He bought it and sometimes paid for it. He did not give its exact value, and after three weeks of bartering his business came to an end, because native folk would not bring any further rubber to his big canoe. Whereupon Tinkerton–such was his name–had recourse to other methods. He sat down in a likely village and instructed the headman to produce for him so many kilos of rubber in so many days, promising remuneration which by every standard was absurd. The head-man refused, whereupon Tinkerton tied him up to a tree and whipped him with a chicotte.

“Now you’ll change your point of view,” said Tinkerton, “and fetch me rubber–quick!”

The chief sent twenty young men into the forest to find rubber, and four men who were his best paddlers to find Mr. Commissioner Sanders, collecting hut tax with some labour in the Akasava country.

Rubber and Sanders arrived at the Calali River at the same time.

Tinkerton explained his position and the chief exhibited his back.

“My permit is quite in order, I think,” said Tinkerton.

“Up to a point,” admitted Sanders carefully, “it is. But, as you know, a licence to trade becomes invalid when the holder is convicted of any breach of the common law.”

Tinkerton smiled uneasily.

“That doesn’t affect me, I think,” he said.

He always added “I think” to everything he said, lest the hearer should labour under the impression that he spoke without thinking.

“It affects you considerably,” said Sanders; “for I am sentencing you to six months’ hard labour for your assault on this native, and I am sending you to the coast to serve that sentence.”

Tinkerton went crimson with rage.

“Do you know what I think of you?” he asked loudly.

“No,” said Sanders, “but I can guess it, and if you open your mouth uncivilly I shall take you by the scruff of the neck and kick you into the river.”

Tinkerton went down to the coast under escort, and he never forgave the Commissioner.

The major portion of his sentence was remitted by the Administrator, because it happened that the Administrator was a sort of cousin to Tinkerton’s father.

So that to the patent fury of Tinkerton was added the coldly polite disapproval of an Administrator who is remembered best on the coast by his mistakes.

Now, although it is amusing to recall the blunders of a high official after his departure, it is not so entertaining to furnish material for subsequent anecdote, and one must be possessed of a peculiarly poignant sense of humour to thoroughly appreciate the travail in which these jests were born.

The Administrator may or may not have deliberately set himself the task of annoying Sanders.

From a strictly service aspect, a service which has for its ideal the perfection of British administration, to the exclusion of all personal ambition, the idea is preposterous. From the standpoint of one who has some knowledge of human nature, it seems very likely that there was something in the suggestion that His Excellency had his administrative knife in the executive ribs of Mr. Commissioner Sanders.

One spring morning Sanders received a big blue letter. It came in his mail bag with other communications but bore, in addition to the notification that it was “On His Majesty’s Service,” the legend “Department of His Excellency the Administrator,” and was moreover subscribed “Strictly confidential.”

Now, when a high official of state writes in strictest confidence to his subordinate, he is not telling him his troubles or confessing his guilt, or even trying to borrow money.

He is, as a rule, delivering a kick with all the force of his strong right leg.

Sanders looked at the letter, picked it up gingerly, held it up to the light, and weighed it in his hand. It was heavy. The bulk of it was eloquent of reproof, because administrators do not expend overmuch energy in praising the works of their underlings.

Sir Harry Coleby, K.C.M.G., had a reputation which he had acquired in Bermuda, Jamaica, and the Straits Settlements. It was not a reputation for loving kindness exactly. His nickname–he came by this when he was a secretary of Legation at Madrid–was “Calliente,” which he pronounced “Cally-enty,” and means “hot.” And hot he was of head and temper, and the men who worked for him and with him lived in a mild perspiration.

He was extravagant of speech and quick of temper, and he wrote letters which were vitriolic without being offensive within the meaning of the act.

Sanders opened the blue envelope reluctantly and smoothed out the typewritten sheets and read:

“Sir,–I have the honour to inform you that His Excellency the Administrator has received your half-yearly report on the conditions of the tribes and peoples under your honour’s administration.

“His Excellency regrets that the reports you send concerning the spread of sleeping sickness in the Calali district are not as satisfactory as His Majesty’s Government could wish. The measure framed for the restriction of this disease does not seem to have been effectively applied, and he requests that a further report on this matter should be furnished at the end of the present quarter.”

Sanders read so far without being seriously troubled. The Administration was covering itself against any kicks which might come from Downing Street, and by Sanders’ code was justified.

He read on:

“The state of lawlessness which prevails in the Akasava and Ochori countries is, in His Excellency’s opinion, a matter for regret, and he expects your honour to take immediate steps to deal drastically with this condition of affairs. A suggestion which His Excellency makes is that the chief Bosambo should be deposed, and that the Akasava and Ochori should be combined under one chief.”

Sanders, who knew the Ochori and Akasava for hereditary enemies, mopped his forehead with a gaudy bandana handkerchief and swore softly.

“His Excellency desires me to state that considering the natural resources of the lands under your honour’s dominion, the amount of taxes collected would appear to be inadequate and he sends you herewith a revised scale of taxation which shall come into operation as from July 1st of the current year.”

That was all.

The reference to the Akasava and Ochori crime left him unmoved. The crime was of no great importance, and was, in point of fact, less serious than in previous years. He could afford to ignore the suggestion concerning Bosambo, though he knew it was made to annoy Bosambo’s patron. But the taxation was another matter–a very serious matter indeed, and he sat down to write on the subject. He pointed out the consequences of increasing the demand upon uncivilised people. He reported means by which an increased revenue might be secured without adding to the burden of the individual, and he ended his letter by expressing his absolute disagreement with the Administration.

“Whilst noting your Excellency’s instructions,” he said, “I decline to accept any responsibility whatsoever for the effect the new imposition may produce.”

In reply, he received a most unpleasant letter which told him, in the stilted and official language of special correspondence, to do as he was bid.

“You will make whatsoever arrangements you deem necessary, without any further reference to His Excellency, to deal with the disorder which in your view will arise as a result of the new taxation. I am to say that in His Excellency’s opinion no such danger is to be apprehended.”

Now Sanders’ position was a difficult one. He was bound hand and foot by service regulations. He knew that the new Administrator was acting off his own bat, and that were the Home Government aware of the innovation of the new taxes, it would make short work of them.

But Sanders could not communicate with Downing Street direct. It would be an unpardonable thing to go behind his superior. In another land where white men were, a newspaper correspondent might reveal the trouble brewing without Sanders being in any way responsible; such things are done–as I know. But the only white men in Sanders’ territory were three missionaries, separated from him by hundreds of miles, a captain of Houssas and himself.

Sanders thought the matter over day and night for a week. Once he almost decided to break through all rules, notify the Government, and resign. He was in the act of penning the cablegram when an inspiration came to him.

“You will make whatsoever arrangements…”

The concluding paragraph of the Administrator’s letter occurred to him.

Very slowly and thoughtfully he tore up the draft of his cable into little pieces and called his orderly, who was half-asleep on the verandah outside.

“Tell Yoka,” he said, “that I will have fire in the Zaire by sunset–take food on board for three weeks.