But it was daylight before Kali could accomplish this. As is usual in tropical countries, the sun rose quickly behind the mountains and flooded with its bright light the battlefield, where lay more than two hundred Samburu corpses. Some time later, when the fighting ceased and the joyful howling of the Wa-himas disturbed the morning calm, Kali reappeared, but with such a sad and sorry countenance that it was very evident, even from a distance, that some mishap had befallen him. Standing still before Stasch, he began to pound his head with his fists and to cry out in a sad voice:
“O Great Man! Fumba kufa! Fumba kufa!”[[40]]
“Killed?” repeated Stasch questioningly.
Kali related what had happened, and from his words it was readily understood that this sad misfortune was the result of Fumba’s revenge, for after the battle was over he attempted to kill two Samburus, and from one of them he received a thrust from a lance.
The news was soon dispersed among the Wa-himas, and an excited group surrounded Kali. Soon afterward six warriors carried the old king on spears. He was not dead, but mortally wounded. He wanted to see, before he died, the powerful man on an elephant who was the true conqueror of the Samburus. Astonishment was in his eyes, but the haze of death was also veiling them; and his pale and stiffening lips whispered softly:
“Yancig! Yancig!”
Shortly after his head sank back, his mouth opened wide and he expired.
Kali, who loved him, threw himself on his breast and wept. Some of the warriors began to beat their heads, others to proclaim Kali king and to cry out, “Yancig!” in his honor. Others fell on their faces before the young ruler. Not one dissenting voice was heard, for Kali was their king not only because he was Fumba’s eldest son, but also because he had gained the victory.
Meanwhile in the sorcerers’ huts and in the boma on the mountain-top the wild roaring of the bad Msimu could be heard. At first it was like the sound that Stasch had heard before in the negro village, but this time it was not directed against him, but demanded the death of the prisoners for killing Fumba. The drums beat, the warriors formed in a long line, each row consisting of three men, and then began a war-dance around Stasch, Kali, and the corpse of Fumba.
“Oa! Oa! Yach! Yach!” repeated all the voices, their heads wagging right to left in a monotonous manner, the whites of their eyes shining, and the points of their spears gleaming in the morning sun.