Witch-Doctors Part 24

Bakahenzie advanced a step followed by the warriors. His voice had reached the falsetto timbre. Mungongo lost his head entirely and seizing Bak.u.ma, began to drag her out of the tent. Birnier turned his head leisurely towards him. Said he very loudly:

"It is not seemly to rape a woman in my presence, O Mungongo. Let her be, for I will buy thee one."

Mungongo ceased to pull at Bak.u.ma's arms and stared as if paralysed.

Birnier saw the eyes switch in a terrified glance at the warriors behind him and heard Bakahenzie's yell to kill.

For one moment he thought that indeed the end had come. Before he could reach the rifle a dozen spears would be in his back. He sat motionless, the _Anatomy of Melancholy_ still in his hand, and watched the gauge of Mungongo's eyes. Bakahenzie's voice rose to a screech. Suddenly Birnier wheeled round in his chair, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pencil and staring hard at them, began to sketch faces on the open page of the book.

At the sight the warriors ceased their shuffling dance, were arrested with the spears in their hands in as many poses. Bakahenzie's scream was stoppered as if by a hand upon his mouth. In the silence their heavy breathing rivalled the twitter and hum of the forest. Birnier sketched furiously, glaring portentously from the group to the paper. Bakahenzie took a step forward, a nervous step, and yelled, "Kill!" but his voice released those of the warriors. In one loud shout they cried:

"He bewitches us! He bewitches us!"

As Birnier bent his head to make another magic mark upon the magic book he heard the rush of feet.

"They have fled!" squealed Mungongo, still clutching Bak.u.ma.

Birnier sighed and dropped his pencil as he glanced up. Bakahenzie and the warriors had disappeared, but by the fire squatted Marufa unconcernedly scratching his skinny ribs.

CHAPTER 16

Changed was the City of the Snake, the place of kings. Upon the site where had been the hive of huts wrapped in the green arms of the banana plantation, laboured under the incandescent sun gangs of prisoners under armed guards upon the building of larger huts laid out in streets, broad and geometrical, lined with correct ditches for drainage. Around the outskirts here and there remained charred posts.

Upon the hill of MKoffo was a palisade enclosing the barracks of two companies of the askaris and two guns. No brown cones peeped like candle-snuffers above the sea of green fronds upon the hills of the tombs of kings, but from the sacred hill of Kawa Kendi commanding the approach to the valley rose, black against the sky, the triangle of the roof frame of a large bungalow; around the crown of the hill was a stout palisade through which grinned in the sun the muzzles of a Nordenfeldt and a pom-pom; and outside upon a levee strutted rigidly four sentries night and day, a perpetual reminder to the pa.s.ser-by below of efficient vigilance.

Within was a methodical formation of round huts dominated by a square one; at the far end, and in solitary grandeur beneath the Imperial flag upon a roughly-hewn flag-pole, was a green marquee tent, the temporary quarters of the Kommandant.

Under the tent verandah at the rear where were his private quarters sat zu Pfeiffer with a towel tucked around his neck upon which was scattered inch-lengths of hair. Sergeant Schultz sheared deftly with clippers like a reaper in a field of corn. When he had completed the final tr.i.m.m.i.n.g behind the ears, he stood aside with the air of an artist viewing his work.

"Is that pleasing to your Excellence?"

Zu Pfeiffer ran a hand around his skull.

"Ya, that is better and cooler, sergeant."

With a professional air Schultz whisked around the Kommandant's neck with a light brush, untucked the towel and brushed him down. As zu Pfeiffer rose Bakunjala appeared with a broom of small branches and a pan and proceeded to sweep the earthen floor. Schultz neatly folded up the towel, placed it on the chair, and stood at attention.

"Is that all, Excellence?"

"Ya, sergeant. Take a cigar."

"Thank you, Excellence!"

The sergeant selected one, saluted and departed. Zu Pfeiffer lounged in a basket chair. The usual water bag and syphon were suspended at his elbow above sparklet and brandy bottles, and a box of cigars. Around him on the floor was a litter of papers, envelopes and doc.u.ments. On his wrist sparkled the jewelled bracelet and between fingers, one of which bore the large diamond which had earned him his native name, was an official doc.u.ment bearing the Imperial Eagles.

As he read he smiled and patted his left moustache approvingly. Officially the authorities would not comply with his request made before leaving Ingonya for two more companies of askaris with white non-commissioned officers and two more guns; but unofficially he was informed that they would be supplied later and that the authorities were pleased. He picked up a private letter and re-read it. Then he smiled again, a sneering twist remaining at the corner of the mouth. Always he was informed by sympathetic friends and an agency of the whereabouts and doings of Lucille. On the 1st of August she had been due at Wiesbaden.

He threw the letter on the table with an irritable gesture and scowled as he drank. The arrival of the mail always brought vivid regrets for the glories and comforts he was missing by being condemned to war with "dirty swines of n.i.g.g.e.rs." That was part of the penalty he had had to pay for being a gentleman in a land of dollar grubbers, yet a matter to be written up against the account of Lucille, the entzuckend Lucille. He must have been verruckt, he reflected savagely. The delicate lips softened in ludicrous contrast to the brutal outline of a cropped skull. The blare of a trumpet disturbed his reveries, reveries which were apt to rankle until among his satellites went the word that the Eater-of-men was possessed by the demon once more.

After he had elegantly finished a small cup of cafe cognac and a cigarette, Sergeant Schultz strutted up, saluted, and at a nod from zu Pfeiffer handed a doc.u.ment to the Kommandant, a roster of the chiefs who had submitted with the approximate number of their followers. Officially there were five chiefs with some six thousand men who had nominally accepted the new ruler, each one of whom had to leave as hostage for his fidelity a son, who lived under guard in the village beneath the guns.

Zu Pfeiffer needed the extra companies and white men to establish stations at various points with the object of gradually extending the sphere of military occupation. Zu Pfeiffer left nothing, as far as he could foresee, to chance; his maxim was to conserve his force to the utmost, to attain his objective at the least possible cost in men and material. The policy of terrorisation was based on the reasoning that eventually schrecklichkeit saved both the conqueror and the conquered bloodshed and trouble; for if the enemy were not so impressed with the fact that all resistance was utterly useless, he would resort to the sporadic risings which would entail more slaughter on both sides. Zu Pfeiffer, acting on the teachings of the German masters, sought to make war psychologically as well as militarily, economically as well as geographically. Hence his dramatic step in the overthrow of the idol in person, and the care with which he planned to impress each chief and native with his omnipotence and magic. This system of the application of political science as well as of military science, of course, was sound, save for a temperamental error: the lack of sufficient imagination to realize the unknown quant.i.ty of chance, the inevitable mistake of military scientists who are loath to admit the artist to their counsels, exemplified by men of genius, such as Napoleon and Leonardo da Vinci, who were both mathematicians and artists.

In zu Pfeiffer's case, as in others of his type, the motivating principle was not bourgeois greed of material gain for himself; gain he could afford to despise in his wealth; such would have been contrary to the code of a gentleman. While he had not hesitated for a moment to destroy his rival, Birnier, he would not touch with one finger any of his goods; for that reason had he given permission to the corporal to take Birnier's equipment, so that he would not even be contaminated by the possession of them, a temperamental error again which had led to Birnier's escape.

The driving power in his caste and tribe was love of power to an excess masked with portentous solemnity under the cloak of benefiting this people and the peoples of the world; forcing them to have broad streets and sanitary arrangements, compelling them to laugh, to sing, and to be happy whether they would or no: an urge which is the curse of the world, the impulse to interfere in other folk's affairs, to teach them, to make them to know the true G.o.d, the right way of living, the right way of doing everything from the rising of the first sun of consciousness to that happy crack of doom when our planet tries to enforce its...o...b..t upon some other planet.

Zu Pfeiffer pinched a cigar tip, lighted it meticulously and considered the roster.

"Sergeant, this man-what's the animal's name? Kalomato-has his son surrendered himself?"

"No, Excellence. The man says that he has fled the country."

"Where does he come from?"

"The neighbourhood, Excellence."

"That means that his son is with the rebels?"

"Probably not, Excellence. He is very young, they say."

"That does not matter. Sequester all the chief's property. If he won't give it up let the askaris deal with him. If that doesn't work, have him shot."

"Excellence!"

For such obstinate cases zu Pfeiffer had fallen upon the custom of serving two purposes by handing over the victim to the mercies of his askaris which whetted their s.a.d.i.s.tic appet.i.tes and usually secured the desired revelation of the whereabouts of the hidden ivory or other goods under the torture of the burning feet, and divers other ingenious methods. Of late this practice had proved so satisfactory that the mere threat was usually sufficient.

"This man," continued zu Pfeiffer tapping the roster with his long nail, "his son is here?"

"Ja, Excellence."

"Has he paid the t.i.the due?"

"No, Excellence. He refuses."

"Have the son shot."

"Excellence!"

"Any report this morning?"

"Ja, Excellence. A Wamungo spy brings news that a white man entered the country from the south."

"Description?"