“Ready?” asked he of the President, and proceeded with great patience, skill and knowledge of languages and dialects, to interpret the statements of Wadegos, Swahilis, Arabs, and assorted Africans. Occasionally it was beyond his power, or that of any human being, to convey the meaning of some simple question to a savage mind, and to get a rational answer.
For the prosecution, Lindsay, who was down with dysentery, had produced fellow-villagers of the accused, from each of whom Wavell obtained the same story.
Prisoner was enamoured of a daughter of the headman of the village, and, because his suit was dismissed by this gentleman, he had led a German raiding-party to the place, and, moreover, had shown them where hidden treasures were cached, and where fowls, goats, and cattle had been penned in the jungle, and where grain was stored. Also, he had “smelt out” enemies of the Germanis among his former neighbours, wicked men who, he said, had led English raiding-parties into the country of the Germanis, and had otherwise injured them. These enemies of the Germanis were all, as it happened, enemies of his own. . . . When this raiding-party of askaris, led by half a dozen Germanis, had burnt the village, killed all the villagers who had not escaped in time, and carried off all they wanted in the way of livestock, women, grain and gear, they had rewarded accused with a share of the loot. . . .
“Do they all tell the same tale in the same way, as though they had concocted it and learnt it by heart?” asked Bertram.
“No,” replied Wavell. “I didn’t get that impression.”
“Let’s question them one by one,” said Berners.
A very, very old man, a sort of “witch-doctor” or priest, by his ornaments, entered the witness-box—otherwise arose from the group of witnesses and stood before the Court—to leeward by request.
“Hullo, Granpa! How’s things?” said Augustus.
The ancient ruin mumbled something in Swahili, and peered with horny eyes beneath rheumy, shrivelled lids at the Court, as he stood trembling, his palsied head ashake.
“Don’t waggle your head at me, Rudolph,” said Augustus severely, as the old man fixed him with a wild and glassy eye. “I’m not going to uphold you. . . . Pooh! What an odour of sanctity! You’re a high priest, y’know,” and murmured as he sought his handkerchief, “Poignant! . . . Searching. . . .”