MFUM-BA APPEARS
Hours later Frank was still shaking as he stood in the darkness on
the edge of the bluff gazing through the night glasses in the
direction indicated by the pointers and waiting for the signal
rockets which he expected momentarily to see flare up from the
village in the darkened plain far below.
Behind him at the radio station was Bob with Samba seated before the
transmitter. Every wire had been gone over, the motor had been tuned
and found to be in perfect working condition, and the two boys were
confident of being able to carry out their part of the program.
In the grove in the background, Frank could see here and there the
gleam of one of the cooking fires about which the bearers left to
him and Bob were preparing their evening meal. With nothing to do
that day, the bearers had enjoyed life by taking a long nap. Now
they were up and about the fires, Frank knew, cooking and
chattering. He could even hear occasionally the sound of a laugh
from the light-hearted fellows, louder than usual.
Well, they would need those fires, he reflected, not alone for the
preparation of food but to provide warmth. At this altitude of 8,000
feet, the nights, as they had discovered the night previous, became
very cold. In fact, Frank was wearing heavy canvass knickers tucked
into high lace boots and the warmest sweater he could find, for the
first time in months.
The presence of Bob not far away and of the bearers in the
background, together with the glow of their fires, was welcome to
the boy on lonely outpost above that pit of shadows into which night
seemed to have flung a world of soft velvet.
For the forest world was awake. And now the quiet of day, broken
only by bird calls or the occasional bark of a gorilla, had given
way to a medley of terrifying sounds. The sobbing of leopards and
cheetahs thrilled and vibrated mournfully. Constantly the boom of
the gorilla cut across all other noises, aweing them into silence
for a moment, after which they would begin again. Owls hooted,
insects shrilled and hummed near at hand, about Frank’s face. And
from the distant plain below rose the shrill barking of a jackal
pack pierced through now and again by the mournful note of the
hyena.
It was Africa. And by night Africa awakes. Frank was both fascinated
and repelled. But with it all he was thrilled, too, thrilled at the
thought that he had been lucky enough in his youth to be able to
penetrate into the very heart of this most mysterious continent on
the face of the globe, to behold its mysteries and wonders close at
hand.
Suddenly out of that velvety darkness cloaking the plain a ball of
fire soared upward followed by a glowing comet’s tail of sparks, and
then another and another followed.
Through the spyglass Frank could see them clearly, although he knew
that in his remoter position at the rear, where the radio had been
set up, Bob was unaware that the rockets had been touched off. He
did not even wait to pick his cautious way back over the rocks,
which were so uneven the boys had considered it best not to erect
the radio station upon them, but, instead, put his hand to his mouth
and called to Bob.
“All right? Have they signalled?” came Bob’s hail in response.
“They’ve signalled,” shouted Frank. “Let’s go.”
Then turning his pocket flashlight on the rocks in order to guard
against either missteps or stepping upon a snake, he made his way to
his comrade’s side.
Samba was still speaking when Frank arrived, for he covered the
intervening ground hastily when once free of the rocks. And as
Frank, at Bob’s finger on his lips, stood in silence looking at
their strange broadcaster, he could not repress a smile. Samba was
perspiring freely, although the coolness of night already had set
in. And anybody unaccustomed to telephoning who has remained seated
for any length of time at the instrument, will appreciate the
nervousness from which the poor fellow suffered. But he was
undaunted. And what was most to the point, considered Frank, was the
fact that his nervousness was not betrayed in his voice. What it was
he was saying in the dialect of the region, Frank of course could
not understand. But Samba was delivering it with unction and
solemnity, and Frank could not but reflect that in this
semi-civilized man lay the makings of a remarkable actor. The truth
is, of course, that primitive peoples naturally possess histrionic
possibilities such as more highly civilized beings must struggle and
often without result to attain.
Turning toward Bob, Samba lifted his eyebrows in a funny quizzical
glance, a question evidently as to what to do now. Bob could not
refrain from laughing. Placing a big hand over the transmitter, he
asked whether Samba had said all that had been outlined to him to
say.
The black nodded, and when Bob said “Well, that’s all, then,” and
closed the circuit, he breathed a great sigh of relief.
“Him tough job,” said Samba simply, running his big hand over his
sweating shiny face. Then a look of pride crossed his features. “Him
good job, hey?” he asked.
Both boys thwacked him heartily on the back.
“I couldn’t understand a word of it, Samba,” said Frank. “But it
sounded mighty solemn and strong to me.”
“Me, too,” agreed Bob, slangily.
Samba grinned.
In the meantime, at the plains village made headquarters by The
Prophet, raw drama was being enacted.
Entering in the late afternoon, the party presented a not
unimpressive array. At the head marched Mr. Hampton and Mr. Ransome,
both lean, tall, capable looking, dressed in semi-military costumes
of khaki topped by broad-brimmed campaign hats such as are still
worn throughout the American West. Revolvers swung at their sides,
rifles over their shoulders.
Behind marched the ten men of the guard in double file, shouldering
their rifles and keeping step with military precision. And behind
them came the fifty bearers, tall strapping fellows all and handy
men with the long keen knives in sheaths at the waist. Lake natives
selected at Masaka for their strength and intelligence, they were
all picked men. And Mr. Hampton had impressed upon them the
possibility of trouble and received from each the assurance that he
would stand by in case of attack, but would give the native populace
no cause for taking offense unless attacked.
At the head of the bearers marched Jack, it being agreed that it
would be best for him not to appear with Mr. Hampton and Mr. Ransome
when they dealt with the chief of the village in order that later,
when he should slip away to conceal the radio, his absence would go
unnoticed. As for the radio, it and the aerial and loudspeaker were
all packed in two small boxes borne by bearers in the middle of the
line where they would be least noticed.
At the very rear of the procession moved Niellsen, with his motion
picture camera and tripod, two bearers carrying his film case.
Rightly it had been figured that the front and rear of the
procession were the two points of chief interest to onlookers, and
that in placing Niellsen at the rear he would become a center of
attention. And that was the thing to be desired, when Jack should
set about his appointed task.
Tall warriors, black as ebony, some like the Masai tribesmen who are
the giants of Africa, attaining a height of six feet seven or eight,
crowded around. With their great hide shields and twelve foot
spears, they presented a threatening appearance. But none attempted
to lay hands on the members of the column as it proceeded through
the village toward the chief’s hut. Indeed, the threatening presence
of the gun-bearing guard had a salutary effect. Well enough did the
warriors know the power of the white men’s guns. In fact, envious
glances were cast at the bearers by warriors desiring to possess a
gun more than anything else.
Straight to the open space or central plaza of the village moved the
party. Then Mr. Hampton and Mr. Ransome halted, and a tall
commanding figure of a man somewhat advanced in years but still
erect came to meet them. This was Chief Namla. Hobbling at his side,
wrapped in a cotton blanket, moved a wizened figure with a face so
old and wrinkled it was monkey-like.
Chief Namla halted some ten paces from the two white men, and the
aged man-monkey beside him likewise came to a halt, staring at the
strangers with beady bright eyes. The chief’s glance was cold and
hostile, but that of the other, whom they took to be the tribal
medicine man, contained a palpable if unspoken gleam of appeal which
caused Mr. Hampton to start. What could the old medicine man have in
mind?
It goes without saying that they had not invaded Chief Narnia’s
village unprovided with an interpreter. But as this man stepped
forward to speak, the two white men were dumbfounded to see the
medicine man hold up a hand as if for silence. Then from beneath his
enfolding dirty robe of cotton came a strange rattle, and over the
faces of Chief Namla and the warriors drawn up in a rude semi-circle
behind him and facing the whites appeared an expression of awe.
“The spirits of Chief Narnia’s father speak and they tell the Wizard
Mfum-ba to say that these white men come not as enemies but as
friends. They bid Chief Namla to hearken to them,” he cried.
And once more, while the amazed interpreter hastily translated for
the benefit of the two white men these words uttered in the native
tongue by the old medicine man did the latter let that unmistakable
appeal for help appear in his eyes. Mr. Hampton felt he could not be
mistaken. And the old wizard’s words confirmed his impression. For
whatever reason yet to be explained, the Wizard Mfum-ba wanted the
white men on his side.
“I have it,” muttered Mr. Hampton quickly to his companion. “Look at
that old fellow. He wants us to help him out of a hole. The Prophet
is destroying his power amongst his own people, and naturally he
hates The Prophet. We must manage to gain word with him aside. He
may be just the man for our purpose.”
Mr. Ransome nodded. Then addressing Chief Namla in a firm voice, he
said:
“O Chief Namla, the fame of your land has drawn my companion here
that he may see its wonders and carry back with him to the land of
the white man across the mighty ocean a picture of all that he
beholds. He has with him a magic machine which when pointed at a
man, an animal or a mountain while the magician sets it in motion
takes the likeness of that man or animal or mountain so that others
thousands of miles distant may see and behold the same thing that he
sees and beholds. This is a great magic, yet it does not take away
anything from the man or animal or mountain and does not harm them
in any way. He prays that you will permit him and his magician to
travel in your country and point this machine at whatever pleases
him. In return he offers such valuable objects as are fitting for so
mighty and powerful a ruler as Chief Namla.”
Then, while the interpreter put this into the native dialect, Mr.
Ransome bade the bearers to bring forward the trade goods to be
offered the chief. Bundle after bundle was opened and laid at the
chief’s feet, consisting of many yards of gaudy cotton prints,
bundles of brass stair rods, an entire box of fezzes both red and
blue, a small set of dishes of gaudiest flowered pattern and,
finally, topping the heap, a trade gun and box of cartridges.
Not until the last appeared did Chief Namla who stood with folded
arms, relax his frowning expression. Then his eyes gleamed
covetously, and for the first time he spoke.
“Let the white strangers rest in the guest house,” he said. “I shall
let them know presently what I decide.”
The interpreter hastened to repeat this but almost before he had
concluded speaking the wrinkled old wizard interrupted with a gabble
of words, while again from beneath his robe sounded that mysterious
rattling.
“Him say Chief Namla tell white men a’ right,” announced the
interpreter hastily. Then he added on his own account: “Me think
Wizard no want. Chief go talk somebody.”
“The Prophet,” said Mr. Ransome emphatically, and Mr. Hampton nodded
agreement. “You’re right, Hampton. Mfum-ba fears the influence of
The Prophet over the chief.”
Nevertheless, that the chief intended to adhere to his resolve was
soon apparent. For thrusting the old wizard aside impatiently, as if
angered by his importunities, he indicated to some women who came
running forward that the presents to him should be borne away, and
then turned without more words and strode in the direction of a hut
somewhat larger than the rest at one side of the square.
For the moment there was nothing to do except obey. And as the
warriors melted away at a sharp command flung over Chief Narnia’s
shoulder, Mr. Hampton and Mr. Ransome followed several women who
approached and told the interpreter they were to lead the party to
the guest house. This proved to be a commodious hut, entirely of
grass, both walls and roof, standing on the right of the large hut
into which the chief had disappeared and separated from it only by a
narrow passage some eight feet in width.
The bearers squatted outside the hut, and the guards leaned against
the wall, but the four white men of the party, for Jack and Niellsen
had come forward to join the leaders, retired within for a
consultation. The hut was clean and free from odors, and with a sigh
they sank down on the small mushroom-like stools standing about and
relaxed.
“Nothing to do except wait, I suppose,” said Mr. Ransome finally,
after the matter had been discussed from various angles. “But if
Chief Namla doesn’t soon send for us, we shall have to take the next
step. And that will be to summon him and inform him, as we planned,
that we intend to invoke the white man’s Great Spirit to rout his
evil counselor, The Prophet. We shall have to speak without mincing
matters, and carry it off with a high hand.”
“Provided I can first find a way of fixing up the radio,” said Jack.
“And I believe that way already has been found. Did you notice the
chief disappear into the next hut?”
The others nodded.
“Well, doesn’t it strike you that if he was going to consult The
Prophet, that gentleman is located inside there?”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Hampton.
“Only a narrow eight-foot alleyway separates the two huts,” said
Jack. “Suppose we placed the radio so that when Samba speaks his
piece the voice will seem to come from The Prophet’s own hut?
Wouldn’t that be pretty effective?”
“It certainly would, Jack,” said Mr. Ransome. “But how do you
propose to do it?”
Before Jack could reply, there came an interruption from an
unexpected quarter. The grass wall at the rear was parted, and
between the bundles of thatch which closed again behind him entered
none other than the wrinkled old medicine man calling himself the
Wizard Mfum-ba. He looked from one to the other, then set his
fingers to his lips, after which he spread out his hands as if in
deprecation.
“I believe he wants the interpreter,” said Jack, quickest to grasp
the meaning of the gesture. And stepping to the doorway of the hut,
he summoned the interpreter from the group outside. The old wizard’s
face showed relief at the fellow’s appearance, and drawing him close
he began to whisper to him. Several times the interpreter started to
speak, only to be interrupted, but at length with a nod of the head
and a low-voiced assurance, he turned from the old medicine man to
Mr. Ransome.
“Him say much,” he declared. “Too much me tell. But him mean Prophet
bad man, take away honor from Mfum-ba so him be cast out by tribe
unless him save face. Him say he help white men kill Prophet.”
“We don’t want to kill The Prophet but to capture him,” said Mr.
Hampton. “Look here, you ask him if he’ll help us capture him and
carry him away?”
When this was translated, Mfum-ba shook his head in emphatic
assurance. Quite evidently he was willing to go any length to be rid
of an obnoxious rival.