Witch-Doctors | Page 2

fresh cigar, adjusted his helmet with care, took a gold-mounted sjambok from his servant, and strode across the square. The lines of his torso were so perfect that they suggested artificial aid.
The orderly room was square and whitewashed; grass matting was upon the floor, and high screened doors opened on to the north verandah. Zu Pfeiffer sprawled in a swing chair before the office desk placed at an oblique angle to the wall, encumbered with books and papers. After tapping reflectively on a book cover with a polished nail zu Pfeiffer's hand sharply struck the bell. Instantly a corporal appeared at the farther door and stood as if petrified, black hand to black temple. Zu Pfeiffer snapped instructions in Kiswahili without removing his cigar. The man grunted, shot his hand away at right angles with as much energy as if he were trying to knock down an elephant, and vanished.
"Sergeant!"
"Ja, Excellence."
At the other door like another Jack-in-the-box appeared Sergeant Schultz in exactly the same attitude. At a nod the sergeant melted into the semblance of human movement: he drew aside a chair, selected a certain document from a pile of them, and handed it to the lieutenant. Zu Pfeiffer pushed a box of cigars across the table, lolled back with one foot on the table, and began to peruse lazily. The sergeant retired respectfully with the cigar to the outer office. A fly buzzed hopefully at the mosquito wire. The tap of a typewriter sounded like some other insect. On the hot air came the faint barks of a drill-sergeant on the parade ground. From behind the building rose fitfully the murmur of voices from a herd of natives squatted in the sun awaiting the opening of the Court House. Leaves rustled largely under the Lieutenant's fingers.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}
At length he pitched the report on to the table, carefully placed the butt of his cigar in an ash-tray, lighted another, and disposed of the match with equal care.
"Sergeant."
"Ja, Excellence!"
Zu Pfeiffer indicated a chair by a thrust of the chin. The sergeant sat. Tapping the report with the highly polished and very long finger-nail of the left hand, the lieutenant demanded:
"Who is the man who gave you this report?"
"Ali Ben Hassan, an Arab trader, Excellence."
"Trustworthy?"
"Ja, Excellence. He has done much work for us."
"Where?"
"On the Tanganika district, sub-division B II, Excellence. He brought papers of first-class recommendation from the Kommandant."
"Ben Hassan speaks of one Sakamata, nicht wahr?"
"Ja, Excellence."
"Of what tribe is he?"
"Wongolo."
"A witch-doctor?"
"Ja, Excellence."
"He is here? Let him come in."
The sergeant rose, saluted and departed. Gutturals sounded lazily. The sergeant reappeared and behind him shuffled a native. Clad only in a dirty loin-cloth, his brown skin was wrinkled in scaly folds upon his chest and belly; his face was like an ancient tortoise; the small lack-lustre eyes were bloodshot and furtive; the limbs were almost fleshless. He squatted upon the ground and with lowered lids appeared to be absorbed in the contemplation of a white man's table leg. Zu Pfeiffer regarded the man as one would a stray dog and nodded to the sergeant, who sat down.
"Does he speak Kiswahili?"
"Nein, Excellence. Only his monkey speech."
"Why do you suppose that he is trustworthy?"
"Because, Excellence, his interests are with ours. There is no competition. The Schweinh��nde Engl?nder have no interest there--yet. They are too busy with the Uganda railroad."
"Ja, ja. Again what is the tribal system there, King-God or----" The lieutenant permitted a slight smile--"or Dis-established Church?"
"King-God, Excellence," replied Sergeant Schultz gravely.
"This fellow then is an apostate priest, nicht wahr?"
The sergeant noticed the movement of one of the sentry moustaches. A twitch of the lips recognized his superior's pleasantry.
"Ja, Excellence."
Zu Pfeiffer stuck the cigar into the corner of his mouth and regarded idly the dumb figure on the floor against the wall.
"We must have the Wongolo country, c'est entendu. Now what's your opinion of the method, sergeant?"
"With due deference, Excellence," responded Sergeant Schultz, "I propose that we advance and bring them to subjection in the usual manner."
Zu Pfeiffer fingered a ring and stared out into the yellow glare.
"Nein," he said at length, meditatively, removed the cigar from his lips and delicately knocked off the ash. "Circumstances alter cases. That method is too expensive. Son Altesse cannot afford the blood of the Fatherland in return for such ignoble carcasses. We--the price paid in the Herrero campaign was insupportable."
"Pardon, Excellence, but Treitschke said----"
"I know, sergeant. But Treitschke did not live in Central Africa."
"True, Excellence."
"Die Schweinh��nde Engl?nder have had more experience than we have. Even a fool learns wisdom by experience--sometimes."
"True, Excellence."
Again fell a silence save for the buzz of the persistent fly.
"Also psychological research is more valuable than artillery--sometimes--in spite of Napoleon and Treitschke." Zu Pfeiffer glanced at the sergeant who, beneath the mask of his features, appeared shocked. "Blasphemy, nicht wahr, sergeant?"
"If your Excellence thinks----"
"But remember