Drum by Kyle Onstott Read Free Book Online Page B

nod his head in approval before he continued. 'Twelve bottles of assorted French scent and twelve cases of Cuban mm."
    Mongo Don spat on the floor. "The bastards say their religion prohibits them from touching Uquor, but I notice they always lap it up."
    "The Sultan of Zinder finds it a powerful medicine," Jonathan winked, "and twelve Sheffield spoons, a brass crown with glass jewels and three second-hand French court gowns."
    "For Ama-jallah's three wives. What if he has a fourth by : now?"
    "We've others in the storehouse."
    Mongo Don sipped his coffee and broke the hot bread into [Chunks, which he dipped into the strong brew and then i sucked into his mouth. He was unable to chew with his stubble of broken teeth.
    "And food for the caravan?"
    *Ten goats slaughtered and hung for the slaves. Three sheep for Ama-jaUah's cous-cous." He stopped suddenly.
    Mongo Don held up a warning finger for silence.
    "Hark! Can it be the bastard's coming now?"
    "Either that, sir, or all hell's broke loose on the river, listenl" Jonathan cupped his hand to his ear and his foot instinctively started tapping to the beat of the drum which set ithe stroke for the first canoe. A volley of shots was fired, causing all the pigeons in the compound to take flight, followed by another that started them off as soon as they had settled. There was a loud banging of kettles, accompanied by bursts of song from the Krus and even a chorus of feeble shouts from the canoe loads of slaves, who had sensed they were nearing their final destination.
    The noise of the arrival had aroused the whole of Yendo

    Castle, free and slave, village and factory. Although the arrival of a slave caravan from the interior was not as exciting as a ship from overseas, it meant a break in the monotony of the lives of the factory slaves and the villagers. Their bare feet could be heard padding across the compound, and by the time Mongo Don and Jonathan had arrived at the landing stage there were perhaps a hundred people crowded around and onto the jerry-built bamboo piers that straggled out into the river.
    The first canoe, partially tented with tiie same striped fabric which had shaded Tamboura on his first day, with its Krus glistening with palm oil, swept up to the pier with a flourish, where it was moored by half a hundred black hands eager to reach out and draw it closer. There was a flutter beneath the awning and it parted to show Ama-jaUah, resplendent in pure white muslin and reeking of cheap French perfume. A board was laid from pier to canoe and he walked over it—carefully so as not to lose his balance; slowly, to retain his dignity; and majestically, to impress the cadaverous, unshaven Spaniard and the young, pink-cheeked Englishman.
    They greeted each other in Hausa, using the stilted phrases of Islamic courtesy, and after the greeting all waited expectantly vmtil a volley of shots was fired from the factory. Meticulously Ama-jallah counted the shots on the fingers ot his hands. Twenty-one! He beamed his satisfaction. Only royalty received that salute. It put him, in a good mood and he walked along between Mongo Don and Jonathan, making sure that they measured their gait to his, not he his to theirs. In deference to him, they walked a step behind him as they progressed slowly up the path that led by the barracoons, past the whitewashed log walls of the factory, the warehouses, the offices, and across the hard-packed earth of the clean-swept compound to the Mongo's porticoed home, bordered by a row of feather-duster palms which gave no shade but did manage to decorate with a fluff of greenery.
    Mongo Don allowed Ama-jallah to ascend the steps of the wide-roofed portico first. He motioned to the ornate chair, beribboned and decorated with tufts of dyed ostrich plumes and swags of varicolored beads, in contrast to his own chair which was not decorated. Ama-jallah seated himself, carefully arranging his robes. He spoke for the first time since he had left the pier. His