WINKLEMAN APPEARS
With the riches thus unexpectedly placed at his disposal, and
legitimately his by the fortunes of war, Kingozi was enabled to proceed
to the final grand exchange of gifts that assured his friendship with
M'tela and sealed the alliance. He was spurred to his best efforts in
this by the news, brought in by an alarmed Mali-ya-bwana, that
Winkleman had escaped. However, by dint of rich presents, supplementing
the careful diplomatic negotiations that had gone before, he arrived at
an understanding.
"And now, oh, King, I must tell you this," he said boldly. "Of white
men there is not merely one but many kinds, just as among the African
peoples. There are strong men and weak men, good men and bad men, and
men of different tribes. Of the tribes are the _Inglishee_ to which I
belong, which is the most powerful of all--like your own people of the
Kabilagani in this land--and also another tribe called the _Duyche_,
only a little less powerful. These two tribes are now at war."
"A-a-a-a," observed M'tela interestedly.
"One of the _Duyche_ is in your country, oh, King. I have met him and
defeated him by my magic. Some of these people you see here were his
people; and of his goods I have everything."
"But it may be," suggested M'tela with a slight cooling of cordiality,
"that many more _Duyche_ will follow this one."
"They cannot prevail against my magic. Talk with Simba, with my men,
and know what virtue is in my magic. But beyond that, oh, King, have
you not heard of the wars of the Wakamba? of Lobengula? of the Matabele
and the Basuto? has not news come to you from the north of the battles
of the Sudan? Have you not heard of Lenani, the king of all Masai, and
of his advice to his people? All these wars were won by _Inglishee_;
Lenani's words of wisdom spoke of _Inglishee_. Have you ever heard of
the victories of the _Duyche?_ No. There were no such victories!"[18]
[Footnote 18: Kingozi here took shrewd advantage of the fact that
German East Africa was peacefully occupied without necessity of the
spectacular tribal wars of Matabeland, Zululand, Basutoland, and the
Wakamba district of British East Africa. Lenani's advice to his people
was given at the close of the Wakamba war. Said he: "There is no doubt
that the Masai are a greater people than the Wakamba, and in case of
war we could fight the white man harder than the Wakamba fought him.
Undoubtedly, too, my people could kill a great many of the English. But
this I have noticed: that when a Wakamba is dead, he remains dead; but
when a white man is dead ten more come to take his place." In
consequence of this advice the Masai--one of the most warlike of all
the tribes--negotiated with the English, and today remain both at peace
and unconquered.]
After an hour's elaboration of this theme Kingozi judged the moment
propitious to return to the original subject. M'tela offered the
opportunity.
"This _Duyche_ whom you have conquered--you killed him?"
"He escaped."
"A-a-a-a."
"He is still alive and in your land. Let order be given to search him
out."
"That shall be done," said M'tela after a moment's thought.
Mali-ya-bwana and Simba set out with a posse of M'tela's men. They had
no great difficulty in getting track of the missing Bavarian. Winkleman
had arrived to find the camping site deserted. He had, indomitably, set
out on the track of his safari. To eat he was forced at last to beg of
the wild herdsmen. M'tela's dread name elicited from these last
definite information. The search party found Winkleman, very dirty,
quite hungry, profoundly chagrined, but still good humoured, seated in
a smoky hut eating soured smoky milk. He wore sandals improvised from
goatskin, a hat and spine-pad made from banana leaves ingeniously woven.
[Illustration: "The search party found Winkleman, very dirty, quite
hungry, profoundly chagrined"]
"_Ach!_" he cried, recognizing Kingozi's two men. "So it is you! What
have you done with my safari?"
"I led it to my _bwana_," replied Simba.
"Where you may now lead me," said Winkleman resignedly. "By what means
have you thought of these things, N'ympara?" "By the magic of this,"
replied Simba with becoming modesty, producing the precious bone.
"_Ach_ the _saurian!_" cried Winkleman. "I remember. It had gone from
my mind. It is a curious type; I do not quite recognize. Let me see it."
But Simba was replacing carefully the talisman in its wrappings. He had
no mind to deliver the magic into other hands--perhaps to be used
against himself!
They led Winkleman directly to Kingozi's camp. Winkleman followed,
looking always curiously about him. His was the true scientific mind.
He was quite capable of forgetting his plight--and did so--in the
interest of new fauna and flora, or of ethnological eccentricities.
Once or twice he insisted on a halt for examination of something that
caught his notice, and insisted so peremptorily when the savages would
have forced him on, that they yielded to his wish.
It was early in the morning. Kingozi, as ever, sat in his canvas chair
atop the hill. He was alone, for the Leopard Woman, always on the alert
and always staring through her glasses, had caught sight of the little
group before it plunged into the papyrus; and had retired to her tent.
Winkleman plowed up the hill blowing out his cheeks in a full-blooded
hearty fashion.
"Oho!" he cried in his great voice when he had drawn near. "This is not
so bad! It is Culbertson!"
"I am sorry about this," said Kingozi briefly--"a man of your
eminence--very disagreeable."
Winkleman dropped heavily to the ground.
"That is nothing," he waved aside the half-apology, "though it would
not be bad to have the bath and change these clothes. But fortunes of
war--it is but the fortunes of war--I would have done worse to you. How
long is it that you have arrived?"
"Long enough," replied Kingozi briefly. "Oh, Cazi Moto, bring tea! I
have had your tent pitched, Doctor Winkleman; and you must bathe and
change and rest. But before you go we must understand each other. This
is war time, and you are my prisoner. You must give me your parole
neither to try to escape nor to tamper with my men, with M'tela, or any
of his people. If you feel you cannot do this I shall be compelled to
hold you closely guarded."
Winkleman laughed one of his great gusty laughs.
"I give it willingly. What foolishness otherwise. What foolishness
anyway, all this. War is nonsense. It destroys. It interferes.
Consider, my dear Culbertson, here was I safely in the Congo forests,
and for two, three months I have lived there, like a native quietly;
and of all the world there is to amuse me only the fauna and the
flora--which I know like my hand. But I discover a new species--a
_papilio_. But all the time I live quiet, and I wait. And at last the
people, the little forest people, little by little they get confidence;
they come to the edge of the forest, they venture to camp, slow.
Suppose I wave my hand like that--pouf! They have run away. But I wait;
and they come forth. So I camp by myself in the forest--for I leave my
safari away that it may not frighten this people. And by and by we
talk. I am beginning to learn their language. Culbertson, I find these
people speak the true click language, but also I find it true
sex-denoting language most resembling in that respect the ancient Fula!"
"Where was this? Impossible!" cried Kingozi, interested and excited.
"Ah!" roared Winkleman with satisfaction. "I thought I would your
interest catch! But it is true; and in the central Congo."
"But that would throw the prehistoric Libyan and Hamitic migrations
farther to the west than----"
"Pre-cisely!" interrupted Winkleman.
"What sort of people were they? Did they show Hamitic characteristics
particularly? or did they incline to the typical prognathous,
short-legged, stealopygous type of the Bushmen?"
But Winkleman reverted abruptly to his narrative.
"That is a long discussion to make. It will wait. But just as I get
these people where I can put them beneath my observation, so, there
comes an ober-lieutenant with foolishness in the way of guns and
uniform and _askaris_ and that nonsense; and my little people run into
the forest and are no more to be seen."
"Hard luck!" commented Kingozi feelingly.
"Is it not so? This ober-lieutenant is a fool. He knows nothing.
_Dumkopf!_ All he knows is to give me a letter from the _Kaiserliche
dumkopf_ at Dar-es-salaam. I read it. It tells me I must come here, to
this place, with speed, and get the military aid of this M'tela and so
forth with many details. It was another foolishness. I know this type
of people well. There is nothing new to be learned. They are of the
usual types. It is foolishness to come here. But it is an order, so I
come, and I do my best. But now I am a prisoner, while I might be with
the little people in the Congo. I talk much."
"I fancy we are going to have a good deal to talk about," interjected
Kingozi.
"_Ach!_ that is true! That is what I said--that I am glad this is
Culbertson who catches me. Yes! We must talk!"
Cazi Moto glided to them.
"Bath is ready, _bwana_," said he.
Winkleman puffed out his chest and protruded his great beard.
"This war--foolishness!" he mumbled.
"Yes, we have much to talk about. Nevertheless," said Kingozi with
slight embarrassment, "it is necessary that I do my duty according to
my orders. And my orders were much like yours--to get the alliance of
this M'tela. But I have told him that you are my enemy; and he sent his
men with mine to find you; and now, as you can well comprehend, I
must----"
But Winkleman's quick comprehension leaped ahead of Kingozi's speech.
"I must play the prisoner, is it not?" he cried with one of his big
laughs. "But so! Of course! That is comprehend. How could it be
otherwise? I know my native! I know what he expects. I shall be humble,
the slave, your foot upon my neck. Of course! Do you suppose I do not
know?"
"That is well," said Kingozi, much relieved, "I shall tell him that you
are a man of much wisdom and great magic; and that I have saved your
life to serve me."
"So!" cried Winkleman delightedly; and departed to his tent and the
waiting bath. A few moments later he could be heard robustly splashing
in the tent. A roar summoned Cazi Moto.
"Tell your _bwana_ I want _n'dowa_--medicine--understand? Need some
boric acid," he yelled at Kingozi. "Eyes in bad shape."
Kingozi ordered Cazi Moto to take over the entire medicine chest; then
sent a messenger for M'tela, who shortly appeared.
"This enemy of mine is taken, thanks to your men, oh, King. I have him
here in the tent, well guarded."
"How shall we kill him, papa?" inquired M'tela.
"That has not yet been decided," replied Kingozi carelessly. "He must,
of course, be taken to the great King of all _Inglishee_."
M'tela looked disappointed.
"In the meantime," pursued Kingozi, "as he has much knowledge, and
great magic, I shall talk much with him, and get that magic for the
benefit of us both, oh, King. He cannot escape, for my magic is greater
than his."
This M'tela well believed, for the reports industriously circulated by
Simba anent his magic bone had reached the King, and had not lost in
transit.
So when Winkleman came swashbuckling up the hill M'tela was prepared.
The blue-black beard and hearty, deep-chested carriage of the Bavarian
impressed him greatly.
"But this is a great _bwana_, papa," he said to Kingozi. "Like you and
me."
"This is the prisoner of which I spoke to you," said Kingozi in a loud
voice.
Winkleman, a twinkle in his wide eyes, but with his countenance
composed to gravity, stepped forward, salaamed, and placed his forehead
beneath Kingozi's hand in token of submission. Thus proper relations
were established. Winkleman seated himself humbly on the sod, and kept
silence, while high converse went forward. At length M'tela departed.
Winkleman immediately plunged into the conversational gap around which,
mentally, he had been, impatiently hovering for an hour.
"But this articulation of the _saurus_" he broke out. "What of it?"
"The magic bone," chuckled Kingozi.
"Pouf! Pouf! It resembled much the _cinoliosaurus_, but that could not
be."
"Why not?" demanded Kingozi quickly.
"It has been found only in the lias formations of the Jurassic," stated
Winkleman dogmatically, "and that type of Jurassic is not here. It is
of England, yes; of Germany, yes; of the Americas, yes. Of central
Africa, no!"
"Nevertheless----" interposed Kingozi.
"But the _cryptoclidus_--that greatly resembles the
_cinoliosaurus_--perhaps. Or even a subspecies of the
_plesiosaurus_----"
"Simba," called Kingozi.
"Suh!"
"Bring here the magic bone. The _bwana_ wishes to look at it. No; it is
all right. I myself tell you; no harm can come."
Reluctantly Simba produced the bone, now fittingly wrapped in clean
_mericani_ cloth, and still more reluctantly undid it and handed it to
Winkleman. The latter seized it and began minutely to examine it,
muttering short, disconnected sentences to himself in German.
"Now here is what I have said," he spoke aloud. "See. By this curve----"
He broke off, staring curiously into Kingozi's face. The latter sat
apparently looking out across the hills, paying no attention to the
fact that Winkleman had thrust the bone fairly under his nose. The
pause that ensued became noticeable. Kingozi stirred uneasily, turning
his eyes in the direction of the scientist.
"Glaucoma!" ejaculated Winkleman.
Kingozi smiled wearily.
"Yes. I wondered when you would find it out."
"You are all blind?"
"I can distinguish light." Kingozi straightened his back, and his voice
became incisive. "But I can still see through eyes that are faithful to
me! Make no mistakes there."
"My dear friend; have I not given my parole?" gently asked the Bavarian.
"Beg your pardon. Of course."
"It is serious. You should have a surgeon. But why have you not used
the temporary remedy? Of course you know the effect of drugs?"
"I know that atropin is ruin, right enough," said Kingozi grimly.
"But the pilocarpin----"
"Of course. I only wish I had some."
"But you have!" came Winkleman's astonished voice. "There is of it a
large vial!"
Kingozi gripped the arm of his chair for a full minute. Then he spoke
to Cazi Moto in a vibrating voice.
"Bring me the chest of medicines. Now," he went on to Winkleman, when
this command had been executed, "kindly read to me the labels on all
these bottles; begin at the left. All, please."
He listened attentively while Winkleman obeyed. The pilocarpin was
present; the atropin was gone.
"You have not deceived me?" he cried sharply. "No--why should
you--wait----"
He thought for some moments. When he raised his face it was gray.
"One of the bottles was broken. I had reason to believe it the
pilocarpin," he said quietly. "Can I trespass on your good nature to
make the proper solution for my eyes?"
"It is but a temporary expedient," warned Winkleman. "It is surgery
here demanded. I know the operation, but I cannot perform. One makes a
transverse incision above the cornea----"
"I know, I know," interrupted Kingozi. "But the pilocarpin will give me
my sight. Let us get at it."