“What is this?” he asked.
“It is fetish,” replied Stanley.
“Strike it; let me hear it,” he exclaimed.
“Oh, Ngalyema, I dare not; it is the war fetish.”
“No, no, no! I tell you to strike.”
“Well, then!”
Here Stanley struck the gong with all his force, and in an instant a hundred armed men sprang from the bush and rushed with demoniac yells upon the haughty chief and his followers, keeping up all the while such demonstrations as would lead to the impression that the next second would bring an annihilating volley from their guns. The frightened king clung to Stanley for protection. His followers fled in every direction.
“Shall I strike the fetish again?” inquired Stanley.
“No, no! don’t touch it!” exclaimed the now subdued king; and the broken treaty was solemnized afresh over a gourd of palm-wine. Makoko was jolly over the discomfiture of his powerful rival.