subtle air of defiance, a restlessness and exchanging of glances, so that
the demon which Bakunjala had once seen so vividly came back to roost
somewhere beneath the immaculate uniform.

Neither he nor his sergeants nor their men could speak the Wongolo tongue
fluently, so that for interpreter he was compelled to employ one of the
corporals. To employ any newly subjected race or tribe as soldiers or in
any responsible capacity is unwise, for ties of blood are liable to lead
to treachery; to trust to the idiosyncrasies and personal values of any
native interpreter is equally impolitic. Zu Pfeiffer and his party were as
unaware of the meaning of the phrases exchanged as they were of the
message in the throbbing of that distant drum. Between the conqueror and
the subjected tribe was a wall denser than any steel; the same wall of
tabu of the craft that Birnier was finding so difficult to penetrate.

Every attempt to persuade any of the witch-doctors to disclose the secrets
of their craft through the interpreter was doomed to failure; even had zu
Pfeiffer been able to speak the dialect as well as Birnier he would never
have accomplished it. Yet he tried the impossible. The answer was
invariably a mask of ox-like stupidity or the retort that he, being a
mighty magician, must needs know that he did but "tickle their feet"! At
length, irritated by this persistence, he had Sakamata put to the torture
and had for his pains a story in which the idol as the first man was the
father of the tribe whom the people believed to have been eaten up
literally, so that the conqueror had become the father of the people,
having the idol inside him, and the chance that the tale had a faint
resemblance to an account by a Frenchman of the superstitions of a West
African tribe, convinced him. Implicitly he believed the ingenious yarn
invented by a wily witch-doctor to save his hide and the perquisites of
his job by placating the white man, the trap into which most white
chroniclers have fallen. This conviction, which flattered his sagacity and
lulled any suspicions, strengthened his arm in the delivering of
punishment and reward.

CHAPTER 25

In the camp of Bakahenzie was the low mutter of the drums by day and
night. The village had straggled farther through the forest in each
direction save that of the sacred enclosure. Already were some five
hundred warriors there and more were pouring in every day. Bu