Chapter 28

[pg 286]Chapter 28Sergeant 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[pg 287]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.[pg 288]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[pg 289]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[pg 290]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[pg 291]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[pg 292]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[pg 293]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[pg 294]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[pg 295]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.[pg 296]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.”[pg 297]“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[pg 298]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.[pg 299]Chapter 29Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic“things,”which a messenger had brought from the white man’s country, had arrived. Although he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his rôle for the moment, leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground. Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected from the multitude of evil eyes[pg 300]through which they must have passed. At that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie’s interminable list of tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was theraison d’êtreof his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance. With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of“imprisoned stars”(rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him. After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:“O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?”“He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white,”retorted Bakahenzie.“Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou[pg 301]knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude but dry leaves in the wind of his breath.”“Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased.”“The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?”inquired Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.“The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee,”replied Birnier,“but the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers.”Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the handles he said:“These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!”and with the words he clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do. Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie:“Behold! the itch of the fingers of Tarum!”But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved rapidly and with no dignity.[pg 302]Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said quietly:“Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch indeed?”“Truly!”responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in his voice.“Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands!”And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic“things”were without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier, by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green envelope scrawled in French characters:Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or cancellation.“What in the name——”he muttered as he slit it open.Entebbe,Août 13, 19—Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Oû est tu? Comment et pourquoi? Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always[pg 303]I laugh, so what good is that to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh, on me dégoûte! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charmingMauretaniaand I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je rêve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est fou! il est tapé! Mais en moi même je l’adore! Tout de suite I tell a creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espèce de tapette, je m’en vais là, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh! How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais mourir à cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont drôles![pg 304]They bring me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont très polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I commence to come to you onFriday!You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little days!Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they call a runner—the red peas—C’est drôle! but the little pea black he did not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a terrible name.Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I willnotreply to any such ridiculous letters—jamais!Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you. Come to me. I wait for you.Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter continued:Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go round the[pg 305]detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.Birnier smiled grimly.Peuh!Écoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington. Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin? He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries! Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you. How drôle that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garçon where he is. But why do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to meimmediately—unless[pg 306]you love your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never, jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers! Mais comme je te deteste!Lucille.[pg 307]Chapter 30Forty-eight hours later, the furious drumming, chanting and screaming heralded the return of the victorious troops of Zalu Zako. Birnier from his gaol on the hill watched the bronze flood pour like a stream of lava out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped continuously around the temple.The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the advancing moon in the east.“Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?”“It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“But they have not the Bride?”“Nay.”Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden.“He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night.”“Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?”[pg 308]demanded Birnier, who knew that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the world and in all ages.“Thou didst not ask me,”retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.“Do they make sacrifice?”“The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know I not. Am I a wizard?”The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached, Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van, dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two short—long beat:Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier’s brain, dominating him with hypnotic suggestion[pg 309]to action. An urge to scream and to yell, to dance and to leap, plucked at his limbs. Resurgent desires from he knew not what subconscious catacombs, wriggled and struggled furiously within him. The great moon scattered blue stars upon the spears as if upon the green scales of some leviathan squirming in delirious torment.Control the twitching of his muscles to that rhythm Birnier could not. He had to fight to resist the waves of hysteria permeating the air. He glanced at Mungongo. The whites of his eyes were rolling. Birnier cursed the insistency of the drums and the orgiastical grunts. Forcibly he kept up a running fire of psychological explanations:“Annihilation of inhibitions … dissociation of personality … triumph of the subconscious animal,”as a wizard muttering incantations against evil spirits. He felt dizzy.“God, I’m drunk with rhythm!”he exclaimed.The priests were entering the large gate of the outer enclosure. In the village and on the opposite hill the people resembled a swarm of black locusts. The drums ceased. Bakahenzie and Marufa and Yabolo ran straight towards him screeching. This was the cue.Birnier walked back slowly. In awful silence they began to push the idol. The wood creaked protestingly. Slowly the mass slid on to Birnier’s back. He gripped it and began to walk to the entrance. As he passed Mungongo the Sacred Fires shot up yellow tongues. A sound like a moan rose dripping with screams and grew into a continuous thunder of noise. The drums rippled a furious tattoo. The three[pg 310]wizards dashed before him, leaping high in the air. Birnier shuffled a dozen yards to the left and turned. He stopped.Upon the ground, just within the outer gate in view of the multitude beyond, green ivory in the moonlight, was the naked figure of a white man. Above him pranced Bakahenzie in whose hand gleamed a knife.The training of his life enabled Birnier to throw upon the screen of his mind the essential points more rapidly than conscious thought. Bakahenzie, as well as the others, was in an abnormal state of excitement. There was no time to employ“magic”rockets or anything else. He swung the idol upon one shoulder and ran forward. He saw the blue eyes move and the bracelet wink in the moonlight as he stepped over the bound form. He bent, balancing the image upon his shoulders, and seized zu Pfeiffer by the arm.The throb of the drums and the roar of the people who knew not but that this act was in accordance with the rules, continued. The priests remained motionless: expectant. Bakahenzie stood rigid as if paralysed by the unexpected: the knife was a blue snake in his hand.Half blinded with sweat, with his muscles cracking, Birnier staggered on with the heavy burden, dragging the nude body after him. Hours seemed to pass, each second of which might bring a spear in his back before he reached the place before the temple. He slid the idol into the hole and turned.From the tumult of sound the screech of Bakahenzie shot up like a snipe from a rice field. The other wizards sprang with him. The moonlight kissed a[pg 311]spearhead beside the stone figure of Mungongo by the Sacred Fires. Birnier leaped, plucked the spear, caught zu Pfeiffer in his arms and raised him shoulder high that all might see.At the entrance of the enclosure Bakahenzie and the other two were arrested by astonishment. Lowering the body to the base of the idol which leaned sideways in a drunken leer, Birnier lifted the spear and brought it down accurately between zu Pfeiffer’s left arm and breast, and dropping swiftly upon his knees to cover his actions, slashed his own left forearm. Then he jumped to his feet and held the blooded spear aloft as he cried aloud:“The god hath taken his own!”Bakahenzie was the first to see that the white breast of the victim was indeed deluged in blood; perhaps the veneration engendered by“the fingers of Tarum”moved beneath the blood lust.“The god hath taken his own!”he repeated in a piercing scream. Marufa echoed the shout. As they turned the cry was ricocheted beyond the farthest hill.“The god hath taken his own!”[pg 312]Chapter 31The reflection of a shaft of moonlight through the half-completed thatch upon zu Pfeiffer’s“magic”mirror, which the natives had not dared to remove, set afire the sapphires upon his bracelet as he sat rigidly in a camp chair in a suit of pyjamas. Upon the bed lay Birnier, nursing his bandaged left arm. Now and again the thrumming, chanting and the shrilling of the saturnalia without rose into discordant yells like a gust of wind whipping tree-tops into fury.Zu Pfeiffer appeared taciturn and suspicious. Perhaps the slackening of his will, tautened to meet death as his caste demanded that he should, and the confrontation of the object of his violent hate, had completely unnerved him. When Birnier had dragged him within and cut his bonds, he had grunted curt, official thanks for the rescue. As sullenly he had hesitated at the offer of the pyjamas, but as if deciding that he could not retain any dignity in his own bloodied skin, had accepted them, as well as a sorely needed drink of water.The reaction after the crisis, and possibly the influence of the general hysteria in the air, had distorted Birnier’s vision of things. He was very conscious of a neurotic desire to laugh unrestrainedly. Thus it was that for nearly half an hour the two men remained in the gloom in silence. Birnier had a psychological comprehension of the highly nervous tension of his guest. For he[pg 313]had long ago realized that the only solution of zu Pfeiffer’s crazy statement that he was engaged to the wife of a man to whom he was speaking, indicated a form of insanity.A psychological law is that natural emotions must have an outlet; if they are repressed they are apt to cause a state of mental disease which in an aggravated form may lead the patient to the asylum, but in the incipient stage are as common as jackals in Africa. Zu Pfeiffer was suffering from such a case of mild psychosis. Brought up under an iron code which did not permit his instincts to react, the repressed emotions bubbled out in the form of a deification of his Kaiser and the adoration of Lucille, both states being absolutely apart from all reason, indeed approached to a state of dissociation of consciousness. The desired unattainable is projected into the dream plane, the realm of myth. Such a case is the historical one of the man who, keenly intelligent upon every subject mentioned, startles the visitor by the demand for a piece of toast, gravely explaining that he is a poached egg and that he wishes to sit down; or as Pascal, who ever had beside him the great black dog. To attempt to rationalise with such an one was merely to excite the insane part of him. So it was that Birnier determined to ignore the subject entirely, perfectly aware that the sullenness of the man sitting in the camp chair opposite to him was caused by an exaggerated terror that he would insist upon speaking of the one subject which should be tabu.The associative suggestion of Lucille diverted his mind until he became immersed in thoughts of her. A queer vision of a well-fed tiger playing with a kid[pg 314]entered his mind. More conscious than ever of her attraction by reason of the intensified sense of her wrought by her letter, he glanced surreptitiously at the rigid form in the chair and a wave of pity mixed with a half conscious pride that she belonged to him, rose within him. Then Birnier started as he was brought back to a realization of the passing of time by a harsh voice that told of creaking nerves:“Herr Professor, what is your pleasure to do with me, if you please?”“I beg your pardon!”Birnier sat up.“Er—naturally I shall endeavour to get you away as early as possible. It would be as well if you took advantage of the present—er—saturnalia to escape. I cannot do much. I can provide you with a gun and food. As you are not injured you should be able to get a reasonable distance from here by morning; for the rest I am afraid you must fend for yourself. I wish that I could do more, but I’m afraid that my power is not yet sufficient to ensure any help from the natives.”An inarticulate sound emerged from zu Pfeiffer’s mouth. Birnier’s eyes caught the sheen of the photograph upon the wall. Escape! Lucille! Almost involuntarily he stretched out a hand and took Lucille’s letter from the table. Again came zu Pfeiffer’s voice:“I thank you, Herr Professor, but I cannot accept—for myself.”Birnier stared at him.“I wish you to understand that for myself that is impossible.”The tall figure seemed to straighten in the chair.“But as I have the honour to serve his Imperial Majesty I am bound to preserve to the best of my ability my body in order to answer for my culpable negligence which has[pg 315]resulted in the loss of my two companies. Most distinctly, Herr Professor, I wish you to know that I accept your offer in order to place myself before the Court Martial that awaits me.”Birnier almost gasped. That this anomaly of a man, who was capable of cold-blooded murder at the prompting of an hallucination, and who now appeared equally capable of the utter annihilation of self at the service of his Imperial Master, meant what he said, Birnier did not doubt. Yet it was not anomalous. Logical in fact; the capability of supreme sacrifice for either of his idols.“I understand you, Lieutenant,”said he courteously.“I——”The two letters in his hand crackled. Before he could master the mean desire he had handed the second letter to zu Pfeiffer with the words:“Forgive me, I have here a letter which it is my duty to return to you.”The sapphires winked as zu Pfeiffer held up the letter in the shaft of moonlight. There was a suppressed grunt as of pain. Zu Pfeiffer rose stiffly and walked to the door. His tall figure was silhouetted in profile against the green sky and as Birnier watched he saw a gleam as of crystal upon an eyelash. Birnier, ashamed of his sole vengeance, turned away.But as if revenge were recoiling upon him came in the wake of that satisfied primitive instinct a surge of longing for Lucille. Lucille! Lucille! God! how he desired to see those eyes again! Feel those lips and hear the gurgle of her laughter! Sense the perfume of her hair as she murmured:“Mon petit loup!”Birnier sat holding the letter. He fought with an impulse to abandon everything to go to her—if he[pg 316]could get out! How stale and monotonous the adventure and the scientific interest suddenly seemed! After all, what had he accomplished? What could he accomplish? Even yet he had learned but little of the secrets of the witch-doctor’s craft. Perhaps there was little or nothing to learn? And zu Pfeiffer? He stared across at the portrait of Lucille. And as he gazed a wave of pity rose within him for this boy made mad by the witchery of those eyes and the music of that voice. A sentence in Lucille’s letter appeared to stand out from the context:“Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!”And yet—and yet—— Why the devil had she taken it into her head to come out to Uganda above all places? he asked himself. She was so damnably near to him. He smiled satirically as he recollected her phrase about those fools who made of love a nuisance, and yet now what was she doing? After all the suspicion in his mind that love is everything to a woman seemed proven true.But how adorable she was! He fingered the letter as if it were part of her. Well, she was young; success and adulation from one capital to another had interested and amused her for a few years, but when Milady had suddenly discovered that the Career bored her she had thrown up everything and logically—to her mind—expected her mate to do likewise! With what insouciance had she treated the affair of zu Pfeiffer and the youngster whom he had struck. When Birnier had met her she had had a story of a young fool count in Paris who had shot himself, merely because she would not listen to his suit; and she had protested with one of those wonderful shrugs and a moue, saying that she[pg 317]could not marry all the men in the world! That apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to make more men“crazy wild,”as she put it, about her. And that reputation had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.He could escape if he wished—with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it. Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world? Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was nothing.Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer’s voice speaking in the accents of agony; yet all he said was:“Herr Professor Birnier—I am compelled—to—to apologise for …”The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.“Please don’t,”said Birnier comprehendingly.“I understand.”And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie;[pg 318]not an idol of wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier’s object in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know a Bakahenzie?From the saturnalia in progress outside came another swirl of sound seeming to lap mockingly against the motionless figure of zu Pfeiffer silhouetted against a green sky; and above him towered the idol leaning sideways.As if in drunken laughter of the follies of black and white humanity! mused Birnier. Yet what am I doing? At the crook of a dainty finger am I, too, to bow to an idol? Am I to pity zu Pfeiffer and these children?… Savages! Good God, what am I?

[pg 286]Chapter 28Sergeant 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[pg 287]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.[pg 288]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[pg 289]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[pg 290]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[pg 291]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[pg 292]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[pg 293]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[pg 294]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[pg 295]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.[pg 296]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.”[pg 297]“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[pg 298]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.[pg 299]Chapter 29Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic“things,”which a messenger had brought from the white man’s country, had arrived. Although he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his rôle for the moment, leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground. Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected from the multitude of evil eyes[pg 300]through which they must have passed. At that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie’s interminable list of tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was theraison d’êtreof his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance. With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of“imprisoned stars”(rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him. After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:“O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?”“He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white,”retorted Bakahenzie.“Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou[pg 301]knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude but dry leaves in the wind of his breath.”“Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased.”“The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?”inquired Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.“The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee,”replied Birnier,“but the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers.”Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the handles he said:“These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!”and with the words he clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do. Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie:“Behold! the itch of the fingers of Tarum!”But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved rapidly and with no dignity.[pg 302]Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said quietly:“Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch indeed?”“Truly!”responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in his voice.“Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands!”And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic“things”were without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier, by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green envelope scrawled in French characters:Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or cancellation.“What in the name——”he muttered as he slit it open.Entebbe,Août 13, 19—Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Oû est tu? Comment et pourquoi? Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always[pg 303]I laugh, so what good is that to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh, on me dégoûte! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charmingMauretaniaand I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je rêve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est fou! il est tapé! Mais en moi même je l’adore! Tout de suite I tell a creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espèce de tapette, je m’en vais là, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh! How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais mourir à cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont drôles![pg 304]They bring me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont très polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I commence to come to you onFriday!You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little days!Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they call a runner—the red peas—C’est drôle! but the little pea black he did not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a terrible name.Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I willnotreply to any such ridiculous letters—jamais!Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you. Come to me. I wait for you.Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter continued:Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go round the[pg 305]detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.Birnier smiled grimly.Peuh!Écoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington. Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin? He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries! Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you. How drôle that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garçon where he is. But why do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to meimmediately—unless[pg 306]you love your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never, jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers! Mais comme je te deteste!Lucille.[pg 307]Chapter 30Forty-eight hours later, the furious drumming, chanting and screaming heralded the return of the victorious troops of Zalu Zako. Birnier from his gaol on the hill watched the bronze flood pour like a stream of lava out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped continuously around the temple.The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the advancing moon in the east.“Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?”“It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“But they have not the Bride?”“Nay.”Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden.“He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night.”“Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?”[pg 308]demanded Birnier, who knew that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the world and in all ages.“Thou didst not ask me,”retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.“Do they make sacrifice?”“The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know I not. Am I a wizard?”The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached, Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van, dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two short—long beat:Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier’s brain, dominating him with hypnotic suggestion[pg 309]to action. An urge to scream and to yell, to dance and to leap, plucked at his limbs. Resurgent desires from he knew not what subconscious catacombs, wriggled and struggled furiously within him. The great moon scattered blue stars upon the spears as if upon the green scales of some leviathan squirming in delirious torment.Control the twitching of his muscles to that rhythm Birnier could not. He had to fight to resist the waves of hysteria permeating the air. He glanced at Mungongo. The whites of his eyes were rolling. Birnier cursed the insistency of the drums and the orgiastical grunts. Forcibly he kept up a running fire of psychological explanations:“Annihilation of inhibitions … dissociation of personality … triumph of the subconscious animal,”as a wizard muttering incantations against evil spirits. He felt dizzy.“God, I’m drunk with rhythm!”he exclaimed.The priests were entering the large gate of the outer enclosure. In the village and on the opposite hill the people resembled a swarm of black locusts. The drums ceased. Bakahenzie and Marufa and Yabolo ran straight towards him screeching. This was the cue.Birnier walked back slowly. In awful silence they began to push the idol. The wood creaked protestingly. Slowly the mass slid on to Birnier’s back. He gripped it and began to walk to the entrance. As he passed Mungongo the Sacred Fires shot up yellow tongues. A sound like a moan rose dripping with screams and grew into a continuous thunder of noise. The drums rippled a furious tattoo. The three[pg 310]wizards dashed before him, leaping high in the air. Birnier shuffled a dozen yards to the left and turned. He stopped.Upon the ground, just within the outer gate in view of the multitude beyond, green ivory in the moonlight, was the naked figure of a white man. Above him pranced Bakahenzie in whose hand gleamed a knife.The training of his life enabled Birnier to throw upon the screen of his mind the essential points more rapidly than conscious thought. Bakahenzie, as well as the others, was in an abnormal state of excitement. There was no time to employ“magic”rockets or anything else. He swung the idol upon one shoulder and ran forward. He saw the blue eyes move and the bracelet wink in the moonlight as he stepped over the bound form. He bent, balancing the image upon his shoulders, and seized zu Pfeiffer by the arm.The throb of the drums and the roar of the people who knew not but that this act was in accordance with the rules, continued. The priests remained motionless: expectant. Bakahenzie stood rigid as if paralysed by the unexpected: the knife was a blue snake in his hand.Half blinded with sweat, with his muscles cracking, Birnier staggered on with the heavy burden, dragging the nude body after him. Hours seemed to pass, each second of which might bring a spear in his back before he reached the place before the temple. He slid the idol into the hole and turned.From the tumult of sound the screech of Bakahenzie shot up like a snipe from a rice field. The other wizards sprang with him. The moonlight kissed a[pg 311]spearhead beside the stone figure of Mungongo by the Sacred Fires. Birnier leaped, plucked the spear, caught zu Pfeiffer in his arms and raised him shoulder high that all might see.At the entrance of the enclosure Bakahenzie and the other two were arrested by astonishment. Lowering the body to the base of the idol which leaned sideways in a drunken leer, Birnier lifted the spear and brought it down accurately between zu Pfeiffer’s left arm and breast, and dropping swiftly upon his knees to cover his actions, slashed his own left forearm. Then he jumped to his feet and held the blooded spear aloft as he cried aloud:“The god hath taken his own!”Bakahenzie was the first to see that the white breast of the victim was indeed deluged in blood; perhaps the veneration engendered by“the fingers of Tarum”moved beneath the blood lust.“The god hath taken his own!”he repeated in a piercing scream. Marufa echoed the shout. As they turned the cry was ricocheted beyond the farthest hill.“The god hath taken his own!”[pg 312]Chapter 31The reflection of a shaft of moonlight through the half-completed thatch upon zu Pfeiffer’s“magic”mirror, which the natives had not dared to remove, set afire the sapphires upon his bracelet as he sat rigidly in a camp chair in a suit of pyjamas. Upon the bed lay Birnier, nursing his bandaged left arm. Now and again the thrumming, chanting and the shrilling of the saturnalia without rose into discordant yells like a gust of wind whipping tree-tops into fury.Zu Pfeiffer appeared taciturn and suspicious. Perhaps the slackening of his will, tautened to meet death as his caste demanded that he should, and the confrontation of the object of his violent hate, had completely unnerved him. When Birnier had dragged him within and cut his bonds, he had grunted curt, official thanks for the rescue. As sullenly he had hesitated at the offer of the pyjamas, but as if deciding that he could not retain any dignity in his own bloodied skin, had accepted them, as well as a sorely needed drink of water.The reaction after the crisis, and possibly the influence of the general hysteria in the air, had distorted Birnier’s vision of things. He was very conscious of a neurotic desire to laugh unrestrainedly. Thus it was that for nearly half an hour the two men remained in the gloom in silence. Birnier had a psychological comprehension of the highly nervous tension of his guest. For he[pg 313]had long ago realized that the only solution of zu Pfeiffer’s crazy statement that he was engaged to the wife of a man to whom he was speaking, indicated a form of insanity.A psychological law is that natural emotions must have an outlet; if they are repressed they are apt to cause a state of mental disease which in an aggravated form may lead the patient to the asylum, but in the incipient stage are as common as jackals in Africa. Zu Pfeiffer was suffering from such a case of mild psychosis. Brought up under an iron code which did not permit his instincts to react, the repressed emotions bubbled out in the form of a deification of his Kaiser and the adoration of Lucille, both states being absolutely apart from all reason, indeed approached to a state of dissociation of consciousness. The desired unattainable is projected into the dream plane, the realm of myth. Such a case is the historical one of the man who, keenly intelligent upon every subject mentioned, startles the visitor by the demand for a piece of toast, gravely explaining that he is a poached egg and that he wishes to sit down; or as Pascal, who ever had beside him the great black dog. To attempt to rationalise with such an one was merely to excite the insane part of him. So it was that Birnier determined to ignore the subject entirely, perfectly aware that the sullenness of the man sitting in the camp chair opposite to him was caused by an exaggerated terror that he would insist upon speaking of the one subject which should be tabu.The associative suggestion of Lucille diverted his mind until he became immersed in thoughts of her. A queer vision of a well-fed tiger playing with a kid[pg 314]entered his mind. More conscious than ever of her attraction by reason of the intensified sense of her wrought by her letter, he glanced surreptitiously at the rigid form in the chair and a wave of pity mixed with a half conscious pride that she belonged to him, rose within him. Then Birnier started as he was brought back to a realization of the passing of time by a harsh voice that told of creaking nerves:“Herr Professor, what is your pleasure to do with me, if you please?”“I beg your pardon!”Birnier sat up.“Er—naturally I shall endeavour to get you away as early as possible. It would be as well if you took advantage of the present—er—saturnalia to escape. I cannot do much. I can provide you with a gun and food. As you are not injured you should be able to get a reasonable distance from here by morning; for the rest I am afraid you must fend for yourself. I wish that I could do more, but I’m afraid that my power is not yet sufficient to ensure any help from the natives.”An inarticulate sound emerged from zu Pfeiffer’s mouth. Birnier’s eyes caught the sheen of the photograph upon the wall. Escape! Lucille! Almost involuntarily he stretched out a hand and took Lucille’s letter from the table. Again came zu Pfeiffer’s voice:“I thank you, Herr Professor, but I cannot accept—for myself.”Birnier stared at him.“I wish you to understand that for myself that is impossible.”The tall figure seemed to straighten in the chair.“But as I have the honour to serve his Imperial Majesty I am bound to preserve to the best of my ability my body in order to answer for my culpable negligence which has[pg 315]resulted in the loss of my two companies. Most distinctly, Herr Professor, I wish you to know that I accept your offer in order to place myself before the Court Martial that awaits me.”Birnier almost gasped. That this anomaly of a man, who was capable of cold-blooded murder at the prompting of an hallucination, and who now appeared equally capable of the utter annihilation of self at the service of his Imperial Master, meant what he said, Birnier did not doubt. Yet it was not anomalous. Logical in fact; the capability of supreme sacrifice for either of his idols.“I understand you, Lieutenant,”said he courteously.“I——”The two letters in his hand crackled. Before he could master the mean desire he had handed the second letter to zu Pfeiffer with the words:“Forgive me, I have here a letter which it is my duty to return to you.”The sapphires winked as zu Pfeiffer held up the letter in the shaft of moonlight. There was a suppressed grunt as of pain. Zu Pfeiffer rose stiffly and walked to the door. His tall figure was silhouetted in profile against the green sky and as Birnier watched he saw a gleam as of crystal upon an eyelash. Birnier, ashamed of his sole vengeance, turned away.But as if revenge were recoiling upon him came in the wake of that satisfied primitive instinct a surge of longing for Lucille. Lucille! Lucille! God! how he desired to see those eyes again! Feel those lips and hear the gurgle of her laughter! Sense the perfume of her hair as she murmured:“Mon petit loup!”Birnier sat holding the letter. He fought with an impulse to abandon everything to go to her—if he[pg 316]could get out! How stale and monotonous the adventure and the scientific interest suddenly seemed! After all, what had he accomplished? What could he accomplish? Even yet he had learned but little of the secrets of the witch-doctor’s craft. Perhaps there was little or nothing to learn? And zu Pfeiffer? He stared across at the portrait of Lucille. And as he gazed a wave of pity rose within him for this boy made mad by the witchery of those eyes and the music of that voice. A sentence in Lucille’s letter appeared to stand out from the context:“Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!”And yet—and yet—— Why the devil had she taken it into her head to come out to Uganda above all places? he asked himself. She was so damnably near to him. He smiled satirically as he recollected her phrase about those fools who made of love a nuisance, and yet now what was she doing? After all the suspicion in his mind that love is everything to a woman seemed proven true.But how adorable she was! He fingered the letter as if it were part of her. Well, she was young; success and adulation from one capital to another had interested and amused her for a few years, but when Milady had suddenly discovered that the Career bored her she had thrown up everything and logically—to her mind—expected her mate to do likewise! With what insouciance had she treated the affair of zu Pfeiffer and the youngster whom he had struck. When Birnier had met her she had had a story of a young fool count in Paris who had shot himself, merely because she would not listen to his suit; and she had protested with one of those wonderful shrugs and a moue, saying that she[pg 317]could not marry all the men in the world! That apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to make more men“crazy wild,”as she put it, about her. And that reputation had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.He could escape if he wished—with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it. Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world? Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was nothing.Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer’s voice speaking in the accents of agony; yet all he said was:“Herr Professor Birnier—I am compelled—to—to apologise for …”The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.“Please don’t,”said Birnier comprehendingly.“I understand.”And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie;[pg 318]not an idol of wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier’s object in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know a Bakahenzie?From the saturnalia in progress outside came another swirl of sound seeming to lap mockingly against the motionless figure of zu Pfeiffer silhouetted against a green sky; and above him towered the idol leaning sideways.As if in drunken laughter of the follies of black and white humanity! mused Birnier. Yet what am I doing? At the crook of a dainty finger am I, too, to bow to an idol? Am I to pity zu Pfeiffer and these children?… Savages! Good God, what am I?

[pg 286]Chapter 28Sergeant 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[pg 287]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.[pg 288]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[pg 289]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[pg 290]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[pg 291]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[pg 292]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[pg 293]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[pg 294]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[pg 295]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.[pg 296]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.”[pg 297]“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[pg 298]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.

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[pg 287]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[pg 289]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[pg 290]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[pg 291]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[pg 292]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[pg 293]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[pg 294]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[pg 295]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.[pg 296]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[pg 298]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.

[pg 299]Chapter 29Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic“things,”which a messenger had brought from the white man’s country, had arrived. Although he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his rôle for the moment, leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground. Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected from the multitude of evil eyes[pg 300]through which they must have passed. At that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie’s interminable list of tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was theraison d’êtreof his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance. With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of“imprisoned stars”(rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him. After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:“O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?”“He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white,”retorted Bakahenzie.“Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou[pg 301]knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude but dry leaves in the wind of his breath.”“Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased.”“The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?”inquired Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.“The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee,”replied Birnier,“but the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers.”Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the handles he said:“These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!”and with the words he clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do. Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie:“Behold! the itch of the fingers of Tarum!”But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved rapidly and with no dignity.[pg 302]Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said quietly:“Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch indeed?”“Truly!”responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in his voice.“Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands!”And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic“things”were without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier, by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green envelope scrawled in French characters:Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or cancellation.“What in the name——”he muttered as he slit it open.Entebbe,Août 13, 19—Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Oû est tu? Comment et pourquoi? Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always[pg 303]I laugh, so what good is that to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh, on me dégoûte! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charmingMauretaniaand I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je rêve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est fou! il est tapé! Mais en moi même je l’adore! Tout de suite I tell a creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espèce de tapette, je m’en vais là, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh! How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais mourir à cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont drôles![pg 304]They bring me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont très polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I commence to come to you onFriday!You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little days!Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they call a runner—the red peas—C’est drôle! but the little pea black he did not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a terrible name.Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I willnotreply to any such ridiculous letters—jamais!Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you. Come to me. I wait for you.Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter continued:Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go round the[pg 305]detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.Birnier smiled grimly.Peuh!Écoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington. Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin? He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries! Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you. How drôle that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garçon where he is. But why do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to meimmediately—unless[pg 306]you love your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never, jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers! Mais comme je te deteste!Lucille.

Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic“things,”which a messenger had brought from the white man’s country, had arrived. Although he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his rôle for the moment, leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground. Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.

Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected from the multitude of evil eyes[pg 300]through which they must have passed. At that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.

But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie’s interminable list of tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was theraison d’êtreof his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance. With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of“imprisoned stars”(rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him. After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:

“O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?”

“He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white,”retorted Bakahenzie.

“Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou[pg 301]knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude but dry leaves in the wind of his breath.”

“Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”

“Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased.”

“The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?”inquired Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.

“The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee,”replied Birnier,“but the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers.”

Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the handles he said:

“These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!”and with the words he clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do. Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie:“Behold! the itch of the fingers of Tarum!”

But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved rapidly and with no dignity.

Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said quietly:

“Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch indeed?”

“Truly!”responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in his voice.“Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands!”

And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic“things”were without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier, by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green envelope scrawled in French characters:

Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.

For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or cancellation.

“What in the name——”he muttered as he slit it open.

Entebbe,Août 13, 19—

Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Oû est tu? Comment et pourquoi? Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always[pg 303]I laugh, so what good is that to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!

Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.

I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh, on me dégoûte! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charmingMauretaniaand I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je rêve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est fou! il est tapé! Mais en moi même je l’adore! Tout de suite I tell a creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espèce de tapette, je m’en vais là, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh! How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!

Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais mourir à cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont drôles![pg 304]They bring me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont très polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I commence to come to you onFriday!You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little days!

Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they call a runner—the red peas—C’est drôle! but the little pea black he did not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a terrible name.

Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I willnotreply to any such ridiculous letters—jamais!

Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?

You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you. Come to me. I wait for you.

Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter continued:

Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go round the[pg 305]detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.

Birnier smiled grimly.

Peuh!Écoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington. Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin? He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries! Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you. How drôle that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garçon where he is. But why do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to meimmediately—unless[pg 306]you love your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never, jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers! Mais comme je te deteste!

Lucille.

[pg 307]Chapter 30Forty-eight hours later, the furious drumming, chanting and screaming heralded the return of the victorious troops of Zalu Zako. Birnier from his gaol on the hill watched the bronze flood pour like a stream of lava out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped continuously around the temple.The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the advancing moon in the east.“Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?”“It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”“But they have not the Bride?”“Nay.”Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden.“He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night.”“Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?”[pg 308]demanded Birnier, who knew that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the world and in all ages.“Thou didst not ask me,”retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.“Do they make sacrifice?”“The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know I not. Am I a wizard?”The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached, Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van, dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two short—long beat:Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier’s brain, dominating him with hypnotic suggestion[pg 309]to action. An urge to scream and to yell, to dance and to leap, plucked at his limbs. Resurgent desires from he knew not what subconscious catacombs, wriggled and struggled furiously within him. The great moon scattered blue stars upon the spears as if upon the green scales of some leviathan squirming in delirious torment.Control the twitching of his muscles to that rhythm Birnier could not. He had to fight to resist the waves of hysteria permeating the air. He glanced at Mungongo. The whites of his eyes were rolling. Birnier cursed the insistency of the drums and the orgiastical grunts. Forcibly he kept up a running fire of psychological explanations:“Annihilation of inhibitions … dissociation of personality … triumph of the subconscious animal,”as a wizard muttering incantations against evil spirits. He felt dizzy.“God, I’m drunk with rhythm!”he exclaimed.The priests were entering the large gate of the outer enclosure. In the village and on the opposite hill the people resembled a swarm of black locusts. The drums ceased. Bakahenzie and Marufa and Yabolo ran straight towards him screeching. This was the cue.Birnier walked back slowly. In awful silence they began to push the idol. The wood creaked protestingly. Slowly the mass slid on to Birnier’s back. He gripped it and began to walk to the entrance. As he passed Mungongo the Sacred Fires shot up yellow tongues. A sound like a moan rose dripping with screams and grew into a continuous thunder of noise. The drums rippled a furious tattoo. The three[pg 310]wizards dashed before him, leaping high in the air. Birnier shuffled a dozen yards to the left and turned. He stopped.Upon the ground, just within the outer gate in view of the multitude beyond, green ivory in the moonlight, was the naked figure of a white man. Above him pranced Bakahenzie in whose hand gleamed a knife.The training of his life enabled Birnier to throw upon the screen of his mind the essential points more rapidly than conscious thought. Bakahenzie, as well as the others, was in an abnormal state of excitement. There was no time to employ“magic”rockets or anything else. He swung the idol upon one shoulder and ran forward. He saw the blue eyes move and the bracelet wink in the moonlight as he stepped over the bound form. He bent, balancing the image upon his shoulders, and seized zu Pfeiffer by the arm.The throb of the drums and the roar of the people who knew not but that this act was in accordance with the rules, continued. The priests remained motionless: expectant. Bakahenzie stood rigid as if paralysed by the unexpected: the knife was a blue snake in his hand.Half blinded with sweat, with his muscles cracking, Birnier staggered on with the heavy burden, dragging the nude body after him. Hours seemed to pass, each second of which might bring a spear in his back before he reached the place before the temple. He slid the idol into the hole and turned.From the tumult of sound the screech of Bakahenzie shot up like a snipe from a rice field. The other wizards sprang with him. The moonlight kissed a[pg 311]spearhead beside the stone figure of Mungongo by the Sacred Fires. Birnier leaped, plucked the spear, caught zu Pfeiffer in his arms and raised him shoulder high that all might see.At the entrance of the enclosure Bakahenzie and the other two were arrested by astonishment. Lowering the body to the base of the idol which leaned sideways in a drunken leer, Birnier lifted the spear and brought it down accurately between zu Pfeiffer’s left arm and breast, and dropping swiftly upon his knees to cover his actions, slashed his own left forearm. Then he jumped to his feet and held the blooded spear aloft as he cried aloud:“The god hath taken his own!”Bakahenzie was the first to see that the white breast of the victim was indeed deluged in blood; perhaps the veneration engendered by“the fingers of Tarum”moved beneath the blood lust.“The god hath taken his own!”he repeated in a piercing scream. Marufa echoed the shout. As they turned the cry was ricocheted beyond the farthest hill.“The god hath taken his own!”

Forty-eight hours later, the furious drumming, chanting and screaming heralded the return of the victorious troops of Zalu Zako. Birnier from his gaol on the hill watched the bronze flood pour like a stream of lava out of the plantation and flood the village, spears flashing silver points in the slanting rays of the sun. But what had happened to zu Pfeiffer and the white sergeants? No sign of them could he see. Waves of sound lapped continuously around the temple.

The long mauve shadow of the hill ate up the village. Fires began to flicker amid the huts and away in the recesses of the plantation. The lowing of cattle added to the general clamour. As the western sky was still ablaze with incandescent colour stole the cold green of the advancing moon in the east.

“Mungongo, what are thy brethren about to do?”

“It is the Festival of the Harvest, as I have told thee, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”

“But they have not the Bride?”

“Nay.”Mungongo glanced apprehensively towards the temple where in what was to have been a bathroom, was Bakuma hidden.“He-who-may-not-be-mentioned demands but blood. The Bride is the food of the wizards. But to each warrior is every woman his bride this night.”

“Why didst thou not tell me this thing before?”[pg 308]demanded Birnier, who knew that such was one of the customs of primitive tribes in all parts of the world and in all ages.

“Thou didst not ask me,”retorted Mungongo, to whom the affair was such a matter of course that it was not worth mentioning.

“Do they make sacrifice?”

“The Bride is married to the Banana, but of the manner of her nuptial know I not. Am I a wizard?”

The divine king grimly watched his subjects. In the growing light flitted gnomes around the huts in and out the sepia caverns of the plantation. As a banana front was etched in sepia against the great moon, the ocean of clamour was cleft by the high treble of the tribal troubadour. At the bottom of the wide street appeared dancing figures. As they approached, Birnier could distinguish Bakahenzie, Marufa and Yabolo in the van, dressed in full panoply, whirling and leaping with untiring energy. Behind them shuffled and pranced a vast mass of warriors, behind whom again several hundred women shrilled and wriggled in the mighty chorus. The rhythm of the drums increased to the maddening action impulse of the two short—long beat:

Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!

The treble solo of the chant darted above that throb and grunt like a mad bird skimming the turbulent tops of a dark forest.

Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm! Pm-pm—Pommmmm!

The rhythm seemed like a febrile pulse within Birnier’s brain, dominating him with hypnotic suggestion[pg 309]to action. An urge to scream and to yell, to dance and to leap, plucked at his limbs. Resurgent desires from he knew not what subconscious catacombs, wriggled and struggled furiously within him. The great moon scattered blue stars upon the spears as if upon the green scales of some leviathan squirming in delirious torment.

Control the twitching of his muscles to that rhythm Birnier could not. He had to fight to resist the waves of hysteria permeating the air. He glanced at Mungongo. The whites of his eyes were rolling. Birnier cursed the insistency of the drums and the orgiastical grunts. Forcibly he kept up a running fire of psychological explanations:“Annihilation of inhibitions … dissociation of personality … triumph of the subconscious animal,”as a wizard muttering incantations against evil spirits. He felt dizzy.“God, I’m drunk with rhythm!”he exclaimed.

The priests were entering the large gate of the outer enclosure. In the village and on the opposite hill the people resembled a swarm of black locusts. The drums ceased. Bakahenzie and Marufa and Yabolo ran straight towards him screeching. This was the cue.

Birnier walked back slowly. In awful silence they began to push the idol. The wood creaked protestingly. Slowly the mass slid on to Birnier’s back. He gripped it and began to walk to the entrance. As he passed Mungongo the Sacred Fires shot up yellow tongues. A sound like a moan rose dripping with screams and grew into a continuous thunder of noise. The drums rippled a furious tattoo. The three[pg 310]wizards dashed before him, leaping high in the air. Birnier shuffled a dozen yards to the left and turned. He stopped.

Upon the ground, just within the outer gate in view of the multitude beyond, green ivory in the moonlight, was the naked figure of a white man. Above him pranced Bakahenzie in whose hand gleamed a knife.

The training of his life enabled Birnier to throw upon the screen of his mind the essential points more rapidly than conscious thought. Bakahenzie, as well as the others, was in an abnormal state of excitement. There was no time to employ“magic”rockets or anything else. He swung the idol upon one shoulder and ran forward. He saw the blue eyes move and the bracelet wink in the moonlight as he stepped over the bound form. He bent, balancing the image upon his shoulders, and seized zu Pfeiffer by the arm.

The throb of the drums and the roar of the people who knew not but that this act was in accordance with the rules, continued. The priests remained motionless: expectant. Bakahenzie stood rigid as if paralysed by the unexpected: the knife was a blue snake in his hand.

Half blinded with sweat, with his muscles cracking, Birnier staggered on with the heavy burden, dragging the nude body after him. Hours seemed to pass, each second of which might bring a spear in his back before he reached the place before the temple. He slid the idol into the hole and turned.

From the tumult of sound the screech of Bakahenzie shot up like a snipe from a rice field. The other wizards sprang with him. The moonlight kissed a[pg 311]spearhead beside the stone figure of Mungongo by the Sacred Fires. Birnier leaped, plucked the spear, caught zu Pfeiffer in his arms and raised him shoulder high that all might see.

At the entrance of the enclosure Bakahenzie and the other two were arrested by astonishment. Lowering the body to the base of the idol which leaned sideways in a drunken leer, Birnier lifted the spear and brought it down accurately between zu Pfeiffer’s left arm and breast, and dropping swiftly upon his knees to cover his actions, slashed his own left forearm. Then he jumped to his feet and held the blooded spear aloft as he cried aloud:

“The god hath taken his own!”

Bakahenzie was the first to see that the white breast of the victim was indeed deluged in blood; perhaps the veneration engendered by“the fingers of Tarum”moved beneath the blood lust.

“The god hath taken his own!”he repeated in a piercing scream. Marufa echoed the shout. As they turned the cry was ricocheted beyond the farthest hill.

“The god hath taken his own!”

[pg 312]Chapter 31The reflection of a shaft of moonlight through the half-completed thatch upon zu Pfeiffer’s“magic”mirror, which the natives had not dared to remove, set afire the sapphires upon his bracelet as he sat rigidly in a camp chair in a suit of pyjamas. Upon the bed lay Birnier, nursing his bandaged left arm. Now and again the thrumming, chanting and the shrilling of the saturnalia without rose into discordant yells like a gust of wind whipping tree-tops into fury.Zu Pfeiffer appeared taciturn and suspicious. Perhaps the slackening of his will, tautened to meet death as his caste demanded that he should, and the confrontation of the object of his violent hate, had completely unnerved him. When Birnier had dragged him within and cut his bonds, he had grunted curt, official thanks for the rescue. As sullenly he had hesitated at the offer of the pyjamas, but as if deciding that he could not retain any dignity in his own bloodied skin, had accepted them, as well as a sorely needed drink of water.The reaction after the crisis, and possibly the influence of the general hysteria in the air, had distorted Birnier’s vision of things. He was very conscious of a neurotic desire to laugh unrestrainedly. Thus it was that for nearly half an hour the two men remained in the gloom in silence. Birnier had a psychological comprehension of the highly nervous tension of his guest. For he[pg 313]had long ago realized that the only solution of zu Pfeiffer’s crazy statement that he was engaged to the wife of a man to whom he was speaking, indicated a form of insanity.A psychological law is that natural emotions must have an outlet; if they are repressed they are apt to cause a state of mental disease which in an aggravated form may lead the patient to the asylum, but in the incipient stage are as common as jackals in Africa. Zu Pfeiffer was suffering from such a case of mild psychosis. Brought up under an iron code which did not permit his instincts to react, the repressed emotions bubbled out in the form of a deification of his Kaiser and the adoration of Lucille, both states being absolutely apart from all reason, indeed approached to a state of dissociation of consciousness. The desired unattainable is projected into the dream plane, the realm of myth. Such a case is the historical one of the man who, keenly intelligent upon every subject mentioned, startles the visitor by the demand for a piece of toast, gravely explaining that he is a poached egg and that he wishes to sit down; or as Pascal, who ever had beside him the great black dog. To attempt to rationalise with such an one was merely to excite the insane part of him. So it was that Birnier determined to ignore the subject entirely, perfectly aware that the sullenness of the man sitting in the camp chair opposite to him was caused by an exaggerated terror that he would insist upon speaking of the one subject which should be tabu.The associative suggestion of Lucille diverted his mind until he became immersed in thoughts of her. A queer vision of a well-fed tiger playing with a kid[pg 314]entered his mind. More conscious than ever of her attraction by reason of the intensified sense of her wrought by her letter, he glanced surreptitiously at the rigid form in the chair and a wave of pity mixed with a half conscious pride that she belonged to him, rose within him. Then Birnier started as he was brought back to a realization of the passing of time by a harsh voice that told of creaking nerves:“Herr Professor, what is your pleasure to do with me, if you please?”“I beg your pardon!”Birnier sat up.“Er—naturally I shall endeavour to get you away as early as possible. It would be as well if you took advantage of the present—er—saturnalia to escape. I cannot do much. I can provide you with a gun and food. As you are not injured you should be able to get a reasonable distance from here by morning; for the rest I am afraid you must fend for yourself. I wish that I could do more, but I’m afraid that my power is not yet sufficient to ensure any help from the natives.”An inarticulate sound emerged from zu Pfeiffer’s mouth. Birnier’s eyes caught the sheen of the photograph upon the wall. Escape! Lucille! Almost involuntarily he stretched out a hand and took Lucille’s letter from the table. Again came zu Pfeiffer’s voice:“I thank you, Herr Professor, but I cannot accept—for myself.”Birnier stared at him.“I wish you to understand that for myself that is impossible.”The tall figure seemed to straighten in the chair.“But as I have the honour to serve his Imperial Majesty I am bound to preserve to the best of my ability my body in order to answer for my culpable negligence which has[pg 315]resulted in the loss of my two companies. Most distinctly, Herr Professor, I wish you to know that I accept your offer in order to place myself before the Court Martial that awaits me.”Birnier almost gasped. That this anomaly of a man, who was capable of cold-blooded murder at the prompting of an hallucination, and who now appeared equally capable of the utter annihilation of self at the service of his Imperial Master, meant what he said, Birnier did not doubt. Yet it was not anomalous. Logical in fact; the capability of supreme sacrifice for either of his idols.“I understand you, Lieutenant,”said he courteously.“I——”The two letters in his hand crackled. Before he could master the mean desire he had handed the second letter to zu Pfeiffer with the words:“Forgive me, I have here a letter which it is my duty to return to you.”The sapphires winked as zu Pfeiffer held up the letter in the shaft of moonlight. There was a suppressed grunt as of pain. Zu Pfeiffer rose stiffly and walked to the door. His tall figure was silhouetted in profile against the green sky and as Birnier watched he saw a gleam as of crystal upon an eyelash. Birnier, ashamed of his sole vengeance, turned away.But as if revenge were recoiling upon him came in the wake of that satisfied primitive instinct a surge of longing for Lucille. Lucille! Lucille! God! how he desired to see those eyes again! Feel those lips and hear the gurgle of her laughter! Sense the perfume of her hair as she murmured:“Mon petit loup!”Birnier sat holding the letter. He fought with an impulse to abandon everything to go to her—if he[pg 316]could get out! How stale and monotonous the adventure and the scientific interest suddenly seemed! After all, what had he accomplished? What could he accomplish? Even yet he had learned but little of the secrets of the witch-doctor’s craft. Perhaps there was little or nothing to learn? And zu Pfeiffer? He stared across at the portrait of Lucille. And as he gazed a wave of pity rose within him for this boy made mad by the witchery of those eyes and the music of that voice. A sentence in Lucille’s letter appeared to stand out from the context:“Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!”And yet—and yet—— Why the devil had she taken it into her head to come out to Uganda above all places? he asked himself. She was so damnably near to him. He smiled satirically as he recollected her phrase about those fools who made of love a nuisance, and yet now what was she doing? After all the suspicion in his mind that love is everything to a woman seemed proven true.But how adorable she was! He fingered the letter as if it were part of her. Well, she was young; success and adulation from one capital to another had interested and amused her for a few years, but when Milady had suddenly discovered that the Career bored her she had thrown up everything and logically—to her mind—expected her mate to do likewise! With what insouciance had she treated the affair of zu Pfeiffer and the youngster whom he had struck. When Birnier had met her she had had a story of a young fool count in Paris who had shot himself, merely because she would not listen to his suit; and she had protested with one of those wonderful shrugs and a moue, saying that she[pg 317]could not marry all the men in the world! That apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to make more men“crazy wild,”as she put it, about her. And that reputation had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.He could escape if he wished—with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it. Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world? Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was nothing.Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer’s voice speaking in the accents of agony; yet all he said was:“Herr Professor Birnier—I am compelled—to—to apologise for …”The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.“Please don’t,”said Birnier comprehendingly.“I understand.”And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie;[pg 318]not an idol of wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier’s object in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know a Bakahenzie?From the saturnalia in progress outside came another swirl of sound seeming to lap mockingly against the motionless figure of zu Pfeiffer silhouetted against a green sky; and above him towered the idol leaning sideways.As if in drunken laughter of the follies of black and white humanity! mused Birnier. Yet what am I doing? At the crook of a dainty finger am I, too, to bow to an idol? Am I to pity zu Pfeiffer and these children?… Savages! Good God, what am I?

The reflection of a shaft of moonlight through the half-completed thatch upon zu Pfeiffer’s“magic”mirror, which the natives had not dared to remove, set afire the sapphires upon his bracelet as he sat rigidly in a camp chair in a suit of pyjamas. Upon the bed lay Birnier, nursing his bandaged left arm. Now and again the thrumming, chanting and the shrilling of the saturnalia without rose into discordant yells like a gust of wind whipping tree-tops into fury.

Zu Pfeiffer appeared taciturn and suspicious. Perhaps the slackening of his will, tautened to meet death as his caste demanded that he should, and the confrontation of the object of his violent hate, had completely unnerved him. When Birnier had dragged him within and cut his bonds, he had grunted curt, official thanks for the rescue. As sullenly he had hesitated at the offer of the pyjamas, but as if deciding that he could not retain any dignity in his own bloodied skin, had accepted them, as well as a sorely needed drink of water.

The reaction after the crisis, and possibly the influence of the general hysteria in the air, had distorted Birnier’s vision of things. He was very conscious of a neurotic desire to laugh unrestrainedly. Thus it was that for nearly half an hour the two men remained in the gloom in silence. Birnier had a psychological comprehension of the highly nervous tension of his guest. For he[pg 313]had long ago realized that the only solution of zu Pfeiffer’s crazy statement that he was engaged to the wife of a man to whom he was speaking, indicated a form of insanity.

A psychological law is that natural emotions must have an outlet; if they are repressed they are apt to cause a state of mental disease which in an aggravated form may lead the patient to the asylum, but in the incipient stage are as common as jackals in Africa. Zu Pfeiffer was suffering from such a case of mild psychosis. Brought up under an iron code which did not permit his instincts to react, the repressed emotions bubbled out in the form of a deification of his Kaiser and the adoration of Lucille, both states being absolutely apart from all reason, indeed approached to a state of dissociation of consciousness. The desired unattainable is projected into the dream plane, the realm of myth. Such a case is the historical one of the man who, keenly intelligent upon every subject mentioned, startles the visitor by the demand for a piece of toast, gravely explaining that he is a poached egg and that he wishes to sit down; or as Pascal, who ever had beside him the great black dog. To attempt to rationalise with such an one was merely to excite the insane part of him. So it was that Birnier determined to ignore the subject entirely, perfectly aware that the sullenness of the man sitting in the camp chair opposite to him was caused by an exaggerated terror that he would insist upon speaking of the one subject which should be tabu.

The associative suggestion of Lucille diverted his mind until he became immersed in thoughts of her. A queer vision of a well-fed tiger playing with a kid[pg 314]entered his mind. More conscious than ever of her attraction by reason of the intensified sense of her wrought by her letter, he glanced surreptitiously at the rigid form in the chair and a wave of pity mixed with a half conscious pride that she belonged to him, rose within him. Then Birnier started as he was brought back to a realization of the passing of time by a harsh voice that told of creaking nerves:

“Herr Professor, what is your pleasure to do with me, if you please?”

“I beg your pardon!”Birnier sat up.“Er—naturally I shall endeavour to get you away as early as possible. It would be as well if you took advantage of the present—er—saturnalia to escape. I cannot do much. I can provide you with a gun and food. As you are not injured you should be able to get a reasonable distance from here by morning; for the rest I am afraid you must fend for yourself. I wish that I could do more, but I’m afraid that my power is not yet sufficient to ensure any help from the natives.”

An inarticulate sound emerged from zu Pfeiffer’s mouth. Birnier’s eyes caught the sheen of the photograph upon the wall. Escape! Lucille! Almost involuntarily he stretched out a hand and took Lucille’s letter from the table. Again came zu Pfeiffer’s voice:

“I thank you, Herr Professor, but I cannot accept—for myself.”Birnier stared at him.“I wish you to understand that for myself that is impossible.”The tall figure seemed to straighten in the chair.“But as I have the honour to serve his Imperial Majesty I am bound to preserve to the best of my ability my body in order to answer for my culpable negligence which has[pg 315]resulted in the loss of my two companies. Most distinctly, Herr Professor, I wish you to know that I accept your offer in order to place myself before the Court Martial that awaits me.”

Birnier almost gasped. That this anomaly of a man, who was capable of cold-blooded murder at the prompting of an hallucination, and who now appeared equally capable of the utter annihilation of self at the service of his Imperial Master, meant what he said, Birnier did not doubt. Yet it was not anomalous. Logical in fact; the capability of supreme sacrifice for either of his idols.

“I understand you, Lieutenant,”said he courteously.“I——”The two letters in his hand crackled. Before he could master the mean desire he had handed the second letter to zu Pfeiffer with the words:

“Forgive me, I have here a letter which it is my duty to return to you.”

The sapphires winked as zu Pfeiffer held up the letter in the shaft of moonlight. There was a suppressed grunt as of pain. Zu Pfeiffer rose stiffly and walked to the door. His tall figure was silhouetted in profile against the green sky and as Birnier watched he saw a gleam as of crystal upon an eyelash. Birnier, ashamed of his sole vengeance, turned away.

But as if revenge were recoiling upon him came in the wake of that satisfied primitive instinct a surge of longing for Lucille. Lucille! Lucille! God! how he desired to see those eyes again! Feel those lips and hear the gurgle of her laughter! Sense the perfume of her hair as she murmured:“Mon petit loup!”Birnier sat holding the letter. He fought with an impulse to abandon everything to go to her—if he[pg 316]could get out! How stale and monotonous the adventure and the scientific interest suddenly seemed! After all, what had he accomplished? What could he accomplish? Even yet he had learned but little of the secrets of the witch-doctor’s craft. Perhaps there was little or nothing to learn? And zu Pfeiffer? He stared across at the portrait of Lucille. And as he gazed a wave of pity rose within him for this boy made mad by the witchery of those eyes and the music of that voice. A sentence in Lucille’s letter appeared to stand out from the context:“Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!”

And yet—and yet—— Why the devil had she taken it into her head to come out to Uganda above all places? he asked himself. She was so damnably near to him. He smiled satirically as he recollected her phrase about those fools who made of love a nuisance, and yet now what was she doing? After all the suspicion in his mind that love is everything to a woman seemed proven true.

But how adorable she was! He fingered the letter as if it were part of her. Well, she was young; success and adulation from one capital to another had interested and amused her for a few years, but when Milady had suddenly discovered that the Career bored her she had thrown up everything and logically—to her mind—expected her mate to do likewise! With what insouciance had she treated the affair of zu Pfeiffer and the youngster whom he had struck. When Birnier had met her she had had a story of a young fool count in Paris who had shot himself, merely because she would not listen to his suit; and she had protested with one of those wonderful shrugs and a moue, saying that she[pg 317]could not marry all the men in the world! That apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to make more men“crazy wild,”as she put it, about her. And that reputation had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.

He could escape if he wished—with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it. Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world? Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was nothing.

Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer’s voice speaking in the accents of agony; yet all he said was:

“Herr Professor Birnier—I am compelled—to—to apologise for …”

The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.

“Please don’t,”said Birnier comprehendingly.“I understand.”

And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie;[pg 318]not an idol of wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier’s object in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know a Bakahenzie?

From the saturnalia in progress outside came another swirl of sound seeming to lap mockingly against the motionless figure of zu Pfeiffer silhouetted against a green sky; and above him towered the idol leaning sideways.

As if in drunken laughter of the follies of black and white humanity! mused Birnier. Yet what am I doing? At the crook of a dainty finger am I, too, to bow to an idol? Am I to pity zu Pfeiffer and these children?… Savages! Good God, what am I?

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