“Give me some of it, as you are so rich.”
And foolish Satu, flattered by this pretended conversation out of his usual caution, and in the vanity and pride of the moment, handed over some thirty shillings’ worth of brass rods. Gratified by the largesse the drummer beat away and sang a recitative in praise of Satu’s generosity, and the object of all this by-play sat swelling with self-complacency.
No sooner did the first drummer drop the drum than Bakula darted forward, and with laughing eyes and skilful hands beat out a conversation in fulsome praise of Tonzeka; his riches, his prowess in war, his unstinted hospitality--all received their full meed of wheedling adulation, and at last came the expected request: “As you are so rich, so great, so generous a man, give me some of your money.”
And poor, cajoled Tonzeka had to pass over thirty-five shillings’ worth of brass rods, for it would never have done not to surpass his visitor, Satu.
Bakula went to share his spoils with some friends; and another man took the drum and tapped out flatteries about the different head men with varying success, until he received what he considered a very mean present.
Then the disappointed drummer rapped out a song on stinginess so bitingly sarcastic that sharp words were bandied about from side to side, and what began as an amusing dance ended in a mêlée that engendered bad blood between the persons concerned for many a day.
As soon as the noise had quieted down, Tonzeka offered to take his visitor to see the white man, but through an indefinable fear Satu shrank from going in the broad daylight, and promised to accept the invitation after the evening meal. So at the appointed time Tonzeka called Satu, and together they walked over to the white man’s quarters, followed by a large number of people.
The white man had heard of the proposed visit, and with the help of boxes and rugs had prepared seats for the coming visitors.
Satu, however, before trusting himself to the improvised chair, lifted the rug, shook the box to test its stability, and then gingerly took his seat. There was more than a rumour afloat that the King of Congo had murdered his mother by inviting her to sit on a mat which gave way beneath her. It had precipitated her, it was said, into a carefully prepared hole, and directly the wretched woman disappeared, the unnatural son ordered her to be buried alive.
The white man was fully conscious of Satu’s implied distrust, but said nothing; and Tonzeka pompously introduced Satu and some of the head men who had accompanied him.