Without a word the medicine-man returned to the centre of the circle. Laying down the bell, he took up the basket and again walked round the throng, removing the lid of the basket as he came opposite each individual. He arrived at Tom, who was standing now with his hands in his pockets, looking on with a smile of amusement mingled with contempt. There, though Mabruki apparently pulled with all his strength at the lid of the basket, it refused to come off. Angry cries arose from all parts of the circle; some of the men sprang up and shook their spears menacingly, but the medicine-man called for silence and began a frenzied denunciation of the white man. It was he who had destroyed the much-prized cattle; the Buchwezi had declared it. Before him the bell would not ring, before him the basket-lid was immovable. The spirits had given their doom; let the white man die!
Tom still stood with his hands in his pockets, now gazing grimly at his denouncer. Inclined at first to pooh-pooh the whole business, he saw that the people were impressed by the medicine-man's harangue, and that the chief was troubled and perplexed. "Poor fellow!" thought Tom, "I suppose he'll have to give in." It was of no use his merely denying the charge, he very well knew. It was equally useless to engage in a war of words with Mabruki. It was a time for action, prompt and vigorous. His resolution was instantly taken. Almost before the last words were out of Mabruki's mouth, he stepped before the chief, bidding Mbutu accompany him, and asked to be allowed to speak. Then, in a clear confident voice, he began his first public speech, the words, unpremeditated as they were, pouring from his lips with a fluency that surprised him and taxed Mbutu's interpretative powers to the full.
"I am amazed, O Barega," he said, "that you, and the mighty tribe you rule, should be swayed by an ignorant, stupid humbug like Mabruki. Look at him, forsooth! He can't stand straight; he has been feeding his courage on tubs of museru till he is fuddled. He says I destroyed the cattle. Why should I, a stranger to whom you, O Barega, have shown so many kindnesses--why should I so basely return evil for your good, and bring death among those who brought me back to life? There is no sense in it. You believe your medicine-man? I don't care that for your medicine-man." (He walked slowly to the centre,--Mabruki, with eyes glaring through the mask, retreating before him,--and with two kicks sent the bell and the basket flying among the negroes, who watched him in dumb amazement.) "I will prove to you that his medicine is no medicine. To-morrow at sunset, do you, Barega, call your tribe together, and I will bring medicine to match against Mabruki's. Then shall you see whose medicine is the stronger; then shall you see that I am a true man, and know Mabruki for the sham he is. Shall it be so?"
A murmur of assent ran round the ring. Tom's dauntless bearing and confident words, a little amplified perhaps in places by his interpreter; above all, the fact that he had kicked the magic bell and basket without suffering instant hurt; had made their impression on the natives. And the negro dearly loves a show. The prospect of a similar but more novel entertainment entranced them. The medicine-man was in no condition to offer a protest; he had seized the opportunity to take frequent pulls at a gourd of museru, and, exhausted by his own violence, he now lay a fuddled, huddled heap on the ground. The chief, unfeignedly glad of the turn events had taken, consulted with his officers, and was strongly urged by the katikiro to agree to Tom's proposal. The trial of strength was fixed then for the evening of the following day, and the assembly broke up. Now all tongues were loosed; every incident in the strange scene was canvassed by two thousand chattering negroes. Some openly expressed their belief that the fearless white man would effectually squelch the unhappy discredited medicine-man, while others still had confidence in Mabruki, and expected that even yet the white man would smart for his impiety.
Tom spent the rest of that day in seclusion. He was making medicine, was Mbutu's invariable answer to enquiries. The white man was making medicine!--the word flew round the village, and even the most sceptical began to believe there was something in it. Just before sunset Tom sent for the katikiro, who had been bursting with curiosity to know what was going on in his own hut. Darkness fell, and the stars appeared, and yet he remained with Tom. The chief, in the hut adjoining, once or twice fancied he heard the sounds of stifled laughter. Unable to contain himself, he went quietly to Tom's hut, and crept in before Mbutu had time to interpose. Tom was standing in the middle, with arms akimbo, smiling down at the katikiro, who was sitting on the floor fairly shaking with half-suppressed merriment. He got up rather sheepishly when he saw his chief looking grimly at him, and sidled out of the hut. Tom turned to the chief and said cheerfully:
"I was only finishing my medicine-making, chief. Everything is ready now."
"Ah, um! Are you quite sure that your medicine will be stronger than Mabruki's? If not, I would urge you to flee at once; I will send trusty men with you. For if Mabruki prevails to-morrow my people will claim a terrible revenge."
"Don't be alarmed, chief. I will answer for my medicine. I hope your sleep won't be disturbed; as for me, I have been working hard, and want a good night's rest."
Very early next morning the villagers began to assemble on the site of the previous day's ceremony. Time does not exist for the negro; sunrise and sundown are his only periods, and the people were quite content to squat in a circle through all the long hot day. The crowd was larger than ever; all the boys and girls had been brought to see the show. Villagers, even, from outlying parts had come in, the news having spread with that wonderful speed which is one of the most striking phenomena in African life. Nor were the tongues of the people tied by any feeling of solemnity; on the previous day they might have been compared to the congregation in a cathedral, to-day they were like the spectators at a circus.
Sunset was the time fixed for the trial of strength. As the sun disappeared the officials came from their huts, the katikiro apparently relishing his recollection of the previous night's amusement, and failing lamentably to maintain the dignity of his office. The medicine-man was brought in; he had wisely laid aside his flummery, and looked more ghastly than ever in his coating of kaolin. The chief entered the ring, with his drummers and tusk-bearers, followed by Tom, and a score of torch-bearers ranged themselves around.