On the fifth day of their journey Stasch rode with Nell on King, for
they had come to a broad belt of acacias, which were so thick that the
horses had to follow in the path made by the elephant. It was now early
in the morning, and the landscape was glistening, fresh with dew. The
children talked about the journey, and how every day was bringing them
nearer to their fathers, for both children had never ceased to long for
them since they were taken from Fayoum; their conversation centered
around this subject, and they always ended by weeping. They repeated
over and over again the same thoughts: their fathers think that they are
now dead, or that they have disappeared never to return; both are
grieving, and, although hope is well nigh dead, they send Arabians to
Khartum to try to get news of them, and all this time they are not only
far away from Khartum, but also from Fashoda—in five days they will be
even further off—then further and further still, and at last they will
reach the ocean, or perhaps before they come to the sea they may reach a
place where they can send a telegram. The only person in the caravan who
knew what they had before them was Stasch, while Nell was positively
convinced that there was nothing in the world that he could not achieve,
and she was quite sure that he would bring her to the coast. So she
anticipated events, and planned in her little head more than once what
would happen when the first news of them should be received. Chirping
like a little bird, she told Stasch about it. “Our papas,” she said,
“are sitting in Port Said, and they are weeping; then suddenly a boy
comes in with a telegram. What’s that? Either your papa or mine opens
it, looks at the signature and reads: ‘Stasch and Nell!’ How happy they
are! They will make all haste to meet us! There will be joy in the whole
house! Our papas and every one in the house will be happy—they will be
delighted and will immediately come driving up. I shall fall on papa’s
neck; then we shall always be together, and——”
And the tale ended with Nell’s chin beginning to tremble, her beautiful
eyes turning into two fountains, and finally by leaning her little head
on Stasch’s shoulder and crying for sorrow, longing, and joy at the
thought of the future meeting. Stasch rather imagined that his father
would be proud of him and would say to him: “You have acted like a true
Pole,” and he was then overcome by emotion, great longing, and
enthusiasm, and an immovable courage, hard as steel, took possession of
his heart. “I _must_,” he said to himself in these moments, “save Nell.
I _must_ go through these trials.” Then it seemed to him that there were
no dangers he could not face, no obstacles he could not overcome.
But the final victory was far off yet. They worked their way through the
grove of acacias, the long thorns of the bushes tearing even the hide of
the elephant. Eventually more light penetrated the forest, and through
the branches of the scattered trees a gray jungle could be seen in the
distance. Although the heat was very oppressive, Stasch climbed out of
the palanquin, settled himself on King’s neck, and looked around in
search of herds of antelope or zebras, for he determined to provide more
meat for them to eat.
To the right he saw two gazels and beyond them two ostriches. On passing
the last group of trees the elephant turned off to the left, and then a
different sight presented itself to the boy. Half a kilometer away he
saw a very large field of manioc, and on the edge of the field several
black people, apparently busy working.
“Negroes!” he cried out, turning to Nell.
His heart began to beat violently. For a moment he hesitated whether he
should not return and hide in the acacias, but it occurred to him that
in an inhabited district one must sooner or later be obliged to meet its
inhabitants and have relations with them, and that the fate of their
journey would depend on the nature of these relations; so after quick
reflection he guided the elephant toward the field.
At the same moment Kali also appeared, and pointing to the group of
trees, said:
“Great Man, over there is a negro village, and women are working in the
manioc fields. Shall I ride to them?”
“We will ride there together,” answered Stasch, “and then you will tell
them that we come as friends.”
“Sir, I know what to say to them,” cried the young negro, feeling his
great importance.
Turning his horse toward the workers, he placed his hands trumpet-like
to his mouth and cried:
“Jambo he! Jambo sana!”
When the women, who were very busy digging up the manioc roots, heard
his voice, they sprang up and stood as if rooted to the spot; but this
quiet only lasted a moment, for they began to scream and run off toward
the trees, in the midst of which the village lay, in their excitement
leaving their hoes and rakes behind them.
The small wanderers approached this village slowly and silently. The
thicket resounded with the howling of several hundred voices; then
silence reigned. At last the hollow, penetrating beating of a drum was
heard, which continued incessantly for some time.
This was evidently to call the warriors to war, for suddenly more than
three hundred of them appeared from out of the bushes, and they all
stood in one long line before the village. When a hundred feet distant
Stasch brought King to a standstill and began to look at them. The sun
beat down on their well-formed bodies, on their broad chests, and their
strong shoulders. They were armed with bows and spears. Around their
hips they wore short skirts of heather or monkey skin. Their heads were
adorned with ostrich and parrot feathers or large wigs made of baboons’
scalps. They looked warlike and menacing, but stood silent and
immovable, for they were so utterly astonished that their inclination to
fight was kept within bounds. All eyes were fixed on King, on the white
palanquin, and on the white person sitting on the neck of the elephant.
And yet elephants were not strangers to them. On the contrary, they were
continually at the mercy of elephants, for at night whole herds would
destroy their manioc fields and their plantations of bananas and palms.
As spears and arrows can not pierce an elephant’s hide, the poor negroes
fought against the mischief-makers by means of fire and screams, in
which they imitated the crowing of cocks, and they dug out trenches and
made traps with tree trunks. But they had never seen an elephant made
the slave of man and allowing him to sit on its neck; and none of them
was able to account for this extraordinary sight. What they saw so
transcended their wildest imaginations that they did not know what
course to pursue—whether to fight or to run away as fast as their feet
could carry them and leave the rest to chance. Full of doubt, fear, and
surprise, they continually whispered to one another:
“Oh, mother! What are these beings who come here to us, and how will
they be disposed toward us?”
Kali, who had ridden up to within a spear’s throw of them, raised
himself up in his stirrups and cried:
“People, people! Listen to the voice of Kali, the son of Fumba, the
powerful king of the Wa-himas, who live on the banks of the
Basso-Narok— Oh, hear, hear!— And if you understand him, listen to
every word he is going to say!”
“We understand,” rang the answer from three hundred throats.
“Let your king advance, let him tell me his name, and let him open his
ears and lips so that he can hear better.”
“M’Rua! M’Rua!” many voices began to cry out.
M’Rua stepped out of the rank and file, but took only three steps
forward. He was an aged negro, tall and strongly built, but who
evidently had no courage to spare, for his legs trembled so that he had
to dig the point of his spear into the ground and to lean on its hilt to
keep from falling.
Other warriors followed his example, and dug their spears into the
ground, as a sign that they wished to listen peacefully to the tidings
of the stranger.
Thereupon Kali declaimed at the top of his voice:
“M’Rua, and you, M’Rua’s people! You have heard that the son of the king
of the Wa-himas is talking to you, whose cows cover the mountains around
the Basso-Narok as ants cover the carcass of a dead giraffe. And what is
Kali, the son of the king of the Wa-himas, saying? He is telling you a
great piece of good news, which is that the ‘good Msimu’ has come to
your village!”
Then he cried still louder:
“So it is—the good Msimu! Doo!”
From the silence that ensued one could readily guess what a tremendous
effect Kali’s words had aroused. The warriors began to separate and then
to form in groups; some advanced a few steps through curiosity, whilst
others drew back through fear. M’Rua leaned with both hands on his
spear, and for a short time perfect silence ensued, followed by a slight
whispering through the ranks, and one voice at a time repeated:
“Msimu! Msimu!” and here and there the cries: “Yancig! Yancig!” which
expressed admiration and welcome, were to be heard.
But Kali’s voice rose again above the noises and screams.
“Gaze and be happy! The good Msimu is sitting over there in the white
hut on the back of the large elephant, and the large elephant obeys it
like a slave obeys his master and a child obeys his mother. Oh, neither
you nor your fathers have ever seen anything like this——”
“No, no! We have never seen anything like this! Yancig! Yancig!”
The eyes of all the warriors turned to the “hut,” in other words, to the
palanquin.
And Kali, who in the course of the religious training he had received on
Linde Mountain had been told that faith can move mountains, was quite
convinced that the prayer of the white “Bibi” was all powerful with God,
and so he continued to speak, as he thought truthfully, about the good
Msimu.
“Listen! Listen! The good Msimu is riding on the elephant to that
country in which the sun rises out of the water behind the mountains.
There the good Msimu will tell the Great Spirit to send you clouds, and
these clouds will, in seasons of drought, water your millet, your
manioc, your bananas, and the grass in the jungle, so that you will have
plenty to eat, and your cows will have good fodder and will give rich
milk. Do you, oh people, need food and milk?”
“He! We need it! We need it!”
“And the good Msimu will tell the Great Spirit to send you a wind which
will blow away from your village that sickness which honeycombs the
body. Do you, oh people, want it to blow the sickness away?”
“He! Let it blow it away!”
“And at the prayer of the good Msimu the Great Spirit will protect you
from attacks, from slavery, from damage to your fields, from lions, from
panthers, from snakes and from locusts——”
“He! Let him do it!”
“Now listen, look and see who sits in front of the hut between the ears
of the terrible elephant. There is Bwana Kubwa, the white man, great and
strong, whom even the elephant fears.”
“He!”
“Who has thunder in his hands and uses it to kill bad men.”
“He!”
“Who kills lions.”
“He!”
“Who sends up fiery snakes!”
“He!”
“Who breaks rocks!”
“He!”
“But who will do you no harm if you will respect the good Msimu!”
“Yancig! Yancig!”
“And if you will bring him dried banana flour, eggs, fresh milk, and
honey.”
“Yancig! Yancig!”
“Then come nearer and fall on your faces before the good Msimu.”
M’Rua and his warriors started off, repeating continuously, “Yancig!
Yancig!” Then approaching cautiously, they moved a short distance
nearer, for their steps were halted by their superstitious fear of the
Msimu and the elephant. The sight of Saba also filled them with terror,
for they took him to be a “wobo,” a large golden leopard, inhabiting
that district and also southern Abyssinia, which the natives fear more
than a lion because it is especially fond of human flesh, and is even
bold enough to attack armed men. But they were pacified on seeing that
the little fat-faced negro held the terrible “wobo” by a leash. This
gave them a still higher conception of the power of the good Msimu, and
also of the white man, and while looking first at the white elephant,
then at Saba, they whispered to each other: “If they have even bewitched
wobo, who in the world can struggle successfully against them?” But the
most solemn moment was when Stasch, turning to Nell, bowed low and then
pushed back the sides of the palanquin, which were arranged like
curtains, and showed the good Msimu to the assembled multitude. M’Rua
and every one of the warriors fell on their faces, so that their bodies
formed a long, living bridge. None dared to move, and all hearts were
even more terror-stricken when just at that very moment King, either by
order of Stasch or of his own accord, threw up his trunk and began to
trumpet very loud, and Saba followed his example in the deepest bass
which he could muster. Then there rang out from the hearts of all the
warriors a cry like a beseeching groaning: “Aka! Aka! Aka!” and this
lasted a long while, until Kali continued:
“Oh, M’Rua and you children of M’Rua! You have now done reverence before
the good Msimu; so arise and fill your eyes with the sight of it, for
whoever does this, over him will be the blessing of the Great Spirit.
Banish all fear from your hearts, and know that where the good Msimu is,
human blood can not be shed.”
At these words, and especially after the explanation that on account of
the good Msimu none could be carried away by death, M’Rua stood up, and
the other warriors followed his example, and they began shyly, but also
with great curiosity, to gaze at the gracious godhead. If Kali had asked
them a second time, they would certainly have had to confess that
neither their fathers nor they had ever seen anything like this. For
their eyes were accustomed to mask-like, grotesque figures of idols,
made out of wood and hairy cocoanuts, and now there stood before them on
the back of the elephant a blonde, gentle, sweet, and smiling godhead,
resembling a white bird and a white flower, and so they gained
confidence; their hearts breathed freely once more, their thick lips
began to smile, and unconsciously stretching their hands out toward the
wonderful apparition, they cried:
“Oh, Yancig! Yancig! Yancig!”
But Stasch, who noticed everything that was going on, perceived as soon
as Kali stopped speaking that a negro, adorned with a pointed cap of
ratskin, had slipped out of line, and, gliding along in the grass like a
snake, had gone in the direction of a solitary hut lying at the rear of
the enclosure, which was surrounded by a high railing held together by
creepers.
Meanwhile the good Msimu, though greatly embarrassed by being set up as
a godhead, put out her little hand at Stasch’s request and greeted the
negroes. The black warriors, their eyes shining with pleasure, followed
every movement of this little hand, believing that it possessed a
powerful charm, which would protect them against many misfortunes. Some,
whilst striking their cheeks and hips, said: “Oh, mother! Now everything
will go well with us—with us and with our cows!” M’Rua, who had already
become quite familiar, approached the elephant, prostrated himself,
striking the ground with his forehead, before the good Msimu, and whilst
kneeling said to Stasch:
“Would the Great Man, who leads the white godhead on the elephant, like
to eat a piece of M’Rua and would he agree to let M’Rua eat a piece of
him, so that we shall be brothers, between whom there is no deceit or
treason?”
Kali immediately interpreted these words, but as he saw by Stasch’s face
that the latter had no inclination to taste a “piece” of M’Rua, he
turned to the negro and said:
“Oh, M’Rua! Do you really think that the white man, who is so powerful
that the elephant fears him, who has the thunder within his grasp, who
kills lions, before whom wobo wags his tail, who commands fiery snakes
to rise up into the sky, and who shatters rocks—do you think that he
can pledge blood brotherhood with any king he may happen to meet? But
rather think whether the Great Spirit will not punish you for being so
presumptuous and whether it will not be honor enough for you to eat a
piece of Kali, the son of Fumba, the ruler of the Wa-hima, and Kali, son
of Fumba, to eat a piece of you.”
“Are you his slave?” asked M’Rua.
“The Great Man neither stole nor bought Kali, but only saved his life;
that is why Kali leads the good Msimu and the man into the land of the
Wa-hima, so that the Wa-hima and Fumba can show them respect and bring
them many presents.”
“Let it be as you say, and M’Rua shall eat a piece of Kali, and Kali a
piece of M’Rua!”
“So let it be!” repeated the warriors.
“Where is the sorcerer?” asked the king.
“Where is the sorcerer? Where is the sorcerer? Where is Kamba?” at once
cried many voices.
Then something happened that might have completely changed the
situation, clouded the friendly relations, and converted the negroes
into the enemies of their newly arrived guests. From the hut which stood
apart, surrounded by a special fence, there suddenly came an infernal
noise. It was like the roar of a lion, the clap of thunder, the blast of
trumpets, the laugh of a hyena, the howl of a wolf, and the terrible
squeak of rusty hinges. When King heard these awful sounds he began to
roar, Saba began to bark, and the donkey, on which Nasibu sat, to cry
out “J-a!” The warriors sprang up as if drenched with boiling water and
tore their spears out of the ground. Terrible confusion ensued. The
disturbing cries of “Our Msimu! Our Msimu!” reached Stasch’s ears, and
the respect and good-will with which the negroes had looked upon the
newcomers disappeared in an instant. The savages began to throw
suspicious and hostile glances around. Amongst the crowd a threatening
noise was heard and the awful din in the lonely hut increased more and
more.
Kali was troubled, and bending over quickly to Stasch, he began to
whisper—his voice filled with emotion and fright:
“Sir, the sorcerer has awakened the bad Msimu, who fears that he will
not receive any presents, and is roaring with rage. Sir, pacify the
sorcerer and the bad Msimu with generous gifts—otherwise these people
will turn against us.”
“Pacify them!” cried Stasch.
He suddenly became enraged against the wickedness and covetousness of
the sorcerer. He was also greatly alarmed at this unlooked-for danger.
The expression of his tanned face changed, just as it had done when he
shot down Gebhr, Chamis, and the two Bedouins. His eyes shone
threateningly and he bit his lips, clenched his fists, and his cheeks
grew pale.
“Ah! I will soon pacify them!” he said.
Without wasting any time, he led the elephant toward the hut.
Kali, who was afraid to remain alone among the negroes, followed him.
Then rose from the warriors a loud cry, whether of fear or rage it was
hard to tell, but before they could regain their composure the railing
creaked and broke down under the shock of the elephant’s head, the clay
walls of the hut fell apart, the roof caved in, a cloud of ruins and
dust flew into the air, and after a while M’Rua and his people saw the
long, black, upturned trunk on the end of which was the sorcerer, Kamba.
[Illustration: “The People saw the long, black trunk, on the end of
which was the sorcerer, Kamba.” ]
Stasch, who saw on the floor of the hut a large drum made out of a
hollowed-out tree, and covered with a monkey-skin, made Kali give it to
him, and turning around, he stood facing the warriors, looking straight
into their eyes:
“Hear, O people!” he said in a loud, resounding voice; “it was not your
Msimu who roared, but only that villain there, who pounds the drum to
wring presents from you, and you are as afraid of him as children!”
At these words he took hold of the string which was drawn through the
dried skin of the drum and began to pull at it and twist it with all his
might. The same sounds which had terrified the negroes before now rang
out again, only much louder, for the walls of the hut did not smother
them.
“Oh, how foolish are M’Rua and his children!” cried Kali.
Stasch handed him the drum, and Kali beat so frantically that for a
while one could not hear one’s self talk. When he tired of this he threw
the drum at M’Rua’s feet, and ’mid shrieks of laughter said:
“That thing is your Msimu!”
Then, chattering, after the custom of negroes, he addressed the
warriors, and was by no means sparing in expressing his contempt for
them and for M’Rua, and in holding them up to ridicule. He pointed to
Kamba and explained to them that “this thief in the rat-skin cap” had
deceived them for many a rainy and dry season, and that they had
rewarded him by feeding him with beans, young goats, and honey. Is it
possible that there could be a more stupid king and a more stupid people
than these? They believed in the power of an old witch and in his
witchcraft, and now they see how this great sorcerer hangs from the
trunk of an elephant and cries “Aka!” begging mercy of the white man.
Where is his power now? Where is his witchcraft? Why does Msimu not roar
to protect him? Ah, what sort of thing is your Msimu? A strip of monkey
skin and a piece of a rotten tree-trunk, which the elephant has
destroyed. Neither the women nor the children of the Wa-himas would have
been afraid of such a Msimu, and M’Rua and his men were afraid of it!
There is only one real Msimu and one really great and powerful man, and
to him they ought to show respect and bring as many presents as they
can, for otherwise they will be afflicted with misfortunes such as they
had never dreamed of.
This harangue to the negroes was quite unnecessary, for the sorcerer
with his wicked Msimu had proved himself to be weaker than the new god
in such an extraordinary manner, and Stasch satisfied them so well, that
they forswore their allegiance to the sorcerer and covered him with
shame. Again they cried out, “Yancig!” even more humbly and earnestly
than before. They were so angry now with themselves for having been
deceived by Kamba during many years that they insisted on killing him.
M’Rua begged Stasch to let them bind him and keep him until they had
invented a death of dreadful torture for him. But Nell decided to spare
his life, and as Kali had told them that no human blood could be shed in
presence of the good Msimu, Stasch only permitted them to drive the
unhappy sorcerer from the village with shame and ignominy.
Kamba, who feared he would be put to death by their cleverly devised
tortures, fell on his face before the good Msimu, and weeping bitterly,
thanked her for his deliverance. From this time forth there was nothing
to mar the awe they inspired. Women and children now came from behind
the fence, for the news of the extraordinary guest had already spread
throughout the entire village, and the desire to see the white Msimu was
greater than their fear of her. For the first time in their lives Stasch
and Nell saw a settlement of real savages, who had never been visited
even by Arabs. The clothing of these negroes consisted only of heather
aprons or of a skin wound around the hips, and every one was tattooed.
The men as well as the women had their ears pierced, and through these
holes they had thrust such long pieces of wood or bone that the lobes of
their ears were drawn down to their shoulders. In their lower lips they
wore a lip-ring, a round piece of wood or bone the size of a saucer.
Those of highest rank, such as warriors and their wives, wore around
their necks steel or brass wire collars, so high and stiff that they
could scarcely turn their heads.
They evidently belonged to the Schilluk tribe, which reached far toward
the east, for Kali and Mea knew their language well, and Stasch could
understand some things they said. Their legs were not so long as those
of their compatriots who live in the district of the Nile; they were of
shorter stature, their shoulders were broader, and they looked less like
wattle-birds. The children resembled large fleas, and not being
disfigured by the pelele, they were decidedly better looking than the
grown people.
After the women had stared long enough at the good Msimu from a
distance, they vied with the warriors in bringing presents, young goats,
fowls, eggs, black beans, and beer made from millet. This lasted until
Stasch forbade them to bring any more. He paid them generously with
glass beads and colored percale, and Nell distributed tiny mirrors among
the children; and so there was great rejoicing throughout the village
and joyful cries resounded about the tent occupied by the little
travelers. Then the warriors held a war-dance and a skilfully devised
sham battle in honor of the guests, after which one of the warriors
suggested the cementing of a bond of fellowship between Kali and M’Rua.
As Kamba, who was usually one of the principal figures in such a
ceremony, had gone off, an old negro who was very familiar with the
formula took his place. After he had killed a young goat, removed the
liver and divided it in several large pieces, he began to twirl around
on hands and feet like a fly-wheel, and looking first at Kali, then at
M’Rua, said in a solemn voice:
“Kali, the son of Fumba, will you eat a piece of M’Rua, the son of
M’Kuli—and you, M’Rua, son of M’Kuli, will you eat a piece of Kali, the
son of Fumba?”
“We will!” cried the future brothers.
“Do you wish that Kali’s heart should be M’Rua’s heart, and M’Rua’s
heart should be Kali’s heart?”
“We wish it!”
“And the hands, the spears, and the cows?”
“And the cows!”
“And everything which either one possesses now or will possess?”
“Whatever he possesses and will possess!”
“And that between you there shall be neither falsehood, treason, nor
hate?”
“Nor hate!”
“And that neither of you shall rob the other?”
“Never!”
“And that you are brothers?”
“Yes!”
The man who was whizzing around like a top turned quicker and quicker.
The warriors assembled and followed his movements with ever-increasing
interest.
“Ao!” cried the old negro once more; “but if one of you lie to the
other, betray him, rob him, poison him, or kill him, he shall be
accursed!”
“He shall be accursed!” repeated all the warriors.
“And if he be a liar and contemplate treason, he shall not swallow the
blood of his brother, but spit it out before our eyes?”
“Oh, before our eyes!”
“And he shall die!”
“He shall die!”
“Wobo shall tear him to pieces!”
“Wobo!”
“Or a lion!”
“Or a lion!”
“An elephant shall tread him down; yes, and a rhinoceros and buffalo!”
“Oh, and a buffalo!” repeated the chorus.
“And a snake shall bite him!”
“A snake!”
“And his tongue shall turn black!”
“Black!”
“And his eyes shall drop out of his head!”
“Out of his head!”
“And he shall walk with his heels in the air!”
“Ha! with his heels in the air.”
Stasch and Kali had to bite their lips to keep from laughing while still
more terrible oaths were being repeated, and the “top” turned around so
fast that their eyes could not follow its movements. The old negro kept
this up until his strength was exhausted and his breath gave out. Then
he sat down on the ground a while and swayed his head from side to side.
Soon he arose, and grasping a knife, cut Kali’s arm and moistening a
piece of the goat’s liver with his blood, pushed it into M’Rua’s mouth,
and a second piece moistened with the blood of the king he pushed into
Kali’s mouth. Both men swallowed the pieces so quickly that a rattling
noise could be heard in their throats and their eyes nearly started out
of their heads; then they held each other by the hand, as a sign of true
and eternal friendship.
Then the warriors exclaimed joyfully:
“Both men have swallowed it! Neither of them spit it out! Therefore they
are sincere and there is no treachery between them.”
And in his heart Stasch thanked Kali for having represented him at this
ceremony, for he felt that had he attempted to swallow a piece of M’Rua
he might have proved himself insincere and a traitor.
Henceforth the little travelers were in no danger of having snares laid
for them or of being unexpectedly attacked by the savages; on the
contrary, the greatest friendship was shown them, and they were almost
worshiped as gods. This worship increased when Stasch, having noticed a
great fall in Linde’s barometer, foretold that rain was coming, and on
that very day it rained quite heavily, as heavily as if the “massika,”
which was already over, was trying to squeeze out its last drops on the
earth. The negroes were convinced that the good Msimu had given them
this shower of rain, and their gratitude to Nell was boundless. Stasch
teased her, saying that now she was the idol of the negroes, he could
continue the journey alone, and would leave her behind in the negro
village, where the negroes would erect a small chapel of elephants’
tusks for her and would bring her beans and bananas as peace offerings.
But Nell felt so sure of his attachment to her that she simply reached
up on her tip-toes and whispered in his ear: “You will not leave me
behind!” Then she began to hop with joy, declaring that as the negroes
were so kind the journey to the ocean could be readily and quickly made.
All this took place in front of the tent before the assembled multitude,
and when old M’Rua saw the Msimu happy, he also began to hop as high as
his crooked legs would let him, believing that in this way he was
demonstrating his piety. Following his example, the chief officers began
to dance, and so did the warriors, the women, and children, and in fact
all the inhabitants of the village hopped about as though bereft of
their senses. This exhibition given by the “idol” amused Stasch so much
that he laughed himself almost sick.
On the following night he earned the everlasting gratitude of the pious
king and his subjects, for when some elephants raided the banana-fields,
he rode toward them on King and set off several rockets into their
midst. The panic which the fiery “snakes” created was even greater than
he had expected. The enormous animals, dreadfully frightened, filled the
whole jungle with the sound of their trumpeting and their stamping, and
in blind haste they knocked one another down. The powerful King took
great pleasure in following his fleeing comrades, and struck at them
unsparingly with his trunk and tusks. After such a night it would be a
long time before another elephant would dare approach the banana
plantations of the village ruled over by old M’Rua.
The dispersal of the elephants was followed by great rejoicing in the
village, and the negroes spent the whole night dancing and drinking
millet-beer and palm-wine. Kali then learned many important things from
them, for it so happened that several of them had come from the borders
of a large sheet of water surrounded by mountains and lying toward the
east. This proved to Stasch that the lake, which he had never seen
mentioned in any geography, really existed, and that if they continued
in the same direction they would meet the Wa-himas. From the fact that
Mea and Kali spoke almost the same language, he argued that “Wa-hima”
was probably a local name, and that the tribes living on the banks of
the Basso-Narok belonged to the Schilluks, whose country extended from
the Nile far away toward the east. At the time of the Mahdi these places
were still unexplored.