“Then listen! The Wa-himas have black brains, but your brains must be white. As you are now their king, you must enlighten and teach them what you learned from me and Bibi. They are now like jackals and hyenas—make human beings of them. Tell them that it is forbidden to behead prisoners of war, for the Great Spirit to whom Bibi and I pray punishes those who shed innocent blood. White people do not behead prisoners, and you would treat them even more cruelly than Gebhr did you—and you a Christian! Shame on you, Kali! Replace the ancient and savage customs of the Wa-himas by humane ones and God will bless you, and Bibi will not say that Kali is a savage, a stupid and vicious negro.”
A terrible roaring from the sorcerers’ huts drowned his words. Stasch waved his hand excitedly and continued: “I hear! Your Msimu wants the blood and the heads of the prisoners. But you know quite well what this is, and so you are not frightened at this noise. Therefore I only say this much to you: Take a bamboo rod, go into every hut and thrash the sorcerers until they roar louder than their kettle-drums, and throw the kettle-drums into the midst of the boma, so that all the Wa-himas may see and comprehend how these villains are deceiving them; and at the same time tell your stupid Wa-himas what you told M’Rua’s people—that where the good Msimu dwells the blood of human beings must not be shed.”
Stasch’s words apparently had some weight with the young king, for he looked at him a moment and answered:
“Kali will thrash the sorcerers well, will throw out the kettle-drums, and tell the Wa-himas that where the good Msimu is no blood must be shed. But what shall Kali do with Faru and the Samburus who have killed Fumba?”
Stasch, who had already planned everything, had anticipated this question, immediately answered:
“Your father was slain, his father was slain, so both were slain. You must form a brotherhood with young Faru, then the Wa-himas and the Samburus will live together in peace, planting manioc and hunting together. You must tell Faru about the Great Spirit, and Faru will love you like a brother.”
“Kali now have white brains!” answered the young negro.
And thus the conversation ended. Soon afterward savage roars resounded once more, but this time not from the wicked Msimu, but from the two sorcerers, whose skin Kali was thrashing as hard as he could. The warriors, who had remained below standing in a circle around King, hurried up the hill to see what was the matter; they saw with their own eyes and heard from the words of the sorcerers themselves that the wicked Msimu, before whom they were accustomed to tremble, was only a hollowed-out tree trunk covered with monkey-skin. And when they told young Faru that in deference to the wishes of the good Msimu and the Great Man he was not to be beheaded, but that Kali would eat a piece of him and he a piece of Kali, he could not trust his senses; then on hearing to whom he owed his life, he pushed himself before the entrance to Fumba’s hut and lay there until Nell came out and bade him arise. Then he took hold of her little foot with his black hands and placed it on his head, as a sign that he would remain her slave for the rest of his life.
The Wa-himas were very much surprised at such orders of the young king, but the presence of the unknown guests, whom they looked upon as the most powerful sorcerers in the world, awed them to silence. The older people were displeased with the new customs, and the two sorcerers, realizing that all their good times were over, swore in their hearts to take terrible vengeance on the king and the newcomers.
Meanwhile Fumba was solemnly buried at the foot of the mountain under the boma. Kali planted a bamboo cross on his grave, and the negroes placed on it several vessels containing pombe and smoked meat, so that his spirit would not disturb them during the night.