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Updated: June 14, 2025
Here, their heads near the surface, but their feet deep in earth, sat the great hunters and warriors of every age of the race of Kalingalunga, once a great nation, though now a failing tribe.
About half way he stopped and reverently scattered the ashes of the wambiloa upon three graves that lay near the edge, then forward silent, downcast, reverential. "Mors omnibus est communis!" The white men, even down to Jem, understood and sympathized with Kalingalunga. In this garden of the dead of all ages they felt their common humanity, and followed their black brother silent and awestruck.
With some difficulty he was prevailed on to stand still and let the subtle native creep on, nor would he consent to be inactive until the other solemnly vowed to come back for him and give him his full share of the fighting. Then Kalingalunga went gliding like a shadow and flitted from tree to tree.
He will come back without fear, and we will nail him with the fifty-pound note upon him. And then Jack Ketch." The whole party was now on the move, led by Kalingalunga, bearing the sacred ashes. "What on earth is he going to do with them?"
A space was cleared in the wood, women stood on both sides with flaming boughs and threw a bright red light upon a particular portion of that space; the rest was dark as pitch. Time, midnight. When the white men came up the dancing had not begun. Kalingalunga was singing a preliminary war song.
The savage had followed the man's footsteps about half a mile, and the white man the savage, when suddenly both were diverted from their purpose. Kalingalunga stood still and beckoned Jem. Jem ran to him, and found him standing snuffing the air with his great broad nostrils, like a stag. "What is it?" "White fellow burn wambiloa wood." "How d'ye know? how d'ye know?"
Jacky cut steps with his tomahawk and went up the main stem, which was short, and then up a fork, one out of about twelve; among all these he jumped about like a monkey till he found one that was hollow at the top. "Throw Kalingalunga a stone, den he find possum a good deal quick."
The living flame ran but a few steps, then disappeared from the earth, and the screams ceased. Apparently the fire had not only killed, but annihilated its prey and so itself. Crawley sickened with horror, and for a moment with remorse. But already brutus and Kalingalunga were fighting again by the light of the burning tent. They closed, and this time blood flowed on both sides.
Encouraged by the tone of sympathy, the afflicted chief pointed to his face, sighed, and said: "Kalingalunga paint war, and now Kalingalunga wash um face and not kill anybody first. Kalingalunga Jacky again, and show your white place in um hill a good deal soon." And the amiable heathen cleared up a little at the prospect of serving George, whom he loved aboriginally.
The air became clear, and to Jem's surprise the bush, instead of being on his right hand, was now on his left; and there on its skirts, about a mile off, was the native camp. They had hardly come in sight of it when it was seen to break from quietude into extraordinary bustle. "What is up?" asked Jem. The hunter smiled, and pointed to his own face: "Kalingalunga painted war."
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