“With all this bluster, I saw that old Katchiba was in a great dilemma, and that he would give anything for a shower, but that he did not know how to get out of the scrape. It was a common freak of the tribes to sacrifice their rain-maker, should he be unsuccessful. He suddenly altered his tone, and asked, ‘Have you any rain in your country?’ I replied that we had every now and then. ‘How do you bring it? Are you a rain-maker?’ I told him that no one believed in rain-makers in our country, but that we knew how to bottle lightning (meaning electricity). ‘I don’t keep mine in bottles, but I have a house full of thunder and lightning,’ he most coolly replied; ‘but if you can bottle lightning, you must understand rain-making. What do you think of the weather to-day?’
“I immediately saw the drift of the cunning old Katchiba; he wanted professional advice. I replied that he must know all about it, as he was a regular rain-maker. ‘Of course I do,’ he answered; ‘but I want to know what you think of it.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t think we shall have any steady rain, but I think we may have a heavy shower in about four days’ (I said this, as I had observed fleecy clouds gathering daily in the afternoon). ‘Just my opinion,’ said Katchiba, delighted. ‘In four, or perhaps in five, days I intend to give them one shower—just one shower; yes. I’ll just step down to them, and tell the rascals that if they will give me some goats by this evening, and some corn by to-morrow morning, I will give them in four or five days just one shower.’
“To give effect to his declaration, he gave several toots on his magic whistle. ‘Do you use whistles in your country?’ inquired Katchiba. I only replied by giving so shrill and deafening a whistle on my fingers, that Katchiba stopped his ears, and, relapsing into a smile of admiration, he took a glance at the sky from the doorway, to see if any effect had been produced. ‘Whistle again,’ he said; and once more I performed like the whistle of a locomotive. ‘That will do; we shall have it,’ said the cunning old rain-maker; and, proud of having so knowingly obtained ‘counsel’s opinion’ in his case, he toddled off to his impatient subjects. In a few days a sudden storm of rain and violent thunder added to Katchiba’s renown, and after the shower horns were blowing and nogaras beating in honor of their chief. Entre nous, my whistle was considered infallible.”
When his guests were lying ill in their huts, struck down with the fever which is prevalent in hot and moist climates such as that of Obbo, Katchiba came to visit them in his character of magician, and performed a curious ceremony. He took a small leafy branch, filled his mouth with water, and squirted it on the branch, which was then waved about the hut, and lastly stuck over the door. He assured his sick guests that their recovery was now certain; and, as they did recover, his opinion of his magical powers was doubtless confirmed.
After their recovery they paid a visit to the chief, by his special desire. His palace consisted of an enclosure about a hundred yards in diameter, within which were a number of huts, all circular, but of different sizes; the largest, which was about twenty-five feet in diameter, belonging to the chief himself. The whole of the courtyard was paved with beaten clay, and was beautifully clean, and the palisades were covered with gourds and a species of climbing yam. Katchiba had but little furniture, the chief articles being a few cow-hides, which were spread on the floor and used as couches. On these primitive sofas he placed his guests, and took his place between them. The rest of his furniture consisted of earthen jars, holding about thirty gallons each, and intended for containing or brewing beer.
After offering a huge gourdful of that beverage to his guests, and having done ample justice to it himself, he politely asked whether he should sing them a song. Now Katchiba, in spite of his gray hairs, his rank as chief, and his dignity as a sorcer, was a notable buffoon, a savage Grimaldi, full of inborn and grotesque fun, and so they naturally expected that the performances would be, like his other exhibitions, extremely ludicrous. They were agreeably disappointed. Taking from the hand of one of his wives a “rababa,” or rude harp with eight strings, he spent some time in tuning it, and then sang the promised song. The air was strange and wild, but plaintive and remarkably pleasing, with accompaniment very appropriate, so that this “delightful old sorcerer” proved himself to be a man of genius in music as well as in policy.
When his guests rose to depart, he brought them a sheep as a present; and when they refused it, he said no more, but waited on them through the doorway of his hut, and then conducted them by the hand for about a hundred yards, gracefully expressing a hope that they would repeat their visit. When they reached their hut, they found the sheep there, Katchiba having sent it on before them. In fine, this chief, who at first appeared to be little more than a jovial sort of buffoon, who by accident happened to hold the chief’s place, turned out unexpectedly to be a wise and respected ruler, a polished and accomplished gentleman.