In a few calm words he poured oil on the turbulent passions of his people. He scouted the idea that because a man related what he had seen and heard that therefore he was a witch; and he soothed the old man by promising to oppose the white man.
There was no more talk that night about the coming white man, for very soon after Satu uttered the above diplomatic words the people separated, and went either to whisper their fears to each other around their own fires, or to spread their mats for sleep. Several times during that night women woke from horrid dreams, screaming that the white man had stolen their children, or was trying to throttle the souls out of them.[[25]] In the morning as the women went to the farms they related to each other the dreams of the previous night, but instead of regarding them as nightmares caused by the exciting events of the preceding evening, they were taken as undeniable proofs of the devilish designs of the white men to carry out the awful predictions of the old man with the plaited beard.
A few evenings after these happenings the much-talked-about Mundele wa N zambi (or white man of God) was seen descending the hill on the other side of our valley. The women, screaming, snatched up their children and fled; the men beat some loud sounding notes of alarm on the drums; and then, picking up their guns, machets, knives, sticks, and any weapon to hand, went hurriedly to bar the entrance to their town. We saw the white man hesitate, stand still a moment, and then come on slowly and deliberately. He evidently knew the meaning of those excited thuds on the drum and the screams of the women.
Bakula, with a heavy stick in his hand--how he longed to have a gun so as to have a shot at those cruel white men!--ran with the men to the road by which the white man must come. As we hurried forward we could hear the men discussing what was to be done. Some were for killing the white man at once, but the majority said: “No, we will hear what he has to say. We will smell out his wickedness first, and then if there is cause we will help you to kill him.” Satu said: “We will neither hear him, nor kill him; but send him back the way he has come.”
The white man was now mounting the hill. It was a narrow, difficult, rough track that led to our town. He was panting by reason of the steepness of the ascent; and seemed utterly wearied with his long journey. He saw the ugly demonstration in front of him; he heard the yells and screams of rage and defiance; but he came quietly on--a lonely man to a surging torrent of wild, uncontrollable passions. His carriers and boys hung back, for they were overawed by the threatening aspect of the crowd.
As he drew near the white man held out his hand as a sign of his friendship; but Bakula, filled with the terrible stories he had heard about white men, struck at the proffered hand, and missed it in his blind rage.
Then arose a babble of curses, contradictory shouts, and threats to kill him if he did not go back. They hustled him about like a battledore. They tore his clothes; but he was so mixed up with them that they could neither use guns nor machets without great risks to their friends, and he was not worth that. When their fury had somewhat spent itself, the undaunted white man calmly asked them for permission to sleep in their town.
“No, we don’t want you,” the people screamed.
“I have only come to do you good,” he said.
“No, you have not, you have come to bewitch us to death,” they shouted.