Tales of Unrest | Page 9

woman resolute in affairs of state and of her own heart.
After the death of her first husband, undismayed by the turbulent
opposition of the chiefs, she married a rich trader, a Korinchi man of no
family. Karain was her son by that second marriage, but his unfortunate
descent had apparently nothing to do with his exile. He said nothing as
to its cause, though once he let slip with a sigh, "Ha! my land will not
feel any more the weight of my body." But he related willingly the
story of his wanderings, and told us all about the conquest of the bay.
Alluding to the people beyond the hills, he would murmur gently, with
a careless wave of the hand, "They came over the hills once to fight us,
but those who got away never came again." He thought for a while,
smiling to himself. "Very few got away," he added, with proud serenity.
He cherished the recollections of his successes; he had an exulting
eagerness for endeavour; when he talked, his aspect was warlike,
chivalrous, and uplifting. No wonder his people admired him. We saw
him once walking in daylight amongst the houses of the settlement. At
the doors of huts groups of women turned to look after him, warbling
softly, and with gleaming eyes; armed men stood out of the way,
submissive and erect; others approached from the side, bending their
backs to address him humbly; an old woman stretched out a draped
lean arm--"Blessings on thy head!" she cried from a dark doorway; a
fiery-eyed man showed above the low fence of a plantain-patch a
streaming face, a bare breast scarred in two places, and bellowed out
pantingly after him, "God give victory to our master!" Karain walked

fast, and with firm long strides; he answered greetings right and left by
quick piercing glances. Children ran forward between the houses,
peeped fearfully round corners; young boys kept up with him, gliding
between bushes: their eyes gleamed through the dark leaves. The old
sword-bearer, shouldering the silver scabbard, shuffled hastily at his
heels with bowed head, and his eyes on the ground. And in the midst of
a great stir they passed swift and absorbed, like two men hurrying
through a great solitude.
In his council hall he was surrounded by the gravity of armed chiefs,
while two long rows of old headmen dressed in cotton stuffs squatted
on their heels, with idle arms hanging over their knees. Under the
thatch roof supported by smooth columns, of which each one had cost
the life of a straight-stemmed young palm, the scent of flowering
hedges drifted in warm waves. The sun was sinking. In the open
courtyard suppliants walked through the gate, raising, when yet far off,
their joined hands above bowed heads, and bending low in the bright
stream of sunlight. Young girls, with flowers in their laps, sat under the
wide-spreading boughs of a big tree. The blue smoke of wood fires
spread in a thin mist above the high-pitched roofs of houses that had
glistening walls of woven reeds, and all round them rough wooden
pillars under the sloping eaves. He dispensed justice in the shade; from
a high seat he gave orders, advice, reproof. Now and then the hum of
approbation rose louder, and idle spearmen that lounged listlessly
against the posts, looking at the girls, would turn their heads slowly. To
no man had been given the shelter of so much respect, confidence, and
awe. Yet at times he would lean forward and appear to listen as for a
far-off note of discord, as if expecting to hear some faint voice, the
sound of light footsteps; or he would start half up in his seat, as though
he had been familiarly touched on the shoulder. He glanced back with
apprehension; his aged follower whispered inaudibly at his ear; the
chiefs turned their eyes away in silence, for the old wizard, the man
who could command ghosts and send evil spirits against enemies, was
speaking low to their ruler. Around the short stillness of the open place
the trees rustled faintly, the soft laughter of girls playing with the
flowers rose in clear bursts of joyous sound. At the end of upright
spear-shafts the long tufts of dyed horse-hair waved crimson and filmy

in the gust of wind; and beyond the blaze of hedges the brook of limpid
quick water ran invisible and loud under the drooping grass of the bank,
with a great murmur, passionate and gentle.
After sunset, far across the fields and over the bay, clusters of torches
could be seen burning under the high roofs of the council shed. Smoky
red flames swayed on high poles, and the fiery blaze flickered over
faces, clung to the smooth trunks of palm-trees, kindled