KHAMIS'S ADDRESS TO THE ARABS--PROPOSALS FOR ATTACK ON KWIKURU--SIMBA
SPLITS THE GATE FROM TOP TO BOTTOM--THE WARORI CHIEF SHOT--DEATH OF
KHAMIS BIN ABDULLAH--AMER BIN OSMAN PIERCED BY AN ARROW--SELIM MADE
PRISONER--SELIM BRUTALLY LASHED BY TIFUM--THE THREE ARAB BOYS BROUGHT
BEFORE FERODIA--SELIM REFUSES TO DRINK OR DANCE--ABDULLAH REFUSES TO BE
CALLED A SLAVE--FLIGHT OF SULTAN BIN ALI--DIVISION OF THE SPOILS--THE
MAGIC DRINK: MUTILATION OF THE DEAD--THE CHANT OF THE MAGIC DOCTORS.
The young people who have been fortunate in buying this book may not
have experience of the battle-field, and therefore may not know what the
feelings and thoughts of those who are about to stake their lives
against the lives of others for the victory in the bloody contest are.
The feeling is the same in all men, whether white or black, though some
natures are so constituted that they are enabled to hide feelings which
some say partake largely of fear. But I deny that such indicate fear,
though, left to themselves, they might create fear. In the Arab camp,
as report and rumour had been busy at the camp-fires, a feeling of dread
predominated in all minds, but had there been one chief of resolution,
with power unlimited over all, a few words of cheer had done wonders in
improving the tone of their minds.
Khamis bin Abdullah was a brave man; no man might deny that; but his
bravery was undisciplined; it was uncultivated; it was the bravery of a
wild but noble heart. He had not seen so many battle-fields that he
could afford to smile at the declaration of Olimali; he had not the
experience of war which would have satisfied him that, however large and
numerous the force of Olimali was, he had resources enough in himself to
defeat them all. Khamis bin Abdullah could die himself, but he could
not bring others to look upon death with calmness and courage. So that,
despite the high-spirited courage of his race, which he eminently
possessed, the truth must be told without any disparagement to himself;
a feeling of depression, some undefined dread, remained settled in his
breast, though his outer aspect, his mien, or behaviour, did not betray
this.
As it was with Khamis, so was it with the other chiefs. Amer bin Osman
was as brave as a lion, but he could not depend upon his people as he
could depend upon himself personally, and this thought created the
dread, and doubt, and apprehension of something undefinable, which all
the chiefs at this critical moment felt.
Sheikh Mohammed, Sultan bin Ali, and the rest were as brave as any
living men. Had there been only one hundred Arabs, a doubtful issue of
the war would never have been entertained; but there were only twelve
Arabs and six hundred black men; and how long would the black men stand
together?
At sunrise, another meeting was called, and the Arab chiefs, with their
sons, hastened to the council.
Khamis, the leader, when all had been seated, said:
"My friends, the last words of Olimali, according to my kirangozi, were
that the Arabs need not try to tempt him to forego his revenge, but that
we must prepare for war. We can easily prepare for war, for we are
always ready; but we must endeavour to sustain each other by friendly
counsel and cheering words; for in a fatal issue to us of this war we
know what the fate of us true believers will be. We can hold out in our
camp against four times the number that Olimali may bring against us.
We are weak, however, in this country, because we have no friends to
supply us with food, and it is not a little that will suffice to feed
six hundred souls. The men had no food yesterday, they have none
to-day; they cannot hold out long in the camp against hunger. In this
case what do you propose?"
Sultan bin Ali spoke and said, "Our answer has been given to us, and
there is no longer any doubt of what we have to do. We must fight, but
how fight is the question. Shall we await here in the camp the coming
of the infidel savages, or shall we sally out of the camp and attack
them in their boma (palisade)?"
Sheikh Mohammed answered, "We cannot remain in the camp to starve and
eat each other; we must go out and get cattle, while a few of us stop
inside here to strengthen the camp with branches. I would suggest also
that a trench be dug all around the camp, and the earth thrown against
the hedge as a parapet. Wallahi! I have seen such things done in
Unyanyembe, and the enemy beaten."
"Mohammed's words are well spoken," said Amer bin Osman. "I would
advise eleven of us sally out with our men, and one Arab remain with one
hundred men, who will stir themselves to strengthen the defences with
our cloth bales and baggage; and if we have to fall back, we shall find
a strong place ready for us. We can harry those infidels; though they
may be hidden behind triple rows of palisades, some of our bullets will
reach them. Thanks to Allah! we have enough ammunition with us."
"Very good indeed," said Sheikh Thani, a wiry, cautious old man, who had
had much experience in Africa; "but supposing we are beaten in our
attack upon the palisades of Kwikuru, we shall not be any better off
than we were before, but worse; our men will get disheartened, and
starvation will stare us in the face. I propose that five hundred men,
divided into two parties, make for the gates as quickly as possible, and
break open everything with all the speed we can. It is only in this way
that we can succeed."
"The oldest among ye have spoken," said the leader Khamis, "and ye have
spoken well. But I have been in Urori before, and know the customs of
the Warori. If we succeed in taking this village of Kwikuru, we cannot
hope to be permitted to march through this country any more; but as soon
as we take it we must strike along the road to Unyanyembe. It is
useless for me to tell ye that I advised ye at first not to take the
Urori road. I shall not quarrel with ye about that now, but will try to
do my best for our general safety. If we succeed in destroying Olimali
and his people, we must begin our march north to Unyanyembe to-night,
for in two days the fugitives will carry the news from one end of the
country to another."
"Excellently spoken, brave Khamis," said Amer bin Osman. "Thou hast a
wise head, and art a worthy leader. Do thou, with thy men and other
chiefs, attack one gate, and I, with my men and other chiefs, will
attack the other gate, and whosoever takes a gate first, let him blow on
his horn once. I advise now that whatsoever we may have we shall eat,
and that after we break our fast we sally out."
"Praised be Allah for his goodness! Let us eat; then fight!" all
shouted.
In half an hour breakfast had been despatched, and every chief sallied
out with his men under his respective flag, except Sultan bin Ali, who
was left with one hundred men to prepare the camp for defence in case of
failure.
Simba and Moto had also had their little council together; and as they
marched by the side of Amer bin Osman, various signs might have been
seen by the observer to pass between them, accompanied by many ominous
shakings of the head.
A deep silence prevailed near the village; not a soul was seen, not a
dog was heard to bark; but the sun shone as usual with its summer heat,
and the sky was perfectly cloudless and beautiful in its azure purity.
But little did the approaching Arabs and their followers heed the beauty
of the sky, the brilliancy of the day, or the heat of the sun.
When they had advanced within 300 yards of the village, the force under
Amer bin Osman separated from that of Khamis bin Abdullah, and marched
at a respectful distance from the village towards the southern gate, and
when he had gained his position, at a preconcerted signal both forces
began their firing, advancing rapidly as they fired.
The village stirred not; not a sign of life was visible for some time,
until the Arabs had approached within fifty yards; then clouds of arrows
were seen to issue from the village, and furious yells were heard, which
seemed to rend the sky. Numbers of the Arab followers fell pierced to
the core by the arrows; but the animated shouts of their chiefs spurred
them on towards the palisade.
In a few moments, after repeated discharges of musketry, the Arabs
gained the outer defence of the village, and, intruding their guns
between the tall posts, were soon firing right in the faces of the
astonished but not dismayed people of Olimali. But at this juncture, a
long blast on a deep-sounding horn was heard from the interior,
simultaneously with a shorter and shriller sound which proceeded from
the southern gate. The shriller horn belonged to Amer bin Osman, and
was blown by Moto; but what did the bass horn from the interior of the
village mean? But there was no time to lose in conjecture.
Amer bin Osman had advanced with resistless impetuosity towards the
southern gate, and the gigantic Simba had, with one blow of his heavy
axe, split the gate from top to bottom, and, giving it a strong push
with his foot, had sent it flying open, through which, accompanied by
his master Amer and Selim, who carried his rifle, he had bounded into
the interior, firing his musket with the utmost rapidity.
Amer's followers, animated by the valour of their master and the immense
strength of Simba, now became as brave as lions, and vied with each
other in noise and bravery. Not being able to make their way rapidly
enough by the gate, which was thronged by the besiegers, they climbed
over the palisades like monkeys, and little Niani's agility might have
astonished his namesake. Abdullah, Mussoud, and Isa were with their
parents, Sheikhs Mohammed and Hamdan, and they crept through the gate
much behind Selim and his father Amer, owing to the press of besiegers.
So quickly had Simba gained the gate and destroyed it, that all the
fugitives were not able to enter the inner inclosure which surrounded
the king's quarters, and a body of them, numbering about fifty, under
the leadership of the king's eldest son, now stood with their backs to
the palisades, resolutely confronting Simba and his companions, with
heavy spears in their hands.
Simba, at this time before a foe on whom he could exert the full power
of his arm, became transformed into the embodiment of a black Mars, the
god of war. He was no longer the humble and obedient servant of Sheikh
Amer and the true friend of Selim. He was more; he was their
irresistible leader. In his eyes glowed the ardour of fierce battle;
the terrible savage spirit of the Warundi, hitherto constrained for
faithful, though menial, service, had burst its trammels, and he now
stood, with uplifted musket,--confessed--the bronze Achilles of the war.
His fierce eye caused the doomed fugitives to quail with cowardly
dread; and when aimed at him, the heavy spears of the Warori fell
harmless at his feet. Giving vent to the hitherto latent passion of the
savage's soul in a loud bellowing cry, he sprang forward, and the
rapidity with which he dealt his blows with his clubbed musket awed even
the warrior soul of his Arab chief. But not for long did Amer pause to
regard even the prowess of Simba. Calling to his followers, he raised
his long two-edged sword, and darted at the enemy, plying the weapon
best known to him and his race with a power which elicited as much
admiration as Simba's strength of arm and dexterity of stroke had done.
Rendered desperate by the knowledge of their situation, the remaining
Warori, headed by their chief, made a rush towards their enemies and
used their heavy spears with frantic energy. In front of the Warori
chief stood Selim, firing and loading his rifle with a coolness and
method which would have won applause from his father's people had the
combatants not been so busily engaged. He was in the act of re-loading
when the desperate rush of the Warori was made, and their chief stood
with uplifted spear above him; but well was it for him that the watchful
eye of Moto was on him, else had our story been ended here, ere it is
hardly begun. When it seemed that Selim could not have been saved, and
he stood expectant of the blow which would have ended his young life
there and then, he saw the chief's head fall back with a cruel jagged
wound in the temple, through which the bullet of Moto had sped home.
The Warori no longer resisted when they saw their chief fall, and
attempted to fly, but the force of Arabs was too numerous; they fell
dead to a man.
Khamis bin Abdullah had also been successful. Cheered by the news which
the horn of Amer conveyed, he soon effected an entrance, and,
accompanied by his followers, he had entered the village, and almost
similar scenes awaited him, though not so sanguinary.
When they had succeeded in forcing the outer inclosure, they had still a
hard struggle before them to conquer the village; but they, no doubt,
would have done so had not a new enemy come upon the field.
Unknown to the Arabs, a few miles west of the village was stationed a
large body of Watuta, whose chief had been sent by Katalambula, brother
of the dead Mostana, to pay his respects to his brother's friends, and
to renew "assurances of his esteem and consideration" for them, as the
old letters used to say.
This body of Watuta was one thousand strong, and as soon as the Arab
caravans hove in sight, Olimali had despatched messengers to Ferodia,
the Watuta chief, telling him of his intentions, and bidding him hasten
to the neighbourhood to watch events, and to be ready for the signal, as
he intended to attack the Arab camp. But the attack of the Arabs upon
his village had caused him to give the signal earlier than he had at
first anticipated, and the easy entrance of the Arabs into the outer
village had been partly effected through the connivance of this wily
chief, though in the loss of warriors and in the death of his eldest son
he had paid dearly for his treachery.
While the Arabs and their followers now devoted their attention to the
attack upon the inner inclosure, which was vigorously defended, the
major number of the Watuta had risen, in response to the deep-sounding
war-horn of the Warori, from among the corn-fields to the west of the
village and camp of the Arabs, and had hurried to the rescue.
They came upon the outer inclosure just as the Arabs commenced their
attack upon the inner palisade, and the first time the Arabs knew of
their presence was when they were first fired upon before and behind.
The followers of the Arabs, before so valiant, now became
panic-stricken, and they simultaneously made a rush for the gates,
while, the defiant yells of the savages completely drowned their cries;
but the cunning Watuta had closed the gates, or had so barricaded them
that egress was impossible. They now saw nothing but death staring them
in the face--savages in front, savages behind; both parties defended by
palisades, while they stood exposed between, to be shot to death in
their tracks. It was useless for the Arab leaders to attempt to
encourage them, for one after another of these brave men fell and died.
Khamis bin Abdullah fell, pierced by a dozen arrows, and his son, the
noble young Khamis--the proud-spirited young Arab--fell also across the
body of his father at the hands of the people whom he so much despised.
Mussoud, and Thani, and Amram died also bravely, and one after another
of their followers fell to rise no more, until those who were left threw
down their guns crying "Aman, aman!" (Mercy, mercy!) upon seeing which
the Watuta and Warori desisted from further murder, to make slaves of
those who cried for quarter.
The force under Amer bin Osman, Sheikh Mohammed, and Hamdan, and the
other chiefs, fared as badly. They were engaged in vigorously attacking
the inner defence in front of them, when they heard a loud gurgling
shriek issue from Sheikh Mohammed, who had been pierced in the nape of
the neck from an arrow behind, and on turning to see whence it came,
they were dismayed to find an enemy of another tribe behind them. Moto,
on seeing them, shouted "The Watuta! the Watuta! Olimali has betrayed
us into their hands." Bimba, hearing the words of Moto, desisted from
further attack, and came to Amer bin Osman, counselling him to fly with
him, and handing him a shield to cover his body, which, from the dress
he wore, was a prominent mark. Moto also held a couple of shields
before Selim, while Abdullah and Mussoud were ordered to do the same.
"Fly!" said the astonished Amer--"fly! Ah, Simba, my friend, had we
wings, we might fly. See you not the gate is closed?"
"The gate is closed, I know, great master, but Simba's arm is strong,
and I will force it open."
"No, Simba, I cannot fly to be butchered like a bullock outside. I
shall meet my fate here. Ha! do you hear that? See! the savages are
within. Khamis bin Abdullah is dead! Save my boy Selim, for his
mother's sake! Ho, my son, come to me! One embrace before we part for
ever; but, my son, remember, I shall meet thee in Paradise!"
The father and son were united in a fervent embrace when Amer received
an arrow in the back from within the inner inclosure, which caused him
to fall, with his son in his arms, to the ground. The arrow had been
driven by a strong hand, for the point projected in front and slightly
wounded Selim in the chest, the blood of father and son commingling in
one stream.
"Brave Simba and faithful Moto, where are ye? Save my boy!" cried Amer,
looking up with glazed eyes at the two who bent over him, heart-stricken
with sorrow. "Save my darling Selim! Save him for the love I bore you!
Ah, Selim, my son, kiss thy mother for thy fa--Amina!--Sel--Ah!"--and
the great soul of Amer hastened upward to the Judgment Seat.
Simba and Moto, when they saw their master had breathed his last,
stretched his form out evenly, and, placing a cloth reverently over his
face, caught hold of Selim, and pressing the heart-broken boy to the
ground, close by the body of his father, said to him:
"Lie still, young master. Nay, but you must. Your father commanded us
to save you, and we will; but you must do what we advise you. Think of
your mother, of many happy days yet in store for you. Lie still as
death, and they will take you to Katalambula's village, and there you
will meet us. Here, Abdullah! Mussoud! Isa! lie down here, alongside
of Selim. What, all the chiefs dead already! Wallahi! but this is a
sad day for the Arabs at Zanzibar!"
Having given these instructions to the Arab boys, which had been given
in much less time than we have taken to record them, Simba and Moto also
fell to the ground, but retaining their spears and shields in their
hands.
By this time the Watuta were within the village, crowing triumphantly
over their success; but Ferodia, the chief, after giving orders to bind
the captives, hastened away with nearly all his force to attack the
camp, which, under old Sultan bin Ali, held out still against the force
that had been detached to attack it.
While the few remaining Watuta were binding the captives, Simba and Moto
rose to their feet, and, using their spears right and left, soon cleared
a passage to the gate, before the astonished savages could recover their
senses.
Once outside the gate, Simba and Moto exerted their powers to the
utmost, and by their extraordinary speed soon left their pursuers far
behind.
Finding it useless to pursue the runaways, the Watuta began to examine
the wounded, and especially the Arabs, whom they surveyed with
astonishment. The group formed by Amer bin Osman, Selim his son,
Abdullah, Mussoud, and Isa, attracted them most for their rich dresses.
They began to strip the bodies, but their astonishment was very great
when they perceived Isa sit up and fold his hands, asking for mercy.
Suspecting that others shammed death, they laid hold of Selim, and he
also sat up; then Abdullah and Mussoud, and they also sat up, looking
very sheepish, or like guilty people caught doing a mean action. Angry
at the cheat, as they imagined, to have been practised upon them, they
snatched the cloth from the face of the dead body of Amer bin Osman; but
there was no mistaking him--he was dead.
Some were for slaying the boys at once; but the majority interposed, and
said in an inquiring tone, "Why slay boys, when you can make slaves of
them?" which shortly met general approbation.
Upon agreeing to this, they began to strip Isa, who shortly found
himself as naked as when he was born; but being extremely dark of
colour, there appeared nothing remarkable about him to attract any
special attention, and he was taken at once to the other captives, where
he wae firmly bound with strips of green bark.
They then laid violent hands on the others, on Selim, Abdullah, and
Mussoud; and despite their struggles and tears, they were soon denuded
of their finery and of their rich embroidered dress. When they saw the
pale and clean colour of their bodies, the fierce Watuta gathered about
them, and wondered what strange beings these were who were all over
white, while they themselves were all black. They looked at the wound
in Selim's chest, and on pressing it saw the red blood flow, which only
increased their astonishment; for how could people with white skins have
red blood? But Selim's proud heart was rebelling against the indignity
of being stared at as a curious specimen of humanity, and he had
endeavoured to hide his blushes with his hands; but when they pulled
them down, and ordered him to show his tongue and teeth, and began to
feel the muscles of his arms and legs, then he could bear no more; and
flinging himself across the dead body of his father, he wept aloud, and
prayed to God that he might die. Abdullah and Mussoud were as yet too
terrified to do more than cry silently; and they were accordingly led
away and bound without resistance. They then took hold of Selim to tie
him, but he would not rise; and, angered at what they deemed his
stubbornness, two warriors brought the shafts of their spears full upon
his body, which had well-nigh broken the high courage of the young Arab;
for so great was the pain his pride suffered, and so indescribable were
his emotions, that he lay like one stunned.
While the boy lay fainting in the hot sun amid the dead and the blood,
the chief of the party in charge of the prisoners, casting his eyes
around, saw a whip of hippopotamus-hide in the waist-cloth of one of the
dead fundis, or overseers, of the Arabs. This pliant and formidable
whip the chief--a man of stern and forbidding aspect, whose name was
Tifum (pronounced Tee-foom),--Tifum Byah, or the "Wicked Tifum," and who
was evidently a traveller--handled like a man who knew its uses, for he
made it fly about his arm in black circles, and made it hiss its menace
in the ears of the sorely-tried Selim.
"Proud Arab boy, arise! Tifum Byah speaks but once, else you will feel
the pains of this whip, with which your cursed race torture the backs of
your slaves. Many days lie between here and Ututa, and you will suffer
more than this ere you see our plains. Arise! No? then words are light
as air, and seldom go into the ears of the stubborn;" and as he spoke,
he lashed the prostrate youth with all his might, while the shrieks
which the pain elicited at last from him were responded to by the
mocking laughter of the brutal crowd, who pointed at the marks which the
whip made in high glee.
When Tifum fancied he had punished him enough, he ordered the boy to be
assisted up to his feet and bound; and when this was done Tifum lowered
his face to Selim's, and said, "Mark my words, child of the pale race!
You shall be Tifum's slave, to hoe his field and bring him wood and
water. You shall nurse his children, be a herdsman of his cattle, and I
will break your heart, and make your ears open to his slightest breath.
Do you hear me, white face?"
So strong was the nauseous and hateful repugnance he felt towards this
man that Selim could not repress the expression of the loathing that
filled him, and almost unconsciously he spat in his face, which was
instantly retaliated by Tifum with a tremendous box on the ear, which
prostrated the boy once more across the dead body of Amer, where he lay
like one deprived of life, and not all the brutal lashing which the
almost lifeless form received evoked one groan from him; and it was in
this unconscious state that he was carried to where the other prisoners
stood huddled together like frightened sheep.
Then, directing his attention to the dead bodies of the Arabs, these
were ordered to be denuded of their clothing, and to be laid in a row
together, Sheikhs Khamis, Amer, Abdullah, Mussoud, Thani, Hamdan,
Mohammed, Amram, and young Khamis, and two others of lesser note--an
honourable company truly, even in death!
There seemed to have penetrated into the brain of the unconscious Selim
some idea of what was about to occur; for as soon as the dead had been
gathered together, he raised his head and sat up, with his eyes fixed
upon the dishonoured bodies of his father and his father's friends,
which were laid side by side. He heeded not the taunts of the Warori
who had collected to menace and insult the prisoners, and feast their
curiosity with a sight of the noble dead; he heeded not the groans of
his boy-companions Isa, Abdullah, and Mussoud, nor the wailing of the
little slave Niani, who had been born on his father's estate, and who
was now crying his eyes out for the loss of his master Amer, and for the
more pitiable condition of his young master Selim; he heeded not the hot
sun which was blistering his back with its fierce heat, nor the scores
of flies which troubled his numerous wounds; he sat heedless of all,
with his great eyes fixed sadly on the remains of his father.
But night was approaching, and Ferodia had not yet returned. Volleys of
musketry were heard incessantly all the afternoon; but as the sun set
the musketry ceased, and Ferodia returned with all but a few of his
people, when it was reported that the camp still held out, but that in
the morning all the fighting men of Olimali and Ferodia would take the
camp at a rush. Until then he had left a few of his men to watch it,
lest they might abscond at night and take away the most part of the
great wealth which must be stored within the camp. The losses of the
Watuta had been excessively heavy, as, when Ferodia darted out with his
victorious men, it was expected that the camp would have surrendered at
once; but it seems that Sultan bin Ali had so well fortified it that it
was almost impregnable, and that the Watuta had been punished severely.
The Warori of the village of Kwikuru had prepared food in a great
quantity for the warriors of Ferodia, who were too much engaged with
satisfying their ravenous hunger to display much interest in prisoners
whom they knew were secure; and when they had finished, they had so
gorged their stomachs with food and pombe, that they were too indolent
to stir. But when Tifum, who was obsequious enough to Ferodia, though
cruel to his subordinates, had told the latter of the interesting
character of the white slaves, as he called the three Arab boys, and how
he had found them shamming death, he commanded him to bring them before
him and Olimali that they might be amused.
Tifum hastened out obedient to his chief's mandates, and, arriving
before the prisoners, searched for the Arab boys, who had already
forgotten their misery in a deep sleep. Finding that they were in a too
uninteresting condition to amuse his master, he had several gourds full
of water brought to him, which he threw over them to cause them to cast
off the disposition to sleep. This being done, he led them to the
presence of his chief.
Ferodia was holding forth to Olimali upon the prospects of the great
riches they should share with each other on the morrow when the young
prisoners were ushered before him. By the dim light which the torches
gave out, they appeared much more pallid and strange in a land where
white people had never been seen; indeed, one might say they were rather
alarming; and it is no wonder that Ferodia started as the three were
pushed towards him.
But, quickly recovering himself, as he remembered who they were, he
burst out into a laugh, saying, "Ah, I remember, these are the Arab
youths thou didst speak to me of, Tifum. This pombe, Olimali, is
strong. I think it has made me light-headed,"--speaking these words
aside to the Mrori chief.
Then attentively fixing his gaze upon the prisoners, and looking them
all over, he said, half to himself, "What strange people these Arabs
are--all white! Their hides are as white almost as the yolk of eggs but
how came the tallest one, I wonder, to have so many wounds?"
"Tifum," said Ferodia, aloud, "what ails this tallest lad? These wounds
are not the wounds of arrows."
Tifum, bending his back almost double, said, "My chief, this boy is as
stubborn as an ass. When I remembered the cruelties the people of this
boy have practised upon those of our colour, my blood boiled within me,
and when I told him to arise and be bound like the other prisoners, he
spat in my face, and I flogged him."
"Pah, pah, Tifum! he but acted as the Watuta boys would have done; but
lay not thine hand on him again. I take him for my slave. The boy is
half dead already. Here," said he, addressing Selim, "drink this,"
handing him a good ladleful of sparkling pombe; "it will put life in thy
dull veins."
Selim shook his head and curled his lips in scorn, and looked at the
half-inebriated chief with contemptuous indifference.
The chief regarded him for a moment in silence, with the cup still
stretched, and then said, "Thou art right, Tifum; no Mtuta boy would
have had the courage to refuse a cup of pombe from a chief, nor regard
his future master with such a look. He is a fool, and stubborn as an
ass, truly. But I will tame him, or I will kill him. How Kalulu, the
nephew of Katalambula, will wonder at him! Why, he must be of the same
age as Kalulu; but Kalulu is taller and stronger; but I doubt if he has
this lad's high courage, though he is proud as if he were already king
of the Watuta. Kalulu would act differently from this youth if he were
in his place; he would have taken the pombe and then killed me as soon
as he had the opportunity. Ah! Kalulu is a true Mtuta. But here I am
with the cup still in my hand. If this boy will not drink it, perhaps
the others will. Here, you!" addressing himself to Abdullah, "drink,
young one. No? And you refuse it, too? Well, you smallest one," to
Mussoud. "Not even you? Strange youths! Dost thou speak their
language, Tifum?"
"A little, my chief."
"Ask this tallest one why will he not take this cup of pombe from the
hand of Ferodia, chief of the Watuta warriors."
"Boy," said Tifum, addressing Selim, "Ferodia, chief of the Watuta
warriors, demands to know why you will not accept the drink at his
hands."
"Then tell thy master," said Selim, without ever, turning his eyes
towards the man, "that I may not accept anything in kindness from his
hands, since he gives it to me while he believes me to be a slave. Tell
him I am not his slave, and never shall do his bidding save under
constant compulsion."
When Tifum had communicated this to his chief, Ferodia burst into
another loud laugh; then said:
"This boy is verily proud; but, Tifum, ask him to dance."
"Dance!" said Selim, when the order was communicated to him--"Dance!
when my heart is breaking, when my father lies dead and dishonoured
before yonder gates! Sooner would I die than obey!"
"Then tell him to sing," shouted Ferodia, laughing.
"Sing!" replied Selim. "How long, oh Allah! shall I suffer these
tortures? Sing! As well might you ask the dead to sing!"
"What, will he do nothing, then? I will wait until the marts of thy
rough hand have been cured, when I will make marks of my own on that
hide of his," said Ferodia, with a wrathful glance in his eye. "But
where is that whip of thine, Tifum?"
"Here, my chief, at the door of the house," said he, rising to fetch it.
"Give it me." And giving Selim a severe stroke with it across his
shoulders, he ordered him to stand back, and Tifum to cut the bonds of
the boys Abdullah and Mussoud.
Then, commanding the youths to be brought before him, he told Tifum to
tell Abdullah to dance and Mussoud to sing.
For awhile Abdullah hung down his head in confusion, not seeming to
understand or to realise that _he_, the son of Mohammed, was actually
required to dance by the slayer of his father; while Mussoud looked from
Abdullah to the chief Ferodia's face in quite a foolish way.
"Ask him, Tifum," said Abdullah, in a trembling voice, "if Ferodia
understands what he requires of me."
"Why need I ask him? Do I not tell you that he commands you to dance,
and the other slave to sing?"
"Slave!" shouted Abdullah, recovering quickly firmness of tone in his
voice. "Slave! Lying dog! Do you call my brother a slave? Am I a
slave?"
"What does he say?" thundered Ferodia.
"He says he is not a slave, and calls me a liar. They are all asses and
sons of asses," replied Tifum. "Verily, though they own hundreds of
black slaves at Zanzibar, they don't seem to know that the chance of war
has made them slaves."
"Tell him, Tifum, that I say he is a slave, he and his brother; that
they shall be my slaves; that they shall do whatever I bid them, and if
not, that I will punish them until they do. Ferodia speaks."
"Do you hear and understand, asses and sons of asses?" asked Tifum of
Abdullah and Mussoud. "Do ye hear, children of the Arabs? Ferodia the
chief tells you that you shall be his slaves to do his bidding, and if
you do not, he will punish you. Listen to the chief's words, and obey
him."
"We are Arabs," said Abdullah, proudly tossing, his head back, while his
chest seemed to dilate with the great thought. "We are Arabs, and
children of the Arabs of Muscat. A chief of the free Bedaween was my
father Mohammed, and I am his son Abdullah. The desert wind is not
freer than our never-conquered race, and every child of that race is
free. We, therefore, cannot be slaves. Ferodia has lied."
"Tell him, Tifum, that I will beat him until he is bleeding on this
floor--until he confesses himself my slave."
"Ferodia says he will beat you, Abdullah, if that be your name, until
you bleed on this floor."
"Tell him from me he may beat me until I die, but he cannot make me a
slave. Has he not slain my father, and has he not dishonoured me by
causing me to stand naked before him? Can he punish me more? He is a
strong man--you call him a chief; he has in his hand a whip; he says he
will use it. I am but a child, but he cannot make me a slave. See, I
go to him nearer, and turn my back to him. I will not cry, though he
tear my flesh;" and the indomitable young Arab walked up nearer to the
chief, looked at him in the eye for a second, then slowly turned his
bare back to him, and with bended head and folded arms waited for the
blow.
Ferodia, though a chief and a Mtuta warrior, was a true savage; he had
never heard of that rare quality which belongs to races civilised and
semi-civilised, and is called magnanimity, or a generous forbearance to
a conquered foe. He beheld the defenceless boy who was fully in his
power standing within reach of the lash he held in his hand,--that
delicate youth with the fair and faultless skin, on which an angry blow
had never descended, which a whip had never dishonoured,--and the savage
could not restrain his instincts of cruelty or the delight to torture
and rend which is the instinct of wild men as well as of wild animals.
So, when Tifum explained to him what Abdullah had said, and what he
meant by thus turning his back to him, Ferodia, as though it were an
everyday matter in which no principle was involved, lifted his whip, and
as he saw the tender flesh shrink and redden, and then bleed and gape,
it but kindled the desire to hurt; but a powerful antidote and
corrective,--even subjugator, you may say,--was the resolute passiveness
and determined silence of his victim; and without being aware himself of
what lessened the power of his blows, and weakened his anger, and
finally conquered the desire to torture, his arm was stayed, and still
the boy stood up, now confronting him, with the same steady gaze and
heroic mien, to ask the astonished savage with a curling lip:
"Well, have you made me a slave now? Am I more a slave than before?"
"Stand aside, fool, else I will do thee a greater harm; and thou, Tifum,
away with them, treat them as slaves; and when we are on the road, give
them loads to carry. Since they think it such a terrible thing to be
naked, let their nakedness be seen of men and women, and if they suffer
through it, so much the better. Slaves were made to suffer. Are my
words nothing? Shall these baby-faces beard me before my own people?"
So saying, Ferodia threw his whip from him, and drowned his further
reflections in a mighty gourd-bowl full of strong pombe; and as he
sighed his content, all traces of anger vanished; and as he observed his
friend Olimali had long ago measured his length upon the clay floor of
the hut, he laughed heartily; but the fumes of the pombe he had already
drunk were rapidly conquering the conqueror--even Ferodia, chief of the
Watuta.
The first news Ferodia and Olimali received, when they had recovered in
the morning from their drunken stupor, was not calculated to content
them. This was the flight of Sultan bin Ali and his men by night from
the camp, with but two or three bales of cloth, so that a party flying
for their lives, and so lightly laden, were not easily to be overtaken,
and could not be done before they would reach a country friendly to the
Arabs. Still, when the two chiefs, after venting a few angry
expletives, came to reflect, to converse, and turn over coolly, calmly,
and deliberately the news, it was found not to be so bad after all--
rather the reverse; until, finally, it was settled that the news was the
best that could be heard of what might concern them, and they felt
accordingly very gratified.
Four hundred bales of cloth and beads, one hundred kegs of powder, a
vast number of bullets, rugs, carpets, counterpanes, feather pillows,
richly embroidered caps, knives, looking-glasses, despatch-boxes, a few
guns, kettles, cups and saucers, sugar, coffee, tea, spices, curry, and
numberless little things which go to make the miscellaneous sum-total of
the plunder of a large and wealthy caravan--in short, the sum of fifty
thousand silver dollars would not have covered the cost price of the
articles found in the Arabs' deserted camp.
In the possession of these articles, what a difference had been made
within twenty-four hours in that small area contained within the compass
of a square half mile, a spot in Africa that might be covered by a pin's
point on an ordinary school-map of the world! How much noise,
confusion, blowing of gunpowder, did the fact of possession comprehend!
How many lives had been destroyed! What noble men had died! How much
misery had been created! And on such a very small spot in this world,
that no one would ever have heard of it, had I not been elected the
historian of the battle of Kwikuru! Yet who will dare deny my right and
duty to relate truly and clearly how it all happened--what dashing
bravery Simba showed; how Khamis bin Abdullah and his lion-hearted son
and the noble Amer bin Osman died; how our proud, high-spirited heroes,
the Arab youths, Selim, Abdullah, and Mussoud, endured their sad
misfortunes--to illustrate the high and noble principles involved in all
these things, and to point with bold finger the moral which adorns this
chronicle? Happy are ye, my young readers, if your eyes fall upon these
few pages; for ye shall be counted as those to whom a new world of human
life has been revealed, where exist passions and joys so akin to our own
that none may be so blind as not to perceive our relationship to them!
Putting by moralising for the present, let us glance at the incidents
which transpired on the news of the desertion of the Arab camp becoming
generally known.
Ferodia and Olimali became exceedingly elated when the rich store of
plunder was described to them. They rubbed their hands, like two
children rejoicing gleefully over a nice Christmas present; they
laughed, and giggled, and said so many tender silly things to one
another, that the historian of these events finds his patience too
exhausted to relate them.
Trusty men were at once despatched to the camp to superintend the
removal of the riches to Kwikuru, and when they were all conveyed into
the inner inclosure and exhibited to the view of the chiefs, they could
barely realise that they were the actual possessors of all this immense
wealth until they had peered into every box, and felt over and over
again the texture of the gaudy cloths before them. The palisade was
lined by men, women, and children, who endeavoured to thrust their
over-large heads for such intentions through the narrow spaces between
the poles. Their cries of admiration were irrepressible. They hummed,
and hawed, and heyed, and coughed their immeasurable satisfaction.
The division of the spoils was made with religious justice. Ferodia
retained half of everything, and to Olimali, his friend and ally, was
given the other half. But their respective halves were so large, that
there was no room for quarrel, and the most ambitious African could
never have dreamed of such abundant store as had now fallen into the
hands of these fortunate chiefs. When Ferodia, assisted by ten
favourite head men, had reckoned up, after much mental calculation, how
much cloth he had, he could only express it by saying that there were
belonging to him one hundred hundreds of dotis and sixty hundreds of
dotis of cloth, including all kinds; or, as we should say, with our
expressive terms, there were 16,000 doti, or 64,000 yards.
Ferodia caused his warriors to be drawn up in line. Though a few had
been killed, still there were enough men in the line to warrant the
statement that there were 900 men where originally there had been 1000
of them. To these warriors the head men delivered six doti each of
mixed cloth, which left in Ferodia's possession 10,600 dotis. The odd
600 were for himself and his head men and doctors of magic--himself, as
may be supposed, retaining the lion's share. The remaining 10,000
dotis, and the beads and other things, were for the king Katalambula and
his prospective heir, Prince Kalulu.
The 10,000 dotis of cloth were made into 200 light portable bales
containing fifty dotis each, which weighed about forty pounds. The
beads were distributed for the like purpose, as well as the fifty
barrels of powder, etc. etc.
The distribution having taken place, and each warrior made perfectly
satisfied with his share, there remained one more duty to perform--a
religious duty--which might not be neglected long, and this was the
religious ceremony of making each warrior magically strong in arm and
limb, by giving him to drink of the consecrated drink.
This ceremony took place the evening of the day after the battle.
First, fires were lighted around a large circle outside the boma, or
outer palisade of Kwikuru, with only one entrance left for the passage
of the sacrificial bodies of the dead Arabs. The bodies, being all
denuded of their clothing, were laid diametrically across the circle.
Then earthen, tin, and copper pots full of water, with some millet-flour
in each, were placed over the fire, and then small bottle gourds (with
numbers of small pebbles in them), two for each magic doctor, were
prepared and placed near the heads of the bodies. Everything being thus
ready, the magic doctors took their sharp knives in their hands and
began their work. To the sound of a low crooning song, or rather chant,
the words of which could not be distinguished, the knives were set to
work on the bodies of their enemies, first in cutting the tips of each
nose, then the lower lip, then the flesh under the chin, then the ears
and the eyebrows, which, when ended, they conveyed to the pots over the
fires. Continuing their work, the nipples of the breasts were then cut,
the muscles of their arms and legs, and, lastly, the whole of the flesh
covering the abdomen, which they took and placed in the pots over the
fire. Then the hearts were extracted, and, finally, the fat of the
entrails of each body. After this mutilation and disfigurement of the
dead, the head of each body was cut off and placed on the end of pointed
poles, to be borne around the camp during the ceremonial song.
Within half an hour the water had boiled sufficiently, and the magic
doctors, taking the wonderful gourds filled with pebbles in their hands,
began to shake them to the tune of a monotonous chant, in the chorus of
which the warriors, bearing the heads aloft on poles, joined, marching
slowly as they sang around the circle. The words ran thus, as well as
they may be translated:
Oh, the horrible, fearful battle,
Where warriors slew and were slain,
Where dead lay unnumbered, and wounds were made,
Till the field ran red with blood that was shed
In the horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. With the blood that was shed
In the horrible, fearful battle.
Ferodia the chief, Ferodia the strong,
The lion and leopard in war,
Tifum Byah, Maro, and Wafanyah,
Great chiefs of the unconquer'd Watuta,
In the horrible, fearful battle,
_Chorus_. In the horrible, fearful battle.
They heard the loud note, the war-horn's note,
Olimali, their friend, was distress'd;
They rose from the bush, they rose from the ground,
They rush'd to Kwikuru, and hemm'd them round,
For a horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. For a horrible, fearful battle.
The Arabs and blacks who came from afar.
Who came from near the sea,
To give the Warori and Watuta, King Olimali and Ferodia,
A horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. A horrible, fearful battle.
Warori were brave, the Watuta were strong,
'Gainst those who came from afar.
The Arabs lie dead by hundreds around;
They will hear never more the war-horn's sound,
For a horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. For a horrible, fearful battle.
Then, drink, warriors! drink the true magic drink!
The strength of your enemies slain!
Drink of the blood, of the fat, and the heart,
Drink to commemorate before we part,
The horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. Before we part
The horrible, fearful battle.
Then, drink, warriors! drink the true magic drink!
The strength of your enemies slain!
Be strengthened in heart, in limb, and in arm,
Be strong, be swift, be wise, and safe from harm
In each horrible, fearful battle.
_Chorus_. And safe from harm
In each horrible, fearful battle.
When this chant was over, which has been rendered into English as
faithfully as possible, the poles on which the ghastly trophies had been
placed were planted in the ground before each gate of the village. But
the young Arabs were spared this fearful scene, as they had been sent
ahead with the loads, escorted by a strong guard. Then, the ceremony
over, the chief Ferodia embraced in a loving manner his friend Olimali,
and departed to the sound of booming horns and drums, and a general
grateful look from the young women of Kwikuru--he and his warriors.
At sunset they camped in a forest, through which the road led towards
the south-west.