Sergeant Schultz’s gloomy foreboding of the inevitable result attending
the refusal to follow the teachings of his national preceptors was
justified.
Zu Pfeiffer, crazed with wounded pride or magic, according to the white or
black point of view, had held rigidly to his schedule; precisely at
four-thirty he had inspected the expedition and marched at the first
streak of dawn. Schultz removed to the other hill, leaving twenty-five men
and a gun under a black sergeant. Afterwards he visited the village. The
bodies of five of the picket were lying in the sun mutilated. Not a native
of any sort was to be seen or heard. He sent out scouts. A village a
couple of miles away was deserted too. He wished to burn the huts and
plantation to clear the ground around the fort but he dared not do so
without orders. Muttering to himself he returned and posted double
sentries.
Throughout the day and the moonlight not a sound of a drum or the voice of
a native disturbed the moist heat. He slept for a while and then took to
pacing upon the levee outside the fort. He was aware of a restlessness
among the men. About midnight a nervous sentry fired at a moving shadow in
the village. Erratic shots followed; flickered and ceased at the
sergeant’s angry order. The trees seemed to whisper mockingly. The
sergeant decided that it must have been a prowling jackal or hyena; but
the incident made him irritable.
In ordinary circumstances he would have posted picket sentries as provided
by the regulations, but he could not spare any of his fifty men, for in
the case of an attack they would never regain the fort. The moon sank as
if reluctantly, seeming to hesitate upon the fringe of banana fronds at
something that she alone could see. But the night creaked slowly on.
Schultz knew that the favourite hour for an attack was just at the first
glimmer of dawn when the spirits are making for their homes and the light
is deceptive.
He was standing in front of the Nordenfeldt when a sentry’s keener ears
caught a peculiar whispering rustle. As Schultz turned his head to listen,
the whisper grew in volume to the sound of a hail-storm—the patter of bare
feet on sand. Faint light on spears rippled round the base of the hills.
Schultz sprang inside the barrier barking at his men to open fire. He
deflected the muzzle of his gun and began pumping nickel into the
advancing mass of yelling figures.…
The rush carried the fort; for the defenders were out-numbered by fifty to
one. Schultz fell under a dozen spear thrusts. The askaris were massacred
to a man before the sun rose inquiringly beyond the sacred hill of Kawa
Kendi.
When all the bloody acts of war were done and the triumphant yelling
quietened, there came from across the river a pulsing trickle of sound in
the sizzling heat, which was answered by a thundering crash of spear
against shield and the “Ough! Ough!” of three thousand warriors gathered
upon the hill to do homage to the Unmentionable One.
Across the river, at the ford where Bakuma had sung her swan song, came
the procession led by the craft in full panoply. In the van stalked
Bakahenzie, grave and solemn as befitted the high priest. Around him
capered with untiring energy a group of lesser wizards whose duties were
as those of professional dancers, having dried bladders and magic beads
fastened to their ankles and wrists. Then behind Marufa a litter was borne
by sacred slaves doomed to perish after performing their holy office, in
which, swathed entirely from the public gaze, was Usakuma, the Incarnation
of the Unmentionable One. In another litter, as securely screened, was the
son of the Lord-of-many-Lands, endeavouring to endure a perpetual bath of
sweat in the sacred cause, peeking professorial eyes through the
interstices, scribbling in a notebook. Behind again marched Mungongo
bearing a smouldering brand of the Sacred Fire; then Yabolo, reinstated in
office for a reason that any politician will understand. After him came
more litters bearing the magic “things” of the Incarnation of an
Incarnation, the King-God.
As they splashed across the river, like troops of bronze gazelle, women
and girls dashed eager to gather of fertility from the water enchanted by
the passage of the Bearer of the World.
So they came through the banana plantation and up the wide street which
the Son-of-the-Earthquake had planned. The chant quavered like a dragonfly
in the sun and the chorus of the warriors replied with the rhythm and the
profundity of gargantuan frogs. Then as Bakahenzie stepped upon the
incline of the hill, burst from the women the cricket song which is made
tremolo by the rapid beating of the fingers upon the lips, as from the
drums went out the message over the land that the Unmentionable One had
indeed returned to the Place of Kings, the City of the Snake.
Ten minutes later a half-stewed god, as exhausted as any emperor after a
state parade, was permitted to emerge from the litter and to recuperate
within the cool of the unfinished house that was to have been the bungalow
of the Kommandant. No one else save the Keeper of the Fires, Bakahenzie
and Marufa, were within the stockade which ringed the fort. Outside rose
the mutter and rumble of the warriors and the cries of the women. The
huddled lines of huts which had been barracks were already in process of
demolition at the hands of the slaves, and the square within the fort was
cleared of the slain askaris by the simple process of heaving the bodies
over the palisade. The idol remained within the litter until the
consecrating of the defiled ground should be performed by Bakahenzie and
the craft.
No Wongolo nor any wizard, not even Bakahenzie, would touch the enchanted
coughing monsters; but as the holy slaves were already doomed they were
set to pull and to push the Nordenfeldt from the embrasure beside the
entrance across the levee until it toppled over and rolled half-way down
the hill, where it was allowed to stay, surrounded from morning to night
by a crowd of women and children and idle warriors.
The thirst which afflicted Birnier rendered him oblivious of his godhood
and of the sacred office of Mungongo who was dutifully busy upon his knees
blowing up the sacred fires from the ember which he had carried; so that
at a summons to bring water he was both embarrassed and awed, for the
presence of the High Priest intensified his natural terror of breaking any
of the meshes of the tabu. At the second imperative demand Bakahenzie
soothed the angry god by commanding a slave to run to fetch water from
without. But even then Birnier had the parched felicity of waiting while
the High Priest solemnly exorcised the gourd of water which, as all food,
could not be permitted to pass the lips of the King-God without the
prescribed incantations.
However, within quite a reasonable time the sacred prisoner was
accommodated with the possession of his goods, magic and culinary. The
bungalow of the Kommandant, Birnier gathered, was to be converted into the
temple after the ceremony of purification, and the idol was to stand in
front in the place occupied by its predecessor at the coronation of the
late Kawa Kendi.
All that day were Bakahenzie and Marufa and the wizards working hard at
the various ceremonies of purification of those who had slain, the
consecration of the Holy Hill, and the exorcising of the evil spirits
attached thereto by the residence of the Son-of-the-Earthquake. Meanwhile
Birnier and Mungongo were left to themselves within the enclosure to
listen to the chanting and thrumming of the drums. Birnier had much to do
in compiling his notes and reflections; Mungongo nothing save to prepare
their meals and attend the Sacred Fires.
Exactly what had happened Birnier did not know and could not extract from
Bakahenzie, who adopted his usual effective method of ignoring every
direct question. Before they had left the place in the forest he had
informed Birnier that the commands of the spirit of Tarum through the
magic ear had been performed, but with what restrictions, modifications,
or embroideries, Birnier had no means of ascertaining. His definite
knowledge was that Zalu Zako, together with other chiefs and a vast crowd
of warriors, were to remain in the forest where zu Pfeiffer was to be led
into ambush by the power of the magic which he had sent, the American
flag, an idea which certainly tickled Birnier’s sense of humour
considerably, particularly as it appealed to him, if successful, as an
ideal case of poetic justice.
That zu Pfeiffer’s fort had fallen was obvious, although what the
disposition of his forces had been and of how the assault had been
carried, Birnier had no idea. But of one thing he was reasonably sure, and
that was that his analysis of zu Pfeiffer’s reactions and the
psychological effect upon the natives of having the idol reinstated in the
Place of Kings, had been entirely correct. After all, as he admitted with
a smile, zu Pfeiffer’s system of native psychology had been based on the
same fundamental principles as his own except that he had not reckoned
with the unknown quantity, the equal intelligence working against him and
able to discount his moves, plus heavier artillery in the form of an
emotional broadside, the possibility of which rather naturally had never
occurred to him.
An item which worried Birnier was that he had no means, and could hope for
none apparently, of discovering whether and to what extent his orders
through the phonograph had been carried out regarding the treatment of the
white men. Their fate at the hands of the Wongolo, particularly after the
merciless massacres inflicted by zu Pfeiffer, would scarcely bear
imagining. From the fact of the instant and apparently easy success of the
assault on the forts, he did not doubt that zu Pfeiffer, who had been
foolish enough to be lured into dividing his forces, was doomed to defeat.
In this instance he would not have any of the advantages of his triumphal
entry into the country; would not be able to accomplish a surprise attack,
and the weakening of the native moral by massacre and the downfall of the
idol; in fact he had these very forces against him: for the success of
their first venture, their overwhelming numbers in the forest, the
exaltation of fanaticism excited by the restoration of their tribal god,
practically tacked a label of suicide upon his military actions.
During that day Bakahenzie, evidently too busy with the duties of his
office, did not come near to him. But that evening, in order to ensure as
far as possible obedience to his orders through the mouth of the oracle,
Birnier caused Mungongo to chant further instructions into the phonograph
commanding that the Son-of-the-Earthquake was to be brought alive to
receive judgment from the Unmentionable One through the Incarnation, the
son of the Lord-of-many-Lands. Whether this would work or not Birnier of
course could not know. Already had he discovered that nobody could control
the complicated machinery of the native tabu any more than any one
statesman could manage always any vast political machine; indeed he, as
many others, might more than conceivably be ground up by the gargantuan
engine with whose starting lever he had played. All he could do had been
done; nothing remained but to adopt Marufa’s favourite maxim: “wait and
see.”
In the evening Mungongo, who had at length been persuaded to project his
eyes beyond the sacred ground even if he would not his feet, reported that
much chanting and drumming indicated that the warriors, or a great number
of them, had departed, evidently to reinforce the troops of Zalu Zako or
with the object of taking zu Pfeiffer in the rear: a fact which made
Birnier a little uneasy lest the news of the fall of the station might
bring zu Pfeiffer to his senses and cause him to return, in which case the
position might prove to be somewhat uncomfortable.
However, the night passed to the soft thrumming of the drums. At dawn
appeared Bakahenzie as solemnly as usual. He began by demanding that the
“pod of the soul” of Tarum should be prepared to listen to him. Birnier
observed a slight increase in the domineering manner and realized more
keenly that unless he checked that tendency the worthy High Priest would
become altogether unmanageable.
Birnier commanded Mungongo to bring forth the instrument and reproduced
for Bakahenzie’s benefit the oration of the previous night. Bakahenzie
listened solemnly, grunted acquiescence, and again made his request.
Birnier refused abruptly. Again Bakahenzie grunted acceptance which caused
Birnier to speculate upon what move the wily doctor had in mind. However,
after the usual starting of false trails, he announced that the
consecration of the idol would take place that day and began to instruct
the new god in his divine duties. That there was something unusual in the
form, either exaggerated or curtailed, Birnier gathered from Bakahenzie’s
method of expounding the rites; and the solution came in the announcement,
just before leaving, that as soon as the Son-of-the-Earthquake had been
“eaten up,” that he, Bakahenzie, would summon the craft and the people to
the Harvest Festival.
The form of the statement again drew Birnier’s attention to the fact that
Bakahenzie was assuming the reins of power far too fast for his
satisfaction; that unless he contrived to put on the curb he would never
attain the goal of a beneficent agent nor be able to satisfy his
professional curiosity.
However, when he had gone, Birnier began anew to question Mungongo
regarding the reputed ceremonies of the festival, but beyond the fact that
it was an occasion allied to the Christian-Pagan festival of a kind of
thanksgiving for the harvest and sacrifice to the god which involved the
ceremony of the marriage of the Bride of the Banana, Mungongo knew
nothing.
In the afternoon Birnier was required to preside at the consecrating of
the ground and the setting up of the idol. But all he had to do was to
squat silently in front of the new temple and before Bakahenzie and the
group of the cult, while the concourse of the other wizards and the few
chiefs that were not away grunted a belly chorus upon the levee without.
The ceremony was disappointing as ceremonies go, for beyond the stewing in
the great calabash of a magic concoction with which to anoint the hole for
the feet of the idol, the doorposts of the temple and the House of Fires,
to the accompaniment of the usual chanting and drumming, it was ended by a
dance, with Bakahenzie as the premier danseur.
After his evening meal of boiled chicken, goat flesh and milk, Birnier
squatted in the doorway of his new quarters smoking. He had no lights as
his store of carbide was finished. Before leaving for the forest to carve
the Incarnation of the new Unmentionable One, he had had the forethought
to despatch a messenger to a certain village on the great lake to
intercept his carriers with goods and the mail for which he had sent after
escaping from the noble son of Banyala; he had already informed Bakahenzie
of the coming of a fresh stock of magic and impressed upon him that great
precaution must be taken to ensure that it came directly to him, lest
contact with strangers should offend the spirits. Bakahenzie had assented
in his usual non-committal manner, a manner that was beginning to get upon
Birnier’s nerves.
As he smoked, staring up at the great moon over the sinister head of the
idol framed in the green light, he observed that the day after the next
would be the full moon, the Harvest Moon, the time of the yearly festival.
Then, by a coincidence which sometimes seems to have a telepathic basis as
explanation, he heard a curious soft sound from apparently behind the hut.
Mungongo, squatting near his Sacred Fires in the immobile manner of the
native, heard the sound too. Again a sibilant whisper, almost like the
hiss of a snake, brought a “Clk” of astonishment to Mungongo’s lips. He
rose swiftly and disappeared behind the hut. Another muffled exclamation
of astonishment aroused Birnier’s curiosity. He followed, to find Mungongo
leaning over the palisade as if speaking to some one.
“Ehh!” murmured a familiar voice. “’Tis Moonspirit!”
With a grunt of horror Mungongo turned upon Birnier and began to push him
away, gasping: “She is accursed! If the evil of her eyes rest upon thee
thou art sick unto death!”
“The devil take you!” muttered Birnier, angry at the touch of force; then
recollecting that the tabu forbade alien eyes to gaze on his sacred body
upon which the world depended, he realized that Mungongo was trying to
save him. He held him off by the arms, saying: “Be quiet, thou fool! Hath
not my magic shown thee that I am above all magic?”
Mungongo appeared to consider that there was some truth in the statement
and at any rate it gave him something to think about. He stood passively
but as if momentarily expecting Birnier, magic or no, to melt before his
eyes. Bending over the fence Birnier saw the slender form of Bakuma
crouched against the earth.
“What dost thou here, O little one?” he whispered, for of course he knew
nothing of her fate after the abduction by MYalu.
So horror-struck at her own temerity in approaching the person of the
King-God was she that she dared not raise her eyes as she stuttered:
“A demon hath driven the bird of my soul into the net of thy wrath.”
“Still the black wings in thy breast, O Bakuma,” said Birnier, trying to
soothe the child. “Come thou within and show thy father thy bosom.”
“Ehh! Ehh!” gasped Bakuma, quivering in greater panic than ever.
Aware of the danger Birnier stooped, took her by the arms and lifted her
over the palisade, remarking the violent trembling of the frail little
body whose limbs seemed like candles.
“Come thou,” said Birnier, moving towards the hut.
But she cowered where he had dumped her, covering her eyes with her hands
so that she gazed not upon the sacred body. Mungongo stood like a tree,
the whites of terrified eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Birnier picked
up the girl and carried her into the hut, followed by a quaking Keeper of
the Sacred Fires.
“Go, thou fool,” commanded Birnier, “and watch that none approaches!”
Mungongo gasped. But he obeyed. “Now, little one,” continued Birnier,
“bare thy bosom that I may know how to make the magic of healing.”
Squatting on the threshold, her emaciated arms still covering her eyes,
Bakuma strove to obey. At length she faltered out the story of her double
abduction. The capture by the askaris had made but little difference to
her, for, as she phrased it, the beak of her soul was like unto the mouth
of the crocodile. Her captor had thrust her into a hut in the village
together with some other female captives, but as the man had had to
continue his military duties, night had fallen before he returned, by
which time she had bribed some of the women, whose captivity was not as
loathsome to them as the pride of their race should have made it, with a
powerful charm which Birnier had given her, a nickel-plated razor-strop.
She had escaped. But more fearful of her doom as the Bride of the Banana
than she was of MYalu or the askaris, she had hidden in the forest, living
upon wild fruit and roots. Then had she heard the drums announcing the
return of the Unmentionable One, and aware that Moonspirit had gone into
the forest to seek Him, had guessed that he was triumphant. Away in the
jungle she had heard the sound of the rejoicing at the homecoming of the
King-God; had hesitated, and at last she had come to Moonspirit, in spite
of his divinity, in the fluttering hope of aid, driven by a demon to break
another tabu, the same demon which urges so many to break magic
circles—the subconscious love motive.
Poor kid! commented Birnier to himself as he regarded the pitiful cowering
form. We haven’t gotten the nuptial torches for you yet, but we will, by
God!… Give me thine ear, O little one.… But as he talked to her, soothing
the terror by promises of mightier magic, came Mungongo crying in a
terrified whisper that Bakahenzie was claiming audience. At the back of
the next room of the bungalow, built upon a plan of the one in Ingonya,
was a bathroom, and into that was Bakuma hurried and bidden to lie as
quiet as a crocodile.