Meanwhile the object of Bakahenzie’s political perplexities was also
holding a council of war. Mungongo and Bakuma were divided in opinion. The
former had recovered his complete confidence in Moonspirit. After the
repulse of the greatest magician and his warriors he became filled with a
martial ardour and strongly advocated advancing upon the village
immediately. Birnier smiled and considered. As a matter of fact the plan
was not so utterly insane as it appeared. Did he follow up swiftly upon
the heels of the terror-stricken warriors the probability was that the
whole camp would be infected by the spirit of panic and bolt. However, he
could not see any object to be attained by stampeding the village.
Mungongo, ever eager for a miracle, urged that Moonspirit should take upon
him the spirit form and descend upon them at night. To his disgust
Moonspirit refused, so Mungongo retired to the fire and consoled himself
by another vivid description of the powers of his master—growing every
day!—to Bakuma, who sat and listened dully with ever an anxious eye and
ear upon the forest trail.
Bakuma was obsessed by terror inspired by the fact that Bakahenzie had
discovered her presence; the inherent awe of the witch-doctor which had
been temporarily allayed by the presence of the white, was revived, as
well as the inevitability of her doom. Only the strict injunctions of
Moonspirit prevented her fleeing through the jungle to take refuge in some
distant goatherd village. She was convinced the wizard would soon find out
where she had gone; for she was persuaded that Bakahenzie had discovered
her former hiding place by magic divination, maintaining as proof that
although she had been as usual completely hidden in the undergrowth,
Bakahenzie had walked directly to her.
Birnier foresaw that the situation might become serious. Bakahenzie’s
attitude was one of suspicion based, he guessed correctly, on professional
jealousy. The finding of Bakuma had probably been more of an excuse to
assail the possible rival and thus to satisfy this subconscious death
wish. Now, reckoned Birnier, Bakahenzie would probably be more exasperated
than ever at the triumph of the said rival’s magic. He would therefore,
knowing the strength of the driving force of religious conviction,
endeavour to play upon the emotions of the tribe by advocation of the
efficacy of appeasing their fallen god by the sacrifice of the girl, and
so work them up to an exalted state of fanaticism to attack in force; an
additional stimulant to such action on their part would be the unconscious
satisfaction in slaying the “brother” of the one who had invaded their
country, Eyes-in-the-hands.
Another point was that the more a person is scared the less easy it is for
him to forgive, hence the greater resistance to the overtures of amity.
Beyond the partially formed idea to overset zu Pfeiffer’s petty
sovereignty was the strictly professional one of studying from the most
intimate view-point possible a system of primitive theology of a most
complex and illuminating kind. The main object to be attained therefore
was resolved by the best method calculated to win the friendship and
confidence of all concerned, particularly of Bakahenzie. To Birnier, who
was not as yet conversant with the system, Bakahenzie seemed of less
importance than Zalu Zako, the King-God, or potential King-God. Yet
apparently he could not hope to approach Zalu Zako without overcoming the
opposition offered by Bakahenzie. To give up little Bakuma to the
sacrificial orgy was unthinkable; such an act would have appeared to him
tantamount to sacrificing the girl to attain his own ends.
For precaution he placed two of his men as pickets in the jungle to give
warning of any surprise, although he did not consider that they would be
likely to renew the attack that day; then, as usual when in difficulties,
he retired to his tent for a smoke. As he browsed upon his estimable
friend Burton, his eyes caught a paragraph upon cures for love melancholy
recommended by the amiable doctor.
“Lemnius, imstit. cap 58. admires rue and commends it to have excellent
virtues, to expel vain imaginations, devils and to … Other things are much
magnified by writers, as an old cock, a ram’s head, a wolf’s heart borne
or eaten, which Mercurialis approves: Prosper Altinus, the water of the
Nile; Gomesius, all sea water, and at seasonable times to be sick … the
bone in a stag’s heart, a monocerot’s horn …”
He glanced up to see Bakuma squatting disconsolately by the fire listening
to the hundredth repetition of his wonder working according to Mungongo.
The outline of her rounded back and hunched shoulders, the bronze hands
clasped beneath the chin and the misty brown eyes apprehensively regarding
the trail was a sculpture of melancholy. He smiled as he reflected that
the devils and witches of Chrysostom and Paracelsus were as real to them
as the forest spirits and the magic of Bakahenzie to this girl. After all
some of these concoctions sounded as if they should most certainly appeal
to Bakahenzie and his brethren of the craft. He wandered off into a
reverie, wondering why it was that superstition is so hard to eradicate
from the human mind. In Birnier was a strain of humorous melancholy which
appreciated the comedy of human marionettes made to dance to the legion of
devils and bugaboos invented by themselves, and as a stimulant to the
dominant scientific absorption was the knowledge that upon him and his
fellows depended their only hope of release—which was the greater reason
that Bakahenzie should slay him, he added whimsically, did he but know it!
Moved by the ever-present curiosity to know what was going on inside other
people’s minds, he called Bakuma and Mungongo to him, observing the
sprightly action of the boy moved by his faith in him for his good in
contrast to the dull movements of the girl in her lack of confidence to
make for her good. And when they were come to him and were seated on the
ground at his feet he said to Bakuma:
“Wherefore hast thou the black bird within thy breast, O Bakuma?”
She gazed up at him with the pathetic pleading of a gazelle.
“Do not birds seek the broken twigs for the building of nests, O
Moonspirit?”
“Truly, but why are the branches of thy tree rotted and broken?”
“When the axe of the peasant pecks at the roots of the tree dost thou
think then that the sap runs the more swiftly, knowing?”
“A devil hast told thee this thing, O Bakuma. When the sun was but a man’s
height did not a jackal break out of the forest seeking to devour, and yet
the chicken was neither hurt nor taken. Are these not white words?”
“Truly, O Moonspirit,” acknowledged Bakuma reluctantly.
“Was not then the magic of Moonspirit more potent than that of thy
wizards?”
“Thy words are white,” she admitted.
“Wherefore then hast thou ashes in thy mouth?”
Bakuma dismally contemplated Birnier’s booted leg.
“Eh!” grunted the sophisticated Mungongo, “to those who live on the
mountain the crocodile is not!”
“Open thy breasts unto me, O Bakuma,” said Birnier.
“Clk!” she gasped, making a little gesture of hopelessness. “When the sun
shines are not the flowers open? But when the night hath come where are
the flowers? The deer feed on sweet pastures, but when the shadow of the
lion falleth upon the grass hath not a great cloud come over the world?”
“But thy lion hath fled, O Bakuma!”
She gazed at the white man with curious wonderment at the stupidity of one
failing to comprehend the simplest problem. She sighed and then as if with
much patience for another’s shortcomings:
“Thou hast strong magic, O white man,” said she, “magic that makes the
magic of Bakahenzie to fall as water. Yet was the daughter of Bakala not
found by divination? Was the daughter of Bakala not revealed to be the
bride of the Banana by divination? There shall be made magic that the
voice of the one shall be obeyed. Eh! Aiee! Aie!”
The brown eyes welled opals which splashed upon a bronze breast. As
Birnier watched her, pity stimulated a desire to relieve this symbol of
self-torture, and he thought of a favourite passage in the “Anatomy”:
“Ay, but we are more miserable than others, what shall we do? Beside
private miseries, we live in perpetual fear and danger; for epithalamiums,
for pleasant music, that fearful noise of ordnance, drums, and warlike
trumpets still sounding in our ears; instead of nuptial torches, we have
the firing of towns and cities; for triumph, lamentations; for joy,
tears.”
“Well, Bakuma,” said he in English, smiling covertly, “we’ll see if we
can’t get you the nuptial torches!”
Bakuma gazed at him perplexedly with big eyes.
“Already Moonspirit begins the incantation of mighty magic,” explained
Mungongo solemnly.
“Eh!” murmured Bakuma expectantly.
Birnier smoked and pondered. The walls of the forest were growing closer
in the beginning of twilight. The soul of fear, reflected Birnier, dwells
in the unknown. Reveal the god in the machine and the mystery dies. To
Bakuma he said:
“Listen, O Bakuma, I would speak heavy words to thee. When thou puttest
the seed of the gourd into the ground then within half a moon there
appears the plant of the gourd; is it not so?”
“Truly,” answered Bakuma disinterestedly.
“Is that then magic?”
“Eh!” commented Bakuma, as in astonishment. “Nay, how could that be? Does
not the soul of the plant grow even as a child grows?”
“Good. Turn thine eyes to me.” Bakuma watched the operation of striking
and lighting a match with indifference. “Then is this fire which I make
done by magic?”
“Truly.”
“And thou, Mungongo, what thinkest thou?”
“Moonspirit tickles the souls of my feet!”
“H’m.” Birnier repressed a smile. “Thou knowest that my words are white?”
“Truly.”
“Then I tell thee that this is not done by magic.”
“Ehh! Ehh!” chorused the twain.
“This thing on the end of this thing which you call a magic fire twig is
made of—of—is made of several kinds of—of earth found in the—earth, and
when—and when——” He sought frantically for native words which were not,
“the two are brought together—as one strikes a spear——” Birnier hesitated,
finding himself as perplexed as a psychologist endeavouring to explain the
abstract working of consciousness in concrete words. “When one strikes a
spear upon a rock there is an eye of fire, is it not so?”
Mungongo’s eyes dimly reflected a growing horror. Bakuma stared.
“The magic of Bakahenzie,” murmured Mungongo.
“Already is his soul bewitched,” muttered Bakuma.
“Is it not so?” persisted Birnier.
“Aye,” admitted Mungongo, moving uneasily and speaking as if humouring a
dangerous lunatic. “It is the eye of the angry spirit of the rock.”
Birnier saw his danger and made another effort.
“Even so. Also thou knowest that thou canst make fire by the rubbing
together of two sticks. Is that then magic also?”
“Truly,” continued Mungongo in the same tone. “Can the spirits of the
souls of the twigs be summoned without the incantations by the Keeper of
Fires?”
“O my God!” groaned Birnier, sotto voce, and he abandoned the effort to
explain combustion. “Thus is it then with these that ye call the magic
fire twigs.”
“Even as we have said,” asserted Mungongo triumphantly.
Birnier lapsed into silent defeat. Bakuma began to edge away. As Mungongo
rose came a stifled scream from Bakuma who sprang to her feet and dashed
towards the tent; then as if recollecting that her saviour had been
bewitched by Bakahenzie, fled into the gloom beyond. Mungongo had seized a
spear stuck in the earth near to him. As appeared the wizened figure of
Marufa, who saluted as he squatted in the native manner, Birnier
recollected that he had been with Bakahenzie and wondered what he wanted.
Mungongo replaced his spear and came to the tent.
“Greeting, O son of MTungo!”
Marufa mumbled the orthodox return.
“Thou hast need of Moonspirit?” demanded Mungongo, some of his officious
confidence in Birnier returning.
“Doth the leopard go to the goat pen to seek nuts?” grumbled the old man.
He tapped out snuff slowly and grunted.
Presently said Marufa:
“Moonspirit is the brother of Eyes-in-the-hands?”
“Nay,” answered Birnier, wondering at the persistency of this idea.
“Eyes-in-the-hands is of another tribe ten moons distant from Moonspirit.”
Marufa grunted. Another long pause. Then:
“The magic of Moonspirit hath blunted the spears of Bakahenzie?”
“Even so,” said Birnier modestly.
“The son of Maliko maketh much magic that the bride of the Banana be taken
from the white stranger.”
“The monkey makes many faces and much noise, but does he eat up the
leopard?”
“The bite of the spear is more deadly than the bleat of a goat,” retorted
Marufa.
“Doth the wise man eat the heart of a goat to gain courage?”
“The louder the lion roars the less teeth has he!”
“But only the fool opens his mouth to see how many he has!”
“The wise father examines the grain of the tusks before he sells his
daughter.”
“But the wise man sees the daughter before he offers the tusks!”
“Ugm!”
Marufa took more snuff and contemplated the interior of the tent where a
native was lighting a lamp. Birnier reflected. Evidently Marufa had come
with an object and had inferred that he had something to bargain about.
What was it? Also he wanted to be sure that he was setting his trap at the
right pool. Birnier decided that he was probably acting on his own
initiative and willing to conspire against Bakahenzie. An impulse to
experiment upon him as he had upon Mungongo and Bakuma was repressed, for
from the previous effort he had cemented the conclusion that it was
impossible to explain rational phenomena to irrational minds; that as ever
the adventurous champion of reason would be either regarded as insane or
inspired; that which is not comprehended is divine or ridiculous. However,
through Marufa might come a suggestion for the tactics of campaign to gain
the good-will of Bakahenzie or Zalu Zako and the attainment of his
scientific object—as well as to give Bakuma the torches he had promised
her. Whether I will or no, he reflected smiling in the dark, must I be
either a magician or a fool. Fools get nowhere; witch-doctors do here as
elsewhere. He saw that in order to influence these peoples or any others,
he had perforce to work in terms of their own understanding, as the early
Christian missionaries practised in their conversion of the Teutons, the
Scandinavians and the Britons. A nucleus of a plan had been given by
Mungongo’s impetuous suggestion. He decided to develop it. But through
Marufa, who first of all must be impressed with the fact that Moonspirit
was the greatest magician the world had ever seen. So therefore he called
to the native within: “O Bakombi, put out the light.” And to Marufa: “O
wise man, thunder has not always lightning. Behold! I am part of that
which is and is not!”
“Clk!”
A click of astonishment was squeezed from Marufa by the chance mystic
phrase which was interpreted by him as referring to the Unmentionable One.
Then taking out his metal box of vestas Birnier moistened one. As he
rubbed around his eyes Marufa, who was expecting a miracle, observed the
growing phosphorescence in stoical calm, while Mungongo, delighted at the
long deferred proof of his boasts, grunted admiringly.
But when a glowing skeleton hand, which Birnier had prepared behind his
back, hovered over the old wizard’s head, he grunted and made a slight
convulsive movement.
“Have no fear, O my friend,” came Birnier’s voice, “the spirit loves my
friends and destroys my enemies.”
That belly grunt had registered the degree of impression that Birnier
sought. So he lighted the lamp, bade the excited Mungongo to bring out the
phonograph, a machine adjusted with the recording cylinders as well as the
reproduction, and after a successful demonstration of magic, discussed
with Marufa a certain scheme to which the old wizard, quick to see the
possibilities, afforded many invaluable suggestions.