The Commissioner travelled light and quickly. He, too, passed hordes of
natives, mostly children. He, too, learnt that Lizizi called--that
Lizizi had apparently mustered all the children of the district. He was
now doubly certain that this was no native rebellion, or the children
would have been conspicuously absent. He grudged Lizizi this implicit
obedience. Two could not run the same country.
At length he approached Minanga. The neighbouring villages were thronged
with children. In Minanga itself there were many hundreds. The
Commissioner rode to the centre of the village and demanded to be shown
Lizizi's hut. He was led up the hill to a single small hut built
half-way up the slope. In front of it grew a huge tamarind tree.
"There is Lizizi," said his guide, pointing to an old man sitting on a
stool in front of the hut.
The Commissioner watched. A strange performance was going on. A long
queue of children was moving slowly past the seated figure, and as each
child was marshalled forward--screaming with fright, for the most
part--the old man put his hands on its head.
The Commissioner rode up to the hut. The old man touched the head of the
child in front of him with his crossed thumbs; that was all, and the
child passed hurriedly on to join a throng, already large, of others who
had passed through the ordeal, or whatever it was.
On seeing the Commissioner the old man rose and seated himself on the
ground, clapping his hands by way of greeting.
This curious native wore a large pair of spectacles, which gave him a
benevolent air. His feet were bare--so, too, was his head--but he was
otherwise clothed to the extent of a patched and very dirty shirt and an
aged pair of trousers.
"Are you Lizizi?" asked the Commissioner.
"Morena, I am his slave."
"Where is Lizizi?"
"He walked on the water. Then he went to the bottom of the river and
stayed there. After three days he came out alive and well. Some people
said so who saw him."
"Where is he now?"
"Who can tell?"
"Did you send that message to the servants of the white men, saying that
they were not to work?"
"I sent my master's message."
"What are you doing to these children?"
"My master said they must come."
"What for?"
"I put my hands on them, as my master said. Lizizi said: 'Let the
children come, the little children, and do not stop them.' And Lizizi
said: 'You must work for six days, and on the seventh day you must not
do anything.'"
So that was the explanation. It came to the Commissioner in a flash.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Sinyoro."
"You have worked for a white man?"
"Yes, I was with the Mission."
"I thought as much."
"Lizizi" was the nearest this native could get to Jesus. The poor old
man was, it transpired, a little mad. He had lived with the missionaries
for many years, and had recently asked permission to visit friends on
the Zambesi. The head missionary had let him go. As he afterwards
explained, he knew the man was a little mad, but quite harmless. They
had christened him James--James Sinyoro.
However, James, it seemed, had been trying his prentice hand at
missionary work, and had given orders based on the little he remembered
of the Mission Bible teaching.
* * * * *
James Sinyoro returned to the Mission Station, and the district to its
normal tranquillity.