Chapter 3

[pg 36]Chapter 3At five-thirty zu Pfeiffer was stretched in the long Bombay chair in the coolest portion of the screened verandah. On the table beside him was a tall glass, a decanter of cognac and a box of cigars; and suspended from the roof swung a canvas bag of water with a syphon attachment. A gape fly, which somehow had gotten through the screen, hit the lieutenant’s forehead, fell on to the book and whirred up against the wire.“Ach, Gott verdammt!”exclaimed zu Pfeiffer irritably and shouted:“Ho, Bakunja—la.”Instantly appeared the tall negro in white.“You son of a god! Look at that!”Bakunjala looked, leaped, and caught the fly in his hand.“Ow!”he exclaimed as the hornet stung him.“Ach, you woman of shame, catch it instantly!”Without hesitation Bakunjala made another grab, and clutching the fly tightly, made to open the screen door.“Halt!”commanded the lieutenant.Bakunjala obeyed.Zu Pfeiffer regarded the man standing with the wasp sting buried in his palm with a slight smile of amusement.“It hurts?”he inquired amiably.“Indio, Bwana!”asserted Bakunjala.[pg 37]“Good! Now stop there.”Motionless remained the negro. Zu Pfeiffer leisurely selected a fresh cigar, lighted it, stoked it, and inhaling smoke stroked his left moustache.“It still hurts?”“Indio, Bwana!”said Bakunjala with a high note in his voice.“Splendid!”assured the lieutenant: and after a full minute added:“Now you may go. And remember if you are frightened of a fly’s pain again I will give you twenty lashes.”“Indio, Bwana,”answered Bakunjala humbly and departed swiftly with the hornet in his clenched fist. Zu Pfeiffer smiled, again stared reflectively at the violet shadows creeping lazily across the square, sipped some brandy and picking up his book, began to read.…“Excellence!”Zu Pfeiffer frowned and looked round. Outside the screen stood Sergeant Schultz at the salute. Zu Pfeiffer nodded.“Well?”“Excellence,”said the sergeant at attention,“the Englishman is here.”“Ach, tell him to go——”The lieutenant drew out his gold chronometer.“It is my bath time. I cannot see him.”“Ja, Excellence.”“Wait.”Zu Pfeiffer withdrew his legs and rose.“Ach, tell the fool to come over here and wait till I have had my bath.”“Excellence!”agreed the sergeant and saluting, marched away. Zu Pfeiffer entered the bungalow. Across the square came Birnier with the sergeant who[pg 38]ushered him into the screened portion of the verandah.“His Excellence gom bresently,”said the sergeant and left him.Birnier put his Tirai hat on the table, and seeing no other, sat in the Bombay chair; looked about him; idly examined the brand on the box of cigars and smiled.“Makes himself mighty comfortable,”he remarked to himself.“Pity he appears such a boor.”He glanced at the book on the armchair.Allgemeine Geschichte der Philosophievon Prof. Dr. Paul Deussen.“And a philosopher, eh!”Having little German he turned away and lighted his pipe. After a while he began to fidget, wondering how long he was to be kept waiting.“Damn the fellow!”he muttered and picked up one of the books on the table,Les Ba-Rongas, par A. Junod, opened it at random and began to read.The shadows of one bungalow reached the verandah on the opposite side of the square. And still he read on, the dead pipe in his hand. Just as the twilight was snuffed out like a candle, a sharp step heralded the arrival of the lieutenant. Birnier rose, the book in his hand.“Good evening, sir!”“Good evening,”responded zu Pfeiffer, who was in an undress uniform of white.“What is it that you require?”“Well,”said Birnier,“first of all I must apologise for using your chair and reading your book. Most interesting, by the way.”“That is nothing,”said zu Pfeiffer as Bakunjala came in with a lamp and a chair.“Please to be seated.”[pg 39]“Thank you.”Birnier took the small chair and the lieutenant the Bombay.“I—er I—am sorry that I disturbed you this morning,”began Birnier diffidently.“But I did not know——”“That is nothing. It was the fault of the sentry. He should not have allowed you to pass.”“Regarding my application for the licence, Herr Lieutenant?”“I regret,”said zu Pfeiffer coldly, using a cigar cutter,“that I am unable to grant you the licence you ask.”“You cannot grant me a trading or shooting licence?”“I regret, no.”Birnier stared.“May I inquire why I am refused?”“You may. We do not wish undesirables in the country.”“Undesirables!”Birnier’s lips tightened.“I am afraid that I do not understand you.”The lieutenant was engaged in carefully stoking his cigar.“Will you kindly afford me a reason for—for such an insulting remark?”Zu Pfeiffer blew smoke luxuriously. Birnier stared for a moment, stuck his pipe in his mouth and bit the stem; removed it and snapped:“You can have no adequate reason for such action.… If you intend to continue this ridiculous farce I shall be compelled to make a complaint through Washington.”“Washington?”Zu Pfeiffer removed one leg[pg 40]from the chair-rest and the cigar from his mouth.“You are an American?”“I am.”“So? We understood that you were an English agent. You have papers?”“Certainly. If you wish——”“We do not demand. No. My agent was wrong. He shall be punished.”Then in an amiable voice:“I, too, have been a long time in America. Please to have a cigar, Mr. Birnier.”Birnier hesitated, puzzled.“Thank you,”he said diffidently, selected one, bit off the end and spat it into the corner. Zu Pfeiffer shuddered delicately; but as Birnier lighted his cigar he studied his face in the glow of the match; noted the breadth of the jaw, the width between the eyes and the slightly hard line at the corner of the mouth.“And forgive me!”Zu Pfeiffer shouted to Bakunjala.“I presume that you have been in Africa a long time,”he continued.“Some ten years.”“You do find the Wongolo country interesting?”“Oh, yes.”“You were there long?”“No, I had been two years in the Congo and passed through on my way to Uganda to refit.”“Ach. You permit me? You are mining?”“No.”Birnier smiled thinly.“I have a professorial job in the American Museum of Natural History, Anthropological department.”“Professor! Ach!”Zu Pfeiffer looked at him interestedly.[pg 41]“Yes. That is why I was so absorbed inLes Ba-Rongaswhich I found here. You are interested in anthropology?”“Ach, yes, I love to study the animals. I have a library—a small one, here. You must see it.”“Thank you.”“You were studying the animals’ ways and how d’you call it?—das Volkskündliches—in Wongolo?”“Yes. I do nothing else.”“So?”Bakunjala arrived with fresh glasses and vermouth.“Which do you prefer, French or Italian, Herr Professor?”“French, please.”“You will dine with me, please?”“That is very kind of you, Lieutenant.”Birnier gazed quizzically, rather amused at the complete change of manner. Quite charming when he likes, he reflected.“From what part do you come, Herr Professor?”inquired zu Pfeiffer as he set down his glass.“Oh, I’m a Southerner. Louisiana. My name is French, you know.”“Ach so? Che les aimes, les Français. Les femmes sont adorables!”“Oui, je les trouve comme ça!”agreed Birnier, smiling.“Ma femme est française.”“So? … I, too, Professor, I am in love with a Française. She is wonderful! superbe! Ach, ent zückend!”The lieutenant gazed into the warm darkness.“Always I see her—in the darkness, the—chaleur—parmis les animaux.”In the glow of the lamp, the blue eyes were soft, the feminine lips curved in a tender smile as he murmured:[pg 42]“Die Jahre kommen und gehen,Geschlechter steigen ins Grab,Doch nimmer vergeht die Liebe,Die ich im Herzen hab!Nur einmal noch möcht ich dich sehen,Und sinken vor dir aufs KnieUnd sterbend zu dir sprechen:‘Madam, ich liebe Sie!’ ”“Thank you,”said Birnier quietly.“I, too, would say that.”“Ach, sprechen Sie Deutsch?”demanded zu Pfeiffer quickly.“No, unfortunately I don’t speak it, but I understand a little; and particularly Heine.”“Ach, Gott!”The note was of satisfaction. A gong sounded. Zu Pfeiffer turned sharply:“Come, Herr Professor, let us go to dinner. You would wish to wash?”The bungalow, unusually lofty, was divided into three compartments. The ceiling, made of stout white calico, to shelter from snakes and the continual dust from the wood borers, was suspended from the rafters like the roof of a marquee tent. The centre room was furnished with cane lounge chairs like a smoking-room and decorated with skins, native musical instruments, spears and shields; drums served as small tables with elephant’s toe-nails for ash trays.In the bedroom was a brass bedstead and mosquito net. Behind was a bathroom having a corrugated cistern upon the cross beams which gave force for a shower. The towels and appointments were specklessly[pg 43]clean. When Birnier appeared he found zu Pfeiffer sprawled in the lounge. On a red lacquer tray upon a great war drum, covered with the striped skin of a zebra, was a crystal liqueur set and a large silver box of Egyptian cigarettes.“Ach, Professor,”said he,“it is good to speak to a white man again”(by which he meant an equal).“Please be seated, I beg you. A little liqueur is good for the aperitif and a cigarette; for there is no time for another cigar.”As Birnier sat he remarked the blonde head of the lieutenant in his meticulous uniform touched with gold and caught a glimpse of the jewelled bracelet of ivory and the Chinese finger-nail.Another summons of the gong brought zu Pfeiffer to his feet. As he led his guest out through the side verandah along a screened porch to the mess room, built away from the main building to keep away the plague of flies, a native girl whose close-wrapped white robes revealed a lithe figure, flitted through a doorway. The table was set in immaculate linen, aglitter with glass and decorated with a profusion of wild orchids. Behind the chairs stood two negroes in spotless white, immobile. On each plate were hors d’œuvres of anchovy and cheese upon a patterned piece of toast. Salted almonds, sweets, and olives were in green china; wine glasses of three kinds. Broiled fish followed the soup.“So, Professor,”remarked the lieutenant,“you will go back some day to Wongolo?”“Yes, I—unless I discover some tribe who have a more interesting system of—er—theology.”“They are a powerful tribe, nicht wahr?”[pg 44]“Oh yes, very. Their system ensures unity which provides for concerted action. Here I believe it is different.”“Yes, yes; they are poor here. Each village was at war with the other—before we came. Their superstitions are not—how would you say it?”“Systematised?”“Yes. They have neither any supreme chief nor god. There you see,”he added, smiling,“that autocracy is the only form of government. Democracy—pah! … I apologise, Professor!”“Please don’t,”replied Birnier,“although of course I cannot agree with you.”“But the Wongolo, they have a god and king?”“Yes, the King-Priest system. One of the most interesting I have ever encountered or read of.”“You did see the King-God, MFunya MPopo?”“Oh no. He is forbidden to be seen by a foreigner—a similar law to that of the Medes; only by the witch-doctors—and by the people once a year at a harvest festival. That is why I intend to go back. It is impossible to procure reliable statistics of their customs, practices and real beliefs without—without winning their confidence. That is my mission.”“I do not longer wonder, Herr Professor, that you were most justly annoyed. Ach, yes. But please do not worry about your ridiculous licence. It is not necessary in my jurisdiction, I assure you. You may come and go as you please, shoot what you wish. I will always be so glad to help so distinguished a professor.”“I thank you very much.”“It is nothing. And perhaps when you are there,[pg 45]you will be so kind as to write to me? To tell me things that are not known—so that I may, too, continue to study the animals—again what is it? das Volkskündliches?”“Folk-lore, isn’t it?”“Yes. Please to have some more wine, Herr Professor. Please, I insist. It is the real Mumm. That is a promise? I thank you.And if—— Were there any others—whites—when you were there?”“Only one.”“Where was he, I wonder?”“On the southern boundary.”“Near lake Kivu?”“Yes.”“Saunders,”muttered zu Pfeiffer.“I beg your pardon?”“It was nothing, but I do not like to have—aliens in my province. They are—missionaries and traders—spies.”“Indeed.”“Yes, it is always so. Herr Professor, I ask you a favour. Will you be so kind as to write to me if some other white comes into the Wongolo country?”“I shall be delighted,”said Birnier.…“Do you intend to come there some day, Herr Lieutenant?”“Ach, no, it is not—not our territory; although I should very much like to see it and to shoot. There is much elephant there?”“Oh yes, quantities.”“Please to try some of this curried egg, Herr Professor. It is excellent, I assure you. I thank you.… And rubber, is there much rubber there?”“Yes, I believe so.”[pg 46]“Now I wonder if you noticed whether it was tree or vine?”“I really couldn’t say.”Birnier smiled thinly.“I am not interested in such things.”Zu Pfeiffer glanced at him keenly and changed the subject. When they had finished the best boned chicken that Birnier had ever tasted in Africa, zu Pfeiffer rose.“Let us go to my study, Herr Professor, if you so permit, for some coffee and a little good port—and I will have the pleasure to show you my little library.”“I should be delighted,”assented Birnier willingly.Around the white walls of the cool room which was zu Pfeiffer’s study, ran low bookshelves made of native wood, containing some hundreds of volumes which had been carried five hundred miles on the heads of porters. Grass mats and leopard skins were upon the floor. In the centre, upon a heavy table, was a green shaded lamp set in a silver-mounted elephant’s foot. Upon the bookcases were various odd curios, and a coffee service in copper; and from opposite sides, marbles of Bismarck and Voltaire stared into each other’s eyes. On the south wall was a large oil of Kaiser Wilhelm II; and in the centre of the other wall a photograph of a woman set in an ivory frame made from a section of a tusk.Zu Pfeiffer strove to be more agreeable than ever. They talked mythology and folklore. With the port, zu Pfeiffer rose, an erect martial figure above the glow of the lamp.“Herr Professor!”he remarked.“I beg you.”Slightly bewildered, Birnier rose, too, glass in hand.[pg 47]Wheeling with military precision zu Pfeiffer raised his glass to the great portrait on the wall.“Ihre Hochheit!”Politely Birnier followed suit, his democratic ideas slightly astonished at the veneration of the kingly office; almost, he reflected, as curious as the native superstition of the King-God. Then zu Pfeiffer turned to the left and lifting his glass to the portrait in the ivory frame, drank silently.“I was wondering, Professor,”remarked he, as he resumed his seat without explanation,“from what college—you call it?—you come?”“Harvard,”said Birnier, rather amused and noticing that as a true connoisseur, zu Pfeiffer refrained from smoking while drinking his port.“I have met many of the Harvard men—at Washington.”“Ah, you know Washington?”“Yes, I was there nearly two years.”Zu Pfeiffer drained his port, selected a cigar, lighted it and gazed abstractedly towards the ivory frame. The lips softened and he smiled gently.“Do you know many people there?”“Oh, a few.”“Ach … I wonder.… You must know that I met her there, my divine Lucille!”“Lucille! How strange! That is my wife’s name too.”“Really?”Zu Pfeiffer still peered dreamily at the corner. He gathered up his legs and rose like an eager boy.“Permit me, Herr Professor, she is so—so——”He bent over the portrait and struck a match. Politely Birnier stooped to look. He saw a portrait of a French[pg 48]woman in an evening gown, a woman of charm with the vivacious eyes and tempting mouth of the coquette.“My God!”Birnier bent closer and stared intently. Across the corner of the photograph were written in ink in familiar characters the words: ‘à toi, Lucille.’“Lucille!”he gasped.“Lu—Good God!”He stood up abruptly.“I—What in God’s name—who is this woman?”The match fell to the floor. He was vaguely conscious of the tall white figure stiffening as a dog does.“That lady is my fiancée.”“Fiancée! She—Good God, you’re mad! She is my wife!”“Wife!… Gott verdampf, der Teufel solls holen! Das ist der Schweinhünd!”The gutturals exploded from zu Pfeiffer. The sleeve of his white jacket quivered, the arm came up to the gold braided chest and jerked out a silver whistle. He hesitated, glaring at the astonished figure of Birnier. Suddenly zu Pfeiffer sat down by the table. His blue eyes were as hard as malachite.“Sit down!”he commanded harshly.Birnier did not appear to notice him. He struck a match and bent over the photograph again.“Good God!”he muttered.“I—I—don’t understand—O God!”“Sit down!”shouted zu Pfeiffer. Birnier merely blinked at him.“Would you mind explaining?”demanded Birnier.“Explain!… Is your wife Mademoiselle Lucille Charltrain?”“Why, of course. That is her professional name.[pg 49]But how on earth has this mistake happened? I—I—that is her writing—but it can’t be. I mean it’s impossible.…”Birnier put his hand to his head.“I—God, it can’t be! I or you must be mad! Which is——”A prolonged whistle startled him. He saw the whistle at zu Pfeiffer’s lips, but the act conveyed no meaning. He turned away, struck another match and peered again at the photograph.“Lucille! Lucille!”he whispered.“What on earth——”A powerful clutch closed upon his arm. He was whirled backwards into a chair. For a moment he was too dazed to grasp what had happened. He saw zu Pfeiffer’s face. The sentries over his moustaches quivered like a row of fixed bayonets. The eyes seemed needle points. Then the fact of the assault penetrated beyond the unprecedented incident of finding his wife’s photograph in another man’s room. The ugly line about the mouth hardened. He rose slowly.“Am I to understand that you have laid your hands upon your guest?”he began, stuttering over the choice of words.“I am—I am——”The scuffle of many feet interrupted him. Into the room rushed Sergeant Schultz and several soldiers. Zu Pfeiffer stood up and pointed.“Sergeant, arrest that man!”he barked.“Ja, Excellence!”The sergeant saluted and barked at the askaris. Birnier gazed stupidly at the uniforms around him as if unable to comprehend. He looked at zu Pfeiffer who stood erect, his face lost in shadow above the lamp, and back at the soldiers.[pg 50]“Is this a joke, Lieutenant—or are you mad?”he demanded angrily.“Sergeant, put that man in the guard-room,”zu Pfeiffer commanded.Zu Pfeiffer sat down with his back to Birnier and facing the photograph. Birnier’s face twitched; he raised his arm. The sergeant barked and the line of bayonets lowered menacingly.“You gom with me, Herr American,”ordered the sergeant.Birnier controlled himself.“One moment, sergeant, please! Herr Lieutenant, on what charge do you arrest me?”The perfect lines of the white-clad back did not quiver.“Very good! I give you warning, Herr Lieutenant, that you have committed an assault upon an American citizen.”“Gom! Gom!”insisted the sergeant impatiently.Birnier raised his head and walked as indicated by the sergeant. As the footsteps plodded across the square zu Pfeiffer turned to the table, examining his left hand.“Ach!”he growled gutturally,“the dirty pig has broken my nail!”[pg 51]Chapter 4Over the city of the Snake the sun sank red dry, leaving the Place of Kings hot in the electric air of magic and world happenings. The people were still confined to their huts, trembling in the knowledge that for three days love must be eschewed, no water drawn nor any food cooked with fire; nor might any man, woman or child leave the precincts of the compound.All the night Bakuma crouched in her hut listening in awe to the swish of the ghosts through the air, to the moans, groans and howls of the wizards doing battle with them. Tightly did she hold the amulet as she strove to conceal curiosity regarding the welfare of Zalu Zako; for did her mother suspect the presence of this evil spirit would she cause Bakuma to take a decoction of the castor-oil plant in order that the demon might be expelled; and the more to aid her conquer this unlawful impulse to peep without did she most persistently recite to herself the fate of the daughter of MTasa, the foolish Tangulbala whose body had been discovered impaled upon a tree by the angry spirits of the dead, because she had rashly ventured forth the third day after the death of the grandfather of Zalu Zako. Bakuma dared not mention the name of one who had died, for, as everybody knows, such an impious person runs the risk of summoning the ghosts to their presence.[pg 52]The“putting out of the fire”had changed Bakuma’s prospects, had made Zalu Zako heir-apparent, implying half a hundred responsibilities, the chief of which was that now he was compelled to choose his official first wife, she who would be the mother of the“divine”Son of the Snake: an alteration that excited Bakuma to frantic clutching at the amulet. Would the charm work or would it not? How to insure that it would be efficacious? Marufa’s greedy demands worried her. She feared even if she obtained the goat that he might require something else as well. Anybody knows how greedy doctors are and how wealthy. He would be sure to increase the fee, knowing the value of the prize. Bakuma only possessed one really valuable article, and that was a charm against sterility; but this was the last thing that she wished to part with as the only possible occurrence that could ever divorce her from the position of chief wife, once she had won Zalu Zako, would be failure to provide the male heir. She was impatient, too, at the delay caused by the three days’ tabu. Time was important. Soon she would be under the ban of the unclean which entailed the curtailment of her liberty again, and she dreaded that possibly the charm might grow stale. The greatest need for speed was MYalu’s suit. As her father was dead she belonged to his brother. Already MYalu had offered four tusks of ivory and three oxen for her. Her uncle was lazy, mean, and greedy. Fortunately he thought that by waiting he could get double that amount. Yet MYalu might decide to pay the price demanded. Once Zalu Zako had selected her as his bride, her uncle dared not accept any other man’s offer, no matter how wealthy he might[pg 53]be; besides, the old man would not wish to refuse a relationship with the heir to the king-godhood.Again her cousin was sick. The diagnosis of Yabolo, the wizard, was that her soul had wandered in sleep down to the river and had been swallowed by a fish. Yabolo had caught the fish and lured the soul into a tree, but now he demanded such a big price to restore the errant soul to the girl that her father, Bakuma’s uncle, would not pay it, so she would surely die; then they would all have to be exorcised, which inferred a further loss of relative freedom for another four days. Indeed with all these actual and possible delays it seemed to Bakuma that some one had made much magic against her. Unless she knew who he or she was, how could she employ the same means to annul the terrible effects? And more, how could she obtain the wherewithal to pay the fees of the best doctors? Life was very complicated to the daughter of Bakala.Up on the hill of MFunya MPopo had the magicians been busy all the afternoon after the“putting out of the fire.”Zalu Zako and the chiefs also were barred from the sacred enclosure; for being mere laymen they could not hope to withstand the evil spirits of the dead. Even Bakahenzie and the inner circle of the cult were compelled to employ the most potent methods of protection to preserve them from being bewitched or slain outright.After Bakahenzie, Marufa, Yabolo and two other master magicians had released the souls of the dead King by making incisions in the body with a sacred spear to the thrumming of the drums, the mighty groaning of the other wizards, and the persistent wailing of the dead man’s wives, the corpse was borne by[pg 54]twelve doomed slaves to the temple and there interred with the gouts of blood shed by the prophetic goat, the nail parings and hair clippings of his lifetime, and his personal effects.Upon the hill of MFunya MPopo, soon to be a temple and sanctuary, sat Kawa Kendi beside the New Fire tended by Kingata Mata, facing Zalu Zako, MYalu and the lay chiefs, while upon his own hill slaves were tearing down his old hut, erecting a temporary palisade around the quarters of his wives who were forever forbidden to him, and beginning the building of the new temple.As the violet shadows were creeping from one hut to another did Bakahenzie and his satellites return from the ghoulish offices of the dead. Zalu Zako, the chiefs and magicians arose to the wild beating of the drums and the wailing chant of the hereditary troubadour with the five stringed lyre. With Kingata Mata carrying a brand of the newly lighted sacred fire, was Kawa Kendi led in procession through the deserted village to his sacred home.Under the hard stars set in a dry sapphire, the fire cast yellow flickers upon the carven features of Kawa Kendi. In the still heat the distant wailing of the women from the opposite hill drifted into the continuous throb of the drums, the plaintive wail of the singer, and the hysterical groaning of the magicians, yelling ferociously ever and again to intimidate the baulked spirits around the magic circle.Then was a white goat, previously selected from the flock of Kawa Kendi, slain by Zalu Zako, disembowelled by Bakahenzie, and the entrails rubbed upon the brow, the chest and the right arm of the slayer[pg 55]of man, a ceremony of purification designed to protect the royal executioner by appeasing the justly angry spirits of the dead; to Marufa were given other parts of the slain beast to smear likewise upon Zalu Zako, the son; and Yabolo ran screaming with portions to the quarters of the women of Kawa Kendi: for must every blood relative be so enchanted lest the vengeful ghost seek substitute victims.As a pallid moon rose, as if fearfully, above the deep ultramarine of the banana fronds, was a magic potion brewed from certain herbs in enchanted water, with which the King, Zalu Zako, his son, and the King’s wives were laved. Amid a tempest of screams and drums rose Kawa Kendi purified, to be driven by Bakahenzie and the wizards back to the hill of his father, leaving the assembled lay chiefs squatting humbly and in dread of the spirits abroad in the night. While the procession leaped and twirled, screamed and groaned to the frantic thrum of the drums through the blue darkness, the magicians ran and pranced through and around the village, seeking any blasphemer who dared to look upon sacred things; banging on hut doors and shaking thatches, the more to terrify the shrinking inhabitants.Without the gate of the old enclosure all remained, except Bakahenzie and the four wizards who encircled Kawa Kendi and Kingata Mata and hustled them across the clearing. With his back to the dim form of the idol stood Kawa Kendi as behind it grouped the master magicians. From the base Bakahenzie took two large gourds and gave them into the keeping of Kingata Mata.Came an abrupt cessation of the drums and cries.[pg 56]The wailing of the women behind the temple died. The tense air pulsed with electricity. A cock crowed feebly in the village. Then at a rippling splash of the drums and the sudden screaming of the wizards, they began to push the idol. The base had already been loosened in the earth by the slaves. The idol began to totter. Louder screeched the magicians; faster fled the drums. Slowly the idol leaned and subsided on to the shoulders of Kawa Kendi. Grasping the mass firmly upon his bent back, he bore the burden out of the enclosure and down the hill.Behind his unsteady steps pranced and yelled the doctors with more prodigious a noise than ever before as they scourged the King’s legs and arms with cords of fibre. Through the listening village panted the King. As he gasped slowly up the hill the thrashing was redoubled. But into the new enclosure the King staggered, let slide the heavy mass into a hole prepared for the sacred feet and, gleaming blue points of sweat in the faint moon, let out a hoarse yell, proving to the assembly of magicians and chiefs that he was powerful enough to bear the burden of the world and moreover that none could wrest his office from him.No time was given for the incarnation of a god to recoup from his labours. The motive principle of the accusation and for the death of the king was the drought. That only concerned the soul of the tribe in the person of Bakahenzie. For him and his brothers of the inner cult, while certain pretensions of power over the supernatural were for the“good of the people,”the truths of magic and divine functions were inviolable. The person of Kawa Kendi, heretofore merely one in whom was a potentiality, became after the[pg 57]purification and“coronation”the very incarnation of the god. Kawa Kendi had crossed from the comparative safe haven of the potential into divine activity.Also there were, as ever, political reasons for the hastening of the offices of the god. Should the new King-God fail, as his father had done, to accomplish the duties of the rainmaker, then, as no precedent had ever been known for the failure of two kings in succession, an enemy might accuse Bakahenzie of having committed some sacrilege which had displeased the Unmentionable One. Politics and religion are often inseparable. Therefore, as soon as Zalu Zako had witnessed the ascent of his father into the dangerous zone of the gods, was he bidden as the victim apparent, to produce the sacred rain-making paraphernalia. From the Keeper of the Fire, Kingata Mata, Zalu Zako received one of the large gourds, which he deposited at the feet of his father squatting before the sacred fire, and retired to his allotted place among the other lay chiefs. Only Bakahenzie and the four of the inner cult were permitted within the enclosure.Fumbling within the pot Kawa Kendi produced a bundle of twigs tied with banana fibre, which he unbound and cast into the fire. The herbs smouldered and sent up a pungent smoke forming a heavy cloud like some strange blue tree sheltering the form of the idol against the green sky. Save for the faint wailing of the distant women there was silence, in which an owl screeched harshly, a good omen. Little flames flickered. The smoke grew denser, obliterating the figure of the King. The drums began to mutter, Bakahenzie cried out in a loud voice:[pg 58]“O great God, the Unmentionable One! let thy powers be made manifest!”The Keeper of the Fires came forward upon his hands and thrust the other sacred gourd in front of the King, a deep one containing water, and a wand made from a sacred tree which had upon the end a crook. To the groaning of the magicians, the King took from the one gourd two stones of quartz and granite, the male and the female, and spat upon each one, thus placing part of his royal body upon them; then did he put them on the ground, and pouring water, chanted:“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hands!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Make love together in the shade of great Tarum,Of him whom fear of me hath frozen the breath!”“Ough! Ough!”grunted the priests and magicians.“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Love one another that the crops of our landMay marry as well and be as fruitful as thee!”“Ough! Ough!”“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Rise high up to heaven and mount on the black backOf the bird of the wet wind: poke your hands in his eyes!”“Ough! Ough!”[pg 59]Save for the distant wailing, there was the silence of those waiting for a miracle. In the sky, at the back of the idol, was the paling of dawn. Suddenly, as if exasperated by the non-obedience of the elements, Kawa Kendi sprang to his feet, with the magic wand in his right hand, turned and stared apparently into the face of the idol. For a full two minutes he stood as if carven, while the doctors and the chiefs moaned dismally. Around him like a pall still hovered the smoke of the magic fire. From the village a cock’s challenge was answered from point to point. Then shooting out his right hand, Kawa Kendi made gestures as if hooking something invisible and began to scream furiously:“Thus do I, the One-not-to-be-mentioned,Drag forth from the belly of heavenThe disobedient One, the lazy One!The insolent One who sinneth in sleep!The black-snouted One whose udders are choked!The womanly One whose nipples are dry!The sluttish One who refuseth her milk!The gorbellied One whose voice is a wind!Come forth, lest I give thee sorrow and pain!And make thee to weep the bitterest tears!Come forth, lest I tear out thy black bosom!Tear out thy guts for a feast unto Tarum!Come forth, lest I throw off the yoke of the burdenOf the Earth and the Sky upon thy sweating black belly!”In a slight puff of wind, the smoke, lace-edged with the dawn light, swayed, seeming to twine about the[pg 60]figure of the King as he stood with the wand outheld, as if firmly hooked in the guts of the recalcitrant elements.Against the rose of the dawn appeared a dark line which increased as the magicians and chiefs moaned and groaned in sympathy with the furious efforts of the rainmaker, who threatened and pulled with the magic crook, so that everybody could see that he was indeed dragging the reluctant clouds from over the end of the earth. As the dark mass swelled the more he wrestled and screamed abuse at the dilatory spirit of the rain.And behold, within half an hour, great black spirits sailed across the scarlet sunrise and wept exceeding bitterly; while from the village went up a great shout of praise to the triumphant King still prancing and cursing to such good effect up on the hill.

At five-thirty zu Pfeiffer was stretched in the long Bombay chair in the coolest portion of the screened verandah. On the table beside him was a tall glass, a decanter of cognac and a box of cigars; and suspended from the roof swung a canvas bag of water with a syphon attachment. A gape fly, which somehow had gotten through the screen, hit the lieutenant’s forehead, fell on to the book and whirred up against the wire.

“Ach, Gott verdammt!”exclaimed zu Pfeiffer irritably and shouted:“Ho, Bakunja—la.”Instantly appeared the tall negro in white.“You son of a god! Look at that!”

Bakunjala looked, leaped, and caught the fly in his hand.

“Ow!”he exclaimed as the hornet stung him.

“Ach, you woman of shame, catch it instantly!”

Without hesitation Bakunjala made another grab, and clutching the fly tightly, made to open the screen door.

“Halt!”commanded the lieutenant.

Bakunjala obeyed.

Zu Pfeiffer regarded the man standing with the wasp sting buried in his palm with a slight smile of amusement.

“It hurts?”he inquired amiably.

“Indio, Bwana!”asserted Bakunjala.

“Good! Now stop there.”

Motionless remained the negro. Zu Pfeiffer leisurely selected a fresh cigar, lighted it, stoked it, and inhaling smoke stroked his left moustache.

“It still hurts?”

“Indio, Bwana!”said Bakunjala with a high note in his voice.

“Splendid!”assured the lieutenant: and after a full minute added:“Now you may go. And remember if you are frightened of a fly’s pain again I will give you twenty lashes.”

“Indio, Bwana,”answered Bakunjala humbly and departed swiftly with the hornet in his clenched fist. Zu Pfeiffer smiled, again stared reflectively at the violet shadows creeping lazily across the square, sipped some brandy and picking up his book, began to read.…

“Excellence!”

Zu Pfeiffer frowned and looked round. Outside the screen stood Sergeant Schultz at the salute. Zu Pfeiffer nodded.

“Well?”

“Excellence,”said the sergeant at attention,“the Englishman is here.”

“Ach, tell him to go——”The lieutenant drew out his gold chronometer.“It is my bath time. I cannot see him.”

“Ja, Excellence.”

“Wait.”Zu Pfeiffer withdrew his legs and rose.“Ach, tell the fool to come over here and wait till I have had my bath.”

“Excellence!”agreed the sergeant and saluting, marched away. Zu Pfeiffer entered the bungalow. Across the square came Birnier with the sergeant who[pg 38]ushered him into the screened portion of the verandah.

“His Excellence gom bresently,”said the sergeant and left him.

Birnier put his Tirai hat on the table, and seeing no other, sat in the Bombay chair; looked about him; idly examined the brand on the box of cigars and smiled.“Makes himself mighty comfortable,”he remarked to himself.“Pity he appears such a boor.”He glanced at the book on the armchair.Allgemeine Geschichte der Philosophievon Prof. Dr. Paul Deussen.“And a philosopher, eh!”Having little German he turned away and lighted his pipe. After a while he began to fidget, wondering how long he was to be kept waiting.“Damn the fellow!”he muttered and picked up one of the books on the table,Les Ba-Rongas, par A. Junod, opened it at random and began to read.

The shadows of one bungalow reached the verandah on the opposite side of the square. And still he read on, the dead pipe in his hand. Just as the twilight was snuffed out like a candle, a sharp step heralded the arrival of the lieutenant. Birnier rose, the book in his hand.

“Good evening, sir!”

“Good evening,”responded zu Pfeiffer, who was in an undress uniform of white.“What is it that you require?”

“Well,”said Birnier,“first of all I must apologise for using your chair and reading your book. Most interesting, by the way.”

“That is nothing,”said zu Pfeiffer as Bakunjala came in with a lamp and a chair.“Please to be seated.”

“Thank you.”

Birnier took the small chair and the lieutenant the Bombay.

“I—er I—am sorry that I disturbed you this morning,”began Birnier diffidently.“But I did not know——”

“That is nothing. It was the fault of the sentry. He should not have allowed you to pass.”

“Regarding my application for the licence, Herr Lieutenant?”

“I regret,”said zu Pfeiffer coldly, using a cigar cutter,“that I am unable to grant you the licence you ask.”

“You cannot grant me a trading or shooting licence?”

“I regret, no.”

Birnier stared.

“May I inquire why I am refused?”

“You may. We do not wish undesirables in the country.”

“Undesirables!”Birnier’s lips tightened.“I am afraid that I do not understand you.”The lieutenant was engaged in carefully stoking his cigar.“Will you kindly afford me a reason for—for such an insulting remark?”

Zu Pfeiffer blew smoke luxuriously. Birnier stared for a moment, stuck his pipe in his mouth and bit the stem; removed it and snapped:

“You can have no adequate reason for such action.… If you intend to continue this ridiculous farce I shall be compelled to make a complaint through Washington.”

“Washington?”Zu Pfeiffer removed one leg[pg 40]from the chair-rest and the cigar from his mouth.“You are an American?”

“I am.”

“So? We understood that you were an English agent. You have papers?”

“Certainly. If you wish——”

“We do not demand. No. My agent was wrong. He shall be punished.”Then in an amiable voice:“I, too, have been a long time in America. Please to have a cigar, Mr. Birnier.”

Birnier hesitated, puzzled.

“Thank you,”he said diffidently, selected one, bit off the end and spat it into the corner. Zu Pfeiffer shuddered delicately; but as Birnier lighted his cigar he studied his face in the glow of the match; noted the breadth of the jaw, the width between the eyes and the slightly hard line at the corner of the mouth.

“And forgive me!”Zu Pfeiffer shouted to Bakunjala.“I presume that you have been in Africa a long time,”he continued.

“Some ten years.”

“You do find the Wongolo country interesting?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You were there long?”

“No, I had been two years in the Congo and passed through on my way to Uganda to refit.”

“Ach. You permit me? You are mining?”

“No.”Birnier smiled thinly.“I have a professorial job in the American Museum of Natural History, Anthropological department.”

“Professor! Ach!”Zu Pfeiffer looked at him interestedly.

“Yes. That is why I was so absorbed inLes Ba-Rongaswhich I found here. You are interested in anthropology?”

“Ach, yes, I love to study the animals. I have a library—a small one, here. You must see it.”

“Thank you.”

“You were studying the animals’ ways and how d’you call it?—das Volkskündliches—in Wongolo?”

“Yes. I do nothing else.”

“So?”Bakunjala arrived with fresh glasses and vermouth.“Which do you prefer, French or Italian, Herr Professor?”

“French, please.”

“You will dine with me, please?”

“That is very kind of you, Lieutenant.”Birnier gazed quizzically, rather amused at the complete change of manner. Quite charming when he likes, he reflected.

“From what part do you come, Herr Professor?”inquired zu Pfeiffer as he set down his glass.

“Oh, I’m a Southerner. Louisiana. My name is French, you know.”

“Ach so? Che les aimes, les Français. Les femmes sont adorables!”

“Oui, je les trouve comme ça!”agreed Birnier, smiling.“Ma femme est française.”

“So? … I, too, Professor, I am in love with a Française. She is wonderful! superbe! Ach, ent zückend!”The lieutenant gazed into the warm darkness.“Always I see her—in the darkness, the—chaleur—parmis les animaux.”In the glow of the lamp, the blue eyes were soft, the feminine lips curved in a tender smile as he murmured:

“Die Jahre kommen und gehen,Geschlechter steigen ins Grab,Doch nimmer vergeht die Liebe,Die ich im Herzen hab!Nur einmal noch möcht ich dich sehen,Und sinken vor dir aufs KnieUnd sterbend zu dir sprechen:‘Madam, ich liebe Sie!’ ”

“Die Jahre kommen und gehen,

Geschlechter steigen ins Grab,

Doch nimmer vergeht die Liebe,

Die ich im Herzen hab!

Nur einmal noch möcht ich dich sehen,

Und sinken vor dir aufs Knie

Und sterbend zu dir sprechen:

‘Madam, ich liebe Sie!’ ”

“Thank you,”said Birnier quietly.“I, too, would say that.”

“Ach, sprechen Sie Deutsch?”demanded zu Pfeiffer quickly.

“No, unfortunately I don’t speak it, but I understand a little; and particularly Heine.”

“Ach, Gott!”

The note was of satisfaction. A gong sounded. Zu Pfeiffer turned sharply:“Come, Herr Professor, let us go to dinner. You would wish to wash?”

The bungalow, unusually lofty, was divided into three compartments. The ceiling, made of stout white calico, to shelter from snakes and the continual dust from the wood borers, was suspended from the rafters like the roof of a marquee tent. The centre room was furnished with cane lounge chairs like a smoking-room and decorated with skins, native musical instruments, spears and shields; drums served as small tables with elephant’s toe-nails for ash trays.

In the bedroom was a brass bedstead and mosquito net. Behind was a bathroom having a corrugated cistern upon the cross beams which gave force for a shower. The towels and appointments were specklessly[pg 43]clean. When Birnier appeared he found zu Pfeiffer sprawled in the lounge. On a red lacquer tray upon a great war drum, covered with the striped skin of a zebra, was a crystal liqueur set and a large silver box of Egyptian cigarettes.

“Ach, Professor,”said he,“it is good to speak to a white man again”(by which he meant an equal).“Please be seated, I beg you. A little liqueur is good for the aperitif and a cigarette; for there is no time for another cigar.”

As Birnier sat he remarked the blonde head of the lieutenant in his meticulous uniform touched with gold and caught a glimpse of the jewelled bracelet of ivory and the Chinese finger-nail.

Another summons of the gong brought zu Pfeiffer to his feet. As he led his guest out through the side verandah along a screened porch to the mess room, built away from the main building to keep away the plague of flies, a native girl whose close-wrapped white robes revealed a lithe figure, flitted through a doorway. The table was set in immaculate linen, aglitter with glass and decorated with a profusion of wild orchids. Behind the chairs stood two negroes in spotless white, immobile. On each plate were hors d’œuvres of anchovy and cheese upon a patterned piece of toast. Salted almonds, sweets, and olives were in green china; wine glasses of three kinds. Broiled fish followed the soup.

“So, Professor,”remarked the lieutenant,“you will go back some day to Wongolo?”

“Yes, I—unless I discover some tribe who have a more interesting system of—er—theology.”

“They are a powerful tribe, nicht wahr?”

“Oh yes, very. Their system ensures unity which provides for concerted action. Here I believe it is different.”

“Yes, yes; they are poor here. Each village was at war with the other—before we came. Their superstitions are not—how would you say it?”

“Systematised?”

“Yes. They have neither any supreme chief nor god. There you see,”he added, smiling,“that autocracy is the only form of government. Democracy—pah! … I apologise, Professor!”

“Please don’t,”replied Birnier,“although of course I cannot agree with you.”

“But the Wongolo, they have a god and king?”

“Yes, the King-Priest system. One of the most interesting I have ever encountered or read of.”

“You did see the King-God, MFunya MPopo?”

“Oh no. He is forbidden to be seen by a foreigner—a similar law to that of the Medes; only by the witch-doctors—and by the people once a year at a harvest festival. That is why I intend to go back. It is impossible to procure reliable statistics of their customs, practices and real beliefs without—without winning their confidence. That is my mission.”

“I do not longer wonder, Herr Professor, that you were most justly annoyed. Ach, yes. But please do not worry about your ridiculous licence. It is not necessary in my jurisdiction, I assure you. You may come and go as you please, shoot what you wish. I will always be so glad to help so distinguished a professor.”

“I thank you very much.”

“It is nothing. And perhaps when you are there,[pg 45]you will be so kind as to write to me? To tell me things that are not known—so that I may, too, continue to study the animals—again what is it? das Volkskündliches?”

“Folk-lore, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Please to have some more wine, Herr Professor. Please, I insist. It is the real Mumm. That is a promise? I thank you.And if—— Were there any others—whites—when you were there?”

“Only one.”

“Where was he, I wonder?”

“On the southern boundary.”

“Near lake Kivu?”

“Yes.”

“Saunders,”muttered zu Pfeiffer.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was nothing, but I do not like to have—aliens in my province. They are—missionaries and traders—spies.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, it is always so. Herr Professor, I ask you a favour. Will you be so kind as to write to me if some other white comes into the Wongolo country?”

“I shall be delighted,”said Birnier.…“Do you intend to come there some day, Herr Lieutenant?”

“Ach, no, it is not—not our territory; although I should very much like to see it and to shoot. There is much elephant there?”

“Oh yes, quantities.”

“Please to try some of this curried egg, Herr Professor. It is excellent, I assure you. I thank you.… And rubber, is there much rubber there?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Now I wonder if you noticed whether it was tree or vine?”

“I really couldn’t say.”Birnier smiled thinly.“I am not interested in such things.”

Zu Pfeiffer glanced at him keenly and changed the subject. When they had finished the best boned chicken that Birnier had ever tasted in Africa, zu Pfeiffer rose.

“Let us go to my study, Herr Professor, if you so permit, for some coffee and a little good port—and I will have the pleasure to show you my little library.”

“I should be delighted,”assented Birnier willingly.

Around the white walls of the cool room which was zu Pfeiffer’s study, ran low bookshelves made of native wood, containing some hundreds of volumes which had been carried five hundred miles on the heads of porters. Grass mats and leopard skins were upon the floor. In the centre, upon a heavy table, was a green shaded lamp set in a silver-mounted elephant’s foot. Upon the bookcases were various odd curios, and a coffee service in copper; and from opposite sides, marbles of Bismarck and Voltaire stared into each other’s eyes. On the south wall was a large oil of Kaiser Wilhelm II; and in the centre of the other wall a photograph of a woman set in an ivory frame made from a section of a tusk.

Zu Pfeiffer strove to be more agreeable than ever. They talked mythology and folklore. With the port, zu Pfeiffer rose, an erect martial figure above the glow of the lamp.

“Herr Professor!”he remarked.“I beg you.”

Slightly bewildered, Birnier rose, too, glass in hand.[pg 47]Wheeling with military precision zu Pfeiffer raised his glass to the great portrait on the wall.

“Ihre Hochheit!”

Politely Birnier followed suit, his democratic ideas slightly astonished at the veneration of the kingly office; almost, he reflected, as curious as the native superstition of the King-God. Then zu Pfeiffer turned to the left and lifting his glass to the portrait in the ivory frame, drank silently.

“I was wondering, Professor,”remarked he, as he resumed his seat without explanation,“from what college—you call it?—you come?”

“Harvard,”said Birnier, rather amused and noticing that as a true connoisseur, zu Pfeiffer refrained from smoking while drinking his port.

“I have met many of the Harvard men—at Washington.”

“Ah, you know Washington?”

“Yes, I was there nearly two years.”

Zu Pfeiffer drained his port, selected a cigar, lighted it and gazed abstractedly towards the ivory frame. The lips softened and he smiled gently.

“Do you know many people there?”

“Oh, a few.”

“Ach … I wonder.… You must know that I met her there, my divine Lucille!”

“Lucille! How strange! That is my wife’s name too.”

“Really?”Zu Pfeiffer still peered dreamily at the corner. He gathered up his legs and rose like an eager boy.“Permit me, Herr Professor, she is so—so——”He bent over the portrait and struck a match. Politely Birnier stooped to look. He saw a portrait of a French[pg 48]woman in an evening gown, a woman of charm with the vivacious eyes and tempting mouth of the coquette.

“My God!”

Birnier bent closer and stared intently. Across the corner of the photograph were written in ink in familiar characters the words: ‘à toi, Lucille.’

“Lucille!”he gasped.“Lu—Good God!”He stood up abruptly.“I—What in God’s name—who is this woman?”

The match fell to the floor. He was vaguely conscious of the tall white figure stiffening as a dog does.

“That lady is my fiancée.”

“Fiancée! She—Good God, you’re mad! She is my wife!”

“Wife!… Gott verdampf, der Teufel solls holen! Das ist der Schweinhünd!”

The gutturals exploded from zu Pfeiffer. The sleeve of his white jacket quivered, the arm came up to the gold braided chest and jerked out a silver whistle. He hesitated, glaring at the astonished figure of Birnier. Suddenly zu Pfeiffer sat down by the table. His blue eyes were as hard as malachite.

“Sit down!”he commanded harshly.

Birnier did not appear to notice him. He struck a match and bent over the photograph again.

“Good God!”he muttered.“I—I—don’t understand—O God!”

“Sit down!”shouted zu Pfeiffer. Birnier merely blinked at him.

“Would you mind explaining?”demanded Birnier.

“Explain!… Is your wife Mademoiselle Lucille Charltrain?”

“Why, of course. That is her professional name.[pg 49]But how on earth has this mistake happened? I—I—that is her writing—but it can’t be. I mean it’s impossible.…”Birnier put his hand to his head.“I—God, it can’t be! I or you must be mad! Which is——”

A prolonged whistle startled him. He saw the whistle at zu Pfeiffer’s lips, but the act conveyed no meaning. He turned away, struck another match and peered again at the photograph.

“Lucille! Lucille!”he whispered.“What on earth——”

A powerful clutch closed upon his arm. He was whirled backwards into a chair. For a moment he was too dazed to grasp what had happened. He saw zu Pfeiffer’s face. The sentries over his moustaches quivered like a row of fixed bayonets. The eyes seemed needle points. Then the fact of the assault penetrated beyond the unprecedented incident of finding his wife’s photograph in another man’s room. The ugly line about the mouth hardened. He rose slowly.

“Am I to understand that you have laid your hands upon your guest?”he began, stuttering over the choice of words.“I am—I am——”

The scuffle of many feet interrupted him. Into the room rushed Sergeant Schultz and several soldiers. Zu Pfeiffer stood up and pointed.

“Sergeant, arrest that man!”he barked.

“Ja, Excellence!”

The sergeant saluted and barked at the askaris. Birnier gazed stupidly at the uniforms around him as if unable to comprehend. He looked at zu Pfeiffer who stood erect, his face lost in shadow above the lamp, and back at the soldiers.

“Is this a joke, Lieutenant—or are you mad?”he demanded angrily.

“Sergeant, put that man in the guard-room,”zu Pfeiffer commanded.

Zu Pfeiffer sat down with his back to Birnier and facing the photograph. Birnier’s face twitched; he raised his arm. The sergeant barked and the line of bayonets lowered menacingly.

“You gom with me, Herr American,”ordered the sergeant.

Birnier controlled himself.

“One moment, sergeant, please! Herr Lieutenant, on what charge do you arrest me?”The perfect lines of the white-clad back did not quiver.“Very good! I give you warning, Herr Lieutenant, that you have committed an assault upon an American citizen.”

“Gom! Gom!”insisted the sergeant impatiently.

Birnier raised his head and walked as indicated by the sergeant. As the footsteps plodded across the square zu Pfeiffer turned to the table, examining his left hand.

“Ach!”he growled gutturally,“the dirty pig has broken my nail!”

[pg 51]Chapter 4Over the city of the Snake the sun sank red dry, leaving the Place of Kings hot in the electric air of magic and world happenings. The people were still confined to their huts, trembling in the knowledge that for three days love must be eschewed, no water drawn nor any food cooked with fire; nor might any man, woman or child leave the precincts of the compound.All the night Bakuma crouched in her hut listening in awe to the swish of the ghosts through the air, to the moans, groans and howls of the wizards doing battle with them. Tightly did she hold the amulet as she strove to conceal curiosity regarding the welfare of Zalu Zako; for did her mother suspect the presence of this evil spirit would she cause Bakuma to take a decoction of the castor-oil plant in order that the demon might be expelled; and the more to aid her conquer this unlawful impulse to peep without did she most persistently recite to herself the fate of the daughter of MTasa, the foolish Tangulbala whose body had been discovered impaled upon a tree by the angry spirits of the dead, because she had rashly ventured forth the third day after the death of the grandfather of Zalu Zako. Bakuma dared not mention the name of one who had died, for, as everybody knows, such an impious person runs the risk of summoning the ghosts to their presence.[pg 52]The“putting out of the fire”had changed Bakuma’s prospects, had made Zalu Zako heir-apparent, implying half a hundred responsibilities, the chief of which was that now he was compelled to choose his official first wife, she who would be the mother of the“divine”Son of the Snake: an alteration that excited Bakuma to frantic clutching at the amulet. Would the charm work or would it not? How to insure that it would be efficacious? Marufa’s greedy demands worried her. She feared even if she obtained the goat that he might require something else as well. Anybody knows how greedy doctors are and how wealthy. He would be sure to increase the fee, knowing the value of the prize. Bakuma only possessed one really valuable article, and that was a charm against sterility; but this was the last thing that she wished to part with as the only possible occurrence that could ever divorce her from the position of chief wife, once she had won Zalu Zako, would be failure to provide the male heir. She was impatient, too, at the delay caused by the three days’ tabu. Time was important. Soon she would be under the ban of the unclean which entailed the curtailment of her liberty again, and she dreaded that possibly the charm might grow stale. The greatest need for speed was MYalu’s suit. As her father was dead she belonged to his brother. Already MYalu had offered four tusks of ivory and three oxen for her. Her uncle was lazy, mean, and greedy. Fortunately he thought that by waiting he could get double that amount. Yet MYalu might decide to pay the price demanded. Once Zalu Zako had selected her as his bride, her uncle dared not accept any other man’s offer, no matter how wealthy he might[pg 53]be; besides, the old man would not wish to refuse a relationship with the heir to the king-godhood.Again her cousin was sick. The diagnosis of Yabolo, the wizard, was that her soul had wandered in sleep down to the river and had been swallowed by a fish. Yabolo had caught the fish and lured the soul into a tree, but now he demanded such a big price to restore the errant soul to the girl that her father, Bakuma’s uncle, would not pay it, so she would surely die; then they would all have to be exorcised, which inferred a further loss of relative freedom for another four days. Indeed with all these actual and possible delays it seemed to Bakuma that some one had made much magic against her. Unless she knew who he or she was, how could she employ the same means to annul the terrible effects? And more, how could she obtain the wherewithal to pay the fees of the best doctors? Life was very complicated to the daughter of Bakala.Up on the hill of MFunya MPopo had the magicians been busy all the afternoon after the“putting out of the fire.”Zalu Zako and the chiefs also were barred from the sacred enclosure; for being mere laymen they could not hope to withstand the evil spirits of the dead. Even Bakahenzie and the inner circle of the cult were compelled to employ the most potent methods of protection to preserve them from being bewitched or slain outright.After Bakahenzie, Marufa, Yabolo and two other master magicians had released the souls of the dead King by making incisions in the body with a sacred spear to the thrumming of the drums, the mighty groaning of the other wizards, and the persistent wailing of the dead man’s wives, the corpse was borne by[pg 54]twelve doomed slaves to the temple and there interred with the gouts of blood shed by the prophetic goat, the nail parings and hair clippings of his lifetime, and his personal effects.Upon the hill of MFunya MPopo, soon to be a temple and sanctuary, sat Kawa Kendi beside the New Fire tended by Kingata Mata, facing Zalu Zako, MYalu and the lay chiefs, while upon his own hill slaves were tearing down his old hut, erecting a temporary palisade around the quarters of his wives who were forever forbidden to him, and beginning the building of the new temple.As the violet shadows were creeping from one hut to another did Bakahenzie and his satellites return from the ghoulish offices of the dead. Zalu Zako, the chiefs and magicians arose to the wild beating of the drums and the wailing chant of the hereditary troubadour with the five stringed lyre. With Kingata Mata carrying a brand of the newly lighted sacred fire, was Kawa Kendi led in procession through the deserted village to his sacred home.Under the hard stars set in a dry sapphire, the fire cast yellow flickers upon the carven features of Kawa Kendi. In the still heat the distant wailing of the women from the opposite hill drifted into the continuous throb of the drums, the plaintive wail of the singer, and the hysterical groaning of the magicians, yelling ferociously ever and again to intimidate the baulked spirits around the magic circle.Then was a white goat, previously selected from the flock of Kawa Kendi, slain by Zalu Zako, disembowelled by Bakahenzie, and the entrails rubbed upon the brow, the chest and the right arm of the slayer[pg 55]of man, a ceremony of purification designed to protect the royal executioner by appeasing the justly angry spirits of the dead; to Marufa were given other parts of the slain beast to smear likewise upon Zalu Zako, the son; and Yabolo ran screaming with portions to the quarters of the women of Kawa Kendi: for must every blood relative be so enchanted lest the vengeful ghost seek substitute victims.As a pallid moon rose, as if fearfully, above the deep ultramarine of the banana fronds, was a magic potion brewed from certain herbs in enchanted water, with which the King, Zalu Zako, his son, and the King’s wives were laved. Amid a tempest of screams and drums rose Kawa Kendi purified, to be driven by Bakahenzie and the wizards back to the hill of his father, leaving the assembled lay chiefs squatting humbly and in dread of the spirits abroad in the night. While the procession leaped and twirled, screamed and groaned to the frantic thrum of the drums through the blue darkness, the magicians ran and pranced through and around the village, seeking any blasphemer who dared to look upon sacred things; banging on hut doors and shaking thatches, the more to terrify the shrinking inhabitants.Without the gate of the old enclosure all remained, except Bakahenzie and the four wizards who encircled Kawa Kendi and Kingata Mata and hustled them across the clearing. With his back to the dim form of the idol stood Kawa Kendi as behind it grouped the master magicians. From the base Bakahenzie took two large gourds and gave them into the keeping of Kingata Mata.Came an abrupt cessation of the drums and cries.[pg 56]The wailing of the women behind the temple died. The tense air pulsed with electricity. A cock crowed feebly in the village. Then at a rippling splash of the drums and the sudden screaming of the wizards, they began to push the idol. The base had already been loosened in the earth by the slaves. The idol began to totter. Louder screeched the magicians; faster fled the drums. Slowly the idol leaned and subsided on to the shoulders of Kawa Kendi. Grasping the mass firmly upon his bent back, he bore the burden out of the enclosure and down the hill.Behind his unsteady steps pranced and yelled the doctors with more prodigious a noise than ever before as they scourged the King’s legs and arms with cords of fibre. Through the listening village panted the King. As he gasped slowly up the hill the thrashing was redoubled. But into the new enclosure the King staggered, let slide the heavy mass into a hole prepared for the sacred feet and, gleaming blue points of sweat in the faint moon, let out a hoarse yell, proving to the assembly of magicians and chiefs that he was powerful enough to bear the burden of the world and moreover that none could wrest his office from him.No time was given for the incarnation of a god to recoup from his labours. The motive principle of the accusation and for the death of the king was the drought. That only concerned the soul of the tribe in the person of Bakahenzie. For him and his brothers of the inner cult, while certain pretensions of power over the supernatural were for the“good of the people,”the truths of magic and divine functions were inviolable. The person of Kawa Kendi, heretofore merely one in whom was a potentiality, became after the[pg 57]purification and“coronation”the very incarnation of the god. Kawa Kendi had crossed from the comparative safe haven of the potential into divine activity.Also there were, as ever, political reasons for the hastening of the offices of the god. Should the new King-God fail, as his father had done, to accomplish the duties of the rainmaker, then, as no precedent had ever been known for the failure of two kings in succession, an enemy might accuse Bakahenzie of having committed some sacrilege which had displeased the Unmentionable One. Politics and religion are often inseparable. Therefore, as soon as Zalu Zako had witnessed the ascent of his father into the dangerous zone of the gods, was he bidden as the victim apparent, to produce the sacred rain-making paraphernalia. From the Keeper of the Fire, Kingata Mata, Zalu Zako received one of the large gourds, which he deposited at the feet of his father squatting before the sacred fire, and retired to his allotted place among the other lay chiefs. Only Bakahenzie and the four of the inner cult were permitted within the enclosure.Fumbling within the pot Kawa Kendi produced a bundle of twigs tied with banana fibre, which he unbound and cast into the fire. The herbs smouldered and sent up a pungent smoke forming a heavy cloud like some strange blue tree sheltering the form of the idol against the green sky. Save for the faint wailing of the distant women there was silence, in which an owl screeched harshly, a good omen. Little flames flickered. The smoke grew denser, obliterating the figure of the King. The drums began to mutter, Bakahenzie cried out in a loud voice:[pg 58]“O great God, the Unmentionable One! let thy powers be made manifest!”The Keeper of the Fires came forward upon his hands and thrust the other sacred gourd in front of the King, a deep one containing water, and a wand made from a sacred tree which had upon the end a crook. To the groaning of the magicians, the King took from the one gourd two stones of quartz and granite, the male and the female, and spat upon each one, thus placing part of his royal body upon them; then did he put them on the ground, and pouring water, chanted:“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hands!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Make love together in the shade of great Tarum,Of him whom fear of me hath frozen the breath!”“Ough! Ough!”grunted the priests and magicians.“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Love one another that the crops of our landMay marry as well and be as fruitful as thee!”“Ough! Ough!”“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Rise high up to heaven and mount on the black backOf the bird of the wet wind: poke your hands in his eyes!”“Ough! Ough!”[pg 59]Save for the distant wailing, there was the silence of those waiting for a miracle. In the sky, at the back of the idol, was the paling of dawn. Suddenly, as if exasperated by the non-obedience of the elements, Kawa Kendi sprang to his feet, with the magic wand in his right hand, turned and stared apparently into the face of the idol. For a full two minutes he stood as if carven, while the doctors and the chiefs moaned dismally. Around him like a pall still hovered the smoke of the magic fire. From the village a cock’s challenge was answered from point to point. Then shooting out his right hand, Kawa Kendi made gestures as if hooking something invisible and began to scream furiously:“Thus do I, the One-not-to-be-mentioned,Drag forth from the belly of heavenThe disobedient One, the lazy One!The insolent One who sinneth in sleep!The black-snouted One whose udders are choked!The womanly One whose nipples are dry!The sluttish One who refuseth her milk!The gorbellied One whose voice is a wind!Come forth, lest I give thee sorrow and pain!And make thee to weep the bitterest tears!Come forth, lest I tear out thy black bosom!Tear out thy guts for a feast unto Tarum!Come forth, lest I throw off the yoke of the burdenOf the Earth and the Sky upon thy sweating black belly!”In a slight puff of wind, the smoke, lace-edged with the dawn light, swayed, seeming to twine about the[pg 60]figure of the King as he stood with the wand outheld, as if firmly hooked in the guts of the recalcitrant elements.Against the rose of the dawn appeared a dark line which increased as the magicians and chiefs moaned and groaned in sympathy with the furious efforts of the rainmaker, who threatened and pulled with the magic crook, so that everybody could see that he was indeed dragging the reluctant clouds from over the end of the earth. As the dark mass swelled the more he wrestled and screamed abuse at the dilatory spirit of the rain.And behold, within half an hour, great black spirits sailed across the scarlet sunrise and wept exceeding bitterly; while from the village went up a great shout of praise to the triumphant King still prancing and cursing to such good effect up on the hill.

Over the city of the Snake the sun sank red dry, leaving the Place of Kings hot in the electric air of magic and world happenings. The people were still confined to their huts, trembling in the knowledge that for three days love must be eschewed, no water drawn nor any food cooked with fire; nor might any man, woman or child leave the precincts of the compound.

All the night Bakuma crouched in her hut listening in awe to the swish of the ghosts through the air, to the moans, groans and howls of the wizards doing battle with them. Tightly did she hold the amulet as she strove to conceal curiosity regarding the welfare of Zalu Zako; for did her mother suspect the presence of this evil spirit would she cause Bakuma to take a decoction of the castor-oil plant in order that the demon might be expelled; and the more to aid her conquer this unlawful impulse to peep without did she most persistently recite to herself the fate of the daughter of MTasa, the foolish Tangulbala whose body had been discovered impaled upon a tree by the angry spirits of the dead, because she had rashly ventured forth the third day after the death of the grandfather of Zalu Zako. Bakuma dared not mention the name of one who had died, for, as everybody knows, such an impious person runs the risk of summoning the ghosts to their presence.

The“putting out of the fire”had changed Bakuma’s prospects, had made Zalu Zako heir-apparent, implying half a hundred responsibilities, the chief of which was that now he was compelled to choose his official first wife, she who would be the mother of the“divine”Son of the Snake: an alteration that excited Bakuma to frantic clutching at the amulet. Would the charm work or would it not? How to insure that it would be efficacious? Marufa’s greedy demands worried her. She feared even if she obtained the goat that he might require something else as well. Anybody knows how greedy doctors are and how wealthy. He would be sure to increase the fee, knowing the value of the prize. Bakuma only possessed one really valuable article, and that was a charm against sterility; but this was the last thing that she wished to part with as the only possible occurrence that could ever divorce her from the position of chief wife, once she had won Zalu Zako, would be failure to provide the male heir. She was impatient, too, at the delay caused by the three days’ tabu. Time was important. Soon she would be under the ban of the unclean which entailed the curtailment of her liberty again, and she dreaded that possibly the charm might grow stale. The greatest need for speed was MYalu’s suit. As her father was dead she belonged to his brother. Already MYalu had offered four tusks of ivory and three oxen for her. Her uncle was lazy, mean, and greedy. Fortunately he thought that by waiting he could get double that amount. Yet MYalu might decide to pay the price demanded. Once Zalu Zako had selected her as his bride, her uncle dared not accept any other man’s offer, no matter how wealthy he might[pg 53]be; besides, the old man would not wish to refuse a relationship with the heir to the king-godhood.

Again her cousin was sick. The diagnosis of Yabolo, the wizard, was that her soul had wandered in sleep down to the river and had been swallowed by a fish. Yabolo had caught the fish and lured the soul into a tree, but now he demanded such a big price to restore the errant soul to the girl that her father, Bakuma’s uncle, would not pay it, so she would surely die; then they would all have to be exorcised, which inferred a further loss of relative freedom for another four days. Indeed with all these actual and possible delays it seemed to Bakuma that some one had made much magic against her. Unless she knew who he or she was, how could she employ the same means to annul the terrible effects? And more, how could she obtain the wherewithal to pay the fees of the best doctors? Life was very complicated to the daughter of Bakala.

Up on the hill of MFunya MPopo had the magicians been busy all the afternoon after the“putting out of the fire.”Zalu Zako and the chiefs also were barred from the sacred enclosure; for being mere laymen they could not hope to withstand the evil spirits of the dead. Even Bakahenzie and the inner circle of the cult were compelled to employ the most potent methods of protection to preserve them from being bewitched or slain outright.

After Bakahenzie, Marufa, Yabolo and two other master magicians had released the souls of the dead King by making incisions in the body with a sacred spear to the thrumming of the drums, the mighty groaning of the other wizards, and the persistent wailing of the dead man’s wives, the corpse was borne by[pg 54]twelve doomed slaves to the temple and there interred with the gouts of blood shed by the prophetic goat, the nail parings and hair clippings of his lifetime, and his personal effects.

Upon the hill of MFunya MPopo, soon to be a temple and sanctuary, sat Kawa Kendi beside the New Fire tended by Kingata Mata, facing Zalu Zako, MYalu and the lay chiefs, while upon his own hill slaves were tearing down his old hut, erecting a temporary palisade around the quarters of his wives who were forever forbidden to him, and beginning the building of the new temple.

As the violet shadows were creeping from one hut to another did Bakahenzie and his satellites return from the ghoulish offices of the dead. Zalu Zako, the chiefs and magicians arose to the wild beating of the drums and the wailing chant of the hereditary troubadour with the five stringed lyre. With Kingata Mata carrying a brand of the newly lighted sacred fire, was Kawa Kendi led in procession through the deserted village to his sacred home.

Under the hard stars set in a dry sapphire, the fire cast yellow flickers upon the carven features of Kawa Kendi. In the still heat the distant wailing of the women from the opposite hill drifted into the continuous throb of the drums, the plaintive wail of the singer, and the hysterical groaning of the magicians, yelling ferociously ever and again to intimidate the baulked spirits around the magic circle.

Then was a white goat, previously selected from the flock of Kawa Kendi, slain by Zalu Zako, disembowelled by Bakahenzie, and the entrails rubbed upon the brow, the chest and the right arm of the slayer[pg 55]of man, a ceremony of purification designed to protect the royal executioner by appeasing the justly angry spirits of the dead; to Marufa were given other parts of the slain beast to smear likewise upon Zalu Zako, the son; and Yabolo ran screaming with portions to the quarters of the women of Kawa Kendi: for must every blood relative be so enchanted lest the vengeful ghost seek substitute victims.

As a pallid moon rose, as if fearfully, above the deep ultramarine of the banana fronds, was a magic potion brewed from certain herbs in enchanted water, with which the King, Zalu Zako, his son, and the King’s wives were laved. Amid a tempest of screams and drums rose Kawa Kendi purified, to be driven by Bakahenzie and the wizards back to the hill of his father, leaving the assembled lay chiefs squatting humbly and in dread of the spirits abroad in the night. While the procession leaped and twirled, screamed and groaned to the frantic thrum of the drums through the blue darkness, the magicians ran and pranced through and around the village, seeking any blasphemer who dared to look upon sacred things; banging on hut doors and shaking thatches, the more to terrify the shrinking inhabitants.

Without the gate of the old enclosure all remained, except Bakahenzie and the four wizards who encircled Kawa Kendi and Kingata Mata and hustled them across the clearing. With his back to the dim form of the idol stood Kawa Kendi as behind it grouped the master magicians. From the base Bakahenzie took two large gourds and gave them into the keeping of Kingata Mata.

Came an abrupt cessation of the drums and cries.[pg 56]The wailing of the women behind the temple died. The tense air pulsed with electricity. A cock crowed feebly in the village. Then at a rippling splash of the drums and the sudden screaming of the wizards, they began to push the idol. The base had already been loosened in the earth by the slaves. The idol began to totter. Louder screeched the magicians; faster fled the drums. Slowly the idol leaned and subsided on to the shoulders of Kawa Kendi. Grasping the mass firmly upon his bent back, he bore the burden out of the enclosure and down the hill.

Behind his unsteady steps pranced and yelled the doctors with more prodigious a noise than ever before as they scourged the King’s legs and arms with cords of fibre. Through the listening village panted the King. As he gasped slowly up the hill the thrashing was redoubled. But into the new enclosure the King staggered, let slide the heavy mass into a hole prepared for the sacred feet and, gleaming blue points of sweat in the faint moon, let out a hoarse yell, proving to the assembly of magicians and chiefs that he was powerful enough to bear the burden of the world and moreover that none could wrest his office from him.

No time was given for the incarnation of a god to recoup from his labours. The motive principle of the accusation and for the death of the king was the drought. That only concerned the soul of the tribe in the person of Bakahenzie. For him and his brothers of the inner cult, while certain pretensions of power over the supernatural were for the“good of the people,”the truths of magic and divine functions were inviolable. The person of Kawa Kendi, heretofore merely one in whom was a potentiality, became after the[pg 57]purification and“coronation”the very incarnation of the god. Kawa Kendi had crossed from the comparative safe haven of the potential into divine activity.

Also there were, as ever, political reasons for the hastening of the offices of the god. Should the new King-God fail, as his father had done, to accomplish the duties of the rainmaker, then, as no precedent had ever been known for the failure of two kings in succession, an enemy might accuse Bakahenzie of having committed some sacrilege which had displeased the Unmentionable One. Politics and religion are often inseparable. Therefore, as soon as Zalu Zako had witnessed the ascent of his father into the dangerous zone of the gods, was he bidden as the victim apparent, to produce the sacred rain-making paraphernalia. From the Keeper of the Fire, Kingata Mata, Zalu Zako received one of the large gourds, which he deposited at the feet of his father squatting before the sacred fire, and retired to his allotted place among the other lay chiefs. Only Bakahenzie and the four of the inner cult were permitted within the enclosure.

Fumbling within the pot Kawa Kendi produced a bundle of twigs tied with banana fibre, which he unbound and cast into the fire. The herbs smouldered and sent up a pungent smoke forming a heavy cloud like some strange blue tree sheltering the form of the idol against the green sky. Save for the faint wailing of the distant women there was silence, in which an owl screeched harshly, a good omen. Little flames flickered. The smoke grew denser, obliterating the figure of the King. The drums began to mutter, Bakahenzie cried out in a loud voice:

“O great God, the Unmentionable One! let thy powers be made manifest!”

The Keeper of the Fires came forward upon his hands and thrust the other sacred gourd in front of the King, a deep one containing water, and a wand made from a sacred tree which had upon the end a crook. To the groaning of the magicians, the King took from the one gourd two stones of quartz and granite, the male and the female, and spat upon each one, thus placing part of his royal body upon them; then did he put them on the ground, and pouring water, chanted:

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hands!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Make love together in the shade of great Tarum,Of him whom fear of me hath frozen the breath!”“Ough! Ough!”

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hands!

Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!

Make love together in the shade of great Tarum,

Of him whom fear of me hath frozen the breath!”

“Ough! Ough!”

grunted the priests and magicians.

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Love one another that the crops of our landMay marry as well and be as fruitful as thee!”“Ough! Ough!”

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!

Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!

Love one another that the crops of our land

May marry as well and be as fruitful as thee!”

“Ough! Ough!”

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!Rise high up to heaven and mount on the black backOf the bird of the wet wind: poke your hands in his eyes!”“Ough! Ough!”

“Go forth, male spirit, with my ghost in thy hand!

Go forth, female soul, with my ghost in thy breast!

Rise high up to heaven and mount on the black back

Of the bird of the wet wind: poke your hands in his eyes!”

“Ough! Ough!”

Save for the distant wailing, there was the silence of those waiting for a miracle. In the sky, at the back of the idol, was the paling of dawn. Suddenly, as if exasperated by the non-obedience of the elements, Kawa Kendi sprang to his feet, with the magic wand in his right hand, turned and stared apparently into the face of the idol. For a full two minutes he stood as if carven, while the doctors and the chiefs moaned dismally. Around him like a pall still hovered the smoke of the magic fire. From the village a cock’s challenge was answered from point to point. Then shooting out his right hand, Kawa Kendi made gestures as if hooking something invisible and began to scream furiously:

“Thus do I, the One-not-to-be-mentioned,Drag forth from the belly of heavenThe disobedient One, the lazy One!The insolent One who sinneth in sleep!The black-snouted One whose udders are choked!The womanly One whose nipples are dry!The sluttish One who refuseth her milk!The gorbellied One whose voice is a wind!Come forth, lest I give thee sorrow and pain!And make thee to weep the bitterest tears!Come forth, lest I tear out thy black bosom!Tear out thy guts for a feast unto Tarum!Come forth, lest I throw off the yoke of the burdenOf the Earth and the Sky upon thy sweating black belly!”

“Thus do I, the One-not-to-be-mentioned,

Drag forth from the belly of heaven

The disobedient One, the lazy One!

The insolent One who sinneth in sleep!

The black-snouted One whose udders are choked!

The womanly One whose nipples are dry!

The sluttish One who refuseth her milk!

The gorbellied One whose voice is a wind!

Come forth, lest I give thee sorrow and pain!

And make thee to weep the bitterest tears!

Come forth, lest I tear out thy black bosom!

Tear out thy guts for a feast unto Tarum!

Come forth, lest I throw off the yoke of the burden

Of the Earth and the Sky upon thy sweating black belly!”

In a slight puff of wind, the smoke, lace-edged with the dawn light, swayed, seeming to twine about the[pg 60]figure of the King as he stood with the wand outheld, as if firmly hooked in the guts of the recalcitrant elements.

Against the rose of the dawn appeared a dark line which increased as the magicians and chiefs moaned and groaned in sympathy with the furious efforts of the rainmaker, who threatened and pulled with the magic crook, so that everybody could see that he was indeed dragging the reluctant clouds from over the end of the earth. As the dark mass swelled the more he wrestled and screamed abuse at the dilatory spirit of the rain.

And behold, within half an hour, great black spirits sailed across the scarlet sunrise and wept exceeding bitterly; while from the village went up a great shout of praise to the triumphant King still prancing and cursing to such good effect up on the hill.

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