Chapter Seven - Ferodia’s Triumphal Approach—His reception by Katalambula—The King praises Ferodia—Abdullah is given to Kalulu—Abdullah meets with Simba and Moto—Kalulu’s plan of search for Selim—A Gun found—Selim found—The senseless form of Selim carried to the Village—Selim recovers—Kalulu fraternises with Selim—Kalulu’s Friendship for Selim.
On the twenty-ninth day after the battle of Kwikuru, Ferodia, the chief of the Watuta, made his triumphant entrance to Katalambula’s village. Messengers had arrived the night before at the King’s house to announce the approach of the victorious chief; and when next morning, near noon, a great cloud of dust was perceived on the left bank of the river, then the women, posted on every advantageous point for a good view, began the glad lu-lu-lu-ing, and the welcome tones, when heard by the Watuta, were answered by them with a shout which might have been heard at the great lake into which the Liemba ran.
Long before Ferodia had emerged from the leafy corn-fields on the left bank of the river, the vicinity of the great gate of Katalambula’s village was thronged by a multitude of men, women, and children gathered from the rich plain around, who were the brothers, cousins, nephews, wives, sisters, and children of the warriors whose return was now so enthusiastically, nay, frantically, welcomed. Two thousand voices sounded the happy “lu-lu-lu;” four thousand hands were clapped together; four thousand legs, brown and black, and black and brown, danced, leaped, moved, and wriggled as the emotions of their owners moved them.
And Ferodia was all this time slowly approaching, while the drums, with tremendous thunderous volume of tone, ushered him into the presence of the assembled multitudes. Note him well as he approaches. What civilised monarch ever acted the triumph he felt so well as Ferodia? What civilised king ever possessed that gait? What actor could have imitated Ferodia? Mark his steps, his lion strides, with his legs encumbered with one hundred rings of fine wire. Watch how negligently he lays his arms, heavy with broad ivory wristlets, on the shoulders of the supple-bodied youngsters, who are jealous of this high honour conferred on them. Note the toss of his head with its wealth of braids! It is the majesty of triumph impersonified. Happy men would those actors be who could but imitate that regal air!
The procession is in the following order, as it appears before the gate and the multitude. Two hundred warriors in front of Ferodia, file after file, each head adorned with feathers in huge, dancing, waving tufts, each man solemnly marching through the gate into the quadrangular square surrounded by the King’s quarters to occupy one side of the square in line. Then Ferodia himself, supported by two stalwart young warriors, one on each side. Then two hundred warriors, each warrior’s face surrounded by the black, stiff hairs of the zebra’s mane, stripped entire with the hide from the zebra’s neck, which gives each warrior a fierce appearance, much fiercer than the black bearskin caps give to English hussars. Then the adult captives in gangs of twenty, bearing the plunder Ferodia had taken from the Arabs. Then the boy captives, at the head of whom was Abdullah, whose white face and body obtained universal notice. Then five hundred warriors bringing up the rear, each head decorated according to the caprice of its owner, with feathers, and red, white, and blue cloth.
The nine hundred warriors were formed around the square, while the captives, after depositing their loads near the great tree in the centre of the square—the cloth bales by themselves, the beads in a separate pile, the boxes by themselves, the kettles, pots, pans, and miscellaneous goods by themselves, the powder barrels and bullets by themselves, and the guns by themselves—formed a circle around the tree.
Katalambula was seated on his mud bench or sofa, which was garnished on this occasion with over a score of lion and leopard skins. In his hand was a short rod, to the end of which was neatly fixed a giraffe’s tail, with which he negligently whisked the flies from his face.
The multitude which we first saw outside the gate had climbed upon the roofs of the square tembes, and looked down now intent upon the warriors, the slaves, the plunder, and the king, seated with Kalulu and the grey-headed elders and councillors of the tribe under the tree.
Ferodia stood with spear in hand alone in the centre of the inner circle formed by the ring of slaves, and close to the great heaps of spoil he had taken from the camp of the Arab traders. His attitude was unmistakeably grand, and spoke the proud chieftain. A broad robe of crimson blanket cloth, which trailed to the ground, was tied in a knot over his left shoulder, leaving his right shoulder free. There was a dead silence; not a word was heard from the warriors or from the multitudes. Then the mild voice of Katalambula was heard, saying:
“Ferodia, we have expected thee. We have heard of thy great success; how thyself and the Watuta warriors have triumphed over the Arab traders. Speak, our ears are open.”
Then Ferodia replied: “O King, and ye elders of our tribe! I was sent by Katalambula to bear presents to his friends, the Warori chiefs; and, as I had concluded, I was thinking of returning to Ututa, when Olimali sent word to my camp that the Arabs—the traders from the sea—had come to his country with an immense store of cloth and beads. He said they were of those who had slain Mostana thy brother, O Katalambula.”
“Eyah! Eyah!” greeted the speaker from the king and his elders, in which Kalulu joined.
Lifting his voice higher, and adopting a more energetic strain, while his spear was used to describe gestures, Ferodia continued:
“When I heard the words of Olimali, the King of the Warori, I became as a hungry lion, even as a roaring lion before his prey. I said aloud, ‘Lo, Malungu (the Sky-spirit, or God) has put the Arabs into my hands, even the slayers of Mostana, thy brother. I will arise and avenge Katalambula and Mostana’s son on them. I will make strong drink from their bodies, and give their entrails to the fowls of the air, and their heads I will raise before Olimali’s gate to the terror of all other Arabs who come, and murder, and steal, and make slaves, from near the sea.’”
“Eyah—eyah!” shouted the multitude.
“When the morning came, the Watuta warriors were in the bush and in the corn. They heard the horn of Olimali, they heard the noise of the Arabs’ guns, they heard the shouting and the battle, and, at my signal, the Watuta warriors rose as one man. They came with the swiftness of arrows, like the flash of a bright spear. We saw the foe in the village of Olimali, we hemmed them round, we closed the gates, and we began to slay. Before our arrows and spears the foe fell in numbers, in heaps, until those that were left cried aloud for mercy, and fell on their knees. Then we made slaves of hundreds of men and boys, and bound them captives for Katalambula. We took guns, and powder, and bullets; we gathered a heap of wealth, of fine cloth and beads. Of the cloth, and beads, the guns, and powder, and lead, I have given half to Olimali, the King of the Warori. Then each Mtuta warrior received his due, six cloths to each man; the Watuta chiefs received their due, and Ferodia took a share. Fifty slaves died on the road to Ututa, two Arab slaves died, and one white Arab ran away to die in the forest. We have two hundred and fifty men-slaves, and seventeen boy-slaves left, one of whom is the son of an Arab chief. The cloth, and the beads, and the other plunder from the Arabs lie before you in these heaps. O King, and ye elders of the tribe, I have spoken.”
“Eyah! eyah!” burst out in applausive accents amid clapping of hands and lu-lu-ing from all the people.
Then Katalambula spoke and said, “O Ferodia, great chief and warrior! thou art like a right arm to me; thou art a very lion in war. Who is stronger than thou in the battle? The Wabena, the Wasowa, the Wakonongo, and even the Wajiji, have felt thy spear. Verily thou hast spread the name of the Watuta and the renown of Katalambula to the ends of the earth.
“Let the people hear, and let the elders open their ears. What king has a warrior like Ferodia? He goeth forth with empty hands, but returneth full. He goeth from the village poor, and returneth rich. His warriors are beggars when they depart from us, but they return with Merikani, and Kaniki, fine Sohari, and Joho cloth, and their nakedness is hidden under heaps of finery. Who is like unto Ferodia? Were not our maidens in tears when he and his warriors left us? Lo, and behold, they are now laughing, and their hearts dance for joy. Were not our children hungry when he departed? Lo, and behold, they cry no more, for their bellies are full. Katalambula—even I—was poor, whereas who is to be compared to me now in wealth? Verily thou art great and good, Ferodia, and Katalambula is pleased with thee. I have spoken.”
Then Katalambula got up and examined the slaves, while Ferodia walked by his side and commented on such as exhibited extraordinary qualities; and in going around the circle, the King came to the boy-gang, and when he came to Abdullah he could barely contain himself for delight and gratified curiosity.
“Verily,” said he, “the Arabs are strange people, and this is one of that race. Strange people; all white!”
Katalambula put out his finger to touch the pale skin of Abdullah, and he instantly drew it back as if the skin had bitten him, laughing at himself for his timidity. But, encouraged by Ferodia, he placed his hand on his shoulders, and marvelled at their softness; and then toyed with the boy’s hair, remarking that it felt like goat’s hair. Then the boy was obliged to open his mouth while Katalambula peered down his throat, as if he were in search of some hidden treasure, or as if he expected something would jump out, since the white boy was such a wonderful creature.
“But what are you going to do with him?” asked Katalambula.
“It is for the King to command,” said Ferodia, in an insinuating tone.
“Well, I will give him to Kalulu; but I thought there were three of them; or were there four?”
“Only three white,” said Ferodia; “one died on the road, a little fellow, and the tallest ran away, about five days from here.”
“Why did he run away?” asked the King.
“Because he was a fool, and the son of a fool,” responded Ferodia. “I never saw such a stubborn ass; his mouth was full of words, but his back had no work in it; therefore he preferred to die in the woods, as he cannot live. Yet had he spirit enough for two warriors, and he would have made a fine slave by-and-bye.”
“Who art thou speaking of, Ferodia?” asked young Kalulu.
“Now, hold thy tongue, boy, and do not thou interfere with the affairs of men; but rather see how good Ferodia, thy uncle, is to thee; he has given thee that white slave for a playmate. Take him, cut loose his bonds, and teach him to be a warrior.”
“Nay, let Ferodia answer me,” persisted Kalulu, “and I will then see about the white slave. Who is he that has run away?”
“If thou must know,” said Ferodia, looking on Kalulu kindly, “’twas a young Arab slave, about thy age, who ran away. He was the son of a chief, and I half suspect he was driven to run away by Tifum’s unkindness.”
“Tifum Byah!” cried Kalulu; “no wonder he ran, Ferodia; Tifum has not a gentle hand; but I will see thee again, uncle. I must look after my white slave now, and teach him to eat first.”
And Kalulu, leaving the King and Ferodia to pursue their examinations into their property, turned to Abdullah with a curious look, and then, taking his spear, he proceeded to cut the rope around his waist; then, beckoning to the astonished Arab boy, he walked away towards his own quarters, followed by him.
When he had Abdullah in his own apartment, all to himself, he again turned to take a look at him, and silently surveyed him from head to foot. Then, walking up to him, he stood with his back to Abdullah’s, and, putting his hand over his head, he seemed desirous of knowing whether he was taller than him; and having satisfied himself, he turned round to him again, and, smiling, said to him in Kituta—the language of Ututa:
“Son of an Arab, canst thou speak Kituta? No? is that what thou meanest by shaking thy head? Canst thou speak Kirori? No, again? Kibena, perhaps? No? Canst thou speak Kinyamwezi? No? Then what language dost thou talk? But, never mind, thy head must think of thy belly now; I will go fetch thee some food. Sit down on this bullock-hide until I return.” And Kalulu vanished, having pointed to the hide on which he desired Abdullah to seat himself.
(Ki placed before Tuta means, the language of Tuta; U, the country of Tuta; Wa, people of Tuta; M, a man of Tuta. This rule is the same with other African names.)
Presently he returned with a female slave bearing some roast kabobs (small pieces of meat), rice, honey pombe, or native beer, and a thick porridge; and pointing to the food and to his mouth, he intimated to him his desire that he should fall to and eat; which Abdullah, casting a grateful look on him, was not slow to understand and to avail himself of.
After watching the Arab boy eat for some moments, he left the hut again, but soon returned with two men, whose faces immediately attracted Abdullah’s attention and made him cease eating from surprise. When he opened his mouth to speak, he ejaculated—
“Simba! Moto! how came you here?”
“Abdullah! poor boy!”
The two men having spoken, Abdullah sprang to his feet, and, throwing his arms first around Simba’s neck, then around Moto’s, he embraced and kissed them both, and shed floods of tears from joy, while Kalulu, looking at them all, smiled with fraternal pleasure.
“I am not alone, then, as I thought; I have still some friends left,” sobbed Abdullah. “I thought all had left me.”
“Nay, weep not, Abdullah,” said Bimba. “Allah is good. Tell me, son of Mohammed, where are Selim, and Mussoud, and Isa?”
“Ah! Simba; evil days have been our fate ever since we came to Urori. Isa died of the small-pox soon after starting for Ututa; then, some days afterwards, Mussoud, my dear little brother, fell ill of the same disease and died; and Selim—”
“Yes, tell us where he is!” said Moto, eagerly.
“The same night that Mussoud was dying, Selim asked me to go with him to the forest; he said he could not live longer, while Tifum was beating him all the time; and to see the men and boys die on the road, and left to be eaten by beasts of prey, sickened his soul. I could not go while the fate of my little brother was uncertain, but I gave Selim my prayers, and after I had fallen asleep he must have gone, for he was not by my side when I awoke, and his yoke-tree was empty. I think he took with him a gun and some spears, for the Watuta who lost those things made a great noise about their loss.”
“Bun away!” said Simba and Moto, looking at one another blankly. “Selim gone! but, Abdullah, did he tell you which way he was going after he would leave you?”
“He said he intended to try to get to Zanzibar, but while I was dropping to sleep, or whether I dreamed it or not I can’t say, I thought I heard him mutter something about you, and Moto, and Katalambula.”
“Ay, that’s it, more likely,” said Moto. “He remembered our warning. The boy, if he is not here now, must be in that forest still. Did he say, Abdullah, whether he would go north or south first?”
“Oh, south, because the camp was on the southern side of the road, and our part of the camp was the most southerly; so it was easy for him to slip away unperceived.”
“And how many days from here, Abdullah, is the spot from whence Selim disappeared?”
“We came here in six or seven days—I forget the exact number,” answered the boy.
All this time, Kalulu looked from one to the other; and seeing the looks of anxiety and uneasiness on the faces of his friends, he asked Moto what the matter was, upon which Moto explained that his young master was missing—he for whose sake he had sought out himself and Katalambula.
Then he asked what Moto purposed doing, and was answered that he did not know, but would consult with Simba; upon which Kalulu promised that, whatever they did, he would assist them.
Simba and Moto, sometimes assisted by Abdullah, consulted together for a few minutes, at the end of which Moto informed Kalulu that they had decided that it was their duty to hunt up their young master, who was by this, perhaps, perishing from hunger, or was captured again by some other tribe of the Watuta.
Young Kalulu had expected this would have been the answer; for, being sharp-witted, and knowing how great was their affection for their young master, he could have divined nothing else. And he replied that, if his assistance was wanting, he was ready with his influence to promote anything necessary for the restoration of Selim to his friends. “For,” said he, “since I have seen what the Arabs are face to face, I begin to like them. At least, I think I shall like this one and Selim; besides, my uncle has already given me this one for a slave, and he will give me the other one, if I can catch him. But, Moto, they both shall be thine when thou wilt demand them from my hands.”
When this was translated into Kisawabili, the language of Simba, by Moto, Simba said to Moto:
“Tell the young chief that if he can get fifty men from Katalambula, on the pretence that he has heard there are elephants in the forests, we can start at once, and by spreading out through the woods, either find him ourselves there, or hear some news of him, or rescue him from those who have already got him.”
After expressing his approval of the scheme, Moto conveyed it by translation to Kalulu, who replied immediately that he would set about it at once; and while saying it, he left the hut.
In half an hour he returned, and informed Simba and Moto that the men were outside the gate waiting for them, though it was unusual to start on a hunting expedition without the ceremony of the magic doctors. “However,” he added, “I have explained that it shall be done at the village nearest the forest, where we shall arrive to-morrow at noon if we travel well. So come on, Moto; I want to do something too, or Ferodia will be on everybody’s tongue, and Kalulu’s name will never be heard; besides, I want to see this young master of thine, and see if he is as good as you say he is.”
While he had been talking, Simba and Moto had snatched up their guns and declared themselves ready, and Kalulu, after giving orders to have Abdullah sleep in his hut, and to be well fed and looked after, accompanied by Simba and Moto, hastily left the hut.
Kalulu was very proud as he showed his friends his warriors, and was sure that with such people the lost Arab boy would be found. Then, putting himself at their head, with his friends next to him, he rapidly led the way along which Ferodia had arrived from Urori.
As it was noon when they started, they could continue their march until late at night, which they did; and a couple of hours before dawn next morning found them en route again.
At noon, as Kalulu had said, they saw the forest darkening the western horizon ahead; but between them and the forest was a village, whose corn-fields were then reached, situated about a mile south of the road, from which Simba supposed it would be best to spread out, and keep a sharp eye for anything that promised to furnish a clue of him for whom they were about to search.
They soon came to the village, and when the inhabitants recognised Katalambula’s adopted son, they manifested great delight, and immediately set about furnishing him and his men with the best they had, consisting of bananas, and porridge, beans, and rice, and pombe.
The chief of the village was very assiduous to please Kalulu, and sat down close to him, imparting local news; and, as he began to impart it, he remembered an incident which had occurred that morning, which was, that one of his men, searching for wild honey, a couple of hours off in the forest, had found a gun.
“A gun!” said Moto.
“A gun!” echoed Kalulu.
“Yes, a gun; and the medicine was in it—the medicine powder and bullet—for when the man who found it was playing with it, boom! it went, almost killing him with fright.”
“Yes, yes, that’s very funny; very funny,” said Moto, trying to curb his impatience; “but did your man find nothing else near it?”
“Nothing else, my brother. What do you mean? Was not the finding of a gun strange enough in a forest which, for aught I know, never saw one before? Can many more miracles happen to us like this?”
“But, my brother,” urged Moto, with anger in his tones, “how could the gun have come there if some one had not left it?”
“The Mienzi Mungu (Good Spirit) placed it there for me. It was not many days ago since my father, the chief, died; and when I had put him in the ground deep, and covered him with earth, I collected all his property in a heap, and thanked the Mienzi Mungu, who had been so kind to me, and prayed to him to make me rich and strong. The good Mienzi Mungu has heard my prayers, and has sent this gun, with its strong medicine, from the skies, for me.”
“Chief, be silent,” said Kalulu, holding up his hand; “the heir of Katalambula commands thee. Knowest thou the spot where thy man found this wonderful gun?”
“My lord, thy slave is silent when Kalulu speaks. I know not the place, but my man must know.”
The man was called, and when he was asked if he had searched the vicinity for further treasures, he replied that he had not, as he had hurried away with what he had found to his chief. He was then told to prepare himself to accompany Kalulu and his men to the spot where he had found the marvellous treasure.
Within two hours they had arrived, and stood under a tree in a dense part of the noble forest. The trees grew around thickly, with many towering columns, supporting a mass of leafage, impenetrable to glare of sun or the white light of day.
On the man pointing the exact spot to Kalulu, Moto, and Simba, the warriors of Katalambula were formed in line, and one half was ordered to march northward, each distant from his fellow fifty paces, and the other half was ordered to step out, with their faces to the south, in like manner. The men having thus been posted in skirmishing order, were then ordered to front towards the east and march forward, observing closely everything strange they might see.
The men had not advanced far—not more than two hundred yards—when one of them gave a shout, which instantly attracted the attention of all. He was seen pointing with excited motions at some object lying on the ground. Simba uttered a roar of joy, when, bounding upward to catch one glimpse of the object, he perceived it to be the pale-coloured and apparently inanimate body of his young master. Moto, also, labouring under no less joyful excitement, shot forward with the speed of an arrow, and Kalulu’s light and graceful form was seen cleaving the air as he sped with nimble feet towards Simba. The men soon shared in the excitement, and came running up to know the cause; and, among the first, was seen the peasant who had found the gun in this same forest, little dreaming that its owner lay so near.
But the joy of the leaders was soon turned to sorrow. The giant Simba stood nerveless and speechless at the head of the body, Kalulu looked on with deep sympathy on his face, at the side, while Moto threw himself on his knees with clasped hands, at the feet, keen anguish written in every line of his face. The positions of the others, as they came up one by one to obtain a view of the prostrate form of the boy, indicated sorrow, mixed with curious awe; but that of the man through whose aid the body had been discovered was the most remarkable.
When he had approached the curious object which attracted such attention and elicited such shouts, he stood stock still, as if he had been suddenly petrified; but seeing that the pale object bore the semblance of a man, and that it remained motionless, he advanced slowly on tiptoe, while his face underwent remarkable changes as his emotions moved him.
“What is it?” he asked of the nearest man to him. “Is that the Mienzi Mungu who left the gun?”
“No,” answered the man, shortly, “this is not the Mienzi Mungu, thou fool; ’tis but an Arab boy, who has died from hunger,” he added, proudly, and with the compassionate tone of one who pitied such woeful ignorance.
“An Arab boy!” he uttered. “What is that?”
“He is one of the white people who live in the middle of the sea,” the warrior answered.
“Well, what makes him so white? Is his skin like the shell of an egg? Is he hard or soft to the touch?” he asked again, with a strange curiosity.
“Art thou afraid of a dead boy? Go to the body and feel it, fool.”
The peasant smiled foolishly as he was thus rebuked; but presently he was seen to crawl towards the body and timidly put his hand on the boy’s chest to feel it; but he suddenly removed it with a cry.
“He is not dead! His skin is soft, and I felt it move!”
Moto and Kalulu sprang and knelt down by the boy’s side, and a joyful sparkle was seen in Simba’s eyes as he also bent down and placed one hand within that of the motionless boy, and the other on the chest. Moto felt the head, to see if there was internal warmth in it, and Kalulu seemed desirous of knowing the truth by reading it in the eyes of Simba and Moto with his own.
“He lives! my young master Selim lives! Allah be praised!” cried Simba fervently.
“But he will not live long if we don’t carry him away to put something into him,” said Moto, anxiously and hurriedly. “Dost thou see Simba, how thin he is? he is nothing but skin and bone—and look here, Simba! Wallahi! what sheitan (bad man, fiend) has done this? See the bruises on his shoulders, and—turn him over on his side—there!—look at his back, Simba!”
“Moto,” answered that great and tender-hearted giant, “Tell me, what could have done this? Is it a man? A man?—no! No man could have wounded and striped that back so, because Selim—poor innocent Selim!—could have done nothing to deserve it. This is the work of a pure mshensi (savage), and I will tear out that man’s heart, so help me Allah! But let us bear him quickly but gently to the village—and, Moto, ask Kalulu to send the man back running to tell the people to have some very thin ugali (porridge) boiled in goat’s milk ready by the time we reach there.”
The order was given by Kalulu immediately, and Moto, laying hold of his shoulder-cloth, which he had thrown away from him at the first burst of excitement, began to spread it out on the ground. Simba aided Moto then to lift the wasted form of their young master on the cloth, groaning from sheer sorrow and grief at the thought of what he must have suffered, and murmuring to himself, “Selim will tell me if he lives, and if he dies, little Abdullah will tell me, and then, you sheitan, you mshensi dog! I will treat you in the same way as you treated Selim—sure, sure.”
When the senseless form of Selim had been placed on the cloth, Simba and Moto took hold of each corner of it at the head while two other men were ordered by Kalulu to take hold of each corner at the feet, and in this manner they proceeded on their return to the village.
When the party arrived at the village, they found the inhabitants loudly and excitedly discussing the strange events that had occurred, and the report which Kalulu’s messenger, the peasant, had made concerning the discovery of a white boy, nearly dead from hunger, in the forest. The report that a white boy had been found created an unprecedented surprise and excitement; no stranger news could have been given in a village where white people had never been heard of or dreamed of before; the wildest imagination could not have produced any shape or human figure so wonderful. A boy all white! white skin—as white as the yolk of an egg! They might have imagined black men with horns, or black men with two heads, six arms, and as many legs as a centipede, or any other monstrosity; but a white boy, with skin so soft and smooth that the slightest pressure with the finger produced an impression on it,—this was wonderful and excelled all tradition. No wonder, then, that when the party which bore the white boy was seen advancing, the people made a general rush to see the curiosity.
But Kalulu, warned by Moto, had thought of this; and his warriors had been so skilfully arranged that the excited people found themselves balked; and Moto, Simba, and the other two men bore their burden into an empty hut which the village chief, at Kalulu’s command, showed them.
The ugali, or porridge, which had been prepared, was then taken by Simba, and while Moto gently forced the mouth of the boy open, Simba, with a small wooden paddle, which he had soon scooped out into a shallow spoon, began to drop some of the nourishing gruel into the open month. The effect was almost instantaneous, although to the anxious Simba it appeared a long time; the open lips closed and a slight movement of the throat was observed. Again the lips opened, and the watchful Simba poured a few more drops of the warm and grateful restorative, and soon, as fast as he poured, the thirsty mouth received it, with other agreeable effects which the friends were quick to perceive. Kalulu, who knelt at Selim’s head, pointed Simba to the minute beads of perspiration which had formed on the previously dry forehead, and Moto, placing his hand on the chest, gladdened the ears of all with the news that the heart throbbed quicker and stronger.
Presently, Selim heaved a sigh, and the eyelids, hitherto closed, opened, revealing the lustrous orbs which give light and the sense of seeing to the body.
“Ay, what eyes! so large and beautiful!” ejaculated Kalulu, with wonder.
“Hush-sh,” said Simba, warningly, as he bent his ears to the lips which now were whispering words which brought the tears to Simba’s eyes.
“And sons shall mourn for Arab fathers slain,
And Arab wives shall shed their tears like rain.”
“Poor boy!” said Simba; “he repeats the words his mother said before son and mother parted.” And then in a louder tone he said, “Selim, young master, dost thou know me?”
The head turned round, and the eyes of his young master rested on him full, with the light of intelligence in them.
“Ah, Simba! Is it thou?” asked Selim, in a faint but glad voice.
“Yes, I—thy slave Simba. Praised be Allah for his goodness! my master knows his slave.”
“Where am I?” Selim then asked. “I have had such a fearful dream. I thought I was dying from thirst and hunger. But this is not that awful forest I saw. I am in a house, and Simba is at my side. How is this, Simba?”
“Dost thou not know Moto, master?” asked Moto, who had risen to his feet.
“And thou too, Moto, here? Then I am happy. I am not alone, as I dreamed I was.”
“No, master, thou art not alone; but take some more of this,” said Simba, as he industriously stirred the porridge. “It is good for thee, and thou wilt be quite strong by-and-bye.”
And Selim obediently opened his mouth and permitted himself to be fed without demur, though his eyes worked and looked about to aid his mind in resolving the remarkable change of circumstances which had taken place since he fell down in the forest from fatigue, hunger, and thirst.
When the gruel was exhausted and he had eaten his fill, Selim found his strength much recovered, his mind firmer, and he asked Simba to tell him how this change had come about. Simba related briefly all the facts already known to us, to Selim’s infinite surprise and joy; and Selim, in answer to a question from Simba, related what occurred to him, from the time Simba and Moto disappeared at Ewikuru to the time he laid down as he thought to die, Kalulu came round now, and kneeled in front of Selim, and Simba introduced him as the adopted son of the King, who had been so good to Moto, and as the young chief through whose aid they had been enabled to discover him.
Selim lifted his hand, and grasped Kalulu’s fervently, and asked Moto to tell him how grateful he felt to him for his kindness, which was no sooner done than Kalulu said:
“Let the son of the Arab chief eat, and rest, and get strong. Let neither hunger nor thirst approach him. Kalulu is his brother. With Kalulu my white Arab brother may tread the forest glades in safety; for the forest is kind to Kalulu; the trees nod their tall heads to him as a friend, the birds make music for him, and the honey-bird finds sweet treasures for him. The forest is fall of beauty and richness, and Kalulu’s heart is glad when he can roam through it alone. Neither the lion nor the leopard harm him, and the wild boar starts in fear when Kalulu is near him. Get well, my brother, get strong, and fear harm no more.”
To which Selim answered, while grateful tears filled his eyes:
“The voice of Kalulu sounds in my ears as the living waters of a fountain in the ears of a thirsty man. My soul responds to his kind words as the closed petals of the lotus to the warm light of day. Fear and distrust fly from me as the gloom of night and early mist before the sunshine. When the heart is tranquil and sadness does not disturb the mind, a man sees joy in all things; even the sombre forest is reft of its terrors, and becomes beautiful, the ground is found to be clothed with sweet grass and pretty flowers. The waving grain and tasselled corn does not bend more easily to the breeze than a man’s heart does to his emotions; the dark past will be forgotten by me, and with Kalulu as a brother I shall find beauty in all things, music in birds, pleasure in the fields, joy in sunshine and night.”
Kalulu replied: “Thy voice, my white brother, makes Kalulu glad. His heart grows under its pleasant sounds, and is moved like the foliage by the soughing breezes. I will teach thee what the Sky-spirit has taught the children of the Watuta, and thou shalt teach me what the Sky-spirit has taught the pale-faced children of the Arabs. Thou shalt show me what the great sea is like whose waters are salt, and to what it is like when the angry pepo (storm) blows on it; and I will show thee the brown Liemba, where, among the thick matete brake, hides the long-nosed mamba (crocodile), and where the hippopotamus loves to bathe his great body. I will show thee the pretty islands, silent as the night in their loneliness, which are guarded by scores of crocodiles, for me to roam when I like. I will teach thee how to hunt the swift antelope and the leaping springbok; how to pierce the thick hide of the pharo (rhinoceros); how to laugh at the fierce bellow of the wild buffalo; and how a Mtuta boy meets the lion. Eat and get strong. But tell me, my brother, how comes thy back so scarred and wealed?”
“Kalulu, my brother, thy words have made me strong already. Heed not my bruised body; thy words are a medicine for it. The music of thy voice has healed my sores. I feel them no more.”
“Nay, but tell me the name of the man who made them. Was it Ferodia?”
“No. Ferodia has not struck me; it was the man they call Tifum Byah.”
“Tifum Byah! the cruel dog; but never mind, I will stripe his back for him.”
“Nay, please trouble him not, for my sake, Kalulu; the dark days are over.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Kalulu. “But now we will leave thee to sleep and rest. We shall stay two days here, when thou wilt be strong enough to be carried before Katalambula. I marvel at the friendship I bear thee; but Moto was good to me, and when he told me thou wert his master, I loved thee then. Now I love thee for thyself. The Watuta know how to love and hate, how to like and dislike.”
Then, turning to his warriors, who had crowded into the hut, Kalulu said, “Come, let us leave Moto and Simba with the pale-faced boy; they will watch him.”
