"The Fire is lighted," mumbled the old man.

"What does he say?" demanded zu Pfeiffer sharply.

"He attempts to make magic against thee, Bwana," replied the interpreter who knew not the meaning of the phrase.

"Take away the animal," commanded zu Pfeiffer.

The old man was accordingly led out to the further attentions of the soldiery. But during that afternoon zu Pfeiffer became conscious of a subtle air of defiance, a restlessness and exchanging of glances, so that the demon which Bakunjala had once seen so vividly came back to roost somewhere beneath the immaculate uniform.

Neither he nor his sergeants nor their men could speak the Wongolo tongue fluently, so that for interpreter he was compelled to employ one of the corporals. To employ any newly subjected race or tribe as soldiers or in any responsible capacity is unwise, for ties of blood are liable to lead to treachery; to trust to the idiosyncrasies and personal values of any native interpreter is equally impolitic. Zu Pfeiffer and his party were as unaware of the meaning of the phrases exchanged as they were of the message in the throbbing of that distant drum. Between the conqueror and the subjected tribe was a wall denser than any steel; the same wall of tabu of the craft that Birnier was finding so difficult to penetrate.

Every attempt to persuade any of the witch-doctors to disclose the secrets of their craft through the interpreter was doomed to failure; even had zu Pfeiffer been able to speak the dialect as well as Birnier he would never have accomplished it. Yet he tried the impossible. The answer was invariably a mask of ox-like stupidity or the retort that he, being a mighty magician, must needs know that he did but "tickle their feet"! At length, irritated by this persistence, he had Sakamata put to the torture and had for his pains a story in which the idol as the first man was the father of the tribe whom the people believed to have been eaten up literally, so that the conqueror had become the father of the people, having the idol inside him, and the chance that the tale had a faint resemblance to an account by a Frenchman of the superstitions of a West African tribe, convinced him. Implicitly he believed the ingenious yarn invented by a wily witch-doctor to save his hide and the perquisites of his job by placating the white man, the trap into which most white chroniclers have fallen. This conviction, which flattered his sagacity and lulled any suspicions, strengthened his arm in the delivering of punishment and reward.



CHAPTER 25

In the camp of Bakahenzie was the low mutter of the drums by day and night. The village had straggled farther through the forest in each direction save that of the sacred enclosure. Already were some five hundred warriors there and more were pouring in every day. Busy were Bakahenzie and wizards, great and small, in the preparing of amulets of the hearts of lions, livers of leopards and galls of birds, and the brewing of potent decoctions to be smeared with parrot feathers upon the warriors old and young against the evil eye and the spirits of the night. And dispensed by Bakahenzie and Marufa, from whom had come the original idea, was a special and rather expensive charm against the coughing monsters, which was made by, and invested with, the magic of the King-God himself, a can key. That morning had there been a special meeting of the craft and the chiefs before the sacred enclosure, where they had looked upon the sacred form of the King-God and heard the magic elephant's ear give them instructions and a prophecy. Around and about a hundred fires, flickering mystically in the moist cavern of the forest, shuffled and chanted the warriors invoking the aid of Tarum, the spirit of their ancestors.

On the threshold of his hut squatted a sullen Zalu Zako. He had discovered that he had escaped from the river bearing him to the pool of celibacy to find that the bird had been captured by another. Although he had known that before attaining his desire he would have had to extricate Bakuma from the net of the tabu, yet, lover-like and human, that task unconsidered had seemed as easy as stalking a buck in a wood. But the joy of his own release had been dissipated as a cloud of dust by a shower by the news of MYalu's abduction of the girl and his desertion. Zalu Zako was so obsessed by chagrin at this wholly unexpected appearance of a rival that he was inclined to regret that he had ever thought of the move by which he could escape his late doom and rescue Bakuma at the same time. The illusion of nearness to the desired object had served naturally to whet his appetite; the balked love motive dominated him almost to the exclusion of political affairs. What his official status was now that all precedent had been broken Bakahenzie did not know and had not decided, and Zalu Zako cared less.

Though his faith in most of the tribal theology was unshaken, he did not believe in the sanctity, or the necessity, of the marriage of the Bride of the Banana, because he had a defensive complex of desire for her that inhibited that belief. Towards MYalu, Zalu Zako's natural reaction was revenge. The matter was how to accomplish that end. To reveal to Bakahenzie that he was the lover of Bakuma would be tantamount to admitting sacrilege in having a passion for the Bride of the Banana.

As Zalu Zako was unable to get at the person of his rival the most logical method to his mind was by witchcraft. To obtain some relics of the body of MYalu proved easy, as his wives and slaves being forced to flee, had been unable to burn the deserted hut, thus leaving in the customary place in the thatch some of the hair and nail clippings. Also to find an excuse for the cursing of MYalu was still easier. So at a meeting of the chiefs he rivalled Bakahenzie in denunciation of the absconding chief, insisted that a mighty magic be made against him and produced the necessary corporeal parts upon which to work. So it was that Bakahenzie and Marufa, a quiet watchful Marufa, brewed the magic brew and condemned MYalu by the proxy of his nail clippings to die, a process that took root in a very firm conviction in the mind of Zalu Zako and the others that die MYalu would.

After this satisfaction of the first fierce instinct Zalu Zako was more at liberty to consider other matters, which resulted in an effort to quicken the collective will to recover the tribe's country and possessions, symbolised in Zalu Zako's mind by the delicate figure of Bakuma.

The ceremony of the lighting of the new fires he had attended perfunctorily. To have regret or pity for the white man, Moonspirit who had taken over his doom, never occurred to Zalu Zako, for to him as to Bakahenzie Moonspirit was a mighty magician who, if competent to effect the magic he had already displayed, was capable of looking after himself; moreover, as he had recalled the Unmentionable One, he stood as the incarnation of the tribe, the god, therefore beyond human consideration.

Bakahenzie's chief regard was, of course, to unify the tribe once more and to rouse those who had submitted to Eyes-in-the-hands to rebellion, which was but a projection of his desire, as that of all patriots, to consolidate his own position and to regain his lost prestige. He had had no need to command that the news be sent abroad. At the ceremony of the Lighting of the Fires the drum notes had been picked up by the nearest village and sent ricocheting across the length and breadth of the country, rippling through the Court of the Son-of-the-Earthquake.

Bakahenzie's confidence had increased tenfold since, by his clever coup, he had locked up the white magician in the godhead. He believed that Moonspirit was the mightiest magician the world had ever seen, a demi-god; for had he, Bakahenzie, not seen these wondrous miracles with his own eyes? Had not he, Bakahenzie, captured and tamed this marvellous power to his own ends?

So absolute was this confidence in the powers of the white that Bakahenzie was perfectly sincere, as Mungongo and Bakuma had been, in asserting that the "son of the Lord-of-many-Lands" was pleased to pretend that "an elephant was a mouse," that he "tickled their feet." The only doubt raised in his mind at that interview was whether he could persuade this powerful being to destroy the usurper "out of hand," as it were, or even whether Moonspirit could do so; for it was quite reasonable to him to suppose that even a god, in fighting another god, might have to do battle for the victory.

Not in spite of, but because of, this firm faith Bakahenzie took more precautions than ever before to surround the captured god with the toughest fibres of the tabu to keep him in isolation. Obviously such a valuable prize demanded special precautions. He promulgated an ordinance, in the amplitude of his regained power, that no lay man nor any wizard save the inner cult, whom he dared not forbid, were to approach within sight of the sacred enclosure. In the jungle of his mind lurked the fear that the new god might be seen to leave the sacred ground and thus render the penalty of death imperative according to the laws of the tabu upon a god who jeopardised the tribal welfare as MFunya MPopo had done by his failure to bring rain. The belief that he could control a force which he admitted was infinitely greater than he, and of punishing it if it did not behave, was not at all inconsistent to the native mind, nor more illogical than many theological ideas of whites.

At the last interview Bakahenzie had tried to persuade Birnier to permit him to speak into the mighty ear of the magic box; in effect an attempt to gain complete control. But Birnier, when he at length had realised that Bakahenzie's mental development was little greater than Mungongo's, and keenly aware of the isolation to which he was to be subjected, as well as the purpose in the witch-doctor's mind, had resolutely refused. Bakahenzie had accepted the intimation that the god would not work miracles through any other mouth than that of his incarnation, and after a long cogitative silence had departed without further comment.

But of course he came back again next day, as Birnier had known that he would. Birnier hinted at the expected initiation into the "mysteries" of the craft, particularly of the Festival of the Banana and the other ceremonies connected with his role as King-God. But Bakahenzie's gaze, fixed upon an object on the toilet table, did not quiver. Birnier repeated the inquiry more bluntly. Said Bakahenzie:

"The fingers of the son of Maliko are hungry to touch the magic knife of the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands."

"Damn it," muttered Birnier. "That's my favourite!" But he handed the razor to Bakahenzie, saying: "Is not the porridge pot free to all brothers?" Gravely Bakahenzie slipped the safety razor into his loin cloth, mumbled the orthodox adieu and departed.

Although devoted to Birnier as much as ever, Mungongo was bound just as much by the articles of the tabu as any other native; in fact, since his appointment to the high office of Keeper of the Fires, he was if possible more terrified by the bogies of their theology than before. Put one foot out of the sacred ground he would not, for he was convinced that immediately he did so, the ghosts of the dead kings would instantly strangle him. Birnier attempted to persuade him to get into communication with Marufa, but that wily gentleman, grieving over the failure of the coup he had aided Birnier to make, and for the moment completely under the domination of Bakahenzie, who, he knew, had him watched every moment of the day and night, would never approach the Place of the Unmentionable One. Nor dared Zalu Zako break the tabu placed by Bakahenzie. To Bakahenzie and not to Birnier he owed his escape from the dreaded godhood. One who had released him might quite reasonably have him back again if annoyed. The few wizards who came to gaze at the imprisoned god like children at the Zoo, as Birnier had commented, were deaf to any remark, instruction, or plea of the Holy One. So it was that Birnier began to realise that the functions of a god were so very purely divine that he would never be allowed to interfere in human affairs at all except by grace of the high priest, and possibly he was not the first god who had found that out.

This jungle of secrecy and the denial of any active part in the organising of the tribe began to irritate Birnier. Yet he perceived clearly enough from his knowledge of the native mind that a premature effort to force either confidence or action would end in disaster. Patience and perseverance alone would bring success; and the moulding of the material through forces which already controlled it. He must play the witch-doctor to the full. Working upon this hypothesis he determined to control Bakahenzie through "messages" from the spirit of Tarum. The trouble was to find out whether Bakahenzie would obey him or not and to what extent.

So in the early hours of one morning Bakahenzie's watchers in the forest shuddered as they heard more of the mysterious voices of the Unmentionable One making wondrous magic within the temple as Mungongo chanted, at Birnier's prompting, the god's instructions to his high priest and people. The form of the chant was not correct as Mungongo's memory was very unreliable, but as Birnier remarked to the portrait of Lucille, "I don't suppose Maestro Bakahenzie is such a stylist as he would have the public suppose." Afterwards, to Mungongo's delight, who was never tired of any manifestation of Moonspirit's magic, he put out the light and lay upon his bed within the temple listening to the voice of Lucille pouring out the passion of "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix," in Samson et Delilah, to the sleepy ears of the monkeys above the figure of the idol limned against the moon-patterned roof of the forest.

But scarcely had the moist ultramarine shadows turned to mauve than the voice of Bakahenzie hailed the god most punctiliously from without. However Birnier happened to be sleepy, and the chance of the early hour presented such an opportunity to gain prestige that he sent the Keeper of the Fires to inform the High Priest that the god was not yet up and that he must needs wait. And wait did Bakahenzie, like unto a graven image at the gate until the sun was four hand's-spans above the trees. When Birnier had breakfasted upon broiled kid, eggs, banana and weak tea, Bakahenzie was summoned to the august presence.

Wondering what new idea Bakahenzie had gotten into his head Birnier solemnly talked the usual preliminaries, intending to announce in the best manner that Tarum had a message for the son of Maliko; but to his astonishment Bakahenzie forestalled him by demanding to know when the god would speak again.

When Mungongo had gravely placed the machine at his feet Birnier set the record. The chant bade the son of Maliko to summon the wizards and the warriors of the tribe to the abode of the Unmentionable One; to send to those who had fallen into the power of Eyes-in-the-hands instructions that they were not to reveal by word or deed that the Unmentionable One had been pleased to return, but to wait like a wild cat at a fish pool until a signal was given through the drums, when they were to smite swiftly at every keeper of the demons and to flee immediately to their brethren in the forest; that they were on no account to kill or wound Eyes-in-the-hands nor any white man that was his, lest their powerful ghosts exact a terrible penalty and refuse to be propitiated; that when these things had been done would the spirit of Tarum issue further instructions.

In composing this message Bernier had sought to gain the advantage of a surprise attack and to secure the massacre of as many of the askaris as possible; to save zu Pfeiffer and his white sergeants from the fate which would await them should they fall into the hands of the Wongolo; to minimise the loss of men which would occur were the tribe to attempt to face the guns; afterwards to lure zu Pfeiffer away from his fortifications and the open country, in order to compel him to fight in the forest where he could not ascertain what force was against him; and in the meantime to slip round and establish the idol in the Place of Kings, which act would consolidate the moral of the tribe as well as cut the line of zu Pfeiffer's communications with Ingonya.

As Bakahenzie listened gravely and attentively, Birnier keenly watched his face. Although the mask did not quiver, a half suppressed grunt at the end persuaded him that Bakahenzie was duly impressed, but he made no comment. After regarding Mungongo solemnly putting away the machine Bakahenzie remarked casually:

"In the village is a messenger from Eyes-in-the-hands who sends thee greetings."

This was the first news that Birnier had received since his ascent to the godhood. He had expected that sooner or later zu Pfeiffer would hear of the presence of a white man, but he was rather startled at the inference that zu Pfeiffer knew who he was. He made no visible sign as he waited. Bakahenzie took snuff interestedly and continued:

"Eyes-in-the-hands bids thee to go unto the Place of Kings to eat the dust before him."

Bakahenzie regarded him with keen eyes. Birnier considered swiftly. From the latter part of the message he gathered that zu Pfeiffer was not aware of his identity. His opinion of zu Pfeiffer's character suggested certain psychological possibilities. His policy was to lure him away from his fort; to destroy his military judgment. Therefore to cause him at this juncture to be violently disturbed by a personal emotion might tend to confuse his mind. Enmity—fear—might equally serve as the lure required. In spite of committing a breach of native etiquette Birnier could not resist smiling. He reached for the "Anatomy" and as he scribbled two words he said to Bakahenzie solemnly:

"O son of Maliko, say unto this man of many tongues as well as many eyes, 'that the jackal follows the lion that he may feed upon his leavings; that the voice of the hyena is loudest when he eateth offal.' And shall the slave take unto him that which is mighty magic, such magic that when Eyes-in-the-hands doth but touch it shall he trumpet like unto a wounded cow elephant. Bid him to mark that my words be white!"

And when Bakahenzie had gone Birnier turned to the portrait on the wall and remarked as he indulged in the luxury of a grin: "Say, honey, but if that doesn't make him mad, I'll—I'll eat my own manuscripts!"



CHAPTER 26

In a corner of one of the half-completed huts in a half-completed street of the new village of the Place of Kings squatted Yabolo and other chiefs. As Sakamata was up in the fort serving Eyes-in-the-hands they could talk freely, yet in low tones and with wary eyes for the interstices of the unfinished wall. More than one chief had been thrashed but none as high in rank as MYalu; moreover, those that had been severely punished had been taken in fair fight or had attempted to escape, whereas MYalu had done nothing that they considered to merit punishment. The growing detestation and hatred smouldering within all of them against the new ruler had burst into flame at the first hint of the news vibrating upon the moist air. Later had come another drum message bidding them await new words of Tarum, and forty-eight hours afterwards the messenger sent by zu Pfeiffer to summon Moonspirit, who squatted in the group, whispered word for word Birnier's message on the phonograph, adding further instructions from Bakahenzie that the signal should be another message upon the drums: "The Fire is lighted."

Warm banana wrapped in leaves, which a slave had brought in, was placed before the chiefs while the messenger related the gossip of the village in the forest. Later, while lolling through the mid-day heat waiting for the time of audience, he produced from his loin cloth the magic charm which the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands, the King-God, had sent to Eyes-in-the-hands and repeated the prophecy that he should trumpet like unto a wounded cow elephant, eliciting many grunts of admiration and awe. Then he inquired for Sakamata and MYalu, and upon hearing the account, reported that they were both traitors and had been condemned to die by the magic of Bakahenzie and Marufa.

Each and every chief felt that he had been betrayed by Sakamata. Even Yabolo, his relative, particularly because his visionary schemes had come to nought, was against Sakamata. Sakamata had heard the message of the drums, "The Fire is lighted." But of the details of the return of the Unmentionable One and of the new King-God he knew nothing, although every other Wongolo man, woman, and child, knew it. The terror of the tabu, of the power of the Unmentionable One, was more overwhelming than his fear of Eyes-in-the-hands, wizard and ex-member of the inner cult though he be. The Unmentionable One had returned, a miracle! In a thousand signs of birds and beasts, twigs and shadows, Sakamata saw omens of evil. He knew that he was an outcast, that his fellows were plotting; that they knew something that he did not; yet he dared not tell Eyes-in-the-hands lest he be killed on the instant, not by Eyes-in-the-hands but by the mystic power of the Unmentionable One.

Farther down the line, in a small hut, lay MYalu motionless. His mind was a whirling red spot of rage and pain, obliterating the image of Bakuma, his ivory, and everything. From the base of the spine to his neck he was criss-crossed with bloody weals administered with a kiboko (whip of hippopotamus hide) by one of the black giants who formed the door guard at the tent of Eyes-in-the-hands. More stimulating to his anger even than the excessive pain was the indignity, that he, MYalu, son of MBusa, a chief, had been flogged like a slave before all men! Could he have gotten free he would have leaped upon zu Pfeiffer, god or no, and torn him to pieces with hands and teeth. But he could scarcely move. Never had such an act been conceived by MYalu. The native dignity and reserve was shattered. He lay upon his belly and glared with the eyes of a maddened and tortured animal.

The yellow glare in the open doorway was darkened, but MYalu did not stir. The figure of Yabolo, a short throwing sword in hand, moved towards him and squatted down, muttering greetings. MYalu made no response. Yabolo repeated the message from the spirit of Tarum.

"Let thy spear be made sharp, O son of MBusa, that we may make the jackal who would command the lion to eat offal!" MYalu grunted. "The son of Bayakala saith that it will be soon, so that thou mayest yet eat of thy defiler ere thou art gone to ghostland." MYalu turned his head. "The son of MTungo and the son of Maliko," explained the old man, "have made magic upon the parts which thou didst foolishly leave within thy hut."

Again MYalu merely grunted and turned away his head. But that dread news had quenched the white flame of anger. The spirits were wroth; even had they caused him to eat the dust before all men. Conviction in the efficacy of the magic for which he would have bought Marufa to make against Zalu Zako was as absolute as his faith in the death magic made against him by the two powerful witch-doctors, and intensified by the miraculous return of the Unmentionable One against whom he had committed sacrilege. He recollected the cry of the Baroto bird on the night on which he had kidnapped the Bride of the Banana. The spirit of Tarum was wroth. The mighty new King-God of the Unmentionable One was about to eat up all the enemies of the land. MYalu was convinced that he was doomed; certain that Yabolo knew that he was doomed; that every man knew that he was doomed.

For ten minutes the figures, squatting and lying, remained as motionless as bronzes. Then MYalu rose to his knees and said calmly: "Give me thy sword, O son of Zingala."

Silently Yabolo handed him the sword which MYalu placed beneath him and laid down again. So quietly he died.

From the sacred hill blared the harsh cry of the yellow bird, as the natives called the trumpet, announcing that the august presence was in audience. But instead of the usual crowd of immobile figures squatted almost under the shadow of the pom-pom within the gate of the fort, sat only the messenger. Sakamata, knowing that something portended and yet not exactly what, was so scared that his skinny limbs quivered as if with an ague. Although he desired to warn Eyes-in-the-hands in order to save himself, he dared not attempt to do so lest the august one visit his anger upon his person; vague ideas of redeeming his treachery by delivering Eyes-in-the-hands over to his countrymen were stoppered by terror of the wrath of the Unmentionable One.

So it was that the pomp of the Son-of-the-Earthquake and the glory of the soul of the World-Trembler with many charms upon his breast was reserved for the humble messenger who entered escorted by Sakamata. After bowing in the prescribed manner the messenger squatted at zu Pfeiffer's feet and addressed himself to the corporal interpreter.

"The son of the Lord-of-many-lands, that is the King-God of the One-not-to-be-mentioned, sends greeting to the son of the World-Trembler, called Eyes-in-the-hands, and this message: 'Say unto the man of many tongues as well as many eyes that the jackal follows the lion that he may feed on the leavings; the voice of the hyena is loudest when he eateth offal!'"

"What does the animal say?" demanded zu Pfeiffer, impatient of the native preamble.

"He says, Bwana," said the interpreter, "that the white man is sick and cannot move, but that he will come as soon as he is well."

From the folds of his loin cloth the messenger was dutifully extracting something wrapped up in a banana leaf, which he handed to the interpreter as he finished the message:

"And by his slave he sendeth that which is mighty magic; such magic that he who toucheth it shall trumpet like unto a wounded cow elephant."

"He says, Bwana," continued the interpreter glibly, "that he sends to the mighty Eater-of-Men a small present," and with the words the corporal guilelessly proffered the small package. Zu Pfeiffer took it and tore off the covering.…

Then was the magic of the new King-god of the Unmentionable One made manifest to all men, and particularly a group of chiefs hiding in a small thicket beneath the hill, for indeed did the Son-of-the-Earthquake trumpet like unto a wounded cow elephant at the sight of an ivory disc on which was written:

"Amantes—Amentes!"



CHAPTER 27

All day at Fort Eitel had been stir and bustle, the blare of trumpets and the barking of sergeants, white and black. Long lines of women and slaves streamed in from the surrounding countryside bearing loads of corn and bananas. In the half-made parade ground at the foot of the hill of Kawa Kendi, half a company of Wongolo whom zu Pfeiffer had conscripted from the chiefs, stumbled and ran in awkward squads. In the hut of the Wongolo chiefs squatted Yabolo among the rest, silently observing the preparations for the punitive expedition which Sakamata had informed them was being prepared in response to the insolent challenge of the white man who had allied himself with the "rebels." But over them, as well as every Wongolo in and about the place, was a sullen air not of defiance but of expectant listening.

In the mess hut a nervous Bakunjala prepared the table for dinner, the whites of his eyes rolling at every sound of zu Pfeiffer's voice from the marquee adjoining. Never in his experience, nor in that of other servants or soldiers, had the demon so utterly possessed the dread Eater-of-Men as since the receipt of some terrible magic sent to him by the white man. Opinion was divided as to whether this white man was the one who had been arrested and sent to the coast with Corporal Inyira or whether he was a brother; some said that the magic leaf which the messenger had brought was the soul of the white man, others maintained that it was the incarnation of Bakra, which explained why the Eater-of-Men was so entirely possessed. Had he not screamed? they demanded, which clearly proved, as everybody knew, the dreadful agony as the ghost entered into the body.

Even the white sergeants were frightened of their chief. They had been seen talking together secretly, doubtless discussing what medicine they could give him to exorcise the demon. Had he not been commanded by this demon to leave the safety of the fort where they had the guns on the hills, and to go into the forest where, as anybody knew, their eyes would be taken from them so that they could not see to kill the dogs of Wongolo? They were all conscious, native-like, that something was brewing among the Wongolo, but what it was exactly they did not know. Two men had had fifty lashes that morning because they had not saluted the totem—flag—correctly; and a Wongolo chief had been shot because he had not brought in the amount of ivory commanded. None dared to warn the Eater-of-Men. Some one had said that the "leaf" was the soul of the idol come to lead the Eater-of-Men to destruction. This idea took deep root among the Wunyamwezi soldiers, for although they had delighted in the slaughter and rapine under the leadership of the Eater-of-Men, yet always had there been an uneasy feeling of sacrilege in destroying an idol.

In the half of the marquee reserved for the Kommandant's private quarters sat zu Pfeiffer in his camp chair with the inevitable stinger at his elbow. Erect by the door stood Sergeant Schultz taking details for the disposition of stores and troops during the absence of the punitive expedition. Never had he in four years' service seen the lieutenant as he was now. Although Schultz could speak Kiswahili fluently he knew no word of Munyamwezi, else he might have been disposed to agree with Bakunjala and his friends. As it was he thought that the Herr Lieutenant had gotten a touch of the sun or was drinking too heavily or perhaps a bit of both; for to his mind the act of dividing up their scanty forces and leaving their fortified positions to enter the forest, with no chance of keeping open the line of communication, appeared to be military suicide.

He deemed it his duty to bring this point of view to his Kommandant's notice, but he was uncomfortably aware of zu Pfeiffer's headstrong character.

"What time does the moon set, sergeant?" demanded zu Pfeiffer.

"About three, Excellence."

"Good. Then at five precisely the column will move. Warn Sergeant Schneider."

"Ya, Excellence."

"You will transfer the remainder of your men and the Nordenfeldt as soon as we have gone."

"Ya, Excellence."

"That is all, sergeant."

Zu Pfeiffer dropped his head wearily on to his hand. Schultz remained rigidly by the door. Zu Pfeiffer glanced up peevishly.

"I said that was all, sergeant," he exclaimed tetchily.

"Ya, Excellence."

"Herr Gott, what are you standing there for like a stuffed pig?"

Schultz saluted.

"Excellence, it is my duty to remind your Excellence that according to regulation 47 of …"

"To hell with you and your regulations, damn you.… Will you leave me alone!" The last was almost a plea.

"Excellence!"

Schultz saluted briskly and went. Again zu Pfeiffer's head dropped on to the cupped hand and he gazed at the portrait in the ivory frame.… Against the blue twilight of the door appeared a tall figure in white.

"What in the name of——" began zu Pfeiffer.

"Chakula tayari, Bwana," announced Bakunjala timidly.

"I don't want any chakula," said zu Pfeiffer. "Wait. Bring some here."

"Bwana!"

Bakunjala fled, to reappear almost instantly with a covered plate, which he placed on the table as bidden and vanished. Zu Pfeiffer regarded distastefully his favourite dish of curried eggs. Then he bawled irritably:

"Lights, animal!"

"Bwana!" gasped Bakunjala appearing in the doorway with the lamp.

But zu Pfeiffer pushed the plate away to stare at the photograph of Lucille. The stare turned to a glare, and then as if mutinying against his god, as Kawa Kendi had done when summoning rain, he suddenly snatched at the frame and flung it upon the floor with an oath, grabbed up a fountain pen and began to write.

Indeed zu Pfeiffer was half insane with anger which he was disposed to vent upon Lucille by proxy as the source of yet another trouble and possibly official disgrace. He had not had a notion that Birnier could have survived the gentle hands of the corporal until without warning came that ivory disc with "Amantes—Amentes!" scribbled upon it, which not only inferred that Birnier had escaped, but that he was near to him and intended to champion these native dogs against the Imperial Government in the person of himself.

The message had been made the more insulting by the note of exclamation at the end implying derisive laughter. It had, as Birnier had calculated that it would, struck zu Pfeiffer upon the most tender spot in his mental anatomy, evoking a homicidal mania which dominated his consciousness. To be cheated, to be swindled, to be sworn at, cursed, even to be beaten was sufferable to a degree, but to be laughed at—zu Pfeiffer's haughty soul exploded like a bomb at an impact. For a time he had been absolutely incoherent with rage. His one impulse had been to rush out and tear Birnier limb from limb. Well might the listening natives believe in the mighty magic of the new King-God, that it should make the Son-of-the-Earthquake to trumpet like a wounded cow elephant!

Then out of the dissolving acrid smoke of wounded pride begin to loom arbitrary points. First, that Birnier would have complained, as he once had threatened to do, to Washington, which would infuriate the authorities in Berlin; and secondly, that he would have written to Lucille revealing the attempt he had made upon the life of her husband as well as the things he had said. How Birnier had escaped was immaterial, but the particular fate that awaited Corporal Inyira was decided but futilely; for the bold son of Banyala and his merry men were footing it to the south of lake Tanganika, scared by day lest the long arm of the Eater-of-Men should overtake them and haunted by the terror of seeing another illuminated ghost by night.

As the jewelled hand glittered in the lamp-light came the mutter of a distant drum on the moist darkness; zu Pfeiffer, abnormally irritable, raised his head, scowled, and muttering that he would have to issue an order to have the drums stopped, bent again to the uncongenial task of finishing the report due for headquarters before he left. The drum ceased; began again and was answered by another drum seemingly nearer at hand.

Five or ten minutes elapsed. As zu Pfeiffer took up a fresh sheet of paper a shot rang out followed instantly by yells. Zu Pfeiffer with an oath sprang to his feet, snatched at the revolver hanging above his camp bed and rushed out as a fusillade of shots mingled with wilder cries. The gruff coughs of the corporal in charge of the guard competed with the sharp barks of Sergeant Schultz. Zu Pfeiffer, bawling for a sergeant, ran to the great gate where the pom-pom was stationed. On the opposite hill red flashes of rifle fire darted downwards. Came another outburst of yelling. Forms of askaris scurrying to their places round the fence brushed by him on every side.

"Sergeant Schultz!" shouted zu Pfeiffer.

A figure in white appeared beside him in the darkness.

"Excellence!"

"Put the gun on them! Quick!"

At the bark of the sergeant the gun crew, already at their post, deftly manipulated the machine which coughed angry red bursts of flame into the darkness. The cries and howls ceased as suddenly as they had begun.

"Cease fire!" commanded zu Pfeiffer.

In the resulting stillness muttered shouts and cries from somewhere in the village below were punctuated by odd shots from the other hill.

"Sergeant Ludwig!" yelled zu Pfeiffer.

"Excellence!"

"Report!" snapped zu Pfeiffer.

"An unknown body of natives attacked and killed the sentry on the eastern gate, Excellence," came Sergeant Ludwig's voice from the gloom. "They entered and were repulsed according to instructions. That is all, Excellence."

"Losses?"

"None other, Excellence."

"What about the lower guards?"

"I do not know, Excellence."

"Take a platoon and investigate. We will cover you with the gun."

"Excellence."

The mutter of his orders was drowned in the excited jabber of the askaris.

"Didimalla!" came the dreaded voice of the Eater-of-Men. Instantly there was silence. "Report!" commanded zu Pfeiffer to Sergeant Schultz.

"A body of natives attacked upon the western gate, Excellence. They were repulsed."

"Losses?"

"Two men killed and three wounded."

"Ugm! Where's the interpreter?"

"Bwana!"

Cloth creaked as the man saluted in the dark.

"Where is Sakamata?" demanded zu Pfeiffer in Kiswahili.

"Here, Excellence," replied Sergeant Schultz. "He was running away. I had him arrested."

"Good. Bring the animal to my quarters."

"Excellence."

The sergeant and the interpreter, with a trembling Sakamata between them, followed zu Pfeiffer to the tent. As he entered he picked up the portrait in the ivory frame and replaced it carefully on the table and sat down.

"Ask the shenzie why he has not informed us of this attack?"

The interpreter put the question to the terrified old man who mumbled that he had not known anything about it.

"Ugm!" grunted zu Pfeiffer. "Send for a file of men, sergeant, and—— No!" Zu Pfeiffer rose. "I'll get the truth out of him. Stand aside, corporal!"

The corporal obeyed with alacrity as jerking his revolver downwards zu Pfeiffer pulled the trigger. The shot took off two of Sakamata's smaller toes. The corporal grinned in appreciation. Zu Pfeiffer experienced a shadow of the pleasure he would have had in mutilating Birnier.

"Pull him up!" commanded zu Pfeiffer. "Now ask him again!"

For a moment or two Sakamata, scarcely conscious of any pain in his fright, could not comprehend what was said; at length he mumbled and muttered. The interpreter lowered his head to listen.

"Well?"

"He says, Bwana, that he does not know anything; that they will not tell him, but that he has heard that the god has come back."

"The god! What god?"

"The god which these shenzie (savages) had here before the Bwana came."

"The idol!" Zu Pfeiffer ripped out an oath. Then glaring questioningly at the shrunken figure on the floor considered.

"Tell him he lies. How does he know that the idol has come back if they will not tell him anything?"

Again the interpreter jabbered at Sakamata who mumbled back.

"He says, Bwana, that his words are white. That they have not told him, but that he has heard the message of the drums. 'The Fire is lighted!'"

"What is that?"

"I don't know, Bwana."

"Ask him, you swine pig!"

"He says that whenever there is a new king that they call out those words, meaning that he is come."

"Ugm!" Zu Pfeiffer took out a cigar and lighted it as he considered. I believe the animal is right, he reflected. That swinehund American has done this! He turned sharply to Sergeant Schultz: "Post double guards; bring me Ludwig's report and take this thing away and have it shot."

"Excellence!"

The party went out. Zu Pfeiffer sat smoking fiercely. A single shot rang out. Presently came Sergeant Ludwig in person.

"I have to report, Excellence, that the investigation infers that the attack was only made with the purpose of freeing the sons of chiefs, for the picket has been slain but all the others are unhurt save three wounded."

Zu Pfeiffer swore mightily, but he dismissed the sergeant with an admonition to have his troops ready for inspection at four-thirty. He drank a brandy neat and sat on, staring at the darkness. Then suddenly he exclaimed and wheeled to the abandoned report.

"This is an undeniable overt act," he muttered, seeing what he considered an opportunity to neutralise the suppositious complaint which Birnier had sent to Washington; and taking up his pen began a formal accusation against Birnier, as an American subject, for having violated the international laws of the Geneva Convention by aiding and abetting rebels of his Imperial Majesty.



CHAPTER 28

Sergeant Schultz's gloomy foreboding of the inevitable result attending the refusal to follow the teachings of his national preceptors was justified.

Zu Pfeiffer, crazed with wounded pride or magic, according to the white or black point of view, had held rigidly to his schedule; precisely at four-thirty he had inspected the expedition and marched at the first streak of dawn. Schultz removed to the other hill, leaving twenty-five men and a gun under a black sergeant. Afterwards he visited the village. The bodies of five of the picket were lying in the sun mutilated. Not a native of any sort was to be seen or heard. He sent out scouts. A village a couple of miles away was deserted too. He wished to burn the huts and plantation to clear the ground around the fort but he dared not do so without orders. Muttering to himself he returned and posted double sentries.

Throughout the day and the moonlight not a sound of a drum or the voice of a native disturbed the moist heat. He slept for a while and then took to pacing upon the levee outside the fort. He was aware of a restlessness among the men. About midnight a nervous sentry fired at a moving shadow in the village. Erratic shots followed; flickered and ceased at the sergeant's angry order. The trees seemed to whisper mockingly. The sergeant decided that it must have been a prowling jackal or hyena; but the incident made him irritable.

In ordinary circumstances he would have posted picket sentries as provided by the regulations, but he could not spare any of his fifty men, for in the case of an attack they would never regain the fort. The moon sank as if reluctantly, seeming to hesitate upon the fringe of banana fronds at something that she alone could see. But the night creaked slowly on. Schultz knew that the favourite hour for an attack was just at the first glimmer of dawn when the spirits are making for their homes and the light is deceptive.

He was standing in front of the Nordenfeldt when a sentry's keener ears caught a peculiar whispering rustle. As Schultz turned his head to listen, the whisper grew in volume to the sound of a hail-storm—the patter of bare feet on sand. Faint light on spears rippled round the base of the hills. Schultz sprang inside the barrier barking at his men to open fire. He deflected the muzzle of his gun and began pumping nickel into the advancing mass of yelling figures.…

The rush carried the fort; for the defenders were out-numbered by fifty to one. Schultz fell under a dozen spear thrusts. The askaris were massacred to a man before the sun rose inquiringly beyond the sacred hill of Kawa Kendi.

When all the bloody acts of war were done and the triumphant yelling quietened, there came from across the river a pulsing trickle of sound in the sizzling heat, which was answered by a thundering crash of spear against shield and the "Ough! Ough!" of three thousand warriors gathered upon the hill to do homage to the Unmentionable One.

Across the river, at the ford where Bakuma had sung her swan song, came the procession led by the craft in full panoply. In the van stalked Bakahenzie, grave and solemn as befitted the high priest. Around him capered with untiring energy a group of lesser wizards whose duties were as those of professional dancers, having dried bladders and magic beads fastened to their ankles and wrists. Then behind Marufa a litter was borne by sacred slaves doomed to perish after performing their holy office, in which, swathed entirely from the public gaze, was Usakuma, the Incarnation of the Unmentionable One. In another litter, as securely screened, was the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands, endeavouring to endure a perpetual bath of sweat in the sacred cause, peeking professorial eyes through the interstices, scribbling in a notebook. Behind again marched Mungongo bearing a smouldering brand of the Sacred Fire; then Yabolo, reinstated in office for a reason that any politician will understand. After him came more litters bearing the magic "things" of the Incarnation of an Incarnation, the King-God.

As they splashed across the river, like troops of bronze gazelle, women and girls dashed eager to gather of fertility from the water enchanted by the passage of the Bearer of the World.

So they came through the banana plantation and up the wide street which the Son-of-the-Earthquake had planned. The chant quavered like a dragonfly in the sun and the chorus of the warriors replied with the rhythm and the profundity of gargantuan frogs. Then as Bakahenzie stepped upon the incline of the hill, burst from the women the cricket song which is made tremolo by the rapid beating of the fingers upon the lips, as from the drums went out the message over the land that the Unmentionable One had indeed returned to the Place of Kings, the City of the Snake.

Ten minutes later a half-stewed god, as exhausted as any emperor after a state parade, was permitted to emerge from the litter and to recuperate within the cool of the unfinished house that was to have been the bungalow of the Kommandant. No one else save the Keeper of the Fires, Bakahenzie and Marufa, were within the stockade which ringed the fort. Outside rose the mutter and rumble of the warriors and the cries of the women. The huddled lines of huts which had been barracks were already in process of demolition at the hands of the slaves, and the square within the fort was cleared of the slain askaris by the simple process of heaving the bodies over the palisade. The idol remained within the litter until the consecrating of the defiled ground should be performed by Bakahenzie and the craft.

No Wongolo nor any wizard, not even Bakahenzie, would touch the enchanted coughing monsters; but as the holy slaves were already doomed they were set to pull and to push the Nordenfeldt from the embrasure beside the entrance across the levee until it toppled over and rolled half-way down the hill, where it was allowed to stay, surrounded from morning to night by a crowd of women and children and idle warriors.

The thirst which afflicted Birnier rendered him oblivious of his godhood and of the sacred office of Mungongo who was dutifully busy upon his knees blowing up the sacred fires from the ember which he had carried; so that at a summons to bring water he was both embarrassed and awed, for the presence of the High Priest intensified his natural terror of breaking any of the meshes of the tabu. At the second imperative demand Bakahenzie soothed the angry god by commanding a slave to run to fetch water from without. But even then Birnier had the parched felicity of waiting while the High Priest solemnly exorcised the gourd of water which, as all food, could not be permitted to pass the lips of the King-God without the prescribed incantations.

However, within quite a reasonable time the sacred prisoner was accommodated with the possession of his goods, magic and culinary. The bungalow of the Kommandant, Birnier gathered, was to be converted into the temple after the ceremony of purification, and the idol was to stand in front in the place occupied by its predecessor at the coronation of the late Kawa Kendi.

All that day were Bakahenzie and Marufa and the wizards working hard at the various ceremonies of purification of those who had slain, the consecration of the Holy Hill, and the exorcising of the evil spirits attached thereto by the residence of the Son-of-the-Earthquake. Meanwhile Birnier and Mungongo were left to themselves within the enclosure to listen to the chanting and thrumming of the drums. Birnier had much to do in compiling his notes and reflections; Mungongo nothing save to prepare their meals and attend the Sacred Fires.

Exactly what had happened Birnier did not know and could not extract from Bakahenzie, who adopted his usual effective method of ignoring every direct question. Before they had left the place in the forest he had informed Birnier that the commands of the spirit of Tarum through the magic ear had been performed, but with what restrictions, modifications, or embroideries, Birnier had no means of ascertaining. His definite knowledge was that Zalu Zako, together with other chiefs and a vast crowd of warriors, were to remain in the forest where zu Pfeiffer was to be led into ambush by the power of the magic which he had sent, the American flag, an idea which certainly tickled Birnier's sense of humour considerably, particularly as it appealed to him, if successful, as an ideal case of poetic justice.

That zu Pfeiffer's fort had fallen was obvious, although what the disposition of his forces had been and of how the assault had been carried, Birnier had no idea. But of one thing he was reasonably sure, and that was that his analysis of zu Pfeiffer's reactions and the psychological effect upon the natives of having the idol reinstated in the Place of Kings, had been entirely correct. After all, as he admitted with a smile, zu Pfeiffer's system of native psychology had been based on the same fundamental principles as his own except that he had not reckoned with the unknown quantity, the equal intelligence working against him and able to discount his moves, plus heavier artillery in the form of an emotional broadside, the possibility of which rather naturally had never occurred to him.

An item which worried Birnier was that he had no means, and could hope for none apparently, of discovering whether and to what extent his orders through the phonograph had been carried out regarding the treatment of the white men. Their fate at the hands of the Wongolo, particularly after the merciless massacres inflicted by zu Pfeiffer, would scarcely bear imagining. From the fact of the instant and apparently easy success of the assault on the forts, he did not doubt that zu Pfeiffer, who had been foolish enough to be lured into dividing his forces, was doomed to defeat. In this instance he would not have any of the advantages of his triumphal entry into the country; would not be able to accomplish a surprise attack, and the weakening of the native moral by massacre and the downfall of the idol; in fact he had these very forces against him: for the success of their first venture, their overwhelming numbers in the forest, the exaltation of fanaticism excited by the restoration of their tribal god, practically tacked a label of suicide upon his military actions.

During that day Bakahenzie, evidently too busy with the duties of his office, did not come near to him. But that evening, in order to ensure as far as possible obedience to his orders through the mouth of the oracle, Birnier caused Mungongo to chant further instructions into the phonograph commanding that the Son-of-the-Earthquake was to be brought alive to receive judgment from the Unmentionable One through the Incarnation, the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands. Whether this would work or not Birnier of course could not know. Already had he discovered that nobody could control the complicated machinery of the native tabu any more than any one statesman could manage always any vast political machine; indeed he, as many others, might more than conceivably be ground up by the gargantuan engine with whose starting lever he had played. All he could do had been done; nothing remained but to adopt Marufa's favourite maxim: "wait and see."

In the evening Mungongo, who had at length been persuaded to project his eyes beyond the sacred ground even if he would not his feet, reported that much chanting and drumming indicated that the warriors, or a great number of them, had departed, evidently to reinforce the troops of Zalu Zako or with the object of taking zu Pfeiffer in the rear: a fact which made Birnier a little uneasy lest the news of the fall of the station might bring zu Pfeiffer to his senses and cause him to return, in which case the position might prove to be somewhat uncomfortable.

However, the night passed to the soft thrumming of the drums. At dawn appeared Bakahenzie as solemnly as usual. He began by demanding that the "pod of the soul" of Tarum should be prepared to listen to him. Birnier observed a slight increase in the domineering manner and realized more keenly that unless he checked that tendency the worthy High Priest would become altogether unmanageable.

Birnier commanded Mungongo to bring forth the instrument and reproduced for Bakahenzie's benefit the oration of the previous night. Bakahenzie listened solemnly, grunted acquiescence, and again made his request. Birnier refused abruptly. Again Bakahenzie grunted acceptance which caused Birnier to speculate upon what move the wily doctor had in mind. However, after the usual starting of false trails, he announced that the consecration of the idol would take place that day and began to instruct the new god in his divine duties. That there was something unusual in the form, either exaggerated or curtailed, Birnier gathered from Bakahenzie's method of expounding the rites; and the solution came in the announcement, just before leaving, that as soon as the Son-of-the-Earthquake had been "eaten up," that he, Bakahenzie, would summon the craft and the people to the Harvest Festival.

The form of the statement again drew Birnier's attention to the fact that Bakahenzie was assuming the reins of power far too fast for his satisfaction; that unless he contrived to put on the curb he would never attain the goal of a beneficent agent nor be able to satisfy his professional curiosity.

However, when he had gone, Birnier began anew to question Mungongo regarding the reputed ceremonies of the festival, but beyond the fact that it was an occasion allied to the Christian-Pagan festival of a kind of thanksgiving for the harvest and sacrifice to the god which involved the ceremony of the marriage of the Bride of the Banana, Mungongo knew nothing.

In the afternoon Birnier was required to preside at the consecrating of the ground and the setting up of the idol. But all he had to do was to squat silently in front of the new temple and before Bakahenzie and the group of the cult, while the concourse of the other wizards and the few chiefs that were not away grunted a belly chorus upon the levee without. The ceremony was disappointing as ceremonies go, for beyond the stewing in the great calabash of a magic concoction with which to anoint the hole for the feet of the idol, the doorposts of the temple and the House of Fires, to the accompaniment of the usual chanting and drumming, it was ended by a dance, with Bakahenzie as the premier danseur.

After his evening meal of boiled chicken, goat flesh and milk, Birnier squatted in the doorway of his new quarters smoking. He had no lights as his store of carbide was finished. Before leaving for the forest to carve the Incarnation of the new Unmentionable One, he had had the forethought to despatch a messenger to a certain village on the great lake to intercept his carriers with goods and the mail for which he had sent after escaping from the noble son of Banyala; he had already informed Bakahenzie of the coming of a fresh stock of magic and impressed upon him that great precaution must be taken to ensure that it came directly to him, lest contact with strangers should offend the spirits. Bakahenzie had assented in his usual non-committal manner, a manner that was beginning to get upon Birnier's nerves.

As he smoked, staring up at the great moon over the sinister head of the idol framed in the green light, he observed that the day after the next would be the full moon, the Harvest Moon, the time of the yearly festival. Then, by a coincidence which sometimes seems to have a telepathic basis as explanation, he heard a curious soft sound from apparently behind the hut. Mungongo, squatting near his Sacred Fires in the immobile manner of the native, heard the sound too. Again a sibilant whisper, almost like the hiss of a snake, brought a "Clk" of astonishment to Mungongo's lips. He rose swiftly and disappeared behind the hut. Another muffled exclamation of astonishment aroused Birnier's curiosity. He followed, to find Mungongo leaning over the palisade as if speaking to some one.

"Ehh!" murmured a familiar voice. "'Tis Moonspirit!"

With a grunt of horror Mungongo turned upon Birnier and began to push him away, gasping: "She is accursed! If the evil of her eyes rest upon thee thou art sick unto death!"

"The devil take you!" muttered Birnier, angry at the touch of force; then recollecting that the tabu forbade alien eyes to gaze on his sacred body upon which the world depended, he realized that Mungongo was trying to save him. He held him off by the arms, saying: "Be quiet, thou fool! Hath not my magic shown thee that I am above all magic?"

Mungongo appeared to consider that there was some truth in the statement and at any rate it gave him something to think about. He stood passively but as if momentarily expecting Birnier, magic or no, to melt before his eyes. Bending over the fence Birnier saw the slender form of Bakuma crouched against the earth.

"What dost thou here, O little one?" he whispered, for of course he knew nothing of her fate after the abduction by MYalu.

So horror-struck at her own temerity in approaching the person of the King-God was she that she dared not raise her eyes as she stuttered:

"A demon hath driven the bird of my soul into the net of thy wrath."

"Still the black wings in thy breast, O Bakuma," said Birnier, trying to soothe the child. "Come thou within and show thy father thy bosom."

"Ehh! Ehh!" gasped Bakuma, quivering in greater panic than ever.

Aware of the danger Birnier stooped, took her by the arms and lifted her over the palisade, remarking the violent trembling of the frail little body whose limbs seemed like candles.

"Come thou," said Birnier, moving towards the hut.

But she cowered where he had dumped her, covering her eyes with her hands so that she gazed not upon the sacred body. Mungongo stood like a tree, the whites of terrified eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Birnier picked up the girl and carried her into the hut, followed by a quaking Keeper of the Sacred Fires.

"Go, thou fool," commanded Birnier, "and watch that none approaches!" Mungongo gasped. But he obeyed. "Now, little one," continued Birnier, "bare thy bosom that I may know how to make the magic of healing."

Squatting on the threshold, her emaciated arms still covering her eyes, Bakuma strove to obey. At length she faltered out the story of her double abduction. The capture by the askaris had made but little difference to her, for, as she phrased it, the beak of her soul was like unto the mouth of the crocodile. Her captor had thrust her into a hut in the village together with some other female captives, but as the man had had to continue his military duties, night had fallen before he returned, by which time she had bribed some of the women, whose captivity was not as loathsome to them as the pride of their race should have made it, with a powerful charm which Birnier had given her, a nickel-plated razor-strop. She had escaped. But more fearful of her doom as the Bride of the Banana than she was of MYalu or the askaris, she had hidden in the forest, living upon wild fruit and roots. Then had she heard the drums announcing the return of the Unmentionable One, and aware that Moonspirit had gone into the forest to seek Him, had guessed that he was triumphant. Away in the jungle she had heard the sound of the rejoicing at the homecoming of the King-God; had hesitated, and at last she had come to Moonspirit, in spite of his divinity, in the fluttering hope of aid, driven by a demon to break another tabu, the same demon which urges so many to break magic circles—the subconscious love motive.

Poor kid! commented Birnier to himself as he regarded the pitiful cowering form. We haven't gotten the nuptial torches for you yet, but we will, by God!… Give me thine ear, O little one.… But as he talked to her, soothing the terror by promises of mightier magic, came Mungongo crying in a terrified whisper that Bakahenzie was claiming audience. At the back of the next room of the bungalow, built upon a plan of the one in Ingonya, was a bathroom, and into that was Bakuma hurried and bidden to lie as quiet as a crocodile.



CHAPTER 29

Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic "things," which a messenger had brought from the white man's country, had arrived. Although he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his role for the moment, leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground. Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.

Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected from the multitude of evil eyes through which they must have passed. At that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.

But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie's interminable list of tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was the raison d'etre of his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance. With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of "imprisoned stars" (rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him. After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:

"O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?"

"He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white," retorted Bakahenzie.

"Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude but dry leaves in the wind of his breath."

"Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands."

"Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased."

"The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?" inquired Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.

"The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee," replied Birnier, "but the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers."

Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the handles he said:

"These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!" and with the words he clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do. Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie: "Behold! the itch of the fingers of Tarum!"

But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved rapidly and with no dignity.

Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said quietly:

"Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch indeed?"

"Truly!" responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in his voice. "Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands!"

And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic "things" were without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier, by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green envelope scrawled in French characters:

Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.

For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or cancellation.

"What in the name——" he muttered as he slit it open.

Entebbe, Aout 13, 19—

Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Ou est tu? Comment et pourquoi? Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always I laugh, so what good is that to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!

Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.

I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh, on me degoute! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charming Mauretania and I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je reve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est fou! il est tape! Mais en moi meme je l'adore! Tout de suite I tell a creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espece de tapette, je m'en vais la, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh! How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!

Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais mourir a cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont droles! They bring me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont tres polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I commence to come to you on Friday! You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little days!

Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they call a runner—the red peas—C'est drole! but the little pea black he did not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a terrible name.

Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I will not reply to any such ridiculous letters—jamais!

Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?

You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you. Come to me. I wait for you.

Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter continued:

Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go round the detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.

Birnier smiled grimly.

Peuh! Ecoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington. Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin? He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries! Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you. How drole that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garcon where he is. But why do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to me immediately—unless you love your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never, jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers! Mais comme je te deteste!

LUCILLE.



CHAPTER 30

Forty-eight hours later, the furious drumming, chanting and screaming heralded the return of the victorious troops of Zalu Zako. Birnier from his gaol on the hill watched the bronze flood pour like a stream of lava out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped continuously around the temple.

The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the advancing moon in the east.

"Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?"

"It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands."

"But they have not the Bride?"

"Nay." Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden. "He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night."

"Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?" demanded Birnier, who knew that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the world and in all ages.

"Thou didst not ask me," retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.

"Do they make sacrifice?"

"The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know I not. Am I a wizard?"

The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached, Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van, dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two short—long beat:

Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!

The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.

Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!

The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier's brain, dominating him with hypnotic suggestion to action. An urge to scream and to yell, to dance and to leap, plucked at his limbs. Resurgent desires from he knew not what subconscious catacombs, wriggled and struggled furiously within him. The great moon scattered blue stars upon the spears as if upon the green scales of some leviathan squirming in delirious torment.

Control the twitching of his muscles to that rhythm Birnier could not. He had to fight to resist the waves of hysteria permeating the air. He glanced at Mungongo. The whites of his eyes were rolling. Birnier cursed the insistency of the drums and the orgiastical grunts. Forcibly he kept up a running fire of psychological explanations: "Annihilation of inhibitions … dissociation of personality … triumph of the subconscious animal," as a wizard muttering incantations against evil spirits. He felt dizzy. "God, I'm drunk with rhythm!" he exclaimed.

The priests were entering the large gate of the outer enclosure. In the village and on the opposite hill the people resembled a swarm of black locusts. The drums ceased. Bakahenzie and Marufa and Yabolo ran straight towards him screeching. This was the cue.

Birnier walked back slowly. In awful silence they began to push the idol. The wood creaked protestingly. Slowly the mass slid on to Birnier's back. He gripped it and began to walk to the entrance. As he passed Mungongo the Sacred Fires shot up yellow tongues. A sound like a moan rose dripping with screams and grew into a continuous thunder of noise. The drums rippled a furious tattoo. The three wizards dashed before him, leaping high in the air. Birnier shuffled a dozen yards to the left and turned. He stopped.

Upon the ground, just within the outer gate in view of the multitude beyond, green ivory in the moonlight, was the naked figure of a white man. Above him pranced Bakahenzie in whose hand gleamed a knife.

The training of his life enabled Birnier to throw upon the screen of his mind the essential points more rapidly than conscious thought. Bakahenzie, as well as the others, was in an abnormal state of excitement. There was no time to employ "magic" rockets or anything else. He swung the idol upon one shoulder and ran forward. He saw the blue eyes move and the bracelet wink in the moonlight as he stepped over the bound form. He bent, balancing the image upon his shoulders, and seized zu Pfeiffer by the arm.

The throb of the drums and the roar of the people who knew not but that this act was in accordance with the rules, continued. The priests remained motionless: expectant. Bakahenzie stood rigid as if paralysed by the unexpected: the knife was a blue snake in his hand.

Half blinded with sweat, with his muscles cracking, Birnier staggered on with the heavy burden, dragging the nude body after him. Hours seemed to pass, each second of which might bring a spear in his back before he reached the place before the temple. He slid the idol into the hole and turned.

From the tumult of sound the screech of Bakahenzie shot up like a snipe from a rice field. The other wizards sprang with him. The moonlight kissed a spearhead beside the stone figure of Mungongo by the Sacred Fires. Birnier leaped, plucked the spear, caught zu Pfeiffer in his arms and raised him shoulder high that all might see.

At the entrance of the enclosure Bakahenzie and the other two were arrested by astonishment. Lowering the body to the base of the idol which leaned sideways in a drunken leer, Birnier lifted the spear and brought it down accurately between zu Pfeiffer's left arm and breast, and dropping swiftly upon his knees to cover his actions, slashed his own left forearm. Then he jumped to his feet and held the blooded spear aloft as he cried aloud:

"The god hath taken his own!"

Bakahenzie was the first to see that the white breast of the victim was indeed deluged in blood; perhaps the veneration engendered by "the fingers of Tarum" moved beneath the blood lust.

"The god hath taken his own!" he repeated in a piercing scream. Marufa echoed the shout. As they turned the cry was ricocheted beyond the farthest hill.

"The god hath taken his own!"



CHAPTER 31

The reflection of a shaft of moonlight through the half-completed thatch upon zu Pfeiffer's "magic" mirror, which the natives had not dared to remove, set afire the sapphires upon his bracelet as he sat rigidly in a camp chair in a suit of pyjamas. Upon the bed lay Birnier, nursing his bandaged left arm. Now and again the thrumming, chanting and the shrilling of the saturnalia without rose into discordant yells like a gust of wind whipping tree-tops into fury.

Zu Pfeiffer appeared taciturn and suspicious. Perhaps the slackening of his will, tautened to meet death as his caste demanded that he should, and the confrontation of the object of his violent hate, had completely unnerved him. When Birnier had dragged him within and cut his bonds, he had grunted curt, official thanks for the rescue. As sullenly he had hesitated at the offer of the pyjamas, but as if deciding that he could not retain any dignity in his own bloodied skin, had accepted them, as well as a sorely needed drink of water.

The reaction after the crisis, and possibly the influence of the general hysteria in the air, had distorted Birnier's vision of things. He was very conscious of a neurotic desire to laugh unrestrainedly. Thus it was that for nearly half an hour the two men remained in the gloom in silence. Birnier had a psychological comprehension of the highly nervous tension of his guest. For he had long ago realized that the only solution of zu Pfeiffer's crazy statement that he was engaged to the wife of a man to whom he was speaking, indicated a form of insanity.

A psychological law is that natural emotions must have an outlet; if they are repressed they are apt to cause a state of mental disease which in an aggravated form may lead the patient to the asylum, but in the incipient stage are as common as jackals in Africa. Zu Pfeiffer was suffering from such a case of mild psychosis. Brought up under an iron code which did not permit his instincts to react, the repressed emotions bubbled out in the form of a deification of his Kaiser and the adoration of Lucille, both states being absolutely apart from all reason, indeed approached to a state of dissociation of consciousness. The desired unattainable is projected into the dream plane, the realm of myth. Such a case is the historical one of the man who, keenly intelligent upon every subject mentioned, startles the visitor by the demand for a piece of toast, gravely explaining that he is a poached egg and that he wishes to sit down; or as Pascal, who ever had beside him the great black dog. To attempt to rationalise with such an one was merely to excite the insane part of him. So it was that Birnier determined to ignore the subject entirely, perfectly aware that the sullenness of the man sitting in the camp chair opposite to him was caused by an exaggerated terror that he would insist upon speaking of the one subject which should be tabu.

The associative suggestion of Lucille diverted his mind until he became immersed in thoughts of her. A queer vision of a well-fed tiger playing with a kid entered his mind. More conscious than ever of her attraction by reason of the intensified sense of her wrought by her letter, he glanced surreptitiously at the rigid form in the chair and a wave of pity mixed with a half conscious pride that she belonged to him, rose within him. Then Birnier started as he was brought back to a realization of the passing of time by a harsh voice that told of creaking nerves:

"Herr Professor, what is your pleasure to do with me, if you please?"

"I beg your pardon!" Birnier sat up. "Er—naturally I shall endeavour to get you away as early as possible. It would be as well if you took advantage of the present—er—saturnalia to escape. I cannot do much. I can provide you with a gun and food. As you are not injured you should be able to get a reasonable distance from here by morning; for the rest I am afraid you must fend for yourself. I wish that I could do more, but I'm afraid that my power is not yet sufficient to ensure any help from the natives."

An inarticulate sound emerged from zu Pfeiffer's mouth. Birnier's eyes caught the sheen of the photograph upon the wall. Escape! Lucille! Almost involuntarily he stretched out a hand and took Lucille's letter from the table. Again came zu Pfeiffer's voice:

"I thank you, Herr Professor, but I cannot accept—for myself." Birnier stared at him. "I wish you to understand that for myself that is impossible." The tall figure seemed to straighten in the chair. "But as I have the honour to serve his Imperial Majesty I am bound to preserve to the best of my ability my body in order to answer for my culpable negligence which has resulted in the loss of my two companies. Most distinctly, Herr Professor, I wish you to know that I accept your offer in order to place myself before the Court Martial that awaits me."

Birnier almost gasped. That this anomaly of a man, who was capable of cold-blooded murder at the prompting of an hallucination, and who now appeared equally capable of the utter annihilation of self at the service of his Imperial Master, meant what he said, Birnier did not doubt. Yet it was not anomalous. Logical in fact; the capability of supreme sacrifice for either of his idols.

"I understand you, Lieutenant," said he courteously. "I——" The two letters in his hand crackled. Before he could master the mean desire he had handed the second letter to zu Pfeiffer with the words:

"Forgive me, I have here a letter which it is my duty to return to you."

The sapphires winked as zu Pfeiffer held up the letter in the shaft of moonlight. There was a suppressed grunt as of pain. Zu Pfeiffer rose stiffly and walked to the door. His tall figure was silhouetted in profile against the green sky and as Birnier watched he saw a gleam as of crystal upon an eyelash. Birnier, ashamed of his sole vengeance, turned away.

But as if revenge were recoiling upon him came in the wake of that satisfied primitive instinct a surge of longing for Lucille. Lucille! Lucille! God! how he desired to see those eyes again! Feel those lips and hear the gurgle of her laughter! Sense the perfume of her hair as she murmured: "Mon petit loup!" Birnier sat holding the letter. He fought with an impulse to abandon everything to go to her—if he could get out! How stale and monotonous the adventure and the scientific interest suddenly seemed! After all, what had he accomplished? What could he accomplish? Even yet he had learned but little of the secrets of the witch-doctor's craft. Perhaps there was little or nothing to learn? And zu Pfeiffer? He stared across at the portrait of Lucille. And as he gazed a wave of pity rose within him for this boy made mad by the witchery of those eyes and the music of that voice. A sentence in Lucille's letter appeared to stand out from the context: "Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!"

And yet—and yet—— Why the devil had she taken it into her head to come out to Uganda above all places? he asked himself. She was so damnably near to him. He smiled satirically as he recollected her phrase about those fools who made of love a nuisance, and yet now what was she doing? After all the suspicion in his mind that love is everything to a woman seemed proven true.

But how adorable she was! He fingered the letter as if it were part of her. Well, she was young; success and adulation from one capital to another had interested and amused her for a few years, but when Milady had suddenly discovered that the Career bored her she had thrown up everything and logically—to her mind—expected her mate to do likewise! With what insouciance had she treated the affair of zu Pfeiffer and the youngster whom he had struck. When Birnier had met her she had had a story of a young fool count in Paris who had shot himself, merely because she would not listen to his suit; and she had protested with one of those wonderful shrugs and a moue, saying that she could not marry all the men in the world! That apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to make more men "crazy wild," as she put it, about her. And that reputation had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.

He could escape if he wished—with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it. Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world? Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was nothing.

Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer's voice speaking in the accents of agony; yet all he said was:

"Herr Professor Birnier—I am compelled—to—to apologise for …"

The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.

"Please don't," said Birnier comprehendingly. "I understand."

And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie; not an idol of wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier's object in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know a Bakahenzie?

THE END