These threats were by no means idle. They were made by men who had accompanied Ferodia to Urori, and fought at Kwikuru, and who were rewarded so handsomely by him during the distribution of cloth. They were warriors who paid respect to courage and success, and to them Ferodia was a hero far more deserving of the chief authority over the tribe than a boy, who, however promising he might be, had not yet distinguished himself more than any other boy would have done, placed in the same position.
Ferodia was a chief, who, were he King, might be able to make each warrior rich in cloth, in ivory, in slaves, and cattle; while with Kalulu as King, many years must elapse before he would think of venturing upon a war unprovoked.
When they left the village, and were safe outside, these feelings found expression, and, consulting and advising with each other, they were not long in coming to the conclusion that their interest lay in proceeding at once to Ferodia’s country, a week’s march south-west, and acquaint him with their hopes and desires, and invite him to proclaim himself King, with the aid of all malcontents, and friends, and to march upon Kalulu’s village and depose the boy-king. This duty of self-interest they at once set about executing, by commencing their march for Ferodia’s country.
Within a week they made their appearance before Ferodia’s village, and when they told their errand, they were at once introduced before the chief, who sat under a tree, similar to the one at Katalambula’s, obsequious and villainous-faced Tifum the Wicked standing by his side.
“Peace be unto ye, my brothers,” said Ferodia, rising, and hurrying to embrace each one in succession, and, as is the custom in Ututa and in all the lands adjoining Lake Tanganika, rubbing their elbows first, then their arms, then their shoulders, and then falling on their necks, slapping them on the back gently with the disengaged right hand, muttering continually as he rubbed each part, “Wake, wake, wake, waky”—Health, health, health, and peace.
Finally, after going through the ceremony of greeting, like an assiduous old diplomat that he was, he asked:
“Whence come ye, my brothers? and what is your purpose?”
The chief of the party of chiefs, who was the spokesman, answered, “Why should we come thus far, O Ferodia, if it were not to greet thee as King of all the Watuta? Katalambula, the great King, is dead. He is no more. There is nothing left of him. He is in the ground. The Watuta tribes have now no leader, no chief, no king; they are like unto the flocks on the plain, bleating for the shepherd that cannot be found. They are going astray after one who is not old enough to be their shepherd. They have elected the boy Kalulu, who is but a child, and is not yet a warrior. He is like unto an infant just weaned, who seeketh the pap refused him. Katalambula being dead, Kalulu is drowned in tears; verily, he has lost his head from sorrow, for he is but a child, and has lost his friend and father, and knoweth not what to do. Wherefore, we came unto thee, O Ferodia, to ask thee to be our shepherd, our leader, our king. Say, what is thy answer?”
Ferodia answered softly: “The words thou hast spoken are words of truth, my brother. Katalambula being dead, the Watuta have lost their leader. Kalulu, in truth, is but a child—but a child completely spoiled. Any of my boy-slaves were fitter to be king of the warlike Watuta than he. Who is Kalulu? He is not a matuta, he is not a warrior, he is not the son of Katalambula, he has not won the right to carry a spear, save as a burden. He is a Mrori, the son of Mostana, one of a stranger tribe. Katalambula being dead, the Watuta have no leader. But who has a better right to fill his place than I, Ferodia? Who won his battles for him, but I, Ferodia? Who conquered the Wabona, the Wumarungu, the Wakonongo, the Wanyamwezi, the Wasowa, the Wakawendi, and the Warimba, but I, Forodia? By my fame I have won the right to succeed him who is dead. By my courage in the field, there is none fitter to take his place. By my victories, I have deserved the honour. Verily, thy words are words of truth, my brother, and thou makest me glad with thy wise remarks.”
“Speak, Ferodia, O chief, when wilt thou that we go and punish Soltali, and those who have chosen another in thy place?” asked the spokesman of his visitors.