After resting a little while before the earthworks of Lunla, Stasch started off before sunset with Kali at the head of three hundred warriors to go to Fumba’s boma, for he wanted to attack the Samburus by night, reckoning that in the darkness the “fiery snakes” would make a greater impression. The journey from Lunla to Boko Mountain, on which Fumba was besieged, would take nine hours, counting the halt for rest, so that they would arrive before the fortress about three o’clock in the morning. Stasch made the warriors halt and commanded them to be silent; then he began to inspect the situation. The summit of the hill on which the defenders were waiting in ambush was wrapped in darkness, but the Samburus kept several campfires burning. Their light illuminated the steep sides of the cliff and the giant trees growing at its feet. And now from a distance could be heard the hollow sound of kettle-drums, as well as the shouts and singing of the warriors, who apparently were not sparing of the pombe^[38] while celebrating their final victory. Stasch, at the head of his men, advanced still further, so that at last he was not more than a hundred feet from the last campfires. There seemed to be no one on guard anywhere, and the moonless night made it impossible for the savages to see the elephant, which was also hidden by the foliage. Stasch, sitting on King’s neck, gave his final orders in a low tone of voice, and made a sign to Kali to set off one of the rockets.

A red streak spluttered, shot high up into the sky, and fell in a shower of red, blue, and golden stars. Then every voice ceased and a moment of silence ensued. A few seconds later two more fiery snakes ascended, making a crackling sound, and this time directed more horizontally toward the Samburus’ camp; at the same time there were heard King’s trumpeting and the howls of three hundred Wa-himas, who, armed with assegais,^[39] clubs, and knives, came up on the run. The battle that ensued was all the more terrible because it took place in absolute darkness, for in the excitement all the campfires had been extinguished and trampled down. From the first moment that the Samburus saw the fiery snakes they were panic-stricken. What had taken place was absolutely beyond their comprehension. They only knew that some sort of terrible creatures had overtaken them and that fearful and inevitable destruction threatened them. Most of them fled before the spears and clubs of the Wa-himas touched them. Over a hundred warriors whom Mamba had gathered around him defended themselves despairingly, but when by the light of the shots they saw a giant animal and on it a being dressed in white, and heard the reports of the gun which Kali incessantly fired, they lost courage.

When Fumba, who was on the mountain, saw the first rocket burst in the air above him, he fell to the ground from fright and lay there several minutes as if lifeless. On recovering, he concluded, from the despairing howls of the warriors, that some kind of supernatural beings were slaying the Samburus. Then he thought that if he did not come to the assistance of these spirits their rage might also be turned against him, and as the destruction of the Samburus meant his deliverance, he collected all his warriors and crept out of the boma by means of a hidden side passage, and thus quickly reached most of those trying to escape. The fight thus changed into a slaughter. The kettle-drums of the Samburus ceased to rumble. The darkness was penetrated only by the red flashes from Kali’s gun, the shrieks of dying warriors, the groans of the wounded, and the hollow beating of clubs on shields rang through the air. No one begged for quarter, for the negroes know no mercy.

For fear of hitting his own people in the confusion and darkness, Stasch at last ceased firing, and grasping Gebhr’s sword, threw himself on the enemy. The Samburus could now escape from the mountains to the frontier only by passing through a broad ravine, but Fumba and his warriors blocked this narrow pass, and every one of the fugitives was slain save those who threw themselves on the ground and surrendered, though they knew that cruel slavery or immediate death awaited them from the conquerors. Mamba defended himself heroically until a club smashed in his skull. His son, the young Faru, fell into the hands of Fumba, who ordered him bound as a future thanksgiving offering for the spirits who had come to his assistance.

Stasch did not lead the terrible King into the battle, but only allowed him to roar, which frightened the enemies much more. He did not shoot once at the Samburus, for in the first place, before leaving Lunla he promised little Nell not to kill any one, and secondly, he had really no desire to kill people who had never done him or Nell any harm. He was satisfied in having secured the victory for the Wa-himas and in having released the besieged Fumba. When Kali came running up soon after with the news of the final victory, he ordered him to stop the battle, which was still raging in the clefts of the rocks and was being prolonged by Fumba’s fury.

But it was daylight before Kali could accomplish this. As is usual in tropical countries, the sun rose quickly behind the mountains and flooded with its bright light the battlefield, where lay more than two hundred Samburu corpses. Some time later, when the fighting ceased and the joyful howling of the Wa-himas disturbed the morning calm, Kali reappeared, but with such a sad and sorry countenance that it was very evident, even from a distance, that some mishap had befallen him. Standing still before Stasch, he began to pound his head with his fists and to cry out in a sad voice:

“O Great Man! Fumba kufa! Fumba kufa!”^[40]

“Killed?” repeated Stasch questioningly.

Kali related what had happened, and from his words it was readily understood that this sad misfortune was the result of Fumba’s revenge, for after the battle was over he attempted to kill two Samburus, and from one of them he received a thrust from a lance.

The news was soon dispersed among the Wa-himas, and an excited group surrounded Kali. Soon afterward six warriors carried the old king on spears. He was not dead, but mortally wounded. He wanted to see, before he died, the powerful man on an elephant who was the true conqueror of the Samburus. Astonishment was in his eyes, but the haze of death was also veiling them; and his pale and stiffening lips whispered softly:

“Yancig! Yancig!”

Shortly after his head sank back, his mouth opened wide and he expired.

Kali, who loved him, threw himself on his breast and wept. Some of the warriors began to beat their heads, others to proclaim Kali king and to cry out, “Yancig!” in his honor. Others fell on their faces before the young ruler. Not one dissenting voice was heard, for Kali was their king not only because he was Fumba’s eldest son, but also because he had gained the victory.

Meanwhile in the sorcerers’ huts and in the boma on the mountain-top the wild roaring of the bad Msimu could be heard. At first it was like the sound that Stasch had heard before in the negro village, but this time it was not directed against him, but demanded the death of the prisoners for killing Fumba. The drums beat, the warriors formed in a long line, each row consisting of three men, and then began a war-dance around Stasch, Kali, and the corpse of Fumba.

“Oa! Oa! Yach! Yach!” repeated all the voices, their heads wagging right to left in a monotonous manner, the whites of their eyes shining, and the points of their spears gleaming in the morning sun.

Kali stood up, turned to Stasch, and said:

“The Great Man will bring Bibi to the boma and live in Fumba’s hut. Kali will be king of the Wa-himas and the Great Man king over Kali.”

Stasch nodded his head as a sign of approval, but he remained there a few hours longer, for he and King needed a rest.

He did not leave until toward evening. During his absence the corpses of the Samburus were carried away and thrown into a deep ravine near by, over which a great many buzzards immediately settled. The sorcerers now made preparation for Fumba’s burial, and Kali assumed the rulership as an absolute monarch, with power of life and death over all his subjects.

“Do you know who Kali is?” Stasch asked the girl on the way back from Lunla.

Nell looked at him in surprise.

“He is your servant!”

“Oho! A servant! Kali is now king of all the Wa-himas.”

This news amused Nell very much. This sudden change, by which the former slave of the treacherous Gebhr and later Stasch’s servant had become king, struck Nell as extraordinary and exceedingly droll.

Linde’s remark that the negroes were like children, incapable of remembering what happened from one day to another, did not apply to Kali, for scarcely had Stasch and Nell reached the foot of Boko Mountain than the young monarch ran hastily toward them, greeted them with the usual reverence and joy, and repeated the same words he had spoken before:

“Kali be king of the Wa-himas and the Great Man king over Kali.”

His admiration was so great that he all but worshiped Stasch; he made a very low bow to Nell before the assembled people, for, from what he had observed during the journey, he knew that the Great Man was more concerned about the little Bibi than about himself.

After he had solemnly led Stasch and Nell up to the summit where the boma was, he assigned Fumba’s hut to them; it resembled a large shed divided into several rooms. He ordered the Wa-hima women, who accompanied them from Lunla, and who never tired of gazing at the good Msimu, to put vessels of honey and sour milk in the first room, and when he heard that the Bibi, who was very much fatigued from the journey, had fallen asleep, he commanded all the people to keep perfectly quiet, under penalty of having their tongues cut out. He now decided to pay them still greater homage, and so when Stasch appeared before the shed after a short rest, Kali approached, bowed low before him, and said:

“To-morrow Kali will give orders to bury Fumba and to behead as many slaves for Fumba and Kali as there are fingers on both their hands; and to propitiate Bibi and the Great Man Kali will order Faru, the son of Mamba, to be beheaded, and also wengi, wengi other Samburus taken prisoners by the Wa-himas.”

Stasch frowned, and gazing severely into Kali’s eyes, replied:

“I forbid it.”

“Sir,” said the young negro in a trembling voice, “the Wa-himas always behead their prisoners. When the old king dies they behead people; if a young king follows they behead people. If Kali does not command them to be killed the Wa-himas will not believe that Kali is king!”

Stasch looked at him still more severely:

“Well, how’s that?” said he. “And did you not learn anything on Linde Mountain? Are you not a Christian?”

“I am, O Great Man!”

“Then listen! The Wa-himas have black brains, but your brains must be white. As you are now their king, you must enlighten and teach them what you learned from me and Bibi. They are now like jackals and hyenas—make human beings of them. Tell them that it is forbidden to behead prisoners of war, for the Great Spirit to whom Bibi and I pray punishes those who shed innocent blood. White people do not behead prisoners, and you would treat them even more cruelly than Gebhr did you—and you a Christian! Shame on you, Kali! Replace the ancient and savage customs of the Wa-himas by humane ones and God will bless you, and Bibi will not say that Kali is a savage, a stupid and vicious negro.”

A terrible roaring from the sorcerers’ huts drowned his words. Stasch waved his hand excitedly and continued: “I hear! Your Msimu wants the blood and the heads of the prisoners. But you know quite well what this is, and so you are not frightened at this noise. Therefore I only say this much to you: Take a bamboo rod, go into every hut and thrash the sorcerers until they roar louder than their kettle-drums, and throw the kettle-drums into the midst of the boma, so that all the Wa-himas may see and comprehend how these villains are deceiving them; and at the same time tell your stupid Wa-himas what you told M’Rua’s people—that where the good Msimu dwells the blood of human beings must not be shed.”

Stasch’s words apparently had some weight with the young king, for he looked at him a moment and answered:

“Kali will thrash the sorcerers well, will throw out the kettle-drums, and tell the Wa-himas that where the good Msimu is no blood must be shed. But what shall Kali do with Faru and the Samburus who have killed Fumba?”

Stasch, who had already planned everything, had anticipated this question, immediately answered:

“Your father was slain, his father was slain, so both were slain. You must form a brotherhood with young Faru, then the Wa-himas and the Samburus will live together in peace, planting manioc and hunting together. You must tell Faru about the Great Spirit, and Faru will love you like a brother.”

“Kali now have white brains!” answered the young negro.

And thus the conversation ended. Soon afterward savage roars resounded once more, but this time not from the wicked Msimu, but from the two sorcerers, whose skin Kali was thrashing as hard as he could. The warriors, who had remained below standing in a circle around King, hurried up the hill to see what was the matter; they saw with their own eyes and heard from the words of the sorcerers themselves that the wicked Msimu, before whom they were accustomed to tremble, was only a hollowed-out tree trunk covered with monkey-skin. And when they told young Faru that in deference to the wishes of the good Msimu and the Great Man he was not to be beheaded, but that Kali would eat a piece of him and he a piece of Kali, he could not trust his senses; then on hearing to whom he owed his life, he pushed himself before the entrance to Fumba’s hut and lay there until Nell came out and bade him arise. Then he took hold of her little foot with his black hands and placed it on his head, as a sign that he would remain her slave for the rest of his life.

The Wa-himas were very much surprised at such orders of the young king, but the presence of the unknown guests, whom they looked upon as the most powerful sorcerers in the world, awed them to silence. The older people were displeased with the new customs, and the two sorcerers, realizing that all their good times were over, swore in their hearts to take terrible vengeance on the king and the newcomers.

Meanwhile Fumba was solemnly buried at the foot of the mountain under the boma. Kali planted a bamboo cross on his grave, and the negroes placed on it several vessels containing pombe and smoked meat, so that his spirit would not disturb them during the night.

After the ceremony of the brotherhood between Kali and Faru was over, Mamba’s corpse was given to the Samburus.