Ringing the Bell - Samuel — Harmon Schmelzenbach

I have a confession to make. I'm not really a missionary. I'm actually a national worker in disguise as a missionary. Think about it. It was at a log altar in a little mud church under a thatched roof with no furniture at all except some goatskins on the floor where I was saved.

It was around a campfire with the sparks flying way up into the night sky and the preachers singing and shouting and lions roaring on the other side of the river about four miles away under the preaching of an African by the name of Daniel Mketi that the Lord took complete control of my life and the Holy Spirit moved in and pointed me in the course that I was to follow.

A Testimony Born in the African Church

A national worker. A product of the African church disguised as a missionary. I'd like to tell you a story this evening. These words taken out of the 13th chapter of Hebrews. For he has said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee so that we may boldly say, the Lord is my helper and I shall not fear what man shall do unto me.

As the missionary brought his message to a close that Sunday night in the little stone church up on the mountainside and he opened the altar for anybody who wanted to come down and pray, a tall, proud, young Swazi warrior stood to his feet in the shadows at the back of the church and in a deep voice he called, missionary, I accept this Jesus that you speak of.

And the missionary beckoned to him, come on down and let's talk to Jesus. And the young man marched forward, laid his big shield down, his spears dropped to his knees, bowed his shaggy head humbly at the feet of Jesus.

And Jesus came that night and reached across that log and lifted the load of sin and superstition and darkness that had bound this young man. He came to his feet. The tears were running down his dark cheeks.

He stood there in front of the crowd and he tried to wipe these tears away. But they just seemed to come faster than he could get rid of them. And finally, when it came around to his turn to testify, he thought he owed the crowd an apology.

I must tell you, he said, there's no pain. It doesn't hurt anywhere. You can't hurt a Swazi warrior enough to make him cry. And yet these tears. It's just this thing that the missionary has told us about.

This God has come in and he fills me with peace and joy. And there's no law in our tribe that forbids a man to cry for joy, is there? And then the tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he testified to what Jesus had done in his life.

He left the service. He walked six miles down the mountain back to his village. The next day at dawn, when the sun came up, this young warrior was waiting outside of his father's hut. His father was the chief of the entire area.

And when at last the old chief got up, this young boy was there. Father, I would speak to the tribe today. As the eldest son of the chief, heir to the chieftainship, he had the right to speak to the people.

But the people had gone their various ways for the day. Some had gone to draw water, others to herd the cattle, to plow the gardens. The father got some of the herd boys together and he sent them to go round up the people.

It was about noon when the entire village was gathered together again, nearly a thousand people. And the father turned to his eldest son. What is it that you would say to the people? And the proud young warrior stood to his feet.

Father, first of all I must tell you, I have broken the laws that you laid down for our tribe. I have disobeyed you. I went up there to the mission station where we were forbidden to go up on the mountain.

But father, that God that that missionary preaches about when he passes through our village, he is alive. He is real. I know, for last night I too spoke with his God. He started to testify. The old chief watched in amazement.

Then fear flickered in his eyes. He turned and he beckoned to one of the young warriors that was seated behind him, a young half-brother to the man that was testifying. Listen, he whispered to him, I don't know what's happened, but go get the witch doctor and bring him back with you.

Up over the mountain dashed the boy to go get the witch doctor. In a little while he was back with the witch doctor. They sat down at the back of the crowd. I don't know who had ever told this young warrior anything about the doctrines of Christianity, about such things as making restitution.

But she knew that if he was ever going to get down on his knees and face God in prayer, there were some things in his life he was simply going to have to straighten out. Father, you remember that calf that disappeared three years ago down by the river, that we said a crocodile, yes, yes, I remember it.

You remember the goats that disappeared, that we said a leopard, yes, I know about them. Well Father, I'm the one that did it. There were others involved, but I'm the one that instigated it. God has forgiven me these things now.

I seek your forgiveness. I want to repay you for them. I need time. The old witch doctor watched in amazement. He'd never seen anything like this before. Truly this young son of yours has fallen under the terrible spell of that missionary.

The entire village must be re-doctored again. They set about the great ceremony of re-doctoring the village. One of the boys was sent to go get a black goat, a goat without a blemish or a mark on it.

Its throat was cut. The blood was caught in a little wooden dish. They passed it around to every member of the village. Each person had to dip their finger in it and touch it to their tongue as a sign of allegiance to the spirits to which it had been offered.

The meat was cut up. It was put into a pot. Herbs and concoctions were poured onto the fire, poured into the meat. On with the ceremony they went. They took up the pegs on top of the huts. They re-doctored them against lightning.

They took up the pegs at the corners of the gardens. They re-doctored them against famine and drought. They took ashes from the fire. They sprinkled them on all the many footpaths leading into the chief's village.

Any witch coming that way would come up against this invisible barrier that they had laid down. Finally, in the late afternoon, the meat was cooked. Now came the greatest part of the ceremony. Every person in the village had to eat a tiny piece of this meat.

By eating a bite of it, they believed that the spirits to which it had been offered would gain entrance to them and could permeate and protect them from the inside. Around to each member of the village they came.

They reached this proud young warrior. He leapt back. No. No, I can't do that. I no longer worship these spirits. I no longer fear these witches. I can't do these things. Father, it seems that somehow I've managed to disgrace the tribe.

Better that you send me away. The old chief whirled on his eldest son. All right, he shouted. Get out. Leave. You're vanquished from the Swazi nation. And as the young man turned to leave, the witch doctor whirled around.

No, he can't go. Wherever he goes, the witches will gain entrance to this village through him. He must eat this meat. The father turned to four of the young warriors that were standing there. All of them half brothers to this young man.

Grab him, he shouted. They pinned their elder brother's arms behind his back. They tried to force him to eat the meat. He clenched his teeth. They flung him to the ground. They tried to pry open his mouth and force the meat in.

Until at last, in a fit of rage, the old chief turned on one of the boys. Get the shambuck, he shouted. It's a criminal offense in Africa to use a shambuck on a man. A raw, hippopotamus-high bullwhip, 12 to 14 feet long.

The shambuck was brought. One of the boys ran and he was back in a minute with four wooden pegs. He pounded them into the ground. They strapped their elder brother down with wahai thongs. Then the old chief stepped forward and he brought that great lash whistling down across his eldest son, blow upon blow.

And each time the whip fell and rose again. It ripped through the flesh to the bone, leaving an open wound. Blow upon blow. Until at last, the whip severed down belly on his unconscious form. The old chief stepped back.

Water was brought. As consciousness started to come back to him, the witch doctor was there. Just one bite, just one bite. Not a tear dimmed his eye now. I won't do it. I can't do it. Turn him over, the chief shouted.

They rolled him over in the gravel and strapped him down again. And then as the chief stepped up, the second eldest boy, a young warrior in his early 20s, took the whip from him. You're old. You're tired.

Let me have it a while. And with all the jealousy of his position in the tribe and the strength of his youth, he brought that great lash down across his elder brother. Blow upon blow. His chest, his face, his limbs.

Until once more, the whip simply feathered down belly on his unconscious form. The quick tropical twilight faded. Darkness fell like a heavy blanket across Africa. The old chief turned to the witch doctor.

Leave him there. He'll have changed his mind about the scar of his by tomorrow. Stay with us tonight. Protect us from the evil spirits. We'll carry on with the ceremony tomorrow. He turned to the people.

Get to your huts, he shouted. The people scattered instantly to their huts. No campfires were built that night. Ten, eleven o 'clock that night. In one of the little tiny low doorways to a little grass beehive shaped hut, cautiously a tiny face peered out into the darkness.

It was the eight year old sister to the young man who lay on the ground. She studied every shadow in the village. And when at last she was certain that nothing moved, she ducked through the doorway, leapt to her feet, slithered like a shadow across through the moonlight to where her elder brother lay.

She dropped to her hands and knees. Quickly she severed the thongs around his wrists and his ankles. She splashed water from the broken piece of a pot into his face. And his consciousness came back to him.

And he sat up and he saw who it was. Through thick swollen lips he whispered to her, If they need me, tell them I'll be at the mission station. No, no, I can't tell them. If I tell them anything, they'll know I had something to do with it.

And I'll get the beating you were to get tomorrow. She whirled around, dashed back across the yard, dropped to her hands and knees and slipped through into the darkened hut beyond. He crawled over against the edge of the stockade, pulled himself upright, took a long walking stick out of the poles, leaning heavily on it, he staggered into the twelve foot elephant grass at the edge of the village.

The Missionary's Care and the Hunger for Scripture

Dawn broke the next day. And into the yard at the mission station staggered this proud young Swazi warrior. At first the missionary didn't even recognize him. Then when he realized who he was, he started to scold him.

You're a Christian now. We don't go to these big beer drinks. Look, the people have beaten you to within an inch of your life. It's a miracle you're alive. We don't do these things when we... No, missionary, no, it didn't happen that way.

They sat him down right there in the shade of the thorn tree. The missionary shouted for water and disinfectant in a big white basin. And all through the long morning hours he washed away the caked gravel and the blood and tried to patch him up as best as he could.

And the warrior sat there in total stoical silence. Until at last the missionary had done everything he could and he went to stand up and the young man reached out and stopped him. And in a voice that the missionary could barely hear he said, missionary, last night as I climbed this mountain many, many times I had to sit down on the rocks in the darkness and get my strength.

You know, missionary, as I sat there alone in the darkness I looked down deep inside of me here. He was still there, missionary. He was still there. He didn't desert me when they beat me. They didn't drive him out.

Tell me something, missionary. Can they ever drive him out? Will he ever leave me? No. You're the only one who can drive him out. As long as you walk by his side and you keep your hands firmly in his he'll walk with you every step of the way through life right to the gates of eternity.

Nothing can keep him away. Oh, missionary, I've got to go back and tell my tribe about the love that this God has for us. They carried him into their home. It wasn't much of a home. I remember it as a boy.

It was 22 feet long and 16 feet wide made of rusted sheets of corrugated iron standing upright. It was one large room with two wires across the middle of it and four burlap curtains that you pulled to form the four walls of the house inside.

And just as you went through the door right in front of you there were three large round river rocks and the fire burned between them and that was the kitchen. They carried him into the kitchen. They laid down some skin blankets and he curled up there and the missionary brewed broth and tried to nurse him back to health.

And for three days his life hung in the balance. And then the fourth day when they came out into the kitchen area he was sitting up. And the fifth day when they came out he had managed to crawl across the floor.

He had opened the door and he was sitting outside in the sunlight propped up against the wall of the house. The sixth day he was on his feet and by the end of the week he was in and out of the kitchen.

By the end of the second week he was a nuisance. He was everywhere. And then one morning he burst into the kitchen. The missionary and his wife and some of the Africans were seated on the floor on grass mats eating their hard cornmeal porridge that would be their meal that day as they visited the villages.

Missionary, missionary, he said. I want you to start teaching me how to look into this little black book you carry around and have it talk to me the same way that it speaks to you. Missionary tried to explain to him.

We're too busy. We don't have the time to teach you how to read. Missionary, let us help with the work around this place. There are many of us young people that have now fled to the mission. We can help you.

They had an immediate council of war right there in the kitchen. Chores were assigned everybody. It fell a lot of this young warrior to wash the dishes in the kitchen for everybody on the mission station and to gather firewood for the fire.

Others did various other chores. Early in the morning they'd all be finished with their work down to the little stone church they would go. You could hear them all over the mission station as the missionary's wife taught them how to read.

It had only been just a few years before when she had been sitting here on these benches and chairs studying and praying just as you girls are. Now deep in the heart of Africa it was lifting the name of Jesus.

You could hear those young people all over the mission station as they learned the alphabet for the first time in their lives. Everybody would recite it in unison. A, B, C, D. Down the line. Then they learned to count.

One, two, three. Finally one day he became the proud owner of his own little black book. Back to the kitchen he came to wash the dishes. He propped it up in front of the dish pan. Just a few tin plates and knives and forks but you never saw dishes get washed to good in all your life.

He was there by the hour doing those dishes. He'd get to washing dishes and then pretty soon it would slow up. He'd get to sounding away letter by letter. He'd sound, wait there was a verse. That was a verse.

He'd say it over to himself. Then he'd say it over again. Then he'd get blessed doing dishes in the kitchen. He'd line the missionary's kids up. Call them in from the yard where they were playing. Two little boys, barefooted, no shirts, little short pants, two little oxen made of clay in their hands.

He'd line them up in the kitchen in front of him. He'd say that verse to them. He'd make them stand there and repeat it after him. Then he'd say it over to them again and then they'd have to repeat it after him again over and over.

My dad used to tell me that most of the scripture that he knew from memory he learned when he was seven years old standing there in the kitchen and saying them over and over and over again so that he could escape and go outside to play.

I don't know how much he ever learns to read. I do know this. I was there in his old age when he was blind many, many years later and every year at camp meeting they'd call him in and it was the event of the camp.

They'd bring him up onto the platform and he'd stand there in front of the crowd totally blind and he'd reach back in his memory into the Old Testament somewhere and he'd quote a verse and before you could find it he'd quote the next one and the next one and the next one and then he'd take off and he'd pace up and down on the platform never pause never hesitate as fast as you could follow him with the eye one book after the next down through an hour two hours three hours never hesitate never pause got to put it down inside you missionary so that no matter what happens I'm always ready to tell my people about this love that he has for us.

Samuel Receives His Christian Name and Calling

He finally served his two years of probation. The day came for him to be baptized. As he went down to be baptized he had another request. I don't want to be baptized under my heathen name. My heathen name still has awful memories for me.

What do you want to be called? They asked him. I read back here missionary where God spoke many times to a young man. I want him to call me by a familiar name when he speaks to me from today on baptize me by the Christian name of Samuel.

They took him and they baptized him by the name of Samuel. I never met a single missionary that ever accurately remembered his heathen name his name. From that day on was Samuel filled with one great consuming desire to get back and start preaching to his own tribe.

He met and married a fine Christian girl there on the mission station impatiently they waited for an assignment. By this time in the history of our work in that part of Africa the missionary had received a commission from God to start opening up the fever country that lay between the mountains of Swaziland and the Indian Ocean.

Weeks and weeks at a time he'd ride his horse down from the mission station out of the mountains into the fever belt. He'd get permission from a chief down there then back up to the mission station. He'd come take a young couple and they'd go build a church.

He'd go off in another direction on horseback get permission from another chief. Come back. Take another young couple. Samuel waited impatiently knowing Samuel's impatience. One Saturday afternoon the missionary came galloping his horse back into the mission.

Never got out of the saddle. As he rode into the mission he started to shout Samuel! Samuel was out of the kitchen like a shot wadding up his little apron as he slid up to the horse and grabbed the bridle.

Is it me? Did you call me missionary? Yes Samuel, yes. I've got a place for you to preach. It's way down across the bush felt it's 45 miles over there on the other side of the Kamadi river on the slopes of the Opombo mountains.

It's in old Chief Msutuga's country. Chief Msutuga? Samuel's eyes grew wide with alarm. But missionary don't you know who Chief Msutuga is? He's an uncle to the king of Swaziland Sebuza. He's world famous in our world for his terrible temper.

Everyday missionary he flies into a rage and anybody within range of his spears is just simply stabbed to death. I know who he is Samuel. I have camped in his village for 3 months. I've seen over 200 men put to death in that time.

But yesterday when the sun touched the tops of the horns of the cattle Chief Msutuga called me to him and he gave me permission to start a church in his country. What must we do about it Samuel? Missionary if Chief Msutuga gave you permission God must have made him do it.

We'll go missionary Monday morning saw them at the crack of dawn their little pack donkey loaded down with everything they owned in the world. 2 grass sleeping mats rolled up on each side of the donkey.

A little 4 gallon kerosene tin made into a homemade trunk with some articles of clothes and an old grey tattered army blanket and an axe down the winding trails into the bush felt 35 -40 miles over there on the slopes of the Opombo mountains they cut back the long grass.

They drove poles into the ground. They rolled reeds. They took mud and they plastered it. They left a little square at the back to serve as an open doorway. And then they left a little square over here in this mud wall and another one over on this side over here to serve as windows.

They put a thatched roof over it. They laid a log in the front to serve as an altar that was the only stick of furniture in the church. Then they knelt all by themselves out there in that blistered baked yard under that tropical sun.

Just the three of them Samuel, his wife and the missionary. And they had a dedication service. There it is Samuel. There's your church. There's all of Africa before you. The name of Jesus has never been spoken on the Opombo mountains.

See what you can do about it. And Samuel and his little wife set about the tremendous task of carrying the name of Jesus to the mountainsides of Africa from village to village preaching and praying with the people from mountainside to mountainside down by the river where the women balanced their big clay pots on their heads as they drew water high up against the cliffs where the herdsmen sat in the shade of the mountain in the late afternoon and watched the flocks below them preaching and praying with the people one by one.

He started to win them each one wrestled individually out of darkness. Two, three, four, five, six. Nearly a year had gone by. And then one Sunday night when Samuel brought his message to a close in the little mud church and he opened the altar for anybody who wanted to come down and pray.

Chief Msutuga Confronts the Growing Church

Among those who stood up and walked down to the front was one of Chief Msutuga's wives. Samuel and his wife knelt with her. They helped her pray back to the old chief. Up there she went. I'm a Christian now chief and I won't do the things I used to do.

I won't grind your snuff for you anymore. I won't cook your beer for you anymore. I won't participate in your demon heathen dances anymore. I'm a Christian and my life is going to reflect it from today on the next day.

Chief Msutuga stormed down into the outstation. He was beside himself. He was up and down in the yard there screaming at the top of his lungs. Samuel I don't care what you do in this country. But you leave my village out of it.

Do you understand me. Yes chief. Yes chief. But chief this is God's house. Only God is permitted to turn somebody away from God's house. If you feel the way you do about your village better you keep your people up there.

Don't let them come down here at all. Alright the chief shouted. Alright that's what I'll do. That's just one. There's still 27 other wives. I'll just forget about that one. Back to his wives. He stormed.

Samuel carried on with the building of the church. They continued to grow 12, 15, 20, 25. 6 months had gone by the heavy rains had come. They were plowing. And then one Sunday night at the close of the Sunday night service when the altar was opened among those who came down to pray only a second of chief Msuduga's wives was among them.

Samuel and his wife helped her pray back to the old chief. Up there she went. I'm a Christian now chief and I won't do the things I used to do. I won't grind your snuff for you anymore. I won't cook your beer for you.

I won't participate in your heathen dances anymore. I'm a Christian and I won't. That night chief Msuduga and 6 of his councilmen stormed into the outstation. He was beside himself. Samuel I told you to leave my village out of it.

Yes chief. Yes chief. But chief you promised that you would keep your people up there and not let them come down here. Now it seems that you're not able to control your wives and you want to blame me for it right.

The chief shouted. Alright we'll forget about her. That's just 2. There's still 25 other wives. I'll just forget about those 2. Back to his wives. He stormed. Samuel carried on with the building of the church.

They continued to grow 30, 35, 40, 50, 60. The little mud church was packed to capacity. Samuel's wife had a brand new baby their first. They had been there now almost 2 years. And then one Sunday night at the close of the Sunday night service among those who stood up and came down to pray a third of chief Msuduga's wives was among them.

Back to the old chief. Up there she went. That night. Chief Msuduga and a regiment of his warriors swarmed down on the outstation. Samuel grabbed his wife and baby. They took refuge inside the open door of the church.

The chief was beside himself frost flicking from the corners of his mouth. He was incoherent for 20 minutes. He wore himself out until finally he slowed down to where they could understand him. He was screaming at the top of his lungs get out of my country.

It's finished this business of God. Get out of my country. I'll be merciful with you Samuel because you're blood kin of mine. Because both of us are related to the king of Swaziland. I'll give you exactly one week to clear out of my country.

Next Sunday if you're still here I'll be up here on this mountain side with my warriors. And if you ring that bell to call these people together I'll come down this mountain side. We'll pack you and your wife and your baby into this church.

We'll set fire to this place. We'll see if this God of yours can walk through fire. Get out of my country. Words swept like wildfire in the villages. Chief of Sutuga had read the ultimatum to Samuel. Monday Tuesday from village to village.

Samuel and his wife went. Wednesday. He knew it would be useless to walk two days over the mountains back to the mission station. The missionary wouldn't be there. He'd be way down in the fever country somewhere trying to get permission to open up another church.

And he'd walk two days back over the mountains still not having received the advice that he was seeking. Every day every night they spent on their knees. Wednesday Thursday they stayed with the work that God had given them to do.

Friday wherever they went preaching and praying with the people. The people stood at a distance now in sullen, silent little groups. Nobody wanted to get too close to them. Saturday dawned bright and hot and early.

She tied the baby on her back with a goatskin in African fashion and following her husband down the footpaths as she did every day of his ministry preaching and praying with the people from village to village.

They went all week. They had fasted almost every night. All night they had prayed. They found their way back at the end of Saturday to the little mud church. By the time they could reach there. The quick tropical twilight had faded darkness had fallen and a moon hung in the sky.

They stood under the stark black and white shadows of moonlight. The little church just a few feet away and Samuel's wife asked him. Samuel all week you've prayed and God has not spoken. Do you want me to fix something and get the baby ready so we can flee.

Listen he said. Go fix something and take the baby and flee to the mission station. You can cross the Kamadi River by dawn. They'll never catch up to you by then. Oh no Samuel no. God put us into this work together and God intended for us to stay in it together.

And I'm not leaving until God tells both of us that he wants us to leave. I'm going back over to the church he told her. And I'm going to stay there again tonight until God answers me. He watched his wife as she walked through the moonlight.

He saw her drop onto her hands and knees and crawl through the low 18 inch high doorway to her little grass beehive shaped parsonage to put her baby to bed on a goatskin on the floor. And Samuel turned and he walked through the moonlight over to the back of his little mud church.

Ringing the Bell in the Face of Threat

He stepped inside the open doorway. There were no lights to flick on in that building that night no benches to stumble over. Just moonlight streaming through the square of an open window on this side of the church and splashed across the log that served as an altar.

He found his way down to the front of his little mud church and he lifted his face before the throne of God and he poured out his heart. Tell me what to do. Lord what do you want me to do. Do you want me to stay here.

And Lord if I stay here and I ring that bell tomorrow what's going to happen to this flock when I die. Tell me what to do. Lord what must I do. Must I take my wife and baby and flee to the mission station.

And Lord if I flee what's going to happen to this flock. Tell me what to do. Lord what must I do. Outside. A great tropical moon started to climb high over the top of that little thatched roof. It rose hour after hour as Samuel stood before the throne of God.

What must I do. Lord what do you want me to do. Until at last that huge moon started to slide down the far side of that thatched roof and eventually the moonlight poured through the open square on the opposite side of his church.

And the Sabbath was coming quickly. And in those early dark hours suddenly Samuel heard something beside him. He stopped mid-sentence in his prayer. His eyes came open. He turned to look. He didn't know when she had slipped in to back him up with her prayer.

But there she knelt and he could see the reflection of the moonlight on the tears on her cheeks as she prayed. And the minute she heard her husband stop praying she too stopped and she turned her face to him.

Her eyes came open and in a soft low voice she said Samuel why do you stop praying. Has God told you what he wants you to do. For a long instant Samuel was silent and then she saw him as he started to nod his head just a dark shadow against the darker shadows.

And in a deep low voice he said yes. Just this moment he's told me what he wants me to do. These are the words that he has brought back to me for he has said I will never leave thee nor forsake thee so that we may boldly say the Lord is my helper.

I shall not fear what man shall do unto me. Jesus must have walked into the open doorway of that little med church that day because they had an old fashioned camp meeting just the three of them up and down shouting and praising God.

Samuel had his commission. Ring that bell for me. The Lord had told him ring it Samuel if you must ring it right to the gates of eternity this morning I'll walk every step of the way with you but I require it of you.

Ring that bell in the early gray light of dawn. Samuel hung around in the shadows at the back of his church found the big 18 inch iron bolt with which he pounded the old plowshare that hung from a wire out in the thorn tree.

That was the bell for the church. He dusted the sand off that bolt. No he wasn't going to ring it yet but he sure wasn't going to be late when the time came to ring it up and down in front of his church.

He paced back and forth already in the early gray light of dawn thousands and thousands of people had started to gather. They stood in silent little clusters on the huge granite rocks looking down over the elephant grass towards the outstation below.

Samuel never saw them. He just paced back and forth up and down back and forth. He didn't have a watch but he knew that when the sun would climb into a certain place in the branches of the thorn tree it'll be time for the morning service.

He happened to glance up the valley. There sat Chief of Suduga his regiment of warriors behind him. The wind of the early morning breeze ruffling the white ostrich feathers in their hair the red light of the rising sun flashing from their spears.

Chief of Suduga was muttering to himself that man intends to ring that bell and I'm going to make an example of him that will never be forgotten in the history of Africa. We'll see about this god of his today.

Up and down back and forth up and way up there in the fork of the thorn tree inch by inch that tropical sun started to climb into place higher and higher. It went until at last it clicked into place. Samuel spit on his hand.

He clasped that bolt he sailed through the air. He landed under that bell and with every ounce of strength in his body he brought that bolt crashing down on that bell. A sigh like the wind escaped from thousands of throats as the people stood to their feet and they looked down across the mountains.

Chief of Suduga could hardly believe his ears. He whirled around shouted the order. His regiment leapt to its feet as the bell started to swing. Samuel followed it from one side to the other. His feet never seemed to hit the ground anymore.

The dust froze in a great cloud around him. Back and forth he followed it. The perspiration soaked him silver in the sunlight. That day as they swept down the mountainside there's Zulu war cries rolling down the valley ahead of them totally disciplined an entire regiment their spears above their heads their huge seven foot war shields.