Even the white sergeants were frightened of their chief. They had been seen talking together secretly, doubtless discussing what medicine they could give him to exorcise the demon. Had he not been commanded by this demon to leave the safety of the fort where they had the guns on the hills, and to go into the forest where, as anybody knew, their eyes would be taken from them so that they could not see to kill the dogs of Wongolo? They were all conscious, native-like, that something was brewing among the Wongolo, but what it was exactly they did not know. Two men had had fifty lashes that morning because they had not saluted the totem—flag—correctly; and a Wongolo chief had been shot because he had not brought in the amount of ivory commanded. None dared to warn the Eater-of-Men. Some one had said that the “leaf” was the soul of the idol come to lead the Eater-of-Men to destruction. This idea took deep root among the Wunyamwezi soldiers, for although they had delighted in the slaughter and rapine under the leadership of the Eater-of-Men, yet always had there been an uneasy feeling of sacrilege in destroying an idol.
In the half of the marquee reserved for the Kommandant’s [pg 277] private quarters sat zu Pfeiffer in his camp chair with the inevitable stinger at his elbow. Erect by the door stood Sergeant Schultz taking details for the disposition of stores and troops during the absence of the punitive expedition. Never had he in four years’ service seen the lieutenant as he was now. Although Schultz could speak Kiswahili fluently he knew no word of Munyamwezi, else he might have been disposed to agree with Bakunjala and his friends. As it was he thought that the Herr Lieutenant had gotten a touch of the sun or was drinking too heavily or perhaps a bit of both; for to his mind the act of dividing up their scanty forces and leaving their fortified positions to enter the forest, with no chance of keeping open the line of communication, appeared to be military suicide.
He deemed it his duty to bring this point of view to his Kommandant’s notice, but he was uncomfortably aware of zu Pfeiffer’s headstrong character.
“What time does the moon set, sergeant?” demanded zu Pfeiffer.
“About three, Excellence.”
“Good. Then at five precisely the column will move. Warn Sergeant Schneider.”
“Ya, Excellence.”
“You will transfer the remainder of your men and the Nordenfeldt as soon as we have gone.”
“Ya, Excellence.”
“That is all, sergeant.”