The Native Commissioner's Court had, with a very brief interval for
luncheon, sat throughout the day. The weather was very hot and thundery,
for the breaking of the rains was imminent. A number of cases had been
disposed of, and the last was now drawing to a close. Having listened to
the arguments of both sides, the Commissioner summed up, gave judgment,
and dismissed the litigants, whereupon the native clerk began to collect
the papers and put things away.
The official lighted a cigarette, put on his hat, and walked towards the
door. He was met by his head messenger.
"Another case, Morena,"[1] said the messenger, pointing to a middle-aged
native squatting in the courtyard softly clapping his hands. The
hard-worked white man paused; he had thoughts of tea awaiting him in his
bungalow a hundred yards away.
[1] _Morena_ signifies _Chief_.
"Tell the man to come to-morrow," he said, and walked off in the
direction of his house.
The head messenger turned to the man sitting in the yard and said: "The
Morena won't hear you to-day; you must sleep in the compound for
to-night; to-morrow he will listen."
"But my case is a big one," replied the stranger. "The father of his
people will surely hear my case."
The messenger pointed to the compound: "All cases are heavy in the hands
of those who bring them; the compound is there."
The man was evidently distressed. Raising his voice in the hope that the
Commissioner would hear him, he shouted shrilly: "Ma-we! Ma-we! But mine
is a big case, it is one of killing--of killing of people; the father of
his people must hear me. Oh! Morena, I have a case, a big case, a case
of killing."
But the Native Commissioner had reached his house and was out of sight,
the native clerk had locked the office door and, heedless of the man's
wailing, walked away. If he thought at all, it was that sufficient unto
the day is the evil thereof; evil meaning work to him.
"Come, father," said the head messenger, "I go now to the compound, and
you with me; to-morrow the Morena will hear your case before any other.
I, Mokorongo, will see to it."
But the man was not to be consoled. "No," said he, "my case is a big
one, of people killed by witchcraft; I, too, will die to-night. Take me
to the Morena, my father; do not refuse and so kill me."
The messenger felt uncomfortable. For some reason, best known to
himself, his master disapproved of the killing of people, and also set
his face against witchcraft. No witch doctor could practise for long in
his district, for was not his medicine stronger than that of any witch
doctor? Did not the doctors know it, and had they not all moved to a
safer place? Who, then, could have done this killing by witchcraft?
Yes, it was a big case, and he would take the man to his master; but he
must break in upon the great man's rest with care, or there would be
trouble.
Telling the stranger to come with him, he strode towards the house,
pulling down his uniform in front and behind and settling his fez
smartly on his head--evidence of some nervousness. Arriving at the door,
he peered in. The hall was cool and dark, and, coming from the glare,
for a moment he could see nothing; the next, he was aware of the
Commissioner's eye upon him, and started violently at his master's sharp
"Well, Mokorongo, what is it?"
He began well: "Morena, here is a man who has killed another, and wants
to tell of the matter before the sun sets, when he, too, will die."
"Let the man come to the door."
For Mokorongo the worst was over. He had with impunity disturbed the
great man; the rest would be easy. He fitly marshalled the stranger to
the mat just inside the hall door, drew himself up to his full height,
and stood by to obey immediately such orders as his master might be
pleased to give.
The Commissioner, who was a good linguist, addressed the seated man
direct:
"So you have killed a man?"
"No, Morena."
"And you will yourself die to-night?"
"No, Morena."
Mokorongo's uneasiness returned; he shifted slightly and gazed at the
ceiling.
"Tell me your story."
"Morena, my case is a big one; it is of killing--the killing of people,
of my son--by witchcraft. Yesterday at sunset he died, and I, too, shall
die to-night unless the Morena, father of his people, makes a stronger
medicine, stronger than that of the witch doctor----" Here the wretched
fellow paused.
The Commissioner looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him; it was
evident that the native dared not mention the witch doctor's name.
Presently he rose, took from a side-table a decanter, poured himself out
some whisky, and added soda from a sparklet bottle. Returning to his
seat, he drank deeply of the bubbling liquid.
The native was much impressed. Boiling water alone, so far as he knew,
bubbled like that; he knew of the ordeal by boiling water, and had, no
doubt, seen more than once the test applied. But this white man drank
the boiling mixture with evident pleasure. Here, then, was the chief of
all witch doctors.