Kuboko need not think of that, said the katikiro eagerly; messengers should be despatched at once to the ends of the earth to explain. If he would not be their chief, would he not at least stay with them for a short time? Surely he would not desert them in their need--before he had taught them the way to fight the Arabs.
"Do you really think the Arabs will come back?"
Yes, there was no doubt of it; and in their fastnesses, far beyond the forest, they numbered thousands upon thousands of men. The Bahima were grateful for what Kuboko had already done for them, but what good was it all if they were left to be the prey of a still more numerous host, thirsting for revenge?
Tom mused. It was a case for serious thought. Could he leave them to face the Arabs without his help? It seemed a breach of faith, a desertion. For he felt in his heart that they were right, that the Arabs would certainly return to exact a terrible vengeance, and that without the stimulus of his leadership the Bahima would infallibly be crushed. Tom was the last person to overestimate his value, but he saw clearly that although there was plenty of courage among the Bahima, and a great fund of the qualities that make for self-sacrifice, there was little military aptitude of the higher sort. They would have little or no chance against such practised campaigners as the Arabs and their allies. Yet who was he to match himself against the Arabs? He had had little military training; he was intended for a civilian career; would it not be presumptuous in him to suppose that, if the Arabs returned in their might, he could, with such rough material as he had alone at his disposal, attempt to cope with them? Then he remembered that for generations past he had soldiers among his ancestors; was it some hereditary bent that accounted for his success in the village hitherto? He had been successful. Why should he not be successful again? Why should he not use the powers he had in a service with which his countrymen had so long been identified? In any case--and this clinched his resolve--the Bahima with him would more nearly match the Arabs than without him. Was it not then his duty to remain?
He stood for some moments longer looking across the village at the distant horizon, tapping his foot on the ground, wondering, thinking. The silent negroes watched him anxiously; Mbutu's eager eyes were riveted to his master's face.
"Msala," he said at length, "I will stay. Wait," he added, hushing them with his hand as they began to shout in the fulness of their delight, "I will stay on two conditions. The first is: That I simply hold office in the name of Mwonga here, who will be your chief when I am gone." ("Ntugamba! We say it," cried the men.) "The second is: That when I consider your village safe from attack I must be free to give up my power, and return to my own people." ("Ntugamba! ntugamba!") "On those conditions I will stay with you, and, with God's help, we will strike such a blow at your enemies as shall destroy their power once and for ever."
The gravity of Tom's tone impressed the Bahima; even the voluble katikiro's voice was silenced. Tom went on:
"In Mwonga's name, then, I ask you to retain your offices. Mwonga, my friend, I will be your brother as I was Barega's, and I will do my best to uphold your dignity as chief. But I must have a free hand. I am older than you; I have seen more than you. You know what I have been able to do for your people, and you must make them understand that all that I do is done in your name, and for their good. Is it well?"
"It is well," cried the negroes.
"Then you will see, Msala, that things are done in due form. You know all about that; I leave it with you."