After the fighting and feasting were over the Monsembe folk lived in constant fear of reprisals. Night after night groups of men were posted near the roads leading from the enemies’ towns, and frequently the gongs and drums broke on the night’s silence with their rapid beats, awakening the sleepers who, hastily picking up their spears, knives, and shields, hurried by to the scene of the alarm only to find that the sentries “thought they saw or heard something” in the adjacent bush. The women sometimes came screaming in from the farms avowing they had been chased by the enemy. Every rustle of the grass, leaves, or bush was interpreted into a lurking foe; and the nerves of the victors became so jumpy that a voice raised in angry conversation would set the whole town agog with expectation that the enemy had come seeking revenge.
When these alarms took place during the day, the fighters would demonstrate before our house, and ask us to bring out our guns and help them to keep off the foe. “You are living in our town, and you are our white men. We offered to help you against the lower towns if they came to attack you, and now get out your guns and aid us. Why, if you were only to show yourselves the people of the upper towns would run away. Come on, our white men, and help us!”
We pointed out to them that all the people of the district were our friends, and consequently we could not assist one town to fight against another.
Then, finding that arguments and persuasion failed to move us, they took to taunting us. “You are not white men,” they shouted, “you are women! You are cowards!” And with curled lips and gestures of scorn they pointed their spears and knives at us.
Their taunts and gestures of contempt stung us, making the blood surge through our veins and causing us to go hot and cold by turns. With pale faces, compressed lips, and hands gripping tightly whatever came within our grasp, we listened patiently to their sneers. How easy it would have been to have taken our gun and made some display of helping them! To have walked among them, and to have fired a shot into the bush would probably have satisfied them and would have stopped their sneers; but we were there on behalf of the “Prince of Peace.” How could we, then, consistently help them in their fights? We were there professing that all the peoples of the neighbouring towns and surrounding districts were our friends; how could we then take up arms against any of them and expect them to believe our professions of good-will or trust again in our word? We were hoping to make our station a centre of peace, the meeting-place for all factions; how could we, then, with our hopes and prayers, embroil ourselves in their hatreds and wars, or join sides with them even in pretending to shoot down our other parishioners? It was very difficult, but strength was given to meet the emergency, to bear calmly the taunts, the sneers, and the contempt; and from that time we were regarded by all the towns of the district as belonging to no one place, but to all of them, as impartial in our judgments, and just in our dealings with all alike.
About three weeks after the first outbreak of war the natives of the upper towns came to talk over the terms of peace. They landed at our beach as the only neutral spot, and tied their canoes to our posts. The deliberations were long, boisterous, and from the noise that came to our ears we thought two or three times that they were on the point of starting fresh hostilities. At last the palavering was over and the visitors returned to our station, and bidding us good-bye, they entered their canoes; but just as they were pushing off the Monsembe people became excited and threatening in their attitude, and seeing that a fight on our beach was imminent, my colleague and I picked up sticks and drove the Monsembe people back from the river front. We insisted on the neutrality of our station; we had bought and paid for the land, consequently it was ours, and we would have no fighting on it; if they wanted to fight they must go to another part of the beach.
This attitude of ours was a revelation to our Monsembe neighbours. Here were two white men whom they had taunted with being cowards, women, etc., standing with simply sticks in their hands to oppose a crowd armed with spears and knives. Two white men with sticks only throwing themselves between them and their enemies, and demanding that no blood should be shed on their land. What power had these white men behind them? So astonished were they that they halted in their treacherous attack on their visitors, who, taking advantage of the lull, paddled beyond reach of the uplifted spears, and arrived safely home.
After this failure to settle the terms of peace, a go-between (molekaleku) was appointed and approved by both parties. He was an outsider of importance and had the confidence of the clans concerned. He arranged the terms of peace: all loot and slaves should be retained by the conquerors; but all the free folk captured should be set at liberty. This go-between selected a neutral place for the ceremony of blood-brotherhood, and was pledged that the meeting should take place without a renewal of hostilities by either party.
All the preliminaries having been settled the parties met at the place and time appointed; and then a stick called ndeko was procured and carefully scraped, and these scrapings were mixed with salt. The contracting parties—the head-man of each side—clasped each other’s right hand with the ndeko between the palms; some incisions were then made on the arms and the mixture of ndeko scrapings and salt was rubbed on the cuts; each then put his mouth to the incisions on the other’s arm and sucked for a few moments, after which one of the contracting parties took the ndeko stick and struck the wrists and knees of the other, saying: “If ever I break this covenant may I be cursed by having my nose rot off.”[[10]] Then the other took the ndeko stick, and, performing the same ceremony, he called down the same curse on himself should he ever break the contract. These rites were accompanied by the drinking of much sugar-cane wine, and the whole ceremony was called tena ndeko = to cut the ndeko stick.
[10]. Probably lupus. There were a few cases of this disease, and it was regarded as a punishment for faithlessness in observing the oath of blood-brotherhood.