassant s La Vie Er- 
 rante, and in French, with a soft, pleasing, soothing 
 accent, he read: 
 
 " The frail and triangular stems of papyrus, eight or 
 nine feet high, bore at the top round clusters of green 
 threads, soft and flexible, like human hair. They re 
 sembled heads that had become plants, "which might have 
 been thrown into the sacred stream by one of the pagan 
 deities who lived there in days gone by. Is it not strange 
 that this wonderful plant, which brought to our minds 
 the thoughts of the dead, which was the guardian of 
 the human genius, should have on its ancient body an 
 enormous mane of thick and flowing hair, such as poets 
 effect? Is that not an exquisite thought, mon ami? " 
 
 Huntingdon s gray mood dissolved before the em 
 broidery of de Maupassant and the subtle magnetism of 
 the creole. 
 
 " Tis sublime, mon cher ami," he said. " I, too, 
 feel that plants have souls. That they were once beau 
 tiful women beloved of men. As plants, flowers, they 
 come to us, bringing fragrance and beauty and recollec 
 tions to soothe us in moments of depression, of sor 
 row." 
 
 " True, true ! When I press a flower to my lips, mon 
 cher Huntingdon, in its calyx I see the eyes of her I 
 love. Ah, woman s lips ! Their nectar is Lethe for tor 
 tured souls. Life without woman is death."
 
 202 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The Douane broke another silence. 
 
 " Listen again, mon cher ami, what my poet says of 
 flamingoes : Some were swimming and others stood 
 about on their long legs. They looked like floating red 
 and white spots, or enormous flowers, glowing on a 
 slender red stalk. Hundreds were grouped together, 
 either in the water or on the banks. One would think it 
 were a hedge of carmined lilies from which emerged, as 
 from a corolla, the blood-stained heads of birds on a 
 long, curved neck. It was like the flight of a garden, 
 with flower baskets, rising towards the sky, one after 
 the other. " 
 
 " Sainte Vierge! " exclaimed Huntingdon, " what a 
 metaphor ! No one save a great soul, an exquisite, could 
 give birth to it." 
 
 " You re right, cher Huntingdon. Such thoughts 
 never could occur to ordinary minds. You ve seen a 
 flock of flamingoes in flight? " 
 
 " The pleasure is yet to be mine, mon cher Douane " 
 
 " It shall be my most exquisite happiness to show you 
 that Guy de Maupassant s poesy is taken from life." 
 
 " I thank you a million times, mon cher camarade." 
 
 The creole shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 After another silence, he remarked: 
 
 " You ve been in Turkey, without doubt." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You ve read Monsieur Loti s Des Enchantees? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You like it? " 
 
 " I cannot say that I do. It seems to me a boast of 
 the author s amourettes. To boast of a woman any 
 sort of a woman is unpardonable."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 203 
 
 " Certainement; tis a crime enorme to boast of the 
 affaires de cceur. But the tale is too sombre. Such 
 life for a woman ! Tis death. My Creole blood is al 
 ways jealous of the woman I love, but I do not believe 
 in shutting her up. I do not relish pale cheeks, dulled 
 eyes and listlessness. I like the ripe, warm, luscious 
 fruit What do you think of your Monsieur Hich- 
 ens story The Garden of Allah? " 
 
 The Douane pronounced it Al-lah, after the manner 
 of the East. 
 
 " Tis a tapestry of delight, a tracery of ideal love," 
 enthused Huntingdon, love glowing within him to the 
 exclusion of every other emotion. " Would you not 
 love a honeymoon like that, Monsieur le Douane? " 
 
 " To have been all alone with the woman I love? Yes. 
 To make her feel that she was wholly dependent upon 
 me, that I was tout-a-fait dependent upon her? Yes. 
 To live only in and for each other? Yes. But she 
 would have wounded me unto death had she not told me 
 of the unborn enfant." 
 
 " What you don t know cannot cause you suffering," 
 reasoned Huntingdon, a smile on his lips. Twas the 
 Douane who was almost in tears now. 
 
 " Ah, but my soul would tell me that the woman I 
 love was concealing something from me." 
 
 " Androvski never would have returned to the mon 
 astery had Domini told him of the child." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, how could he leave une grande passion 
 comme ca and go into the unsympathetic monastery with 
 its lean, unemotional priests? How could he be so in 
 sensible? That is no way to reward an amour parfait. 
 How could he forget les embraces si passionnees?
 
 204 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " He did not forget them. No man could ever for 
 get such ardor." 
 
 " Then why did he leave them? " demanded the Douane 
 as though he were catechising a culprit, and that cul 
 prit were Androvski himself. 
 
 " Because of his love for Domini." 
 
 The Douane shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " You English are drole. You leave a woman be 
 cause you love her. We leave her because love is 
 dead." 
 
 " Monsieur le Douane? " 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur Huntingdon? " 
 
 " When Domini discovered Androvski was a monk 
 you recall how great was her shock? " 
 
 " Oui, pauvre femme! " 
 
 " Alors. Think you it was easy for her to come to 
 the decision that he must go back to that unsympa 
 thetic monastery, with its lean, unemotional priests ? " 
 
 " Ah, she did not need to think about it at all ! She 
 should have held him tighter, she should have kissed him 
 all the more, she should have told him of the flower of 
 love to bloom for them ! Non, non, I amour est la vie! 
 I do not like the Domini. I do not like the Androvski 
 save in the desert, in the night, in the silence. Ah, 
 Monsieur Huntingdon, you English do not know how 
 to love you do not know how." 
 
 Huntingdon s heart beats were quicker, his blood 
 flowed more lively. Once again in England would he 
 not know how to love? He who was starving for af 
 fection, for the love and companionship of a woman ! 
 
 It was the Douane who broke another long silence. 
 
 " Monsieur Huntingdon? "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 205 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur le Douane." 
 
 " I have the honor to announce a very great surprise 
 and pleasure to you." 
 
 " Oui? " 
 
 Huntingdon s interest and attention showed in his 
 manner and his eyes. 
 
 " I am going to the chasse with you." 
 
 " Tis indeed a surprise and a delight, mon ami," cried 
 Huntingdon, joyously. 
 
 " If you will lend me les cartouches." 
 
 " All you wish and rifles too. You know I ve a whole 
 armory with me thanks to the courtesy of your gov 
 ernment. When are we off? " 
 
 " At your pleasure." 
 
 " To-morrow? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 The Douane summoned a sergeant. He gave rapid 
 command in French. At break of day he would set 
 out for the chase ; all must be in readiness. 
 
 A delightful day was spent and much game was 
 bagged. The Douane proved himself a good shot and a 
 general all-round sportsman. 
 
 That was the beginning of close companionship and 
 friendship between the Englishman and the creole. Each 
 continuously sought the other s society ; two well-trained 
 intellects met and each learned something from the other. 
 Their converse was of art and life ; of philosophy and 
 religion; of men and women. Each considered woman 
 the masterpiece of creation, the highest form of divine 
 expression ; they regretted her absence and suffered from 
 loneliness, yet neither of them would have willingly 
 brought her there to that savage country. The
 
 206 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Douane s wife had come because she considered it her 
 duty to do so, and while the Douane lived only when she 
 was there, yet there was ever present the fear that ill 
 ness or accident might forever take her from him. He 
 had seen her off to Europe, glad to know that she would 
 be at their home in Martinique, surrounded by their 
 flowers of love: two little girls, so sweet and bea^ltiful as 
 not to seem real. 
 
 To Sadler, Huntingdon could talk unreservedly of his 
 business plans, but of Marjorie, Huntingdon spoke only 
 to the Creole. Great were the pleasure and solace he 
 derived therefrom, and the languid Creole, the volup 
 tuary, never tired of Huntingdon s description of his 
 lady love, his dilations upon her charms and accom 
 plishments. They brought the Creole a new delight, a 
 sort of reflected ardor of the faith and trust and love 
 of his friend for the woman for whose sake he sought 
 exile and toil. 
 
 Huntingdon spoke of Marjorie s vow to be faithful 
 unto death, and his own pledge of fidelity through all 
 eternity. 
 
 " Tis woman s sacred duty to be faithful," remarked 
 the Douane. 
 
 " What about the man? " Huntingdon demanded. 
 
 " He means to be true." shrugged the Douane, " but 
 when la tristesse tortures, la femme is the only relief; 
 la femme et I amour." 
 
 " You don t call that love," indignantly protested the 
 Englishman. 
 
 " Mon cher ami," and the Creole lightly laid his 
 jeweled fingers with their long polished nails upon Hunt 
 ingdon s arm and said kindly, " love is a word applied
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 207 
 
 to many emotions and morality is a point of view 
 please don t let us discuss it. Come, let s play ecarte; 
 we ll while away the heavy hours with the Goddess of 
 Chance, who is but another manifestation of bewitching 
 woman. Come," and the friends gambled recklessly 
 through the dragging hours of many a long, monotonous, 
 tropical night.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MEANWHILE, shortly after Smithson s death, Sadler, 
 in command of the little Oka, set out with cargo for the 
 Ogowe. 
 
 For the first time in his life, Huntingdon was thrown 
 upon himself, and he met the occasion. 
 
 He gave short, strict orders to his servants. No 
 slackness ; no disorder. Delinquents would be dismissed 
 and never taken back. 
 
 Itula had charge of the f actor} 7 ; Ngumbe of the 
 house ; Makaya of the galley. 
 
 Ngumbe was always to wear fresh whites. They 
 would be furnished by his master. 
 
 The bungalow was thoroughly cleansed. Changes in 
 it were planned and designs were made for new furni 
 ture. Both were to be finished by Christmas. Besides, 
 drawings were made for a new bungalow, which was to 
 be ready next June, when Huntingdon s term of service 
 with Holt had expired. 
 
 Sadler recommended the Catholic fathers at Lam- 
 barene as expert builders, carpenters and carvers, and 
 Huntingdon gave them carte blanche to go ahead. 
 
 He was happy, genuinely happy. 
 
 He reveled in doing with no one to say him nay. 
 
 Five days in the week were devoted to business. 
 Saturday and Sunday were given to the chase, and the 
 evenings to the Douane. 
 
 208
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 209 
 
 The weather was ideal. It was Africa s winter. 
 Huntingdon gloried in it. Cape Lopez seemed the most 
 delightful spot on earth. 
 
 Late in August the British gunboat Dwarf put in for 
 her annual recruit. 
 
 Her arrival gave new zest to affairs. 
 
 Hunt followed hunt, and entertainment, entertain 
 ment. 
 
 Sadler was down, Moore was again welcomed. 
 
 Cape Lopez never before knew such revelry, such 
 hunting. No man lagged behind. 
 
 The game bagged was far beyond the quantity and 
 kind permitted by the government. 
 
 But what mattered that? Were not the Douane, the 
 Commandant and the Chef de Paste of the party? 
 
 And was not that Hunters Paradise, the Plains of 
 Mandji, worthy of those mighty hunts? 
 
 Huntingdon s shooting was marvelous. He drank 
 nothing when after big game. He never lost sight of 
 his danger. He owed it to Marjorie to take the best 
 care possible of himself. He preserved and shipped to 
 her and to his father game rare even in the great 
 museums of the world. 
 
 Though his interest was keen in the okapi, Duyker 
 antelopes and a giant, black pig, Huntingdon s greatest 
 enthusiasm was for the gorilla. His captive stood over 
 six feet high and so human was he in some respects that 
 Huntingdon was not only fascinated but frightened. 
 For hours he watched and studied the anthropoid ; his 
 ears, though inordinately small for his huge body, 
 were perfect as a man s ; he walked upright ; he used his 
 foot as a hand and enormous strength was in his long,
 
 210 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 muscular arms. With them he beat furiously upon 
 his stout iron cage ; he seemed to know that Huntingdon 
 was his jailer, and, at his approach, the ape raged furi 
 ously. He refused to eat ; and at night his cries were 
 especially shrill and of a peculiar character; he seemed 
 to be appealing to his friends of the bush for release, 
 and time and time again they answered him. The sixth 
 night of his capture he escaped and there was every 
 evidence that outside aid had been rendered him. 
 
 Huntingdon had more faith than ever in Darwin s 
 theory. He felt confident that the mystery of the miss 
 ing link was contained in the shadowy bush about him ; 
 he wished he had time to pursue the matter exhaustively, 
 but he was there not as a student, but as a worker; he 
 had much to do and a limited time in which to accom 
 plish it. 
 
 Huntingdon s fame as a dead sure shot had traveled 
 far and wide. 
 
 From his bush town came Chief Ragundo. 
 
 For months a leopard had been terrifying the people. 
 Traps had been set, but the wily bush cat had evaded 
 them, and raid after raid had been successfully made by 
 him. A four-year-old child had been the last victim, 
 and the natives were so frightened that they feared to 
 venture forth even in the brilliant light of day. 
 
 Chief Ragundo begged the Great White King to dis 
 patch the marauder. 
 
 Huntingdon s blood was up. The bush and its ways 
 were now pretty familiar to him. He determined the 
 leopard and he would have an argument. 
 
 The moon was big, the night still. Not a sound was
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 211 
 
 heard, save the crying of a gazelle imprisoned in the 
 trap set for the leopard. 
 
 With Ogula and Nkombi Kakhi, Huntingdon took up 
 his vigil. 
 
 One, two, three hours passed. 
 
 No sign of the leopard. 
 
 The natives lay asleep, they were tired. 
 
 The bush hid the sea from Huntingdon s gaze, but he 
 heard the gentle murmur of the water. It brought him 
 messages of her, the woman who constantly filled his 
 thoughts. While his body was in Africa and he sat on 
 the ground, his gun on his knee, his eyes on the moonlit 
 space over which the leopard must pass to reach the 
 gazelle, his thoughts were in England. He was with his 
 beloved ; they were on the Thames in a boat. He was 
 holding her sunshade. He was telling her how becom 
 ing white was to her, when bang ! 
 
 A shot rang out, the natives jumped to their feet. 
 
 Huntingdon discovered himself on his stomach, his 
 discharged gun in his hand, while thirty yards away 
 lay a leopard stone dead a soft-nosed bullet in his 
 brain ! 
 
 Huntingdon s subconscious mind made the kill. 
 
 Great was the rejoicing among the Ouroungoes, The 
 whole tribe adopted Huntingdon as their Mpolo Tata 
 Otangani; their Great White King; they vowed eternal 
 friendship ; they brought him many trophies of the chase. 
 What more fitting thing for such a mighty Nimrod? 
 They promised an elephant hunt in his honor. 
 
 In all the season s hunting only two elephants had 
 been taken by the white men, and Huntingdon was
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 anxious to learn how the savages brought down the big 
 pachyderms. With joy he received the announcement 
 of the hunt and eagerly he looked forward to it. His 
 guns were primed, his ammunition ready and he was 
 prepared to set out any time. But day after day went 
 by and time had tolled up a month without any sign 
 from the natives. 
 
 The leopard s skin, an unusually large and handsome 
 one, was tanned and hung in the factory where natives 
 flocked to see it, and more wonderful than ever and more 
 exaggerated were the tales they told of the Great White 
 King. 
 
 His eye was so powerful that he charmed any wild 
 beast and rendered him harmless ! 
 
 He had a magic box in which were charms to cure 
 any disease ! 
 
 There was another box out of which came the most 
 wonderful sounds. The natives hung about just to hear 
 it. Their own music is primitive, monotonous, some 
 thing after the solemn chant for the dead. Their sur 
 prise then was great at melodies of popular, fast-moving 
 songs. Those who understood English caught a word 
 here and there and strutted about like children inter 
 preting to less fortunate ones and adding something of 
 their own. According to them, the songs were of the 
 valorous deeds of the Great White King and of his con 
 quest of the whole world and the destruction of all his 
 enemies ! 
 
 Thus Huntingdon s fame grew and was noised about 
 the land. People came days journeys to look upon him 
 to trade in his factory, and he profited by cleaning 
 out old stock. The big order he sent in for new
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 213 
 
 merchandise caused great comment in the home office. 
 The tenderfoot was surely doing great things. His 
 career was watched with interest. 
 
 Huntingdon had given up all hope of the great native 
 elephant hunt, when to his surprise, Ogula announced 
 that at last all was ready and the start was to be made 
 proper early the next morning. 
 
 The lure of the chase was again quick within the white 
 man and eagerly and joyfully he set out. He was far 
 from a tenderfoot now ; he was hardened and in the 
 best possible physical condition. He was properly 
 dressed without one ounce of superfluous clothing. He 
 wore low canvas shoes with rubber soles ; puttees of 
 tough, tan leather ; a tan blouse of silk and wool ; a dark 
 green helmet, and though his green khakis were worse 
 for wear, they were serviceable and inconspicuous. 
 
 After a long, arduous march, Huntingdon was disap 
 pointed and disgusted to find a poor pachyderm in his 
 death throes, a keen knife having pierced his brain with 
 peculiar exactness. 
 
 Huntingdon ended the beast s agony. 
 
 Then he examined the trap. He found it very in 
 genuous. Between two trees was fixed a horizontal bar, 
 from which hung a weighted spear, kept in position by 
 a cord of tough bush rope held down b} r a stake directed 
 horizontally towards the middle of the trap and by 
 another, which at a convenient angle, was interposed 
 between this and the end. 
 
 The elephant had struck with his feet and loosened 
 the contrivance. It fell violently and the knife caught 
 the victim in the spot where the brain unites with the 
 nape of the neck.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon appreciated the suddenness of the blow 
 and its great force. The knife in his neck, the poor 
 beast struggles until he dies ! 
 
 Huntingdon was astounded at the size of the elephant ; 
 he was a full grown male and weighed at least four 
 tons ! 
 
 The natives were delighted with the kill. 
 
 The coarse, rank flesh, still smoking, was cut up and 
 distributed among them. Portions of the trunk and the 
 feet were reserved for Huntingdon, while a huge lump 
 of meat was set apart for Chief Ragundo in whose town 
 the night was to be passed and the festivities held. 
 
 Huntingdon resolved to also reward Ragundo with his 
 share of the spoil. Baked elephant feet didn t appeal 
 to him, and the trunk is tough. 
 
 Huntingdon turned away from the hacking of the 
 still warm flesh. He imagined the corpse to be a human 
 being, and the natives cannibals quarreling over it! 
 
 He also pondered on the laziness of the negroes. In 
 direct contrast to the Malay and other Eastern peoples, 
 the equatorial savages do not domesticate the elephant, 
 or any other animal. Huntingdon was saddened for the 
 moment. What if, after all, the natives should fail him 
 as laborers? But, again, he put thoughts of failure 
 from him ; he relaxed and his thoughts were of Marjorie, 
 his beloved. He was content with his progress so far 
 and he longed for the year to be up when he could go 
 it alone. 
 
 Suddenly, and, unceremoniously, Huntingdon was 
 hauled from his position by Ogula, the shootman. 
 
 " Death he live. Medceen for him bite, no live." 
 
 Not a foot from where Huntingdon had sat was a
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 215 
 
 cobra, the most deadly snake in all Africa! Slowly his 
 body became erect ; the skin on either side of his head 
 was dilated until it stood out like a hood, and making a 
 noise like an angry cat, the serpent spat forth venom 
 with such force that it carried for at least eight feet ! 
 
 Ogula pointed to his own eyes and a great cut on his 
 leg and said: 
 
 " If them spit ketch man here and here, he live for 
 ground one time." 
 
 " Awaka," l was the only word uttered by the white 
 man for the great service rendered him. It was spoken 
 lazily, almost indifferently. Then he gave command to 
 begin the march towards Chief Ragundo s town. 
 
 They had advanced some distance in silence, when 
 suddenly Ogula whispered: 
 
 " Master, I look for ear 2 all same like elephant hunt 
 him chop." 
 
 Huntingdon listened, and he heard, in the bush be 
 yond, a tugging as though a tree were being deftly up 
 rooted. 
 
 Ogula bade the rest of the hunting party remain in 
 silence while the white man, Nkombi Kakhi and himself 
 went ahead to see what was the palaver. 
 
 Because of the keenly, strongly developed sense of 
 smell of the elephant, Ogula kept to the leeward, advanc 
 ing cautiously and signaling the others to do the same. 
 Twas towards four o clock and there wasn t any wind 
 a great thing in their favor. For the winds of Africa 
 are constantly veering, and constitute one of the greatest 
 difficulties in elephant stalking. On the other hand, the 
 sight of the elephant is defective and he does not hear 
 i Thanks. 2 Hear.
 
 216 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 good. It is therefore possible to approach him from 
 the leeward to within a very short distance. And this 
 was what the learned Ogula was doing. 
 
 Unmindful of impeding undergrowth and swaying 
 overgrowth, straight as a crow flies, the savage cau 
 tiously led the way in direction of the uprooting 
 sound. 
 
 With his gun Ogula pointed off to the edge of the 
 bush where a small stream flowed and beyond which was 
 a sandy plain. 
 
 Huntingdon beheld a marvelous sight : a tusker and 
 a cow were intelligently helping each other to over 
 throw a tree that they might eat of its root ! 
 
 In the bush a dismal silence reigned. The shadows 
 were already darkening. But in the full bright light 
 of the open the elephants made a glorious target. 
 
 Yet, it was impossible to shoot from where the hunters 
 lay. The tangled bush intervened. 
 
 Now came the most ticklish part of the adventure. 
 To creep forward so as not to disturb the animals, then 
 sight and fire. 
 
 Suddenly, the cow lifted up her head and loudly 
 trumpeted ! 
 
 Like a leaping leopard, Ogula took the bush and ran 
 parallel to the elephants ! 
 
 Gone was all attempt of concealment 1 
 
 The beasts had scented danger ! 
 
 The cow placed herself directly in front of the tusker 
 and trumpeted defiance ! 
 
 Deftly Nkombi Kakhi hurled his spear! 
 
 It rebounded from the cow s trunk ! She tramped it 
 to pieces !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon, too, tore through the bush and made for 
 an opening. 
 
 He sighted. He fired. Down went the cow, a bullet 
 under her ear ! 
 
 Off towards the plain started the tusker, and Hunting 
 don s bullet caught him in the thigh. He stopped sud 
 denly in his flight, faced about, lifted his trunk, trum 
 peted violently, and retraced his steps across the stream. 
 The cow was also on her feet. Both started at almost 
 incredible speed towards Huntingdon ! 
 
 Huntingdon was fully alive to his danger, but there 
 was comfort in the thought that Ogula, the shootman, 
 and Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, were at hand. 
 
 As he sighted, he retreated a little within the tangled 
 bush, but, alas, he backed into a tree, his helmet was 
 sent flying from his head and he stumbled ! He knew 
 he made a mistake ; the intervening bush would divert 
 his shot. If he remained where he was the beasts had 
 him at their mercy ! 
 
 Where was Ogula, and why didn t his gun speak? 
 And Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, why did he not make 
 his presence known? It is true his spear was broken 
 but he had his great knife and he might do something 
 to divert the direction of the maddened animals ! 
 
 On, on, on came the beasts, the bush crackling loud 
 under their ponderous, quick tread ! What was he to 
 do? 
 
 The beasts were within a few feet of him, it was now 
 or never he dropped his gun he sprang, he caught 
 the branch of a tree his legs just swung clear when 
 the elephants passed under them ! 
 
 He felt the rush of wind accompanying their great
 
 218 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 speed, he smelled the strong odors from their bodies and 
 they were so big and wild that the very bush was rent 
 aside as they continued their flight. 
 
 Huntingdon descended and picked up his gun. 
 
 " Ogula, Nkombi Kakhi ! " he commanded, sharply. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 The retreat of the elephants died away in the distance. 
 Silence, dismal and profound, reigned ! 
 
 Why had the savages deserted him? He hadn t any 
 idea of direction ! There wasn t a path of any sort, 
 save the broken trail made by the elephants ! 
 
 Night was near night with its horrors. Hunting 
 don had nothing with which to defend himself except a 
 gun. A gun was useless in the dark ! 
 
 Suddenly, from the rear there came a breaking of 
 undergrowth. It indicated a struggle, and restored 
 Huntingdon s courage and caution. 
 
 With finger on trigger, Huntingdon advanced towards 
 the sound. He felt confident something was happening 
 to his hunters ! 
 
 And he was right ! 
 
 He stopped, literally rooted with amazement ; without 
 a thought of using his gun ! 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder and facing an enraged leopard 
 were Ogula, the shootman, and Nkombi Kakhi, his 
 brother ! 
 
 Like carved images were the brothers, their eyes 
 steady in those of the treacherous, aroused cat! 
 
 Self-preservation was alive within them. They were 
 as alert, as determined as the cat herself. They were 
 beasts glaring at a beast ! 
 
 Ogula s gun lay at his feet where he didn t dare stoop
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 219 
 
 to get it. Even had he dared stoop, Huntingdon saw 
 with horror that his right arm hung helpless at his side. 
 He was unarmed. But not so his brother, Nkombi 
 Kakhi. The latter clutched his hunting knife in his 
 right hand. His muscles were tensed ready to use it ! 
 
 The cat was on a bough on a line with the foreheads of 
 the brothers and only a few feet distant. Keeping her 
 eyes in those of the men, she softly lowered on her 
 haunches, stretched her legs and sprang ! 
 
 Huntingdon could scarcely believe his eyes, as the 
 brothers parted, one to either side, and through the 
 space occupied by their bodies, leapt the cat! 
 
 Huntingdon came to life. He fired. 
 
 The steel bullet went clear through the cat ! 
 
 The wounded beast turned, and faced, not the 
 brothers, but Huntingdon ! 
 
 Her eyes glowed through the dusk like discs of angry 
 fire. Saliva ran from her sharp-pointed, yellow de 
 cayed teeth gleaming like cruel executioners in the open, 
 snarling mouth. Her face was wrinkled, distorted with 
 sardonic rage. Her tawny, brown-spotted flanks heaved 
 like tortured bellows ! 
 
 She was wounded. Her temper was ten-fold uglier. 
 
 Motionless, helpless, stood the white man ! 
 
 The beast s eyes were full in his. He was fascinated 
 by the grace of the beautiful creature, spellbound by 
 the magnificent demonstration of infuriated rage and 
 malignity. He knew death was there. But he could 
 not help it. He never thought of Ogula and Nkombi 
 Kakhi. He saw nothing, knew nothing, save the beast 
 rampant and vindictive just a few yards from him ! 
 
 Then, slowly the cat crept towards him. She dis-
 
 220 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 dained to spring. This human creature was at her 
 mercy ! She put out her claw to fell him, when involun- 
 tarity Huntingdon dropped to the ground. 
 
 He awaited his death. He uttered one word: 
 Marjorie! 
 
 It contained a world of regret, but not a quiver of 
 fear ! 
 
 He felt the cat s breath on his neck, her claw on his 
 back then a form leaped over him 
 
 " Master, MASTER, MASTER ! " came Nkombi Kakhi s 
 tense tones. 
 
 Huntingdon leaped to his feet and saw Nkombi 
 Kakhi s knife in the throat of the beast, and Nkombi 
 Kakhi s hands digging into her windpipe, while he ex 
 erted all his strength to hold her! 
 
 Ogula with his left arm smashed his blunderbuss over 
 the cat s head ! 
 
 Fighting in extremis, with insistent devilish rage, she 
 plunged her claws deep in the bare breast of the brave 
 Nkombi Kakhi ! 
 
 Huntingdon knew he must pull himself together, get 
 the cat, or Nkombi Kakhi was done for. 
 
 He placed his gun under her ear and riddled her with 
 shot. 
 
 She died, writhing sinuously, her beautiful body 
 swaying gracefully even after the breath had left her 
 lungs ! 
 
 White man and two black men looked into each 
 other s eyes equal to equal then, slowly, Hunt 
 ingdon reached out both hands and grasped those of his 
 preservers.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " Akawa, Nkombi Kakhi, akawa, Ogula, his brother, 
 akawa mpolo mpolo! " l 
 
 " Aye," grunted the brothers in unison, " akawa, 
 Mpolo Ogantani, Master ! " 
 
 " Aye," answered Huntingdon, feelingly. 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi cleansed his wounds with moist earth, 
 then over them he rubbed the milk from the leaf of a 
 low bush. 
 
 Huntingdon examined Ogula s arm. It was broken 
 at the elbow. A shoulder break would not have been so 
 bad. Huntingdon had two bones instead of one to deal 
 with. But he never hesitated. 
 
 He propped Ogula against the tree, and, pressing his 
 knee against the giant s breast, he exerted all his strength 
 and snapped the dislocated bones into position. 
 
 Not a muscle of Ogula s stolid face moved, although 
 the pain must have been intense. 
 
 The arm was placed in bamboo splints and securely 
 bound with bush rope. 
 
 No thanks came the second time from the great Ogula, 
 nor from Nkombi Kakhi, hisi brother. 
 
 " Them arm, how him break ? " Huntingdon asked of 
 Ogula. 
 
 " When master go for shoot elephants, me, Ogula, 
 here something for back. I fear leopard. I fear um 
 jump for white man and chop him. Me, Ogula, brud- 
 der to Nkombi Kakhi, no see cat for ground. For top 
 I look um. Me, Ogula, brudder for Nkombi Kakhi, fall 
 for ground. Arm he come hard and mek so. Fear no 
 live for Ogula. Fear only live for um master, King 
 
 i Thanks, very much, thanks, great thanks I
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon. Them cat he come. Me, Ogula, I wait. 
 My brudder, Nkombi Kakhi, he live. Me, Ogula, and 
 him brudder, Nkombi Kakhi, look them cat for eye. 
 Um come, me, Ogula and Nkombi Kakhi, him brudder, 
 mek so," and Ogula leaped to one side. 
 
 " Nkombi Kakhi be proper brother for Ogula, the 
 shootman," said Huntingdon, admiration in his tones. 
 
 " Aye," grunted the savage. 
 
 " And you, Nkombi Kakhi, how you look 1 them leop 
 ard? " 
 
 " Me ! " and Nkombi Kakhi arose to his full height. 
 He acted his words, vividly, dramatically. " After 
 them njogo 2 kill spear for Nkombi Kakhi, um wonder 
 for um head why them gun of um brudder Ogula, never 
 mek noise? Um hear someone come for ground. Um 
 fear for um brudder, Ogula, the shootman. Um creep 
 forward, softly, softly so. Um see all t ing for um 
 eye. Um brudder, Ogula, the shootman. Them cat. 
 Them cat um eye look them eye of my brudder. Me, 
 I savvy what them cat t ink. Me, I go softly, softly, 
 so. Me, I stan by my brudder, Ogula, the shootman. 
 Me, Nkombi Kakhi, I fear only for my brudder. Them 
 cat he come, so me an my brudder mek so 
 Master, um gun speak. Palaver finish ! " 
 
 The simple, dramatic recital thrilled the white man 
 through and through. 
 
 Such courage, such sublime indifference to death, such 
 confidence in their own powers ! Civilization knows 
 nothing beyond ! 
 
 Huntingdon was awed into silence, then weakness 
 
 1 Look is always used for tee. 
 
 2 Elephant.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 223 
 
 came o er him, the weakness of fear, from which Ogula, 
 the shootman, aroused him. 
 
 " Master, night he ketch. Must tek walk for Chief 
 Ragundo s town." 
 
 But it was too dark to proceed through the bush with 
 out a light. 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi stripped great pieces of bark from 
 trees rich with rosin, and, carrying a lighted torch in 
 each hand, he led the way. 
 
 Their incense was a relief from the jungle s dank 
 breath, and Huntingdon inhaled great draughts of it. 
 
 The rest of the hunting party was found seated in 
 silence where Ogula bade them remain. 
 
 At sight of the wounded men, they commenced to 
 jabber excitedly, but with a gesture Nkombi Kakhi 
 silenced them. 
 
 More bush-lights were procured, and the march was 
 made to Chief Ragundo s town, where great prepara 
 tions had been made to welcome the Great White King. 
 
 In the center of the common and only street of the 
 town, the reception took place. 
 
 Huge fires leaped high into space, casting a romantic, 
 softening glow over sordid surroundings of dirt and 
 squalor. 
 
 Chief Ragundo was tall, stately and dignified. 
 Royally he carried his ridiculous clothing, an old cloth, 
 a flannelet nightshirt and a ragged straw hat, and in 
 his right hand he bore a carved ebony staff, the sign 
 of his rank. 
 
 He saluted the white man gravely, while his people fell 
 on one knee, laid their right hands on their heads, then 
 on their breasts, acknowledging allegiance and render-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 ing homage to the Great White King. Such honor had 
 not been accorded a white man in many a year. 
 
 Huntingdon was seated on a camp chair before a 
 blazing fire, on the smoke side. Smoke keeps away 
 mosquitoes. 
 
 Chief Ragundo solemnly seated himself upon a crude 
 ebony stool, facing Huntingdon. 
 
 The quiet dignity of the old chief and the silent, re 
 spectful attitude of his people pleased Huntingdon and 
 impressed him. A visit to one of the civilized courts 
 of Europe could not have been more solemn or cere 
 monious, and Huntingdon s manner towards the negro 
 chief was that which he would have employed before his 
 own sovereign, save that he would have remained 
 standing. 
 
 But what Huntingdon was not aware of was the im 
 posing figure he himself presented in the full light of 
 the brilliant fire, at ease and self-confident, surrounded 
 by black, nude savages, whose stolid countenances 
 masked their admiration of him and their delight at 
 having honored their town with his presence. 
 
 A slave brought forth gifts for the white man and 
 laid them at his feet. They consisted of plantains, 
 chickens, manioc, bottles of palm-oil, bunches of palm- 
 nuts and hand-woven mats. 
 
 The oldest son of the chief acted as spokesman. His 
 cloth was spun from pineapple fiber and over his left 
 shoulder was carelessly thrown a white tunic, adding 
 majesty to his tall, slender form. 
 
 Between Chief Ragundo and the white man and in 
 front of the encircling savages he took up his stand ; he 
 gazed into the face of the white man for a full minute,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 225 
 
 then amidst solemn silence and in the Ouroungo dialect, 
 he spoke slowly and impressively, after the manner of the 
 savage, using appropriate and eloquent gestures. 
 
 " Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, and 
 all his peeples, bade welcome the Great White King 
 Huntingdon and all his people. The black man was 
 always friend to the English, and the English had al 
 ways treated the black man proper, proper. The Ou 
 roungoes had no love in their hearts for the French. 
 They do not understand the mouth l of the French. But 
 many Ouroungoes spoke mouth of the English. 
 
 " Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, 
 looked shame from the bottom of his heart that he had 
 not more or richer gifts for the Great White King 
 Huntingdon. But, alas, the French had recently raided 
 his town for neppo 2 and stolen everything he had not 
 had a chance to hide. 
 
 " The plantain, manioc and palm-nuts were for the 
 men of the Great White King Huntingdon. The chick 
 ens, the palm-oil and the mats were for the Great White 
 King himself. 
 
 " Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, and 
 all him peeples, would never make war palaver with the 
 Great White King and him peeples the English. All 
 would dwell in peace, as brothers." 
 
 The spokesman stopped and turned to Ngumbe, who 
 stood just behind his master s chair. 
 
 It was Ngumbe s duty to interpret. 
 
 Midst solemn silence, Ngumbe, fully appreciating 
 the occasion and the honor vested in him, advanced 
 slowly and with great dignity until he was directly in 
 i Language. 2 Taxes.
 
 226 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 front of his master on a line with the spokesman, then, 
 gazing steadily into the white man s face, in pidgin 
 English, he translated slowly and accurately. 
 
 As Ngumbe finished, all eyes were focused upon the 
 white man. It was his turn to make answer. 
 
 Directly addressing Ngumbe, and in pidgin English, 
 Huntingdon spoke slowly and solemnly and in the third 
 person, as the savage had done. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, was pleased to 
 look Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, him 
 town and him peoples. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, thanked Ra 
 gundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, for the gifts 
 presented unto him and his men. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, had brought 
 gifts, proper gifts, for Ragundo, the Great Chief of the 
 Ouroungoes, and him peoples. There were cloth, rum, 
 tobacco, clay pipes, matches and a great bag of salt. 
 Besides, there was elephant meat, just killed. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, was glad to 
 know that Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, 
 and him peoples, were his friends, his brothers. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, appreciated to 
 the bottom of him heart the great welcome accorded him. 
 He regretted to the bottom of him heart that sunup on 
 next day must find him on the return march to him fac 
 tory, where plenty work-palaver live for him to attend 
 to. But some time again Huntingdon, the Great White 
 King, would take walk to the town of Ragundo, the 
 Great Chief of the Ouroungoes. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, would always
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 227 
 
 be a friend to Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroun- 
 goes, and there would never be any fight-palaver between 
 them." 
 
 Again solemn silence. 
 
 Again Ngumbe solemnly stepped forth and, directly 
 addressing Chief Ragundo in the Ouroungo tongue he 
 interpreted his master s speech. 
 
 Through his son, the chief thanked the white man 
 and again Ngumbe interpreted. 
 
 Then Mbega brought forth the white man s gifts and 
 laid them at the feet of Chief Ragundo. 
 
 No smile, no expression of appreciation broke over 
 the countenance of the old chief, although the gifts were 
 the greatest he had ever received. 
 
 He spoke long and impressively, not to his son, as he 
 had done before, but to Ngumbe. 
 
 Again, as befitting a state interpreter, Ngumb trans 
 lated slowly and solemnly. 
 
 " Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, look 
 joy for him heart because of the gifts mpolo of the 
 Great White King Huntingdon. 
 
 " But Ragundo, the Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, 
 was poor, very, very poor. So were him peeples. Un 
 less the Great White King Huntingdon gave him three 
 francs argent with which to pay his neppo to the 
 French government, Ragundo, the Great Chief of the 
 Ouroungoes, must suffer the ignominy of arrest and im 
 prisonment! 
 
 " If such calamity should happen, Ragundo, the 
 Great Chief of the Ouroungoes, would forever look 
 shame before the eyes of him peeples ! "
 
 228 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The sublime and the ridiculous ; tragedy and opera 
 bouffe! But not so much as a wink of an eyelash be 
 trayed Huntingdon s humor. 
 
 Through Ngumbe, he made fitting answer. 
 
 " Huntingdon, the Great White King, would not only 
 pay the yearly neppo of the great and illustrious Chief 
 of the Ouroungoes, but of every male in his town ! " 
 
 The offer was received in a manner worthy of its 
 munificence. 
 
 The old chief bowed his head and his people drew 
 nearer. The white man s generosity was the greatest 
 they had ever experienced, and his wealth must be the 
 wealth of the whole world. Thus Huntingdon s fame 
 expanded into awe. 
 
 There were exactly eleven men in the town subject to 
 taxation. Huntingdon s munificence represented thirty- 
 three francs in cash ! Nothing at all to the white man, 
 but it saved eleven freeborn natives the ignominy of 
 arrest and imprisonment by an alien government for the 
 nonpayment of taxes ! 
 
 The palaver was slow and tedious, but neither by 
 sign nor gesture did Huntingdon betray his weariness. 
 The events of the day had been very stirring ; Hunting 
 don was hungry and dreadfully fatigued. He wished 
 to retire, to get off his clothing, to stretch out at full 
 length, but he did not know how to end the palaver and 
 he would not for anything offend the Ouroungoes. 
 
 The mother of Chief Ragundo advanced. She was 
 so old and shriveled that her skin hung from her bones ; 
 her face was that of a cadaver, her hands and feet were 
 claws, her breasts were dried and wrinkled like old fruit 
 and between her toothless gums was a clay pipe.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 229 
 
 In silence she proffered something done up in a dried 
 plantain leaf, securely tied with bush rope. 
 
 Solemnly Ngumbe removed the wrapping and dis 
 closed an egg ! 
 
 It might have been the Kohinoor diamond, so majes 
 tically were the Great White King s thanks tendered by 
 the important Ngumbe, accompanied by two heads of 
 tobacco. 
 
 The old woman stared at such prodigality, then, grab 
 bing the tobacco, without a word, she fled into the dark 
 ness. 
 
 "What next?" was Huntingdon s weary conjecture. 
 
 But relief was at hand. 
 
 Makaya unceremoniously announced chop! 
 
 Jabbering and gesticulating, the natives drew away. 
 
 Huntingdon enjoyed his supper alone. It was served 
 on a folding table, under the extended grass-mat roof 
 of a house set off by itself and especially cleansed for 
 him. 
 
 From empty bottles bush-lights spluttered, lighting 
 his table and breathing subtle soothing incense on Hunt 
 ingdon s tired nerves. Then to his nostrils was wafted 
 the appetizing odor of roasting beef, which, about three 
 hundred feet away, was arranged on huge racks ingeni 
 ously constructed from green wood over blazing fires. 
 
 In picturesque abandon, the natives sat or lay on 
 the ground, their voices mingling with the crackling 
 of the firewood, their minds intent on the approaching 
 feast. 
 
 O er men and children was the charm of the equatorial 
 tropical night, of Africa, of the fire s soft glow. In 
 the heavens the moon was so white and big and brilliant
 
 230 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 that other planets of the first magnitude were completely 
 blotted out. 
 
 Just beyond the town was the dense bush, from whose 
 mysterious depths, now and then, came the protests of 
 its denizens, angry because fire, a more potent beast 
 than they, curtailed their roaming. 
 
 Oh, the witchery of it all ; the romance ! They 
 opened the flood-gates of Huntingdon s very soul and 
 he surrendered unto them. He was a white man, alone, 
 thousands of miles from the land that gave him birth, 
 surrounded by wild beasts and venomous serpents ; by 
 untrammelled space ; by great stretches of solemn 
 silences; by forests, jungles, plains, savannahs; by sav 
 ages, who feared, served and protected where they could 
 have braved, commanded and destroyed! 
 
 Strange, indeed, this thing: this dominance of the 
 white complexion over those of darker hues ! Strange, 
 indeed, the tranquillity of the white man in an environ 
 ment hostile to him in every way ! 
 
 Then came the memory of the day s hunt, almost in 
 credible in its events. Brave Ogula, the shootman, and 
 Nkombi Kakhi, his brother ! They should never want as 
 long as Huntingdon lived, for to them he owed his lif e ; 
 and some day, when he had finished with Africa, he 
 would relate it all to Marjorie. He foresaw the sym 
 pathy in her expressive eyes, he felt the pressure of her 
 magnetic fingers. 
 
 A shout arose from the fires. 
 
 The meat was roasted. 
 
 In friendly groups the natives sat about eating it. 
 
 The world was merry with feasting and the music of 
 happy voices ; the fires died down and fair Diane ruled
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 231 
 
 supreme. The night was as bright as day, the shadows 
 sharply defined as in sunlight time. 
 
 Suddenly, out of the bush, there rolled the long notes 
 of a lion s roar. 
 
 It vibrated through the shadowy bush, it o erleaped 
 the babel of tongues and smote the ear of the white man. 
 He seemed to be the only one who heard it. It thrilled 
 him beyond expression. 
 
 His eyes tried to pierce the dense shadows from 
 whence the sounds rolled. He pictured the tawny, lean 
 lion, the King of Beasts, his head thrown back, his mouth 
 open, his mighty lungs forcing the air through his 
 mighty throat ! 
 
 Again the roar! It was a succession of sonorous 
 wave sounds coming nearer and nearer, gaining in 
 volume and strength until the very earth vibrated beneath 
 them. 
 
 Such full, round notes Huntingdon had never heard 
 in all his life. He had heard lions roar in menageries, 
 but the sound was not the same. No wild beast is the 
 same in captivity. He is artificial, like his imprison 
 ment. 
 
 The roar was near at hand, at Huntingdon s rear. 
 
 He turned, expecting to see the beast advance into 
 the open. 
 
 No fear was the white man s. The King of Beasts 
 is worthy of his title. He attacks only when he fears 
 attack. 
 
 Suddenly the roar came from another direction. It 
 was farther away ; it rolled into dense space, then died 
 out. Was the lion uttering his defiance at the intrusion 
 of man, or was he simply calling his mate?
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The bush became strangely silent and empty. Hunt 
 ingdon was sorry. He would have liked the roaring to 
 continue indefinitely. 
 
 The babel among the natives had ceased. 
 
 They were grouped closer together. 
 
 Then the night breeze brought a low voice to Hunt 
 ingdon s ear. 
 
 Twas that of Nkombi Kakhi. 
 
 What he said, the white man could not interpret, for 
 he spoke in the Ouroungo tongue. But whatever the 
 bushnum s tale, it was listened to in solemn silence. 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi was minutely retailing and pantomim 
 ing the adventures of the day. 
 
 It was Huntingdon, the Great White King, who 
 strangled the leopard with his slim white hands ! 
 
 It was he who had killed two elephants with one shot ! 
 
 It was he who had dispatched the ready-to-spring 
 cobra ! 
 
 It was he who had set the broken shoulder of Ogula, 
 the giant shootman ! 
 
 It was he who put magic on the wounds of Nkombi 
 Kakhi, and Nkombi Kakhi declared he already felt the 
 healing of the hurt ! 
 
 The adventures were an hour in the telling. But no 
 one interrupted. Chief Ragundo was as interested as 
 were his people. So were Mbega, Makaya, Ngumbe 
 and the others who were not with the white man when 
 the stirring events were happening. 
 
 The silence after their recital endured for a full mo 
 ment. 
 
 " Aye, it be so," then grunted Ogula, the shootman !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 233 
 
 Huntingdon knew nothing of the additional fame 
 thrust upon him, and when, like a great shade, Chief 
 Ragundo arose before him and muttered solemnly : 
 
 " Otangani, Mpolo Tata, Mpolo Tata," 1 Hunting 
 don wondered what it was all about. 
 
 Suiting his tones to the old savage s, he as gravely 
 responded : 
 
 " Ragundo, Mpolo Tata, Mpolo Tata." 
 
 Again the chief summoned his people, and an enor 
 mous tam-tam was presented to the white man. The 
 drum was a log fully ten feet long, smoke-grimed and 
 blackened with age. It was only partly hollow with a 
 narrow, oblong slit in the side. Two men seated them 
 selves on the ground and resting the drum horizontally 
 on their extended feet, they beat upon the aperture 
 with rounded, heavy sticks, causing a deep sound to 
 come forth, which Ngumbe declared could be heard a 
 distance of twenty-five miles ! 
 
 " It be so, Master," corroborated Nkombi Kakhi. 
 " Him speak from one bush town to another ; him tell 
 when Frenchmans come to make thief-palaver for we 
 peeples." 
 
 Two other gifts followed: an ebony stool and an im 
 mense clay pipe, both crudely carved. As specimens 
 of native handiwork, the gifts were unique and exceed 
 ingly interesting. 
 
 But Huntingdon never betrayed his interest. 
 " Awalca " was all he said. 
 
 " Aye," grunted Ragundo in response. 
 
 The fires were replenished and the festivities began. 
 1 White man, great king, great king.
 
 234 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon watched the dance until the rum and 
 mimbo entered the heads of the performers. Then, un 
 noticed, he retired to his quarters. 
 
 His camp bed and mosquito bar had been set up in 
 the fetish house, from which everything had been re 
 moved except several fetishes and some huge grass mats, 
 which hung on the horizontal Avails of bamboo. Hunt 
 ingdon closely examined the fetishes and discovered 
 them to be red parrot feathers, tied together with 
 plaited fiber; others were round disks of something dark 
 and soft like putty, in which were embedded red berries, 
 hard and lustrous. The mats were marvels of coloring 
 and perfect weaving. The mesh was very fine ; the 
 background was pale golden and through it ran a 
 shadow design of tomato-red squares, while the edges 
 were finished with short, fine fringe of tomato-red and 
 deep yellow. Huntingdon wondered what they were 
 used for, and longed to possess them. 
 
 Huntingdon had scarcely tucked the mosquito bar 
 under him, when Ngumbe entered, followed by a bush- 
 girl. 
 
 Not even when he acted as interpreter did Ngumbe 
 carry himself with such pomp. He was the bearer of 
 a great gift from Chief Ragundo. Moreover, he knew 
 his master had not yet accepted a native wife and he 
 was proud to be her escort ! 
 
 " The deuce ! " muttered Huntingdon. 
 
 He couldn t insult his host by sending the girl back. 
 He wouldn t insult Marjorie, his beloved, by accepting 
 her. When he promised to be true, he meant it. The 
 men of his race never broke their word. On the other 
 hand, black women were disgusting to him. He knew
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 235 
 
 none of them were virgins ; none of them were cleanly. 
 But, everything else aside, to share a negress with a 
 black man was something he could not do ! 
 
 " Ngumbe, say akawa to Ragundo, Great Chief of the 
 Ouroungoes. King Huntingdon appreciates his great 
 gift." 
 
 Huntingdon couldn t see what the girl looked like. 
 The hut was lighted only by the fires which gleamed 
 through the bamboo splits, causing her and Ngumbe to 
 loom up like great shades. But Huntingdon knew she 
 would, of course, be young and desirable. The chief 
 would send him none other. 
 
 " Him be daughter for Chief Ragundo," said 
 Ngumbe. 
 
 " All right. Good night, Ngumbe. Lef um here." 
 
 What was Huntingdon to do with the girl? 
 
 She remained standing in the shadows. 
 
 Treat em all like dogs, or they ll get the best of you, 
 
 Old Wallace s warning leaped suddenly through 
 Huntingdon s brain. 
 
 Huntingdon smiled. The warning wasn t necessary. 
 He knew his own strength. No black woman could 
 tempt him ! 
 
 But what was he to do with the girl? 
 
 To his great surprise, she addressed him in English. 
 
 " Master Huntingdon, I look you." 
 
 Pier voice was young, liquid and soft. 
 
 " Come here ! " 
 
 She came to his bedside. She stood between him and 
 the light. Her body was sharply outlined. It was 
 slender. The hips curved ever so slightly and she wore 
 only a scant loin cloth.
 
 236 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 She had evidently been brought up at a mission. She 
 would know something of the ways of the white man. 
 He would feign sickness. 
 
 " What s your name? " 
 
 " E-lin-da." 
 
 " E-lin-da, you savvy when white man be sick? 
 
 "For belly?" 
 
 The banal word grated on Huntingdon. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You tek medceen? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Huntingdon drank a great draught of brandy. He 
 was sparring for time, wondering what to do next. 
 
 Again the girl spoke : 
 
 " You marry me ? " 
 
 What was he to do ? 
 
 " I fit marry you for two francs," she added. 
 
 She was certainly not slow about her wooing. 
 
 " I fit when belly ketch well again." 
 
 The girl was silent. 
 
 Huntingdon felt her sullenness. 
 
 But he would soon banish that. 
 
 " E-lin-da, you want fine cloth and fine kerchief ; fine 
 past all Ouroungo women? " 
 
 " I want," answered the girl, quickly and eagerly. 
 
 Huntingdon knew how to handle her now. 
 
 " When day ketch, King Huntingdon fit for dash 
 E-lin-da something fine pas all Ouroungo women. 
 Take them mat," and Huntingdon indicated those given 
 him by the old chief, " put them for ground and go to 
 sleep, one time. Proper morning I fit for give you them 
 t ings."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 237 
 
 " And you never marry me? " 
 
 " When skin him ketch proper well." 
 
 He couldn t bring himself to again use that awful 
 word. 
 
 She stretched herself on the ground at his feet. 
 
 Without, the fires still blazed. The natives were 
 proper drunk. Pandemonium reigned supreme, but 
 Huntingdon slept the sleep of exhaustion. 
 
 In the morning, he awoke before the girl. 
 
 Quietly, he arose and from a trunk he took a gorgeous 
 yellow and purple silk handkerchief and a cloth woven 
 in Europe especially for Africa. Its background was 
 a rich, dark green and in the center there was a huge 
 peacock of brilliant yellow. The border was a conven 
 tional scroll design in crimson. The clash of colors 
 offended the white man, but when he awakened the girl 
 and her eyes fell upon the gifts, they lighted up with 
 pleasure, and she eagerly possessed herself of them. 
 
 Over her old cloth she wrapped the new one, then, 
 before his shaving glass, which Huntingdon held for 
 her, she arranged the kerchief into an oblong turban, 
 pulling it low on her forehead. It was very becoming 
 to the shape of her face and her ebony skin, and the 
 brilliant cloth effectively outlined her sinuous, youthful 
 figure. She was good to look upon, as she smiled her 
 pleasure, showing perfect, small, white teeth. 
 
 Huntingdon added two francs to his gifts. 
 
 The girl was eager to show off her finery, and left 
 without a word of thanks. 
 
 What a relief! 
 
 Huntingdon hoped, for old Chief Ragundo s sake, she 
 would remember only the gifts.
 
 238 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Ngumbe entered. He was wreathed in insinuating 
 smiles. 
 
 Huntingdon appeared not to notice them. 
 
 Mkaya, too, grinned, when he served early coffee. 
 
 Huntingdon was delighted. Perhaps now they would 
 let him alone on woman-palaver. 
 
 But it was not to be so. 
 
 As he was leaving the town, through Ngumbe, Ra- 
 gundo demanded if the white man did not want to take 
 his daughter home with him? 
 
 Huntingdon had to acquiesce. 
 
 She joined his caravan. 
 
 With envy, the other women watched her go. She 
 strutted like a peacock rigged out in her new, gaudy 
 finery. 
 
 The greatest honor possible had come to her. She 
 was to be the wife of Huntingdon, the Great White 
 King! 
 
 Huntingdon swore beneath his breath and won 
 dered how he d get out of the contretemps, 
 
 He knew it would take tact diplomacy of the finest 
 kind. If the worst came, he d buy her of her father 
 and ship her north on an English boat to Morrison. 
 He preferred to send her to Captain Haywood, but his 
 whereabouts were constantly changing. As for Long- 
 worthy, the girl would be stolen e er she got up the 
 Niger to his station. Wallace? It would be a joke on 
 the old coaster but cruelty to the girl. If Wallace 
 received her which was not likely his present wife 
 might poison her. Morrison would welcome her; the 
 Captain of the steamer would deliver her safely into his
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 239 
 
 hands and Morrison could dispose of her to his ad 
 vantage. 
 
 But Huntingdon bothered himself for naught. At 
 Cape Lopez the girl disappeared for over a week. 
 Huntingdon finally saw her with Makaya. Makaya s 
 charms had won her. 
 
 Huntingdon was so relieved that he dashed every one 
 of his hands an extra supply of rum and tobacco. 
 
 But his troubles with women were just beginning. 
 
 Daily he was pestered. It was known that Makaya 
 had Chief Ragundo s daughter. It was gossip that the 
 white man had given her to the Loango out of appre 
 ciation for the latter s fine cooking! 
 
 Again, the women brought by different chiefs were of 
 all types: the immature, the budding, the full-blown. 
 Their complexions blended from the soft cafe au lait of 
 the half-caste, to the rich ebony of the negro. 
 
 Their prices varied from $3.00 to $5.00 a month each, 
 to be paid to their owners, with food and scant raiment 
 for the woman. 
 
 The half-caste had been wife to a score of white men, 
 either dead, or returned to Europe. She prided herself 
 on it, and she was universally envied by the other women. 
 
 Disgust prompted Huntingdon to throw chiefs and 
 the women out. But he remembered Smithson s advice. 
 
 He affected dissatisfaction. 
 
 The result was that he was continually importuned. 
 But he was so liberal with gifts, that chiefs and women 
 went away pleased. They saw only the gifts. 
 
 " You re new, Monsieur Huntingdon," shrugged Le- 
 Blanc, the French trader. " Wait until you re out
 
 240 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 longer, until Africa gets you, you won t be so finicky. 
 You ll do as we do, not only hire the woman, but hire 
 a guard to keep her from sneaking away with your cook, 
 or houseboy, or her husband or owner. These women 
 are not to blame for what they are. They know no 
 better. They are unmoral, not immoral. They are 
 merchandise to be realized upon. The natives have no 
 domestic animals, lands or other sources of revenue. 
 They have only their women. The men buy as many 
 wives as they can. They desire children females. 
 In many parts of the country childless women are put 
 to death. A girl is sold in marriage almost at her birth. 
 When she grows to maturity, she is let out, just as one 
 hires out any sort of servant or animal. A woman 
 daren t take a lover of her own choosing and give her 
 self to him. Discovery means severe punishment to 
 herself, and mutilation, perhaps death, to her paramour. 
 Woman is always for sale, never given away. A 
 native will give away everything he possesses, except 
 his women. Princesses and slaves are in the same boat: 
 a source of revenue to their owners." 
 
 " Queer customs these beggars have," commented 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 " As for a white man," continued LeBlanc, " no mat 
 ter how low in the social scale he may be in civilization, 
 here, in Africa, he is a superior being. To be his mis 
 tress, brings everlasting fame to a black woman. They 
 trade on it. What is a chief s first remark when he 
 brings forth his women ? She be all right. She savvy 
 white man palaver. She was wife to So-and-so and 
 So-and-so. She never born d pickins she savvy white 
 man palaver, plenty plenty.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 241 
 
 Huntingdon fidgeted impatiently. 
 
 " What s the matter with you? " cried the French 
 man, keenly alive to Huntingdon s disgust. " I m only 
 telling you the custom of the country. I m not re 
 sponsible for it. Nor did I fight against it, as you are 
 doing. I accepted it. I ve bought every black woman 
 who took my fancy save one and she s not for me. 
 She s Ndio, the Gabonaise, mistress to the Commandant. 
 You ve seen her? " 
 
 Huntingdon shook his head. All native women looked 
 alike to him. He saw no beauty, attraction in any of 
 them. 
 
 " The Gabonaise," went on the Frenchman, growing 
 more heated as he proceeded, " is as superior to the 
 Ouroungo women as Venus is to a vegetable vender. 
 Mon Dieu! just to look at her is enough to send your 
 blood through the top of your head. A more regal, 
 savage, seductive creature was never conceived. She s 
 not an hour over sixteen, as supple as a tigress, as 
 warm-blooded as Venus-Aphrodite herself. In her, all 
 the elemental passions run riot. She knows no law save 
 that of her emotions. Sex calls to sex the moment she 
 and man meet. Man can no more withstand her than 
 the blossom will creep away from the sunlight. She is 
 beautiful, magnifique! The one woman for whom I 
 suffer, the only woman I cannot buy ! " 
 
 Again, Huntingdon s disgust was so marked, that the 
 Frenchman cried furiously : 
 
 " Look down upon and draw away from us white men 
 all you will, M sieu Huntingdon, the black woman will 
 get you as sure as I, LeBlanc, the Frenchman, am talk 
 ing to you ! You re in Africa and Africa makes shuttle-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 cocks of white men ! You ll go down and when you do, 
 remember LeBlanc ! " 
 
 LeBlanc s revelations increased Huntingdon s dis 
 gust. It was bad enough for a white man to cohabit 
 with a black woman, but to wade deeper into the quag 
 mire by placing a guard over her that she might not 
 run away to a man of her own race, was the lowest 
 depths of degradation. Huntingdon swore it would 
 never come to him. 
 
 October brought the rains, increased heat and hordes 
 of mosquitoes and other pests. Huntingdon s appetite 
 decreased and he did not sleep well at night. He sought 
 the Douane and each helped the other to endure and for 
 get.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TWAS the week before Christmas. 
 
 Huntingdon surveyed the changes in his bungalow 
 with the keen interest and delight of a connoisseur. 
 
 The living-room was transformed into a great hall, 
 after the manner of feudal England. 
 
 Everything in it was massive, befitting the country 
 that gave them birth. 
 
 The old cross-beamed ceiling and rough plank floor 
 remained. Around the walls ran a rough, broad shelf 
 of ebony, on which were specimens of African handi 
 crafts : carved pipes of various kinds and sizes ; cala 
 bashes ; hammered brasses ; canoe-shovels ; paddles ; mini 
 ature canoes ; all sorts of animals done in ivory and 
 ebony ; ivory and ebony hair ornaments, bracelets and 
 anklets. 
 
 There were also ju-ju charms ; tam-tams, little and 
 big ; knives of grotesque designs ; powder horns ; boxes 
 of bark ; elephants tails ; hippopotami teeth ; leopards 
 claws ; birds nests ; vines interwoven in bizarre forms ; 
 blown crocodile eggs ; skins of snakes, and a host of 
 other interesting things. 
 
 Some of the idols were tiny, others large. Some were 
 ebony, others of reddish mahogany ; still others were 
 soft wood smeared with red and white clay. Their fea 
 tures and headdress were that of Egypt. So far as 
 Huntingdon was able to learn, the Ouroungoes did not 
 
 243
 
 244 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 worship idols, and he recalled Smithson s statement that 
 the only religion they had was that of superstitious, de 
 grading fear, and that their only priest was the Nganga, 
 or witch doctor, an all-powerful creature, tyrannous 
 and overbearing and universally feared and bribed. 
 
 An immense fireplace and a chimney of ebony extended 
 to the ceiling. 
 
 The andirons were great lions, on whose backs rested 
 massive, oaken logs. 
 
 The furniture was of roseate mahogany, highly pol 
 ished and exquisitely carved in bold, typical designs. 
 
 The oblong dining table consisted of two immense 
 logs upheld by a number of lions. 
 
 At either end was a chair carved from one piece of 
 wood, representing a gorilla on his haunches, his arms 
 outspread. 
 
 The settle along either side of the table was also up 
 held by lions, and its back-rest was a broad rail 
 carved in centipedes, scorpions, frogs and crocodiles. 
 
 The sideboard and buffet took up one entire side of 
 the room. The doors underneath were carved with 
 jungle scenes, and the plain, massive polished top made 
 a striking background for the exquisite things upon it: 
 drinking cups of horn, ivory, and ebony ; a punch bowl 
 of carved ebony, with handles and feet of unpolished 
 ivory ; peg glasses of ivory inlaid with ebony ; a cork 
 screw set in an enormous hippopotamus tooth ; a great 
 salad spoon and fork of crudely carved ebony ; and a 
 grotesque ebony idol smeared with red clay. 
 
 Carved from one piece of ebony was the kneeling fig 
 ure of a bushwoman, in all the grace of young woman 
 hood. Her upraised arms supported a tray on her
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 245 
 
 head and on it were a Turkish coffee service, a nargileh, 
 Turkish tobacco and cigarettes. 
 
 In contrast to the heavy ebony coffee table and its ap 
 pointments, was a delicately carved teak-wood tabouret, 
 with a tea service of frail Japanese china ; a brass kettle 
 and an alcohol lamp ; dainty, exquisitely carved Japan 
 ese pipes with tiny, silver-lined bowls ; a carved, brass 
 Japanese ash bowl, and a dainty ivory idol. In them 
 was read all the refinement of old Japan, juxtaposed 
 with the crude savagery and primitiveness of the equator. 
 
 The old lounge was replaced by a broad divan of 
 bamboo, with pillows of native cotton in slips of dull- 
 gold pineapple cloth, and a magnificent leopard .skin 
 lined with soft, rich, orange Morocco leather. 
 
 The huge spine of a sword fish was mounted on ebony 
 and utilized for a helmet rack, while a unique gong was 
 made of an exploded brass torpedo shell suspended by 
 a thong of leopard s hide from the crossed points of two 
 unpolished ivories seven feet tall. Their deep, creamy 
 tint contrasted effectively with the brass bell, the clap 
 per of which was a very odd native knife with an ivory 
 handle. 
 
 The walls were hung with trophies of the chase, 
 mounted on rough blocks of ebony. 
 
 Two grinning skulls were side by side ; a negro s and 
 a gorilla s. It was difficult to tell them apart. 
 
 From the ceiling beams and supported by invisible 
 wires to give them the appearance of flying and of life 
 were white ibis, storks and cranes ; pink flamingoes ; 
 gray parrots with red tails ; gorgeous, vain peacocks ; 
 a great blue plantaineater, and an enormous eagle, the 
 leopard of the air.
 
 246 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The tout-ensemble was not set and conventional as 
 in a museum or other show place ; it spoke of intimacy, 
 as though it were on congenial terms with its master, 
 and so it was, for Huntingdon loved the room and wrote 
 minutely about it to Marjorie and his mother. 
 
 One would have thought that this magnificent chamber 
 would have appealed to the savages. But strange to 
 say, it did not. The savages were more impressed with 
 the fathoms and fathoms of unbleached muslin covering 
 the walls and ceilings of the sleeping-rooms. Wood 
 could be gathered in the forests, animals hunted in the 
 jungles, and furniture carved and made by native car 
 penters under the supervision of the mission, but fathoms 
 of trade cloth so wantonly covering walls and ceilings 
 represented untold wealth to the simple minds of the 
 savages. And again they averred that the Great White 
 King owned all the wealth of the world ! 
 
 The side verandas, too, had undergone a great 
 change. Each was divided into two compartments. 
 The rear one was the smaller and in it was a shower 
 bath. 
 
 The shower was a great rubber bag operated by a 
 pulley, and the tub was the ordinary zinc oval in gen 
 eral use by the traders. 
 
 The other compartment was fitted up as a rest- and 
 reading-room. 
 
 Huntingdon s was of course the more complete of the 
 two. 
 
 The furniture, a divan and several low, easy chairs, 
 were imported from Madeira and were wicker. A low 
 tabouret was of carved African teak. Shelves con-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 247 
 
 tained reading matter of all descriptions, and there were 
 desks of ebony fitted with writing materials. 
 
 Although no guests other than little Sadler had yet 
 come to Huntingdon, he kept open house and he would 
 have welcomed any white man who emerged from the 
 bush. But no Englishmen were voyaging at that time 
 of the year, and if there were any French or other na 
 tionalities en route, they sought the bungalows of their 
 compatriots. 
 
 Christmas day the Nigeria was expected. 
 
 At Sierra Leone on the way out, a cable reached 
 Skipper Hains, inviting him and his officers to the feast 
 which was to celebrate the completion of the changes 
 in Huntingdon s bungalow. 
 
 Sadler was to come down from the Ogowe ; Moore 
 and the Douane were invited. 
 
 The little dry season was on. Ogula, the shootman, 
 and Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, had bagged game 
 galore. Besides there were a manatee-manga weighing 
 over five hundred pounds ; an immense turtle and the 
 biggest oysters Huntingdon ever looked upon. 
 
 Sunup Christmas morning found Ogula and Nkombi 
 Kakhi roasting game. 
 
 No white man s feast ever before created such a 
 furore. From all directions the natives came. The 
 beach was noisy with canoes, laden with gifts for the 
 whie man. Most of them were worthless and insignifi 
 cant. But every gift was received in the proper man 
 ner by the officious Ngumbe dressed in new white ducks, 
 and presents of tobacco, salt, matches, clay pipes, beads 
 and mirrors were given in exchange.
 
 248 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The eyes of the savages glowed big with such munifi 
 cence. Again and again comment was made on the vast 
 wealth of their Mpolo Tata Otangani. 
 
 In the early morning the little Oka hove into sight. 
 She crossed the bay at a high rate of speed. 
 
 Through his glasses Huntingdon discovered Sadler, 
 standing at the wheel, laughing with the native pilot. 
 
 Huntingdon was at the beach to meet him. Both men 
 were in immaculate whites. 
 
 " Merry Christmas," called Huntingdon over the 
 water. 
 
 " Aye ! Merry Christmas," came back Sadler s hearty 
 response. 
 
 " Aye," answered Huntingdon, leaping to the Oka s 
 deck and wringing little Sadler s hands. 
 
 With his characteristic boyishness, Sadler yelled: 
 
 " Sunlight, give them great White King the dash I 
 bring um." 
 
 Sunlight staggered under the weight of an immense 
 tusk of ivory, exquisitely carved from end to end in 
 centipedes, scorpions, birds and beasts. 
 
 " If you thank me for the bally thing, Huntingdon, 
 I ll take it back," Sadler shouted, e er Huntingdon could 
 speak. 
 
 Huntingdon pressed the little fellow s hand, hard. 
 
 " Git the hell out o here with it," yelled Sadler, push 
 ing the giant Sunlight down the gangplank. 
 
 Moore came swaggering along, dressed also in white, 
 and swinging a cane. 
 
 Sadler sniffed at his approach. The trade perfume 
 was unmistakable. But Sadler made no comment ; he 
 clasped Moore s hand as though they were the best of
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 249 
 
 friends meeting after a long parting, and said : " Merry 
 Christmas, Moore." 
 
 " Aye, the same to you and Huntingdon." 
 
 " Aye," responded Huntingdon, " Merry Christmas 
 and many of them." 
 
 Moore and Sadler looked over the bungalow. They 
 merely glanced into the bedrooms and the transformed 
 verandas ; their j oy was expended on the great center 
 room. 
 
 And it was magnificent to look upon. The day was 
 clear and beautiful. Not a cloud was in the heavens and 
 the sunlight showed up every nook and corner of the 
 room and every piece of its unique and appropriate fur 
 nishing. 
 
 The spinal bone of the sword fish attracted Sadler. 
 Moore expressed loud admiration for the drinking cups 
 and punch bowl and vowed he would have duplicates 
 made. 
 
 "Indeed," cried little Sadler, "it s nobody s outfit 
 I ll be a-copying. I ll come down and enjoy King Hunt 
 ingdon s when I can sneak off can t I, King? " 
 
 Huntingdon smiled affectionately. 
 
 " You are always welcome to what I ve got so are 
 you, Moore. We re Englishmen, we re aliens - that s 
 enough." 
 
 Moore had the good grace to thank him. Sadler 
 said nothing but commenced to whistle: 
 
 " Do you love me, Mollie Darling? " 
 
 The song took Huntingdon to England. Letters 
 would be on the Nigeria letters from Marjorie and 
 his mother. Gifts, too, but gifts were secondary to 
 letters !
 
 250 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 i . 
 
 Sadler was striking the torpedo gong, and its melo 
 dious notes were dying away when Ngumbe cried: 
 
 " Master, Nigeria live ! " 
 
 The Nigeria had scarce cast anchor when the three 
 English exiles were up one of her ladders. 
 
 " Oh, ho, me lads, you ve come for your Christmas 
 gifts. Well, I m sorry for ye. They re entrusted to 
 the French government and it s at the post office ye ll 
 have to get them." 
 
 Skipper Hains was in fresh white, brown and healthy 
 and active. 
 
 His little blue eyes didn t appear to see anything, but 
 nothing missed them. Anxiously he had watched Hunt 
 ingdon climb the ship s side. He wondered what he d 
 read in the lad s face. The old truth and candor were 
 there, if the color was missing. But he was fit, unusu 
 ally fit for Africa. 
 
 Plains ordered champagne with a high hand and 
 with plenty of ice, too. 
 
 " Ah, me lads, here s to us all together once again 
 and to-day s Christmas. Diwil a bit ye d ken it was 
 Christmas didn t the calendar tell us so. It s cold and 
 snows and mistletoe he began, but suddenly he 
 changed his tactics. " And it s well ye re all looking. 
 Ah, ye can t beat the British - ner the Irish. We 
 keep our feast days no matter where we be nor what 
 divvils threaten us." 
 
 He managed to draw Sadler aside. 
 
 " Me lad," he whispered, " what time s the feast? " 
 
 " Indeed, I don t know, Skipper ! " 
 
 " Hould yer toush now, but be after soundin Mr. 
 Huntingdon s boy."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 251 
 
 " If it s about grub, Skipper, save your chef. Hunt 
 ingdon s got a barbecue on big enough to feed a whole 
 army of fasting blue jackets." 
 
 " Has he now? Well, be a good lad and run along 
 and find out the hour for the feast." 
 
 " One o clock," Sadler reported in a little while, after 
 having secretly consulted Ngumbe, who attended his 
 master. 
 
 " I hear it s a foine mansion ye builded out here, Mr. 
 Huntingdon," said Skipper Hains. His tones were 
 noticeably Irish. They were always so when he was 
 happiest. 
 
 " Yes, I ve been fixing up a bit making myself com 
 fortable two years and a half more to put in, you 
 know. Might as well get the best there is." 
 
 " Ye re right, me lad, and it keeps you " he was 
 going to say " out of mischief," instead he added, 
 " from thinking about the time ahead of ye yet to be 
 served. Yes, I heard about the grandeur of your place 
 away north in Sierra Leone." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " It s the gossip of the country " and so are you 
 the skipper might have added, but he didn t. " Well, 
 come on, thin, show me this grand place. It s improve 
 ments I love to look at. Arrah, we had a divvil of a 
 voyage out. Stiff est crowd ye ever knew. Governors 
 and lords and creatures like that done up in rigimintals 
 and spurs." There was no mistaking the contempt in 
 the skipper s tones. " Ah, here are me officers now. 
 All hands bound for John Holt s descend to the surf 
 boats ! And, Sampson, be after tinding to all me com 
 mands," and in the Kru s ear he whispered: " Tell the
 
 252 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Chief Steward to have everything at Mr. Huntingdon s 
 by high noon, savvy? " 
 
 " I savvy, Captain." 
 
 The skipper s keen eyes took in every detail of Hunt 
 ingdon s transformed bungalow. His greatest delight 
 was that it contained no hint of woman. 
 
 Gifts and letters were many for Huntingdon. Old 
 Wallace, Haywood, Longworthy and Cartwright wrote. 
 With the exception of fever, all were as well as could be 
 expected. 
 
 Neither Sadler nor Moore received any gifts from 
 civilization, but Huntingdon had something for all of 
 his guests : nargilehs, Turkish tobacco, and cigarettes 
 and jars of candied ginger. 
 
 " Is it a gurrl ye think Oi am," demanded Skipper 
 Hains, as he placed the ginger by for safe keeping. 
 " Ah, thin, it s a confession Oi ll be after making : it s 
 a swate tooth Oi have in me ould head and more n wan 
 av thim." 
 
 His brogue denoted the skipper s happiness, but none 
 of the other white men appeared to notice it. 
 
 Moore s gift to Huntingdon was an ancient staff of 
 ebony carved with crocodiles, snakes, bats and butterflies. 
 
 Attended by an armed Senegalese tirrailleur and a 
 smallboy, the Douane came, in spotless white and hung 
 with medals. 
 
 The Creole was debonnaire and graceful, despite the 
 soft fat on his bones. 
 
 Hains had no liking for dark-skinned foreigners, all 
 of whom he dubbed half-breeds. He loved the French 
 least of all ; his Irish honesty and candor could not 
 tolerate their surface politeness and inward treachery.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 253 
 
 Douanes he knew only as skunks who pounced on every 
 parcel of importation for the bit of commission in it. 
 They were some of the scorpions of the coast he avoided 
 assiduously. 
 
 But Skipper Hains was just. In the Douane he rec 
 ognized a gentleman : a proper companion for his be 
 loved Huntingdon. 
 
 The Douane s gift to Huntingdon was a very old na 
 tive knife. The wooden handle was roughly carved to 
 imitate a snake, and from its open mouth the blade 
 protruded. It was two-edged and shaped like a scythe. 
 
 Besides the food provided by Huntingdon, the skip 
 per s gifts were two convasback ducks ; a guinea pig 
 stuffed with apples and chestnuts ; Yorkshire pudding ; 
 TenerifFe wine ; French champagne, and a cask of Eng 
 lish ale. 
 
 From Lady Huntingdon and Marjorie came plum 
 pudding, nuts and sweets, and pretty trifles made by 
 them. The latter Huntingdon carefully packed away ; 
 they had no place in that rough environment. 
 
 The feast lasted from one o clock until seven. 
 
 Healths were drunk to everybody : to England ; to the 
 King and the Queen ; to mothers and sweethearts, sisters 
 and brothers ! 
 
 Oh, there was a hilarious time ! Hilarious, because 
 silence might creep in, and tears might flow, and tears 
 would never do at a Christmas feast ; oh, no ! 
 
 " Mr. Skipper Hains," cried Huntingdon, " you ve 
 forgotten something." 
 
 " And have I now? " questioned the skipper. 
 
 " Mistletoe, English mistletoe," spoke up Sadler. 
 " That s what he forgot, isn t it, Huntingdon? "
 
 254 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Before Huntingdon had time to answer, the skipper 
 remarked : 
 
 " If it s your eyes ye d be using more and less your 
 tongues, ye might be after seeing somewhat." 
 
 The skipper s eyes were deep in an ebony tankard 
 of ale. But Huntingdon discovered the mistletoe with 
 its waven blooms hanging from the long beak of a crane 
 suspended low from the ceiling right over the table. 
 
 Huntingdon couldn t speak. Twas the first Christ 
 mas he had ever spent away from home. They were 
 missing him there, too 
 
 The skipper s tones were unusually blustering as he 
 bellowed : 
 
 " And don t be a-thankin me. It s the Lady Mar- 
 jorie that did it. Ye ve been telling things on me to 
 her, Mr. Huntingdon, and she s been a-writing to me, 
 and she came all the way to Liverpool, and the Earl, her 
 father. Sez she to me arrah, me lad, but she has 
 the bonny brown eyes, and the red, kissing lips, and the 
 beauteous red hair red and a-rippling and astray 
 like the Irish colleens only she s not got the freckles. 
 Thinks me sel when she looked up into me sea-dimmed 
 eyes with her shining bright ones, my, thinks Oi, if there 
 was only a freckle, just one on the end of your pretty, 
 saucy nose, arrah, what was it, lad, Oi set out to say? 
 Oh, yes. Sez she : Captain Hains Oi say, Mr. 
 Huntingdon, I m after thinking that thim mermaids that 
 hypnotized Ulysses, ye savvy the skipper ye told me 
 of on your way out, who went a-sailing over strange 
 seas after getting loose from hell, thim mermaids 
 voices must have been something loike the Lady Mar- 
 j orie s Arrah, it s crazy Oi m going from the heat
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 255 
 
 for to the end of me yarn Oi ll nivir come. Sez the 
 Lady Marjorie to me: Captain Hains and nivir 
 will Oi forget that voice nor the lovelight in her eyes 
 sez she : Captain Hains, Oi know Oi can trust this 
 package to His Majesty s Mails as Oi ve trusted 
 manny s a token before now, but here s a parcel Oi d 
 like ye to deliver with your own hands to to 
 what the divvil it was she called ye not the Honor 
 able, nor the Mister ah, yes, twas Cecil and the 
 way she said it, arrah it s forgetting Oi am what 
 the lady said, but sez she : After Cecil s opened his 
 gifts sent in charge of his Majesty s mails, Oi d like 
 ye to do me the favor to open this parcel. The mistle 
 toe, please, hang over his table ; put it in the mouth of 
 one of those white birds he wrote about as if the 
 bird was after flying from me to him, and this, you re 
 to lay this in his hand now what the divvil was it 
 she said ," the skipper stopped abruptly and from his 
 pocket he pulled - a sprig of rosemary and laid it in 
 Huntingdon s hand. 
 
 " Arrah, arrah, an what was it the Lady said," the 
 skipper stopped again, affecting to be puzzled and filling 
 up the gap to let Huntingdon get his feelings under 
 control. " Ah, I ve got it it s befuddled me brain is 
 from this domned nigger heat," and the skipper s words 
 were never broader nor more Irish as he ended lightly, 
 yet seriously: " Sez the Lady Marjorie to me: It s 
 rosemary, and it s for remimbrance. Ye bull-headed, 
 Capstan," he suddenly shouted at little Sadler, " how s 
 the sailing? Crocs, yes? " 
 
 " And river horses," answered Sadler, trying his best 
 to keep back tears.
 
 256 
 
 " Ain t ye got a blunderbuss or a Brown-bess handy, 
 or can t ye use one? I say, Moore, how s the ladies? " 
 
 Moore was also looking down his nose, but such a 
 question never failed to arouse him. 
 
 " That s my affair," he bridled, but little Sadler com 
 menced to sing: 
 
 My Bonnie lies over the ocean, 
 My Bonnie lies over the sea, 
 My Bonnie lies over the ocean, 
 Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me. 
 
 The others joined in, and the rafters fairly rang with 
 the chorus to the delight of the servants and passing 
 natives. 
 
 The black heads peering in at the door reminded the 
 skipper of something. 
 
 " Mr. Mellon," Skipper Hains cried, addressing his 
 first officer. " Ye saw to the rum and the tobacco for 
 the boys." 
 
 " Aye, aye, captain. They re stowed away in Mr. 
 Huntingdon s bedroom for safe keeping." 
 
 " Two hands for ard," roared the skipper. 
 
 Ogula and Nkombi Kakhi stepped briskly into the 
 room. 
 
 " Show em where the stuff lies, Mr. Mellon, and let 
 them be off wit it. Ye won t be needing them again 
 the day, Mr. Huntingdon ? " 
 
 " All can go, save Ngumbe and Mbega," Huntingdon 
 answered. 
 
 After the plum pudding, blazing with rum, coffee and 
 cigars were served, Sadler said: 
 
 " I ll be boy from now on, Huntingdon ! Nothing to 
 do but serve up wet drinks. Let Ngumbe and Mbega
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 257 
 
 go with the rest of the gang. Christmas like this comes 
 only once in a lifetime with these beggars. Let em 
 eat and drink until they get the bellyache." 
 
 Thus midst raillery and mockery and devil-may-carity 
 and pathos and a tacit shunning of reminiscences the 
 Christmas feast was enjo} r ed. 
 
 " Oi say, Mr. Huntingdon," cried Skipper Hains, 
 " where s that game of bridge Oi ve been after promis 
 ing me sel? It s not a dacent game Oi ve had since ye 
 voyaged out wit me." 
 
 Two tables were arranged, the winning partners 
 changing after each rubber. After a time, the others 
 tired and dropped out leaving the Douane, Huntingdon, 
 Dr. Young and Hains, four matched players. 
 
 Play had been for a halfpenny the point, and gains 
 and losses on either side had been small. 
 
 Young proposed twopence the point, and the others 
 agreed. 
 
 It was decided to play pivot. 
 
 They cut. 
 
 Hains was pivot. Partners were to change after 
 each rubber. 
 
 The scores were high. No trumpers and royal spades 
 predominated. 
 
 Then an interesting hand was played. 
 
 The Douane was dealing ; Hains was his partner and 
 dummy. 
 
 The Douane bridged it. 
 
 Hains declared: 
 
 " No trump ! " 
 
 Huntingdon promptly doubled. He was to the left 
 of the Douane and it was his first play.
 
 258 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Hains redoubled. 
 
 Huntingdon came back. 
 
 Hains was satisfied. 
 
 To the surprise of all, the Douane redoubled. 
 
 Huntingdon was content. 
 
 Hains rapidly computed: 
 
 " 12, 24, 48, 96, 192 times tuppence makes 65s. 6d. 
 a trick for the winner. Capstans and halyards ! Now 
 me noble partner, play as though the divvil had us both 
 by the heels awaiting to clean us out. It s a fine hand 
 I have for ye, except two suits, and if ye can control 
 them, being s ye doubled when the palaver seemed 
 set, then extra fizz water for all hands round and the 
 winnings to ourselves. Go on, Mr. Huntingdon, lead, 
 and may the divvil take ye. * 
 
 Huntingdon lead a small club, proclaiming his suit 
 to be clubs. 
 
 The skipper laid down his hand. 
 
 There wasn t one club! There were three diamonds, 
 queen high; seven spades, ace, then jack; and of 
 hearts, ace, king and ten. 
 
 Twas really a royal spade hand, but the skipper was 
 a sport and he had faith in the Douane. 
 
 " If ye can get them spades a-working, partner," he 
 said, " then we re good for the odd. If we can t we pay 
 the damage. Cast off ! " 
 
 That was the last word spoken during the hand. 
 
 On Huntingdon s lead of the four of clubs, the 
 Douane discarded a diamond from the dummy. 
 
 Dr. Young, Huntingdon s partner, played the ace of 
 clubs and the Douane played the three.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 259 
 
 Dr. Young came back with the five of clubs. 
 
 The Douane s play was eagerly awaited. Everybody 
 knew clubs were Huntingdon s suit and he likely held the 
 king. 
 
 The Douane s movements were always slow, but now 
 languor seemed to envelop him completely. 
 
 He laid down his cards and begged permission to 
 light a cigarette. 
 
 He puffed at it slowly, one, two, three times ! 
 
 The Englishmen were on nettles, the skipper partic 
 ularly so. He couldn t mask his impatience. He stood 
 up, stretched himself, then sat down again. 
 
 Languidly, the Douane resumed his cards, and his 
 white jeweled hand laid down the king of clubs. 
 
 Of course he would lead a spade so the others 
 thought. 
 
 Instead he lead the ace of diamonds, and from 
 the dummy he followed suit with the seven of diamonds. 
 
 He would surely lead a spade now. 
 
 He didn t. He laid down a small heart. 
 
 Huntingdon covered it with the seven spot. 
 
 The others expected the Douane to come in with the 
 ace or king from the dummy. 
 
 Again the Douane was provokingly slow. Again he 
 puffed at his cigarette. Hains feet were twitching 
 nervously, Young was noticeably agitated, and Hunt 
 ingdon s brows were drawn. 
 
 Then slowly, slowly from the dummy, the Douane 
 pulled out the ten of hearts! 
 
 Dr. Young played the eight. It was the highest one 
 he had !
 
 260 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Twas the dummy s lead. 
 
 The Douane played more briskly now. 
 
 He pulled out the ace of hearts and from his own 
 hand discarded a diamond, proclaiming that the heart 
 he lead was the only one he had. 
 
 From the dummy he next lead the king of hearts. 
 Huntingdon s only hope now lay in his partner s hav 
 ing the king of spades guarded and coming back with 
 a club or a diamond. 
 
 Again it was the dummy s lead, and there was nothing 
 left but spades. 
 
 Huntingdon bent over the table. 
 
 The skipper s little blue eyes were almost masked by 
 their lids as though he were gazing into thick space. 
 
 Dr. Young pushed his cards closer, his eyes on the 
 dummy. 
 
 The skipper and Huntingdon were in suspense to see 
 Young s play, and Young to see Huntingdon s. The 
 latter must have doubled on something worth while. As 
 he didn t have aces he must have guarded kings and 
 queens. Young was confident Huntingdon had the king 
 of spades, and the skipper and Huntingdon were confi 
 dent that Young held it. 
 
 Slowly from the dummy the Douane pulled the ace of 
 spades. Dr. Young played a spot ; so did the Douane 
 and Huntingdon. 
 
 Again the Douane was compelled to lead from the 
 dummy. 
 
 He led the eight of spades. 
 
 Now was the critical moment. 
 
 The silence was tense. 
 
 It was Dr. Young who seemed slow.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 261 
 
 He played the queen, the only one he had left; 
 his suit was diamonds. The Douane covered it with 
 the king; Huntingdon discarded a diamond. Then the 
 Douane lead a spade; jack, dummy took it, and the re 
 maining dummy spade was good. 
 
 " A baby slam," shouted the Skipper leaning over and 
 ringing the Douane s hand. " It s a Gineral and an 
 Irishman ye ought to be, instid of " he caught himself 
 in time he was going to say half-breed. " Arrah, 
 let s see now how much we re to the good. 6 tricks. 
 Six times 192 for each trick equals 1152. Add 30 for 
 aces and 12 for the baby slam makes 1194 @ tuppence. 
 Whew! 4776d or 398s, or 19 18s, for each of us, 
 Monsieur Douane. If the Irish had such luck, they d 
 be owning England and free-ruling thimselves ! " 
 
 Bridge was Skipper Hains ruling passion and he 
 loved no one so much as a good player. He forgot that 
 the Douane was one of the coast skunks whom he so 
 cordially hated and for the first time in his life, he 
 pressed a half-breed, a detested Frenchman to dine with 
 him aboard the Nigeria on her next voyage. The 
 pleasure could not be his now, because the Nigeria was 
 to steam away with the dawn. 
 
 But the Douane sincerely regretted his inability to ac 
 cept the invitation. In two months his term expired and 
 he expected to at once return to Martinique. 
 
 " In the name of chance, what did you double and 
 redouble on, Mr. Huntingdon ? " cried Dr. Young. 
 
 " I had seven clubs up to the queen ; king, queen, and 
 jack of diamonds; the queen and tray of hearts. One 
 spade. Twas my lead. I played you for something. 
 I thought it was easy sailing when you took my first
 
 262 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 trick with the ace of clubs and came back with a spot, 
 but the Douane and not you held the king. Who ever 
 dreamed that you wouldn t hold an ace, the dummy 
 would have no club, and my clubs and diamond suits 
 would be killed right off the reel. I say, Monsieur le 
 Douane, why did you play your ten instead of your king 
 or ace of hearts ? " 
 
 " You doubled," answered the Douane, " and I 
 reasoned if my ten went through, we would make a little 
 slam. The stakes were high and worth going for." 
 
 " Ah, gwan, quit holding post mortems," roared 
 Skipper Hains. " Whew ! That s the most excitement 
 I ve had in a long run, and tis the best hand I ve seen 
 played in some time. I ll set up the fizz water just for 
 the excitement and pleasure it s been to me." 
 
 " Oh, no, Skipper," remonstrated Huntingdon. 
 " Fizz water s on me you re a winner." 
 
 " More reason for me setting it up. Annyhow, it s 
 extra pleasure ye d be giving me ould Irish heart. It s 
 midnight, time to turn in, and ye wouldn t want to be a 
 spoilin the fine day I ve had, would ye now, me lad? " 
 
 There was no resisting the skipper s Irish reasoning. 
 
 He set up the wine. 
 
 At daybreak, the Nigeria steamed away. 
 
 New Year s day, the Douane entertained. Every 
 white man in Cape Lopez was invited and made merry. 
 
 It was another divine day, just as Christmas had been. 
 
 The two months and a half of rain seemed to have 
 washed Africa clean of her stains and menaces. 
 
 The bush was beautiful in luxurious growth and color 
 ing; the sands of the beach were packed hard; walking 
 infinitely easier and very pleasant; the moist earth
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 263 
 
 slacked the sun s thirst ; sea breezes tempered the heat ; 
 humidity was absent, breathing was a joy. 
 
 The temperamental white men responded to Nature s 
 merry mood and good fellowship reigned. They parted 
 in the best of spirits, each wishing the other good luck 
 and health. Huntingdon hoped that such good fellow 
 ship would continue. Monotony would then lose its 
 horror, and companionship, the beloved of exiles, would 
 make life tolerable. 
 
 But Africa entices, only to torture the more. 
 
 The next day Cape Lopez was startled by the death 
 of the Douane from dysentery ! 
 
 Sadler and Huntingdon were the only mourners. The 
 other white men were again deep in Africa s clutch. 
 
 Again a grave on the wind-swept beach was dug and 
 another white alien slept the sleep that knows no awaken 
 ing; o erhead the palms sighed mournfully, and on the 
 beach the sea beat a monotonous tattoo. 
 
 Sadler returned to Lambarene and Huntingdon was 
 alone. 
 
 The next week brought the tornadoes. Rains lashed 
 the earth ; thunder reverberated through the heavens ; 
 lightning blasted and devastated; humidity like a wet 
 blanket smothered all things and man s endurance was 
 taxed to the utmost ! Oh, how Huntingdon missed the 
 Douane! There was no one to whom he could talk of 
 Marjorie ; no one to comfort and console him ; no one to 
 whom he could give his confidence. It was the greatest 
 loss he had yd suffered ; he brooded upon it ; he cursed 
 Africa and drank deeply.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN the first week in March arrived and the rains 
 still continued, Huntingdon was pretty well tired of his 
 own society, of incessant work and lack of exercise. 
 Great then was his joy when Ngumbe reported that 
 Monsieur and Madame Leon, the missionaries whose com 
 ing had been gossiped about on Huntingdon s arrival 
 at Cape Lopez, were settled at the Rest House for an 
 indefinite stay. 
 
 Showing his contempt for gossip, Huntingdon pre 
 ceded his call upon the missionaries by sending fresh 
 meat killed by Ogula and some dainty edibles prepared 
 by Makaya. 
 
 Accustomed to the smoothly shaven, immaculately 
 clean High-Church prelates of Europe, Huntingdon was 
 taken aback by the bearded, uncouth appearance of the 
 3 oung missionary. He wore a native-made khaki suit, 
 the trousers of which were too short and the coat too 
 small ; he did in truth look like a scarecrow, as little 
 Sadler had said. 
 
 But in Madame Leon Huntingdon found a charming 
 woman, shy and retiring, with a spirituelle face and very 
 sad, expressive brown eyes. It was quite apparent that 
 she and her husband were both too young and of insuf 
 ficient experience for missionary work in such a field as 
 Africa. After the first discussion of religion, Hunting- 
 SB^
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 265 
 
 don avoided the subject. He and Leon were of diverse 
 opinions, and Madame, of course, agreed with her hus 
 band. 
 
 Tea and biscuits were served, and a delightful, relax 
 ing hour was passed. 
 
 Madame Leon was the first white woman with whom 
 Huntingdon talked since he left Europe. She was a 
 breath from civilization. Her presence would help him 
 fight the desires of the flesh rising strong within him. 
 For the first time in his life he recognized fully all a 
 refined white woman means to a man ! 
 
 He begged permission to call again. 
 
 Madame glanced timidly at her husband. 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 Traders and missionaries never came together save to 
 clash: the latter to remonstrate against the corruption 
 and theft of native women ; the former to send the mis 
 sionaries to hell and damnation for interfering with the 
 white man s only diversion and pleasure. 
 
 " We are always at home, M sieu Huntingdon," Leon 
 finally said. " We shall be glad to receive you." 
 
 Huntingdon s pleasure was great. 
 
 He expressed his thanks, and kissed Madame s hand 
 at parting. 
 
 The servants of the missionaries were young boys 
 just beginning their training. Their cooking and other 
 services were of the worst caliber ; hence Huntingdon 
 took keen joy in keeping the missionaries supplied with 
 choice confections made by Makaya and game of all 
 sorts killed by Ogula. 
 
 With the Douane s death Huntingdon s vegetables 
 stopped. Now he longed for them for the gentle white
 
 266 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 woman s sake, and he determined to have a garden of 
 his own as soon as the rains ceased. 
 
 At first Huntingdon dropped in to tea only every 
 other day ; then he went every day. He looked eagerly 
 forward to the four o clock hour ; it was a break in the 
 deadly monotony ; something to dress for. Tea and 
 biscuits were daintily served ; the conversation was 
 varied and refined and Madame was a refreshing, civi 
 lized breath which robbed the present of its keenest 
 torture. 
 
 Gradually Madame Leon lost her shyness. She was 
 intelligent, well read and traveled. She had been a 
 teacher of languages in Switzerland, and she spoke 
 French, German and English but her husband spoke 
 only French. 
 
 She told Huntingdon something of her duties at the 
 little mission station in the bush beyond Lambarene. 
 Every morning and night there were church services ; on 
 week-day mornings church was followed by an hour spent 
 in the hospital where the natives were treated for all 
 sorts of ailments ; then school followed. Hymnals, 
 Bibles and books were printed in the native dialects ; girls 
 were taught such simple domestic science as was neces 
 sary to healthy, moral living ; boys were taught tailoring, 
 carpenter work and wood carving. Madame was the 
 overseer of her own little household. Her servants were 
 young mission boys. 
 
 " Wouldn t you find it easier to teach the women 
 household work and wouldn t you rather have them about 
 you? " Huntingdon asked. 
 
 " Strange to say, M sieu Huntingdon," Madame re 
 plied, " the native girls are more stupid than the boys
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 267 
 
 about household matters, but the main reason for not 
 having them as servants is because every one of 
 them is a wife and her husband or owner will not trust 
 her to work for the white man." A flush overspread 
 Madame s pale face and Huntingdon, comprehending 
 the reason for it, hastily asked : 
 
 " But you must find the life monotonous, the work 
 tedious? " 
 
 " I would not mind it if the white men would let my 
 girls alone. But they are always stealing them." 
 
 She lowered her eyes to the lint she was cutting. But 
 not quickly enough. Huntingdon sensed her existence: 
 perpetual service, perpetual sameness, perpetual ingrati 
 tude ! What a life for a young, sensitive, refined white 
 woman ! 
 
 Her place was in the light, the joy, the change of 
 the world, with a mate of her own standing, not the 
 inferior creature to whom the Church had tied her. 
 
 Sympathy for her welled strong in Huntingdon. He 
 did his best to ease her lot. He kept her in reading 
 matter and Makaya continued to concoct delicacies for 
 her. 
 
 Huntingdon was anxious for Madame to see his liv 
 ing quarters, and after many invitations, Madame and 
 her husband honored him with a call. Great indeed 
 was his pleasure, and great were Madame s surprise and 
 delight at the beauty and comfort of his bungalow. 
 Huntingdon offered to move out and give the mission 
 aries possession, but they protested; they were inured 
 to hardships ; they did not expect luxuries and com 
 fort in the service of the Lord ; they were content as 
 they were.
 
 268 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon showed Madame Marjorie s picture, and 
 told her of his betrothal. 
 
 Long and silently Madame studied the photograph, 
 then, she said, plaintively : 
 
 " A sweet face and a noble one. Be true to her, go 
 back and marry her, but never bring her out here ! " 
 It was the nearest regret to which she ever gave expres 
 sion, and strange to relate it was made to a man other 
 than her husband! Huntingdon, the gentleman, the 
 man of honor, understood, and this slight confidence and 
 great understanding drew closer together those sensitive, 
 impressionable exiles born of the same race and endowed 
 with the same fine sensibilities. 
 
 Huntingdon was happier than he had been for many 
 a day. He had the sympathetic companionship of a 
 refined white woman ; no more would he be lonesome, and, 
 to show his appreciation, unknown to Madame he had 
 cases of delicate canned foods sent to Lambarene to 
 greet her on her return. 
 
 But, alas, pleasures never last especially in Africa ! 
 
 A few days later Huntingdon was taking his usual 
 after-luncheon siesta on the veranda, invisible to out 
 prying eyes. 
 
 Ngumbe and another native were conversing outside. 
 
 " King Huntingdon be sweetheart to mission woman. 
 That s why him never take native woman for wife ! " 
 said the strange native. 
 
 Huntingdon was horrified ! 
 
 There was only one thing for him to do : give up his 
 daily tea at the Rest House; give up his companionship 
 with Madame!
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 269 
 
 And they meant so much to him ! They were the only 
 diversion in corroding monotony the only relief from 
 work, heat, moisture and insects ! 
 
 But no matter what the cost to him, he could not have 
 a white woman slandered ! 
 
 He cursed the natives, and remembered Wallace s 
 blasphemy at the ear-splitting gossip of the coast. The 
 old coaster knew whereof he spoke. 
 
 Doubtless the tale first came from a white man : from 
 Moore, or LeBlanc. They were both so determined that 
 he would become as they. But he d show them ! 
 
 Aside from his promise to Marjorie, as was the way 
 with the men of his race, attempt to force a thing upon 
 them, and they would rather die than yield even 
 though that thing were for their best good ! 
 
 When several days passed and Huntingdon failed to 
 call at the Rest House, Monsieur Leon sent to inquire if 
 he were ill? 
 
 No ! He was usually busy with the mails for the next 
 European steamer. 
 
 Again, that his incoming cargo was so large that he 
 was busy checking it off. 
 
 Again, that he had the fever. 
 
 His heart smote him for the latter deception when a 
 dainty blanc-mange and tiny swcetcakes came from 
 Madame. 
 
 " I made them myself," she wrote. " I hope you will 
 enjoy them. We miss you and hope you will soon be 
 well enough to come again, as usual." 
 
 As usual! So she missed him too. For the first time 
 in his life rage against his fellow man boiled within him ;
 
 270 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 murder was in his heart, and he consigned the white 
 men of Cape Lopez to the lowest depths of blazing 
 hell! 
 
 He took a great draught of absinthe, then, deliber 
 ately he passed the Rest House and called on Moore 
 next door. 
 
 With Moore he sat on the veranda until long after 
 nightfall drinking and laughing, when LeBlanc, Wild- 
 man, and the Chef de Paste came and drinking and 
 gambling went on all night. 
 
 Madame was on the veranda when he passed in the 
 morning. 
 
 He hoped she would not notice him. 
 
 She bowed gracefully. But she did not smile. 
 
 She was unusually pale and great rings were under 
 her eyes. 
 
 Again Huntingdon cursed all men, himself included 
 then was glad that for a woman s sake he had the 
 courage to be cruel ! 
 
 But it was not done without great effort. He had to 
 fight selfishness he meant no harm to the woman 
 he wanted only her companionship, the pleasure of 
 afternoon tea the break in eternal sameness ! Why 
 shouldn t he enjoy them! She would never get to hear 
 the gossip about her. If she did, hadn t she been igno- 
 miniously slandered before he had ever set eyes on her? 
 
 But the men of his race ever honored women and 
 protected them. He beat down selfishness and beat 
 Ngumbe and Mbega too. Twas the first time he ever 
 laid violent hands on any human thing! 
 
 He was ashamed, too, but his passions must have some 
 outlet !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 271 
 
 The brake of self-control could not forever curb. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the missionaries returned to Lam- 
 barene and from Monsieur Leon there came a stiff, 
 yet polite note, thanking Huntingdon for the cases of 
 goods he had sent, and expressing the hope that all was 
 well with him.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HUNTINGDON left John Holt s employ exactly one 
 year and two weeks after entering it. The two weeks 
 were given to breaking in his successor, a white man 
 from Gaboon. 
 
 Huntingdon s new factory was the most modern and 
 healthy in the country. It was of one story ; well raised 
 from the ground, with a cement floor, and plenty of 
 windows and ventilation. The selling space in front 
 was modern in every respect ; the warehouse behind was 
 spacious ; special precautions were taken to protect mer 
 chandise from white ants, and a burglar alarm was con 
 nected with the new bungalow. 
 
 Both bungalow and factory were situated on the beach 
 just north of John Holt s. 
 
 Goods were imported direct from Europe, and con 
 sisted only of those things which appealed directly to the 
 natives. There were no hand sewing machines without 
 needles ; no jewelry that turned green at the first breath 
 of the sea ; no silk stockings for legs that never wore 
 any sort of stockings ; no junk scorned by the civilized 
 and supposed to be good enough for the savage. 
 Jewelry was of good plate ; there were many different 
 kinds of cloth, beads, mirrors, pomades, belts, knives, 
 soaps, rum and other liquors, trade guns and powder, 
 tobacco, crockery, enameled tins, parasols, umbrellas, 
 straw hats, broad-rimmed felt hats, helmets, suits of
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 273 
 
 khaki and of white drill of graduated sizes, gaudy silk 
 handkerchiefs, sardines, salt, rice and dried vegetables. 
 
 The bungalow was the result of years of experience 
 and study on the part of the French fathers. 
 
 Floors were cement ; Avails and high ceilings were pan 
 eled with polished, roseate mahogany ; windows were 
 large with well-fitting shutters ; verandas were deep and 
 spacious and like the interior finished with mahogany 
 and cement, and well screened and shuttered. The gal 
 ley was a sanitary, up-to-date, civilized kitchen, with an 
 iron cook stove imported from Europe. 
 
 The plan of the bungalow was the same as Holt s : 
 the living-room in the center, with the bedrooms leading 
 off either side. The furniture occupied the same rel 
 ative positions in the new bungalow as it did in the old. 
 The bedrooms were roomy, cool and rest-inviting, while 
 the great center room was more effective than ever, en 
 hanced by the cement floor and the paneled walls and 
 ceiling. 
 
 Huntingdon s home was complete and beautiful. He 
 was as proud of it as though he were a bride. 
 
 Wallace, Longworthy, Haywood, Cartwright and 
 Skipper Hains, with whom Huntingdon kept up a reg 
 ular correspondence, cabled their congratulations ; so 
 did Lord and Lady Bedford, Marjorie, and a host of 
 friends. John Holt especially wished his competitor 
 good luck. He was sorry to lose Huntingdon, but from 
 the beginning he knew Huntingdon s plans ; then, too, 
 it is a truism: that which we desire to keep, gets away; 
 that which we would lose, hangs on. 
 
 The local traders were loud in their praise of the new 
 factory and the bungalow. They railed against their
 
 274, HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 respective employers for compelling them to remain in 
 unhealthy factories and bungalows. They agreed to 
 send protests to home offices and demand better things 
 which they never did ! 
 
 Sadler brought down all the English traders in the 
 Ogowe who could steal away for a few days. 
 
 The little fellow was happy because Huntingdon had 
 emerged from servitude and was going it alone. 
 
 Huntingdon also rejoiced that the worst of his exile 
 was over. 
 
 He was now his own master, free to trade how and 
 where he listed. 
 
 In his factory were two innovations ; he catered only 
 to natives ; he traded both for cash and products. Other 
 factories traded for cash only over the counter and 
 made a bid for the white man s trade. 
 
 Mbega, impossible as a liouseboy, became an efficient 
 shopboy. He had learned rapidly from Itula. To 
 the latter s envy when Mbega, not he, was given charge 
 of the new factory. 
 
 Itula was sure he was going, but Huntingdon would 
 not rob any person of a good servant. The other white 
 men said that he was a fool for not helping himself to 
 all he could get. 
 
 Mbega had grown and developed wonderfully in the 
 past year. He wore a well-fitting suit of khaki and 
 threatened to surpass Ngumbe in style and appear 
 ance. He was very proud of the confidence reposed in 
 him by the Great White King and he became a veritable 
 watchdog for his master; Ogula, the shootman, was 
 also attentive and faithful ; and, while Ngumbe and 
 Makaya continued to serve well, it was solely because
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 275 
 
 of their pride in working for such a famous master and 
 for the good wages he paid. 
 
 From the beginning the better part of the trade of 
 Cape Lopez was Huntingdon s. He did not undersell 
 his competitors, nor did he offer any greater induce 
 ments to the natives. He did a clean-cut, straightfor 
 ward business ; his name was synonymous with square 
 dealing. 
 
 But it took great patience ! 
 
 Although the natives know well enough what their 
 products are worth, haggling is a fine art with them, and 
 time is their greatest asset. They never hurry, nor 
 can they understand why the all-powerful white man 
 should hurry. They go from factory to factory and 
 generally end by trading at the first place visited by 
 them. 
 
 Time sped, for it was the dry season. 
 
 Again the Nigeria and the Dwarf came. Skipper 
 Hains continued to rejoice that no black woman appeared 
 on Huntingdon s horizon and together he and Hunting 
 don longed for the Nigeria s next call, when she would 
 take away Huntingdon s first shipment of logs. 
 
 The Dwarf revived the hunt and lavish entertainments, 
 in which Huntingdon again took the lead. The year in 
 Hell s Playground did not seem to leave any mark on 
 Huntingdon and Bouchard Avas glad to pay his bet. 
 Everybody got proper drunk, Huntingdon included; 
 again the fun was fast and furious and Huntingdon 
 remained until the end. He lived the same lives as the 
 other white men, with one exception and that a great 
 one: he persisted in his refusal to take a native wife. 
 Hence many an hour he was left to himself and in his
 
 276 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 own society he did not always find amusement. How 
 ever, when October found Cape Lopez again settled down 
 to its weary monotony, Huntingdon set out for the 
 main Ogowe to make a personal appeal for trade. He 
 was amazed at the great wealth to be had simply for 
 the plucking. He determined to exert every effort to 
 obtain it ; work would not only bring him surcease from 
 the annihilating present, but it would bring Marjorie 
 nearer. The more Africa combated him, the more de 
 termined was he to conquer. 
 
 For the first time he rejoiced in the fame that was his 
 as the Great White King. He recognized the power it 
 gave him over the natives. He used that power to its 
 utmost capacity. 
 
 He was universally received with marked hospitality 
 and rejoicing, and he was surprised at the number of 
 natives who spoke English. 
 
 Old chiefs regaled him with tales about the first white 
 traders who had come amongst them. Shriveled up old 
 hags were proudly brought forth and exhibited either 
 as their wives or daughters. Everywhere was good will 
 shown him, and promises were made to send him great 
 quantities of rubber, ivory, timber, etc. 
 
 The greatest honor possible was thrust upon him ; he 
 was asked to judge tribal palavers that had endured for 
 years. 
 
 He patiently listened to both sides of the argument, 
 and his decisions were warranted by the facts ; sentiment 
 played no part therein. 
 
 From restricted trade districts natives came in delega 
 tions and begged the Great White King to bring back 
 the English, which was but another name for open trade.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 277 
 
 At their request Huntingdon visited towns in the re 
 stricted districts, and he saw for himself the things com 
 plained of by Smithson and the natives. 
 
 Many towns were abandoned ; others had been so many 
 times raided by the Commandants in search of impot 
 that they were but dust heaps of ruins and poverty. 
 Trading posts, long regarded as fixtures and about 
 which towns were built and plantations cultivated, were 
 no more. Whole communities were scattered and de 
 stroyed. Great plains which for upwards of fifty years 
 swarmed with life and the bustle of passing trade 
 caravans, were silent and deserted ; ant-hills and arid 
 grass and wind-swept paths were the only signs of life 
 upon them. 
 
 Priceless timbers, rubber, and other valuable commod 
 ities were rotting in vast belts of the rich equatorial 
 forests. No longer did heavily laden canoes pass to 
 and fro upon the many rivers ; no longer did the song of 
 the happy paddlers echo from shore to shore. 
 
 Towns of which they told tales of great trading done 
 and of loves and hates outrivaling the most interest 
 ing fiction, were but a few ragged plantain trees, dis 
 consolate and bowed to the earth as the very natives 
 themselves. 
 
 Old men and old women, once a power unto themselves, 
 who lived before the first white man came amongst them 
 and who later enjoyed the things he brought, united in 
 one long wail against the destruction that had come upon 
 them wrought by the greed of the French Government ! 
 
 Everywhere the same cry was heard: 
 
 " O Great White King, give us the English back be 
 fore it is too late, too late! Tell your country how the
 
 278 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 French rob and crush us. What aliens we are in the 
 lands of our fathers. No longer is there any freedom, 
 any caste among us. Free men are reduced to states 
 worse than that of wild beasts. Beasts have a lair in 
 which they find safety. But sooner or later the French 
 get us and we are imprisoned, degraded, because we 
 have no products to market and no market in which 
 to exchange them at an equitable price e en though 
 we do harvest our own products for the concession 
 aires! " 
 
 The concessionaires complained to Huntingdon that 
 the natives were but lazy dogs who would not gather 
 rubber, nor cut timber, and who ought to be chicotted 
 into submission ! 
 
 The concessionaires forgot that for over one-half a 
 century the lazy dogs were content with a bone the 
 biggest share is always the white man s. But, now, 
 instead of the bones, the natives were expected to come 
 forward and receive a kick for their pains ! Savage 
 though they were, they had intelligence enough to keep 
 at a safe distance from the kick. 
 
 With derision they looked upon the ragged, insect- 
 eaten tobacco sold them at an exorbitant price and spoke 
 of the broad, clean, whole-leafed Virginia tobacco of 
 open trade days. The narrow, thin, unwashable French 
 cottons they disdained and pointed with pride to an old, 
 yet still wearable, print of the British or the Germans. 
 
 The rice sold to them was but husks and dust ; the 
 rum the vile wood alcohol of commerce, more poisonous 
 than any concoction brewed by themselves. Men and 
 women and children went down under it daily. 
 
 Huntingdon knew that all colonization smells more or
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 279 
 
 less of freebootery, piracy, but where such methods 
 defeat the purpose in view, why continue them ? France 
 outraged all the laws of hospitality. She destroyed 
 where she ought to protect. 
 
 The news of the coming of a Commandant caused a 
 general exodus to the bush, for in their respective dis 
 tricts commandants wield a one-man power, despotic 
 beyond conception. If taxes were not forthcoming, men 
 were tied up, women and children outraged, and every 
 available thing carried away by the black soldiers who 
 loved to pillage and destroy. For no tyranny so great 
 as that practiced by one savage over another. 
 
 The enmity of the government and the traders also 
 extended to the missions, for this reason : so dependent 
 had the natives become upon the white man that their 
 own industries were neglected ; very, very little native 
 cloth was woven ; ironwork was almost a lost art ; the 
 natives never did grow tobacco, and the government 
 forbade their making salt, although the broad Atlantic 
 washes their shores. Hence, treated unjustly by gov 
 ernment and traders, the natives flocked to the missions. 
 Even the most superstitious and degraded of them had 
 to seek the men of God palaver. They brought their 
 products for exchange whenever they could steal prod 
 ucts from the concessions they clamored for work. 
 Prosperity came to the missions and their profits were 
 not sent to Europe, but were used locally, for the de 
 velopment of mission plantations and schools and the 
 betterment of the native. 
 
 The traders complained to the government that the 
 missions had no license to engage in trade and the gov 
 ernment must forbid them to do so! France heeded
 
 280 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the cry of the traders by issuing an order that all trade 
 must be for cash! Another long-rooted custom uprooted 
 at a stroke ! From time out of mind exchange was the 
 order of trade, and where were the natives to get cash? 
 They not only had no products to market but no com 
 petitive market to trade in and they continued in their 
 refusal to work for their oppressors. Consequently, 
 missions had to close their factories to the natives, and 
 the natives, not appreciating the position of the mis 
 sions, classed them among their enemies. Undone in 
 an instance was the good accomplished by the missions 
 in the half century or more of their hard labor ! 
 
 With tears in their eyes the good fathers at the Mis 
 sion of Salute Anne in the Fernand-Vaz complained of 
 these things to Huntingdon, and in native towns, the 
 natives themselves told him that missions also make 
 fight-palaver for black man! The missions had no 
 laborers to work their plantations, they could not grow 
 sufficient foods to feed the mouths of the converts de 
 pendent upon them, they were handicapped and harassed 
 on every side ! Formerly the government paid them a 
 yearly sum towards their work, but as the government 
 grew poorer because of its own short-sighted acts, that 
 stipend was withdrawn, and the missions thrown wholly 
 on their own resources had not the wherewith to go on ! 
 
 France boasts of liberte, egalite et fraternite! Bond 
 age is by no means the most depressing condition in the 
 world. Robbery, pillage and degradation and the doing 
 away of old-established customs long enjoyed are far 
 worse. 
 
 Under native laws many slaves were richer than their 
 masters. They owned and accumulated property.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 281 
 
 They were allowed to travel to different parts of the 
 country, to cut timber, gather rubber, etc. But France 
 treated free-born natives worse than the natives ever 
 thought of treating their vilest slaves. They could 
 not go from one district to another without the written 
 consent of the Commandant! 
 
 Chiefs and other free men were no longer the heads of 
 their own households and a power unto themselves. 
 Many of them had no households at all. Their towns 
 were looted ; destroyed ; sons, kinsmen, retainers suc 
 cumbed to the intruder, or else had run away where the 
 oppressor could not reach them. 
 
 The natives were forced to be beggars, drones, cow 
 ards, thieves. They were driven by the lash of the white 
 man s cupidity. If they remained to argue, they were 
 imprisoned for their impudence ! 
 
 Daily the government and the natives grew farther 
 apart. 
 
 Instead of ingratiating herself into the favor of the 
 natives as do all intruders who have a spark of 
 policy about them France continued to wave the red 
 flag of oppression and further oppression. She cut 
 off her own nose to spite her face, and wondered why the 
 natives fled her ugly visage. 
 
 Huntingdon could not understand the policy of 
 France. The natives were not appealing to the powers 
 and demanding relief from French rule ! They simply 
 wanted open trade restored ; a chance to work ; to 
 sell their products in a competitive market. It was a 
 just demand, a natural one. Why then did not France 
 heed it? The gewgaws of the white man were not neces 
 sary to the natives, If they were willing to work their
 
 282 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 country and give their products in exchange for trade 
 goods, then why not let them do so? especially when the 
 result is the raison d ete of the white man s intrusion 
 upon the black man ! 
 
 To gather rubber is no easy task. It has cost millions 
 of lives and it will continue to cost more annually as 
 the difficulties in gathering it increase. 
 
 It grows in the depths of the almost impenetrable 
 jungles, whose noxious effluvia is fatal to human exis 
 tence. 
 
 With mat elicit es, Huntingdon s guides and servants 
 forced a path through the labyrinth of climbing vines, 
 gigantic shrubs, endless creepers and hosts of parasitical 
 and other luxurious tropical growth which above, below 
 and all about resented their intrusion. 
 
 Progress was slow ; torturesome. Now up to the waist 
 in slimy, thick vegetable mold ; now clinging to stout 
 vines to keep a balance ; now thrown upon creeping, 
 crawling, hateful feeling denizens of the undergrowth 
 by the giving way of what appeared to be strong sup 
 ports ; now on all fours creeping cautiously along over 
 decaying underbush and leaf mold ; or crawling nerv 
 ously and painfully along a fallen tree throttled and 
 borne to the earth by the very vines it had succored 
 and supported, the carriers struggled with loads on 
 their heads and Huntingdon crawled after them ! 
 
 No word was spoken. All energy was needed for 
 locomotion, self-preservation. 
 
 Heat, heat, everywhere the humid, suffocating heat 
 of the exuding humors of the sick and dying vegetable 
 kingdom a weight on the human breast as though 
 some nocturnal beast were sucking from the lungs the
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 283 
 
 little air stolen by them from the atmosphere of corrup 
 tion all about. Wave after wave of fetid vapors en 
 gulfed Huntingdon ; silently, stealthily, viciously, glut 
 tonously and all the more terrible because they had no 
 shape and could not be guarded against. Hydraheaded 
 monsters they Avere abroad in Nature s most riotous gar 
 den, where is fought the terrible, relentless, perpetual 
 battle of the survival of the fittest, where out of the dis 
 solution of millions are born the conquering thousands ! 
 
 Finally, the via dolorosa lead into a rubber camp and 
 Hell was at hand ! 
 
 In that eternal gloom of pestiferous depths, shunned 
 by all healthy things, little children, men and women m 
 the flower of their youth, mothers with babes strapped 
 to their backs, decrepit old men and old women, gathered 
 the viscid matter called rubber! Their movements were 
 listless and mechanical they were as doomed souls 
 serving an endless penance. Fever was in their eyes, 
 rheumatism in their joints, the chill of malaria in their 
 veins and their life forces oozed drop by drop in the 
 sweat of exhaustion that bathed their almost nude bodies! 
 
 From its perch on its mother s back, a baby cried as 
 the mother inadvertently thrust its tender eye against 
 a jagged leaf ! 
 
 A little girl, not more than four years old and inno 
 cent of drapery, tottered under the weight of a calabash 
 filled with drinking water! 
 
 A woman, hollow-eyed and delicate, patiently lighted 
 her master s pipe, then sank listlessly among the dank 
 underbrush, to arise again when the pipe was handed 
 her for replenishing and lighting. She was too far 
 spent to do anything else !
 
 284 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 In iron kettles on wood fires manioc was boiling. And 
 in the embers green plantains were roasting. 
 
 About the fires, stretched on mats damp as the very 
 earth itself, lay the exhausted, the sick, the dying! 
 Three were already dead and two men were making 
 rude litters to convey the deceased back to Iheir native 
 towns perhaps a week s journey away. 
 
 New odors offended the already weakened nostrils. 
 They outstenched even vegetation s mold, for decaying 
 human flesh and the living sick body have smells dis 
 tinctly their own. 
 
 In that reeking, deadly atmosphere a little girl was 
 born but a few hours since ! She lay on a mat, uncovered 
 and unattended, while flies, ants, spiders and other crawl 
 ing pests fed on her tender new flesh ! The mother had 
 again taken her place among the laborers. In piles lay 
 the rubber a dirty blue-white, roughly kneaded into 
 small balls. 
 
 Huntingdon had not protested had the natives rushed 
 upon and killed him for he was of tlie race that compelled 
 their drudgery. But even as he closed his eyes, no longer 
 able to look upon the uncanny tragedy, the natives 
 were upon him, not with blows and curses but with smiles 
 and hospitality s greetings! 
 
 From somewhere new grass mats were brought and a 
 roughly carved ebony stool. 
 
 Children, at the first sight of the white man, shrieked 
 in terror and hid behind their mothers, while over older 
 faces, accustomed only to endurance s stony stare, came 
 a slow smile, all the more pathetic because it was so 
 short-lived ! 
 
 It is this very rubber rubber gathered at the ex-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 285 
 
 pense of human suffering, human life, that the white 
 man decries as worthless, and to the gatherer gives a 
 less reward than he tips a well-fed and well-clothed 
 waiter who serves him for a brief moment of time! It 
 is this very rubber or the want of it which must 
 bear the brunt of all the sins of commission and omission 
 of the French Government and on which is blamed the 
 annihilating conditions existing to-day in the Congo 
 Franfais. 
 
 Thief-palaver is what the natives term the action of 
 the French. 
 
 Nothing for nothing is the dictum of righteousness. 
 Nothing for nothing is the great law. Can any one set 
 of people deny all right? The French rob the natives 
 and continue to rob them. They are left nothing, yet 
 out of nothing they are expected to pay something ! 
 As Smithson had said it is an impossible condition, and 
 something must give way. " The native is crushed to 
 the earth and never rises again." 
 
 " France in her greed kills the goose that lays the 
 golden eggs. She might find other geese, but who can 
 resuscitate the dead ones ? " Aye, Smithson knew where 
 of he spoke ! 
 
 Huntingdon also recalled the argument between Cap 
 tain Haywood, the soldier, and Longworthy, the man of 
 trade. 
 
 " After all, who reaps the reward of Africa? " Hay- 
 wood had demanded. " Why, the white man. Work is 
 alien to the native. We force him to it, and none too 
 gently, either. The fact that he works for us at all, 
 that he permits us to remain in his country, ought at 
 least to earn some consideration for him."
 
 286 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Longworthy raged in reply : " If colonies were built 
 on justice, there d be no colonies," or words to that effect. 
 
 Those were Sadler s views too, when Huntingdon told 
 him what he had learned throughout the bush. 
 
 " None of it s new to me," said the little skipper ; 
 " and don t imagine, Huntingdon, that you can change 
 things one bit, out here. You can t. We British have 
 been butted out in some districts and we got damages 
 from the Pomme-de-terre-frits, but damages are nothing 
 to our loss of trade. But take my advice, old man : get 
 all you can out of the niggers and the Pomme-de-terre- 
 frits. Their hoggish concessions are continuing to go 
 to the wall and Smithson was right when he advised you 
 to jump in and secure them." 
 
 " I m doing my best, Sadler. I wrote home the next 
 boat after Smithson gave me the tip and the next mail 
 ought to bring me some definite news." 
 
 And it did. Huntingdon s agents in Paris had suc 
 ceeded in getting control of French concessions at 
 Mboue, Ninga Sika, and Agouma. 
 
 French traders continued in charge of the factories, 
 but Huntingdon himself visited them frequently and 
 watched his own interests closely. As Smithson had 
 predicted, natives came from all directions and, demand 
 ing work, were eager to serve the Great White King and 
 bring him the products of their country. The old stand 
 ard wages were restored ; trade goods were the same 
 prices as at the coast ; native products recovered their 
 standard values ; barter and sale were as they had been 
 before monopoly gripped the land. Universal was the 
 demand for Virginia leaf tobacco ; it was the greatest
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 287 
 
 medium of exchange and Huntingdon marveled why 
 direct American trade had not come to the coast. 
 
 Experienced planters were sent out from Europe ; 
 every foot of Huntingdon s territory was put under 
 cultivation, principally with rubber vines, lime trees, 
 cacao and ground nuts. Native foods were also grown 
 in profusion and the great vegetable garden at Ninga 
 Sika was revived. This island had been first cultivated 
 over a half century ago by one Lawler, a Yankee trader, 
 and near it were the towns built and occupied by Paul 
 du Chaillu. Any white man could have vegetables for 
 the sending and many of them availed themselves of 
 Huntingdon s generosity. Vegetables also found their 
 way to Madame Leon at Lambarene and to little Sadler. 
 Moore and the other white men of Cape Lopez were also 
 supplied. 
 
 As the business increased, native clerks were secured 
 from the British Government at Sierra Leone, and for 
 the first time in years the Fernand-Vaz, the Rembo and 
 the Bakclai rivers resounded with their old-time activity. 
 Again the happy song of the paddlers reverberated from 
 shore to shore. Abandoned towns were again occupied. 
 Native plantations were again made ! 
 
 Huntingdon s first shipment of logs on the Nigeria 
 was the largest that ever left Cape Lopez. Skipper 
 Hains and Sadler rejoiced as much as did Huntingdon 
 and the occasion was turned into a general festival. 
 Again Huntingdon was lavish with gifts to the natives 
 and in his entertainment of the white men. 
 
 Huntingdon was now the gossip of the entire west 
 coast and the only truthful thing said of him by white
 
 288 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 men were his ever increasing trade and his continued 
 popularity with the natives. He was indeed their Great 
 White King. He continued to judge their palavers ; he 
 paid the taxes of the old and the infirm but able-bodied 
 men were put to work and willingly and well they 
 worked. 
 
 No hatred so deep and relentless as that of jealousy 
 and envy. Had the gossip of the other white traders 
 ever come to Huntingdon s ears, there had been murder 
 at Cape Lopez, for the tales they spread about him were 
 dastardly in the extreme. 
 
 Huntingdon, however, was sublimely unconscious of 
 everything save the progress he was making and the 
 flight of time. 
 
 Two years were numbered with the past and only one 
 year of service remained. 
 
 But the struggle was telling on the white man. Africa 
 besieged him in every possible manner. Daily the lan 
 guor within him grew ; he was weary, so utterly weary ! 
 
 More frequent were attacks of fever; he crowded on 
 more quinine. 
 
 He who had never before felt ache or pain became a 
 hospital of ills ; movement was misery, to remain still 
 was agony. 
 
 Tornadoes were again raging. 
 
 The days were monotonous ; the nights interminable. 
 
 The heat and the mosquitoes Avere maddening. 
 
 For the first time Huntingdon had to admit that 
 Africa was what the sour-dough men had labeled her: 
 just plain hell. 
 
 Monks of old flayed their flesh to kill desire. 
 
 Huntingdon dulled his by fatiguing walks through
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 289 
 
 almost impassable bush with Nkombi Kakhi and Ogula, 
 the shootman. 
 
 He sank deep in mire sometimes to his very arm 
 pits. 
 
 Complete exhaustion earned him a few hours uncon 
 sciousness during the interminable hours of the tropical 
 night, but the curse of loneliness was upon him. 
 
 Little Sadler s first term of service had expired and 
 he was in Europe for rest. How Huntingdon missed 
 him ! And the Douane! If thought and longing could 
 recall the dead, then would have the Creole come to his 
 friend, but, alas, mortal mind might get some comfort 
 in retrospection, but it cannot reincarnate those who 
 have shed this mortal coil. The white men of Cape 
 Lopez never called upon Huntingdon, save to borrow 
 money with which to pay gambling debts, rental on 
 native women and to make up shortages to their re 
 spective firms. Huntingdon never failed them. He 
 who was suffering so keenly could put himself in the 
 place of other sufferers and he could not be other than 
 kind. 
 
 Huntingdon s mail, too, had gradually fallen off. 
 Of the compognons de voyage he heard only from Wal 
 lace, and the old coaster s letters depressed rather than 
 cheered. 
 
 Huntingdon could not possibly have endured the life 
 had it not been for his beloved and her letters. But 
 not a word of his purgatory did he write to her. He 
 spoke only of the passing of time and of business. The 
 latter was slow now because of the heavy rains, but all 
 signs indicated a very heavy shipment of logs and in 
 creased business in general the coming dry season.
 
 290 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 In the midst of one interminable night, Huntingdon 
 could have cried for very joy when Moore sent for him. 
 Chills and fever were shaking the life out of Moore and 
 at sight of Huntingdon, he immediately went off into 
 delirium. Huntingdon not only tenderly nursed Moore 
 but took complete charge of his factory, leaving Mbega 
 to look after his own. Moore acknowledged that he 
 owed his life to Huntingdon, but Huntingdon made little 
 of his services and assured Moore that he, Moore, would 
 do as much for Huntingdon or any other white man 
 who was in distress. For a few weeks following his 
 recovery Moore sought Huntingdon continuously, then 
 abruptly he absented himself and again Huntingdon was 
 left to self and monotony. 
 
 April came. 
 
 Huntingdon had no desire for food. He slept only 
 under the influence of opiates. He drank deeply, too. 
 Daily, his only exercise was the short walk from bunga 
 low to factory. Once in a while he managed to get as 
 far as the post office. 
 
 It was endurance, stiff, determined endurance. He 
 shut his jaws tight. He swore to endure to the end. 
 There was some life in the factory and he sought it- 
 He let Mbega go for the day ; the boij had been faithful 
 and had not had a holiday in a long while. 
 
 A man and a woman came to trade. 
 
 " Lemme look them stink water," the man demanded, 
 indicating perfume in the show case. 
 
 He put the bottle to his nose and sniffed vigorously. 
 
 " He be plenty strong, too much? " 
 
 " Proper fine," answered Huntingdon. 
 
 " How much he be? "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 291 
 
 " Foura mbani two francs." 
 
 For five long minutes the man and woman discussed 
 the price in their native tongue. 
 
 " You no got one shilling bottle? " asked the native. 
 
 Huntingdon brought forth another bottle from the 
 case. 
 
 " Him be plenty fine; strong, too much? " 
 
 " Proper fine," answered Huntingdon, patiently. 
 
 " How much he be? " 
 
 " One shilling." 
 
 " You no got him for dee sous? " 
 
 " One shilling," answered Huntingdon, forcing him 
 self to patience. 
 
 Again a consultation between the natives. 
 
 Finally the bottle was handed to the woman. 
 
 The man slowly untied a knot in a handkerchief, ex 
 tracted a shilling, slowly retied the knot, and laid the 
 money on the counter. 
 
 Then, after pricing nearly everything he saw, he 
 grunted : 
 
 " Knife." 
 
 A jackknife of one blade was handed out. 
 
 Again long conversation, price asked, comments made. 
 
 Another fumbling with the kerchief and ten sous were 
 laid down. 
 
 Again an inspection of the factory, a lot of questions 
 asked, then cloth was demanded. 
 
 " No got other for two foura? " asked the native, 
 after several cloths were shown him. 
 
 " Take um or lef um," Huntingdon cried irritably. 
 
 It was the first time he had rebelled, but it didn t affect 
 the native in the least.
 
 292 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Again came the jabbering with his woman, again the 
 process of extracting money from the kerchief, retying 
 it, and handing the cloth to the woman. 
 
 " Tacco," next demanded the man, but Huntingdon s 
 patience fled. 
 
 " No live," he cried, shooing the man and woman off, 
 fastening the door and hurrying to the bungalow. 
 
 He wanted to get away from sight or sound of natives. 
 
 He found Ngumbe and Makaya fighting over a 
 woman. 
 
 Ngumbe had let out one of his wives to Makaya and 
 Makaya had failed to pay the ten sous demanded. 
 
 As usual, they brought the palaver before the white 
 man. 
 
 Heretofore Huntingdon had always listened patiently 
 to palavers, let each participant have his say, then he 
 rendered a just decision. 
 
 But to-day he was in no mood for anything, save to 
 drop on a divan, to give up to the Vampire Languor who 
 gnawed at his very vitals. 
 
 " Master," Ngumbe was saying, " them Loango him 
 tek my womans for him bed, me I lef um an he dash 
 me dee sous. All time so but now Loango say me, 
 Ngumbe, me no fit pay dee sous. Loango mek thief- 
 palaver for Ngumbe. It no be so, Master? " 
 
 Infinitely bored and irritable, Huntingdon harshly 
 demanded he wanted to be rid of the whole business 
 
 " What have you got to say, Makaya? " 
 
 " Me? " and Makaya came forward in his greasy 
 glide. " Master look. I tek him womans, it be so. 
 All time I pay Ngumbe dee sous it be so. Now free 
 him womans born picJcens. Them be my part. Womans
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 293 
 
 that s what them pickens all be they be all same 
 argent. Ngumbe fit for sell im when piclcens 
 ketch proper big. Me, fadder for them pickens, bring 
 argent mpolo, magnifique to Ngumbe. He be proper 
 rich when him sell him pickens to mens. Me, I never 
 owe him argent, him got proper dee sous mpolo in them 
 pickens, it no be so, master? " 
 
 " Get out, both of you," cried Huntingdon. " Fight 
 it out between you. I don t care a damn what you do. 
 Get out of my sight. I m sick of your eternal mammy- 
 palaver and greediness ! " 
 
 Great was the gossip among the white men at Hunt 
 ingdon s action. It was reported far and wide. Oh, 
 yes, Huntingdon, the great Anglais was going the way 
 of Africa all right. Twould not be long noAv until he 
 was thoroughly subjugated! 
 
 Several days later Chief Ragundo with a retinue 
 came to Huntingdon with a palaver. 
 
 Again woman was the cause of the dispute. 
 
 It was hours before Huntingdon got the gist of the 
 affair. 
 
 A native had stolen one of Chief Ragundo s daughters. 
 He didn t pay for her. A native counsel was called. 
 Chief Ragundo had rendered decision. The nose of 
 the offender was cut off, the woman was flogged severely. 
 With unheard-of audacity she had gone to the Comman 
 dant to complain of being beaten. It is against the law 
 of France to flog women. The Commandant had sum 
 moned Chief Ragundo to the post. Ragundo defended 
 that he owned the woman, she was goods and chattels to 
 be disposed of as he wished, to be punished or rewarded 
 as he wished, as was the custom of his people from time
 
 294 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 out of mind. But the Commandant would not accept 
 his defense. He fined Chief Ragundo ten francs. Un 
 less the Great White King loaned his good friend, Chief 
 Ragundo, the money, the chief would have to go to jail. 
 
 Huntingdon was only too glad to donate the money 
 and be rid of the whole gang. 
 
 Then acute languor claimed him. For days he re 
 clined on the divan on the veranda. 
 
 He knew Mbega would faithfully look after the fac 
 tory, but Makaya and Ngumbe took advantage of their 
 master s weakness. 
 
 The house was neglected and filthy. Makaya drank 
 a great deal ; he used only canned foods ; they were sent 
 in wretchedly cooked and never on time. Ngumbe at 
 tended table clad only in a cloth and reeking with the 
 boquet d Afrique. 
 
 Huntingdon had not a coat with a button on ; his 
 clothing were a wretched color, indifferently ironed and 
 scorched and in general badly used. But he had no 
 idea of his unkempt appearance ; he concentrated upon 
 the passing of time ; he forced his thoughts to civili 
 zation ; his only letters were to the woman he loved and 
 to his father about business. 
 
 At last May came. 
 
 The rains stopped. Thank God ! 
 
 Huntingdon welcomed cooler breezes and clear skies. 
 He ordered his guns brought forth, cleansed and primed. 
 
 With Ogula, the shootman, and Nkombi Kakhi, his 
 brother, he set out to hunt. 
 
 Not only was the bush impenetrable, but the exertion 
 of getting there was too much for him and he was com 
 pelled to return immediately.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 295 
 
 Again came inaction, thought and forced endurance. 
 
 Patiently he waited until the middle of June. 
 
 Again he set forth, but again fatigue and languor 
 sent him home. He was soft from the long wet, the 
 heat, repeated fever, improper food and no exercise. 
 He would be all right when the dry season advanced, 
 as the winds grew cooler. 
 
 Winds grew cooler and Huntingdon shivered with cold. 
 He, who just two years before had laughed so when 
 Smithson had demanded if he had brought out blankets, 
 needed blankets and plenty of them ; he was nervous, 
 irritable, weak and sick! 
 
 August came for the third time and with it the Dwarf. 
 Again a great hunt was organized, but Huntingdon was 
 the first to drop out. 
 
 Again the rains and mosquitoes and monotony and in 
 creased attacks of fever. But Huntingdon was on the 
 homeward stretch and he literally flogged himself into 
 action. 
 
 Daily he worshiped at the shrine of the woman he 
 loved. He made a litany of her parting words and 
 repeated them when endurance was at bursting point: 
 
 Forget you, my Love of Loves. I should forget to 
 breathe first! 
 
 He nurtured her kisses upon his lips. 
 
 He strove and endured, strove and endured ! 
 
 Only eight months more ! Only eight months more, 
 then Marjorie and release!
 
 TWAS the middle of November. 
 
 The Plains of Mandji and the great stretches of 
 primeval forests, and even the sea, had long since lost 
 their charms ! They were the same, always the same. 
 Day after day, at a certain hour, the sun was at the 
 same spot in the heavens. Day and night came and 
 went with monotonous regularity. Sunset at six, sun 
 rise at six. Eternal sameness, eternal repetition, soul- 
 destroying to an active temperament bred in the rush 
 and roar and rattle of civilization. 
 
 Huntingdon could not bear it longer! He must seek 
 change or go mad! 
 
 Pie would go to the Fernand-Vaz. He would again 
 make personal calls on chiefs. He would stimulate 
 them to cut more logs. Above all, he would get away 
 from the monotony of Cape Lopez. 
 
 Twas raining. The water fell like polished drill 
 rods, in straight, incessant streams. The sun shone and 
 grilled and maddened. 
 
 Across the Bay at the Village of Sangatanga, Chief 
 Ogandaga advised Huntingdon to leave his big canoe 
 and take a smaller one a dugout. It would make 
 better time over narrow streams and would take him 
 into territory not yet penetrated by white man. 
 
 A pilot familiar with the waterways and country was 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 296
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 297 
 
 Chief Ogandaga regretted his inability to accompany 
 Huntingdon. The Commandant had summoned him to 
 a palaver at Cape Lopez and he must obey. But he 
 offered his son-in-law, Nagesa, as pilot, steersman and 
 interpreter. 
 
 Huntingdon s own canoe and men were returned to 
 Cape Lopez. Makaya and Ngumbe alone were retained. 
 
 Ogandaga s men were ugly, repulsive, rather squat, 
 and not at all confidence begetting. None of them 
 spoke English, but Ngumbe could interpret. 
 
 The canoe was long and narrow and in the stern 
 was a small deck house which kept out rain, and afforded 
 shade. 
 
 Huntingdon had been traveling for two days. It had 
 been raining furiously. Nights had been spent in 
 small, wretched, uncomfortable towns. There were the 
 eternal begging palavers and maledictions against the 
 French ; the eternal forcing of native women upon him ; 
 his increasing bribes to drive them off. 
 
 On the third day, towards noon, rains ceased tempora 
 rily. . The sun came out brilliant and hot. 
 
 Formerly canoeing had interested Huntingdon ; he 
 enjoyed it thoroughly ; he was entranced with the beauty 
 of the country. 
 
 But all was changed now. 
 
 The journey was irksome, dreadfully so, and he never 
 so much as glanced at the country. 
 
 For hours he sat inert or lay doubled up in the deck 
 house, which was too short to permit his stretching at 
 full length. 
 
 From time to time the paddlers called his attention to 
 monkeys scampering from tree to tree. Huntingdon
 
 298 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 knew a little more about monkeys now. They never 
 throw cocoanuts at passers-by. They are extremely 
 timid and hard to approach. 
 
 Suddenly Nagesa drew Huntingdon s attention to 
 a herd of hippopotami on a bank some yards distant 
 ahead. 
 
 Huntingdon was immediately interested. 
 
 He sighted, fired, and a big beast dived backward 
 into the water, followed by the others. 
 
 He commanded Nagesa to draw near the bank and wait 
 for the injured beast to come up. 
 
 To Huntingdon s surprise, there was consternation 
 among the natives. 
 
 They questioned each other with their eyes. 
 
 Nagesa answered his brothers by deliberately steering 
 away from the hippopotami ! 
 
 It was the first insubordination offered Huntingdon. 
 He did not know what to make of it. 
 
 He was miles away from anywhere, with strange, 
 superstitious savages. Makaya was a coward and 
 would not fight if he had a whole arsenal of arms and 
 knew how to use them. Ngumbe was faithful, but 
 would he have the courage to take a stand against such 
 an overwhelming number of his brothers? Huntingdon 
 feared not. 
 
 Yet Huntingdon s blood warmed to the adventure. 
 He was numb from the narrow quarters of the canoe and 
 a bit of excitement was welcome. He felt that it was 
 coming. 
 
 Nagesa said something in the Ouroungo tongue. 
 
 The paddlers commenced to chatter like a lot of 
 monkeys, while they stroked as hard as they could.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 299 
 
 " Silence ! " thundered Huntingdon. 
 
 So short and stern was the command, that every negro 
 turned to look upon the white man. 
 
 " Look them river horse for back ! " was Huntingdon s 
 next command. 
 
 Not a man obeyed ! Instead they rested on their 
 paddles and gazed sullenly at Huntingdon. 
 
 Huntingdon felt like blowing off every negro s head. 
 But he knew that would never do. 
 
 He laid his rifle across his knee and lighted his pipe 
 he was thinking, thinking, wondering what was the 
 best move to make. 
 
 Again came the jabbering among the paddlers. 
 
 They were arguing something, pointing wildly to 
 wards the clump of bushes in front of which the hippo 
 potami had dived and the other shore distant only a few 
 feet from the nose of the canoe. 
 
 Suddenly there came an exclamation of terror from 
 one of the paddlers ! Away shot the canoe as though 
 the very devil were after it 1 
 
 The men pulled upstream like mad and in deep 
 silence for full twenty minutes. The mutiny aroused all 
 Huntingdon s fighting blood and he prepared for action, 
 silently and deftly so that the savages would not suspect 
 his purpose. 
 
 He continued to lean against the left upright of the 
 deck house. It permitted him to keep one eye on 
 Nagesa behind him and the other on the paddlers in 
 front. He was higher than the paddlers, and stealthily 
 he braced his repeating rifle with his knee until the gun 
 covered them. His left hand was ready to grasp his 
 revolver, the holster of which he had worked to his left
 
 300 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 side by rubbing against the deck house. At the first 
 sign of danger to himself he would kill Nagesa and the 
 rest would be easy for the other savages were in front 
 of him. 
 
 But his intention was checkmated. 
 
 Nagesa said something to Ngumbe, and, to Hunting 
 don s great surprise, Ngumbe crawled aft along the gun 
 wale and squatted alongside Nagesa. The space was 
 small and there was scarce room for two men ; Ngumbe s 
 knee, therefore, was against Huntingdon s revolver and 
 prevented its use. 
 
 Huntingdon wanted to command Ngumbe to return to 
 his position, and more than ever he longed to question 
 Nagesa. 
 
 But he did neither. 
 
 Apparently careless and indifferent he sat there, but 
 every sense was alert attending the next move of the 
 savages. 
 
 He wondered if he could get Ngumbe and Nagesa with 
 the same bullet. He could, if he would aim now but 
 that would be senseless. 
 
 Yet if he waited until danger threatened his person, 
 twould be too late. Ngumbe would grab his left arm 
 and Huntingdon would be powerless. 
 
 Would Ngumbe dare lay hands on him? Ngumbe 
 would be foolhardy to offer him bodily hurt when secret 
 poison was as effective and less liable to discovery. 
 
 Huntingdon had one regret, only one : and it was in 
 keeping with the sang-froid of the Bedford s and the 
 Granvilles. He wished he were clothed in fresh white 
 duck instead of ragged khaki. A corpse looks so much 
 better in white!
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 301 
 
 Suddenly the speed of the canoe was slackened and 
 she came to a standstill amid stream. 
 
 Twas the Agule branch of the Ogowe River. It was 
 narrow, lined on both sides by papyrus and other high 
 reeds, and backed by the dense growth of the equatorial 
 forests. 
 
 Not a canoe rested on either bank, indicating a near-by 
 village. 
 
 Not a canoe was visible on the water and day was 
 fast dying. Suddenly, fatigue overpowered Hunting 
 don ; he had fever ; he was alternately hot and cold ; his 
 eyes burned and with difficulty he kept them open. 
 
 Oh, bother the palaver! 
 
 Let the savages go hang ! 
 
 He leaned back and closed his eyes. He gave him 
 self up to languor. 
 
 Suddenly the strong smell of mission-grown tobacco 
 assailed his nostrils. 
 
 " Put out that pipe," he commanded roughly, sitting 
 upright. 
 
 The paddlers stared at Huntingdon. Surprise was 
 big in their faces. 
 
 They had always smoked ; it was customary to smoke 
 in a canoe. 
 
 But it was not customary to smoke in Huntingdon s 
 canoe. He never permitted a servant to smoke in his 
 presence. The paddlers did not know this, of course, 
 and Huntingdon never suspicioned that they did not 
 know it. 
 
 Hence the astonishment at the command. 
 
 Huntingdon saw only continued mutiny and insolence 
 in the stares of the savages.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Quick as a flash he raised his rifle, and sighted. From 
 the mouth of the smoker the pipe fell, cracked into bits ! 
 
 Huntingdon felt that he was in for it. At the risk 
 of upsetting the canoe he deliberately turned broadsides, 
 he held his revolver aft, the rifle pointing forward. 
 
 Again the excited jabbering among the natives ! 
 
 Huntingdon could not interpret one word they said! 
 
 Were they discussing which was the quickest and best 
 way to kill him? 
 
 But as he braced himself for the fight, to his horror, 
 he felt his muscles again relaxing, languor held him in 
 a vice and he wanted to sleep! 
 
 To sleep! 
 
 Huntingdon straightened himself with a jerk. 
 
 Had Makaya, Ngumbe fed him poison ! 
 
 He imagined he saw a look of triumph on Makaya s 
 ugly, shriveled face. He imagined the reason of 
 Ngumbe s seating himself aft of him. 
 
 When the drug overcame him, Ngumbe was to keep 
 him from falling into the water, so as not to endanger 
 the loss of his guns ! 
 
 Marjorie! flashed through Huntingdon s brain ! 
 
 For himself he felt rather knocked-up for fight, but 
 he didn t belong to himself, he had to consider her. 
 
 " Ngumbe ! " 
 
 Huntingdon s voice was so terrifying, that involun 
 tarily Ngumbe s head came down hard on Huntingdon s 
 back. 
 
 Huntingdon imagined it the beginning of attack ; he 
 hit Ngumbe over the head with the butt of his revolver, 
 knocking him senseless, and causing the blood to flow 
 from his scalp.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 303 
 
 " Makaya ! Down flat on your belly or I ll riddle 
 you with shot ! " commanded Huntingdon in French, 
 which the others did not understand. 
 
 Makaya, the coward, dropped face downward in the 
 bottom of the canoe. 
 
 " Two less against me," muttered Huntingdon. 
 
 But what were the natives jabbering about? 
 
 Why didn t they attack him and get it over with? 
 
 The shadows were lengthening, night was coming on. 
 Were they going to wait and make way with him in the 
 darkness ? 
 
 Not if he knew it. 
 
 " Nagesa, make for shore ! " 
 
 To Huntingdon s surprise, the fellow instantly 
 obeyed ! Willing men bent over paddles. 
 
 What savage deviltry was up now ? 
 
 Huntingdon knew he would have to bivouac for the 
 night in the inhospitable bush a mangrove swamp 
 likely. Would his dead body be left there, food for 
 lean vultures? 
 
 Again he braced himself for resistance. He would 
 start something. He did not like the way things were 
 going. 
 
 Just then the canoe came foul of mud, and instantly 
 every paddler was overboard. 
 
 They paid no attention to the insensible Ngumbe or 
 to the frightened Loango. 
 
 Nagesa leaped over the gunwale and turned his back 
 for Huntingdon to mount. 
 
 Huntingdon spurned the man. He was not to be 
 caught napping that way. He essayed to jump into 
 the water, intending to wade ashore. But Nagesa de-
 
 304 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 liberately caught him by the arms and effectively over 
 powered him! 
 
 Huntingdon kicked savagely, but Nagesa kept on 
 towards the bank. 
 
 Suddenly, Nagesa fell flat and Huntingdon on top of 
 him. 
 
 Huntingdon started to curse roundly at the impudence 
 of the fellow s daring to precipitate him into the muddy 
 water, but the words froze in his mouth, at the sight 
 which met his gaze ! 
 
 A crocodile darted away with the speed of an arrow 
 and disappearing down his jaws was a human leg! 
 
 Huntingdon s nerves gave way. Unmindful of more 
 crocodiles and of other dangers, he sat waist deep in the 
 water staring, STARING, STARING, at Nagesa crawling to 
 shore, his right leg bitten off neat at the knee joint! 
 
 The paddlers surrounded Nagesa. 
 
 Nagesa spoke rapidly. 
 
 Huntingdon forced himself to crawl to shore. 
 
 He couldn t understand a word the savages said ! 
 
 Now they were sure to murder him ! 
 
 What a foolish move it was to knock Ngumbe sense 
 less! 
 
 He was the only one who could interpret the language 
 of the Ouroungoes! 
 
 The blood flowing 1 from Nagesa s mutilated knee 
 brought back Huntingdon s nerve. The man must have 
 attention, or he would bleed to death ! 
 
 " Makaya, Makaya," Huntingdon shouted. 
 
 Makaya slouched forward. 
 
 " Hurry, you nigger, or I ll skin you alive," shouted 
 Huntingdon in French.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 305 
 
 Fear lent the Loango movement. 
 
 " Bring medicine kit, one time." 
 
 A lantern was lighted. 
 
 Night had fallen. 
 
 It was raining again and the humidity was growing 
 thicker. 
 
 The dank smell of the swampy ground, the nearness 
 of the savages and the fresh blood were almost too much 
 for Huntingdon, weak as he was. But he had work to 
 do he must stop Nagesa s blood if possible ! 
 
 What were the savages jabbering about? 
 
 And what for was that fool Nagesa wasting his fast 
 waning strength in mouth-palaver? 
 
 Huntingdon opened his surgical case. He would give 
 the fellow a powerful hypodermic, then make a tourni 
 quet in an effort to stop the blood-flow. 
 
 He got out his needle. He searched for morphine. 
 He advanced towards Nagesa, then suddenly paused, for 
 out of the shadows came a whisper, only a whisper and 
 it was in French : 
 
 " Never use him, Master, never use him. Black man 
 he fear white man magic! " 
 
 The warning came from Makaya, Makaya, the 
 coward f 
 
 Huntingdon was NOT TO OFFER TO STOP THE 
 FLOW OF NAG^SA S LIFE BLOOD ! 
 
 Verily, the way of the savage was beyond his civilized 
 comprehension. 
 
 And why did Nagesa not stop talking? 
 
 " Coffee, Master? " questioned Makaya, as though he 
 had not exactly heard his master s command. 
 
 Huntingdon had not given any command he had
 
 306 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 said nothing. Fatigue and sleep were again besieging 
 him. 
 
 But he knew that Makaya was prompting him the 
 Loango would save him if salvation were possible. 
 
 " Yes, coffee, Makaya ! And make him strong, savvy, 
 proper strong," and Huntingdon s tones conveyed a 
 threat. 
 
 He would play up to the Loango. The savage knew 
 the ways of his brethren. He would meet their cunning 
 with cunning! 
 
 Huntingdon was aware full well that he never could 
 win out alone never ! 
 
 He knew Nagesa must die and perhaps Ngumbe 
 was already dead. 
 
 He knew the law of the savages a life for a life. 
 
 He was in their power ; would they exact the penalty 
 from him his blood for the blood of their brother? 
 
 The rain was coming down in torrents. 
 
 The mosquitoes descended in droves. 
 
 Huntingdon was tortured almost to madness. 
 
 The noise of the rain on the dense overgrowth was 
 so loud that wild animals could approach unheeded. 
 
 If he had to go, Huntingdon preferred the beasts to 
 the savages ; no, he had his revolver. Self murder were 
 less ignoble. It should be that in extremity. 
 
 Then he made a startling discovery. 
 
 His revolver was jammed from its ducking in the 
 stream! 
 
 Neither barrel nor trigger would move ! 
 
 But he mustn t let the savages know his revolver was 
 useless ! 
 
 His scatter gun and rifle were all right, but they were
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 307 
 
 in the canoe. The savages would never let him get them 
 never ! 
 
 Makaya was bending low over a fire on which the coffee 
 kettle commenced to boil. 
 
 An evil looking thing he appeared over the fire s red 
 glow, and over there where the bleeding man lay were 
 the shadows, dense shadows. Huntingdon could not see 
 what was taking place, but the voices were less loud, 
 and Nagesa s had stopped. 
 
 The rain commenced to drip through the dense foliage 
 overhead. Huntingdon was shivering with cold. 
 
 " Makaya, my chair from the canoe and my rain 
 coat." 
 
 The collapsible chair sunk deep in the soft ground as 
 Huntingdon sat upon it. His rain coat was heavy, but 
 he .forced himself to endure it. 
 
 Makaya brought the coffee. 
 
 Huntingdon and Makaya were alone. They, too, 
 were in the shadows. 
 
 Huntingdon took the cup, then suddenly thrust it to 
 Makaya s mouth. 
 
 " Drink ! " was all he said. 
 
 Makaya hesitated, just for a snap shot of time, but 
 it came near being his death warrant. 
 
 Huntingdon s fingers closed on the negro s windpipe. 
 He could not see the fellow s face the night was too 
 black but his fingers told him the wretch drank. 
 
 Huntingdon drained the cup and three others in quick 
 succession. 
 
 The warm coffee braced him up, but he knew it would 
 soon pass away. He needed something stronger, and 
 he needed food badly.
 
 308 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 There were a live chicken in the canoe and plenty of 
 other chop. 
 
 Makaya must cook some supper. 
 
 But what were the savages doing over there in the 
 shadows ! 
 
 Their voices had ceased all together. 
 
 Huntingdon feared their silence more than he had 
 their excited jabbering. 
 
 Suddenly an Ouroungo came from the shadows and 
 said one word: 
 
 " Allumette." 
 
 Huntingdon gave him a box of safety matches, the 
 last he had in a small waterproof case. But there were 
 more matches in the canoe. 
 
 Yes, there were many things in the canoe Hunting 
 don would like to have his scatter gun, for instance. 
 
 Makaya could get it in the darkness. 
 
 But could he wholly trust Makaya? 
 
 Once the savages suspected Makaya, he Avas done for. 
 
 Ngumbe must be dead. The rain would have revived 
 him e er this, if he had only swooned. 
 
 The ground was so wet and miry that the Ouroungoes 
 built their fires in the forks of the giant mangroves. 
 The silvery feelers of the trees were gaunt and bare, 
 like skeleton s claws reaching for victims. On their 
 twisted branches the paddlers, like birds of evil, perched, 
 and sullen and silent, gazed into the fires, while manioc 
 boiled merrily in iron kettles. 
 
 The fires intensified the weird surroundings and en 
 hanced the white man s nervousness. 
 
 Twas an uncanny sight, an uncanny spot. 
 
 The breath of the swamp was heavy, depressing, the
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 309 
 
 rain came down in torrents, and, now and then, acute 
 lightning pierced the bush and ominous thunder growled. 
 
 To the rear was dense, impenetrable jungle, inhabited 
 by the most dangerous of beasts. In front was a 
 rapidly flowing, muddy stream infested by crocodiles 
 and hippopotami. Staring sullenly into the fires were 
 the savages, whom Huntingdon fancied were executioners 
 waiting to dispatch him. 
 
 Suddenly Huntingdon imagined that great snakes 
 were wriggling towards him. He moved restlessly. A 
 branch overhead caught his hat. 
 
 He jumped up. He was sure that a leopard was 
 about to drop upon or a savage attack him ! He started 
 to run, and sank knee deep into the mire, from which 
 he could not extricate himself. 
 
 The thick mud and loam penetrated his khaki cloth 
 ing and soft mosquito boots ; hordes of mosquitoes at 
 tacked him ; he shook with chills ; he burned with fever. 
 
 Nobody paid any attention to him ! 
 
 Makaya was taking a very long time to prepare his 
 master s supper. 
 
 And now r the Loango had disappeared. Huntingdon 
 again imagined a stealthy approach from his rear. 
 
 Held fast by the mire, he exerted all his failing 
 strength. He got one foot free, then, grasping a branch 
 of a tree, he Avrestled the other from the clinging mire 
 and slowly crawled to the tree s fork, from whence he sat 
 blinking at the fires, and shivering at every sound, un 
 conscious of the fact that both his boots were left stick 
 ing in the mud ! 
 
 Well, he wanted an adventure and he got it. 
 
 It would be his last he felt confident of that.
 
 810 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Through his mind troupcd all the grewsome tales of 
 the old coasters. 
 
 They spoke truth after all. They knew Africa. It 
 was indeed Hell s Playground. What a fool he was to 
 think that he could do the impossible: wrestle with it, 
 single handed and alone. 
 
 He laughed aloud, like a thing suddenly gone mad. 
 
 Still nobody paid any attention to him. 
 
 He could see Makaya now. He was in a fork of a 
 mangrove just a little bit to the rear, cooking supper. 
 
 My, how slow the nigger was ! And how sleepy Hunt 
 ingdon was ! If he only dare relax, sleep would come 
 on the instant ; he was so weary, so tired, so languid ! 
 But he dare not sleep. The savages would be sure to 
 murder him in some fashion not to leave any traces, then 
 they would take his dead body back to Cape Lopez and 
 swear that he died from fever and exposure. 
 
 He knew he ought to have quinine and stimulants and 
 blankets; that he ought to return to the canoe, to the 
 shelter of its deck house and its mosquito bar, but he 
 had not the strength to call Makaya, he could only stare 
 at the fires and hope to keep awake. 
 
 Subconsciously, he wondered what Nagesa was doing 
 over there in the shadows. Was the life blood still flow 
 ing, or had it fled, taking the fellow s ghost with it? 
 
 The manioc was cooked and about the pots the Our- 
 oungoes gathered, eating ravenously, in eerie silence. 
 The meal finished, pipes were lighted, but Huntingdon 
 was too far spent to remonstrate against anything 
 the savages did, except to attack him, and, weak though 
 he was, he prepared to defend himself. 
 
 How could he repulse them? He needed some weapon.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 311 
 
 And any number of them were down at the water s 
 edge in the canoe, but he knew he never could get them. 
 
 Quietly and laboriously he unloosened the chair from 
 the mire, and folded it. 
 
 When Makaya brought his food, he took great pains 
 to impress upon Makaya what a delightful table the chair 
 made across his knees ! 
 
 As he ate the rain dripped lively upon his food. But 
 he did not mind it. 
 
 He ate with his fingers too, this scion of the esthetic 
 Bedfords and Granvilles, this erstwhile dandy of May- 
 fair drawing-rooms. 
 
 And he ate what he knew was dirt, too, ravenously, 
 faster than even the savages had eaten their simple meal 
 of sour manioc. 
 
 Poor devils ! 
 
 He had tins enough to supply them. 
 
 He would like to make them comfortable but they 
 would misunderstand his motive. 
 
 If they kept away from him all night, he would not 
 approach them. 
 
 If daylight were allowed to come before they took ac 
 tion against him, he had a fighting chance, but in the 
 dark he was wholly at their mercy. 
 
 A quick thrust from behind and all would be over! 
 
 Despite his determination to remain awake, weariness 
 and exhaustion overpowered him. 
 
 He lost consciousness, to be startled into wakefulness 
 by pandemonium all about him ! 
 
 The whole swamp was ablaze! 
 
 Earth seemed to have opened and all hell and dancing 
 demons were abroad!
 
 312 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 The very feelers of the ghostly mangroves writhed in 
 torturesome curves and advanced and retreated ! They 
 jeered, they pantomimed, they menaced! 
 
 Black things were jumping up and down and making 
 hideous sounds ! 
 
 Twas some moments before Huntingdon could gather 
 his wits. 
 
 Then the truth flashed over him. 
 
 His time had come ! The savages were keyed up for 
 his sacrifice ! 
 
 What else could their dancing, their clamor, their 
 menacing gestures mean? 
 
 Lord, what a racket, what a din ! 
 
 Where did the savages get the implements with which 
 to make such clatter, such ear-splitting sounds? 
 
 Huntingdon s eyes focused on a big Ouroungo. He 
 was pounding vigorously upon a tin trunk with a frying 
 pan! 
 
 Huntingdon stopped his fingers into his ears. The 
 din was driving him crazy. 
 
 Every nerve in his brain throbbed like pistons driven 
 by dynamic force. 
 
 His hands encircled his head to keep it from flying to 
 pieces. 
 
 " Stop it, you fiends from hell, stop it ! " he yelled. 
 
 But no one heard him. 
 
 He leaned against the mangrove, exhausted. 
 
 He was so cold, so wet, so tired, oh, so very tired ! 
 
 Death would mean sleep rest, at least. 
 
 But the infernal savages tortured him by putting off 
 his death from hour to hour. And what manner of death 
 would they employ ?
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 313 
 
 He idly wondered where the savages got the dried 
 wood to keep up the blazing fires. 
 
 He wondered, too, how the wounded Nagesa could 
 stand the hellish rumpus. 
 
 Then out of the general uproar a weird chant beat 
 upon his strained nerves. Louder and louder it rose ; 
 faster and faster danced the savages. 
 
 One by one they fell, only to rise again and continue 
 to jump up and down with renewed abandon! 
 
 They were devils, nothing but devils ! 
 
 The white man was a fool to try to civilize them or 
 to attempt to wrestle wealth from their country ! 
 
 In suspense Huntingdon died a thousand deaths. He 
 would have done violence to himself, but he had not the 
 power to move arm or leg! 
 
 He could only look on and suffer. 
 
 Slowly night lifted, and, like a reluctant thing, sad- 
 eyed Dawn stole out. 
 
 Huntingdon never welcomed anything so much in all 
 his life ! 
 
 Haggard, worn, and thoroughly spent, Huntingdon 
 looked towards Nagesa. 
 
 He was DEAD ! 
 
 Huntingdon understood the dance! Twas to keep 
 off evil spirits devils who came to steal the souls of 
 living men ! 
 
 Huntingdon thought it a chimera of his weary brain 
 when Ngumbe came to him. 
 
 There was a hole in his head, blood had dried on his 
 face and his eyes were sunken and unusually large. 
 
 " Master," he said humbly, " Ouroungo want for go 
 for him town with Nagesa. You fit let him go? "
 
 314 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon started, incredulous. 
 
 So this was the end of it all. 
 
 He laughed like a wild man ! 
 
 Ngumbe turned away, explaining something in Our- 
 oungo. 
 
 Then Makaya spoke, Makaya, the coward. 
 
 " Master, it be wise palaver to let Nagesa people tek 
 him for him town," he said in French. 
 
 Of course they could take him to his town. Twas 
 the very thing Huntingdon wanted. 
 
 It was his salvation ! 
 
 Sullen were the faces turned toward the white man 
 as Ngumbe delivered his master s implied refusal for 
 the removal of the dead Nagesa. 
 
 Though Huntingdon knew it not, it was the moment 
 of his greatest danger. 
 
 The superstitious fears of the savages regarding the 
 dead were coming into play. 
 
 Unless they got Nagesa to his town where they could 
 hold the customary feast over his death, evil spirits 
 would descend upon the men who had failed Nagesa in 
 his extremity. 
 
 Nagesa himself would haunt them unto death every 
 one of them was a marked man. 
 
 While they shook now with nervous, superstitious 
 dread, yet that very dread would arm them to do violence 
 to Huntingdon, to make way with him that Nagesa 
 might have the proper death feast in his own town sur 
 rounded by his wives and his peoples ! 
 
 Towards the canoe in his stocking feet Huntingdon 
 walked as bravely as possible, but it was all he could 
 do to keep his balance. He was dizzy and the ground
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 315 
 
 was swampy and slippery, and the rain continued to 
 fall. 
 
 " Ngumbe," he cried, " tell them Ouroungoes we fit 
 for take walk one time for Nagesa s town." 
 
 The command was received with satisfaction, and 
 Huntingdon never made such a quick canoe journey in 
 all his life. 
 
 When the town of Chief Ogandaga at Sangatanga 
 was reached Huntingdon was delirious with fever. 
 
 When his senses returned, he was in his own bed, and 
 a black woman was attending him ! 
 
 She gave him some sort of hot broth. 
 
 He turned over and went to sleep normal sleep ; 
 the first he had had in months !
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE woman was Ndio, the Gabonaise! 
 
 She had bided her time. She was of Africa and she 
 knew her country s ways ! 
 
 It was when the crisis of blackwater fever was ap 
 proaching. Huntingdon s skin took on the different 
 shades of yellow, while his face was blood red ; his eyes 
 protruded alarmingly and the secretions of his kidneys 
 were the very fluids of life. 
 
 Moore and LeBlanc had done what they could for 
 him. But it was little. They had grown indifferent to 
 suffering. Huntingdon was left to his fate. He grew 
 violent. Makaya, Ngumbe, Mbega, Ogula and Nkombi 
 Kakhi fled from him in terror. Their master was be 
 witched ! He was left alone to die ! 
 
 In delirium he jumped from his bed and was about 
 to leap into the bay, when Ndio, the Gabonaise came ; 
 Ndio, the imperious ; Ndio, the much desired, the cov 
 eted of all white men, save him into whose life Fate thrust 
 her! 
 
 She forced Ngumbe, Ogula, Nkombi Kakhi and Mbega 
 to take Huntingdon to his bed and hold him until the 
 delirium had passed. And this forcing of the savages 
 was no easy task. They are so superstitious that they 
 would as soon take hold of the devil himself as a white 
 man raving and violent. But the imperious Gabonaise 
 exacted obedience from her inferiors. They feared her 
 
 316
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 317 
 
 fury and the vengeance of her powerful tribe even more 
 than they feared the devil in the white man. 
 
 The Gabonaise disdained the modern drugs of civi 
 lization and resorted to the simples of her people. 
 
 She nursed Huntingdon tenderly and constantly, not 
 out of any duty to save the life of a human being, 
 but because she wanted Huntingdon s body, she wanted 
 the man. In his right senses she had failed to draw 
 even his notice. She could not dominate him by her 
 animalism and beauty as she had conquered other white 
 men. She must try some other way. 
 
 Unknown to the white man, for hours and hours she 
 gazed upon his smooth, white flesh, his well-shaped body. 
 The savage in her was wild to possess him, yet she had 
 the cunning not to precipitate matters. 
 
 Other white men discarded and changed their mis 
 tresses at will. But such commonplace treatment was 
 not for the imperious Gabonaise. Twas she who did 
 the choosing. Twas she who discarded. 
 
 She left the Commandant without so much as an Au 
 revoir, Monsieur. And do what he might, the Com 
 mandant could not coax her back. She disdained his 
 gifts. She denied herself to everybody. She stored 
 up her passion day by day. It should break forth only 
 for the Englishman. He would be hers. He could not 
 escape ! 
 
 Huntingdon was too weak, too indifferent for any 
 thing to make an impression upon him. 
 
 His convalescence was slow, tedious. He existed 
 that was all. Oh, if little Sadler were only there 
 but he was still in Europe and would not come again 
 for months !
 
 318 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Gradually, there came to Huntingdon a sense of com 
 fort. His bungalow was more homelike ; his meals bet 
 ter served; his linen cleaner. 
 
 Huge points of ivory and small balls of rubber were 
 piled wherever his eyes lighted. The beach was again 
 lined with red and black wood as mahogany and ebony 
 are called. For a time he thought it was a chimera 
 of his delirium. Gradually, he learned it was all true 
 and that it was the Gabonaise who worked these won 
 ders. 
 
 He heard her trading with the natives. In addition 
 to native dialects, she spoke English and French. 
 
 The Gabonaise was indeed a worthy descendant of 
 the Mpangwes, the Jews of the west coast. Hunting 
 don thought he had made some pretty keen trades, but 
 he saw where he was cheated right and left. 
 
 Huntingdon was grateful to the Gabonaise and showed 
 his gratitude in every way except that for which the 
 woman had schemed and denied herself. He showered 
 gifts and comforts upon her. He bought slaves to 
 attend her. She was the best dressed and the most 
 envied native woman from Dakar, in the Senegal, to 
 Saint Paul de Loando, in Portuguese West Africa, a 
 coast line of over 4,000 miles. 
 
 The other white men took it as a matter of course that 
 the Gabonaise was Huntingdon s mistress. They merely 
 shrugged their shoulders. Such a thing was bound to 
 come. Nothing else was possible. They ridiculed him 
 for having so long lived to himself. 
 
 Huntingdon tolerated their hints and their gossip. 
 Other things engrossed his thoughts. 
 
 For two boats he had not written home because of his
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 319 
 
 inability to do so. But he had written now, explaining 
 in full. He spoke warmly of the Gabonaise both to his 
 mother and Marjorie. He owed his life to her and he 
 begged them to send her some gift attesting their ap 
 preciation of her services. 
 
 He spoke of the changes in his living quarters ; of 
 their being more cheerful, more comfortable, and above 
 all cleaner. It was the first time he had hinted of dis 
 comforts. He told of his desertion by the natives 
 out of fear of his delirium ; of the desertion of the 
 white men out of indifference, and the fatalistic belief 
 that death was inevitable for a man sick as he had 
 been. 
 
 Huntingdon wrote fully and unreservedly. 
 
 He appreciated the agony of his loved ones because 
 of his silence. Particularly did he feel Marjorie s 
 grief. She would mourn him as dead for death alone 
 would keep him from writing. He could not immediately 
 relieve her agony. When needed most, the cable to 
 Europe was not working. His loved ones would have 
 to await the mails and they were so slow, so slow ! 
 
 But his letters were all ready awaiting the next 
 steamer. On her way down coast she would bring him 
 letters from Marjorie. Oh, how he longed for her let 
 ters ! To kiss the paper her hands had pressed, to read 
 words of love, hope, encouragement and cheer! He 
 needed them more than ever. He was so tired, so worn, 
 so weary ! He closed his eyes, he felt her lips upon him, 
 he heard her whisper : 
 
 Forget you, my Love of Loves. I should forget to 
 breathe first! 
 
 He cried the words aloud when he suffered most. He
 
 320 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 called on them to help him bear up, to give him the 
 strength necessary to carry out his business project. 
 
 To return to England in search of health never en 
 tered his head. 
 
 There were only four months yet to endure only 
 four months more ! 
 
 He lived only to mark off each day of the calendar 
 and to thank God that his purgatory was nearing an 
 end. 
 
 In his letter he had asked Marjorie to set a date for 
 their wedding. He lived o er their honeymoon. How 
 he would love her! His starved being would feed on 
 her sweetness ! 
 
 Thoughts of his beloved was the elixir he held to his 
 lips. He drank of it continuously. It was the am 
 brosial food that kept alive his unwilling body. 
 
 For the first time in her life the Gabonaise, who had 
 made the suffering of white men her pastime, suf 
 fered a torment of hell impossible to a civilized nature. 
 She was as hungry as a lionness starved to desperation. 
 Yet she successfully masked the seething demand of her 
 nature. 
 
 She spent hours beautifying herself. She polished 
 her skin until it shone like rich red mahogany. She 
 made the most of the silks Huntingdon gave her. She 
 polished her nails as she had seen Huntingdon do. Re 
 membered were the arts the American Missionaries at 
 Libreville had taught her. She hemstitched linens ; she 
 made gay cushions ; she gathered fresh flowers ; she con 
 cocted dainty desserts ; she administered unto Hunting 
 don in every possible way. She was ever at hand to
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 321 
 
 anticipate his wishes. She ruled his factory as though 
 she owned it. Where Huntingdon had solicitated trade, 
 she demanded it, and, partly through fear of her ven 
 geance, and through their continued admiration for the 
 Great White King, the savages poured their products 
 in large quantities into Huntingdon s factories. 
 
 But the beauty, the arts and attentions of a thousand 
 Circes could not seduce Huntingdon. His was one of 
 those rare, intense natures, that loves but once ; that 
 clings to its vows as rigidly as does a Carmelite to his. 
 His was no idle boast Avhen he said to Marjorie: Count 
 less eternities shall -find me still remembering! Her 
 image was always before him it beckoned him on and 
 ever on, it was the lodestar that drew him from out the 
 very shadow of the valley of death and gave him the 
 courage to fight on ! 
 
 At last the imperious Gabonaise had to admit that she 
 could not win the white man by any arts of her own. 
 
 She sought the magic of the witch doctor of the Our- 
 oungoes. 
 
 She paid the Nganga enormous sums for his charms. 
 She placed the charms in the band of Huntingdon s hel 
 met ; under his mattress ; in the cushions on which he 
 rested ; they hung over his head, they were under his 
 feet. 
 
 But to no avail. 
 
 Huntingdon constantly dreamed of home. 
 
 Three months and two weeks now three months 
 and two weeks ! 
 
 How slowlv time went! It seemed to sleep on the 
 way. To forget to register passing seconds. 
 
 Patience, PATIENCE, PATIENCE ! ! Exquisite hell to
 
 a heart burning with longing, with a body raked by 
 fever and exhausted from endurance. 
 But time must pass. IT MUST! 
 
 Twas the night before the mail was due. 
 
 Huntingdon was too nervous, too anticipative for 
 sleep. 
 
 He must write again to her to the woman who filled 
 his thoughts. 
 
 When I shall again be with you, Light of my Soul, 
 I shall have entered the Holy of Holies, leaving all long 
 ing and pain outside. We shall live in the very Garden 
 of Love. 
 
 I ve been dreaming what it would be, Light of my Be 
 ing. If this inanimate sheet should become for the 
 nonce a sensatory thing a conductor of emotion not 
 emotion exactly 
 
 7 cannot write I can only think. Is it possible that 
 my thought waves reach you, my Beloved? If they 
 only could, if they only could! Into thought waves I 
 project my very soul; that subtle something too evan 
 escent to flow from a pen s rusty point; too beautiful to 
 be tangibly expressed, too sacred to be scribbled! If 
 thou thinleest of me for one short second freely, fully as 
 I think of thee eternally, then indeed am I compensated 
 for being so very distant from you. 
 
 Good night, Light of my Heart, Eyes of my Eyes, 
 Desire of my Desire, Breath of my Breath, my Other 
 Half, My Completion, my Necessity. Good night! 
 
 His pen rolled unheeded upon the floor. His eyes 
 became large, luminous. They annihilated space, they 
 pierced leagues of water and land. He was by Mar-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 323 
 
 jorie s side, he heard her soft, sweet murmur: Forget 
 you, my Love of Loves, I should forget to breathe first. 
 He pressed his lips to hers, he stopped her words, he 
 felt her nearness. 
 
 His eyes closed. His head sank slowly to the table. 
 His breathing was scarcely audible. Physical discom 
 forts, bodily pain had flown. Complete exhaustion en 
 veloped him. Thought was stilled, feeling was banished. 
 
 The Gabonaise stole in. 
 
 She bent over the white man. 
 
 She could not hear him breathe. She was alarmed. 
 
 She raised his head. His eyes looked for a second 
 into hers, then closed again. 
 
 Satisfied that exhaustion alone possessed him, she 
 lightly rubbed a charm over his head and eyes. It was 
 to make him to dream of her to see only her when 
 he should awake ! 
 
 The break of day found Huntingdon on the veranda. 
 He was pale as a ghost and thin unto emaciation. Long 
 ingly he scanned the bay for a glimpse of the European 
 steamer. 
 
 Other days had seemed unendurable, but this day 
 seemed to stand still. 
 
 Perhaps the steamer was lost wrecked on that ter 
 rible coast ! The thought brought him renewed torture. 
 
 He sent Ngumbe to the post office for news of the 
 steamer. 
 
 She was all right ; she had left Libreville, she would 
 arrive at Cape Lopez about 5 p. M. 
 
 Closely the Gabonaise guarded the white man and 
 watched for a sign of the working of the magic of the 
 witch doctor.
 
 324 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 She coaxed Huntingdon to take food. In it was 
 blended the yellow of a crocodile s egg to make his love 
 blaze forth for her and her alone. 
 
 But Huntingdon would not eat. 
 
 " You will be sick again for skin, Monsieur Hunting 
 don. And you never live for tek walk for civilization, 
 to look your peoples unless you take chop," she coaxed. 
 
 He would eat, but he wanted only fruit. He would 
 take champagne too a whole litre. He needed his 
 strength to read her letters, her letters ! 
 
 At last the steamer came. 
 
 Huntingdon saw but one letter that interested him. 
 
 It was Marjorie s. He kissed the envelope and 
 blessed the little hand that had addressed it. How 
 happy its contents would make him ! In it was the 
 date of their wedding. Their wedding! Sympathy, 
 companionship, love would soon be his ; they were a 
 trinity necessary to his very being ! Already his exile 
 and its tortures were falling from him, they were of 
 the past ; the future and Mar j orie had come into being ! 
 How strong he was ; physical weakness had vanished be 
 fore the reality of the letter he held in his hand: the 
 letter naming their wedding day ; the reward for his suf 
 ferings, his tortures, the reward for his incessant labors 
 and fidelity ! Oh, how thankful he was that he had had 
 the strength to remain true unto her! He would tell 
 her all about his temptations some day some day when 
 they were settled in their own home, and a child, a part 
 of Marjorie s being and his, had come to bless them. 
 How could he ever have the courage to leave home again 
 and come out to the coast even at remote intervals to 
 look after his interests? But sufficient unto the day is
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 325 
 
 the evil thereof. Mar j one was with him, there in her 
 letter Marjorie 
 
 Why how thin was her letter ; only one sheet ! She 
 was ill, of course she was ill. Perhaps she had died 
 while the letter was en route to him ! Died and left 
 him ! Perish the thought ! 
 
 Nervously he tore open the letter no date, no en 
 dearing salute what words were those ah, he was 
 crazy Hell s Playground sported with his brain the 
 joy at the receipt of her letter was too much for his 
 weakened state ; his overwrought senses made hideous 
 distortions of the words penned by the hand of his be 
 loved ! 
 
 I have been informed why you have not written. You 
 have a native wife and child. Of course you recognize 
 that a marriage between you and me is impossible. I 
 have sent your ring and your gifts to your mother. 
 
 Truly he must be mad. That was no letter from 
 Marjorie. Delusion was the worst trick Hell s Play 
 ground had yet played him. Marjorie repudiate him, 
 doubt him, cast him off! Ah, his brain was weak 
 and totally incapable of translating written words ; he 
 would lay the letter aside ; he would force himself to take 
 nourishing food and plenty of champagne. Clearness of 
 brain would come to him, then he would read what she 
 had written : the date of their wedding, her appeal to 
 come to him, as quickly as he could. And oh, wouldn t 
 he go? He would take the French steamer ten days 
 hence on her way up coast. Why had he not thought 
 of that sooner? Mbega and the Gabonaise could look 
 after the Cape Lopez factory and at his other factories 
 in the bush there were efficient, honest men. Yes,
 
 326 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 he would go home. He would not delay another mo 
 ment. 
 
 He shouted for Ngumbe and ordered him to pack up. 
 He summoned Mbega and the Gabonaise; he raised 
 Mbega s wages ; the Gabonaise would receive whatever 
 sum she might name for her services ; Huntingdon would 
 never again live in his bungalow, the Gabonaise could 
 have it. He would go to Marjorie at once; the voyage 
 would bring back his health and strength. 
 
 In his excitement he ate a hearty evening meal and 
 drank much. Over and over again he planned his im 
 mediate return to civilization. He pictured Marjorie s 
 joy and delight at his early coming to her but what 
 words were those stealing through his brain advanc 
 ing and retreating like a thing of evil : native wife 
 and child marriage between you and me impossible 
 
 Pshaw, would Hell s Playground besiege him forever! 
 Make of his brain an implement of torture, of his 
 thoughts a constant inquisition ! 
 
 He had other letters from civilization. He would 
 open them, he would prove conclusively that his brain 
 was incapable of lucid thought. 
 
 Prove? Why necessary to prove anything in regard 
 to Marjorie; he took her on faith alone, as she took 
 him. As she took him! Why should such a thought 
 come into being? Faith was part of his very soul, the 
 escutcheon of the noble houses of the Bedfords and 
 Granvilles ; faith, the lever which controlled their acts 
 and thoughts ; faith, without which life would be in 
 tolerable. Such faith was Marjorie s too; she had 
 sworn it! 
 
 There was a letter from his father; he would read
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 327 
 
 that. Strange that its meaning was perfectly clear ; 
 strange that it should be all about business ; and that 
 there was no mention of Marj orie or his mother 
 
 Quickly he tore open another letter, from his brother 
 Guy. It was also perfectly clear. Guy congratulated 
 him on his shipments and the big prices prevailing in 
 the European markets for African products ; yet there 
 was something strange in that letter too : there was no 
 mention of Marj orie nor of his mother! 
 
 Marj orie Good God, was he sane after all and did 
 his brain correctly interpret her words 
 
 Over and over again he read her brief letter until it 
 was indelibly engraved on his brain and its meaning was 
 perfectly clear! 
 
 So unexpected, so heavy was the blow that he was 
 completely stunned. 
 
 Another day came before he was able to think calmly. 
 
 Marj orie had cast him off, why? Because he had 
 not written for several boats? Surety she would take 
 into consideration the uncertainty of letters sent from 
 far-away Africa, the probability of his illness and in 
 ability to write 
 
 Suddenly he jumped up with a mighty oath as the 
 thought struck home : somebody had written slanderously 
 and maliciously and willfully about him to Marj orie! 
 That was not surprising, familiar as he was with the 
 malicious, slanderous gossip of the white aliens. No 
 crime was too dastardly for them to concoct! In the 
 heat of her indignation, Marj orie had cast him off. But 
 all would be well again. Marj orie would be tearfully re 
 pentant ; he would kiss away her tears ; her trust in him 
 would be deeper, her love for him greater, as is always
 
 328 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the case when a woman has unjustly accused and 
 doubted the man she loves best. 
 
 But who could have been guilty of slandering him? 
 It lay only between two men: Moore and LeBlanc. 
 No, Moore would not do such a thing; it must have 
 been LeBlanc. The Frenchman imagined that the 
 Gabonaise was Huntingdon s mistress and jealousy and 
 envy prompted the letter. Poor LeBlanc, to resort to 
 such ignoble means to harm a fellow man who had never 
 done aught to deserve such treachery ! But Hunting 
 don held no animosity against the Frenchman ; he took 
 into consideration the smallness of his character ; his 
 perverted morals ; the pitiful condition to which Hell s 
 Playground had reduced him. But above all, everything 
 would be all right when he held Marjorie close in his arms 
 and explained everything to her. LeBlanc instead of 
 harming him would have brought him the additional 
 blessing of Marjorie s repentance and her subsequent 
 perpetual desire to make amends with unlimited love and 
 trust and confidence. No, he held no grudge against 
 LeBlanc. 
 
 Huntingdon imagined letters already en route from 
 Marjorie, begging his pardon for her momentary doubt 
 of him. Of course, he would forgive. It was but 
 natural that she should doubt, then repent bitterly for 
 having so hastily condemned him. She was a woman, 
 entitled to the luxury of doubt, then to the subsequent 
 abject misery that would come to her because of that 
 doubt. After all, LeBlanc had done him a favor. Poor 
 LeBlanc! Never to know such perfect love as was 
 Marjorie s and Huntingdon s ! 
 
 Buoyed up with hope and sure of Marjorie s repent-
 
 329 
 
 ance, Huntingdon walked back and forth along the 
 beach unmindful of the grilling heat and indifferent to 
 fatigue. But sundown brought exhaustion and deep 
 sleep. Suddenly, he found himself wide awake. In the 
 tense stillness of the tropical night Huntingdon s 
 thoughts seemed to take voice and loud and bitterly they 
 attacked Marjorie. 
 
 Where was the faith she had sworn so repeatedly? 
 How dare she doubt his word and accept that of an 
 anonymous slanderer? How dare she put him down, 
 unheard, as a poltroon, a liar, all that was detestable? 
 Why did she not ignore the anonymous letter, as he 
 would have done. Why did she not keep her faith in him 
 as he had kept his faith in her? 
 
 Ah, there was the great injustice! He had built 
 upon perfect faith and in his extremity he was treated 
 thus ! He had given his word to be true, he had been 
 true, and God alone knew what torture he had endured, 
 how sick at heart, how lonely he had been, how his 
 senses had tortured him, how thoroughly spent he was 
 now! 
 
 And the woman for whom he had suffered a thousand 
 crucifixions had lightly cast him off with the dash of 
 a pen ! Ah, that was the hurt ! 
 
 Injustice swelled deeply within Huntingdon and be 
 came an obsession. Over and over again he fanned its 
 flame and fed it fuel. That Marjorie should even as 
 sociate doubt in connection with him, that she would 
 permit an anonymous slanderer to cause her to cast him 
 forth as though he were the vilest of wretches, were 
 the tongues of fire that seared his very soul and grilled 
 it excruciatingly! Marjorie well knew how her words
 
 330 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 would crush him, how deeply she would cause him to 
 suffer, how cruelly she had outraged what he held most 
 sacred : his honor and his faith ! She insulted his honor 
 willfully and deliberately on the word of passing slander ! 
 Would he stoop to explanation, defense? Would he 
 recognize the hag, Slander, who ought to be instantly 
 throttled by all honorable people? He would not so 
 demean himself. He had pledged his word, that in itself 
 was enough to bid Slander begone; but Marjorie had 
 entertained Slander, had listened to her, had cast him 
 off at her bidding. If she placed Slander, and her first 
 cousin, Suspicion, above his plighted word, above his 
 honor, he would do naught to kill Slander or dispel 
 Suspicion. Marjorie had judged him unheard; she had 
 sentenced him to what she knew would be the keenest 
 suffering possible to a refined, human being. He dis 
 dained defense; he would submit silently and never by 
 word or action of his should she know the suffering she 
 caused him. Defense was for the guilty ; he was inno 
 cent. He would live his life alone ; she had deliberately 
 and unjustly cast him off, she could go her wa}% he 
 would go his. 
 
 He tore up the letters he wrote her; with a curse he 
 cast them forth on the winds. 
 
 No tears did he shed; his suffering was silent and 
 within. 
 
 His thoughts were his executioners. He could not ban 
 ish them either with drugs or absinthe. The only thing 
 that could crush him completely had descended upon 
 him, speeded by the hand of the woman he had so madly 
 and persistently worshiped. He was cast off, ignomin- 
 iously, he was doubted oh, how he hated civilization
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 331 
 
 and its refined cruelties ! He never again cared to see 
 anybody belonging to it. The white race had dealt 
 him his death blow, he was done with it forever! 
 
 Day after day he sat upon the veranda and gazed into 
 space over the same Atlantic that washes England s 
 shore daily he grew more bitter against Marjorie; 
 where he loved he now hated intensely. Such injustice 
 as she had done him she for whom he had suffered so 
 long and painfully could never be forgotten nor for 
 given ! 
 
 The revelries of the white men of Cape Lopez and 
 the natives came to him on the night s breezes. The 
 shouting, singing and tom-tom, beating no longer pained 
 him. Nor did he blame the white men for seeking diver 
 sion from self and soul-torturing introspection. Per 
 haps they had come just such a cropper as he had in 
 the game of love. Man should never judge another 
 unless he can put himself in that other s placet 
 
 If Huntingdon were lonely, miserable, before, what 
 was he now that his beacon of love and hope was ex 
 tinguished? A ship without a rudder, an alien in a 
 hostile land, a shuttlecock to be battledored as Africa 
 willed ! 
 
 Huntingdon brooded, he fed daily on life s very 
 forces. He sought no diversion each day brought 
 him more acute misery. 
 
 Life ceased to be endurance it was one long-drawn- 
 out agony. 
 
 He saw Cape Lopez in its true light. It seemed the 
 end of the world, the epitome of all that is depressing 
 and annihilating. 
 
 And he had once thought it beautiful !
 
 332 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Twas raining. The whole earth exuded moisture and 
 sobbed from the sheer misery of it all; the sun, the 
 ravager, reigned supreme. He murdered and tortured. 
 Even torrential rains were impotent to quench Nature s 
 parched throat. Africa sizzled ! The sands of the 
 beach were as waves of heat ; the very breeze seemed on 
 fire. 
 
 Huntingdon knew what would follow the rains. All 
 vegetation would become parched, scorched, lifeless. 
 Woods and plains would burst forth in flame, the air 
 would fill with choking, offensive smoke ! And he had 
 once thought forest fires magnificent, the odor of burn 
 ing brush delightful incense! 
 
 Many a white man went down in the fight. At Cape 
 Lopez another Douane and the Chef de Poste went 
 under. From the bush and throughout all Africa came 
 news of the death of white aliens. 
 
 A letter from old Wallace reported Longworthy 
 seriously ill with smallpox; Cartright dead from sun 
 stroke; little Hertford a victim of a cobra s bite, and 
 Wallace himself just over an unusually severe dose of 
 fever. He advised Huntingdon to let Africa and her 
 wealth go to hell and to return at once to civilization 
 before it was too late. 
 
 The West African Mail announced the death of Cap 
 tain Haywood. Cause unknown. 
 
 The White Man s Grave yawned wide ! 
 
 Huntingdon peered into the cavern. 
 
 But Hell s Playground sported with him. She would 
 not give him his cachet. 
 
 He lived on and on, his suffering, his sensibilities 
 growing greater!
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 333 
 
 The Gabonaise again sought the witch doctor in his 
 town. 
 
 " I have paid you black wood and ivory and gold to 
 buy the Great White King s love and you have failed," 
 she complained ominously. 
 
 " I have not failed," confidently answered the Nganga. 
 " The magic I gave you is all powerful not even a 
 white king can prevail against it. But it will not work 
 until until " 
 
 " Until what," imperiously interrupted the Gabonaise. 
 " Take care, don t fool with me," and her eyes blazed 
 disclosing such hideous possibilities that even the sorcerer 
 trembled. But he too was working for a great prize. 
 The animalism of the Gabonaise had called forth his 
 in all its savage intensity. The Gabonaise must be his. 
 
 " Until you pay more said the Nganga, 
 slowly. 
 
 " Palm-kernels, palm-wine, skins, ivories, wood 
 began the Gabonaise, but the witch doctor interrupted: 
 
 " I want none of these things. I have more wealth 
 now than the white man will ever possess were he to live 
 to be as old as the nchinas, 1 in the jungles, or Mboomba, 2 
 the great, fiery snake that lives for the sky, after the 
 rain falls." 
 
 " What then can Ndio, the Gabonaise, give to the 
 Nganga of the Ouroungoes in exchange for the Great 
 White King s love?" 
 
 " Ndio is a Gabonaise, of the powerful and mighty 
 Mpangwes, to whom the Ouroungoes are but slaves. The 
 Ouroungoes can buy other woman, but a Gabonaise has 
 never mated with an inferior. Now, Ndio, the Gabo- 
 
 i Monkeys. 2 Rainbow.
 
 334 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 naise 
 
 shall live in the forest for one week as the wife of 
 the Nganga of the Ouroungoes and the love magic will 
 work at once. The Great White King will no longer 
 resist Ndio, the Gabonaise. She will possess him through 
 Dry Seasons and Wet Seasons so many in number that 
 the Nganga of the Ouroungoes, with all his magic, canr- 
 not count them." 
 
 Ndio s eyes blazed! Her fingers twitched ominously 
 at the demand of the Nganga! But his last words won 
 her completely. 
 
 She did not hesitate. 
 
 " Ndio, the Gabonaise, will come here to-night and 
 for one week she shall be the wife of the Nganga of the 
 Ouroungoes. But if in that time the Great White King 
 is not hers, the Nganga of the Ouroungoes shall have no 
 charm to withstand the wrath of the Gabonaise! You 
 know my people, the Mpangwcs! We brook no decep 
 tion our cunning will snare you e en though Mboomba 
 herself wrapped you in her protecting coils ! " 
 
 The sorcerer watched her go, his sensual lips pressed 
 closely together. 
 
 He was sure of success. Unless the white man should 
 bring death upon himself, Africa would claim him for 
 ever ; Africa never capitulated, never compromised. She 
 ruled ! 
 
 In the week that followed, Huntingdon s life forces 
 were at their lowest ebb. 
 
 There was not a breath of air, and, save when lashed 
 by torrential rain, the sea lay smooth as polished jet, 
 blinding, and heat reflecting. 
 
 Huntingdon was unclean, disheveled, unrecognizable. 
 
 Great spiders, clammy lizards, fat, disgusting roaches,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 335 
 
 wasps, flies, mosquitoes, and scorpions besieged him, yet 
 he felt them not. His astral body alone was there it 
 possessed no sense, no feeling. Dull incessant pain had 
 strangled thought and silenced memory ! 
 
 Ah, if such inanition would only lash, but the winds 
 of reality again blew on Huntingdon and lashed him 
 into life, into feeling. 
 
 Stifling though the heat and humidity were, he 
 shivered with cold. Rivers of ice rushed madly through 
 his arteries, restoring his sensibility to pain. 
 
 Forget you, my Love of Loves, I should forget to 
 breathe first, the litany that had so long sustained him 
 and gave him the courage to fight on, began to throb 
 continuously through his brain, mockingly and de 
 risively. It brought a new agony all its own. O er him 
 again swept infinite misery ; the misery that had en 
 gulfed Smithson the night he left for the Ogowe and 
 his death. 
 
 Death! Did it silence all memory, all thought, or 
 would he continue to hear : Forget you, my Love of 
 Loves ? He could endure no longer. He called loud 
 for absinthe. 
 
 The liquor brought short-lived exhilaration ; then 
 languor ; gradually, acute consciousness again returned ; 
 memory awoke ; the hateful litany again obsessed and 
 tortured, accompanied by the mournful sob of the sea 
 and the eternal sighing of the giant cocoanut-palms. 
 Dead men s bones, Smithson had called the latter. They 
 were indeed fitting sentinels for that tiny spot up there 
 on the beach which covered up all that was mortal of 
 white aliens who had thought to successfully combat. 
 Hell s Playground!
 
 336 
 
 The little burial ground beckoned ; it was ready for 
 another white man ; the sand was flat on the last grave 
 and scrub grass fought for life in the arid surroundings 
 beneath the pitiless sun. Moore would bury him - 
 
 Slowly Huntingdon went within his bungalow. 
 
 " Repose? " he questioned of a Derringer. " Shall 
 I find the Nirvana of the Hindus the only oblivion I 
 care for: no thoughts, no memories, a cessation of all 
 sensations ? " 
 
 Deliberately he placed the pistol under his ear. But 
 mental anguish had made him hypersensitive to touch. 
 The heat of the metal burned his tender flesh. He 
 shrank from it. 
 
 He pulled his heavy hair over his temple, laid the 
 pistol thereon and pulled the trigger ! 
 
 No explosion followed! 
 
 The pistol was jammed from excessive humidity and 
 do what he would he could not raise the hammer ! 
 
 He laughed aloud like a crazy man and hurled 
 the weapon from him. 
 
 Even death refused to come at his bidding ! 
 
 Again he dragged himself to the veranda. 
 
 He was exhausted from his attempt at suicide. 
 
 For a long time, he lay with his eyes closed. He 
 slept, to be awakened by the call of the inrushing sea. 
 Ah, there was rest ; he would seek it. Why had he not 
 thought of it sooner? He essayed to rise, determined 
 to plunge into the water s depths, but, alas, power of 
 locomotion had left him ; his brain alone was active and 
 the sea took up the litany he so thoroughly detested. 
 Rage then possessed him and over and over again he 
 shrieked defiantly towards the offending waters: For-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 337 
 
 get you, my Love of Loves, I would forget to breathe 
 first! " 
 
 The vocal expression brought him a sort of relief and 
 again languor and inertia gripped him. 
 
 Gradually, another, a soothing sound, penetrated his 
 senses. After a time he knew them to be the mellifluous 
 tones of a woman s voice ; they came to him like celestial 
 music vibrating through perfumed space. Was the end 
 near, release at hand? So fervently did he wish for 
 death, that he sat up, opened his eyes and calmly 
 awaited his dissolution. 
 
 Great was his disappointment when he discovered the 
 source of the sounds he thought were celestial. 
 
 It was the voice of the Gabonaise who was trading 
 with some Nkomi women from the Rembo. Never be 
 fore had Huntingdon recognized the soft music in the 
 voice of the Gabonaise; it soothed and attracted him. 
 He gave himself up to its enjoyment. With interest he 
 studied the woman, and for the first time her unusual 
 personality impressed itself upon him. 
 
 No more effective contrast could have been chosen to 
 set off her superiority, elegance and beauty. She was 
 as a queen among the low-statured, ugly, flat-breasted, 
 prematurely old bushwomen. She radiated magnetism ; 
 they repelled. 
 
 The Gabonaise wore only a pagne, the native dress 
 composed of a simple strip of cloth. But it was not 
 soiled, crumpled, and wound indifferently about the 
 waist, as is usual with the savages. It was of soft, pale, 
 yellow silk and was brought tightly across the bust and 
 ended at the ankles. A curiously twisted knot over the 
 left breast held it in place. It suggested a form perfect
 
 338 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 in sensuous symmetry, while its color heightened the 
 beauty of the smooth skin that glistened in the sunlight 
 like polished mahogany. Suddenly she gazed at Hunt 
 ingdon, then advanced toward him with the slow, lang 
 uorous abandon which is the heritage of the savage 
 woman of the torrid zone. 
 
 She handed him a voucher to sign. 
 
 He noticed her slim, elegant hands ; the tapering, 
 supple fingers ; the filbert-shaped, highly polished nails ; 
 the exquisite, slender throat, and rounded arms. 
 
 He glanced at her feet. Their nails, instead of being 
 broken and unsightly like those of the savage, were per 
 fect and well cared for. Nor was she barefooted like 
 the savage. She wore Morocco sandals of richly deco 
 rated leather, in which the red and yellow predominated. 
 
 Her hair, instead of being woolly and unkempt, was 
 becomingly arranged in a soft roll on either side of a 
 small, exquisitely poised head, and ornamented with pins 
 of carved ivory inlaid with ebony. 
 
 Huntingdon could not see her eyes. They were 
 masked by the lowered lids. But he noticed the long, 
 silken, curling lashes ; the petulant curve to the short 
 upper lip, so foreign to the negro mouth ; the gleam of 
 small, white, perfect teeth, and the deep cleft in a 
 rounded chin. 
 
 " LeBlanc is right," mused Huntingdon idly, " the 
 Gabonmse is all he painted her and more." 
 
 Listlessness again overpowered him. 
 
 The voucher, unsigned, fluttered to the floor. 
 
 The Gabonaise bent gracefully and easily, picked up 
 the voucher, signed it herself, and moved away. 
 
 " One moment, please ! "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 339 
 
 Huntingdon did not call her by name. He had never 
 addressed her in a personal manner. 
 
 The Gabonaise turned, came towards him, her chin 
 tilted, her eyes a mere glint through the almost com 
 pletely lowered lids. 
 
 " How long have you been signing my vouchers? " 
 
 " For many moons, Monsieur Huntingdon," was the 
 answer in those well modulated, beautiful tones that had 
 charmed him a few moments before. But what struck 
 him most was the Monsieur Huntingdon. It was un 
 usual on the lips of a native. Even the chiefs and kings 
 addressed the white man as master, or If ing! 
 
 " Signing vouchers is no business of yours ! " said 
 Huntingdon rather severch\ " I would rather you took 
 no part in my affairs. I have already shown my ap 
 preciation for your services during my illness and your 
 supervision of my household. You will please concern 
 yourself no more about my business." 
 
 The Gabonaise made no reply, but her eyes flashed 
 wide open, as she turned and slowly, majestically, passed 
 out of sight. 
 
 Such eyes Huntingdon had never before seen an}^- 
 thing like them. The} r Avere large, dark, lustrous, in 
 tense, mysterious. With what scorn they had looked 
 at him ! Yet how the} beckoned, promised, denied ! 
 They confessed much ; they hid more. In them lay a 
 woman s soul, fathomless, inscrutable, fascinating, com 
 pelling ! 
 
 Weak, miserable and almost dead though he was, those 
 eyes pierced his innermost being. His pulse beat a 
 trifle faster, his blood flowed slightly stronger, yet no 
 desire smote his senses.
 
 340 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Fate, however, was steadily weaving her web. She 
 pulled on the strings of perception, she commenced a 
 newer, a brighter design ; completed and left behind was 
 dull introspection. The Siren of Interest threaded the 
 bobbin. 
 
 Two days later as Huntingdon went in to luncheon, 
 the Gabonaise disappeared, after having seen that every 
 thing was in order. 
 
 For the first time Huntingdon noticed the monogram 
 embroidered in his table linen, the excellence of his table 
 and its appointments. The china and silver and glass 
 ware shone. The napery was perfectly laundered. 
 There was a center piece of rich purple irises, glistening 
 with the dew of the forest. 
 
 The books on the shelves were evenly arranged. 
 There was a new shade for the lamp. The floor was 
 clean. New mats were thrown on it and there were 
 dainty, white Swiss curtains at the windows. 
 
 Everywhere were traces of a woman s care and at 
 tention. 
 
 Ngumbe was again clothed in decent white ducks. 
 He stood behind his master s chair. He served him 
 intelligently and well. 
 
 For the first time in months, Huntingdon relished his 
 food. 
 
 " Makaya is improving in cooking," he remarked as 
 Ngumbe gave him a second portion of mullet. " This 
 fish is deliciously cooked." 
 
 " Makaya never done him, Master. It be them Gabo- 
 naise. She savvy cook palaver, plenty, plenty. She 
 be proper woman far past them Ouroungoes. She learn 
 from them Merican mission at Libreville."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 341 
 
 Huntingdon ate the rest of his luncheon in silence. 
 
 The coffee served, Ngumbe disappeared, as was his 
 wont, to eat his chop. 
 
 All was still the heavy, oppressive stillness of mid 
 day tropical Africa. There wasn t a breath of air nor 
 sound of life. Huntingdon seemed to be the only one 
 alive on the entire planet. 
 
 Suddenly, an overwhelming desire for companionship 
 swept over and convulsed him. 
 
 He groaned aloud in his misery. The cry was wrung 
 from him, nor was he conscious of its utterance until 
 the Gabonaise bent over him. 
 
 " Huntingdon, you are ill t " she cried impulsively. 
 
 In the voice of the Gabon-aise was an ocean of sym 
 pathy, in her wondrous eyes was tenderness, in her 
 presence was companionship! 
 
 Yet she touched him not; she dared not; she knew 
 that all advances must come from him. 
 
 Huntingdon turned towards her as naturally as does 
 the sunflower to the sun god. 
 
 " Were you ever ill? * he demanded. 
 
 " Ndio, the Gabonaise, is never ill." 
 
 She pronounced it An-dee-o, and she spoke softly, 
 slowly, languorously, musically. 
 
 " Sick never ketch her skin. Look." 
 
 She took his hand and rubbed it over her polished 
 flesh. It was smooth and firm, and, wonderful to relate, 
 cool. 
 
 " The Ouroungo woman never beautiful like Ndio. 
 Monsieur Huntingdon, the Gabonaise has sent the fever 
 from your skin, now you fit to let Ndio mek your skin
 
 342 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 all same like hers ? " she coaxed as though he were a 
 child. 
 
 Huntingdon could not help but smile. 
 
 " Sit down, if you please, and tell me about it," 
 
 He brought forth a chair for her. But she preferred 
 a cushion at his feet. 
 
 Her beautiful arms rested on his knees and she looked 
 up into his face. 
 
 Suddenly, he drew away. 
 
 The eyes of the Gabonaise dropped and she said, 
 sadly : 
 
 " White man never love black woman." Then she 
 reared her head, proudly : " Me, I be Gabonaise. 
 Princess for my country. The French Governor for 
 Gaboon has sent for me. I never go, I stay here for 
 Monsieur Huntingdon. The Commandant of Cape 
 Lopez, he send me plenty cadeaux all time, every day. 
 I say no I stay for Monsieur Huntingdon. And 
 Monsieur Huntingdon, he never love the Gabonaise. 
 La paurre An-dee-o! " 
 
 She was like a spoiled child. 
 
 Huntingdon laid his hand on her head and said 
 kindly : 
 
 The white man does love the Gabonaise but he does 
 not love the trade perfume she wears. It makes white 
 man sick." 
 
 " I never hear 1 him, Monsieur Huntingdon. He no 
 be good? " 
 
 Not for Ndio, the Gabonaise Princess." 
 
 She drew away from him, and he imagined tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 i Smell.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 343 
 
 " Wait," he said. 
 
 He went into his bedroom and returned with French 
 violet water. 
 
 He poured some of it on her hand and bade her smell 
 of it. 
 
 " Is it not sweet, sweet past trade scent? " he asked. 
 
 She sniffed vigorously. He noticed that her nose was 
 flat, ugly, decidedly negroid. Yet her other features 
 more than compensated therefor. 
 
 " I never hear him, Monsieur Huntingdon, I never 
 hear him." 
 
 " Let the Gabonmse take it and when she comes to 
 Monsieur Huntingdon again, let him never hear them 
 trade scent. It no be proper fine for Ndio, the Gabo- 
 naise Princess." 
 
 He turned from her, but she placed her hand on his 
 arm, looked into his face, and said plaintively in a voice 
 that thrilled his senses : 
 
 " You savvy what Ndio, the Gabonaise, go mek for 
 you?" 
 
 He shook his head. He watched the shadows come 
 and go in her mysterious eyes. He noticed that they 
 were flecked with brown after the manner of her race. 
 
 Again she took his hand and rubbed it slowly over 
 her arm : 
 
 " I mek medceen. I put him for skin so " and 
 she vigorously rubbed the back of Huntingdon s hand. 
 " Monsieur Huntingdon get all same like Ndio, the 
 Gabonaise." 
 
 The friction sent a thrill of pleasure through Hunt 
 ingdon. 
 
 He bade her go get the medicine and bring it to him.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 All afternoon he waited for her. She did not come. 
 
 There was no sign of her at dinner time, nor at ten 
 o clock, when Ngumbe left him for the night. 
 
 Again Huntingdon was thoroughly depressed. The 
 night was suffocatingly hot and it was raining. 
 
 His thoughts were on the Gabonaise. He remembered 
 the touch of her hand, the thrill of new life she sent 
 through him. He wished she were there now. He would 
 talk to her. Her voice was so soothing. She was 
 naive, refreshing, decidedly picturesque and above all 
 companionable ! He was tired of being alone. Tired 
 of his own society. 
 
 He was delighted when she appeared. 
 
 She walked straight to him, put her head under his 
 nose and said: 
 
 " You hear them scent? He live." 
 
 She must have employed the whole bottle of French 
 violet water. It was strong but vastly better than the 
 rank trade stuff. 
 
 Huntingdon was in his resting room on the veranda. 
 The bamboo shades were closely drawn and locked. A 
 lamp, with a rose-colored shade, sent forth a soft glow. 
 
 The Gabonaise wore a pale blue pagne of soft silk, 
 and yellow sandals. They were exceedingly becoming, 
 and Huntingdon s artistic sense was aroused. She was 
 decidedly good to look upon. 
 
 From the folds of her pagne, the Gabonaise drew a 
 bottle. 
 
 * Ndio herself go for bush myself and mek medceen 
 for Monsieur Huntingdon. Rain ketch the skin of 
 Ndio; bush he mek Ndio so." 
 
 She pulled up her pagne, disclosing a deep scratch
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 345 
 
 just below the knee. She appeared as artless as a child. 
 
 She took away the pillows from the couch. 
 
 " Monsieur Huntingdon must lie down all same like 
 baby, and Ndio, the Gabonaise, be fit for mek him strong 
 all same first time Ndio look him." 
 
 Huntingdon was in the shadows studying her. The 
 glow of the lamp fell upon her. It glinted along her 
 rich, smooth skin. It hunted out the perfect symmetry 
 of her undraped neck and arms. She was indeed good 
 to look upon! 
 
 She was trying to pull the cork from the bottle with 
 her teeth. 
 
 " Allow me," he said. 
 
 He took the bottle and removed the cork. He looked 
 into her face. No emotion showed upon it. Her teeth 
 gleamed small, white, perfect through her parted lips 
 and the cleft in her chin so very unusual in a savage, 
 fascinated him. 
 
 " The Gabonaise must not spoil her beautiful teeth by 
 pulling corks with them." 
 
 " No? " she questioned. 
 
 Suddenly it came to Huntingdon that he would like 
 to teach this woman something. She was extremely 
 perceptive and fascinating and young yes, she 
 was very fascinating and healthy. 
 
 For the first time in months, weariness did not possess 
 Huntingdon. It had fled from him. He had some 
 thing to interest him. He had found companionship. 
 
 He would not permit her to massage him. He would 
 take her ointment and use it himself. Perhaps, just 
 perhaps, he would permit Ngumbe to rub him. 
 
 Twas raining very hard.
 
 546 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 How still it was and sticky and hot ! 
 
 He must have air, even though the rain beat in. 
 
 He went to open a shutter. 
 
 From a table he knocked down something. He picked 
 it up. Twos a brass paperweight Marjorie had given 
 him. He thought he had destroyed everything that 
 would remind him of her. The paperweight awakened 
 memories and hell ! 
 
 He threw the weight into black night, deliberately and 
 firmly he closed the shutters and locked them. 
 
 The Gabonaise still stood where the rays of the lamp 
 fell full upon her. Her pagne had slipped exposing a 
 small, perfectly molded breast! 
 
 " You re ready now, Monsieur Huntingdon, for the 
 med " she began, but Huntingdon s answer was to 
 take her in his arms and press his lips to hers. 
 
 The Gabonaise rejoiced, secure in the belief that the 
 charms of the sorcerer had brought about Huntingdon s 
 surrender. 
 
 Huntingdon spent a great deal of time with the Gab 
 onaise, but he did not permit her to reside in his house 
 nor to dine with him. 
 
 She had quarters of her own. Nor did he permit her 
 to continue to engage in active trade. 
 
 He regained his health, and again took personal hold 
 of his business. He was surprised how large it had 
 grown under the management of the Gabonaise, The 
 only thing that was neglected was his correspondence. 
 But his father understood why that was Huntingdon 
 had written him of his illness.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 347 
 
 His father had answered, and, delicately hinting that, 
 as there was no need of immediate return to civilization, 
 if his health permitted, the wise thing to do was to try 
 to get possession of other French concessions ; to branch 
 out in every possible way. If he needed more clerks, 
 they would be sent out. Huntingdon was not again to 
 overtax his strength. In a year he would doubtless 
 have so enlarged the business and so strengthened it, 
 that he could then return with safety to England. 
 
 Huntingdon read between the lines. 
 
 His father wished to save him the pain of returning 
 to England so soon after his broken engagement. He 
 also wished to bring before him the trust reposed in him 
 by the men who had given the capital for his enterprise. 
 
 Huntingdon s reply to his father was honest and frank. 
 
 You know, dear Governor, what it means to us to love 
 
 and then to lose through no fault of our own. I 
 was as true to my troth as you have been to my mother 
 
 as we Huntingdon* and Bedfords and Granvilles have 
 always been to our women. I could not control slander. 
 Had I erred, I might have put up a defense, but 
 to be condemned on hearsay but, you know, dear old 
 Governor, YOU know! 
 
 I am enjoying the best of health thanks to a native 
 woman. The one who nursed me before when I was ill 
 
 the one who was then nothing to me but who is 
 now all that I care to find in a woman. You will know 
 what to say to the mater. My stay here is indefinite. 
 I am preparing a report for our stockholders. The next 
 shipment will surprise you. It more than makes up for 
 missed shipments during my illness. Business shall not
 
 348 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 suffer as you, know. I have a trust to perform no 
 man shall lose money through me. Do not fear for me. 
 I am happier and more healthy than I ever expected to 
 be again.
 
 FOUR years passed away. 
 
 Huntingdon was thirty-five years of age, the most 
 attractive, healthful, successful and envied white man on 
 the entire west coast. 
 
 The Gabonaise was twenty -two, at the zenith of her 
 beauty and power. She lived like a queen attended by 
 her own servants and slaves. 
 
 Her English was as pure as Huntingdon s. 
 
 She took on his habits of cleanliness and order. She 
 reflected him with the perfect mimicry of the savage. 
 She was wonderfully intuitive. She knew when to speak, 
 when to remain silent, when to steal away. She satis 
 fied every portion of Huntingdon s sensitive, nervous, 
 amorous being. He understood \vhy Anthony was con 
 tent with Cleopatra while Actium wrote his downfall. 
 
 Africa was no longer the cruel, the relentless. Her 
 long wets and pitiless sun held no terrors for Hunting 
 don. The Gabonaise blotted out everything else. 
 
 She read to him. She read slowly and spelled out 
 many of the difficult words. Her voice was sweet and 
 low, and her pronunciation of French words piquant 
 and fascinating. 
 
 He gave her everything she wished for and more. 
 She chose the most brilliant colors for her personal 
 adornment, but, like flowers in Nature s uncultivated 
 garden, the colors blended harmoniously. They empha 
 sized the smooth, rich beauty of the woman s skin, and 
 
 349
 
 350 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 enhanced her savage individuality. She was beautiful, 
 regal, irresistible ! 
 
 She had many exquisite pieces of jewelry, but the 
 one which delighted Huntingdon most was a broad, gold 
 anklet set with a large pigeon blood ruby, clear and 
 alive as newly shed blood. He had the anklet made in 
 Ashanti, and welded it on himself that it might forever 
 adorn the curve for which it was fashioned. 
 
 He took delight in attending to business during cer 
 tain hours of the day for he never neglected it. Other 
 times, he found companionship, a wealth of sympathy 
 and love in the Gabonaise. He had long since lost sight 
 of her color. She was his other self. He could not 
 live without her. 
 
 He had indeed cast his lot with Africa. 
 
 Huntingdon s bungalow continued the cleanest, most 
 homelike and attractive on the whole west coast. Hunt 
 ingdon enjoyed life where the other white men simply 
 existed. Many had come and gone during the four 
 years: some returned to Europe, the majority a victim 
 of Africa s malice. But LeBlanc, the French trader, 
 Wildman, the Swiss, little Sadler, and Moore, were left. 
 
 While the servants of the other white men robbed their 
 masters and neglected their duties, Huntingdon s goods 
 were guarded by Mbega and his servants kept up to the 
 mark by the watchful Gabonaise. 
 
 When stray guests came from European steamers and 
 accepted Huntingdon s hospitality, the Gabonaise re 
 mained out of sight. She never thrust herself forward. 
 Not an article belonging to a woman betrayed her pres 
 ence. 
 
 Had Huntingdon and the black woman been united
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 351 
 
 by the bonds of Holy Church, he could not have been 
 more faithful to her, nor more solicitous of her honor or 
 comforts. 
 
 The Gabonaise was hated by the Ouroungoes, espe 
 cially the women, and coveted by all white men who 
 saw her. 
 
 The latter quarreled with Huntingdon for permitting 
 the Gabonaise to continue in the dress of her people. 
 They said it was bold to see her parading about with 
 undraped neck, shoulders and arms. But Huntingdon 
 saw no immodesty in her retention of the only drapery 
 she ever knew. In his eyes that which is natural is 
 neither immoral nor immodest. 
 
 The white men could not say wicked enough things 
 against the Gabonaise. They prophesied Huntingdon s 
 betrayal at her hands ; they repeated to him all sorts 
 of gossip. 
 
 But jeers, jibes and gossip hadn t any effect upon 
 Huntingdon. He believed in the Gabonaise, he trusted 
 her, he was faithful to her. 
 
 Huntingdon lived an Utopian existence. Civilization 
 and the other life seemed so far away that it had no ex 
 istence. The white woman who had caused him suffer 
 ing and perpetual exile was forgotten. 
 
 Huntingdon was transcendentallv happy. He loved, 
 he was loved ; he trusted and his trust was reciprocated. 
 
 But change is the order of nature, and change was 
 at hand. 
 
 The silvery rays of a full and brilliant moon enhanced 
 the witchery of the equatorial African night. 
 
 The waters of Lopez Bay chanted a rhythmic cadence, 
 which, borne on Night s gentle wings, pulsated o er the
 
 352 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 earth, while Venus, seductively tender in all the glory 
 of her majestic ascendency, stole the vigor from the 
 arteries of men and left therein the languorous sweet 
 ness of desire. 
 
 The narcotic of love was everywhere. It hid in the 
 graceful, drooping fronds of the giant cocoanut-palms, 
 whose very life depends upon the sandy soil that marks 
 the ocean s path and the salty mist of its waters. It 
 lurked in the short, stubble, sun-burned grass, which 
 against the sand s opposition fought a daily battle for 
 existence. It slumbered in the broad, dull-green foliage 
 of the motherly mango tree, whose fruit needs the 
 passionate embraces of Africa s sun to charm it into 
 maturity. It permeated all things animate and inan 
 imate. It created a veritable Lotus-land wherein man 
 and beast, bird and insect succumbed to its irresistible 
 enchantment. 
 
 On the roomy, comfortable veranda overlooking the 
 bay, Huntingdon and LeBlanc, the French trader, 
 lounged in great, easy Madeira chairs. 
 
 For an hour the men exchanged no words. They 
 were enthralled by and enchanted with the witchery of 
 it all. 
 
 Finally Huntingdon sighed: 
 
 " A divine night, LeBlanc, a night for love. What 
 can be more delicious than Africa at this moment? No 
 other land in the world is like it nowhere else are 
 the heavens such a blue-black hue, the planets so bril 
 liant and so near, the stars so like the eyes of the 
 woman we love : living, palpitating, intense ! " 
 
 Huntingdon stretched himself, lazily. 
 
 There was another silence.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 353 
 
 Overhead the giant cocoanut-palms swayed to and fro, 
 gently brushing the roof of the bungalow. 
 
 " The music of a woman s skirts," sighed LeBlanc, 
 glancing upward. " Shall I ever hear it again, in 
 civilization ? " 
 
 " Regrets on a night like this ! Ah, LeBlanc. Open 
 wide your senses. Breathe in the delights of this Lotus- 
 land. Hold the caressing hours while you may. They 
 will not always last. Isn t your mistress adorable, all 
 you desire in women ? " 
 
 LeBlanc did not answer. 
 
 " Look at Venus, old man. Is she not transcendent- 
 ally beautiful? In such contrast to cold, proud Diane. 
 Stateliness is all right at a distance but give me 
 Venus. She radiates life, desire. Diane is so cold, un 
 responsive. Zeus ! what must life be tied to an unre 
 sponsive woman, eh, LeBlanc? A creature sans soul, sans 
 emotion, sans everything ardent man desires. Give me 
 intensity, LeBlanc, throbbing, passionate expression, all 
 enthralling! Ah, they are mine, LeBlanc, they are 
 mine ! " 
 
 LeBlanc lighted a cigarette and quoted indolently : 
 
 " Those whom the gods would destroy, they first 
 blind." 
 
 "Croak, you old frog - tis but a confession that 
 something s wanting in your love-palaver. Satisfied 
 love never croaks. It exults, it glories. For satisfac 
 tion means love requited, and where ardent natures meet 
 in full flood time, there alone is paradise." 
 
 LeBlanc leaned far back in his chaise longue and gazed 
 at the stars. 
 
 " My dear Huntingdon, some women, like some stars,
 
 554 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 are so brilliant they blind. Think you that man can 
 look unceasingly upon love s burning flame without los 
 ing the keenest edge from his perceptions? " 
 
 " He might have to close his eyes, friend LeBlanc, the 
 flame might be so intense. But love would have so finely 
 attuned his other senses, that sight would not be missed. 
 But, please, don t croak on a night like this, you old 
 frog. Again let me counsel you to throw wide open 
 the valves of your senses. Breathe in the soft, languor 
 ous seduction of the moment. Oh, African nights, so 
 infinitely tranquil, yet so palpitatingly intense ! " 
 
 " Bah," and LeBlanc let fall the cigarette from his 
 lips. 
 
 " Confess, old man, isn t Africa just now surcharged 
 with love, with desire, with seductive witchery ? " 
 
 " The appreciation of nature s beauties depends upon 
 whether or not your senses are kept satisfied." 
 
 " Ah, ha, LeBlanc, you re not such a croak, then, 
 as you would have me believe. Seven years ago it was 
 you who were the voluptuary, throbbing with inten 
 sity" 
 
 " And you drew away disgusted. You " 
 
 " I know, LeBlanc. How you old coasters must 
 have laughed at me ! I don t wonder you left me to go 
 it alone. I was a silly ass. I imagined I could dominate 
 throbbing, passionate Africa with cold, English will. 
 I was punished for my folly don t think for a mo 
 ment I wasn t. But don t let s talk of unpleasant things. 
 See how the full, tropical moon idealizes everything! 
 The sand is as a thread of silver, a path in the land of 
 heart s desire " 
 
 "It s filthy, stinking, filled with jiggers "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 355 
 
 " The air, how soft, balmy, it is a breath of Ar- 
 cady " 
 
 " It s fever-laden, dangerous " 
 
 " The waters, how softly they murmur, like Undines 
 longing to escape to the arms of their lovers " 
 
 " Crying to escape treacherous sharks, you mean. 
 Yes, I grant you, our senses rule us. We can read 
 poetry in mud and slime if our senses are satisfied." 
 
 " You ll admit, too, won t you, LeBlanc, that this 
 languor is sweet, this somnambulance seductive? That 
 Africa is the land of heart s desire, of sensual delights, 
 an Eden of intoxicating splendor ! " 
 
 The Frenchman made no response. 
 
 Huntingdon drew a long breath and closed his eyes. 
 Again languorous silence fell, and both men lay out 
 stretched upon their low, comfortable chairs. Abruptly, 
 Huntingdon jumped up. 
 
 It was a sign of dismissal to the Frenchman. 
 
 " Sit down, Huntingdon, there s something I ve got 
 to say to you ! " 
 
 LeBlanc s command was so peremptory, so unexpected, 
 so out of keeping with the time, the place, that Hunting 
 don was startled into obedience. 
 
 Yet he could not come out of his Lotus-land without 
 some protest. 
 
 " Ah, LeBlanc, there is never an Eden without its 
 serpent ; never a gladsome dawn without its night ; never 
 a tranquil hour without its tempest ; never harmony, but 
 discord must creep in. But can t the matter wait until 
 some other time? To-morrow, for example, in the full 
 glare of the pitiless sunlight, when realities are real and 
 dreams do not float abroad? "
 
 356 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " No, it can t wait," LeBlanc answered, harshly. 
 
 " Out with it then, old man. Let s have it over and 
 done with." And Huntingdon resigned himself to listen 
 to some gossiping tale. 
 
 " It ll soon be out but, as to its being over and done 
 with that rests with you." 
 
 LeBlanc looked closely at Huntingdon. 
 
 A peculiar numbness crept over the Englishman. The 
 revelation had to do with Ndio. Nothing else could 
 affect him so strangely, so vitally. Heretofore he had 
 manifested such displeasure at any mention of the Gab- 
 onaise that for some time no complaints against her had 
 reached him. Were those complaints to be revived? 
 Must he again silence them? 
 
 " Go on, LeBlanc," he said in a low, tense tone. " But 
 take care. If you attack anyone belonging to me, you 
 attack me, and when you attack me, I defend myself. 
 Africa has taught me to strike swiftly and surely. 
 You re warned, now go on." 
 
 The Frenchman bent low over the table and looked 
 straight into the eyes of the Englishman. 
 
 The night was as bright as day. Plainly visible were 
 the expressions on the faces of both men. 
 
 There was a pause a slight pause. It emphasized 
 the more what the Frenchman was about to say. 
 
 " Huntingdon, I m damned if I stand by any longer 
 and see the Gabonaise make a fool of you ! " 
 
 He spoke confidentially, as a man sure of himself and 
 the truth of his statement. 
 
 But Huntingdon had heard LeBlanc speak so before ; 
 he was known as the most vituperous gossip in the entire 
 French Congo. Huntingdon also recalled his suspicion
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 357 
 
 that it was LeBlanc who had written Marjorie causing 
 her to cast him off, which suspicion Huntingdon had 
 never hinted to LeBlanc ; he would not give him that 
 satisfaction. Nor did anyone in Cape Lopez know 
 that Huntingdon had been jilted. They thought he 
 had succumbed to Africa and could not tear himself 
 away from its freedom and license. But Huntingdon 
 had suffered enough from LeBlanc. He would silence 
 him once and for all. He would listen to no further 
 slander against the Gabonaise. She was his, his was 
 the duty to protect her, to see that she was respected. 
 
 " Look here, LeBlanc," he said grimly, " you are my 
 guest and I owe you deference, but I will not permit you 
 to slander the Gabonaise. She has proved herself worthy 
 of my trust in her. You will offend me past forgive 
 ness if 
 
 " I ll have to offend you then, friend Huntingdon," 
 LeBlanc interrupted, " for I don t intend to stand 
 silently by and see you sold out for a nigger! " 
 
 Before that unexpected term of opprobrium, and all 
 that men, white and black, consider vile, Huntingdon 
 sharply recoiled, stung to the very quick, then he arose 
 and leaned over the Frenchman threateningly. 
 
 " Take care, LeBlanc, men have bitten the dust for a 
 less insult than that ; take care ! " 
 
 Huntingdon s voice vibrated with suppression, and 
 his eyes blazed dangerously, but the Frenchman arose, 
 faced Huntingdon, and said coolly: 
 
 "Call the Loango!" 
 
 Again Huntingdon recoiled. The Loango, a slave, 
 a menial, his cook, and his adored Gabonaise! Ah, such 
 a thing could not be true !
 
 358 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " You lie, LeBlanc," he cried nervously. " You know 
 you want me to discard the woman that you might gain 
 her. Take your tales elsewhere. I never again want 
 you to cross my threshold never again speak to me." 
 
 The Frenchman was never so debonnaire as he an 
 swered : 
 
 " Heroics are all right, Huntingdon, in defense of a 
 woman of the proper sort, but, man, you are not dealing 
 with a civilized woman, with a woman of refined feelings. 
 You ve to do with the savage. Some of them may be 
 beautiful and all of them are more or less intense, yet 
 they are ignorant of sentimental emotions. They are 
 all animal, carnal. No matter what brutes we white 
 men might become, we are not brute enough for black 
 women. This woman has sold you out for a nigger. 
 It s up to you whether you stand for it, or not." 
 
 Huntingdon took the wrist of the Frenchman in a 
 grasp of iron. 
 
 " If you re lying, LeBlanc, I ll kill you." 
 
 The Frenchman shook him off. 
 
 " I don t care a damn for your threats. I ll take all 
 that s due me if I m lying. Call the Loango! " 
 
 Three sharp, furious blasts rang out from Hunting 
 don s whistle. 
 
 The Englishman waited, grim, silent. 
 
 The Frenchman nonchalantly lighted a fresh cigarette, 
 poured out some absinthe, and muttered lightly: 
 
 " Toujours les femmes; toujours le meme chose" 
 
 The Loango slouched on to the veranda, and the 
 Frenchman commanded sternly : 
 
 " Loango, tell your master about the Gabonaise! " 
 
 Taken by surprise the Loango groveled on the floor.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 359 
 
 Never before did he appear so mean, undersized and 
 repulsive. 
 
 " Get up, slave," thundered the Frenchman, kicking 
 him in the face. 
 
 The Loango slowly staggered to his feet, but fear 
 held him mute. 
 
 LeBlanc hit him savagely between the eyes with his 
 closed fist. 
 
 The slave brushed away the spurting blood and opened 
 his mouth to speak, but he was so slow, that LeBlanc 
 raged : 
 
 " Tell your master whose woman them Gabonaise be ? " 
 
 " Him be mine," the wretch faltered. 
 
 " How long she be so? " relentlessly demanded the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " Since last dry season ketch." 
 
 The Frenchman spat disgustedly, then demanded of 
 Huntingdon : 
 
 " What think you now of la belle Gabonaise, your fine 
 queen, your Circe noire? " 
 
 Huntingdon made no answer. 
 
 The soul within him died. He was as a thing without 
 power save to feel the acutest agony that ever seared 
 a sensitive nature. The blood left his heart drop by 
 drop, each drop a hotter iron burning deeper into his 
 very being. As a thing of stone he stood in the moon 
 light an inanimate pillar, its interior being slowly 
 done to death ! 
 
 The Frenchman kicked the Loango and sent him fly 
 ing from the veranda into the sand. 
 
 The slave hugged closer the earth not because of 
 any new blows that might descend upon him from the
 
 360 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 nervous Frenchman, but at thought of the punishment 
 that would come from his pale, silent master. He died 
 a thousand deaths awaiting the descent of his death 
 blow. He was sure the Englishman would take his 
 life. 
 
 With an effort, Huntingdon pulled himself together. 
 
 " Thanks, LeBlanc," he said, dismissing the French 
 man. 
 
 " Don t mention it, Monsieur Huntingdon. Had it 
 been a white man I never would have told you. But I 
 won t let you be sold out to a nigger." 
 
 The Frenchman went up the beach, whistling. 
 
 " Come! " and Huntingdon motioned the Loango out 
 into the moonlight. 
 
 The wretch slinked after him.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IN her bamboo house, at the forest s edge, and out 
 stretched upon a soft blanket of brilliant silk and wool, 
 lay the Gabonaise, sensuously relaxed and with closed 
 eyes. At her feet was curled a young gazelle; at her 
 head on a great crosstree of curiously wrought teak 
 wood was perched a gorgeous peacock; on the back of 
 an ebony chair a gray parrot dozed. 
 
 The Gabonaise would have tempted the most austere 
 anchorite had he gazed upon her there in all the glory 
 of her compelling, regal beauty. Mahomet s Paradise 
 never possessed a more ravishing houri, nor was a sul 
 tan s seraglio ever more sensuously lighted, warmed and 
 perfumed. 
 
 Priceless silken Mohammedan prayer rugs were artis 
 tically draped with the simple dull-gold raffia cloth of 
 the equatorial jungles. A light, airy calabash stood 
 side by side with a great leather water bottle from the 
 Sahara. On a huge leopard s skin, soft and beautifully 
 spotted, was carelessly thrown a rich, dark shawl of 
 finest cashmere. On a native carved ebony tabouret 
 were Turkish coffee cups of gold and a tiny silver Japan 
 ese pipe. Over a large oval mirror of wrought brass 
 were hung the ugly charms of the witch-doctors of the 
 negro savages. Woodland odors blended with musks 
 from Araby. Bush lights in arabesque sconces splut 
 tered gayly, sending forth a sweet, pungent incense, 
 
 361
 
 362 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and in a low brazier a charcoal fire burned. Decadent, 
 hampered civilization was artistically blended with the 
 freedom and savagery of the equator. 
 
 One by one, the bush lights spluttered hysterically, 
 then went out. There was left only the soft glow from 
 the brazier, tingeing the surroundings a seductive red. 
 
 Suddenly, the Gabonaise shivered. 
 
 Slowly she opened her glorious eyes. 
 
 Indolently, she stretched her matchless limbs beneath 
 their soft, clinging drapery. 
 
 After a time, she arose. 
 
 Languidly, she leaned over the brazier. From her 
 pagne she took a small, jeweled mirror, and examined 
 her face by the fire s softening glow. 
 
 No antimony shaded her eyes ; no carmine reddened 
 her lips ; no henna dyed her nails. She did not need 
 borrowed charms. Nature had molded her perfectly and 
 Huntingdon had polished her. 
 
 She arranged the ropes of brilliants, topazes and tur 
 quoises about her neck. 
 
 She played with her bracelets, rings and anklets. 
 
 She studied the great toe of her left foot, on which 
 was a flat pigeon-blood ruby encircled with blazing 
 diamonds. 
 
 She had not the slightest idea of the value of the 
 jewels the white man lavished upon her. She knew 
 only the envy they excited in other women. 
 
 Tired with play, the Gabonaise returned to her couch. 
 But the spirit of unrest possessed her. 
 
 Again she arose. 
 
 As she passed the brazier, a piece of glowing charcoal 
 leaped forth and hissed like a venomous serpent.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 363 
 
 She drew back, affrighted at the evil omen, and, 
 groping about in the shadows, she found a fetish a 
 tiny gazelle horn filled with pungent vegetable matter. 
 Closing her eyes, she bent over the charm ; she implored 
 its protection from any danger that threatened, then, 
 about her neck adorned with jewels from decadent Asia, 
 she hung the ugly charm of the negro savage ! 
 
 Despite the cold season, the Gabonaise wore only a 
 pagne of soft, shimmering pale green satin embroidered 
 with seed pearls. Huntingdon had it made especially 
 for her in Constantinople. He had no other use for 
 his wealth than to spend it for the adornment of the 
 woman he madly worshiped the woman who kept his 
 senses lulled, who kept Africa masked, who made his 
 existence an Arcadia. 
 
 The Gabonaise went to the door, but the chill night 
 air caused her to shiver ; she sought a soft, silken scarf 
 and draped it about her shoulders. 
 
 The moon was so brilliant and so near that night ap 
 peared as a silver day. Plainly visible were the rippling 
 waters of Lopez Bay and the thread of sand along the 
 beach. All nature was subdued, entrancing, enticing, 
 but the woman neither saw nor felt it. Something else 
 occupied her thoughts. She was as still as the very 
 doorpost itself. Yet her blood was in a tumult. She 
 had but one desire : to rush forth and demand the reason 
 of Huntingdon s silence, his neglect of her. It was 
 the first time he had ignored her and her savage blood 
 seethed at the thought. 
 
 Her eyes were upon Huntingdon s bungalow. But 
 no sign of life came from it. 
 
 From the heavens she read the hour. Ten o clock.
 
 364- HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Already an hour beyond the time of her usual sum 
 mons! 
 
 Extraordinary! 
 
 She knew LeBlanc dined with Huntingdon. LeBlanc. 
 
 Umph! 
 
 No longer could she remain inactive. 
 
 Nervously, she strode back and forth, like a wild thing 
 caged and restless. 
 
 Must she, the imperious Gabonaise, be made wait like 
 a common Ouroungo, like the mistresses of other white 
 
 men: 
 
 Rage, resentment, flooded her being. In her mad 
 pace she stumbled over something. She stooped to pick 
 it up; she uttered a cry of abject fear and flung the 
 thing far from her. 
 
 It was a rotted banana stalk. A most evil omen ! 
 
 The woman fell limply to the sand. Gone was her 
 imperiousness she was an abj ect, cowering, supersti 
 tious savage. 
 
 She wildly implored her fetish to protect her. She 
 promised offerings of crocodile eggs and palm wine to 
 Abambou, the devil who threatened her. 
 
 Suddenly a sharp whistle cut the stilly night. 
 
 The Gabonaise eagerly started forward, then stopped. 
 
 Three blasts instead of two rang out ! 
 
 Twos the summons for M okay a, the Loango cook I 
 
 Slowly the Gabonaise retreated within her house. Me 
 chanically she groped in the shadows and sank on an 
 ebongo l of carved ebony. 
 
 What did Huntingdon want of the Loango at that 
 hour of the night? 
 
 i Tabouret.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 365 
 
 The cook s duties were not only long since over for 
 the day but never before had she known Huntingdon 
 to summon him. She, Ndio, commanded his household 
 servants. 
 
 Suspicion, garnished by superstitious fears, unnerved 
 her. 
 
 She arose abruptly. 
 
 Again she looked into the night, tightly clutching the 
 fetish and muttering charms in the Gabonaise tongue. 
 
 Her brows were drawn together in thought, and her 
 eyelids fluttered. Something unusual for her. 
 
 At last she forced herself to acknowledge the truth : 
 
 What if her liaison with the Loango were discovered? 
 
 Savage though she was, she knew Huntingdon would 
 never forgive infidelity with white men, what then would 
 he do to her for seeking a nigger! 
 
 At thoughts of personal punishment, the imperious 
 blood of the unconquered Mpangwes regained its sway. 
 The eyes of the Gabonaise glistened evilly, her fingers 
 worked convulsively. One evil emotion after another 
 chased across her features. 
 
 Let her enemies beware ! She knew how to punish ! 
 
 Who were her enemies? 
 
 Not Makaya nor any other native. Neither he nor 
 they would dare betray her; they knew too well the far- 
 reaching power of the Mpangwes, their swift, sure ven 
 geance. No, she had nothing to fear from her own 
 race. Some white man had done this thing. 
 
 She heard LeBlanc s whistle as he proceeded up the 
 beach. 
 
 LeBlanc? She always hated the puny, insignificant 
 Frenchman, as all well-developed women hate undersized,
 
 366 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 effeminate men. But now she hated him with the venom 
 of a treacherous woman betrayed. Woe be to him! 
 
 Already her cunning mind mapped out his destruction. 
 His doom was sealed ! 
 
 After what seemed an eternity, two sharp, shrill 
 whistles came vibrating through the night, 
 
 Her summons, and so peremptory! 
 
 The cunning of her ancestry awoke in her, and to her 
 came all the arts of a seductive woman. 
 
 She who was all suspicion, fire underneath, glided 
 softly, gracefully across the moonlit stretch of sand 
 leading to Huntingdon s bungalow. 
 
 The breath of night was stilled. All nature seemed 
 asleep, drugged by the witchery of tropical, mysterious 
 Africa. 
 
 Secure in her beauty and its power, the Gabonaise 
 was again the imperious belle of the coast from Dakar 
 to Saint Paul de Loando ; the coveted of all white men ; 
 the envied of native women ; the acknowledged wife of 
 Pluntingdon, the proud Englishman! 
 
 Huntingdon would not dare harm her. He might cast 
 her forth. What of that? The governor of the colony 
 had again looked covetously upon her when he 
 passed down the coast. When he came north she would 
 go with him to Libreville, where dwelt the Gabonaise, 
 her people. 
 
 She was tired of the ignorant Ouroungoes, of the 
 insipid white men. Yes, she was tired of the Anglais, 
 of his indulgences, of his kindnesses and his attentions. 
 She had loved him more had he beat her and placed a 
 guard over her. But he gave her freedom and unremit 
 ting love he was weak she hated weak men !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 367 
 
 She sought Huntingdon s sleeping apartment. 
 
 It was flooded with moonlight which played upon a 
 small dark object on the floor. 
 
 The Gdbonaise stooped and picked up the thing! 
 
 Twas an ebony idol ! 
 
 Would evil omens never cease? 
 
 She spat on the head of the idol, rubbed her fetish 
 over it, muttered charms, then carefully placed it on 
 a shelf. 
 
 She lighted a photophore. 1 
 
 Disclosed was a man s room, cool, clean, severe. The 
 only thing therein speaking of other climes was a hand 
 some brass traveling clock in a dull-red morocco leather 
 case embellished with a coat of arms in gold filigree. 
 
 The Gdbonaise threw the scarf from her, and ex 
 amined herself before a mirror. Fascinated by the re 
 flection of her many jewels, she turned herself about to 
 get the full effect of their sparkle ; then with a quick 
 movement, she undid the knot that- held her pagne in 
 place. It fell to the floor, disclosing Turkish trousers 
 of soft, pink silk. These she also unloosed, and revealed 
 was a Venus in mahogany draped in jewels which glis 
 tened warmly in the candle s light. 
 
 Suddenly, she sniffed vigorously. 
 
 Perfume ! The strong perfume of commerce. Ma- 
 kaya loved it. So did she. The white man detested it. 
 
 She must erase all trace of it. 
 
 She hastily removed her jewels, sought Huntingdon s 
 bath and bathed. Vigorously she rubbed her flesh with 
 a huge Turkish towel, dusted her body with poudre de 
 riz and deluged herself with violet water. 
 
 i A shaded candle.
 
 368 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 She sniffed again. She was satisfied. 
 
 But where was Huntingdon? 
 
 Strange this silence, his absence 
 
 And those evil omens 
 
 Danger threatened she became thoroughly terrified 
 she sank on the edge of the bed and waited waited 
 for she knew not what save that it meant harm to 
 her! 
 
 Suddenly two sharp, shrill whistles again tore through 
 the tense stillness of the night! 
 
 Her summons what was she to do, where was she 
 to go- 
 
 Two more blasts rang out but they electrified her 
 into action. Huntingdon was in danger, out there in 
 the night! 
 
 He was calling her, he needed her danger threat 
 ened him. 
 
 She grabbed a Winchester from the wall. 
 
 Undraped, she rushed into the night. 
 
 She followed the direction of the whistle calls. 
 
 The fire of the watch blinded her as she rushed past, 
 but on she sped. 
 
 She collided with a man. 
 
 Twas Huntingdon. 
 
 She dropped the gun ; she held out her arms to him, 
 but drew back sharply. It was not the tender Hunting 
 don, she knew : Huntingdon, the lover, but Huntingdon, 
 the master: a cold, tall, pale man clad in white. 
 
 Huntingdon spoke no word. He pointed to the 
 Loango. 
 
 Makaya, short and ugly and thoroughly frightened, 
 trembled as with the ague. In his hand was a chicotte,
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 369 
 
 the whip of twisted hippopotamus hide so dreaded by the 
 natives. 
 
 The evil omens had all come true ! Huntingdon knew 
 of her liaison with the Loango I 
 
 She made no effort to deny. She would submit to 
 punishment. Afterwards, revenge was left her! 
 
 Huntingdon indicated a coil of bush-rope which lay 
 at the base of a great cottonwood. 
 
 The Loango, tremblingly, stooped to pick it up, but, 
 e er he could bind her, the Gabonaise proudly walked 
 beneath the tree and leaned lightly against its silvery 
 trunk, then, as though disdaining the tree s support, 
 she moved a pace from it, folded her arms behind her, 
 and posed as a queen about to receive a crown. 
 
 The flames from the watch s fire, not twenty feet away, 
 discovered the matchless body of the Gabonaise; they 
 reveled over its surface, throwing its black sensuous 
 curves into bold relief against the silver trunk of the 
 tree s huge girth. 
 
 Easily and gracefully the Gabonaise awaited her 
 punishment. Her perfect teeth gleamed beneath the 
 short upper lip that could not hide them. Her eyes 
 sought Huntingdon s with an expression he knew well 
 an expression of voluptuous tenderness. Yet there was 
 no entreaty in her gaze. A Gabonaise, an Mpangwe, 
 knows neither fear nor entreaty ! 
 
 Makaya never once glanced at the woman ; his eyes 
 were riveted upon his master, awaiting his commands. 
 But he seemed so slow in delivering them that the Loango 
 grew nervous and longed to escape. 
 
 At last, Huntingdon made a gesture for Makaya to 
 throw away the rope.
 
 370 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Makaya was relieved. A Loango and a slave, he 
 feared to bind the imperious Gabonaise! He knew he 
 would have penalty enough to pay for his involuntary 
 part in her punishment ! 
 
 A heavy quiet reigned. The flames grew tired of 
 their sport and stole away. The moon fled beneath 
 the western horizon. Venus, at the first act of the 
 tragedy had sought her couch. Her eyes gaze only on 
 love and its pleasures ; the consequences thereof, its 
 tragedies, interest her not. Blackness covered the 
 earth. 
 
 Suddenly a thousand tongues seemed loosed in protest 
 against the punishment of the peerless beauty. 
 
 From the bay a fresh breeze sprung up. Set in 
 motion were the great branches of the tree under which 
 the Gabonaise stood. Set in motion, too, were the 
 leaves of the trees in the forest just beyond. A sad 
 monotone was their remonstrance. Even the birds, 
 beasts and reptiles were startled into involuntary ex 
 pression. A night owl screeched, a bush pig grunted, a 
 huge saurian snorted at the water s edge. A bat flew 
 into the watch s low fire and fell to the earth, suffocated. 
 
 Suddenly a harsh bell rang out ! 
 
 The watch, intent only on his vigil, sounded the hour, 
 and replenished his fire with dry bamboo. 
 
 The tension was eased. 
 
 The flames with renewed life leaped forth greedily, 
 and, again seeking out the beautiful undraped body of 
 the Gabonaise, they sported over its polished surface. 
 
 Again Huntingdon was forced to gaze upon the 
 woman, her beauty, her grace, her proud indifference to 
 punishment.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 371 
 
 Suddenly, he gave harsh command : 
 
 " Twenty-five." 
 
 Makaya, the slave, hesitated. 
 
 Flog the imperious Gabonaise \ He might as well 
 kill himself. Oh, if he could only escape in some man 
 ner ! His eyes sought the bush, he commenced to mutter. 
 He could not lash this woman ! She would kill him 
 sure! 
 
 " Obey, slave ! " came the stern command of the Gabo- 
 naise in the Ouroungo tongue. 
 
 Makaya was startled into> obedience. He laid on 
 vigorously. The flames followed each stroke of the 
 chicotte as it cut deep into the body of her who all her 
 short life had known naught but caresses. Again and 
 again was mutilated that sensitive flesh cleansed twice 
 a day in the sea s soft water and polished until it shone 
 like roseate mahogany ; that flesh the delight of him 
 who commanded its multilation by the wretch who had 
 dared desecrate it ! 
 
 The tender flesh broke. The blood, over which the 
 woman s iron will had no control, ran down her body 
 and buried itself in the unresisting sand. 
 
 Involuntarily the Gabonaise changed her position. A 
 stroke paralyzed the sensitive nerves in her left elbow. 
 The arm dropped to her side. Yet the smile still ca 
 ressed her lips; easy, upright, graceful remained her 
 body. 
 
 Her matchless breasts had not yet felt the chicotte s 
 bite. Thoughts of his own punishment caused the 
 Loango to grow dizzy. He struck wildly. The breasts 
 gave up their blood ! 
 
 The eyes of the Gabonaise flashed wide open, her head
 
 372 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 reared, as does a spirited charger s who resents the prick 
 of his master s spurs. 
 
 Eleven strokes had descended. 
 
 At sight of the blood trickling from her breasts, Hunt 
 ingdon cried: 
 
 Stop ! " 
 
 " Go on, slave ! " commanded the Gabonaise, im 
 periously. 
 
 Huntingdon could endure no more. 
 
 He turned and fled to the bungalow. 
 
 The chicotte s hiss followed him. He felt the pain 
 of every stroke. It were as though he and not the 
 Gabonaise were being punished. 
 
 He rushed into his bedroom and stumbled over an 
 ebony tabouret. He sent it flying through the open 
 window. 
 
 He tripped on the clothing of the Gabonaise. That 
 too went a-flying. 
 
 He stumbled over a chair. He tore off its canvas and 
 broke the stout frame as though it were sticks of frail 
 bamboo. 
 
 He raged, he fumed, he blasphemed. 
 
 He was furious with himself. He was caught in the 
 web of his own weaving. He had clothed the Gabonaise 
 with all the virtues he desired in the woman he loved. 
 
 He had acted the human where the brute should have 
 ruled! 
 
 The Gabonaise was what she was because she was. 
 He hated himself for the web of deceit his senses had 
 weaved about her. He had been warned, but, secure in 
 his conceited judgment, he took the warnings as lies, 
 slanders !
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 373 
 
 He tasted to the full the degradation that had come 
 upon him. He did not spare himself. 
 
 Then he raged against women. 
 
 White or black, they were all alike. Delilahs robbing 
 man of his greatest strength, the strength to do and 
 dare engendered by woman herself! 
 
 He vowed to cast women from his life. Whoso said 
 that they had a spark of divine in them lied miserably, 
 so that more suckers might be taken in. 
 
 Women were hell s flame, sent abroad to torture men. 
 
 Women! He hated the very sound of the word. He 
 would ab j ure them forever ! 
 
 Then his mood changed. 
 
 Why shouldn t women be made suffer as he had suf 
 fered? They had played with and tortured him, he 
 would play with and torture them. For every hurt he 
 suffered, they should suffer, for every tear he had shed, 
 they should shed three-fold. Oh, he would show these 
 women who their masters were ! He would have a 
 harem of women. They should be slaves, he the mas 
 ter cold and indifferent and heartless as a Turk. He 
 would crush out the civilization within him. He would 
 lead such a life of debauchery that even the savage 
 women would beg his mercy. Women had killed his bet 
 ter nature, they should feel the brute they had brought 
 into being! 
 
 He blew a dreadful blast upon his whistle. 
 
 Ngumbe came in terror. 
 
 " Find me the youngest and prettiest Ouroungo woman 
 at once and bring her here ! " 
 
 Ngumbe hastened to obey. 
 
 As Huntingdon had formerly delighted in thoughts of
 
 374 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the highest, now he took satisfaction in contemplating 
 acts of the basest. He would torture and slay as he had 
 been tortured and slain. He would out-savage the 
 savage ! 
 
 A girl of fourteen, lithe and graceful, stood before 
 him. 
 
 " You sent for me, O Great White King," she said in 
 halting English, her whole personality glowing with the 
 satisfaction, the pride, that was hers because Hunting 
 don, the haughty, exclusive Englishman had summoned 
 her. 
 
 Huntingdon pulled her roughly to him, then sent her 
 flying across the floor. 
 
 Another dreadful blast from his whistle pierced the 
 stilly night. 
 
 Again came Ngumbe on the feet of fear ! 
 
 " Go give the girl a bath, Ngumbe ; she s dirty, she 
 smells. Give her the clothing of the Gabona ise." 
 
 Again the girl was before him. Any other time he 
 would have noticed her dainty beauty. Her features 
 had no trace of the negro, and her flesh was the color of 
 rich cream. She was a half-caste, clean limbed, and 
 about her was the grace, the freshness of the wild 
 gazelle. 
 
 " Another manifestation of hell," Huntingdon 
 savagely cried, spinning the girl around. 
 
 She did not understand his words. Her knowledge of 
 English was too slight. But she knew what it was to 
 have white men inspect black women. 
 
 She commenced to smirk, to unloose her pagne, when 
 Huntingdon picked her up and tossed her roughly to 
 the bed.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 375 
 
 The mosquito bar was torn from its frame, but Hunt 
 ingdon savagely threw it from him. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Finally he took the supple, unresisting body in his 
 arms, bent the head and feet backward until they met, 
 then, deaf to the girl s low moan of pain, he left the 
 room, slamming the door behind him. 
 
 His violence had spent itself. 
 
 He paced back and forth in the great living-room. 
 
 Tick, tick, tick, the European clock fell loud upon his 
 ear in the somnambulance of the night. 
 
 It revived the memories he thought he had successfully 
 killed. They came crowding thick and fast ; memories 
 of the white woman who had thrown him over. Ah, the 
 wound was open and bleeding ! It would bleed as long 
 as he lived. He had loved too honestly and deeply to 
 ever forget. Countless eternities would find him still 
 remembering. That was the running sore. She had 
 forgotten, she was married ; he saw it in the English pa 
 pers. Doubtless happy. Happy ! Some people might 
 know its meaning, but he never. 
 
 He forgot the woman on the floor in the next room ; 
 he forgot the Gabonaise. He knew only his own misery. 
 His Gethsemane was complete.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE Gabonaise lay face downward in the sand. Her 
 unclothed, bruised body was unconscious of the cold 
 breezes from the bay and the sting of the many insects 
 feeding upon its wounds. She knew only one thing: 
 that an Ouroungo woman was with the man who had 
 cast her forth! The woman would suffer, but as for 
 the man the Gabonaise knew that he was done with 
 her forever, and she had no desire to be revenged upon 
 him! 
 
 The vapors of night were slowly retreating before 
 the mystery of the coming dawn, when the Gabonaise 
 raised her head. Her features were Medusa-like in 
 their frozen calm. 
 
 Out of the bungalow came the Ouroungo, clad in 
 Ndio s most-cherished dress, the pale green pagne! 
 
 The Ouroungo sneered as she passed the Gabonaise 
 but, quick as a tigress, Ndio sprang to her feet ; she 
 leaped upon the Ouroungo, she caught her about the 
 neck, and, with a twist her Gabonaise mother taught 
 her, she choked the girl with the very beads that adorned 
 her throat ! 
 
 The murdered girl fell to the ground, the sneer still 
 upon her lips ! 
 
 The Gabonaise disappeared ! 
 
 The watch, unconscious of the tragedy, put out his 
 fire and quitted his post ! 
 
 376
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 377 
 
 The birds chatted noisily, night beasts sought their 
 lairs, and daylight creatures ventured forth in search of 
 food. 
 
 The sun smiled o er the earth. 
 
 Another day had dawned on Hell s Playground!
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 " MASTER, master," called Ngumbe excitedly rushing 
 into the room. " Them woman live for die. Her lay 
 for sand so," and the boy threw himself face down on 
 the floor. 
 
 Huntingdon was startled and shocked. 
 
 Had Ndio killed herself? Had he been too cruel 
 after all? Should he have taken the unsupported word 
 of LeBlanc, the French trader? Yet Ndio had made no 
 denial, neither had she confessed. Tis true the Loango 
 had confessed, but such confession was made in terror 
 of great punishment. But would the Loango dare lie 
 against the Gabonaise, knowing as he did the far-reach 
 ing power of the Mpangwes, their swift vengeance upon 
 their betrayers? Would the Loango risk sure death 
 from the Gabonaise to escape any punishment Hunting 
 don might inflict upon him? No. The Gabonaise was 
 guilty. Still she did not deserve death. She might 
 have lived and gone her own way. 
 
 About the dead woman were gathered factory hands 
 and canoeboys gesticulating wildly and talking rapidly. 
 
 Ndio s name fell on Huntingdon s ear, and the words 
 blood atonement. 
 
 What had blood atonement to do with suicide? Blood 
 atonement was exacted only when one free native killed 
 another. 
 
 378
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 379 
 
 Huntingdon parted the natives, then drew back horri 
 fied, as his eyes fell upon the Ouroungo! 
 
 " Look, Master," cried Ogula, the shootman, pointing 
 to the dead girl s throat. " Them be proper Gabonaise 
 twist. Gabonaise done kill the Ouroungo! " 
 
 Huntingdon s mind worked quickly. Ndio had mur 
 dered the Ouroungo and Ndio herself was in danger of 
 death! Blood for blood was the native law. Ndio 
 would die unless Huntingdon saved her! 
 
 No thought remained of the wrong she had done him. 
 His one idea was to shield the woman from the rage of 
 the Ouroungoes. Was he powerful enough to do so? 
 Had he gold enough to buy off native justice? The 
 savages were firmly rooted in their practices. Blood 
 for blood had been their law from time out of mind. 
 Could he, a white man, hope to buy off long-rooted cus 
 tom? 
 
 He listened to the speech of the Ouroungoes. 
 
 Chief Ragundo, the murdered girl s grandfather, was 
 trading up the Ogowe. A canoe had already set out to 
 tell him of the tragedy. His return meant Ndio s 
 death. 
 
 Where was Ndio? Back there in her house, indifferent 
 to her fate? 
 
 Huntingdon must save her. Ah, the Nigeria was due ; 
 she was down the coast. He had already cabled Hains to 
 lay to for cargo. He would smuggle the Gabonaise 
 aboard the ship and have Hains take her up the coast to 
 her own people. Once with them she was safe. Chief 
 Ragundo could not possibly return from the Ogowe 
 under three days. The English ship would have come 
 and gone by then.
 
 380 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Other times Huntingdon had summoned the Gabonaise, 
 but now he went in search of her. 
 
 She was not in her house. In the ashes of the fire 
 lay her mirror. The ebony stool was upturned, but no 
 other disorder shown. 
 
 " Huntingdon, Huntingdon," came Ndio s voice from 
 the bush just beyond. 
 
 Huntingdon hurried in the direction of the call. 
 
 The bush was cool and shadowy, the path narrow and 
 winding. 
 
 " Ndio, Ndio," he called softly. " It is I, Hunting 
 don ; come forth, I will save you." 
 
 " Ndio, Ndio," came the mocking answer, and in a 
 palm tree overhead was perched Ndio s parrot. 
 
 " Ah, ha, Huntingdon, pauvre Huntingdon," com 
 miserated the bird as Huntingdon continued his search. 
 
 Suddenly, in the primeval depth of nature run riot, 
 the awful, somber, brooding silence overwhelmed the 
 white man. Fathomless, inexplorable undergrowth and 
 overgrowth menaced and terrified him ; he turned and 
 fled into the open. 
 
 The sun beat upon his unprotected head, for in his 
 haste he had set forth without his helmet. Its heat 
 bored through to the very marrow of his bones, yet all 
 its power could not drive away the chills that suddenly 
 besieged him. Malaria was full upon him, but he heeded 
 not her misery in the rejoicing that was his because of 
 the escape of the Gabonaise. Blood atonement was too 
 terrible to think of in connection with her ! 
 
 Canoes were heading for the beach from all directions. 
 Crowds of natives were already assembled thereon. 
 
 " Makaya, the Loango, him no live," remarked
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 381 
 
 Ngumbe, serving his master s coffee and fruit on the 
 veranda. " Gabonaise gone too," and the boy grinned 
 knowingly. 
 
 Huntingdon s blood boiled within him. 
 
 Had he, the master, been the only one blind to exist 
 ing conditions? 
 
 The white men would soon come, shrug their shoulders, 
 and cry : " I told you so." He was glad Moore and 
 Sadler were away in the bush. That much humiliation 
 was spared him. LeBlanc was coming now. 
 
 He pushed his way through the crowded natives, who 
 parted sullenly. The Frenchman was nervous, un 
 strung, he spoke disjointedly, and about him was the 
 odor of absinthe. 
 
 " Oh, these women, they re fiends when they re 
 aroused. Mon Dieu, Sacre Coeurf Tragique! Quel 
 desaster! La, la! The Commandant notify him a la 
 moment, before the natives tell him lies. Mais, non, 
 non, I think Monsieur le Commandant no take action 
 until he hears directly from you. No matter, he won t 
 get a show at the trial of La Belle Gabonaise. The 
 French know enough in a palaver of this sort to let 
 native justice have its way. You might, alors, as a 
 matter of form, ask le Commandant for the gendarmes 
 to protect the woman ! " 
 
 " The Gabonaise is gone fled ! " Huntingdon an 
 swered quietly. 
 
 " Le diable! Where did she go ?" 
 
 " I don t know. Makaya s gone too." 
 
 " Naturellement," and the Frenchman shrugged his 
 shoulders. " They re both as good as dead. The Gabo 
 naise will kill the Loango for betraying her, and the
 
 382 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Ouroungoes will dispatch the woman for killing the girl. 
 Voila! " 
 
 LeBlanc lightly dismissed the matter, and poured him 
 self a draft of absinthe. 
 
 " Did it strike you, Monsieur LeBlanc that the Loango 
 will tell the Gabonaue that it was you who betrayed 
 her? " 
 
 Huntingdon s cruelty was deliberate. It was the first 
 time in his life he ever wounded a guest. But Africa 
 had strangled the old, chivalrous Huntingdon. A newer, 
 a coarser man was in his place. 
 
 The Frenchman s terror was pitiful. 
 
 " Mon Dieu, tis true ! The poison, the secret poison 
 will get me, the poison of the Mpangwes. Ah, you cold 
 blooded Anglais, does it not frighten you, do you not 
 already see me dead out there in the sand under those 
 cocatiers? " 
 
 " Wait until you re dead before you cry," sneered 
 Huntingdon, contemptuously. " Once safe away, the 
 Gabonaise won t be fool enough to return to poison a 
 creature like you." 
 
 " Mais, Mon Dieu, she can send ! Monsieur Hunt 
 ingdon, you do not appreciate the diablerie of these black 
 fiends. You refuse to understand them, otherwise you 
 would have known all along what every white and black 
 man on the entire coast knew, that La Belle Gabonaise 
 was making sport of you." 
 
 " I ll notify the Commandant," and Huntingdon 
 abruptly disappeared within. 
 
 LeBlanc poured another great draught of absinthe 
 and drank it neat.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 383 
 
 " Ngumbe," he said in a low tone, " how did them 
 palaver go after I left last night? " 
 
 " Me, I no savvy," said the boy, contradiction in his 
 tones. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do." 
 
 The Frenchman laid a franc on the table. 
 
 The boy reached for the money, put it in his cloth 
 and spoke rapidly in a low voice, his eyes on the door. 
 
 " When Frenchman him go for home, master him call 
 them Loango for back where big cotton tree live. Then 
 him blow for Gabonaise. Master him head go for him 
 hands so," and the boy dropped his head in his hands. 
 " Him make so for long, long time. Them Loango all 
 time lay at master s feet, him head in the sand. Them 
 Gabonaise never come. Then master blow two times two 
 times. Gabonaise come from bungalow all same like 
 bushwoman no cloth. Master he tell them Loango 
 twenty-five for chicotte. Loango he make them whip go 
 and master him run for house. Things for him room 
 all make noise. I fear. Then master blow whistle hard, 
 hard. Me, I come. Master him like beast for jungle. 
 Him cry for the Ouroungo. The Ouroungo come I 
 go for bed. At sunup them Ouroungo live for dead. 
 Hush, master live ! " 
 
 Huntingdon s letter to the Commandant was brief. It 
 simply stated that a murder had been committed on his 
 premises and he awaited the pleasure of the Commandant 
 to call and report in person. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur, regardez" cried the Frenchman. 
 " Here comes the Commandant s mistress. She s look 
 ing at you, Huntingdon. They all look at you, these
 
 384 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 wenches. Regardez encore, here come the Douane s mis 
 tress, and Gottschalk s and Wildman s. The jolies 
 femmes are all out. Dressed up, too, for your benefit. 
 Everyone would leave their owners, if you but looked 
 at them. Bah, you cold Anglais, you draw the ardent 
 woman ! We Frenchmen, all fire, have no chance when 
 you re around ! " 
 
 Huntingdon remained silent. 
 
 " Ah, you Anglais. You speak nothing of V amour. 
 You live it not again by telling it to your friends. We 
 Frenchmen must speak of our mistresses or we are 
 miserable! Ah, you fish, you CLAM, you STONE ! It 
 is so. The women love you, a f rapped creature, rather 
 than a Frenchman like me, who is all fire, FIRE, FIRE! 
 Here come Gottschalk and Wildman themselves," he 
 broke off suddenly, and called out gayly : " Bon jour, 
 mes ames! Entrez! II fait bon ce matin! " 
 
 " Himmel! these women," said Gottschalk, the German. 
 " They ought to be all tied with thongs can t trust 
 one of them and nobody would think of trusting a native 
 woman save an Englishman. A German knows better." 
 
 " And so does a Swiss," put in Wildman. 
 
 " Master, police live," warned Ngumbe. 
 
 Huntingdon arose and returned the salute of the 
 negro sergeant. 
 
 " Monsieur Huntingdon, we have come for the Gabo- 
 naise, Ndio." 
 
 " She is not here," answered Huntingdon, quietly. 
 
 " We will look for her in her house." The sergeant 
 saluted again, and, followed by his police and an excited 
 crowd of natives, he set forth to seek the Gabonaise. 
 
 " The Commandant would not submit Monsieur Hunt-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 385 
 
 ingdon, a white man, to a search of his house by black 
 police," said LeBlanc significantly. 
 
 The German and the Swiss looked up. 
 
 " Can we help you in any way? " asked the Swiss of 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 It was patent that the men believed the Gabonaise was 
 hidden in Huntingdon s bungalow. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I repeat, the Gabonaise has disap 
 peared." 
 
 Not a man believed Huntingdon, yet none of them 
 gainsaid him in his presence. 
 
 Ngumbe reported that the Commandant was in his 
 bureau, and Avould receive Monsieur Huntingdon at 
 once! 
 
 For the first time since his killing of the leopard which 
 had terrorized the natives, seven years ago, Huntingdon 
 was allowed to pass without the hearty native salute: 
 
 " Mpolo, mpolo Tata Otangani." 
 
 But Huntingdon did not notice the omission. He 
 made his way hurriedly down the beach, indifferent to 
 the crowd that followed him. 
 
 The palaver with the Commandant was very formal. 
 
 The Commandant wrote out Huntingdon s statement. 
 It simply averred that a murder had been committed on 
 his premises. 
 
 With a flourish the Commandant signed it then 
 laid it away to be lost. 
 
 Absinthe was ordered. 
 
 " You ought to have known, Monsieur Huntingdon, 
 that these women are not to be trusted. You savvy, how 
 the Gabonaise deserted me for you " and the French 
 man impatiently shrugged his shoulders " but she
 
 386 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 came back again. After her last rendezvous with me 
 she stole nearly all my clothing and gave it to her nigger 
 paramour. The last time you were up at Ninga Sika 
 and she plead illness, you were no sooner across the bay 
 than she was off with my chef." 
 
 Huntingdon writhed beneath the Commandant s dis 
 closures. He took draught after draught of absinthe, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 " Now that you savvy what these women are, treat 
 them like the dirt under 3 our feet change them at 
 will. The Consul General of the Congo leaves Braz 
 zaville on the 23rd, on his way to Europe. He s bring 
 ing his mistress to me. She s a Portuguese half-cast. 
 The woman I have now isn t half bad why don t 
 you take her? " 
 
 Disgust was again quick in Huntingdon. 
 
 " No, thanks, Monsieur le Commandant, I ve had 
 enough of women." 
 
 The Commandant laughed and playfully pinched 
 Huntingdon s arm. 
 
 " We all say that, when the barb of betrayal first 
 enters. But we soon forget especially out here, 
 midst I ennui and la tristesse. Oh, en passant! I hear 
 you ve telegraphed the Nigeria to stand off Cape 
 Lopez The Commandant paused, significantly. 
 " She s liable to anchor in the night. Can you trust 
 your men? Remember they re Ouroungoes, pledged 
 body and soul to Chief Ragundo, the grandfather of 
 the murdered girl, and the head of their tribe. I think 
 I d better let you have my tirailleurs. You can depend 
 on them. They re Malgash and Mohammedans." 
 
 " You are very kind, Monsieur le Commandant, but I
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 387 
 
 assure you on the honor of a British gentleman, the 
 Gabonaise has escaped." 
 
 Again the Commandant shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " As to the Nigeria," went on Huntingdon, " I did 
 telegraph her to put in. That was before the murder. 
 I ve a big shipment of logs ready. But I confess to 
 you, had the Gabonaise been in hiding, I would have 
 done my utmost to send her north with Captain Hains. 
 I couldn t see the woman delivered to her enemies." 
 
 " I hope, Monsieur Huntingdon, for your sake that 
 she has gotten safely away. She couldn t do so now. 
 The alarm has gone broadcast. Cape Lopez is swarm 
 ing with Ouroungoes. Their number will grow greater. 
 Chief Ragundo is beloved by his people and they will 
 help him revenge his granddaughter. Every hectar of 
 Cape Lopez and the bush will be scoured for her." 
 
 " The Loango s gone too." 
 
 " Ah ! That means she s fled south. Perhaps Ma- 
 kaya s powerful enough among his own people to pro 
 tect her but I doubt it blood for blood is the uni 
 versal law of the savages. If the Gabonaise succeeds in 
 getting as far as Libreville in the north, and off to the 
 Crystal Mountains to her own tribe, she will be perfectly 
 safe. Her father is a powerful king. I ve marveled 
 all along why she tarried here in this triste Cape Lopez 
 when there is the lieutenant-governor at Libreville 
 a young, very attractive French gentleman of the 
 haute noblesse." 
 
 Although heavy with fever, tired and depressed, 
 Huntingdon continued to rejoice over the escape of the 
 Gabonaise. 
 
 He did not mind the swarming of the natives, their
 
 388 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 sullen silence when he passed, their constant guarding of 
 his premises. 
 
 He had nothing to conceal. He feared no danger to 
 himself. Nevertheless, he would make a big cash pay 
 ment to Chief Ragundo for the loss of his grand 
 daughter. He sincerely regretted the murder, but he 
 did not consider that he was in any way responsible for 
 it. The old chief had repeatedly importuned him to 
 take his women, and because he had done so, and 
 tragedy had resulted, the old chief could do naught else 
 than hold Huntingdon blameless.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE Nigeria anchored during the night. She was 
 immediately surrounded by a cordon of native canoes. 
 The Ouroungoes determined to frustrate any attempt to 
 smuggle the Gabonaise aboard. 
 
 The Nigeria s anchor had scarce touched bottom 
 when a surf boat was lowered and Skipper Hains was 
 rowed at once to Huntingdon s beach. 
 
 Native canoes were detailed to follow the surf boat, 
 pickets were placed on the beach and about Hunting 
 don s bungalow. It was impossible for anybody to pass 
 through the lines of the Ouroungoes without their 
 consent. 
 
 The skipper awakened Huntingdon from a sound 
 sleep. He held out his broad, honest palms and cried: 
 
 " I m here, me lad. I crowded on every pound of 
 steam to reach ye. It s a nasty mess, but I m here to 
 get ye out of it. Ye must have been all-fired mad to 
 have murdered the Gabonaise, and ye re to be arrested, 
 eh? Well, there s no French or any other foreign na 
 tion going to arrest an Englishman when there s an 
 Irish skipper and his boat within hailing distance. As 
 for them bally niggers outside, come on, we ll show em 
 how the Irish run the gauntlet. We ll shell the whole 
 rotten gang if we have to ! " 
 
 Huntingdon listened to the Captain s version of the 
 tragedy, then burst out in nervous laughter. 
 
 389
 
 390 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " It s no laughing matter yet, me lad ; wait until we 
 clear the enemy s lines. Into your duds, me boy ; every 
 moment s precious. When daylight comes it won t be 
 so easy." 
 
 " You re a jolly fine friend in need, Skipper, but 
 gossip got mighty badly twisted this time. I didn t 
 kill the Gabonaise. Sit down and I ll tell you the true 
 palaver." 
 
 Hains listened patiently to Huntingdon s recital, then 
 blurted out: 
 
 " I m blooming glad, me lad, that ye didn t soil your 
 hands with the murder of a nigger although, mind 
 ye, I wouldn t censure ye if ye had, for young blood is 
 hot blood. As for woman-palaver men will be men 
 and niggers are niggers. Ye plunged into the pit I 
 warned ye forninst. I m Irish and it ain t me way to 
 censure a friend in need. But if the Gabonaise is in 
 hiding, give her to me. I ll get her away safe and 
 sound. I ll put her off at Gaboon among her own where 
 she ll be safe." 
 
 Huntingdon answered petulantly : " I tell you, Skip 
 per, the Gabonaise has escaped. Nobody wants to take 
 my word for it, but I assure you on my honor as an 
 English gentleman that the woman got a.wa,y ! " 
 
 That s enough, me lad. No more s to be said. 
 But when I got your wire down the coast and heard 
 the gossip that had come by another wire that you had 
 murdered a native woman and all the rest of it I 
 swore by the Union Jack that if you were living when 
 I got to Cape Lopez, nobody but an Irishman would 
 take you prisoner and that Irishman would be me.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 391 
 
 Once aboard the Nigeria, you d be as free as her hal 
 yards." 
 
 " You re a brick, Skipper," began Huntingdon, but 
 the doughty captain, short, stalky and in white, with 
 the four strips of galoon on his sleeves showing his rank, 
 cried : 
 
 " I m damned glad the business is finished. Day 
 light s here and I m hungry as a shark." 
 
 From the veranda he sounded a sharp blast on his 
 whistle. 
 
 " Aye, aye, Captain," answered a voice from the 
 beach. 
 
 Hains made a megaphone of his hands and called in 
 stentorian tones : 
 
 " Me compliments to Mr. Shale, the Chief Steward. 
 Have him send off breakfast for two one time." 
 
 " Aye, aye, Captain." 
 
 Ever since the captain s entrance to Huntingdon s 
 bungalow the natives had grown in numbers. They 
 were sure a plot was being hatched to smuggle the 
 Gabonaise aboard the English ship. In the absence of 
 Chief Ragundo, his brothers directed affairs. Their 
 orders were positive: 
 
 " The Gabonaise shall not leave Cape Lopez. She 
 shall suffer the atonement. No one can kill an Our- 
 oungo and live ! " 
 
 Couriers had been sent throughout the entire coun 
 try summoning all the relatives of the dead woman, 
 even unto the sixth cousins, and every hour satv them 
 hastening to Cape Lopez. The whole tribe of the Our- 
 oungoes stood as one man to avenge the death of their
 
 392 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 kinswoman. Family disputes were put aside for the 
 time. The unity of revenge drew the savages together. 
 
 Already levy was also being made for palm-wine, 
 plantains, manioc, and gunpowder to celebrate the great 
 festival of death. The dead woman was sure of a 
 proper burial ceremony because of the rank of her grand 
 father, but the ceremony would be prolonged and more 
 riotous because of the manner of her death. 
 
 Skipper Hains ordered the ship s hands about load 
 ing timber. Employment was offered to any Cape 
 Lopez natives who would come forward. None com 
 plied. 
 
 Hains was anxious to return down the coast for the 
 cargo he had passed up when he received Huntingdon s 
 wire. 
 
 Between log rolling and lashing, and the excitement 
 of the jabbering Ouroungoes, pandemonium reigned on 
 the beach. 
 
 The Commandant sent an orderly with a note beg 
 ging the Englishman to let him know if troops were 
 needed and to remind Huntingdon of the Commandant s 
 friendship but the Frenchman added: "If my men 
 see the Gabonaise they must take her." He heavily 
 underscored the word see. 
 
 Huntingdon passed the note to the skipper. 
 
 Not a bad sort that for a Frenchman," acknowl 
 edged the skipper. 
 
 Huntingdon assured the Commandant that troops 
 were not necessary. He repeated that the Gabonaise 
 was not on the premises. That he did not know where 
 she was. 
 
 Me lad, did ye get me those carved ivories ye
 
 393 
 
 promised to order six months back ? " asked the skip 
 per. 
 
 " Yes, there are a dozen carved tusks in the store 
 room. Come along, I ll show them to you and you can 
 select what you wish." 
 
 " They ll wait until after breakfast. The surf boat s 
 putting off now. I m so hungry I could eat manioc, 
 and I hate anything the dirty natives put hand to." 
 
 " Why didn t you say you were hungry, Skipper? 
 I would have given you some chop." 
 
 " What ! eat tins when we ve fresh stuff aboard ? Not 
 me." 
 
 The breakfast was plentiful and both men ate 
 heartily. 
 
 They remained on the veranda in full view of the 
 natives until eleven o clock, when the heat commenced 
 to stoke up and they retired to Huntingdon s sleeping- 
 room. 
 
 " Stetch out, Skipper," said Huntingdon, " and en 
 joy forty winks." 
 
 " Faith and I need them," said the skipper, taking 
 off his coat and stretching at full length on the bed. 
 " I haven t rested a minute since I heard of your mammy 
 palaver. Well, it s ended and I m mighty glad of it. 
 I ve given orders to get them logs aboard as quick as 
 possible. I m not needed here and I m longing to be 
 about me business. I ll look at the ivories now and have 
 em sent off, then I can rest until it s time to steam 
 away." 
 
 Huntingdon disappeared in the storeroom beyond his 
 sleeping-chamber. 
 
 The place was in total darkness.
 
 394 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 He threw wide a shutter. 
 
 A flood of searching sunlight rushed in, accompanied 
 by the heads of prying natives. They were chattering 
 excitedly and watched Huntingdon closely. 
 
 The latter went about whistling, indifferent to their 
 espionage. He had nothing to hide nothing to fear ! 
 
 He stooped to pick up a great carved ivory, when a 
 warning whisper fell upon his ears, freezing the very 
 blood in his veins ! 
 
 " Huntingdon, I m here," came the voice of the 
 Gabonaise. 
 
 Ndio there, in that room, where the brilliant sunlight 
 might betray her any moment ! 
 
 He wanted to rush to the window, to close the shutter, 
 but he had no control over his limbs. Power to move 
 had left him. Yet he must act or the woman would be 
 lost. She would not have dared utter the warning 
 whisper had the natives not been talking wildly among 
 themselves. 
 
 An eternity seemed to elapse before Huntingdon 
 pulled himself together with a mighty effort. 
 
 Picking up a great tusk of ivory, he advanced to 
 wards the window. 
 
 " Here, you ! " 
 
 A number of natives essayed to jump into the room. 
 
 " One s enough. You come," and he indicated a 
 powerful Ouroungo who had one leg over the window- 
 sill. 
 
 The fellow vaulted lightly into the room. 
 
 Huntingdon loaded the ivory onto his shoulder and 
 commanded : 
 
 " Into that room ! "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 395 
 
 The native passed into Huntingdon s sleeping-cham 
 ber. 
 
 Complete master of himself, with slow, easy move 
 ments, Huntingdon leaned out of the window. His wide 
 shoulders covered the window space, and the natives 
 retreated before him. 
 
 He looked out over the black heads and remarked the 
 growing numbers of the savages. 
 
 " You don t love your Mpolo Tata Otangani any 
 more," he smiled. 
 
 There was sullen silence. 
 
 Huntingdon let the trap window fall with a bang and 
 locked it. 
 
 " Ndio," he cried nervously, " I thought you had 
 escaped to the bush ! " 
 
 " I slipped in here when you and the others were 
 looking at her." 
 
 " But that was yesterday. Why didn t you make 
 your presence known? Why did you wait?" 
 
 He was groping about in the dark, trying to find 
 her. 
 
 " The chicottc, my legs, my sides plenty of - 
 blood." 
 
 Her voice was very weak. 
 
 He reached her. She lay at his feet. 
 
 " You re wounded, suffering 
 
 " Save me, Huntingdon, save me ! " 
 
 The terror in that once proud voice pierced Hunt 
 ingdon s very soul. He bent over her. 
 
 " Here, take this. I ll do my best. But don t let 
 them take you alive." 
 
 He put a keen-edged dagger into her hand and faced
 
 396 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 a k ou t just as the Ouroungo came through the door 
 from his sleeping-chamber. 
 
 " I ve something for you, my man," said Hunting 
 don lightly in the Ouroungo tongue, pushing the native 
 ahead of him. "You ve got to go out through the 
 chop room. The storeroom window s locked." 
 
 The native grunted in recognition of a head of to 
 bacco and passed out. 
 
 Skipper Hains lay with his eyes shut. 
 
 Huntingdon s mind was in a whirlwind. Ndio was 
 there, wounded, he must save her, but how! HOW ! ! 
 
 He paced back and forth. 
 
 The captain opened his eyes. 
 
 " Double up on your quinine, me lad, and take a stiff 
 drink. Your nerves are going some. You re the 
 color of chalk. Malaria, eh? Rotten ailment. Come, 
 take a run down the coast with me. A change on the 
 ship will do you good. A severe dose of Africa just 
 now ll bowl you out, and mebbe for good." 
 
 " She s there, Skipper, the Gabonaise is there," cried 
 Huntingdon, wildly pointing to the storeroom. 
 
 The skipper jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat and 
 buttoned it furiously. 
 
 " A pretty kettle of fish ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 " I didn t know it, Skipper, I didn t know it until 
 just now. I give you my word I didn t 
 
 " That s all right, me lad, softly, softly." 
 
 " She s wounded, weak, suffering ! She crawled in 
 there yesterday morning when the natives and myself 
 were crowded about the dead woman. We ve got to 
 save her, Skipper, we ve got to save her ! " 
 
 Huntingdon s voice broke and he cried like a woman.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 397 
 
 " Let the wench take her medicine. She gave it to 
 ye pretty strong," answered the skipper, testily. 
 
 Through his tears Huntingdon plead for the woman 
 who had so foully wronged him. 
 
 " Skipper, the Gabonaise saved me from death more 
 than once. Didn t she nurse me back to life when black- 
 water had all but got me ? " 
 
 " Yes, she saved ye for herself because she wanted 
 ye the brute ! " 
 
 " Didn t she intercept the medicine Itula made for me 
 when I caught him stealing from my new factory? " 
 
 " It takes a thief to catch a thief, and a murderer to 
 trap a murderer." 
 
 " Didn t she repeatedly risk death for me by tasting 
 every bit of my food before it came to my table? " 
 
 " Ye repaid her a thousandfold ! " 
 
 " Ah, Skipper, shall it be said that an Englishman 
 is found wanting when the test comes? Shall it be said 
 an Englishman lacks gratitude? " 
 
 The skipper was silent. 
 
 Despair settled upon Huntingdon, and he cried: 
 
 " I ll give myself up to the Ouroungoes. Blood for 
 blood is their demand. White blood is richer than black 
 they ll accept the substitute ! " 
 
 Huntingdon was unnerved he scarce knew what 
 he was doing. 
 
 He started for the door. 
 
 The skipper hauled him back. Huntingdon tried to 
 shake him off, but the skipper s grip was powerful and 
 he raged : " When it comes to substitutes it won t be a 
 white man and an English nobleman at that for any hea 
 then nigger wench. So rest easy while I think a bit."
 
 398 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 All trace of weariness vanished from the skipper. 
 He was the man of action ! 
 
 Huntingdon collapsed on the bed. 
 
 The skipper lighted his meerschaum and puffed vig 
 orously. 
 
 " I presume ye can trust the Commandant in this 
 affair? " he finally asked. 
 
 Huntingdon nodded. 
 
 " His soldiers, what they be? " 
 
 " Malgash! " 
 
 " Good." 
 
 " You re not going to make a bolt for the Nigeria 
 with her, are you ? " and Huntingdon stared wildly at 
 the captain. 
 
 "Do I look like such a dom fool, me lad? Looks is 
 mighty deceivin then. Midday I m hungry. Cox- 
 un," he roared out over the veranda. 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 The natives listened sullenly as the captain shouted 
 his orders : 
 
 " Me compliments to the chief steward. I ll lunch 
 ashore with Mr. Huntingdon. Send plenty of grub 
 some roast beef, raws eggs, some canned milk and a bot 
 tle of Hennesy ! " 
 
 " Aye, aye, Captain," the man saluted and started 
 away but the skipper yelled, as he darted within : 
 
 " Stand-by a bit." 
 
 He hurried to the storeroom, closing the door softly 
 behind him. Huntingdon heard a match light. Then 
 Hains came forth almost immediately and out on the 
 veranda he shouted to his coxswain :
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 399 
 
 " Mr. Huntingdon s cook s taken French leave. Have 
 the boy, Iguela, come to take his place." 
 
 " Aye, aye, Captain." 
 
 Iguela, a slender Mandigan, clad only in a loin cloth 
 stepped on to the veranda. Hains rushed forth and 
 laid a chicotte vigorously across his shoulders, bellowing : 
 
 " Ye blue-spotted son of Ham ! Don t ye know better 
 than to come ashore to serve me undressed like the 
 heathen ye are? Get off to the ship, one time, and put 
 on your clothes all of them, d ye hear ? If ye play 
 me a trick like that again, I ll flog the life out of ye." 
 
 The boy ran with all his might towards the beach, 
 the Ouroungoes jeering at his discomfiture. 
 
 Again the captain 3^elled : 
 
 " Send Sampson ! " 
 
 Sampson, the big, powerful Kru, appeared. 
 
 The natives crowded closer they weren t going to 
 be caught napping. Their suspicions of the skipper had 
 been continually growing. Runners reported from all 
 parts of the bush that the Gabonaise had not passed 
 through. The Englishman had declared she was not on 
 his premises but he evidently knew where she was hid 
 den. They would watch him, and get her ! 
 
 " Sampson, how long it be before them logs be all 
 stowed? " roared Hains. 
 
 " Sundown, master ; the surf runs heavy it and the 
 Ouroungoes keep back the work." 
 
 " Do you expect to keep me laying around this flea- 
 bitten hole all that time? " raged Skipper Hains in tones 
 loud enough to be heard away out in the bay, where his 
 ship was anchored. " Logs must all be stored by four
 
 400 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 o clock. Put more men at work and flog the interfering 
 natives out of the way, savvy? " 
 
 " Aye, aye, Captain." 
 
 " Here s a key take it to the first officer and tell 
 him " the skipper fumbled through his pockets, then 
 began to swear. "Where in hell re my keys? Come 
 here, Sampson, they re inside." 
 
 Away from the prying natives, the captain lowered 
 his voice and spoke quickly : 
 
 " Sampson, if them logs is all stowed BEFORE sun 
 down YOU GET DOCKED A MONTH S WAGES, 
 savvy? " 
 
 The eyes of the intelligent Km and those of the Irish 
 man met. 
 
 " I savvy, master." 
 
 " Now get to work," roared Hains, once more on the 
 veranda and playing to the gallery. " This is a hell 
 of a place if my keys are lost somebody ll get it. 
 See to it that ye have the ship scoured for them. And 
 tell Mr. Frazer to get up steam. We leave at four 
 o clock. Not another minute ll I pass in this infernal 
 hole if I go begging for cargo ! " 
 
 " Is it all arranged? " asked Huntingdon, through his 
 chattering teeth. 
 
 He lay on the bed, smothered in blankets and tarpaul 
 ins. African fever was shaking the life out of him. 
 His temperature was high, dangerously high, his eyes 
 unnaturally bright, and a red spot burned on either 
 cheek. The unexpected discovery of the Gabonaise had 
 completely unnerved him and fever laid him helpless. 
 
 " Softly, softly, me lad, here come grub and Iguela."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 401 
 
 Iguela was clad in a white duck suit his feet and 
 head bare. 
 
 " Bring the drinks and the eggs and milk in here, 
 Iguela. Open them brandy and do ye lay the table on 
 the veranda and stand-by for service." 
 
 The skipper intently watched the coming and going 
 of Ngumbe. 
 
 The moment he was waiting for came. 
 
 The living-room was deserted. 
 
 Slamming the eggs into a glass, jamming his knife 
 into a can of milk and grabbing the bottle of Hennesy, 
 the skipper disappeared into the storeroom and was 
 back again in less time than it takes to record it. 
 
 Huntingdon smiled gratefully, but made no comment. 
 
 Dinner was announced. 
 
 " Up, up, me lad. Tough lines, but ye ve got to 
 avoid suspicion. It s well the savages are sober, else 
 there d be no controlling them. And if ye didn t stand 
 in such good feather with them, it d be worse for ye. 
 Ye ve always treated the vermin square an honorable. 
 They heard ye pass your Word that the wench was not 
 here so act up to it, or Irish Hains won t answer for 
 the consequences." 
 
 The skipper pushed back the heavy covering and 
 helped Huntingdon to his feet. 
 
 Huntingdon could scarcely stand upright. His head 
 throbbed, his eyeballs burned, every joint in his body 
 pained him, and his knees were almost bent under him. 
 
 The Irishman gave him a full tumbler of brandy, and 
 with it Huntingdon washed down a handful of powdered 
 quinine. 
 
 Again the meal was eaten in full view of the natives.
 
 402 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Every mouthful choked Huntingdon and twas all he 
 could do to restrain his stomach from rejecting it. 
 
 He crowded on more brandy natural endurance 
 he had none. 
 
 Over the heads of the Ouroungoes Hains bellowed : 
 
 " Sampson, hurry up the boys! No palavering over 
 chop! If logs ain t all stowed by four o clock not 
 a son of Ham ll receive tuppence ! " 
 
 Iguela was squatted on the veranda. 
 
 " Stand-by, me lad," roared Skipper Hains. " I ve 
 got ivories for ye to take aboard." 
 
 Inside the bedroom Hains shouted: 
 
 " With your leave I m going to turn in, Mr. Hunting 
 don. Do likewise, the heat s infernal." 
 
 But Huntingdon was already in bed. Fever was again 
 shaking the life out of him. 
 
 Growling about the heat and the glare, the skipper 
 loudly banged windows and shutters to. 
 
 The chatter without died away, as the natives sought 
 the shade from the intense o erhead rays of the noon 
 day sun. 
 
 But a strict watch was kept on bungalow and beach. 
 
 Iguela lay snoring on the veranda. 
 
 " For heaven s sake, Skipper," cried Huntingdon in a 
 tragic whisper, " tell me your plan and end my misery ! " 
 
 " Softly, me lad, softly. One head s enough to man 
 age this business. Have you got a pair of decent 
 clippers ? " 
 
 Huntingdon pointed to a nail on the wall. 
 
 The captain took down the clippers. 
 
 He went to the storeroom and lead out the Gabonaise. 
 
 She was pitifully weak.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 403 
 
 Huntingdon hid his head and groaned when he beheld 
 her lacerated flesh. 
 
 She was still nude. 
 
 Tenderly the skipper wrapped a great bath towel 
 about her, and placed her in a chair. He bade Hunting 
 don hold a pillowcase while he clipped her hair. 
 
 Not a strand of it was permitted to fall ! 
 
 Not a word was spoken ! 
 
 Suddenly, the Gabonaise kissed the skipper s hand ! 
 
 Roughly, the skipper drew away, but there were tears 
 in his eyes ! 
 
 The woman was sorely maimed ! Through her lacer 
 ated sides her ribs showed ; her left breast was split 
 open and her face was swollen and distorted beyond 
 recognition. 
 
 Huntingdon could bear up no longer ! 
 
 He threw himself on the bed and sobbed convulsively ! 
 
 Tenderly the skipper lead the Gabonaise back to the 
 storeroom. 
 
 He held low converse with her again and again he 
 repeated his commands. 
 
 As he closed the door, he growled in his worst tones : 
 
 " Damn nigger wenches rc more bother than they re 
 worth. But I m Irish Irish " 
 
 He ignored the storm of emotion besieging Hunting 
 don. 
 
 He settled himself in a chair and smoked pipe after 
 pipe.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 FOUR o clock came. 
 
 Black smoke belched from the Nigeria s funnels. 
 
 The logs were not nearly all loaded. The skipper 
 was on the beach swearing lustily. He wouldn t pay 
 a nigger tuppence because of slow work ! He was go 
 ing to put out at once! He wouldn t delay another 
 moment ! 
 
 " Give me until sundown," begged Sampson, the Km, 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 " Until sundown then, you son of Ham, but not a 
 second longer ! " raged Skipper Hains, and Sampson, 
 chicotte in hand, plunged into the surf and vigorously 
 belabored the perspiring crewboys. 
 
 But the tide was coming in ; the surf roared ominously, 
 hurling spray in all directions, and impeding the lashing 
 and towing of the timber. The cretvboys too were 
 exhausted and worked indifferently. 
 
 The natives were packed solid. They grew more 
 excited as the hour for the Nigeria s departure drew 
 nigh. 
 
 Along the beach the Commandant preceded by his 
 police was seen approaching. The Douane, LeBlanc, 
 Gottschalk and Wildman brought up the rear. 
 
 With lowered bayonets, the guard forced a pass 
 through the throng. 
 
 The white men gained Huntingdon s veranda. 
 404
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 405 
 
 They greeted each other as though nothing were 
 amiss. 
 
 Drinks and cigarettes were proffered and accepted. 
 
 Every action was visible and every word spoken was 
 audible to the crowding natives. 
 
 Everything else was discussed save the matter in hand. 
 It was ignored by tacit, mutual understanding. 
 
 Odds were laid that the logs would not be stowed by 
 sundown. The skipper swore repeatedly that, logs or 
 no logs, at sundown the Nigeria would steam away. 
 
 Although apparently the usual leave-taking when a 
 steamer was about to leave port, each and every white 
 man knew that a crisis was approaching. They felt it 
 in the surcharged air ; the pushing and crowding of the 
 determined natives ; in Skipper Hains assumed bluster ; 
 and in Huntingdon s strained silence. 
 
 The Commandant had his mind made up. He would 
 have no blood shed for the Gabonaise. He would de 
 liver her to the Ouroungoes. He was sorry to follow 
 such a course, but what else could he do ? His spies had 
 warned him that the Gabonaise had not yet been smug 
 gled aboard the Nigeria, that she had not passed through 
 the bush, and he never for an instant believed Hunting 
 don s assertions that the woman had escaped. Had an 
 attempt been made in the darkness of the previous night 
 to get the woman aboard the English steamer, the Com 
 mandant would have abetted it. Hence the offer of his 
 guard to Huntingdon. But Huntingdon persisted in 
 declaring that the Gabonaise had escaped. Now it was 
 too late she must be delivered to the Ouroungoes! 
 
 Huntingdon was in a sweat of agony. His physical 
 misery was nothing compared with the agony of sus-
 
 406 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 pense. How would the skipper ever smuggle Ndio 
 through that watchful, vengeful crowd ! 
 
 Huntingdon bent over with the weight of his woe. 
 
 The skipper gave him a terrific poke in his ribs. 
 
 " Here s good luck to Mr. Huntingdon," he roared. 
 
 Huntingdon came to life. 
 
 " Ngumbe," he cried, " to the factory. More brandy 
 and absinthe ! " 
 
 " And champagne," shouted Hains. 
 
 The drinks came thick and fast. The white men 
 grew more animated. They stood up drinking to each 
 other s health. They were nervous, all but hysterical. 
 The tension was telling on them. 
 
 " Iguela ! " suddenly bawled the skipper. 
 
 The boy came forward. 
 
 " Heave this stale stuff overboard and bring me a 
 clean glass ! " 
 
 The tumbler was half full of brandy. 
 
 Iguela turned towards the galley. 
 
 The skipper s keen blue eyes followed him. His face 
 flamed so that the blood seemed ready to burst from their 
 arteries. The perspiration trickled through his white 
 clothing. 
 
 Suddenly Iguela raised the glass to his lips and drained 
 its contents ! 
 
 Skipper Hains mopped the sweat from his brow. He 
 grew boisterous, something unusual for him. Forgetful 
 of his dignity he danced a fisher s hornpipe. The white 
 men clapped their hands in time with his step. The na 
 tives looked on in stolid silence. 
 
 Suddenly the skipper resumed his dignity. 
 
 He glanced over the bay.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 407 
 
 The sun was nearing the horizon ! 
 
 Another round of drinks ! 
 
 The great blood-red disc of day hovered on the 
 water s edge, then suddenly disappeared. 
 
 A gun bellowed from the Nigeria s decks. 
 
 Down came the ship s flag. On the beach at the 
 Douant s and the Commandant s flags were also lowered. 
 
 " Sundown, by all the gods ! " roared Irish Hains. 
 " Logs or no logs, off we go. Sampson, every man 
 aboard ! Let the logs in the water go. I ve already 
 delayed too long ! " 
 
 On board and in the water there was great commotion. 
 Ropes were hauled in, winches withdrawn, hatches closed. 
 The crewboys on the unloaded logs dived into the water ; 
 the logs floated out with the tide. 
 
 " Where s that Iguela," thundered Skipper Hains. 
 " Iguela, Iguela ! " 
 
 The Mandigan came slowly forward. 
 
 " Get a move on," roared the Irishman. " Don t act 
 like a corpse. Get in there and bring out them ivories. 
 And be quick about it." 
 
 He gave the boy a shove which sent him sprawling 
 within Huntingdon s bedroom. 
 
 The natives edged closer together. An ominous si 
 lence reigned. 
 
 At a signal from the Commandant, the sharpshooters 
 stood attention. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the skipper, and his voice rang 
 loud and clear in the tense stillness, " your company to 
 dinner on the Nigeria. I ve ordered a good spread." 
 
 " To dinner on the Nigeria," cried the white men in 
 unison, raising their glasses as one man, in a final drink.
 
 408 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Mechanically Huntingdon had acted with them. 
 
 The decisive moment had come. 
 
 What would happen ? 
 
 The white men instinctively drew closer together. All 
 but Huntingdon and the skipper. 
 
 Huntingdon was collapsing. Ndio was abandoned to 
 her fate. 
 
 It was impossible, utterly impossible to smuggle her 
 through that watchful, vengeful crowd. 
 
 She was lost ! 
 
 The guards with lowered bayonets tried to part the 
 crowd. 
 
 Only a narrow opening was essayed. 
 
 The white men would have to pass through in single 
 file! No chance would they have to smuggle the woman 
 with them. 
 
 The tropical night was falling quickly. 
 
 The moon was already growing bright. 
 
 The eyes of the natives like one solid battery were 
 trained on the white men, while their hands rested on 
 their belts and fingered long, ugly-looking knives ! 
 
 Iguela came slowly forth, his hands upraised to steady 
 the ivories on his head. 
 
 " Make way there ! " bellowed Hains, like an enraged 
 bull, pushing Iguela ahead and laying on right and left 
 with his short chicotte. 
 
 The crowd closed in after them. The natives mur 
 mured sullenly. All their faculties were alert. Then 
 someone whispered: 
 
 " Watch Mpolo Tata Otangani! " 
 
 The whisper was taken up, and, like a wave, over
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 409 
 
 the throng swept the warning: Watch Mpolo Tata 
 tang anil 
 
 " Sergeant, make way ! " came the Commandant s 
 crisp command. 
 
 The Malagasys forced an open path. 
 
 The white men, one by one, descended to the beach. 
 
 All save Huntingdon, who was last. 
 
 The natives closed the path and he was hemmed in. 
 
 " Where is the Gabonaise? " someone demanded. 
 
 Then came the titanic threat: 
 
 DELIVER US THE GABONAISE ! 
 
 The crisis had come! 
 
 With lowered bayonets the tirailleurs tried to force 
 their way back to the Englishman. 
 
 The natives stood a solid phalanx. They budged 
 not an inch ! 
 
 The guns of the sharpshooters were leveled ! 
 
 Hammers clicked! 
 
 Awaited was the command to fire ! 
 
 The lives of the white men hung in the balance! 
 
 Ragundo s brothers had expressly charged the Our- 
 oungoes not to begin an assault. But once the guns of 
 the guard spoke, not a white man would be left to tell 
 the tale. 
 
 And every white man knew it! 
 
 Huntingdon tried to force his way back to the bunga 
 low. He would die by the side of the Gabonaise. 
 
 His act in extremis proved his salvation. 
 
 The natives blocked behind him pushed forward. 
 He was buffeted this way and that, but always to 
 wards the beach!
 
 410 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon had his wits now. He correctly sized 
 up the situation ! He would go to the beach ! It would 
 disarm suspicion that the Gabonaise was in his bungalow ! 
 He rejoiced that his attempt to return to the bungalow 
 had not betrayed the woman s hiding place ! 
 
 Huntingdon squared his broad shoulders ! 
 
 The full realization of his position was upon him ! 
 
 His weakness had vanished ! He did not care for his 
 own life, but he could not desert the Gabonaise, nor 
 would he permit the lives of his friends to be sacrificed 
 if he could avert it. 
 
 He maneuvered so that the natives who thought to 
 withstand him formed the rush line which made his 
 descent to the beach possible. 
 
 He feared every moment the Commandant s order to 
 fire. He knew it would be the death signal for his 
 comrades and himself. 
 
 He longed to cry out to the Commandant to remain 
 silent. But he did not wish to show fear, nor to betray 
 his presence. 
 
 Thanks to the fever and chills consuming him, he 
 wore a dark flannel shirt. 
 
 Right in front of him was big Ogula, the shootman. 
 Behind him was Nkombi Kakhi, his brother. 
 
 There seemed to be some understanding between the 
 bushmen. But Huntingdon was unaware of it. 
 
 The crowd pushed and swayed, ominously silent. 
 
 From the beach rolled a tremendous threat: 
 
 " Who harms a hair of the Englishman s head shall 
 answer to England! Cape Lopez shall be shelled and 
 every nigger sent to hell ! " 
 
 Stock-still stood the negroes. Many of them did not
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 411 
 
 understand the words, but their portent was unmistak 
 able! 
 
 Huntingdon s danger was now greatest. 
 
 His way to the beach was completely blocked by a 
 solid phalanx of awed natives. There had been hope 
 before in the pushing and shoving. 
 
 A sullen growl commenced among the Ouroungoes. 
 
 Their patience was exhausted the leash that held 
 them was at breaking point. 
 
 The white men were never nearer death ! The natives 
 were mad for action, when on the surcharged air there fell 
 a shrill cry : 
 
 " Chief Ragundo, he live, he live ! " 
 
 Huntingdon was startled now the Gabonaise was in 
 for it. No power on earth could save her ! 
 
 Again helplessness enveloped him. 
 
 He could neither return to her and die with her, nor 
 go forward to his friends. 
 
 All was lost! 
 
 He would have sunk into a heap had not the dense 
 mass held him upright. 
 
 Then over Huntingdon s shoulder reached the mighty 
 arm of Nkombi Kakhi ! It rested on the shoulder of 
 his brother, Ogula, the shootman ! 
 
 Gently Huntingdon was forced close, close to Ogula. 
 The three men were as one. 
 
 " Mbega, them cry be Mbega, master," whispered 
 Nkombi Kakhi in the white man s ear. 
 
 Ah, Mbega, the busJiboy! Mbega, who had declared 
 Huntingdon to be his proper master seven long years 
 ago, and who had served him faithfully all that time 1 
 
 Courage came to Huntingdon. Let white men con-
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 tinue to desert him, three friends were left him : Ogula, 
 the shootman, Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, and Mbega, 
 the bushboy! 
 
 There was a fighting chance Huntingdon seized it. 
 
 " Ogula, master must ketch them beach," he whispered 
 into the ear of the giant. 
 
 The words had scarce passed his lips e er Ogula s 
 mighty lungs took up Mbega s cry: 
 
 " Chief Ragundo, he live, he live ! " 
 
 " Chief Ragundo, he live, he live ! " then shouted 
 Nkombi Kakhi in the Ouroungo tongue. 
 
 Like a rushing wave the cry was taken up and floated 
 out to sea ! 
 
 A gentle push from Ogula started the man in front 
 of him, and soon every native was desirous of reaching 
 the beach. 
 
 They wanted to be on hand to greet their chief as 
 he stepped from his canoe. 
 
 Quicker, quicker came the pace. The giant Ogula 
 pulled Huntingdon s arms about his waist, Nkombi 
 Kakhi edged closer to Huntingdon. The three men 
 as one, gained the beach, then Huntingdon made a 
 dash as Ogula, the shootman, stepped from in front of 
 him. 
 
 He vaulted lightly into the Nigeria s life boat, from 
 the stern of which flew the Union Jack ! 
 
 " Safe on English soil, by gad ! " thundered Skipper 
 Hains, from the gunwale in front of Iguela, who sat 
 in the prow, the ivories on his knees. 
 
 The other white men were already in the boat, and 
 natives were plunging into the surf from all directions. 
 
 The furious incoming tide swept over the surf boat
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 413 
 
 drenching its occupants and threatening to capsize it. 
 
 " Cast off, one time," roared Irish Hains, his hand on 
 Iguela s head to steady himself. 
 
 It was Ogula, the shootman, Nkombi Kakhi, his 
 brother, Mbega, the bushboy, and Sampson, the Kru, 
 who obeyed the command. 
 
 The undertow caused the boat to pitch head on and 
 its occupants were thrown into a heap. Skipper Hains 
 fell on Iguela and roared : 
 
 " Sampson, the tiller! " 
 
 With one leap Sampson gained it. He threw all his 
 great strength against it ; he spoke quickly in his own 
 tongue to his oarsmen, other mighty Krus, the pick of 
 his force. Dexterously the head of the boat was kept 
 to sea, while the angry surf combated her right of way, 
 but slowly the boat was carefully worked out of the 
 trough and on to the rollers ! 
 
 Skipper Hains doffed his helmet and welcomed the 
 night breeze. He sent Iguela sprawling to the bottom 
 of the boat and took his seat in the prow. 
 
 Out on the bay in the moonlight a sailing-canoe was 
 driving at full speed before the stiff breeze straight for 
 Cape Lopez. It was the sail which had prompted 
 Mbega s cry and which made his ruse possible. Hence 
 the natives made no attempt to stop the surf boat. 
 They were confident the Gabonaise was not aboard. 
 They awaited their chief he would find the Gabo 
 naise. 
 
 The Nigeria reached, Skipper Hains flogged Iguela 
 up the ladder. 
 
 " Put them ivories in me cabin, and take your black 
 mug out of me sight," he bellowed.
 
 4,14. HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon brooded in silence. 
 
 The skipper had failed him. There was but one thing 
 for him to do: to deliver himself to the Ouroungoes. 
 They would haye to accept him in lieu of the Gabo 
 naise. 
 
 He was more determined than ever that she should not 
 fall into their hands. 
 
 After the nervous strain of the past few hours, dinner 
 was unusually lively. 
 
 The other white men drank too much to notice Hunt 
 ingdon s absorption. He sat as one on whom the mantle 
 of death had fallen. 
 
 " Say, Monsieur Huntingdon," hiccoughed the Com 
 mandant, " I owe you a million apologies. I felt sure 
 you had hidden la bella Gabonaise and would attempt 
 to smuggle her aboard good Skipper Hains boat. Ah, 
 what a ravishing beauty she was ! Mon Dieu, such ardor 
 as was hers ! We know, all of us, LeBlanc, Wildman, 
 Gottschalk twould be terrible for the ignorant Our 
 oungoes to destroy that Venus in Mahogany ! To thee, 
 la belle Gabonaise, I send a million embraces ! May 
 the Ouroungoes never see even the curve of thy divine 
 back ! " 
 
 " To la belle Gabonaise," came the toast and the 
 Commandant, LeBlanc, Wildman and Gottschalk drank 
 deep. 
 
 Skipper Hains was busy opening a bottle of Teneriffe 
 wine but no one noticed his failure to respond to the 
 toast. 
 
 As for Huntingdon, he was too miserable to care what 
 white men did. He was done with them. 
 
 The dinner seemed endless to him.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 415 
 
 After it was finished, Skipper Hains avoided him. 
 
 Huntingdon did not care. He was hardened to de 
 sertion when he needed succor most. 
 
 Silently he followed the other white men into the canoe 
 to go ashore. 
 
 Silently he took leave of them on the beach. 
 
 He pushed through the natives still surrounding his 
 premises; let them guard him until Doomsday, he swore 
 the Gabonaise would never fall into their hands ! 
 
 The Nigeria pulled anchor, and steamed away. 
 
 Huntingdon bade Ngumbe close up for the night. 
 
 Apparently indifferent, Huntingdon bellowed loud for 
 a drink and something to smoke. 
 
 Yet all the time his brain was in a tumult. 
 
 The Gabonaise was there, in his storeroom. 
 
 Would it be his life for hers, or had he wealth enough 
 to buy her release from Chief Ragundo? 
 
 The old chief, himself, might be willing to accept 
 gold, but would he, the head of his tribe, dare violate 
 one of its strictest customs? 
 
 Huntingdon knew that Mbega s cry was a ruse 
 the bushboy had made good at the psychological moment 
 but Chief Ragundo was liable to come any time. 
 Until then Huntingdon had a part to play. He must 
 appear indifferent to the espionage of the natives. He 
 must show no anxiety to be alone. 
 
 Ngumbe must be allowed to roam about the bungalow 
 as was his custom. He would not enter the storeroom. 
 Ever since Itula had been caught thieving, no one save 
 Huntingdon ever entered there. It was always kept 
 locked. That it was open the night of the murder was 
 because of the events preceding it.
 
 416 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 So far then as immediate discover} was concerned, 
 the Gabonmse was safe. 
 
 Should Chief Ragundo refuse to accept Huntingdon 
 as her substitute, or her weight in gold, then he, Hunt 
 ingdon, would murder the woman with his own hands ! 
 
 " Ngumbe," he drawled, " Chief Ragundo, he live? " 
 
 " No, master. Mbega never see proper for him eye. 
 He be bushboy " and great was Ngumbe s contempt 
 " him never see proper." 
 
 " Yes, he be bushboy, proper bushboy" Huntingdon 
 drawled. 
 
 Ngumbe, not clever in interpreting tones, grunted : 
 
 " Aye, it be true, him be proper bushboy" 
 
 Despite his physical weakness and the tumult in his 
 brain Huntingdon slowly smoked his pipe and sipped 
 absinthe. 
 
 He sauntered to the doorway. 
 
 He stood looking out into the night he appeared 
 reluctant to retire, yet all the time he was anxious to 
 get to the Gabonaise, and his limbs could scarce support 
 his body. 
 
 He ignored the thumping in his head, the sweat 
 deluging him, the chills freezing the very marrow; in his 
 bones ! 
 
 Ngumbe, you fit for call master proper early when 
 Chief Ragundo live." 
 
 " I fit, master." 
 
 Huntingdon waited until he heard Ngumbe talking 
 outside with the watchers. 
 
 He heard those not on guard separate for the night. 
 
 In the dark, he loaded his Winchesters and placed 
 them on the bed.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 417 
 
 If he were surprised, he would kill the Gabonaise. 
 
 He tiptoed to the storeroom. 
 
 " Ndio," he whispered, " come, cherie, you are safe. * 
 
 There was no response. 
 
 He groped in the darkness. 
 
 He fell over her body ! 
 
 She was dead of neglect while those fool foreigners 
 and renegade Irishman made merry ! 
 
 As hatred for his fellow man rushed over him, into 
 life spurted all the love he had for the Gabonaise. 
 
 He fell on her breast he called her by name, he 
 begged her to speak to him. 
 
 He didn t care who heard him now she was dead 
 dead of neglect 
 
 Suddenly, he jumped up 
 
 Was he mad, raving with fever what manner of a 
 body lay there 
 
 He dragged it to his bedroom 
 
 He lighted a match 
 
 He gazed upon the upturned face of Igucla! 
 
 He was nude as the day he was born ! 
 
 Huntingdon bent over him. 
 
 Drugged! 
 
 Like a flash of blinding light the truth came home to 
 Huntingdon. 
 
 The wily Irishman had lashed the imperious Gabonaise 
 through the very teeth of her enemies! 
 
 Thank God, white men were still white! 
 
 Huntingdon swooned. 
 
 Nature could bear no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE canoe sent in search of Chief Ragundo con 
 tinuously called out news of the tragedy to passing 
 canoes and villages. The whole country thus became 
 aroused and natives flocked to Cape Lopez. Sadler was 
 on his way with cargo and every ounce of steam possible 
 was crowded on the little Oka and she almost flew across 
 the bay. 
 
 The Ouroungoes thronged about him as he landed 
 on Huntingdon s beach early the next morning, but, 
 paying no attention to them other than shoving them 
 out of the way, he hurried into Huntingdon s bungalow, 
 crying : 
 
 " It s a rotten mess, old man. Why didn t you tele- 
 gr " but he stopped, for there on the floor side by side 
 lay Huntingdon and the nude Mandigan! 
 
 Little Sadler had not received such a shock in many 
 a day! At first he thought his friend was dead, but 
 examination showed that he was unconscious and gripped 
 by fever. 
 
 " Sunlight, Mbega, Ngumbe, Makaya ! " yelled Sad 
 ler, at the same time blowing his whistle furiously. 
 
 Only Sunlight and Mbega responded. When the lat 
 ter saw the Mandigan, his eyes nearly started from his 
 head with fright and he cried: 
 
 " Iguela, Iguela, he live, he live, he never go for Ni 
 geria! " 
 
 418
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 419 
 
 The startling cry rang out clear and distinct and 
 brought the Ouroungoes crowding into the bungalow. 
 
 Sadler, knowing nothing save that Chief Ragundo s 
 granddaughter had been murdered by the Gabonaise, 
 turned on the savages, and, standing between the bodies 
 of the white man and the Mandigan, revolver in hand, he 
 raged : 
 
 " How dare you enter King Huntingdon s house ! Get 
 out, every one of you, or I ll pump you full of lead ! " 
 
 The savages recoiled before the threat but did not 
 retreat. Then forward stepped one of the brothers of 
 Chief Ragundo and quietly, but firmly, he spoke: 
 
 " Master Sadler, them Gabonaise live for murder 
 granddaughter of my brudder, Ragundo. It be proper 
 native law that them Gabonaise be dashed to us and when 
 my brudder, Chief Ragundo, live for Cape Lopez them 
 Gabonaise shall suffer the mboundu! " 
 
 " What the hell do I care what you do with the nigger 
 wench, but you ll get out of here. King Huntingdon 
 live for sick, mpolo, mpolo, perhaps he live for ground 
 ketch soon and I want to give him medceen one 
 time ! " 
 
 The Mandigan was slowly recovering from his stupor. 
 As he essayed to sit up, upon him jumped an Ouroungo 
 demanding in Ouroungo : 
 
 " Them Gabonaise, where he live ! " 
 
 The Mandigan, neither understanding the Ouroungo 
 tongue nor remembering how he came to be there on 
 the floor without his clothing, knew only that he was 
 being attacked. He grappled with the Ouroungo and 
 one or the other of them would have been choked to 
 death, had not little Sadler commanded Ragundo s
 
 420 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 brother to separate them and tell him the cause of the 
 palaver and he would render judgment. 
 
 The men were separated and with the unconscious 
 Huntingdon on the floor and the Mandigan cowering 
 behind Sadler for protection, Sadler listened to the events 
 of which he was not aware. 
 
 " Me, I be Mboomba, proper brudder to Ragundo 
 Vandji, chief of the Ouroungoes 
 
 " I know your pedigree," Sadler cut in. " I ve no 
 time now for mpolo palaver! Negesa! and tell me for 
 why you make murder palaver on Iguela? " 
 
 Mboomba, paying no heed to Sadler s command, at 
 tempted to continue in the usual, roundabout way of 
 the savage, but Sadler cut him short and demanded of 
 Mbega, if he knew the cause of the palaver. 
 
 " I savvy, master," answered the boy promptly. 
 
 " Negesa, then, out with it ! " 
 
 " Them Gdbonmse live for murder them granddaugh 
 ter of Chief Ragundo " 
 
 " For Christ s sake I savvy that," cried the nettled 
 white man, eager to be rid of the negroes so that he might 
 give attention to Huntingdon, but at the same time fully 
 aware that it would precipitate bloodshed did he not 
 at once do away with the palaver between the Ouroungoes 
 and the Mandigan. " What them Mandigan do, Mbega, 
 that s what I must savvy? " 
 
 " He never go for Nigeria,, yet me and all them Our 
 oungoes look him go with ivories for him head Mas 
 ter Hains drive him so for beach he put him so for 
 surf boat me I look him so all them Ouroungoes 
 look him so them surf boat he make for the Nigeria 
 one time, me, Mbega, and Ogula, the shootman, and
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 421 
 
 Nkombi Kakhi, him brudder, and all them Ouroungoes 
 look him " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Iguela, the Mandigan." 
 
 " What s wrong with Iguela carrying ivories for Ni 
 geria? He be proper cabinboy for Skipper Hains." 
 
 " It be true, Master Sadler, and Mbega no savvy how 
 them Mandigan live for Nigeria, them Nigeria steam 
 way one time and them Mandigan now live for here ! " 
 
 Light was breaking on the white man. 
 
 " Them Gabonaise after him murder them Ouroungo, 
 where him live? " 
 
 " Master Huntingdon say him gone for bush ; Com 
 mandant him send Malgash for tek them Gabonaise; 
 them Gabonaise no live for him house for back, me, 
 Mbega, and Ogula, the shootman, and Nkombi Kakhi, 
 him brudder, and all them Ouroungoes never look him 
 no more, he no live ! " 
 
 "Where s Makaya? " 
 
 " After him give chicotte for Gabonaise, he no live." 
 
 " Makaya give chicotte for Gabonaise! " and Sadler 
 was genuinely astonished that anyone should lay violent 
 hands on the precious Ndio. " For why Makaya he 
 make so? " 
 
 " Gabonaise be him woman ! " 
 
 Sadler drew in his breath and thought a moment 
 more light was dawning upon him. 
 
 Along with the other white men, he never trusted the 
 Gabonaise. He knew she would betray Huntingdon 
 some day ; that day had come ; Makaya was the man ; 
 Huntingdon! had had him flog the Gabonaise but 
 where did the Ouroungo woman come in?
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " After Makaya flog them Gabonaise, King Hunting 
 don what him live for do? " Sadler next demanded of 
 Mbega. 
 
 " Him blow for Ngumbe ; Ngumbe him brought them 
 Ouroungo for King Huntingdon s woman ; next day 
 sunup them Ouroungo live for die, them Gabonaise put 
 him twist for him throat ! " 
 
 So the Gabonaise in jealous rage had killed the Our 
 oungo! 
 
 " And them Mandigan, what him live for do, Mbega? " 
 
 "I no savvy he live for Nigeria, he no live for 
 Nigeria Nigeria live for go, Mandigan he live here." 
 
 Sadler waived Mbega aside, then called the Mandigan. 
 But Iguela feared to come forth. 
 
 "Never fear, Iguela," said Sadler, kindly. "Tell 
 master true palaver, Ouroungoes never touch your skin, 
 master shall keep you safe." 
 
 Encouraged and from where he stood the Mandigan 
 spoke : 
 
 " Master Sadler, Iguela come for get them ivories for 
 Master Hains, Iguela go for storeroom Iguela be 
 sick for him head, he stagger for floor it be all dark 
 someone he ketch Iguela for neck Iguela never 
 look him Iguela never savvy nothing till just 
 now " 
 
 " That ll do, Iguela, Master Sadler savvy all them 
 palaver proper now," and addressing Mboomba, he said : 
 Them Gabonaise be bad woman, mpolo, mpolo; him 
 live for murder them Ouroungo; him jealous because 
 King Huntingdon take them Ouroungo for him woman ; 
 him put him twist for throat of them Ouroungo woman ; 
 them Ouroungo woman him live for die one time; them
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 423 
 
 Gabonaise savvy law of the Ouroungoes; him savvy him 
 must drink the mboundu for killing them Ouroungo; him 
 steal for storeroom of King Huntingdon ; King Hunt 
 ingdon when him say he never look Gabonaise for him 
 house him speak truth palaver for him mouth, for them 
 Gabonaise mek ju-ju palaver so them white man s eyes 
 no fit look him and him mouth no fit tell Ouroungoes that 
 them women live for him house ; then, when Iguela, them 
 Mandigan, go for storeroom for tek them ivories for 
 Nigeria, them Gabonaise mek him all same for him neck 
 like them Ouroungo them Mandigan fall for floor ; 
 them Gabonaise thief them clothes of them Mandigan 
 and him ju-ju Captain Hains and King Huntingdon 
 and them Commandant and all them peoples that him 
 be proper Mandigan and him go for Nigeria and him 
 sail way and him now live for Libreville with him pee- 
 ples ! " 
 
 A nervous silence followed Sadler s declaration, the 
 silence engendered by superstitious fear. Sadler, wise 
 in the ways of the savages, knew there was but one way to 
 exonerate Huntingdon and Hains and that was to play 
 upon the superstition of the savages and lay the escape 
 of the Gabonaise to ju-ju to her power to assume the 
 guise and manner of the Mandigan. Many a tale had 
 the savages told Sadler of their kings and chiefs assum 
 ing the form of a beast or a bird or of an enemy and 
 stealing among the enemy to find out what they were 
 doing. To appear to be the Mandigan was therefore 
 in the savage opinion not impossible to the Gabo 
 naise; the Ouroungoes firmly believed that she really 
 ju-ju d the white men and themselves and had escaped 
 as Sadler explained.
 
 424 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 For the time being the escape of the Gabonaise was 
 eclipsed by her manner of effecting it. The Mandigan 
 had nothing to fear, he was but a tool in the hands of 
 the powerful and cunning Gabonaise. 
 
 But Sadler had not yet said all he wished to say, and, 
 midst the continued silence, he went on : 
 
 " And them Great White King when him look them 
 Mandigan for him floor, him savvy them Gabonaise 
 make ju-ju palaver, and fear ketch him and he fall for 
 floor and now fever ketch him skin and he be proper 
 sick, proper sick and now Master Sadler fit put him 
 for bed and when him eye he open the Great White King 
 fit for say for him mouth truth palaver all same like 
 Master Sadler just finish tell you; and he fit dash all 
 Ouroungoes tacco and rum, and when Chief Ragundo 
 come the Great White King he send for Libreville and 
 he ketch them Gabonaise and he dash them woman to 
 Chief Ragundo ! " 
 
 " Aye," grunted the savages satisfied, and they left 
 the bungalow to wait on the beach for the coming of 
 their chief. 
 
 With the aid of the Mandigan, Sunlight, Mbega, 
 Nkombi Kakhi, and Ogula, the shootman, Huntingdon 
 was placed in his bed. 
 
 Inquiry was then made for Ngumbe, but he was miss 
 ing. Sadler opined that Ngumbe had found his master 
 early in the morning, and, thinking he was dead, had 
 stolen as much of his clothing as he could carry, and 
 had run away to the bush. 
 
 Sadler piled Huntingdon with bed covering, and, put 
 ting hot stones about him to induce warmth, sat by his 
 side, awaiting the coming of consciousness. He was
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 425 
 
 alone, and, when hour after hour passed, and Hunting 
 don showed no signs of returning life, little Sadler 
 involuntarily dropped on his knees, and for the first 
 time since he was a lad of fourteen he begged a favor 
 of God : he begged for the life of his friend ! 
 
 Then, looking shamefacedly about him, he made sure 
 that no one witnessed his prayer. Had a native been 
 present, he would assuredly have murdered him ! 
 
 Huntingdon s condition greatly alarmed the little 
 skipper. He had seen much sickness in his time and 
 he knew a grave case at sight. A nurse was needed 
 a civilized woman would be a God-send. But, alas, none 
 was at hand. Still there were savage women. They at 
 least knew how to treat fever, how to induce warmth and 
 perspiration. Unless perspiration showed and showed 
 quickly, Huntingdon was lost. Thought of Moore s 
 woman came to Sadler. She knew white men s ways ; he 
 would go for her himself. He leaped down the veranda 
 steps, just as a canoe landed on the beach and out of 
 it stepped Madame Leon, the missionary ! 
 
 He recalled then that he had passed her on The 
 Eclaireur on the Ogowe. She was en route to Cape 
 Lopez to take the French steamer next day to Europe. 
 Her husband had been dead over a year but she had 
 remained at the mission until her husband s successor 
 and his wife came, and, after showing them everything 
 about the work of the mission, she was returning to 
 Switzerland for an indefinite sojourn. 
 
 Sadler was overjoyed to see her, and, telling her of 
 Huntingdon s danger, he led her into Huntingdon s 
 chamber. 
 
 One glance of the woman s experienced eyes was
 
 426 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 enough. Her duty was there, to save the life of a 
 fellow creature. 
 
 " Mr. Sadler, will you please have all my luggage 
 brought here? I shall not sail for Europe to-morrow." 
 
 Although older and thinner and paler, Sadler was 
 still the boy. At the unexpected announcement and 
 succor, he impulsively bent over and kissed Madame full 
 on the mouth. 
 
 No blush overspread Madame s spirltuclle face; she 
 thoroughly understood the little skipper, and, putting 
 her hands confidingly in his, she gently pressed them 
 and looking steadily into his blue eyes, she said in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " If it be God s will, you and I will nurse Mr. Hunt 
 ingdon back to life and health." 
 
 With two such friends at his bedside and with Mbega, 
 the watchdog, in the factory, and Ogula, the shootman, 
 and Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, on guard without, Hunt 
 ingdon was indeed blessed ! 
 
 At sundown Moore s gig sailed across the bay before 
 a stiff breeze. The news of the tragedy had caused him 
 to leave unfinished his work in the bush, and set out at 
 once to see what help he could render Huntingdon. He 
 recognized the latter s peril from the Ouroungoes. In 
 their rage they might kill the white man because of the 
 escape of the Gabonaise! 
 
 When Moore found Sadler and Madame Leon at 
 Huntingdon s bedside, jealousy flared up within him, 
 but when he heard all the facts from little Sadler, 
 and recognized in what extreme danger Huntingdon was, 
 Moore s better nature came forth, and he, too, offered 
 his services.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 427 
 
 " You can do nothing here, old man," said Sadler 
 gratefully, " but you can do something for me if you 
 will?" 
 
 " Name it," cried Moore, the old bluster in his voice, 
 but eagerness and good-fellowship in his manner. 
 
 " Huntingdon and I, dear old chap, have been pretty 
 close to each other - I want to be on hand, if the worst 
 comes I want to lay him away properly to send 
 a cable home to see that the niggers don t rob him 
 but, if there s a fighting chance for his life, and we ll 
 soon know whether there is or not, I want to be on hand 
 to help him make it I can t stay away from Larnbar- 
 ene, there s too much business to be looked after, could 
 you " 
 
 " Sure I can go," Moore interrupted, " if you ll keep 
 an eye on my place here." 
 
 " You bet I will, old man." 
 
 " Then I ll cross Yombe flats on the early morning 
 tide with the Oka. But you ll keep me informed of how 
 things re going? " 
 
 " Never fear, pard, you shall have a wire every day ; 
 two, three, four of them, if necessary." 
 
 With his old, careless swagger Moore set out for his 
 own bungalow. Little Sadler looked after him with 
 tears in his eyes, and murmured, " Scratch an English 
 man deep enough, and you ll find his heart." 
 
 Madame Leon spent hours on her knees praying 
 fervently that consciousness might return to Hunting 
 don. Sadler nervously paced back and forth on the 
 veranda. While Huntingdon s condition distressed him 
 infinitely and he despaired of his life, he feared that 
 Madame s constant kneeling and concentration in prayer
 
 428 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 might render her ill and he would have two invalids on 
 his hands. 
 
 In that moment he longed for the close companionship 
 of a white woman ; he fully appreciated for the first 
 time what exile in Africa meant ; what a void was in his 
 life; what an incomplete creature a man is who is not 
 mated to a woman of his own kind. Love for the gentle, 
 self-sacrificing missionary woman came to him ; he re 
 solved to cast away forever his old life and to ask her 
 to share his future. The decision could not have come 
 to Sadler under normal conditions ; for it meant a re 
 versal of his whole life ; the giving up of the absolute 
 freedom in which he had theretofore reveled, the ac 
 ceptance of service; the desertion of trade and the join 
 ing of Madame Leon in her work of the attempted 
 salvation of the savage. That work was Madame s 
 whole life and he would not ask her to relinquish it ; she 
 would teach him what to do and he would relieve her of 
 the most arduous part of it. Sadler fully appreciated 
 the derision he would have to bear from his friends but 
 to be prayed for by a woman, to be so tenderly nursed, to 
 be a matter of concern to her, to have her companionship, 
 sympathy and love, were worth the sacrifice of habits 
 no matter of what age or worth or enjoyment! 
 
 He went into the room, intending to raise her from 
 her knees and beg her to seek rest and leave the vigil to 
 him, when suddenly from Huntingdon s lips there rushed 
 a flow of incoherent sentences. Silence and inertia were 
 broken ; delirium and restlessness had come. Gradually 
 Huntingdon s speech became clear. He babbled of his 
 life at home; his love for Marjorie; his pleading for 
 his mother s consent to permit him to go to Africa to
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 429 
 
 engage in trade to make money for Marjorie s sake; 
 over and over again he cried out his oath of fidelity and 
 her pledge given in return. He lived again the long 
 days and nights of loneliness ; he spoke of the coming 
 of the missionaries; the delight he experienced in 
 Madame Leon s society ; the regret and rage that fol 
 lowed the forced abandonment of further visits to the 
 Rest House. 
 
 Delirium cried aloud all the suffering sanity had con 
 cealed. Again and again he repeated the litany that 
 had supported him when endurance was all but gone ; 
 then he spoke of his illness and the coming of the 
 Gabonaise; he screamed at the top of his lungs that she 
 was naught but his nurse and whoso said she was closer 
 to him, lied damnably ; he was waiting for the mail, for 
 Marjorie s letter; she would name their wedding day 
 and his purgatory would end. Word for word and over 
 and over again, he repeated Marjorie s letter; he 
 laughed like a maniac and demanded if he were not 
 right in disdaining a defense; he arraigned Marjorie se 
 verely for her doubt of him, then he pleaded for death 
 and release! Then came his life with the Gabonaise; she 
 brought him oblivion, she blotted out civilization and its 
 cruelties ; she brought him surcease from past tortures 
 only to inflict deeper ones upon him ! 
 
 His ravings were not consecutive but they were com 
 plete and they brought torture almost beyond endurance 
 to Madame Leon and little Sadler. 
 
 Was there no way to bring relief to a human creature 
 helpless in body and acutely active in mind ! Oh, how 
 Madame Leon longed for ice for the hot, throbbing 
 head; for cooling drink for the parched throat! She
 
 430 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 wished she had never come to Africa; that she had 
 never met Huntingdon, such acute agony did his suf 
 fering and helplessness bring to her. Much native 
 suffering had she relieved and, although sympathy for 
 the sufferer was always alive within her, yet it never 
 gripped her so vitally as did the suffering of this white 
 man. There was a difference, a great difference. The 
 savage was after all an alien while the white man was of 
 her race, the tie of complexion bound them and it was a 
 strong one. 
 
 Madame Leon could pray no more. She looked on 
 helpless and became active again only when Ogula, the 
 shootman, held to Huntingdon s lips a steaming draught 
 redolent of lemon. She knew what it was: a tea made 
 from the leaves of the lime tree. She took the tin from 
 Ogula, and, while Sadler held the sufferer s head, she 
 slowly fed the liquid to him. 
 
 She had her water bottles filled with water as hot as 
 they could bear; she placed them along Huntingdon s 
 spine and at his feet; she had her own blankets tucked 
 tightly about him, and compresses, wrung from the only 
 cold water at hand, that from the sea, were constantly 
 applied to the base of his brain and about his head. 
 
 The delirium gradually passed, deep sleep and regu 
 lar breathing came and perspiration deluged the sufferer. 
 The crisis had passed ! Madame Leon could again pray 
 and thank the Giver of Life for His mercies and bless 
 Him therefor. 
 
 When consciousness was slowly fighting for life and 
 impressions were returning to Huntingdon, the face of 
 the white woman bending over him was but one of the 
 many ghosts that trooped through his disordered brain.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 431 
 
 Gradually, she became a reality ; he knew not whom she 
 was or whence she came ; he knew only that she was a 
 white woman. Pleasure and gratitude lived a moment 
 in his eyes, then were gone ; he was too weak for further 
 emotion or expression. 
 
 As he grew stronger he studied her intently as though 
 he had never seen a white woman ; it was but nature s 
 way of winning him back to his own race; then full 
 remembrance came to him. He knew who she was ; he 
 felt her sweet personality ; he remembered the impression 
 she had made upon him at their first meeting, oh, so 
 long ago ; he recalled his visits to the Rest House, then 
 he flushed with shame as thoughts of the Gabonaise 
 followed. 
 
 The danger passed, Sadler set out for Lambarene and 
 Moore came back to Cape Lopez. At night he insisted 
 upon nursing Huntingdon while Madame Leon sought 
 a separate room and rest. She was thoroughly ex 
 hausted and ill. But she said naught, and Moore was 
 too much concerned about Huntingdon to take note of 
 Madame, other than his insistence that she rest during 
 the night and let him take her place. Moore also took 
 complete charge of Huntingdon s house and resided 
 there. He installed his own cook in the galley ; he had 
 the cook teach Iguela the proper duties of a houseboy. 
 He looked in often at the factory, but he knew Mbega 
 was faithful and competent. Nkombi Kakhi and Ogula 
 took turns night and day on the front veranda keeping 
 all disturbance from the sick man. 
 
 It was to his friends unceasing care and vigilance that 
 Huntingdon owed his life. 
 
 He was removed to the veranda. The sea sobbed and
 
 432 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 moaned as of old, and the giant cocoanut-trees sighed 
 incessantly, but Huntingdon heard only the sweet, low 
 voice of the woman who nursed him, he was interested 
 only in her. 
 
 She was tall, slim and graceful. In her simple gown 
 of cool, fresh, white linen, with her soft, wavy brown 
 hair combed from her square forehead into a knot at 
 the base of her neck, her face and brow free of lines, 
 and in her eyes human sympathy and understanding, she 
 was wonderfully magnetic and attractive. She was not 
 beautiful in the true sense of the word, and she was so 
 spirituelle as to suggest frailty, but she was tremen 
 dously womanly, and her frailty masked strength and 
 endurance. Save her continued pallor and a deeper 
 expression in her beautiful brown eyes, she appeared 
 no older than when Huntingdon first saw her. And 
 she had suffered much during that period: she had 
 gone to Europe where her child was born and died after 
 six short weeks of life ! After two years she had re 
 turned to the mission at Lambarene and found things 
 sadly neglected in her absence ; then came her husband s 
 lingering illness and death, and her continuance alone in 
 her chosen work until such time as relief came. 
 
 Huntingdon fancied what she would look like in 
 Europe where temperate breezes blow and where the sun 
 nourishes instead of kills. With this thought in mind 
 he abruptly asked: 
 
 " Madame Leon, you must be pining for civilization, 
 are you not? " 
 
 Madame Leon smiled and playfully rebuked : " My 
 patient is so well now that he wishes to be rid of his 
 nurse."
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 433 
 
 " No, no, no ! " Huntingdon hastily protested, then 
 he added helplessly : " Why, what would I do were you 
 to go? " and loneliness and emptiness gripped him. 
 
 " You have your work, Monsieur Huntingdon ; it is 
 only through work that we find happiness and content 
 ment." 
 
 " Tell me, Clothilde," and Huntingdon, unconscious 
 of the use of her first name, demanded : " are you 
 happy, have you ever been happy? " 
 
 When human creatures are far removed from the land 
 of their birth, when they are distant from their own kind, 
 when they have suffered and endured and striven against 
 almost hopeless odds, the pretenses of civilization vanish 
 never again to return and exiles are absolutely nat 
 ural. 
 
 Thus no thought of evasion came to Madame Leon, 
 nor did she resent Huntingdon s question. She an 
 swered simply and directly : 
 
 " Yes, I have been happy." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Now I m happy, wonderfully so, because I ve 
 brought you back to life ; God has answered my prayers, 
 you will live." 
 
 At which words Huntingdon knew he loved this 
 woman ; that love for her first came into being long, long 
 ago at the Rest House; he knew now why he had so ve 
 hemently resented the slander against her and the loss 
 of her companionship; why he had acted so as to make 
 her believe he was thoroughly bad and heartless ; why he 
 grew well ; he wanted to live ; to be with her always ! 
 
 " Clothilde, I love you," he said simply, then gently 
 asked: "Do you love me?"
 
 434 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 " I love you, Cecil, very, very much," Madame Leon 
 answered promptly. 
 
 Huntingdon did not offer to touch her, but for a long 
 time he gazed steadily into her eyes, while in thought 
 his unworthy life passed in review ! 
 
 No rancor remained against Marjorie and the Gabo- 
 naise, what was done was done, but o er Huntingdon 
 swept the anguish that he was not good enough for the 
 gentle woman who continued to gaze so trustfully into 
 his eyes he turned away ; he closed his eyes that she 
 might not see the misery within them, but love is intuitive 
 and the woman spoke : 
 
 " The past is dead, my beloved ; we grow through our 
 sins ; suffering is cleansing and purifying we have 
 both suffered, and we are both better and stronger 
 for it." 
 
 Huntingdon folded her in his arms and kissed her. 
 There was no passion in his caress ; it was sweet with 
 reverential love. 
 
 " And when shall we be married, Clothilde, cherie? " 
 
 " When you will." 
 
 " And where? " 
 
 " At the mission at Lambarene." 
 
 " All right then here s our plans : in seven weeks 
 the Nigeria and Captain Hains are due ; we ll go back to 
 Europe with him. In the meantime, you and I will go to 
 Lambarene and be married; Mr. Sadler and Mr. Moore 
 shall be best men and the wife of the missionary shall 
 be Matron of Honor " 
 
 " But are you strong enough, Cecil, dear? " 
 
 " I feel as though I never had an illness in my life - 
 thanks to you "
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 435 
 
 " But you are still weak, you can t deny that ; I know 
 you are weak." 
 
 " Yes, I m still weak, but love and happiness are the 
 greatest panacea in the whole world and I shall soon be 
 well again." 
 
 And he prognosticated truly. The cold, dry season 
 was again on, green vegetables were again plentiful, 
 Madame Leon herself prepared the appetising dishes set 
 three times daily on the table, and with her and Moore 
 as companions Huntingdon was renewed both in mind 
 and body and his illness seemed to have blotted out his 
 past life and his sufferings. He lived only for his mar 
 riage and his return to Europe. 
 
 He set about closing up his affairs. He sent for 
 Chief Ragundo, to whom he made ample monetary pay 
 ment for the untimely loss of his granddaughter. But 
 so little sentiment was shown by the old chief, that Hunt 
 ingdon might just as well have been paying for rubber 
 or black wood. 
 
 Huntingdon looked about for a trustworthy man to 
 take charge of his factories. He intended to return to 
 Africa every two years to see that all was going well 
 with his enterprise. Perhaps he would not return at all 
 if he could find the right man to take his place. But 
 telegrams throughout the bush and cables north and 
 south along the coast brought no competent man. 
 
 Huntingdon wrote to Sadler of his betrothal to 
 Madame Leon and begged the little skipper to act as 
 best man along with Moore. 
 
 Keen was the blow to Sadler. Ever since his determi 
 nation to ask Madame Leon to be his wife, he had lived 
 as she would have wished him to live, he had also cabled
 
 436 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 John Holt giving up his berth and asking that his relief 
 be sent out at once. But so deeply did Sadler love Hunt 
 ingdon that he rejoiced that Huntingdon had won Ma 
 dame; he would be a more fitting husband for her; he 
 could provide the comforts she needed and the station 
 in life to which her sweetness, refinement and education 
 had fitted her. He knew Huntingdon would take her 
 from her missionary work ; he was glad because he fully 
 appreciated that Africa is no place for a white woman 
 and that her life and health are needlessly sacrificed 
 there. A white woman s place is in civilization where 
 she is needed ; where her work and sacrifices are appre 
 ciated and result in lasting good. Africa is savage and 
 will ever remain so. 
 
 Infinite weariness and loneliness descended upon Sad 
 ler after Madame Leon as his future wife did not occupy 
 his thoughts, but he immediately wired his congratula 
 tions to Huntingdon and his best wishes to Madame, tell 
 ing her what a good sort Huntingdon was ; that he was 
 the only man on earth worthy of her. He ended his 
 telegram with the words : " I m jealous." He knew she 
 would consider it his continued playfulness, yet it gave 
 him the satisfaction of having expressed the first thought 
 which had come to him on receipt of Huntingdon s 
 letter. But not a trace of j ealousy was left in the little 
 skipper s heart. Madame would be the wife of the first 
 human being Sadler ever loved ; now he loved two per 
 sons and their happiness was his happiness, their joys 
 his joys. 
 
 He came again to Cape Lopez with cargo. He mar 
 veled at the change both in Huntingdon and Madame. 
 They did not look like the same creatures ; even Moore
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 437 
 
 was changed. Sadler was also changed for the better. 
 But we never see ourselves as others see us, and the first 
 dinner ( the friends had together was a mutual expression 
 of joy for the improved health and appearance of the 
 other. 
 
 Huntingdon expressed his regret to Sadler of not 
 being able to find anyone to take his place while he was 
 in Europe. 
 
 " How would I do? " laughed the little skipper. 
 
 " Do ! you d be the very man, but how about 
 Holt? " 
 
 " Oh, I resigned long ago." 
 
 "Honest?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " My resignation went to Europe immediately after 
 you were taken ill perhaps my relief will be on the 
 Nigeria." 
 
 " And why did you resign, Sadler, my boy, may your 
 old friend ask? " 
 
 " Perhaps because I was selfish and wanted a better 
 job," answered Sadler roguishly, keeping his secret. 
 
 " I really don t deserve all this luck, old chap," Hunt 
 ingdon confessed. But Sadler interrupted: 
 
 " Whoso has a better right to inherit all the good 
 things of life than Huntingdon, the Great White King. 
 Is it not so, Madame Leon? " 
 
 Madame s answer was a smile more expressive than 
 any words she might have employed. 
 
 Cecil Huntingdon and Clothflde Leon were quietly 
 married at Lambarene, in the presence of the missionary 
 and his wife, and Sadler and Moore. The ceremony was
 
 438 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 at high noon and a simple wedding breakfast followed. 
 There were no wedding gifts. 
 
 Huntingdon and his bride returned to Cape Lopez on 
 the Avante-Garde and Sadler and Moore on the Oka. 
 
 When the Nigeria dropped anchor, Moore and Sadler 
 were immediately up her ladder, giving Skipper Hains 
 the news. Hains was delighted and he set out at once 
 to see Huntingdon s bride and to wish them all happiness. 
 Then at the first opportunity, he confided a secret to 
 Huntingdon. He, too, was to be married on his arrival 
 in Liverpool; that was his last long coast voyage; there 
 after, his route would be only as far south as Sierra 
 Leone, necessitating only two months absence from 
 home instead of from four to six. 
 
 Twas Huntingdon s last day in Cape Lopez. He 
 took Sadler into his chamber and closed the door. Sad 
 ler was now in his employ, Sadler s relief having come on 
 the Nigeria. 
 
 " Sadler, old chap," Huntingdon drawled in his laziest 
 manner, which drawl he had not employed in many 
 a moon, " you and I ve neglected to talk salary. You re 
 Chief Agent, you know, and your salary s 2,000 
 sterling, a year." 
 
 Sadler couldn t speak, he had expected only the ordi 
 nary third-term trader s salary, and he was offered a 
 yearly stipend earned only by a few agents of twenty- 
 five or more years experience. 
 
 " And, Sadler, old chap," Huntingdon proceeded in a 
 drawl more lazy than ever, " let Mbega continue on, and, 
 as I don t want you to have the drudgery of the factory, 
 I ll send out an extra clerk for Cape Lopez ; at Mboue, 
 Ninga Sika and Agouma, I m going to make a change
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 439 
 
 from black government clerks which are up there now to 
 Englishmen from home, so, as they come out, I wish 
 you d look after them, take them into the interior, get 
 the black clerk out quietly, with proper notice of course, 
 and show the tenderfeet what they re to do. Now I 
 want to do something for Moore ; can you suggest any 
 thing? " 
 
 " Sure," answered the little skipper, himself again be 
 cause he was relieved of expressing thanks, not because 
 he did not desire to express his appreciation of Hunt 
 ingdon s generosity and the trust placed in him, but 
 such thanks as he cared to offer would bring tears with 
 them and Sadler wouldn t let any man see him cry. 
 " You know, Huntingdon, that Moore s had the same old 
 fat slob all these years ; he s tired of her long ago, but 
 it was just since your illness and since Madame Leon 
 oh, I beg your pardon, Great White King, since her 
 Highness, Queen Huntingdon, came amongst us and 
 brought us all back to decency and health and civiliza 
 tion, that he confided to me that he wanted to be rid of 
 the wench and go back to civilization, but the woman s 
 got such a hold on him that she swears she ll poison 
 him if she even suspicions he wants to go home. You 
 savvy what devils these nigger women are." 
 
 " I savvy," answered Huntingdon, solemnly, and that 
 was the only discussion of black women held between the 
 friends since the death of the Ouroungo. " Now send 
 Moore to me, please." 
 
 " Moore," began Huntingdon without any prelimi 
 nary, and continuing in his lazy West-end drawl, " how 
 long have you been out here? " 
 
 " Seventeen years."
 
 440 
 
 " Been home in all that time? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " An} relatives and friends in civilization ? " 
 
 " An old mother, and a girl left behind. Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, Sadler and I have been palavering, that s all. 
 Sit down at that desk and write a cable to Hatton and 
 Cookson resigning your berth and ask for a man to re 
 place vou to be sent out immediately ! " 
 
 " Why, whv, why blustered the big Moore, but 
 not heeding the interruption Huntingdon drawled on : 
 
 " You can figure out exactly how long it will take 
 your relief to get here; in the meantime softly, softly 
 close out your affairs here ; I will have cabled you in 
 cipher what boat your man s due on ; a week before his 
 ship docks here, you re to set out ostensibly on your 
 rounds in the Ogowe, but you re to make for Libreville 
 where you ll find the BruxeUsville with steam up ready 
 to set out for civilization ; she ll wait for you and on her 
 you ll find your first class passage paid for. Go back 
 to civilization, hunt up the girl and get married." 
 
 " Gad ! Huntingdon, I ve been aching to go back this 
 long time who told you ? " 
 
 " Sadler now, now, old chap, I want no thanks, just 
 follow my instructions and that ll be thanks enough. 
 And, Moore," Huntingdon continued as Moore was writ 
 ing his resignation, " I want somebody to represent me 
 in Liverpool; d you want the job, salary, 2,000 ster 
 ling, same as Sadler s ? " 
 
 " Huntingdon, I I " stammered the big Moore, 
 but Huntingdon drawled: 
 
 " With you and little Sadler watching my interests, 
 all I ll have to do is to count profits so you see, old
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 441 
 
 chap, it s mostly selfishness on my part," then he blew 
 his whistle. 
 
 When Iguela came, Huntingdon sent for Mbega, 
 Ogula, the shootman, and Nkombi Kakhi, his brother. 
 He questioned Mbega first: 
 
 " What thing, Mbega, can Master Huntingdon dash 
 you before he lef Cape Lopez? " 
 
 " 4, sterling, them money be due for my womans." 
 
 " You shall have them one time, Mbega. Master Sad 
 ler be proper master here when I go for home and every 
 moon Master Sadler be fit to pay you extra money." 
 
 " How much? " 
 
 "What you think?" 
 
 " Five shillings ? " 
 
 " Five shillings it be, Mbega, for faithful service 
 to Master Huntingdon." 
 
 " Azvaka," grinned the erstwhile busliboy. 
 
 Ogula, the shootman, came next. 
 
 " Ogula, what Master Huntingdon fit fer dash you? " 
 
 " Him magazine rifle and ammunition," answered the 
 shootman, promptly. 
 
 " Ogula, you savvy French law be proper strict about 
 transfer of firearms and ammunition to natives, but if 
 them Commandant never give consent, then Master 
 Huntingdon get book from France savvy France, 
 Ogula?" 
 
 " Aye, I savvy him he be place where big French 
 king live." 
 
 " And Ogula, besides your wages as shootman, for 
 the rest of your life, Master Sadler fit for dash you 
 for Master Huntingdon impot for pay them French so s 
 Commandant never put you for jail; also all the tacco
 
 442 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 and cloth you and your woman personally require, and 
 one bottle of rum every Saturday night." 
 
 " It be dash, mpolo, mpolo," grunted the savage. 
 
 " Now Nkombi Kakhi? " 
 
 " You fit, O Great White King, dash me all same like 
 my brudder, Ogula, the shootman? " 
 
 " " I fit, proper fit, Nkombi Kakhi. Master Sadler mek 
 all same dash palaver with you as with your brudder, 
 Ogula, the shootman." 
 
 " Awaka" grunted Nkombi Kakhi, and, with the 
 others, he disappeared to spread throughout the land 
 the tale of the Great White King s generosity. 
 
 Iguela begged to be permitted to return to the Nigeria 
 which permission Huntingdon was glad to grant, ac 
 companied with money, cloth, matches, tobacco and a 
 dozen clay pipes. 
 
 The beach was crowded with natives when Huntingdon 
 took his departure. Chief Ragundo was also there. 
 The tragedy seemed forgotten. Once again the white 
 man was their Mpolo Tata Otangani their Great 
 White King. 
 
 From amidships of his canoe where he was seated 
 with his bride and Sadler and Moore, for the last time 
 Huntingdon addressed Ouroungoes : 
 
 " Mbangane, mbangane. 1 Ragundo, great chief of 
 the Ouroungoes and all him peeples. When moon and 
 sun he live and die mpolo, mpolo, when dry and wet 
 season he ketch mbani, mbani? Mpolo Tata Otangani 
 fit look Ragundo, chief of the Ouroungoes, and all his 
 
 1 Good-bye. 
 
 2 In two years.
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 443 
 
 peeples again and until then he wishes you all luck, 
 mpolo, mpolo. 1 Mbangane, mbangane." 
 
 " Aye, mbangane, Mpolo Tata Otangani, mbangane." 
 
 " Aye," responded Huntingdon, solemnly, " mban 
 gane." 
 
 In Sadler s gig were Mbega, Ogula, the shootman, and 
 Nkombi Kakhi, his brother, and Chief Ragundo. 
 
 In the Commandant s gig with the Commandant were 
 the Douane, LeBlanc, Wildman and Gottschalk. 
 
 As Huntingdon was about to mount the Nigeria s 
 ladder, he motioned Sadler s gig to come alongside, then, 
 reaching over, Huntingdon fervently wrung the hands 
 of his faithful serviteurs and that of Chief Ragundo. 
 He again assured them of his continued protection and 
 aid through Master Sadler. 
 
 Ogula, the shootman, made answer. 
 
 " Aye, dkawa mpolo, Mpolo Tata Otangani! " 
 
 " Aye," came the acquiescence of Nkombi Kakhi, his 
 brother, Mbega and Chief Ragundo. 
 
 On the Nigeria s deck, champagne was drunk, good- 
 bys repeated again and again, and mutual promises made 
 to write to each other. 
 
 " Time s up, me lads," cried Skipper Hains, to those 
 who were to go ashore. " If I never see ye again, take 
 care o ye rsel s, and if ye have all the good luck I m 
 after wishin ye, ye ll be so happy it won t be natural." 
 
 Huntingdon walked to the ladder and bade a solemn 
 farewell to the Commandant, the Douane, LeBlanc, the 
 Frenchman, and Wildman, the Swiss. 
 
 To one side and looking down their noses stood Sadler 
 and Moore. 
 
 i Very much, or great.
 
 444 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 Huntingdon grasped each by the hand and pressed 
 it hard and long, but not a word did he or they speak 
 none was necessary. 
 
 He watched his friends descend the ladder, take their 
 places in Sadler s gig, then, with his hand about his 
 wife s waist, he waved a last farewell. 
 
 In silence Moore and Sadler were rowed to shore. In 
 silence they stood on the beach. With heads uncovered 
 they watched the Nigeria disappear on the northern 
 horizon line. 
 
 " Tata Otangani, mpolo, mpolo," murmured Ogula, 
 the shootman, to Nkb mbi Kakhi, his brother. 
 
 " Aye," quoth Moore to Sadler, " one of nature s best. 
 May good luck and good health come to him and his ! " 
 
 But Sadler could not respond. In silence he and 
 Moore sought their respective bungalows. But the 
 morrow brought them together again, and, until Moore s 
 departure for civilization in which Sadler played a 
 prominent part every night found them in each other s 
 company. Moore was a new man and in Sadler he found 
 a staunch, sympathetic comrade. Sadler genuinely re 
 gretted Moore s departure, but the little skipper was 
 glad that happiness had eventually come to Moore. For 
 Sadler, there was no girl left behind ; no mother waiting 
 for or depending upon him ; his place was in Africa. 
 Huntingdon trusted him implicitly and he would fulfill 
 that trust as long as life was left him. Madame Leon 
 he loved in a sort of a way but all the love his great 
 nature was capable of was given to Huntingdon that 
 day, oh, so long ago, when Huntingdon first landed on 
 the beach and Sadler had declared to Moore that he 
 was for him! When he named Huntingdon the Great
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 445 
 
 White King he was but voicing the impression Hunting 
 don had made upon him. He was content in serving and 
 in rendering a just stewardship. Huntingdon s busi 
 ness went on increasing and to-day he is the biggest and 
 most successful independent white trader on the entire 
 West Coast of Africa. 
 
 When the Nigeria anchored off Libreville on her re 
 turn voyage up coast, the first news to reach Hunting 
 don was the death of the Gabonaise. The secret poison 
 of the Ouroungoes had found her out. She had suffered 
 the atonement! 
 
 Huntingdon was surprised and delighted when Wallace 
 boarded the Nigeria at Old Calabar. Smallpox had fol 
 lowed fever and he was badly scarred, aged and infirm. 
 He was returning to civilization to pass the rest of his 
 days with the family he had so ignominiously outraged. 
 He owed their forgiveness of him to the persons he de 
 tested most: returned missionaries, who plead with his 
 family to take him back, that his days were numbered. 
 The old coaster showed his gratitude in a peculiar 
 manner: he continued to gossip garrulously and mali 
 ciously of everything and everybody other than mission 
 aries. Although he never sought their society and never 
 entered a church at home, yet against them not a word 
 did he utter, and when he died, the only writing he left 
 was the request that the " sky-pilot say a prayer over 
 his carcass, and the church choir hold song-palaver over 
 his grave." 
 
 On the Nigeria he regaled Huntingdon with the gossip 
 of the coast. He fully described the deaths of little 
 Hertford, Longworthy and Cartwright; he opined that
 
 446 HELL S PLAYGROUND 
 
 the natives had secretly poisoned Captain Haywood; 
 and Boynton, who died from drowning, had evidently 
 tumbled into the water when he was intoxicated. 
 
 Kingsford, the last of those who had voyaged out 
 together to Hell s Playground, was doing well. Lazy 
 and selfish, he took excellent care of himself; to the na 
 tives he played Legree; they hated and feared him ; 
 to his trading firm he was invaluable and was their 
 Chief Agent. 
 
 " After all is said and done," remarked the old coaster 
 in his familiar irritating drawl and with his familiar 
 emphasis, " at home s the place for a white man, and 
 though he may go a-ramblin about the" earth in his 
 youth and madness, yet when the joints stiffen up and 
 the step lags, he s glad to crawl back to where he be 
 longs and he s sorry he ever left it but youth is 
 youth and ever will be youth and will ever know it all 
 until hard knocks and inhumanity beat sense into their 
 heads and teach them the true palaver of life." 
 
 Lady Bedford gazed with pride upon the son who 
 folded her in his arms at Liverpool. Cecil had always 
 been ditmgue; it was the heritage of ancestry, but now 
 he was truly regal. His tall form had filled out; his 
 blond hair was gray ; his eyes were bright with happi 
 ness, and he carried himself with the ease and confidence 
 that come to a man after he has made a hard fight and 
 won out! 
 
 As for the woman he had married, one glance of 
 Lady Bedford s critical eyes was enough to prognosti 
 cate the sensation her presentation at court would make. 
 She was well worthy to be enrolled among the noble 
 women of the families of the Bedfords. the Granvilles
 
 HELL S PLAYGROUND 447 
 
 and the Huntingdons. Lady Bedford embraced her 
 and called her: " Daughter" Nothing else could have 
 pleased Huntingdon more. He knew he had chosen 
 wisely and well. 
 
 Lord Bedford firmly grasped his son s hands and 
 said, with admiration and pride in his low tones : 
 
 " You ve won out, Cecil, my son, you ve been true to 
 the traditions of our family, and you ve brought us a 
 worthy daughter." 
 
 There were tears in Huntingdon s eyes, but they were 
 tears of joy ! 
 
 Huntingdon and his bride looked healthier than they 
 really were. The happiness within them glowed without, 
 sun and sea breezes had tanned their cheeks and colored 
 them, but, alas, malaria was in their arteries, it was to 
 torture them as long as they lived, but it did not pre 
 vent their continued happiness and coming of children. 
 
 Marjorie, the Duchess of Southland, and Huntingdon 
 were bound to meet. She was every inch the grande 
 dame. Time had dwelt gently with her and whatever 
 her feelings were, she successfully masked them. 
 
 The Duke, her husband, was notoriously false to her, 
 she had given him three sons and a daughter, the entail 
 was safe, but, in their private life the Duke and Duchess 
 were strangers to each other. Huntingdon was filled 
 with sorrow at this knowledge, but to Clothflde alone 
 did he express that sorrow ; between him and his wife were 
 perfect trust and confidence. 
 
 Out of Hell s Playground came some good after all ! 
 
 THE END
 
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