After resting a little while before the earthworks of Lunla, Stasch
started off before sunset with Kali at the head of three hundred
warriors to go to Fumba’s boma, for he wanted to attack the Samburus by
night, reckoning that in the darkness the “fiery snakes” would make a
greater impression. The journey from Lunla to Boko Mountain, on which
Fumba was besieged, would take nine hours, counting the halt for rest,
so that they would arrive before the fortress about three o’clock in the
morning. Stasch made the warriors halt and commanded them to be silent;
then he began to inspect the situation. The summit of the hill on which
the defenders were waiting in ambush was wrapped in darkness, but the
Samburus kept several campfires burning. Their light illuminated the
steep sides of the cliff and the giant trees growing at its feet. And
now from a distance could be heard the hollow sound of kettle-drums, as
well as the shouts and singing of the warriors, who apparently were not
sparing of the pombe[38] while celebrating their final victory. Stasch,
at the head of his men, advanced still further, so that at last he was
not more than a hundred feet from the last campfires. There seemed to be
no one on guard anywhere, and the moonless night made it impossible for
the savages to see the elephant, which was also hidden by the foliage.
Stasch, sitting on King’s neck, gave his final orders in a low tone of
voice, and made a sign to Kali to set off one of the rockets.
A red streak spluttered, shot high up into the sky, and fell in a shower
of red, blue, and golden stars. Then every voice ceased and a moment of
silence ensued. A few seconds later two more fiery snakes ascended,
making a crackling sound, and this time directed more horizontally
toward the Samburus’ camp; at the same time there were heard King’s
trumpeting and the howls of three hundred Wa-himas, who, armed with
assegais,[39] clubs, and knives, came up on the run. The battle that
ensued was all the more terrible because it took place in absolute
darkness, for in the excitement all the campfires had been extinguished
and trampled down. From the first moment that the Samburus saw the fiery
snakes they were panic-stricken. What had taken place was absolutely
beyond their comprehension. They only knew that some sort of terrible
creatures had overtaken them and that fearful and inevitable destruction
threatened them. Most of them fled before the spears and clubs of the
Wa-himas touched them. Over a hundred warriors whom Mamba had gathered
around him defended themselves despairingly, but when by the light of
the shots they saw a giant animal and on it a being dressed in white,
and heard the reports of the gun which Kali incessantly fired, they lost
courage.
When Fumba, who was on the mountain, saw the first rocket burst in the
air above him, he fell to the ground from fright and lay there several
minutes as if lifeless. On recovering, he concluded, from the despairing
howls of the warriors, that some kind of supernatural beings were
slaying the Samburus. Then he thought that if he did not come to the
assistance of these spirits their rage might also be turned against him,
and as the destruction of the Samburus meant his deliverance, he
collected all his warriors and crept out of the boma by means of a
hidden side passage, and thus quickly reached most of those trying to
escape. The fight thus changed into a slaughter. The kettle-drums of the
Samburus ceased to rumble. The darkness was penetrated only by the red
flashes from Kali’s gun, the shrieks of dying warriors, the groans of
the wounded, and the hollow beating of clubs on shields rang through the
air. No one begged for quarter, for the negroes know no mercy.
For fear of hitting his own people in the confusion and darkness, Stasch
at last ceased firing, and grasping Gebhr’s sword, threw himself on the
enemy. The Samburus could now escape from the mountains to the frontier
only by passing through a broad ravine, but Fumba and his warriors
blocked this narrow pass, and every one of the fugitives was slain save
those who threw themselves on the ground and surrendered, though they
knew that cruel slavery or immediate death awaited them from the
conquerors. Mamba defended himself heroically until a club smashed in
his skull. His son, the young Faru, fell into the hands of Fumba, who
ordered him bound as a future thanksgiving offering for the spirits who
had come to his assistance.
Stasch did not lead the terrible King into the battle, but only allowed
him to roar, which frightened the enemies much more. He did not shoot
once at the Samburus, for in the first place, before leaving Lunla he
promised little Nell not to kill any one, and secondly, he had really no
desire to kill people who had never done him or Nell any harm. He was
satisfied in having secured the victory for the Wa-himas and in having
released the besieged Fumba. When Kali came running up soon after with
the news of the final victory, he ordered him to stop the battle, which
was still raging in the clefts of the rocks and was being prolonged by
Fumba’s fury.
But it was daylight before Kali could accomplish this. As is usual in
tropical countries, the sun rose quickly behind the mountains and
flooded with its bright light the battlefield, where lay more than two
hundred Samburu corpses. Some time later, when the fighting ceased and
the joyful howling of the Wa-himas disturbed the morning calm, Kali
reappeared, but with such a sad and sorry countenance that it was very
evident, even from a distance, that some mishap had befallen him.
Standing still before Stasch, he began to pound his head with his fists
and to cry out in a sad voice:
“O Great Man! Fumba kufa! Fumba kufa!”[40]
“Killed?” repeated Stasch questioningly.
Kali related what had happened, and from his words it was readily
understood that this sad misfortune was the result of Fumba’s revenge,
for after the battle was over he attempted to kill two Samburus, and
from one of them he received a thrust from a lance.
The news was soon dispersed among the Wa-himas, and an excited group
surrounded Kali. Soon afterward six warriors carried the old king on
spears. He was not dead, but mortally wounded. He wanted to see, before
he died, the powerful man on an elephant who was the true conqueror of
the Samburus. Astonishment was in his eyes, but the haze of death was
also veiling them; and his pale and stiffening lips whispered softly:
“Yancig! Yancig!”
Shortly after his head sank back, his mouth opened wide and he expired.
Kali, who loved him, threw himself on his breast and wept. Some of the
warriors began to beat their heads, others to proclaim Kali king and to
cry out, “Yancig!” in his honor. Others fell on their faces before the
young ruler. Not one dissenting voice was heard, for Kali was their king
not only because he was Fumba’s eldest son, but also because he had
gained the victory.
Meanwhile in the sorcerers’ huts and in the boma on the mountain-top the
wild roaring of the bad Msimu could be heard. At first it was like the
sound that Stasch had heard before in the negro village, but this time
it was not directed against him, but demanded the death of the prisoners
for killing Fumba. The drums beat, the warriors formed in a long line,
each row consisting of three men, and then began a war-dance around
Stasch, Kali, and the corpse of Fumba.
“Oa! Oa! Yach! Yach!” repeated all the voices, their heads wagging right
to left in a monotonous manner, the whites of their eyes shining, and
the points of their spears gleaming in the morning sun.
Kali stood up, turned to Stasch, and said:
“The Great Man will bring Bibi to the boma and live in Fumba’s hut. Kali
will be king of the Wa-himas and the Great Man king over Kali.”
Stasch nodded his head as a sign of approval, but he remained there a
few hours longer, for he and King needed a rest.
He did not leave until toward evening. During his absence the corpses of
the Samburus were carried away and thrown into a deep ravine near by,
over which a great many buzzards immediately settled. The sorcerers now
made preparation for Fumba’s burial, and Kali assumed the rulership as
an absolute monarch, with power of life and death over all his subjects.
“Do you know who Kali is?” Stasch asked the girl on the way back from
Lunla.
Nell looked at him in surprise.
“He is your servant!”
“Oho! A servant! Kali is now king of all the Wa-himas.”
This news amused Nell very much. This sudden change, by which the former
slave of the treacherous Gebhr and later Stasch’s servant had become
king, struck Nell as extraordinary and exceedingly droll.
Linde’s remark that the negroes were like children, incapable of
remembering what happened from one day to another, did not apply to
Kali, for scarcely had Stasch and Nell reached the foot of Boko Mountain
than the young monarch ran hastily toward them, greeted them with the
usual reverence and joy, and repeated the same words he had spoken
before:
“Kali be king of the Wa-himas and the Great Man king over Kali.”
His admiration was so great that he all but worshiped Stasch; he made a
very low bow to Nell before the assembled people, for, from what he had
observed during the journey, he knew that the Great Man was more
concerned about the little Bibi than about himself.
After he had solemnly led Stasch and Nell up to the summit where the
boma was, he assigned Fumba’s hut to them; it resembled a large shed
divided into several rooms. He ordered the Wa-hima women, who
accompanied them from Lunla, and who never tired of gazing at the good
Msimu, to put vessels of honey and sour milk in the first room, and when
he heard that the Bibi, who was very much fatigued from the journey, had
fallen asleep, he commanded all the people to keep perfectly quiet,
under penalty of having their tongues cut out. He now decided to pay
them still greater homage, and so when Stasch appeared before the shed
after a short rest, Kali approached, bowed low before him, and said:
“To-morrow Kali will give orders to bury Fumba and to behead as many
slaves for Fumba and Kali as there are fingers on both their hands; and
to propitiate Bibi and the Great Man Kali will order Faru, the son of
Mamba, to be beheaded, and also wengi, wengi other Samburus taken
prisoners by the Wa-himas.”
Stasch frowned, and gazing severely into Kali’s eyes, replied:
“I forbid it.”
“Sir,” said the young negro in a trembling voice, “the Wa-himas always
behead their prisoners. When the old king dies they behead people; if a
young king follows they behead people. If Kali does not command them to
be killed the Wa-himas will not believe that Kali is king!”
Stasch looked at him still more severely:
“Well, how’s that?” said he. “And did you not learn anything on Linde
Mountain? Are you not a Christian?”
“I am, O Great Man!”
“Then listen! The Wa-himas have black brains, but your brains must be
white. As you are now their king, you must enlighten and teach them what
you learned from me and Bibi. They are now like jackals and hyenas—make
human beings of them. Tell them that it is forbidden to behead prisoners
of war, for the Great Spirit to whom Bibi and I pray punishes those who
shed innocent blood. White people do not behead prisoners, and you would
treat them even more cruelly than Gebhr did you—and you a Christian!
Shame on you, Kali! Replace the ancient and savage customs of the
Wa-himas by humane ones and God will bless you, and Bibi will not say
that Kali is a savage, a stupid and vicious negro.”
A terrible roaring from the sorcerers’ huts drowned his words. Stasch
waved his hand excitedly and continued: “I hear! Your Msimu wants the
blood and the heads of the prisoners. But you know quite well what this
is, and so you are not frightened at this noise. Therefore I only say
this much to you: Take a bamboo rod, go into every hut and thrash the
sorcerers until they roar louder than their kettle-drums, and throw the
kettle-drums into the midst of the boma, so that all the Wa-himas may
see and comprehend how these villains are deceiving them; and at the
same time tell your stupid Wa-himas what you told M’Rua’s people—that
where the good Msimu dwells the blood of human beings must not be shed.”
Stasch’s words apparently had some weight with the young king, for he
looked at him a moment and answered:
“Kali will thrash the sorcerers well, will throw out the kettle-drums,
and tell the Wa-himas that where the good Msimu is no blood must be
shed. But what shall Kali do with Faru and the Samburus who have killed
Fumba?”
Stasch, who had already planned everything, had anticipated this
question, immediately answered:
“Your father was slain, his father was slain, so both were slain. You
must form a brotherhood with young Faru, then the Wa-himas and the
Samburus will live together in peace, planting manioc and hunting
together. You must tell Faru about the Great Spirit, and Faru will love
you like a brother.”
“Kali now have white brains!” answered the young negro.
And thus the conversation ended. Soon afterward savage roars resounded
once more, but this time not from the wicked Msimu, but from the two
sorcerers, whose skin Kali was thrashing as hard as he could. The
warriors, who had remained below standing in a circle around King,
hurried up the hill to see what was the matter; they saw with their own
eyes and heard from the words of the sorcerers themselves that the
wicked Msimu, before whom they were accustomed to tremble, was only a
hollowed-out tree trunk covered with monkey-skin. And when they told
young Faru that in deference to the wishes of the good Msimu and the
Great Man he was not to be beheaded, but that Kali would eat a piece of
him and he a piece of Kali, he could not trust his senses; then on
hearing to whom he owed his life, he pushed himself before the entrance
to Fumba’s hut and lay there until Nell came out and bade him arise.
Then he took hold of her little foot with his black hands and placed it
on his head, as a sign that he would remain her slave for the rest of
his life.
The Wa-himas were very much surprised at such orders of the young king,
but the presence of the unknown guests, whom they looked upon as the
most powerful sorcerers in the world, awed them to silence. The older
people were displeased with the new customs, and the two sorcerers,
realizing that all their good times were over, swore in their hearts to
take terrible vengeance on the king and the newcomers.
Meanwhile Fumba was solemnly buried at the foot of the mountain under
the boma. Kali planted a bamboo cross on his grave, and the negroes
placed on it several vessels containing pombe and smoked meat, so that
his spirit would not disturb them during the night.
After the ceremony of the brotherhood between Kali and Faru was over,
Mamba’s corpse was given to the Samburus.
-----
Footnote 38:
An intoxicating beer made from millet.
Footnote 39:
Lances and spears.
Footnote 40:
Fumba is dead.