IN the dead of night the Colonel descended into the midst of the village, in boots and torn trousers, and drew water on the long beam-lever from the well and poured it into the tank, talking gently to himself while he did it; and the villagers, awakened by the creaking and rattling, crept to crannies and looked on and trembled.
And in the morning they gathered in the village square and speculated. Who is he? The women were afraid to go into the forest; the ripe crops dropped the seed from their ears in the clearings.
Night after night he was there, and graciously tasted of their offerings of fruit and cakes. No one slept by night but the children, and the priest who dreamed true dreams. The priest was their hope, for through him alone could the Soochings learn from the gods what must be believed and done. And day after day the perplexity grew, for the priest was old and forgot his dreams; and though he sat till sunset with the doctors of the law about him, he could not recall them.
But, one day, when they had sat for many hours in silence, watching the True Dreamer with his head bowed between his knees, trying to remember, a young priest spoke:
‘I myself have had a dream.’
‘Of what use are your dreams?’ said the old man, looking quickly up.
‘I dreamed that I saw the True Dreamer sleeping; and over him stood the vision of a dead man, with the burial cords hanging loose about him, and a peeled rod in his hand as of a messenger.’
A murmur ran round the squatting circle.
‘It is true,’ said the old man ‘I have seen this vision three times.’
‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who is he that cometh by night?” And the vision answered, “It is the God with Two Names, the inventor of the blow-pipe, come back to be king over the tribe as in the first time.”’
‘Katongo tells the truth,’ said the old man ‘so spake the vision.’
‘And the True Dreamer said, “Who shall be his chief priest and interpret his meaning to the multitude?” And the vision answered, “You yourself, O True Dreamer; and at your right hand shall stand the young man Katongo, who is foolish, but full of zeal.”’
‘All this was so,’ said the old man. ‘And, furthermore, the messenger told me the rites by which the God with Two Names may be propitiated. These rites are a secret which it is unlawful to reveal till the time be come. But should any of them be left undone, pestilence and destruction will fall on the whole tribe.’
The True Dreamer arose and went back to his house. The news spread through the tribe, and there was great rejoicing. The old king was promptly clubbed on the head, and the priests, attended by the state conch-blowers and heralds, proclaimed the accession of the new monarch under the title of King Dwala, Him-of-Two-Names, both unknown; drums were beaten, hogs were killed, and the tribe gave itself up to frenzies of loyalty and large draughts of the fermented juice of the mowa-tree.
The Colonel, terrified by the noise, withdrew further into the forest, and did not dare to return for several days. His absence gave no one but the priests the least concern, as his place was efficiently filled by a painted image of ugly and imposing aspect.
Preparations were hurried on for solemnising the nuptials of the new monarch—or the image—at the new moon, to the sacred sago-tree which stood in the middle of the place of assembly.
Politically speaking, the result of all these events was that the war party had captured the machine. The question which divided the Soochings at this time was the relation to be adopted by the tribe towards the gold-diggers who had lately penetrated into the Sooching forest. Many members of the tribe looked upon the miners as harmless idiots, bound by the curse of some more powerful magician to sweat at a spade, and too stupid to guard their treasures of wonderful mugs and tins and nails and even large pieces of corrugated iron from the clumsiest of thieves; but the seriously-minded tribesmen, and especially the religious party, penetrated their hidden motive of digging up the Spirit of Tree-Vigour, and bringing upon the Sooching forest that same blight of sterility which followed the track of the white men wherever they went. Nothing, in their view, could appease the already irritated Spirit but the wholesale destruction of these desecrators.
The Colonel’s continued absence put the war party in a dangerous position; the more so as a Jew from the mining camp arrived at this time with a little cartload of looking-glasses and whisky in the village, and brought over a number of wobblers to the party of peace. The True Dreamer worked hard for his party, dreaming judicious dreams by night, and organising search parties in the daytime for the purpose of bringing the new king to his throne.
The Colonel watched the search parties with interest, and at last had the courage to follow one of them back to the edge of the camp. That night, as he was amusing himself by the well in the moonlight, he was astonished at hearing a low clear whistle, and seeing men approaching him slowly from every side with deep obeisances; he had never yet seen human beings in this attitude, which seemed to be copied from the other animals. But it appeared that they meant kindly by it, and he let them approach until they made a small circle about him. A gaunt old man stood before him with arms upraised to the sky, pouring forth a torrent of incomprehensible words. Not knowing what was expected of him, the Colonel took a mug that lay beside him, dipped it in the tank, and handed it to the old man, whose eyes gushed over with tears of delight at this sign of favour; while the rest made a clucking noise with their tongues and said:
‘Dwala malana!’—which means, ‘Glory to Him-of-Two-Names.’
They invited him with gestures to taste the dishes of fruit which lay about him; and he did so, to their great joy. The village had all turned out by now; torches flared and smoked on every side; and it was in a blaze of light and through a thick avenue of men, women and children that the Colonel was at last conducted to the temple which had been prepared for him. The noise of conchs and drums had no more terrors for him now, and he watched the dances with an intensity of interest that threw him at last into a state of hypnotic coma.
The village slept late next morning. When the Colonel awoke he went out, from force of habit, to prepare breakfast. The guardians who slept on the threshold sat up and watched his movements awhile in stupid amazement; his quiet exit by the window had failed at first to rouse them.
He was working impatiently and irritably: he was afraid of being late; nothing was in its place. There was no axe to chop the wood; he had to break it with his hands. There were no matches, no tins of beef. It took all the gestures of all the priests to make him understand that he must not work. In time he grew used to being waited on by others; he grew used to obeisances and reverence. It was a new interest, and not more puzzling than most things. One thing disturbed him. Outside the temple was posted the Royal Minstrel, who played only one tune on his pipe—the Royal Tune. At first the Colonel had been delighted with this tune, and had made the minstrel play it to him from morning till night. But he grew tired of it. Whenever he opened the door, or even so much as showed his head at a window, the minstrel fired off this thing; when he went outside the village on any errand the minstrel followed him playing it. It maddened him, and at last he broke the pipe over the minstrel’s head and slunk back into his temple, and was very miserable for the rest of the day. But the people were delighted with this kingly trait, and the minstrel sold the pieces for a large price.
A strict watch was kept over his movements at first for fear he should escape; but after a while this was relaxed, and he used to roam at will in the forest. He usually returned at night, but not always. He visited the gold-diggings, but was alarmed by the look of the diggers, who reminded him of the American; he was afraid they would put him into a hutch. In another part of the forest he found a white man with a large family. The women and children were greatly frightened; but the man invited him into the house and told him he was a Missionary. The Colonel stayed there two days, and was converted to Christianity.
Meanwhile the tribe was preparing for war. The women were sealed up hermetically in huts; the warriors danced and rubbed their muscles with mowa juice; and late one night they disappeared silently with shields and spears among the trees. Next day they appeared again, exultant, with loads of booty; the white men had been utterly routed.
The stupefaction of the succeeding orgies was partially dispelled after many days by the frenzy of inspired minstrels, who proclaimed the imminence of the second Golden Age, and the permanent establishment of the wise and beneficent empire of the great Prince Dwala, Him-of-Two-Names, over the whole of the island, and those eyots beyond which constituted the rest of the habitable world.
The power of actual motion was finally restored by the rattle of musketry in the grey light of one dawn, and the snapping of twigs overhead, followed by the appearance of men in khaki among the trees. Unarmed and unprepared, the villagers fled into the forest beyond, and not a soul remained but the old Dreamer, who was seeking new visions in the quiet recesses of his sleeping apartment, and the Colonel, who ensconced himself comfortably in the sago-tree to watch this new human phenomenon. Horses crouched and snorted, dragging guns up the last slope, with a cluster of men straining at each wheel; infantrymen advanced and halted and turned at a shouted word; and the Colonel sat and looked on as at a new dance performed for his amusement. He was delighted at the burning of the huts, which made the biggest flame he had ever seen; but he grew tired at last of the long pauses in the ballet; so he climbed down to the tank and splashed water over the officers.