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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34946-8.txt b/34946-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bc09e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/34946-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8376 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies, by +Frank Worthington + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies + +Author: Frank Worthington + +Release Date: January 13, 2011 [EBook #34946] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + + + + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE WITCH DOCTOR AND + OTHER RHODESIAN STUDIES. + + + + + THE WITCH DOCTOR + AND OTHER + RHODESIAN STUDIES. + + BY + + FRANK WORTHINGTON, C.B.E. + + (_Lately Secretary for Native Affairs, Northern Rhodesia_). + + + LONDON: + THE FIELD PRESS LTD., + Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4 + + + + + To + MY WIFE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +THE MIND OF THE NATIVE. + PAGE + The Witch Doctor 3 + The Riddle of Life and Death 25 + Flattery 28 + Lizizi 35 + Mironda--a Woman 46 + +MAN AND BEAST. + + Protective Colouring 57 + Darwin--a Bird 59 + The Lion's Skin 67 + The Reverend Mr. Bumpus 74 + The Salvation Army Captain 81 + The Sport of Kings 86 + The Lions of Makululumi 94 + +WHITE MEN AND BLACK + + White Men at Play 105 + On the Building of Bridges 115 + The Compleat Angler 120 + The Song of the Great Occasion 125 + The Descent of Man 132 + The Railway Contractor 138 + The Licensed Victualler 149 + The Johnnie-come-Lately 154 + The Lost Rubies 160 + The Cattle King 170 + Partners 177 + The Letter Home 194 + The Doctor 214 + + + + +THE MIND OF THE NATIVE. + + + + +THE WITCH DOCTOR. + + +I. + +The Native Commissioner's Court had, with a very brief interval for +luncheon, sat throughout the day. The weather was very hot and thundery, +for the breaking of the rains was imminent. A number of cases had been +disposed of, and the last was now drawing to a close. Having listened to +the arguments of both sides, the Commissioner summed up, gave judgment, +and dismissed the litigants, whereupon the native clerk began to collect +the papers and put things away. + +The official lighted a cigarette, put on his hat, and walked towards the +door. He was met by his head messenger. + +"Another case, Morena,"[1] said the messenger, pointing to a middle-aged +native squatting in the courtyard softly clapping his hands. The +hard-worked white man paused; he had thoughts of tea awaiting him in his +bungalow a hundred yards away. + + [1] _Morena_ signifies _Chief_. + +"Tell the man to come to-morrow," he said, and walked off in the +direction of his house. + +The head messenger turned to the man sitting in the yard and said: "The +Morena won't hear you to-day; you must sleep in the compound for +to-night; to-morrow he will listen." + +"But my case is a big one," replied the stranger. "The father of his +people will surely hear my case." + +The messenger pointed to the compound: "All cases are heavy in the hands +of those who bring them; the compound is there." + +The man was evidently distressed. Raising his voice in the hope that the +Commissioner would hear him, he shouted shrilly: "Ma-we! Ma-we! But mine +is a big case, it is one of killing--of killing of people; the father of +his people must hear me. Oh! Morena, I have a case, a big case, a case +of killing." + +But the Native Commissioner had reached his house and was out of sight, +the native clerk had locked the office door and, heedless of the man's +wailing, walked away. If he thought at all, it was that sufficient unto +the day is the evil thereof; evil meaning work to him. + +"Come, father," said the head messenger, "I go now to the compound, and +you with me; to-morrow the Morena will hear your case before any other. +I, Mokorongo, will see to it." + +But the man was not to be consoled. "No," said he, "my case is a big +one, of people killed by witchcraft; I, too, will die to-night. Take me +to the Morena, my father; do not refuse and so kill me." + +The messenger felt uncomfortable. For some reason, best known to +himself, his master disapproved of the killing of people, and also set +his face against witchcraft. No witch doctor could practise for long in +his district, for was not his medicine stronger than that of any witch +doctor? Did not the doctors know it, and had they not all moved to a +safer place? Who, then, could have done this killing by witchcraft? +Yes, it was a big case, and he would take the man to his master; but he +must break in upon the great man's rest with care, or there would be +trouble. + +Telling the stranger to come with him, he strode towards the house, +pulling down his uniform in front and behind and settling his fez +smartly on his head--evidence of some nervousness. Arriving at the door, +he peered in. The hall was cool and dark, and, coming from the glare, +for a moment he could see nothing; the next, he was aware of the +Commissioner's eye upon him, and started violently at his master's sharp +"Well, Mokorongo, what is it?" + +He began well: "Morena, here is a man who has killed another, and wants +to tell of the matter before the sun sets, when he, too, will die." + +"Let the man come to the door." + +For Mokorongo the worst was over. He had with impunity disturbed the +great man; the rest would be easy. He fitly marshalled the stranger to +the mat just inside the hall door, drew himself up to his full height, +and stood by to obey immediately such orders as his master might be +pleased to give. + +The Commissioner, who was a good linguist, addressed the seated man +direct: + +"So you have killed a man?" + +"No, Morena." + +"And you will yourself die to-night?" + +"No, Morena." + +Mokorongo's uneasiness returned; he shifted slightly and gazed at the +ceiling. + +"Tell me your story." + +"Morena, my case is a big one; it is of killing--the killing of people, +of my son--by witchcraft. Yesterday at sunset he died, and I, too, shall +die to-night unless the Morena, father of his people, makes a stronger +medicine, stronger than that of the witch doctor----" Here the wretched +fellow paused. + +The Commissioner looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him; it was +evident that the native dared not mention the witch doctor's name. +Presently he rose, took from a side-table a decanter, poured himself out +some whisky, and added soda from a sparklet bottle. Returning to his +seat, he drank deeply of the bubbling liquid. + +The native was much impressed. Boiling water alone, so far as he knew, +bubbled like that; he knew of the ordeal by boiling water, and had, no +doubt, seen more than once the test applied. But this white man drank +the boiling mixture with evident pleasure. Here, then, was the chief of +all witch doctors. + +He finished his sentence: "--Chiromo." + +"Where does he live?" + +He explained in detail. + +"Of what do you accuse Chiromo?" + +"Of killing my son by witchcraft." + +"Go on with your story." + +"I have some goats. My son herded them by day and put them in the +village at night. My son had a black-and-white dog which followed him to +the lands each day. Two days ago the dog stole a skin from Chiromo's +bed. Chiromo saw the dog eating the skin, and killed him with his axe. +Chiromo is an angry man: he was angry with my son because his dog had +eaten his skin. He knew the dog was my son's dog. He went to my son and +said: 'I have killed your dog because your dog has eaten my skin.' + +"My son was very much afraid and said: 'Yes, sir.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's leg just above the knee, like this, +and said: 'Do you feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo said: 'You will to-morrow.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's other knee and said: 'Do you feel +pain here?' My son said 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's arm at the elbow and said: 'Do you +feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo touched his other arm and asked my son if he felt pain +there. My son said he did not. He also touched him on the back of the +neck, asking him if he felt any pain there. My son said he felt no pain. + +"Then Chiromo said: 'In your two legs and your two arms and in your neck +you will feel much pain to-morrow.' + +"Then Chiromo went back to his own hut and my son, who was very +frightened, came and told me what Chiromo had said to him and I also was +frightened, for Chiromo is a great doctor. Then I went to my hut to +sleep and my son went to his hut. + +"In the morning when I rose the goats were still in the village, and I +was angry with my son because he had not taken them to the lands. I +called to him, but he did not answer. I went to his hut, and found him +very stiff. He told me that Chiromo had killed him; that he had much +pain in his arms and legs and neck, and that he could not move. I tried +to lift him, but he cried out with pain. At sunset he died. Oh, Morena, +Chiromo has killed my son. My son who herded my goats. And to-night I +myself shall die. Chiromo is indeed a great doctor. My case is a big +one. A case of killing people by witchcraft. I, too, will----" + +The Native Commissioner interrupted the man. "Enough, now you may go to +the compound, where you will sleep to-night; you will not die, because +I must talk with you again." + +The man clapped his hands, bowed his forehead several times to the +floor, patted his chest, rose and withdrew, praising the Native +Commissioner as the custom is: + +"Great Chief." + +"Father of his people." + +"The very great doctor." + +"Sir, my best thanks." + +"The Chief of our country." + +"The lion, the great elephant, the Chief." + +The head messenger was about to go too, but the Commissioner stopped +him. + +"Mokorongo, you will have to go out and arrest Chiromo." + +"To-morrow?" + +"To-night." + +"His village is far and the sun is setting." + +"You will get there before morning and will bring Chiromo back with +you." + +"How many go with me?" + +"You go alone." + +The messenger was very much afraid. He licked his lips, which had become +dry, he shuffled with his feet, his gaze wandered from ceiling to floor +and round the hall in which the Commissioner sat. + +"Mokorongo." + +"Morena." + +"You are afraid." + +"I am afraid, Morena." + +"Very much afraid." + +"Morena." + +"Why?" + +"Is not Chiromo a doctor?" + +"What of that?" + +"I am but a man, your servant." + +"Yes, my servant. Why, then, are you afraid?" + +"Morena." + +Again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his +master. + +"Mokorongo." + +"Morena." + +"Are you ready to start? It is getting late." + +"Yes, it is late, for the sun sets." + +"Are you ready?" + +Mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. In the ordinary +way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master +anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he +had shown up splendidly. But then his master, in whom he had implicit +faith, had been there. To go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite +another matter. Had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? No, +it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night. + +The Commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy +paperweight, which he handed to Mokorongo. + +"Take this with you, it will protect you against Chiromo, for it is +mine." + +The messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and +turned to go. + +"Stop," said the Commissioner, "what are your plans?" + +Mokorongo had a quick mind: he unfolded his plan without hesitation. + +"I will talk awhile with the stranger, who will tell me of Chiromo; +whether he has a beard or has no beard; whether he is very old or not so +old; if he is fat or thin; what his loin cloth is like, or if he wears +a skin." + +"Good, and then?" + +"I will travel to the village, which I shall reach before morning. In +the bush I will hide my uniform. Near the village I will lie in wait. In +the morning Chiromo will come out of his hut. All day I will watch and +when the people have eaten and sleep I will arrest Chiromo." + +"How?" + +"I will go to his hut and call to him, saying that I am a traveller from +Sijoba on my way to Katora. That the sun has set and I ask for shelter. +I shall tell him that I have some meat of a buck which I found dead near +the path. Then Chiromo will open the door of his hut and I shall tie +him. And he will come with me because of my uniform and the people will +not hinder me because of my uniform." + +"Good, take the handcuffs. But there is one thing you have forgotten. +You must bring in a basket all Chiromo's medicine." + +"I will bring the medicine," replied the messenger, clutching at the +paperweight which bulged under his tunic. + +"Go safely," said the master. + +"Rest in peace," replied the man. + +The Commissioner watched the retreating figure. The swinging stride +showed self-confidence and courage. Mokorongo would do successfully what +was required of him. + + +II. + +The dawn was breaking. It had rained all night and the ground was very +wet. When the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it. +Little puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume +as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to +the lie of the land. + +Mokorongo was not comfortable. He had travelled far in the night and had +stumbled many times in the darkness. Moreover, he was drenched to the +skin and very cold. The paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his +courage throughout his long journey. He remembered now the cry of a +hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching +at the paperweight. Then some large, dark object stirred beside him and +bounded away, crashing through the bush. Mokorongo's heart had thumped +in time to the heavy hoof-beats. + +However, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure +shield and protection. + +The messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders +as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. He +replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt +again sat down on his heels to watch the village. + +Presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from +another. A man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. A dog +barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck--the day had come. + +He had chosen his observation post well. In front of him lay the village +in a hollow. Behind him, a patch of thick bush. To his left ran the path +to the cultivated lands and to the next village. On his right was a +stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was +unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter. + +The village soon showed signs of full life. When the sun came out +Mokorongo stripped and spread out his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to +dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short +grass which was comparatively dry. + +As the sun crept up the sky, Mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt +more comfortable. He watched the coming and going of men, women and +children until midday. He had easily recognised Chiromo. The father of +the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without +that description he would have picked him out. He was fat and looked +prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were +tied to tufts of his hair. He wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a +sure sign that he had killed a lion--or a man. + +His hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. Yes, +this surely was Chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round +his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? And had not the case-bearer of +yesterday said: "Chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?" + +Yes, Mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he +gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the +thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep. + +At sunset he awoke. He felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no +means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately +ahead. + +He crept back to his original post. The cattle were being kraaled; the +goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the +evening meal. + +Mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his +belt. He put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. He +then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no +amount of tugging would open them; having reset them he put the key in +the small pouch attached to his belt. + +There is little twilight in Africa. Soon after the sun sets it is dark. +He could see Chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, Chiromo sitting on a +low stool. + +Presently the night sounds began. Someone was beating a drum at a +distant village. A jackal barked far down the valley. Something rustled +in a bush near by. The frogs set up their shrill chorus. A dog in the +village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a +stick at it. + +After a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and Mokorongo +judged that the time for action had arrived. + +He came down from the high ground and skirted the village until he came +to the path from Sijoba. Then he turned and walked boldly towards the +cluster of huts. The dogs began to bark loudly but it didn't matter now: +was he not a stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora? + +He made his way to Chiromo's hut. The door was closed. Mokorongo +knocked. + +"Who is it?" + +"A stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora." + +"It is late, what do you want?" + +"Yes, it is late. I ask for shelter for the night. I am in luck, for I +have found meat and I ask shelter of a friend." + +There was a stir in the hut and the word meat was repeated several +times. + +Mokorongo stood ready with the open handcuffs. Would the man never come +out? Meanwhile the occupants of adjacent huts were also astir and doors +were being opened. There would be many witnesses to the arrest of +Chiromo. + +At length the door of the hut slid aside, a hand grasped either door +post and a woolly head appeared. Quick as lightning Mokorongo seized +Chiromo's right wrist and snapped the lock of the handcuff. Grasping the +black head, he pulled the startled Chiromo out of the doorway, and +before the witch doctor had recovered from his surprise, also secured +his left hand. + +Mokorongo stepped back and surveyed his captive. + +Chiromo said nothing, but the look in his eye made Mokorongo's hand fly +to the paperweight. The village was astir, and men came running, but, +seeing the uniform of authority, stood still. + +Mokorongo was himself again. "What is this?" demanded Chiromo. + +"The Morena calls you." + +"What for?" + +"How should I know the Morena's thoughts?" + +"Loose my hands or ill-luck will come to you." + +Mokorongo said nothing. + +"Listen," said Chiromo. + +Mokorongo listened and heard the laugh of a hyena. + +"That," said Chiromo, "is a spirit." + +Mokorongo clutched his paperweight: "It is a beast, and my master's +medicine is strong." + +Chiromo looked round at the circle of fellow villagers; he could not see +their eyes, but felt that no help might be expected from them; they +would not come between him and a Government man. + +Chiromo tried again. + +"In my hut I have much white man's money and a gun--all are yours if you +will untie my hands; moreover, the iron hurts me and the Morena's orders +are that no man be hurt." + +The mention of the money and the gun reminded Mokorongo of the medicine. + +"Go in," he said, pushing Chiromo before him. + +It is well that Mokorongo had the paperweight to support his courage. + + +III. + +A fire smouldered in a circular hearth in the middle of the floor, but +the light from it was so dim that nothing more was visible. Mokorongo, +kneeling deftly, drew together the unburnt sticks and blew upon the +pile; the suddenness with which it burst into flame startled him. Then +he rose and looked round the hut. + +Chiromo had walked over to his bed; he now sat watching. + +The blackened walls were profusely decorated with rude drawings, done in +light clay, of men and beasts, with here and there a pattern such as one +sees on primitive earthenware vessels. From the roof, suspended by a +length of plaited bark, dangled the skull of a human being. Mokorongo +had seen many human skulls in his time, but, in such a place, this +ghastly human relic unnerved him a little. The skull spun slightly with +the air current which entered the open door, and ghostly eyes seemed to +peer from the empty sockets, first at one man, then at the other, as if +the lifeless thing were taking a lively interest in the situation. + +Mokorongo pretended to scratch himself; what he really did was to shift +the paperweight until it rested under his left arm. In that position he +could press it to him without being noticed. The relief it brought was +great and lasting. + +From a peg in the wall hung a mummified mass of what looked suspiciously +like entrails; whether human or not the messenger did not pause to +consider. The fleshless forearm and hand of a child protruded from the +thatch; the fingers were spread out as in the act of grasping. A pile of +mouldering skins lay on the floor, and beside it a little heap of dead +chameleons; one, more lately killed than the rest, contributed +generously to the evil smell which pervaded the hut. Just above this +carrion was a cluster of black and red weevils as large as mice; they +hung from a porcupine quill, each tied to it by a thin strand of twisted +sinew. The aimless movements of legs showed that some of the insects +were still alive. Here and there, propped against the wall, were gourds +and pots filled, no doubt, with strange nauseous mixtures brewed by the +witch doctor for his evil purposes. + +Well-worn clothing and filthy rags hung from pegs thrust into the thatch +where the roof of the hut rested on the mud wall. The bleeding head and +slimy skin of a freshly killed goat lay on the floor at the foot of the +bed. Just beyond it was a large basket covered loosely with a leopard +skin; Mokorongo made a mental note of this. + +If Chiromo expected his guard to show any sign of fear, he was +disappointed. Mokorongo drew a small stool towards him, and sat down; +with the exception of the bed, it was the only furniture in the hut. + +The witch doctor was the first to speak: + +"The gun is yours, father, and the money, when you untie my hands so +that I may get them for you." + +"I have two guns in my village," replied the messenger, "and I also have +much money, for as I am a servant of the Government, I pay no tax." + +"Can a man have too much money or too many guns?" + +"I cannot say; but, as for me, I have enough." + +"How many wives have you?" asked Chiromo. + +The messenger did not answer. Such talk did not trouble him. He was a +simple African, whose one desire was to please his master; he was proof +against bribery in any form. + +Chiromo tried other tactics. + +"Yesterday, they say, I killed a man by charms. It is said also that +many men have died by poison. People fall sick, some say, when I think +of them in anger. It well may be that your master has fallen sick, for +my anger is strong towards him, and is rising against his servant, who +has tied me." + +Mokorongo hugged the talisman, but did not reply. He glanced at the +skull which at that moment swung towards him, then at the hand which, in +the flicker of the firelight, seemed to reach out to grasp at him. He +looked at the chameleons, and spat on the floor as he became aware of +the stench arising from them; next, the aimless waving of the weevils' +legs attracted his attention, and then his glance rested on the basket +covered with the leopard skin. + +Chiromo was about to speak again, but Mokorongo, springing to his feet, +interrupted him. His master had said: "Bring Chiromo back with you, and +bring his medicines." The basket must hold those medicines; moreover, +the prospect of listening to Chiromo until the morning, seated in the +midst of his evil properties, was unthinkable. He would feel more at his +ease walking through the night, although it was so dark and cold. + +He went to the door and called. There was no reply. The village was full +of people, but they had a very real fear of what the witch doctor might +do. All had crept back to their huts. He called again, and in the name +of the Government, but still none came. + +He shouted, that the whole village might hear: "I take Chiromo to our +Chief. Bring a rope, that I may tie him and lead him through the night." + +Presently a woman appeared, bringing in her hand a stout rope such as +all natives use for trapping antelope. She handed it to Mokorongo, +volunteering the information that it was her son whom Chiromo had +killed. She did not actually say that he had been killed, neither did +she mention Chiromo's name--she dared not do this--but she did say that +before sunrise her son had been buried. + +Mokorongo tied a slip-knot in the rope and passed it over Chiromo's +head. A sharp tug, accompanied by a peremptory "Stand, you!" brought +Chiromo quickly to his feet. + +Indicating successively the horrors hanging from the roof and walls, he +said: "Put that, and this, and those into the basket." + +Chiromo hesitated, but only for a moment; a tightening rope round one's +neck has an unpleasant feeling. With his manacled hands he picked up +each repulsive thing and thrust it into the basket. + +"Bring the basket," Mokorongo commanded, moving towards the door. +Outside in the black night, and conscious of the paperweight under his +arm, the messenger's full courage and sense of authority returned to +him. + +"Let all witnesses to this big case follow quickly to the Court; it is +the order of the Chief and the law of the Government." + +Then, helping Chiromo to encircle the basket with his arms, he strode +off down the path leading from the village, his captive, securely +handcuffed and led by the rope round his neck, following tamely enough. + + +IV. + +The witnesses were many--of all ages and of both sexes. The case +promised to be a famous one, so relations and friends had come from the +villages round about to attend. The people had travelled slowly, +consequently it was late in the afternoon when they arrived. + +The Native Commissioner had decided to take evidence on the morrow; the +people were therefore directed to camp by the river for the night. +Chiromo was to remain in the cell to which he had been conducted earlier +in the day by the messenger. + +Mokorongo was very happy. He had presented himself to his master on +arrival, returned the paperweight, reported the arrest of Chiromo, and +had handed over the basket of medicines. He would have told his story +then and there, but the Commissioner, who was busy, dismissed him with +"Good, now go and eat and sleep. You can return at sundown and tell me +everything. I will listen to the witnesses to-morrow." + +But, of course, Mokorongo did not sleep. He felt a hero, and was so +regarded by his fellow messengers and others. He told the story of his +adventures to all who cared to hear, and they were many. Little work was +done that day by any native on the Station. + +With much telling the story improved almost beyond recognition. For +instance, his seventh audience was thrilled by the recitation of the +threatening words which the skull had addressed to him; knots of woolly +hair rose when the efforts of the fleshless hand to grasp the master's +talisman were described; the brave words which Mokorongo had addressed +to the basket of medicines when it had shown an inclination to escape by +the door drew grunts of admiration; a shudder ran through his hearers +when he repeated what the dead chameleons had related to him--how they +had once been men, until transformed and killed by the very bad man now +under arrest. + +The narrative was interrupted by one of the house-boys: "You are +called," was the curt command, meaning that his master wished to see +Mokorongo. + +Under the stimulus of the great admiration of his fellows, generously +expressed, Mokorongo had given free play to his imagination. His +narrative had become thrilling; but now, under the cold eye of the +master, fancy fled, and the messenger's account of himself conformed to +the court formula--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth. + +How Chiromo passed the night cannot, of course, be told. He might have +spent the time preparing his defence; it is much more likely that he +simply slept. + + +V. + +Everything was ready for the hearing of the case. On the veranda of the +Court House the Commissioner's table had been placed. Conspicuous upon +it was the paperweight. On the ground in front of it lay the witch +doctor's basket with its leopard skin covering. On the right sat +Chiromo; he was still handcuffed, but without the rope round his neck. +By his side stood Mokorongo. Immediately behind them were ranged the +rest of the messengers attached to the Station. They, with the Court +House, formed two sides of a square: the figure was completed by the +crowd of witnesses seated on the ground. + +Presently the Commissioner was seen approaching along the path which +led from his house. The people began to clap their hands, which, in +certain parts of Africa, is the native way of showing respect. As the +Commissioner appeared on the verandah, the messengers saluted him by +raising their right hands above their heads and ejaculating "Morena." + +The Commissioner nodded by way of acknowledgment, the people ceased to +clap; there was dead silence. + +The white man looked across his table at the witch doctor. For a time he +said nothing. Chiromo blinked and looked away. Glancing up and finding +that unpleasantly steady gaze upon him still, he again looked quickly +away. + +"Unlock those handcuffs," said the Commissioner. Mokorongo produced the +key from the pouch on his belt and freed the witch doctor's hands. + +Addressing Chiromo, the official asked: "Is it true that you are the +killer of people?" + +"It is not true," replied Chiromo. + +"Can you kill people by means of charms and medicines?" + +Chiromo said he could not. + +"Is that your basket?" + +"Yes, it is my basket." + +"What is in the basket?" + +"I do not know." + +"Are not the things in the basket yours?" + +"No, they are your messenger's; he put them in my basket." + +Mokorongo was indignant at the lie. The witnesses, too, were amazed at +Chiromo's effrontery. But none spoke. + +"Take the things out of the basket one by one and place them on the +ground in front of you." + +The witch doctor without hesitation began to do as he was bid. The +skull, the arm, the weevils as large as mice, the chameleons, the stale +offal: these Mokorongo had seen in the hut, but there were other things +he had not seen. A necklet of human teeth, another of small antelope +horns, yet another of rats' skulls. These were followed by the shell of +a very small tortoise, a bush buck's horn containing a reddish-coloured +paste, four discs of ivory strangely carved, commonly known as "witch +doctor's bones," a small piece of looking-glass, a dozen or more little +bundles of something tied up in scraps of rag, a piece of red clay, a +length of snake's skin, several cartridge cases plugged with pieces of +wood, the sun-dried paw of a monkey, the beaks of several birds, a +feather ball or two, another set of "bones," a small knife with a wooden +sheath, a little gourd covered with beads, some charms of various sizes +and shapes to wear round the neck or wrist. There were many other bits +of rubbish which, at a sign from his master, Mokorongo emptied out on +the ground. + +Under the direction of the Commissioner, Chiromo's possessions were +separated into two heaps. The skull, the arm, the offal, and anything +else of which there was only a single specimen, made one heap. The +chameleons, and anything of which there were more than one, were +carefully divided, half placed on one heap and the remainder on the +other. + +"None of these things are yours?" asked the Commissioner. + +"None, save the leopard skin," said Chiromo. + +"Those I shall want later on," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +larger heap, "the rest you shall burn." + +The witch doctor collected some dry grass, and some twigs and some +larger sticks. The Commissioner produced a box of matches. Mokorongo lit +the grass. The twigs crackled, the sticks caught fire and burned +brightly. + +"Put those things on the fire," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +smaller of the two heaps. + +Chiromo paused and looked round at the witnesses in a strange manner. As +his eyes sought out those of each witness ranged against him, his +personality made itself felt. Men quailed, women covered their faces, +and children cried lustily. The witch doctor pointed suddenly to the +sky, then at the ground, and then at the witnesses. Picking up a +chameleon he dangled it over the flame; he did not drop it in the fire, +but looked round again with a malignant grin. This was more than the +witnesses could stand; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry +them. Something dreadful was about to happen. When doctors engaged in a +trial of strength, ordinary men were better out of the way. The +messengers alone stood fast. They kept their eyes on Mokorongo who, in +turn, watched the Commissioner. + +"Bring back the headman," thundered the Commissioner; "two of you will +do," as all the messengers started off. + +The headman of the village in which Chiromo lived was quickly brought +back, and stood, covering his eyes with his hands. + +"Now go on with the burning," ordered the Commissioner. + +The tone of authority was unmistakable, so Chiromo complied without +further ado. + +One by one the medicines, necklets, charms and other rubbish were +dropped into the fire. After a while, the headman removed his hands from +his face. It was evident that the white man was the stronger doctor of +the two. Chiromo had looked very bad, it was true, but he had been able +to do nothing. One by one the witnesses crept back and took their seats. + +The Commissioner then sent for one of his house-boys and gave him an +order in an undertone. The boy presently returned, carrying a carpet +slipper. + +"Hold Chiromo face downwards on the ground," said the Commissioner. The +messengers obeyed. "Now, Mokorongo, beat him." + +And Mokorongo did so, in the manner of a mother chastising her +child--but rather harder. + +Chiromo squealed, promising loudly never to offend again. Then someone +laughed, then another and another; presently all were laughing--with the +exception of Chiromo--even the Commissioner smiled: Mokorongo stopped +beating and laughed too. + +The messengers released their hold on Chiromo, who got up rubbing a +certain portion of his anatomy. Everybody laughed again. + +Laughter at a man kills faith in him. The spell was broken. From that +day forward this witch doctor, once powerful in hypnotic suggestion, was +as other men. + +"And now," said the Commissioner, "we will hear the evidence." + +The preliminary examination in the case of Rex v. Chiromo then began. + + + + +THE RIDDLE OF LIFE AND DEATH. + + +Of the many curios which I acquired during my twenty-five years' +residence in Africa, there is one which I value above all others. I +bought it a few weeks before I left the country. It is a round wooden +pot with a lid to it. On the lid is the seated figure of a little old +man with his shoulders hunched up, his chin resting in his two hands, +his elbows on his knees. There is a mildly amused expression on the +rudely carved face; whether this is there by accident or design I cannot +say. On one side of the pot is a snake in relief; on the other, a +tortoise. + +I bought this pot from a very old native. So old was he that his scanty +knots of hair were quite white and his eyes were very dim. He must have +been a fine enough man once, but now his dull, greyish-black skin clung +in folds about his gaunt frame. I paid the old man the modest price he +named, and asked him the meaning of the figures on the lid and sides of +the pot. + +The following is his explanation, given in short, jerky sentences, done +into English as literally as our language will permit: + +"Yes, it was a long time ago. So long ago was it that no white man had +then come to this country. It was before my father's day. Before that +even of his father. Both died old men. Yes, so long ago was it, that +only the old people now speak of those past times. It was when men did +not grow old and die. There was no death then; all men lived on, and +happily. + +"One day all this was changed. God became angry--that is God on the lid +of the pot. What foolish things men did to make God angry, I do not +know. He must have been very angry. In his anger God sent His messenger +of death to men. He sent His messenger, the snake. Then people began to +die--that is the snake on the side of the pot. + +"So many people died that all became frightened. They thought all would +soon be dead. In their fear they cried to God. They said they were sorry +for their foolish act, whatever that might have been. They promised they +would anger Him no more. They begged Him to recall His messenger, the +snake. + +"After a while God agreed. He said He would recall His messenger, the +snake. He would send another messenger--that is the second messenger on +the other side of the pot. God sent the tortoise to recall the snake." + +The old man paused and mused for a little while, and then resumed: + +"When I was a young man I thought to myself, perhaps the tortoise will +overtake the snake; that some day he will deliver God's message. I am an +old man now. I do not think the tortoise will ever overtake the +snake--at least, not in my time." + +He said all this without a trace of emotion. He was too much of a +philosopher, it seemed, to indulge in anything so profitless as +self-pity. + +"Do you kill snakes when you see them?" I asked. + +"No," said he. "Why should I? But I do kill tortoises. The tortoise is +very lazy. He runs with his message so slowly. Moreover, a tortoise is +good meat." + +Having told his story and pouched the price of his pot, the old man rose +painfully and hobbled away. Just outside my compound gate he paused and +made a vicious stab at something in a patch of grass. + + * * * * * + +Shouldering his assegai, he passed on his way, a writhing tortoise +impaled upon the blade. + + + + +FLATTERY. + + +I. + +Robert Gregory was proud of his house. A Colonial Bishop, passing +through on his way to England, stayed with Gregory; in his +bread-and-butter letter he wrote: + +"... I think your house the most beautiful and unique in Central +Africa...." + +Unique perhaps it was, but scarcely beautiful. + +When all is said and done, it was merely the ordinary bungalow of which +one finds examples all over Africa. In size it was very modest, having +only a hall, with a dining-room on one side and a bedroom on the other. +There were in addition various excrescences, termed locally "lean-to's." +One of these was a pantry, another a storeroom, a third a bathroom, and +so on. No, it must have been to the interior decorations that the Bishop +referred. + +Gregory hoped to marry when next he went to England. During his last +visit to the old country, on leave, he became engaged. + +The woman of his choice had once remarked to him: "I do hope you have +heaps and heaps of curios." + +On his return to Africa Gregory began to collect curios, and now he had +indeed "heaps and heaps" of them. You see, he had his excuses. + +On the walls of the hall were trophies of assegais and shields. These +trophies were arranged in the approved armoury manner; that is to say, a +shield in the centre with assegai blades radiating from it in all +directions. + +Flanking each of the principal trophies were lesser ones, composed of +battle-axes in groups of two or three. These battle-axes were +murderous-looking things. The heads of some were crescent-shaped, others +were merely wedges of metal. + +In the intervening spaces were a variety of knives remarkable chiefly +for their sheaths, which were curiously shaped and carved. There was a +dado, too, round the wall, made of arrows arranged head downwards +towards the floor. These were surmounted by bows fixed horizontally to +the wall; they completed the dado, as it were. + +On the other two sides ancient guns of various makes and ages took the +place of the arrows. There were flint locks, Tower muskets, Portuguese, +French and German smooth-bore rifles, gaily decorated by native owners +with bands of highly polished copper round the barrel and brass-headed +nails driven into the stock. + +On a shelf, which ran round the hall a few feet from the ceiling, were +specimens of native pottery. Some were highly coloured, others dull red. +All had curious patterns scratched on them, done before baking, and most +of them bore fire marks and other evidence that their makers were +somewhat lacking in the potter's skill. The shapes, however, were +pleasing. + +The dining-room held a miscellaneous collection. The principal objects +were musical instruments, chiefly of the harmonica variety, strips of +hard wood suspended over gourds of different sizes. In the bad old days +human skulls were used in place of gourds. But there were many others, +both string and wind instruments, and some rattles. + +In this room was also a collection of snuff boxes; nearly all of them +were minute gourds, differing one from another in decoration. Some were +completely covered with gaily coloured beads affixed cunningly and in +pleasing patterns. Some were banded with beads, which gave them the +appearance of small school globes. Others, again, were simply carved in +relief, whilst a few were decorated with plaited brass, copper, or iron +wire. All were very neatly made. + +Occupying a space between a window and a door was a unique collection of +snuff spoons. These were nearly all made of bright metal. Not only do +the natives use them for taking snuff, but also for preparing to take +snuff and for recovering after snuffing. To be quite plain, they use +them as our snuff-taking ancestors used their bandannas. They have yet a +third use, namely, scraping the skin on a hot day. + +The only reason why Gregory had so many of these nasty little implements +was that they were so neatly made and in such diversity of pattern. + +In the spaces usually occupied by pictures were specimens of the native +weavers' art, very highly coloured cloths of coarse texture. On shelves +over the doors and windows of his dining-room were pots, mugs, bowls, +and platters of carved wood. The patterns were curiously like those one +finds on early pottery dug up in such quantities and in so many spots +along the shores of the Mediterranean. A kaross or skin blanket was +thrown over the back of almost every chair and covered the one settee. + +There was hardly anything of European manufacture in the hall and +dining-room. Even the tables and chairs were native made and of country +timber. In place of carpets, the floors were covered with rush and reed +mats ornamented with strange patterns done in brightly dyed bark and +fibre. + +The bedroom alone held nothing but European furniture. + +The collection was certainly a remarkable one--I have not attempted a +complete inventory--and Gregory had taken great pains to arrange it, as +some would say, artistically. + +One day five natives arrived carrying a letter addressed to Gregory. It +was from a woman, Chief in her own right. It ran as follows: + + APRIL. + + MY FRIEND, + + I send to you my servant Siadiadiadi with four others. As I cannot + come to you myself I send my five people. I have heard much of your + fine house and wish to see it. As I am old I send my people that + they may see it and bring me word of it. I ask you to let them see + it for three days, and on the fourth they shall return to me. + + I am well and all my people are well, but the cattle have a + disease. I hope you are well. + + I must close my letter now with greetings. + + Your faithful friend, + + MOVANA. + + Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni. + +I believe Gregory was pleased: at any rate he permitted the messengers +to see his house. For the full three days they stayed. He often found +them agape in the hall or in the dining room, taking mental notes. It +was clear that the five natives were much impressed. Whenever Gregory +entered the house, they saluted him and crept silently out. There was +no reason to guard against theft; uncivilised natives do not steal. + +On the fourth day Siadiadiadi and his companions thanked Gregory in the +name of their mistress and went away. + + O wad some power the giftie gie us + To see oorsel's as ithers see us! + It wad frae monie a blunder free us + And foolish notion. + + +II. + +Some six months later Gregory, travelling to the extreme limit of his +district, found himself within easy distance of the village occupied by +the Chieftainess who had been so curious about his house. He felt +inclined to go out of his way to see her. When he was resting at midday +a native brought him a letter which helped him to make up his mind to do +so. + + MY FRIEND, + + I hear that you have arrived near to my village. Please come and + see my house. I think you will like it. Hoping you are well, with + greetings. + + Your faithful friend, + + MOVANA. + + Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni. I, too, send greetings. + +So Gregory went to see the house. + +Outside the village he was met by the usual gathering of elderly +headmen, polite and dignified, who led him to the door of their Chief's +house. + +The house was barnlike, with a high, well-thatched roof. + +At the entrance stood the owner. She was very stout and wore a print +dress. A red shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and she had a very +small straw hat perched on her large, woolly head. Gregory noticed that +the hat was very much on one side. Her feet were bare. + +After unusually hearty greetings she led the white man into her house. + +When Gregory stepped over the threshold he stopped and stood looking +from wall to wall aghast. The old black woman interpreted his open mouth +to indicate admiration, wonder. This is what he saw. + +On a deal table a complete toilet set. Complete to the extent that it +included two of those very intimate pieces of domestic furniture seldom +seen outside the shops where toilet ware is sold, and surely never +before exhibited with pride by the owner. Hanging awkwardly from a nail +in the wall, a slop pail of enamelled iron. This was supported on the +one side by a dustpan and brush, on the other by a pair of elastic-sided +boots. On each side of this remarkable trophy were pinned two very +ordinary coloured pocket handkerchiefs. + +On a small corner shelf was a large brown earthenware teapot with the +words "Advance Australia" done in raised letters. Four enamelled ware +egg cups were its companions. + +One wall was devoted exclusively to kitchen utensils; new tin kettles +predominated, but almost everything was represented. + +Opposite this bright array the wall was literally covered with bedding. +The centre piece was a mattress; sheets on one side, blankets on the +other, pillows above, bolsters below. + +But what shocked Gregory more than anything else was a regular trousseau +of feminine underclothing, ranged round the door through which he had +entered. He blushed hotly and with difficulty suppressed an impulse to +bolt without ceremony. + +"What do you think of my house, my friend?" + +"I think it--er--beautiful, the most wonderful in all the world." + +"Yes, I thought you would like it. Do you not like the things my people +use? For myself, I like the things the white people use. You put the +black man's things in your house. I put the white man's things in my +house. We are two friends who have the same thoughts. You buy from the +people. I buy from the traders. The traders have promised to bring me +many more things. My house is not finished yet. After the rains it will +be finished, then you must come and see it again." + + * * * * * + +When Gregory reached his bungalow after his journey he stripped his +walls and packed all his curios in boxes. These he despatched to his +father in England, who was very pleased with them. + +He replaced his curios by the Hundred Best Pictures, framed suitably in +fumed oak. + + + + +"LIZIZI." + + +I. + +The Native Commissioner was hurrying home. It was nearly midday and +getting hot. Moreover, he had been on a long journey and was anxious to +get back to his bungalow which, for him, meant a measure of +civilisation. His garden, his books, prints on the wall, white ducks, +fair cooking and no more tinned food for a while, a cool verandah and +occasional converse with his fellow officials. At daylight he had left +his caravan to follow whilst he pushed on ahead. + +His sturdy horse also had thoughts of home for, in spite of the heat, he +cantered briskly along the dusty road without any encouragement from his +master. Half a mile from the house a short cut skirted a patch of young +gum trees and led through the servants' compound to the back door of the +bungalow. + +The horse, without hesitation and not waiting for direction, took the +short cut. As a general rule the Commissioner chose the longer way. He +preferred entering his own house by the front door; he had designed and +built his home himself and had given much thought to its face and +approach, for, who could tell, might he not some day lead an English +bride up the winding drive? + +The Commissioner let the beast have his way: he was amused and, leaning +forward, patted his horse's neck. + +As he clattered through the compound he caught sight of some of his +servants conversing with a stranger. There was nothing remarkable in +that, but two things he noticed. One, that his people did not see or +hear him until he was almost abreast of them, and secondly, that the +stranger, a native from the river district, let him pass without the +usual salute. + +He rode on and dismounted at the back of the house. A groom took his +horse. A small boy opened the door for him and led him through to the +front hall. The Commissioner dropped into a chair and, after a short +rest, busied himself with getting comfortable. + +A shave, followed by a hot bath, a change into "slacks," a light +luncheon, and a pipe. Then he attacked his accumulated mail. He had +scarcely sorted his home from his official letters--the latter could +well wait--when his head house boy came in rather breathless. + +"Morena," he said, "what is to-day?" + +"What do you mean, the day of the month or of the week, and why do you +ask?" + +"Oh no," said the boy, "but what is the number of the day?" + +"Tuesday the sixth. Why?" + +"It is only that I wanted to know, for has not the Morena been absent +for a great many days?" + +"Well, it's the sixth, Tuesday the sixth of September." + +"Thank you, Morena." + +The boy withdrew. + +The Native Commissioner turned to his letters again. His mother had +written pages telling him of his sister's engagement to his oldest +friend; his sister wrote more pages about her happiness; his father +referred to his younger brother at Oxford, to the engagement just +announced, and described the latest strike at some length. + +Presently he got up and went out to the verandah to stretch his legs. He +admired his garden and mentally praised his own cunning in setting it +out. The rains had not yet broken but some of the trees were already in +new leaf. What a blaze of colour there would be in a few weeks! + +"Morena, what day is it to-day?" + +Turning, he met the gaze of a garden labourer who, spade in hand, was +standing slightly in advance of some half a dozen of his fellows. + +"The sixth. But why do you ask?" + +"It is because black people do not know how to count, and one day with +us is as another." + +All returned to their work. A few minutes later the dog boy came with a +litter born during his master's absence. They were a likely looking lot +and the native took personally the remarks passed upon his charge: he +appeared to assume responsibility for their colour, shape and sex. + +"Morena, what day is it to-day?" + +"Why?" + +"See, Morena, I mark each day on a stick; the dogs were born ten days +ago." + +"Well, it's the sixth." + +"Thank you, Morena." + +At sundown the cattle came in. The herdsman came up to the house to +report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his +journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his +good management When bull calves came the cattle herd made many excuses +and neither expected nor received any reward. + +"You have done well." + +"Thank you, Morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his +loin cloth. "What is the number of the day to-day?" + +Now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. What did it +mean? Could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what? + +But the Commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some +trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point. +Still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but +knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good +time. + +He asked no question this time but replied simply: "The sixth." + +The news of his return spread quickly and several officials dropped in +for a "sundowner." Headquarters news, dull and trivial as it usually is, +was quickly disposed of. The Browns had gone home on leave, Jones had +just come back, and Robinson had passed the law exam very well. A lion +had been heard outside the township, and a mad cur had run amok through +the compounds and, as a result, several good dogs had been shot and half +a dozen natives sent south for treatment. + +What sport had the Commissioner had? + +On the whole, bad; he had missed a black-maned lion in a patch of bush +near the river, and as the beast slipped through to the main forest he +didn't bother to follow. He had, however, bagged a small leopard and two +full-grown cheetahs. There were plenty of birds and buck about and, oh, +yes, he had killed a bad old buffalo bull who nearly turned the tables +on him. After listening to the details of the adventure, the visitors +rose to leave. + +No, he would not join them at the Club later, he felt tired and was +looking forward to a comfortable bed for a change. + +The Commissioner dined alone and turned in early. + +In the morning he woke with a start. It was late, nearly eight o'clock; +what the deuce were his people about? + +He jumped out of bed and went to the bath-room. The bath was not set +ready. He called to his boy. There was no answer. He slipped on a +dressing gown and went to the kitchen. It was empty, the fire was not +even lighted. He went back to the house for a pair of slippers and a hat +and walked across to the native compound. By this time he was very +angry. + +To his amazement, the compound was quite empty. On his way back he +looked in at the stable. His horses whinnied: they had not been fed, nor +had the stable been cleaned. He fed the horses himself and then walked +over to the cattle kraal. His half-dozen cows had not been milked. + +At that moment the Magistrate came up. + +"What's the matter with the natives?" + +"I don't know, why?" + +"Not a black soul in the township will do a hand's turn." + +"Mine aren't here." + +"Is there going to be a rising?" + +"Certainly not. You people who live in camp are always expecting +risings." + +"Well, you know best, of course, but the boys refuse to work. They say +Lizizi has told them not to." + +"Who's Lizizi?" + +"How should I know? I came to ask you that." + +"Never heard of him." + +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" + +"I don't know yet. Send some of your people down to me, mine have made +themselves scarce." + +"Right, but what are you going to do to them?" + +"Nothing, of course, except question them." + +"I'll send my two house boys down." + +"Send your cook as well." + +"Why my cook?" + +"Because I haven't had my breakfast yet." + +"Well, neither have I for that matter." + +"Then you had better come with them, we'll have breakfast all right." + +The Magistrate went away and the Commissioner returned to his house to +dress. + +He hated having no bath; he disliked, too, going without breakfast. +Discomfort on a journey he thought nothing of, but discomfort in his own +home was ridiculous. + +When the Commissioner emerged from his room, dressed but unshaven, and +in a very bad temper, he found his head native in the hall and the rest +of the servants standing on the verandah. + +"We wish to speak with you," said the boy. + +"I, too, have something to say." + +"We cannot work to-day. To-morrow we will work." + +"You will work to-day and now." + +"No, Morena, we cannot work to-day, to-morrow we will work well." + +"Why can't you work to-day?" + +"Because Lizizi says we may not work to-day." + +"Who's Lizizi?" + +"A great doctor." + +"Where is he?" said the Commissioner, looking round. + +"No, he is not here, Morena, he lives on the Zambesi. He sent his man +with a message yesterday." + +"Was that the messenger I saw in the compound?" + +"Yes, Morena." + +"Where is he?" + +"He has gone." + +"Where?" + +"He did not say where he was going. He told us he must carry the +master's messages." + +"What are the messages?" + +"No man may work for his master to-day." + +"What are the others?" + +"That is all he said to us." + +"Have you eaten this morning?" + +"Yes, Morena." + +"Then bring breakfast for the Magistrate and me, and quickly." + +"But, Morena--" + +"Well?" + +"I may not work to-day." + +"Breakfast is food, not work. Bring it." + +"Yes, Morena." + +The boy went out. The Commissioner turned to the rest of his servants. + +"You won't work to-day?" + +The cattle herd answered: "We may not, it is forbidden." + +"Who forbids you?" + +"Lizizi." + +"Who is Lizizi?" + +"The great doctor." + +"Great?" + +"Yes, Morena. Does he not jump into the river and come out alive on the +third day?" + +"I should say not, but where does he live?" + +"At Minanga, on the Zambesi." + +"Go to your work. I will visit this Lizizi. There is some mistake. The +messenger is a foolish fellow, he had forgotten his master's words. I +will see to it. Tell all the people that I go on a visit to Lizizi. He +who does not work now and at once and well will meet with misfortune." + +The servants dispersed to their various occupations. Slowly at first, +and with evident reluctance; but, hearing that the head boy was busy +getting his master's breakfast, they, too, set about their various +duties. + +When the Magistrate arrived he found everything normal. He had breakfast +with the Commissioner. When the meal was over he found his own servants +had gone back to his compound. The word had spread abroad that the +Commissioner would visit Lizizi and put matters right. + +"How did you do it?" + +"Just talked to them a little." + +"No violence, I hope?" + +"Unnecessary." + +"What was it all about?" + +"I know no more than you, but intend to find out." + +In a few hours the Commissioner was on his way to Minanga, on the +Zambesi, the home of Lizizi, the great doctor. + + +II. + +All next day, and for several days following, natives might be seen +passing south in the direction of Minanga. The curious thing about these +flocks of travellers was that they were chiefly composed of +children--little children, from infants in arms to boys and girls of +nine or ten, none older. When questioned, the parents would reply +simply: "We are called. We are called to Minanga by Lizizi--by Lizizi, +the great doctor." + +The native servants who worked in the houses of the officials could, or +would, give no fuller explanation. "Yes, they are called by Lizizi," was +the only answer to all questioning. + +In the Club, speculation as to what the Commissioner would do +monopolised the conversation. Nearly all the officials wagered on a +native rising. The Commandant of Police went about to prepare +systematically for an event of this kind. + + +III. + +The Commissioner travelled light and quickly. He, too, passed hordes of +natives, mostly children. He, too, learnt that Lizizi called--that +Lizizi had apparently mustered all the children of the district. He was +now doubly certain that this was no native rebellion, or the children +would have been conspicuously absent. He grudged Lizizi this implicit +obedience. Two could not run the same country. + +At length he approached Minanga. The neighbouring villages were thronged +with children. In Minanga itself there were many hundreds. The +Commissioner rode to the centre of the village and demanded to be shown +Lizizi's hut. He was led up the hill to a single small hut built +half-way up the slope. In front of it grew a huge tamarind tree. + +"There is Lizizi," said his guide, pointing to an old man sitting on a +stool in front of the hut. + +The Commissioner watched. A strange performance was going on. A long +queue of children was moving slowly past the seated figure, and as each +child was marshalled forward--screaming with fright, for the most +part--the old man put his hands on its head. + +The Commissioner rode up to the hut. The old man touched the head of the +child in front of him with his crossed thumbs; that was all, and the +child passed hurriedly on to join a throng, already large, of others who +had passed through the ordeal, or whatever it was. + +On seeing the Commissioner the old man rose and seated himself on the +ground, clapping his hands by way of greeting. + +This curious native wore a large pair of spectacles, which gave him a +benevolent air. His feet were bare--so, too, was his head--but he was +otherwise clothed to the extent of a patched and very dirty shirt and an +aged pair of trousers. + +"Are you Lizizi?" asked the Commissioner. + +"Morena, I am his slave." + +"Where is Lizizi?" + +"He walked on the water. Then he went to the bottom of the river and +stayed there. After three days he came out alive and well. Some people +said so who saw him." + +"Where is he now?" + +"Who can tell?" + +"Did you send that message to the servants of the white men, saying that +they were not to work?" + +"I sent my master's message." + +"What are you doing to these children?" + +"My master said they must come." + +"What for?" + +"I put my hands on them, as my master said. Lizizi said: 'Let the +children come, the little children, and do not stop them.' And Lizizi +said: 'You must work for six days, and on the seventh day you must not +do anything.'" + +So that was the explanation. It came to the Commissioner in a flash. + +"Who are you?" he asked. + +"My name is Sinyoro." + +"You have worked for a white man?" + +"Yes, I was with the Mission." + +"I thought as much." + +"Lizizi" was the nearest this native could get to Jesus. The poor old +man was, it transpired, a little mad. He had lived with the missionaries +for many years, and had recently asked permission to visit friends on +the Zambesi. The head missionary had let him go. As he afterwards +explained, he knew the man was a little mad, but quite harmless. They +had christened him James--James Sinyoro. + +However, James, it seemed, had been trying his prentice hand at +missionary work, and had given orders based on the little he remembered +of the Mission Bible teaching. + + * * * * * + +James Sinyoro returned to the Mission Station, and the district to its +normal tranquillity. + + + + +MIRONDA--A WOMAN. + + +The Paramount Chief had many wives. A newly arrived missionary, +determined to convert the great man, opened his attack by asking why he +had so many wives. The answer was disconcerting: "For political +reasons." This matter of the Chief's was a rock upon which all +missionary endeavours foundered. The Chief must discard all his wives, +save one. The Chief was determined to keep them all. + +To another reformer he said: "Leave me alone. Do what you will with the +children and young people. Leave me to myself. You have shown me that my +beliefs are foolish. You have not proved to me that yours are any +wiser." + +A third good man, about to transfer his activities to other fields, +offered to present the Chief with his bright brass bedstead provided he +became a Christian. + +"Let me see it," said the old heathen. The bed was produced. "I have a +better one. I paid a trader ten head of cattle for it." So no bargain +was struck. + +I think there must have been some grounds for saying that he clung to +his many wives "for political reasons," because they, or at any rate +some of them, were more trouble to the Chief than they were perhaps +worth. + +There was Mavevana, for instance, who was large and fat and therefore +very beautiful from a native point of view, but whose tongue was a +constant source of strife without and within the harem. + +I should explain that each wife had her own group of huts. These +groups--there were seventeen of them--were surrounded by a high reed +fence, strengthened by sharply-pointed poles. The harem was a village +within a village. Outside the fence the common people lived. + +Each woman had her slaves. A strong guard of fully-armed men patrolled +the harem at night. Old Sikoro, the keeper of the harem, was about day +and night. + +Then there was Mironda. Poor Mironda, who later paid, as women do, be +they white, black or yellow. + +Mironda was rather nearer to yellow than to black. I think she had some +European blood in her. One does not often see a native woman with hazel +eyes nor with freckles; and besides, she was very tall and slim. + +As a special mark of his good will the Chief once took me through his +harem. That is how I first came to see Mironda. + +The woman aroused my interest. When we entered her compound she glared +at her lord and master as a caged beast does upon free men. She did not +for a moment take her eyes off him. She never so much as glanced in my +direction. Her eyes caught the light once and reflected it as do those +of a cat, a tiger. Yes, that was it, she put me in mind of a caged +tiger. + +She clasped her hands continuously during our short stay. The click, +click, click of her ivory bangles drew my attention to her hands. Her +hands and her wrists were very small, her finger nails long and sharp. I +noticed her hands particularly because she had solid ivory bangles on +each arm from wrist to elbow. These bangles were very small and, as they +were solid, could only pass over very small hands. + +I saw this curious woman twice only: the second time was some years +later. + +As I have said before, old Sikoro was the keeper of the harem. I hated +him instinctively the moment I first set eyes on him: I hated him more +when I heard the whole story. + +Sikoro had only one eye. In his youth he had had smallpox, which pitted +his face remorselessly and destroyed one eye. He wore a soldier's red +tunic, the colour dimmed with age and dirt. Perched on his head was a +tall cone-shaped fur cap which he plucked off whenever he met a +superior. He was always plucking it off, not because he was really +inferior in the black man's social scale to all he so saluted; on the +contrary, in view of his office, he was an important person; he was over +polite because he chose to appear humble. + +The man knew his power well: his occupation gave him the ear of the +Chief. All realized this and were ready to show him the respect which +was justly his due: Sikoro was before them in showing respect, which was +unnecessary. Men did not understand this humbleness of his and feared +him. Sikoro loved their fear. + +The woman, Mironda, alone had no fear of him. She despised the man and +did not try to hide it. She often refused to see him. It was only utter +boredom that induced her to admit him to her compound at all. The truth +is he was a great gossip and was the link between the harem and the +outer world. Sikoro knew everything, was an authority on everything, and +the first to hear all news. + +Now this is what befell Mironda. I don't blame her; no one could. I +consider her a victim of circumstances. The old, old story. A young and +impulsive woman, an elderly, much married lord, a well-favoured young +man. The long and the short of it is that Mironda was in the end +divorced; but the manner of that divorce enrages me whenever I think of +it. + +One morning she was sitting on a mat in the shade thrown by the +overhanging thatch of her hut. She was singing in a low voice and +threading beads picked with the point of her needle from a wooden bowl +held by a small girl slave. + + The father of Mbututu + Was killed on the sand bank + Wei ye-i, wei i-ye, + Wei ye-i, wei i-ye, + The father of Mbututu + Was killed on the sand bank + Wei ye-i, etc. + +The monotonous chant in a minor key was interrupted by someone +scratching on the reed fence. + +"Go," said Mironda to the child, "see who it is." + +The child put down the bowl of beads and ran to the fold in the fence +which formed the gate. She looked out. A glance was sufficient. She ran +back past her mistress and into a far hut, muttering as she went +"Ma--we! Ma--we! It is Sikoro!" + +Mironda moved uneasily on her mat, then fell to fumbling nervously with +the brightly-dyed bark patterns which ornamented it. + +Sikoro slouched into the compound, removing his fur cap as he came. Just +inside he knelt down and sat on his heels, placing his cap on the ground +beside him. He arranged his voluminous skirts carefully round him and +then clapped his hands very respectfully. + +Mironda did not look at him. After a short interval Sikoro broke the +silence. + +"Good day to you, Morena." + +"Yes, good day." + +"And has the Chief's wife slept well?" + +"She has." + +"And the slaves of her house, have they slept well?" + +"They have." + +"And is the Chief's wife pleased with the new shawl chosen by Sikoro as +a gift from the Chief to his wife?" + +"It is all right." + +Sikoro relapsed into silence and Mironda did not speak. Presently the +man got up and, in a crouching attitude, shuffled nearer and sat down as +close as possible to the edge of the woman's mat without actually +touching it. To touch the mat of the Chief's wife would have been an +offence, to come so near to it was studied insolence. + +Mironda looked up angrily, met the bloodshot eye of Sikoro and opened +her mouth as if to speak. Instead of doing so, however, she looked away +and examined the work upon which she had been engaged when the man +arrived. + +Sikoro grinned and, detaching from his belt a small gourd, emptied some +snuff into the palm of his hand. + +This was a deliberate insult to the Chief's wife and conclusive evidence +to her, if indeed she needed it, that she might now expect the worst. + +Sikoro blew his nose unpleasantly and loudly sniffed up the snuff from +the palm of his hand. Then, clearing his throat, he said: "Someone has +stolen one of the Chief's heifers." + +"Eh." + +"A yellow one which the Chief might well have sold to a Jew." + +"So." + +"It is no great loss to the Chief, as the heifer is barren." + +Mironda's eyes blazed with fury; she had no child. + +"The thief has been caught." + +"What will be done with him?" + +Ah! he had aroused her interest at last. Sikoro smiled pleasantly as he +said: "He will, of course, be strangled." + +"Will not the Missionaries prevent it?" + +"The Missionaries? They do not know and may not know for many days, and +anyhow, what could they do?" + +"The white man's Government will prevent the killing of people." + +"No doubt the white man's Government will do many foolish things, but +the Magistrate has not yet come." + +"He is coming soon." + +"But they strangle Miyobo to-day, now." + +No name had been mentioned before: indeed it was not necessary even now; +Mironda had known Sikoro's errand from the manner of entry into her +compound. + +The abominable man leant forward and repeated: "Now, now, now," then put +his hand to his ear. The woman listened, too, and heard distinctly the +shriek and gurgle of a dying man: then silence save for the pattering of +slaves' feet and their shrill inquiries and conjectures. Miyobo had been +strangled just outside the compound in which the woman sat. + +Mironda looked at Sikoro with wide eyes of fear. He, of course, enjoyed +the situation. Did he not hate this woman for her overbearing pride? Had +not she and Miyobo fooled him more than once, and had it not been the +merest chance which had delivered them into his hand? + +His one eye contracted with merriment, a cruel smile lifted his lip and +disclosed a row of sharply-filed teeth--the tribal mark of a subject +race; he was a freed slave. + +Pointing to the bangles on the woman's arm, Sikoro asked: "What are you +doing with the Chief's ivory?" + +One by one Mironda took her bangles off and placed them on the mat +before her. + +"Is not that the Chief's new shawl?" + +The wretched woman took the garment from her shoulders and laid it on +the mat beside the bangles. + +"And why," said Sikoro, "do you sit on the Chief's mat?" + +Mironda slowly rose to her feet. + +"And is not this the Chief's hut?" + +This was the last word, the full sentence of divorce; she, now a common +woman, had no right to stand where she stood. She looked hastily round +the compound and then walked silently to the gate and so out. + +The man gathered up the ivory bangles and tied them in the shawl. He +rolled up the mat upon which Mironda had been sitting and tucked it +under his arm. Then, spitting contemptuously on the ground, he followed. + + * * * * * + +Some years later I saw Mironda, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, +begging food at the Mission station. + +When the wife of the Chief is divorced, her fall is gradual. For a space +she becomes the wife of a head man, who presently passes her on to +someone lower in the social scale, and so from hand to hand she passes +until she becomes the consort of a slave. + +In Mironda's case she first became the wife of Sikoro; surely a no more +cruel punishment could have been devised for her. + + + + +MAN AND BEAST. + + + + +PROTECTIVE COLOURING. + + +Mobita had views on protective colouring. Who is Mobita? Oh, an elephant +hunter, a black man; a very good fellow--as black men go. Mobita used to +say that elephants, and big and small game generally, could not see +black and white. Black they could and white they could, but not a +judicious combination of the two. His usual hunting kit was a black hat +with a white feather in it, a black waistcoat over a white shirt, a +black and white striped loin cloth. His thin arms and legs were dull +ebony. There you have Mobita. + +Mobita's theory worked very well for a time, but as he had missed an +essential he paid the penalty in the end. A zebra is black and +white--more or less--and in the bush is practically invisible so long as +it stands still. That, then, is the essential adjunct to protective +colouring--you must keep still. + +This is what happened to Mobita. + +Just before the war I was hunting on the edge of the Great Swamp. Early +one afternoon, when the day was at its hottest, I heard a shot fired. +Later, I met a freshly-wounded tusker and dropped him. I went up to have +a look at him, and found dry blood on his ground tusk and a hole behind +his near shoulder; someone had just missed his heart. My shot took him +in the ear. + +I left some of my men to cut out his tusks, and, out of curiosity, went +back along his spoor. I had not far to go. Sitting round a pile of green +branches I found a dozen of Mobita's people, looking very glum. + +They told me their yarn, which I did not believe until I had had a look +round for myself. The spoor told me their story was true enough. + +It appears that Mobita had followed the bull since early morning. He got +in a moderate shot; the bull saw him and gave chase. The ground was +unbroken, with no large ant-hills or big trees to dodge behind. Here and +there they went, this way and that, but the tusker kept his eye on +Mobita--on his protective colouring, I should think. Then somehow Mobita +tripped and fell, and the game was up. The elephant stamped on him, +knelt on him, put his tusk through him. Then--and here is the strange +part of it all--went from tree to tree picking green branches and piling +them up on what was left of Mobita. + +Then he moved off and shortly met me. + +Did I bury Mobita? Why, no. People came around presently--as natives +will when meat is about--and I made them pile stones on him; quite a +hill they made. I paid them for their trouble with elephant meat, and +handed the tusks to Mobita's men, as the custom is. + +Protective colouring is all right, no doubt--if you keep still. + + + + +DARWIN--A BIRD. + + +When the railway construction reached to within reasonable distance of +my camp, I realised how tired I was of living in a mud hut, and acquired +sufficient material from the contractor for a small house. I also asked +him to spare one of his carpenters to erect it for me. + +The man sent to me was a German named Fritz Kunst. He was not only a +carpenter, but a mason, bricklayer, plumber, and painter as well. He was +an excellent workman, a member of no union, and intent only on finishing +his job quickly and well. I hasten to explain that this was many years +before the war. + +In build he was very short, almost deformed. His head was abnormally +large; so, too, were his hands and feet, especially his feet. He looked +upon his feet as his salvation. He was flat-footed, and on that account +had never served in the German army. He referred to his feet as, "My +goot luck, isn't it?" + +I had but one fault to find with him. He was rough with his native +servant. The boy sometimes complained to me, and when I remonstrated +with Kunst or threatened him with the law he would burst into a flood of +tears and offer to pay cash for his lapse. One day the boy complained +to me that Kunst had beaten him severely and without cause. He could, +however, show no mark, but I sent for his master and demanded an +explanation. Kunst was evidently very angry with the boy, for he shook +his fist in his face and bellowed in his coarse, guttural voice: "Zo, +you make er tam vool of me, eh? I will your head break. You spoil my +money. Gott tam you!" + +In broken English, but with considerable fluency and force, Kunst told +me the source of his indignation. It appeared that from time to time he +commissioned his boy to make small purchases for him--eggs, fowls, milk, +fish, and the like. On the previous evening the boy produced a very +large egg for which he said he had paid sixpence. As eggs were then +never more than sixpence a dozen in that country, Kunst charged him with +cheating. The boy explained that the egg was a very large one. It was +large--huge, in fact--for a hen's egg, so Kunst did not press the +charge, but went to bed, telling the boy to boil it for breakfast next +morning. + +On the breakfast-table the egg looked larger than ever. It couldn't sit +in the tin egg-cup, so lay on the table beside it. + +Now Kunst was a greedy man and attacked the egg in the best of good +spirits. He tried to crack it in the usual way with a spoon, but without +success. He banged it on the table. The shell did crack then, but, to +Kunst's indignation, the egg proved to be hard set. Whether he thought +parts of it might be good I cannot say, but the German broke open the +egg and examined it more closely. He then became very angry indeed, for +what he found satisfied him that the egg was not a hen's egg at all. The +creature upon which he gazed was three-parts beak and most of the rest +was made up of feet. Kunst had never seen anything like it. In a rage of +disappointment he beat the boy. He had so looked forward to eating that +very large egg which the boy assured him was a hen's egg. Had not his +trusted servant declared that the egg had cost sixpence? + +I soothed Kunst's ruffled feelings, and persuaded him to go to his work +and forgive the boy. + +When I had settled the little differences between the German and the +native, I cross-questioned the latter. It transpired that the giant egg +was that of a marabout stork which had nested in a tree a few miles +away. As one egg still remained in the nest, I told the boy to let a +week or two go by, and if by then the egg had hatched out to bring the +chick to me. + +In due course Darwin arrived. I did not call him Darwin for several +weeks; the name occurred to me later. Darwin was the queerest of +objects. He was a large ball of fluff based on two very long legs, and +surmounted by a huge beak protruding from a bald head. He was wise from +birth; it was when I had fully realised how very wise he was that I +christened him Darwin. + +When he first came to me he made no proper use of his legs. He could not +stand erect, but sat awkwardly with his bird equivalent to knees +protruding behind and his large feet, with toes spread out, in front. He +resembled a downy globe on rails. He crawled about my bungalow almost +from the first day I had him. This he managed by sliding first his right +hand rail along the floor and then his left, clapping his huge beak +after each movement. I suppose I subconsciously accepted this beak +clapping as the crooning of a baby bird, for I soon found myself +indulging in baby talk with him. + +His appetite was amazing; moreover, he was omnivorous. + +When it was neither his meal time nor mine, he would sit on the floor in +front of me blinking up at me with wisdom in his eyes. He winked. There +is no doubt about it. It was as if he had just remarked: "What you and I +don't know isn't worth knowing." I soon dropped the baby talk with +Darwin, and discussed with him Affairs of State. + +He grew rapidly. One day I detected a feather. By degrees feathers +replaced the down, but the most important sign of Darwin's growing up +was when he took his first step. One morning without warning he heaved +himself up, and, by using his beak as a third leg, actually stood on his +feet. For the space of a full minute he remained in this position, then, +suddenly lifting his head, he was erect. For one moment only; then, +overbalancing backwards, he fell with a crash full length on the floor. +He appeared stunned at first. I picked him up and placed him on his +rails again, and there he sat, thinking the matter over. Presently he +repeated the manoeuvre, but with no better success, falling this time on +his "front" as a child would say. Again I gathered him up, and +apparently, after mature consideration, he decided that his time for +walking had not yet come, for he made no more attempts that day. + +About a week later, as if the idea had struck him for the first time, he +got up quite suddenly, and coolly walked out of the back door into the +yard; he stood there sunning himself, and chattering to and at everybody +and everything in sight. + +Darwin never looked back. He quickly developed a curiosity as insatiable +as his appetite. He became playful, too. He made friends with the dogs, +and romped with them. He noticed that the doctor paid a daily visit to +the compound, and hid behind the fence in wait for him. As the doctor +sped past on his bicycle, Darwin would shoot out his heavy beak at him. +So sure a marksman did the bird become--he always narrowly missed the +saddle, but hit the doctor--that the good man complained, and approached +the compound by the long way round. + +The day arrived when certain puppies had to lose their tails. Darwin +took a proper interest in the operation, and gobbled up each tail as it +fell. He appeared to like dogs' tails, and went in search of more. He +found a nice long one which he tried to swallow, but it happened to be +still attached to an elderly greyhound. Poor Darwin met with his first +serious rebuff in life; he came to me for sympathy with a large puncture +in his beak. The mark of the dog's displeasure was permanent. + +When natives came, as they did in hundreds, to sell the produce of their +gardens, woods, and streams, Darwin inspected their wares. With a twist +of his beak he would filch a pinch of meal from a bowl to see, so the +natives declared, whether it was of uniform whiteness throughout. Eggs +had to be protected with outstretched arms, so, too, had baskets of +little fishes, for he was very partial to them both, and only a very +full sample would satisfy him. The natives declared him possessed. +Judging by the way he first abused and then assaulted any one of them +bold enough to resist his inspection, I think they were right. + +I have already mentioned his curiosity. He permitted this defect in his +character to carry him too far when he became a common thief. A +traveller stayed with me for a few days. In spite of warning, he left +the door of his hut open when he came across to the mess hut for +breakfast. Darwin entered to inspect. It is surmised that he swallowed +my guest's shaving brush and tooth brush, for they have never been +found. It is only surmise, but there was circumstantial evidence to +support the charge in the form of the stick of shaving soap which was +found on the floor with marks on it which might have been made by the +beak of a large bird. + +Again, the contents of two boxes of cigars were found scattered far and +wide; each cigar had been nipped in half. Darwin was questioned; he +looked wise but said nothing. A native witness swore he had seen the +accused walking in the yard with the white man's pipe in his mouth. This +was a wicked slander, for the white man had that pipe in his pocket, and +it was his only one. + +The case was not proven, but Darwin left the court without a shred of +character. + +I have referred to his appetite. One day the cook missed a piece of +lamb's neck, weighing probably half a dozen pounds. He couldn't blame +the cat, because there wasn't one, so he pointed the finger of +accusation at Darwin. The evil bird was sent for. I felt he was guilty, +and, although he winked at me for sympathy, I had to say so. Besides, he +had not been sufficiently careful to hide the loot; even a professional +detective could have recognised the meat by the very large, irregular +bulge in the bird's pouch. In places the mutton bones threatened to +pierce the thin disguise. + +Darwin certainly had his uses. No nasty-smelling scrap could lie +undetected for long. His scent was keen and his eye sharp. I never found +a snake in the house after Darwin grew up, nor were there many rats +about the place. + +Once a huge swarm of locusts fell upon us, and all hands turned out to +destroy them. Darwin joined in the fray, and soon we retired and left +him to finish the job, as he disposed of thousands to our joint +hundreds. His method was simplicity itself. He dashed here, there, and +everywhere with his huge beak wide open. Only now and then, and for a +moment, did he close it to gulp down what had fallen in. + +The doctor, who lived a mile away, did not like Darwin; partly because +of his stupid trick of pecking at him as he cycled by, but chiefly +because he seemed to know what was going on in the hospital. If an +operation was being performed, Darwin could be heard tramping about +impatiently on the corrugated iron roof of the building. As the marabout +stork mainly lives on carrion scraps, there was, the doctor considered, +questionable taste in Darwin's visits. + +Alas! Darwin met with a violent death in his early prime. + +Like all others of his kind, he grew those beautiful downy feathers so +highly prized by women who dress well. There was a demand throughout the +country for the feathers, and many of these delightful and useful birds +died at the hands of the natives in consequence. + +An operation was going on at the hospital, and Darwin was hurrying +thither on foot, as I had recently cut the feathers of one of his wings. +In the road he met a strange native, who despatched him with his +assegai, stripped him of his feathers, and walked on. + +The spoiler soon came up with two of my servants who, on hearing of the +man's good luck, as he put it, took him back to the scene of the +outrage. + +Yes, it was "Da-wi-ni"; was not that the hole in his beak which the +angry greyhound made? + +My servants decided that Darwin had been most foully murdered, and acted +according to their lights. + + * * * * * + +It was well that the doctor knew his job. After six anxious weeks the +native was so far recovered from the beating as to be pronounced out of +danger. + + + + +THE LION'S SKIN. + + +In the year 1898 Sergeant Johnson, the one with the bright red beard, +was sent up country to establish and to remain in charge of the new +out-station of Likonga. Likonga, a little-known spot in Central Africa, +was, and still is, miles away from civilisation. Sergeant Johnson's +command was cut to small dimensions by malaria at headquarters. He had +but a corporal and two men. Likonga in those days consisted of nothing +but a name on the map, and nothing at all in the way of buildings or +anything else to show you when you had got there. The Commandant of +Police had dotted vaguely the imperfect sketch map with his pencil, and +had instructed Sergeant Johnson to go there. The Sergeant had glanced at +the map as it lay on the office table, and had said, "Yes, sir." + +"You will take with you Corporal Merton and Privates Hay and Hare. I +cannot spare more." + +Again the Sergeant said, "Yes, sir." + +"You will take rations for ninety days, the small buck waggon, and the +black span of oxen." + +For the third time Sergeant Johnson said, "Yes, sir." + +Now, this man with the bright red beard had been a soldier elsewhere +before he became a policeman in the middle of Africa. His old training +had not encouraged questions, so he never asked any now. When, +therefore, the Commandant of Police glanced up from the map, the +Sergeant saluted, turned about, and left the office. + +He wasted no time. He took Corporal Merton, Privates Hay and Hare, the +small waggon, ninety days' rations, a span of fourteen black oxen, the +Zulu Jacob to drive, and the Kaffir boy "Nine-thirty" to lead. + +Just before sundown he pulled out of camp. It is hardly necessary, +perhaps, to say that the leader of a waggon is the native who walks in +front of the oxen, but it is necessary to explain that a leader of oxen +in Africa answers to any name flung at him. This particular one was +called "Nine-thirty" because, without any apparent effort, he stood and +walked with his feet splayed at what should have been an impossible +angle to his legs. If his right big toe pointed east, his left one +pointed west, whilst he himself faced north or south, as the case might +be. + +For seven days the party travelled in a northeasterly direction, +Sergeant Johnson spending most of the time on his back on the waggon, +Corporal Merton tramping immediately behind, whilst Privates Hay and +Hare followed at any distance ranging between a hundred yards and half a +mile. + +The party was not a cheery one; it might have travelled for yet another +day, or even more, had not the Sergeant dropped his looking glass off +the tail end of the waggon. He was devoted to his big red beard. While +lying on the waggon he spent his time fondling and trimming this beard, +smearing vaseline on it and admiring it in his little lead-framed +looking glass. + +When, therefore, he dropped his glass, he said: "Damn," and then, more +loudly, "This is Likonga; outspan, Jacob!" + +The driver shouted "Ah, now!" to the oxen, and the outfit came to a +halt. + +As a camping place, the spot so casually chosen was not a bad one. There +was wood and there was water, good grazing for the cattle, and obviously +some game about. Moreover, there were some granite boulders on the left, +set round in the form of a rude circle. Under the Sergeant's direction +all were soon roughly housed. The cattle had been made secure at night +by a skilful reinforcement of the circle of boulders, here a thorn bush +and there a few poles. Patrol tents, protected by a straggling fence, +satisfied the Sergeant and his men. Jacob spent the day in the lee of +his waggon and the night under it. "Nine-thirty" slept on the other side +of the cattle kraal, under the propped-up roof of an abandoned native +hut; during the day he herded the cattle. The making of this very +primitive out-station occupied less than a couple of days, and then the +question, "What the devil shall we do now?" fell upon the party like a +blight. + +But, as is so often the case, the devil decided. + +All had turned in for the night. The Sergeant had taken a last look at +his beard. Corporal Merton had read something of Kipling's. Private Hay, +after a long-winded argument with Private Hare, in which neither seemed +to gain advantage, had told his adversary to go to hell. Private Hare +had found satisfaction in saying, "Ditto, brother." Jacob had retired +under his waggon, and, like most natives, fell asleep immediately, with +his head well covered by his blanket. + +The leader with the silly name, alone of all the party, remained awake +in his solitude on the other side of the cattle kraal. His evening meal +of maize porridge was bubbling in his small cooking pot, perched on a +handful of embers. He was playing a minute native "piano," a trumpery, +tinkling thing, made of half a gourd, a strip of hard wood, with a few +tongues of metal affixed to it. + +The tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink; tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink, sounded very +plaintive and lonely in Africa's wide expanse. The boy was singing, +too--if his wail could be called singing. + + The crocodile, + Floating near the bank, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. + The fish, + Floating on the water, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. + The hippopotamus, + Floating in mid-stream, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle,... + +The music stopped. Africa was deadly still, save for the croaking of a +frog. + +"Nine-thirty" sat motionless, looking straight before him, out beyond +his little fire. Immediately opposite stood a large, black-maned lion. +The pair faced each other, a yard or so apart. The only movement was the +lion's tail, which switched from side to side. The huge beast looked +steadily at "Nine-thirty," who, full of fear, stared back at the lion. + +Where life and death are concerned, things happen very suddenly. The +lion took one step forward and seized "Nine-thirty" by the knee. The boy +reached for his assegai and plunged it into the lion's ribs. + +The Sergeant heard the cry and a roar of pain in his sleep, and woke up +to fumble with his beard. Corporal Merton, from an interrupted dream, +cried out: "Halt! Who goes there?" Private Hay, if awake, said nothing, +whilst his companion in arms muttered: "What's up?" Jacob answered from +under his blanket: "It's a lion, master, and he has killed my leader." +At any rate, it was certain something serious had happened. A lion, +uncomfortably close, was making such a din that the leaves of the trees +near by seemed to flutter, and "Nine-thirty" was moaning on the other +side of the cattle kraal. + +"Stand to arms!" commanded the Sergeant. + +All tumbled out of their blankets, rifle in hand, shirttails flapping in +the night wind. They were not cowards, neither were they fools. The four +listened to the sound of a lion growling and retreating as he growled. +The moaning came from one place, so it was evident that Nine-thirty was +for the moment safe. Then, hastily lighting a lantern, the policemen +picked their way round the cattle kraal to Nine-thirty's little fire. +The Sergeant knew something of first aid. He lifted the mauled native +carefully and carried him back to the waggon. The boy's knee was in a +bad state--the joint was crushed. A "tot" of brandy, a thorough wash of +the wound, a bandage, a blanket or two, and a bed of grass near the camp +fire made Nine-thirty as comfortable as possible. After making up the +fire, all turned in again. + +At daylight the Sergeant mustered his men, and thus addressed them: + +"We will now go and blot out this accursed lion. Load, and remember no +one fires until I give the word. Put on your boots, don't bother about +your bags." + +The four lined up. + +"March!" + +They hadn't far to go--barely a couple of hundred yards. The lion raised +his head and growled. Nine-thirty's assegai, broken off short, still +protruded from the beast's ribs. + +"Fire!" commanded the Sergeant. Four shots rang out as one, and the +lion's head sank upon his paws. The men reloaded, and approached with +caution, but the marauder was dead. + +The Sergeant instructed Jacob to skin the beast, and the four returned +to camp for breakfast and to think out the problem which had arisen out +of the killing of this lion. + +All things being equal in sport, and rank apart, and as man to man, to +whom belonged the skin? Someone had missed, because there were only +three holes in the skin. Someone had made a rotten bad shot, because +there was a bullet hole in the lion's rump. Someone had killed the beast +outright, because a bullet had passed through the lion's brain. Someone +had done for him, because another shot had taken him behind the +shoulder. + +All claimed the head shot. + +Well, Jacob was out of it anyway. So, too, was poor Nine-thirty. Neither +had fired a shot. + +When I arrived I found Nine-thirty well on the way to recovery, but the +policemen still "man to man." A deputation presented me with the skull +and asked me to decide about the skin. I declared Nine-thirty the owner +by all the rules of hunting; he had drawn first blood, and had stopped +the lion. + +I suggested, however, that as Nine-thirty did not want the skin, the +four who fired at the lion should have a five shilling sweepstake for +it, Nine-thirty to have the pound and the winner the skin. + +Sergeant Johnson drew the prize. + +But Jacob, being a Zulu, collected the lion's fat, melted it into tins, +bottles, and small gourds, and sold it for many pounds to his friends +when he went home a year later. All Zulus know that lion's fat smeared +on the head, face, or beard makes a man brave in battle. + + + + +THE REVEREND MR. BUMPUS. + + +Some missionaries I like very much, they are good fellows; others I am +not so sure about; others, again, I admit I cordially dislike. I place +the Rev. Mr. Bumpus in the third category. I met him once going down the +road from the Zambesi as I was going up. He, lucky beggar, was +travelling to rail-head in his ox-waggon, going on leave. I was trekking +north in my waggon, having just exhausted my home leave. All his fun was +to come; mine was over for a period. I felt, when I met him, like a boy +who, having eaten his own plum cake, must now watch another boy devour +his. + +The Rev. Bumpus had a wife. Poor soul, she was cooped up with him in the +waggon, and had been for three weeks. They had come about two hundred +miles from their mission station in that time. Think of it, cooped up +for three solid weeks with the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. How I pitied her! + +What a change there was in the little woman. Three years earlier, I +remember, she had gone north with Bumpus, newly married, and with a look +in her eyes of a brave soldier of the faith, rosy cheeked, well favoured +and plump. And now! What a battle she must have had! And I'm sure she +didn't find a good ally in the man of her choice. She was thin and +drawn, had a sad, discouraged eye, and looked more than twice her age. + +Almost the first question she asked was: "Oh, have you any tobacco? Any +you can spare, I mean?" I produced my pouch, and said I had plenty in my +waggon coming on behind. + +The Rev. Bumpus slipped off the waggon, took a handful, crammed his +pipe, and put the remainder in his alpaca coat pocket. Then he lit up, +took a puff or two, and said--nothing! It was she who thanked me, +adding: + +"Fred has been impossible for the last five days; he's had no tobacco. I +didn't pack enough. Perhaps his temper will be better now." And this +poor little lady cast a beseeching look at her lord and master. + +As for the reverend gentleman, he climbed back into the waggon, sat down +with a grunt of contentment, and puffed vigorously at his pipe. + +"I'm so glad we've met you," continued the woman. "We've been followed +for days by some lions. Last night they took my riding donkey." + +"They'll have you next," interjected her gallant spouse with a grin. +"They like donkey-meat." + +The fellow was a brute. His wife was scared, and even if he couldn't +encourage her he needn't have tried to frighten her more. But there he +sat, grinning down from his perch in the waggon, and showing his big, +yellow teeth. Yes, certainly, I disliked the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. I did my +best to reassure the lady, advised the man to put out lighted lanterns +at night to keep off the lions, and said good-bye. + +I did a short trek that evening, and outspanned early. I couldn't help +thinking of the callous man and the frightened woman. I knew that if +the lions came round Bumpus was no man to cope with them, or, for that +matter, to take sensible precautions. For myself, I had some poles out, +tied lighted lanterns to them, and set them up some distance ahead, +behind, and on either side of my waggon. In addition, I had a good fire +lit beyond the leading oxen and an extra large one in front of my patrol +tent by the side of the waggon. + +I had been sitting by the fire for a little while after dinner, smoking, +when I was startled by a rifle shot, and then another. I judged by the +direction that they must have been fired by the Rev. Bumpus or his +driver, and, by the sound, that we were not camped very far apart. I +took a couple of boys, my rifle, and a lantern, and hurried along the +road to see what had happened. The missionary's waggon was further away +than I expected. When I got there the Rev. Bumpus was on the roof of the +waggon, on the top of the tent, in his nightshirt. I hadn't seen a +nightshirt on a man for years. His wife was inside the waggon. The +driver--it was he who had fired the shots--was, with his leader, +crouching under the waggon. The oxen were very restless. + +It was quite dark, and there would be no moon all night. The +missionary's fire had died down, and I couldn't see a yard beyond the +ring of light shed by the lantern in my hand. My first concern, +therefore, was to shake the unburnt logs together and get the fire going +again. Then, with my lantern in one hand and my rifle in the other, I +walked along the line of oxen, talking to them as I went, with the +object of settling them down. I counted the cattle as I passed and found +the span intact. + +Then, under my direction, my boys collected as much wood as we could +find handy, and lighted another fire, ahead of the oxen. Then I went +back to the waggon to question the missionary. + +Had he seen a lion? + +"Yes, a large one." + +"Where?" + +"Close to the leading oxen." + +Had she seen any? + +"No, nothing," said his wife. + +Had the driver seen the lion? + +"Ja, baas, two." + +At that moment I nearly jumped out of my skin. The driver, from under +the waggon, fired again; his bullet must have missed my legs by inches +only. I had to use un-Sunday School language before I could make the +Rev. Bumpus stop his din from the top of the waggon; he was terrified, +and showed it without shame or reserve. I took the rifle from the +driver. Lions at night are bad enough, but the additional risk of a +scared native armed with a Martini is a little too much. + +"What the devil did you let fly for?" + +"At the lion, baas." + +"Where?" + +"Over there, baas." + +"Over there," indeed, a few yards from the waggon, it was as black as +ink, but I argued, natives have good eyesight, and a lion's eyes have a +way of reflecting the light of a distant fire. He might have seen a +lion. + +Well, there was nothing for it, more fires must be built. + +The missionary had only one lantern, and that I lighted. It was too dark +to find a pole, so I dug a hole in the sandy soil, planted the waggon +whip in it, and slung the lantern to the whip-stick. + +Then began a night of toil and anxiety; I have no wish to live through +such a night again. My boys were frightened now. Frightened does not +describe the condition of the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. There he was, a weird +figure, perched on the top of the waggon-tent, ghostly in his white +nightshirt, chattering with alarm. Mrs. Bumpus sat, fully dressed, +inside the waggon, quite still and silent. The missionary's driver, +leader, and my boys stood huddled round the largest fire at the tail end +of the waggon, their eyes looking unusually large and white as they +peered into the thick darkness. + +"There he is, baas!" + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +"Where's there, you fool?" + +"Listen!" + +I listened, and sure enough I heard the shush, shush of something moving +in the dead leaves and dry grass a little distance away. The oxen +nearest the waggon showed signs of nervousness. I would have given much +for a dog that night. The movement stopped. We all listened. The Rev. +Bumpus began to mumble something from his perch aloft. + +"For goodness sake shut up! How can I hear anything while you're making +all that noise!" + +He stopped. + +"There he is, baas!" + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +I listened, but could hear nothing. I listened for quite a long time. We +all listened--we could hear nothing. The nearest ox lay down with a +grunt, which meant that he, at any rate, was not much alarmed. + +The Rev. Bumpus asked whether I thought he could come down, as on the +top of the waggon-tent it was very cold. I was just about to say he +could when again that shush, shush! I heard it myself distinctly this +time. At once the chorus again of "There he is," in as many languages as +there were natives huddled round me. + +I decided that we must do something, make a sortie and get more wood; +the fires had burnt low. + +Presently we had four fires blazing away, the one in front of the +leading oxen, one on either side of the waggon, and one at the tail-end +of it. My boys' courage rose as the circle of light grew. They dashed +here and there--strictly within the circle of light formed by the +fires--collecting dry wood. After a while you could have roasted the +proverbial ox at any one of the fires. + +While we were busy the Rev. Bumpus had crept down from his place of +vantage and had gone to bed. His wife, the better man of the two, made +us some strong coffee. The missionary's driver and leader joined in the +scramble for wood. + +The lion had evidently drawn off, so we had some coffee and stood +warming ourselves by the fire. + +"There he is, baas!" + +I grabbed my rifle. "Where?" + +"There, I can hear him now." + +"Listen! Silence, all of you!" + +Shush, shush; shush, shush. + +From over there! No, from there! Where the devil is he? + + * * * * * + +And this sort of thing went on the whole night through. Quiet for a +while. Fires die down. Shush, shush; shush, shush. Hurried collection of +wood. Fires blaze up. Silence. The shush, shush just beyond the limit +of light. "There, he is, baas!" "Where?" "There!" and so on. + +Then dawn. How slowly it came! Intense desire to murder that lion or +lions. A little lighter now. + +I set out, with the natives following, to look for the spoor. + +Shush, shush; I heard it quite plainly. Good heavens! where is that +lion? Broad daylight now. Is the thing a ghost? + +No. There it is--a scrubby, little, scaly anteater! Still grubbing in +the fallen leaves. Shush, shush; shush, shush. + +We stood looking at it, tired-eyed and weary. + +"Why don't you kill the wretched rat?" + +It was the Rev. Mr. Bumpus who spoke. + +Talking of rats, I could have killed that man there and then. + + * * * * * + +When I got back to my own waggon I found lion spoor on the sandy road. +It was not difficult to read from their tracks--there were three +lions--that they had followed the missionary's waggon until they came to +a turn in the road and saw my lanterns. From that point the spoor led +down to the river bed, across it, and into the thick bush on the other +side. They hadn't come near the waggons. + + + + +THE SALVATION ARMY CAPTAIN. + + +To-day you may book your passage with Cook's, in Ludgate Circus, to the +Victoria Falls and back, and travel in comfort all the way. In 1897 it +was different. There was no road to the Victoria Falls then, let alone a +railway. I won't bother you with an account of our journey out by waggon +as far as Panda-Ma-Tenga, or of how we rode across country from the edge +of the Kalahari Desert to the Falls, guided by the column of spray +arising from them, or, where the land dipped, by a sense of direction. + +At length we got there, or, more correctly, within a hundred yards of +the tumbling waters. Their roar was deafening. It was a wonderful sound +and a more wonderful sight. Imagine the hum of London traffic increased +ten thousand fold. Imagine a forest of palm, fern, black-trunked trees, +all within a hothouse of immense proportions, and a tepid, tropical rain +soaking you to the skin. We cut through the distance which separated us +from the lip of the Falls. Thick, tough creeper and undergrowth, +maidenhair fern waist high; it seemed a sin to trample it underfoot. +From time to time up to the thigh in watery mud when, unluckily, one +stepped in the pit-like spoor of a hippopotamus which had passed in the +night. Monkeys chattering from overhead. I think I caught sight of a +buffalo. + +What a difference to-day! You might see a monkey in the trees now and +then, but a fire has since passed through that jungle at the end of a +dry season, and a century will not repair the damage. Moreover, there +are gravel paths leading from the new hotel to every "view" now, but we, +who saw the Victoria Falls twenty-four years ago, have something to +remember and to brag about. + +We spent half a day looking and looking and looking. We were drenched by +the spray, dried by the sun, deafened by the roar of the waters, and +struck dumb by the beauty of it all. + +At about one o'clock we felt hungry, and went in search of our +pack-horses. We had off-saddled outside the thicket and turned our +beasts loose. We found our saddles easily enough, and the horses, too, +for that matter; the grass was so luscious and plentiful that no horse +would desire to stray far after several weeks in the dry Kalahari. We +had lunch and a little rest, and then set out again to do more +exploring. We hadn't gone far before we came upon the track of a waggon. +Robinson Crusoe, when he found the footprint of the man Friday, could +not have been more amazed than we. + +So far as we knew, no other expedition had come to the Falls ahead of +us. Who, then, was the intruder? + +We followed the track, and presently, in a small clearing, we saw a +waggon. Whoever he was, this traveller deserved full credit for what he +had done. We had ridden to the Falls, and were proud of it, but here was +a man who had got a waggon through. Stout fellow. And there, seated on a +skin near his oxen, was the man. He had a matted beard, and didn't look +too clean. Under one arm he hugged a huge calabash, from which he was +eating honey with a stick. The honey was old and granulated. There were +many flies in it, too, evidence that the neck of the calabash had been +left uncovered at times. He didn't move when he saw us, but, holding out +his stick, said: "Have some." + +We told him we had just fed, but thanked him all the same. + +"Sit down," said he, "sit on this skin," but he made no room for us. "I +shot it yesterday at the Falls. This is the cub; the lioness went off." + +"How long have you been here?" + +"A couple of days." + +"How did you get through?" + +"Cut my way." + +"Lose any cattle in the thirst country?" + +"Didn't come that way; took a bee line from Bulawayo." + +This was a good performance indeed. All the old hands had said it +couldn't be done. + +"What did you come for?" + +"What did you?" + +The man who asked the question first was travelling north to take over +the administration of a tract of country as big as France. He explained +his business. + +"Oh, so you're the magistrate, are you?" + +"Yes, that's about it. And you?" + +"I'm a captain in the Salvation Army down south, but I've brought a +fellow up to prospect for mineral on the other side of the Zambesi. He +crossed yesterday, and moved up country on foot this morning." + +I looked at this queer fellow with interest. His cap of calling lay on +the ground beside him. Throughout the conversation he went on eating +the honey. The Zambesi in those days was about the last place I should +have expected to find a Salvation Army man. Looking round I caught sight +of the familiar red jersey with the yellow letters. It was hanging on a +bush, evidently drying. The captain had followed my gaze, and +volunteered: "Had a bit of a washing day, first on this trip." From the +look of him I concluded that his own turn was yet to come. + +"Well, tell us about the lion cub." + +I think he told the truth. I can't, of course, vouch for it, but he was +sitting on the skin of a newly-killed cub. Before we left the Falls the +vultures told us where to find the lioness. But this is his story: + +"I was walking along in the rain-forest with my rifle, looking for a pig +or a palla or anything else eatable. I hadn't gone far when I nearly +fell over this cub. He snarled at me, so I shot him. While he lay +kicking on his back up comes his mother, so I reloaded my old Martini +and gave her one for herself. Not being a first-class shot, I didn't do +for her right off. She looked so angry and seemed to be coming on that I +stepped back a pace or two, but keeping my eye on her. I tried to +reload, but the empty cartridge case jammed. I broke off a stick from a +handy bush and plugged it down the muzzle. I must have pushed too hard, +for the stick broke off short." + +The captain stopped, got up, and fetched his rifle from the wagon. The +stick was still in the barrel, evidently stuck fast in the cartridge, +which, in its turn, was firmly fixed in the breech. We had a look at the +rifle and then at the captain. He simply said: "Can either of you +gentlemen fix this up for me?" We both said we could, and both asked: +"But what about the lioness?" + +"Oh, the lioness. Why, there she was and there I was. She with a very +ugly look, and growling, and I with my rifle put out of action. I felt +it was time to do something, so I backed out of the bush singing a hymn +in a loud voice." + + + + +THE SPORT OF KINGS. + + +The days have gone by when the Paramount Chiefs of the Barotse embarked +annually upon a large-scale Lechwe drive. I believe the last big hunt +took place in 1899. I, at any rate, have heard of no such happening +since. + +It is just as well that these drives have come to an end. The African +natives' idea of sport does not altogether tally with that of the white +man; no sportsman likes to see animals slaughtered _en masse_. + +In those days the Lechwe antelope were strictly preserved for the +pleasure of the Paramount Chief and his entourage. No native was +permitted to disturb them in their natural haunts--the wide, open +plains--and no man could kill one under pain of heavy penalty. The only +exception to this rule was when a few head strayed into the vicinity of +Lealni, the principal native village of the Barotse valley. Then the +people were allowed to hunt them with dogs, but not to shoot them. + +The time chosen for these drives was after the rains had ceased to fall, +but while the Zambesi had still more water to carry off than its banks +could contain. The overflow was such that for a space the Barotse +Valley became a vast lake, varying in depth from a few inches to a dozen +feet. + +The same may be said with equal truth of the Luena river, an important +tributary which, flowing from the East, made its junction with the +Zambesi not far from Lealni. It was in the Luena basin that the drives +took place. + +For two months before the time of hunting preparations for the drive +began. Those long, heavy casting assegais, peculiar, I believe, to that +part of Africa, were cleaned and sharpened. Narrow hunting canoes were +collected, repaired and caulked. Four foot long pikes, sharpened at one +end--which was hardened by burning--with a stout blade fixed in the +other, were prepared in great numbers by the Batotela, a slave tribe +cunning in the manufacture of iron. The blades of these pikes were short +and flat and had the rounded point of an oyster-knife. + +I was invited by the Chief to be present at the drive in 1899, and I +went. + +It took two days to reach the hunting ground. We travelled in +shallow-draught, dug-out canoes. The first night we slept in elaborate +grass shelters prepared for us beforehand. + +Next morning we resumed our journey at daylight. The Chief went first in +a very small and narrow canoe. He was accompanied by one man only. They +stood up in the canoe and punted with long, red-wood poles. All European +clothes had been discarded by the natives. The Chief wore a woollen +nightcap and a long, white shirt. Round his waist, but under his shirt, +he had a highly-coloured, fringed tablecloth. His legs and feet were +bare; so, too, were his arms to the elbow. + +My canoe started immediately after that of the Chief, but I did not +retain that position long. It was more comfortable and, therefore, much +heavier and slower. It carried a crew of seven. + +I suppose there must have been several thousand canoe loads of men. Two +of the Chief's wives accompanied the party. All etiquette was abandoned. +It became a race to follow the Chief, and although the waterway was +several miles wide, collisions were frequent. Everyone was +good-humoured, including one of the Chief's wives, whose canoe was +capsized in the scurry. She was rescued amid much laughter and joking, +in which she joined. + +_En route_ we passed many canoes loaded down to the gunwale with pikes. +To these everyone gave a wide berth for fear of swamping them, for the +pikes were necessary to the sport. + +In the afternoon of the second day we arrived at the spot selected, or, +to be more precise, at a large camping ground within easy reach of it. + +Here we found even more elaborate grass huts ready for us. The Chief +gave me a hut quite near to his own, a compliment which I did not +appreciate at its intended value, because his band played and women sang +throughout the night and robbed me of all sleep. + +The moment we arrived the Chief started off in his fast canoe to inspect +the ground over which the Lechwe were to be driven next day. On his +return he told me that the place had been well chosen and that the +country was alive with Lechwe. He also said he had found a high ant-hill +for me to stand upon and watch the drive. + +At daylight we set out again and reached my ant-hill in about an hour. +The Chief took me to the top of it, pointed out the direction from +which the antelope would come, and explained the plans for the day's +sport. + +Looking through my field-glasses I saw two faint lines which, beginning +more than a mile away in the open plain, converged, forming a funnel. +The narrow end of the funnel terminated within a quarter of a mile from +my ant-heap and in a line with it. + +The faint lines were really thin strips of dry palmleaf tape, which +shone white in the bright sunlight. Every few yards a bight was taken +round a bunch of tall, growing grass, which lent support to it and gave +the impression that a one-strand fence or a barrier of some sort had +been erected. + +The Chief referred to the two thin lines as walls, and assured me that +the antelope, if properly driven, would not break through them. + +He then drew my attention to the apparent opening at the narrow end of +the funnel, and asked me if I saw anything to prevent the Lechwe from +escaping in that direction. + +I said I could see no bar. He replied that the Lechwe couldn't either, +so, when pressed, would dash for the opening. + +"It is then that the sport will begin," he added. + +At this I looked more carefully and saw innumerable pikes had been +driven into the ground with their iron points sloping forward towards +the wire end of the funnel. The grass had been carefully rearranged. + +This, then, was the general plan: to drive the Lechwe into the funnel, +down it, and on to the pikes at the narrow end. + +In reply to my questions, he said that many thousands of beaters, drawn +from the slave tribes, had been wading through the swamps for two days +collecting small herds of antelope and driving them slowly forward +towards the mouth of the funnel. + +He drew a diagram with his stick on the side of the ant-heap to show how +the beaters were disposed. He had adopted the well-known African method +of envelopment--the crescent, with the horns well forward. The men who +formed the horns had already reached the extremities of the funnel and +were passing slowly down outside the line. The antelope, he told me, +were contained in the arc of men coming forward. + +As yet I could see no antelope, nor could I see the men who formed the +arc; they were still too far away. + +In the meantime, all the men who had come in small hunting canoes had +taken their places outside, but close to, the two thin lines or walls. +The moment they reached their stations they sat down and were lost to +view in the long grass. The Chief explained that these men remained +hidden until the Lechwe had passed them, when their business was to +stand up and frighten the antelope forward with shouts and +gesticulations. Should any Lechwe attempt to break through the sides of +the funnel, the canoemen had to drive them back or assegai them. + +I now knew what to expect. + +The Chief presently left me, as he, too, had to take up his station. He +begged me to keep myself hidden, as a premature exposure might easily +spoil the entire drive. + +I lay flat on the ant-heap, looking through a small gap which I made in +the tall grass which crowned it. I could see admirably, but could not be +seen. + +It was a long time before I could discern any movement, even at the +mouth of the funnel. I could hear the cries of the beaters as they +approached, faintly at first, then a hum, then a roar. + +Presently I saw a single reed-buck ram pacing very slowly towards the +concealed assegais. From time to time he stopped, stamped, sniffed and +whistled, scenting danger. What became of him, I don't know. I lost +sight of him. + +Looking through my glasses towards the entrance of the funnel again, I +saw a sight which made me gasp. Although the most distant beaters had +not yet appeared, a huge herd of Lechwe seemed literally to block the +funnel and were trotting steadily down it. Half way they stopped. A fine +ram turned and walked towards the left-hand wall. A man stood up and the +antelope turned in the direction of the opposite wall; he went at a trot +again and the immense herd followed him. When within twenty yards of the +palmleaf tape, some dozen men stood up. All the antelope but the ram +stopped. He, fine fellow that he was, made a bold bid for liberty. He +dashed on, gathered himself together, and cleared the fence. One of the +men in a canoe made a movement. It was too far off to see anything +clearly, but as the Lechwe landed in a heap, I realised that he had been +transfixed in mid-air by one of those heavy hunting assegais. + +The herd was not leaderless for long. Another ram forged ahead and +trotted straight towards the narrow end of the funnel. Immediately every +man sat down. It was clear that these hunters had been very well +drilled. + +After moving rapidly for a hundred yards the Lechwe came to a halt. They +were not as yet frightened, but highly suspicious. + +First, they turned at a walk towards the right-hand wall: a man stood +up. They moved across to the left: the first man sat down and his +opposite number stood up. The antelope broke into a trot. After heading +to the right again for a little way, some hundreds broke back, and this, +I think, is where the mistake was made, for, instead of leaving them to +the beaters, who were approaching, driving many more herds of Lechwe +before them, man after man stood up, shouting and waving their arms +wildly. + +This had the effect of breaking up the whole of the antelope formation. +They dashed here and there, thoroughly frightened; some broke through +the wall, some cleared it, some dashed right back, and others came on +towards the trap. + +I watched these last. There were several hundred of them. They came +along at a very fast trot, the rams with their heads forward, noses up, +and horns lying along their backs. A ram led. He struck one of the +hidden pikes full with his chest and gave a mighty leap into the air, +bleeding from a terrible wound in the brisket. He landed on the point of +another pike and bounded up from it, his entrails dragging behind him. +Much weakened, he leaped and leaped again until, completely +disembowelled, he fell and lay still. + +There was no escape, the pikes were set so closely together: not a foot +apart. They reached right across the gap in the funnel and to the depth +of forty or fifty yards. I do not think a single one of this part of the +large herd escaped. For the space of two minutes they were dashing past +me and on to the hidden pikes. Every one was disembowelled before it +fell dead--rams, ewes, and young alike. It was a disgusting sight. + +The natives were in a frenzy of excitement. No doubt their one idea was +to drive the Lechwe to the trap and in that they succeeded; but they +also drove a considerable part of the herd back upon the beaters, who +were pressing other herds before them. The confusion was complete. +Lechwe were dashing in all directions. Men were shouting and hurling +their assegais. A deafening roar rose from the beaters, now close in. +From time to time a score or so Lechwe dashed upon the pikes and added +to the slaughter. + +I saw a Setutunga approach the pikes leisurely out of the confusion. He +lifted his feet high at every step, a habit bred of life in the papyrus +swamps. A native appeared from nowhere in particular and running him +down killed him with a club. + +The drive was over. + +That evening when I met the Chief he was still furious. Someone had +blundered and most of the Lechwe had escaped. Moreover, a man in a small +canoe, hurling his heavy assegai at a Lechwe, had missed the beast and +killed his brother. The Chief's own cook and several of his companions +had been mauled out in the plain by a leopard. No, the drive had not +been a success by any means. + +I wondered what the bag would have been if all had gone well with the +Chief's plans. I had personally counted three hundred mutilated +carcasses, but, feeling sick, had given up the tally and returned to +camp. + + + + +THE LIONS OF MAKULULUMI. + + +How hot it was! September, 1897. I had not shot my first lion then, and +many, many months were to pass before my luck came. Dame Fortune doesn't +often condescend to glance my way. She smiled broadly once when, with +three tickets, I won first, second, and third prize in a sweep on the +Grand National; but then I have never drawn a prize in a sweep since. + +However, to return to September, 1897. Yes, by Jingo, it was hot. Not a +breath of air; not a leaf on any tree. The rains were almost due, but +not a shower had fallen. The only shade was in the shadow of the wagon. + +But it was not the blazing sun alone with which we had to contend. There +thrives in the Kalahari Desert a pestiferous little winged insect called +the Mopani bee, named after the hardwood tree in which it sets its hive. +It would seem that this creature must have moisture, moisture of any +kind--it isn't at all particular. And to think that I used to eat the +stuff they call Mopani honey until, one day, I saw a bunch of them +lapping up the moisture from a perspiring native runner. Ugh! + +These bees will congregate in dozens at the corners of your eyes, try +to burrow into them and then collect the tears which the discomfort of +their burrowing produces. They will crowd at the corners of your mouth; +when you open it to blow the little plagues away, they rush in. Thank +Heaven, the Mopani bee doesn't sting. + +We were struggling up to the Zambesi from Bulawayo. Our waggons were +overloaded, for the Kalahari had taken heavy toll of our cattle and our +spans were therefore many oxen short. + +We had reached and covered the first ten miles of the thirty-five which +separate Makululumi from Kasibi. All those who knew the old Hunter's +road will remember that stretch. The first ten miles are not bad going, +but the next seven are the heaviest and loosest sand that oxen were ever +asked to drag a waggon through. + +Between Makululumi and Kasibi there is no water, so the Major who +commanded our little party thought it wise to send the oxen back from +the ten-mile point to have the best part of a couple of days' rest at +Makululumi before calling upon them to tackle the next stage of the +journey. + +During the afternoon of the second day, by following my chief's example, +I got the better of those bees. It is true I was slowly suffocating, but +that was better than being tormented. I was lying on my back under the +waggon, with my head covered with a blanket, perspiring immoderately. At +least three more hours of this before the cattle returned and we resumed +our journey. + +Presently I heard a conversation going on in Dutch between the Major and +one of his boys. I looked out and saw one of the drivers who should have +been with the cattle. + +"What are you doing here?" the Major asked. + +"Lions, baas." + +"Where? How many? When?" + +"Last night at Makululumi. Yes, many of them, baas." + +"Any cattle dead?" + +"Four, baas." + +"Tell me about it." + +The driver told his story. It appeared that the night before, as soon as +it was dark, the boys had collected the cattle together and had driven +them up to the camp fires. The oxen stood about for a little while and +then settled down. Seeing this, the boys had turned in. When the moon +set, the cattle moved off to the water holes again to drink and graze. + +Presently there was a great commotion at the water, oxen bellowing and +stampeding. The boys got up and ran down with lights and a rifle. There +they found three of the oxen lying dead within a hundred yards of each +other, and a fourth, also dead, some little distance on. Each ox had his +neck broken, but was otherwise unmarked. One of the boys thought he +heard a lion in the grass, so fired his rifle off. + +Collecting the cattle again, they drove them up to the camp fires and +kept a strict watch for the remainder of the night. + +At daylight they went back to the scene of the killing, and found that +the lions had returned to the carcasses and made a heavy meal off two of +them, the third was half eaten, the fourth untouched. + +This was indeed a disaster; we simply couldn't spare these four oxen. + +"Where are the cattle now?" + +"At the water holes with the other boys." + +"What did you tell the other boys to do?" + +"Let the cattle graze until sundown, then water them and bring them +along." + +"Good. Now let's get busy." + +During this conversation I had got out from under the waggon and was now +listening. + +"What are you going to do?" I asked. + +"Go back and blot out some of those lions." + +"May I come, too?" + +"Have you ever shot a lion?" + +"No." + +"Have you ever seen one?" + +"Not outside the Zoo, but I should like to." + +"Well, you may come on one condition." + +"What's that?" + +"Don't shoot unless and until I tell you to." + +I promised. Here was adventure indeed! + +The Major took an axe and a length of cord. He handed me a billy-can, +two cups and some coffee. He selected a double .303 from his battery. I +took the only rifle I possessed, namely, a single Martini Metford. + +Without more ado we set off to cover the ten miles back to Makululumi. +There was no path, of course, merely the overgrown waggon track through +the forest. The traffic on that road was insufficient to cope with the +suckers which had sprung up round the stump of every tree felled in the +cutting of this so-called road. The men who originally made the road had +not troubled to stump it. The going was tiresome, and, lightly loaded as +I was, I soon found the little I had to carry an increasing burden to +me. + +About a mile from our destination we met the rest of our natives driving +the cattle along. We stopped for a few minutes to question them. They +had kept the vultures off the fourth ox, which was still intact, but +the birds had eaten up the other three almost entirely. A bushman had +arrived shortly before they came away, attracted by the circling +vultures. They made him stand guard over the yet untouched ox in case we +came back for the lion. + +All this was satisfactory, so, telling the boys to inspan the waggons +when they reached them, and make as long a trek as they could through +the heavy sand, we pushed on. + +We had no difficulty in finding the spot where the oxen had been killed. +Hundreds of vultures, gorged with meat, sat on the upper branches of a +clump of trees. A little further on an unusually tall bushman stood up +as we approached. + +The Major examined the lie of the land with an experienced eye, and +quickly made his plans. + +The Makululumi water holes are really a series of pools strung out along +the otherwise dry bed of a small river. Of three of the slaughtered oxen +little remained but the bones and hide; they had been killed in the bed +of the river. The fourth lay on the far bank, where the river made a +very sharp hairpin bend and narrowed to not more than a dozen feet. + +The Major selected a point as near as possible to the bank and +immediately opposite the dead ox. He didn't waste much time in +explanation, but, taking the axe, told me to follow him. The sun was +just beginning to set. He hurried to the nearest clump of small trees +and felled them rapidly, trimming off the branches and cutting them into +poles about six feet long. + +My part of the work was to carry the poles to the hairpin bend. Twenty +in all were cut, varying in thickness from two to five inches in +diameter. Then we built our moral support, for it was no more. I held +the tops of three poles while the Major tied them together with the +piece of cord which he had brought from the waggon. Then, standing them +on end, he spread them to form a tripod. This he reinforced with +additional poles, which he made fast with strips of bark. The finished +shelter looked like a skeleton bell-tent. It had neither strength nor +stability, for we had no time to sink the ends of the poles in the +sun-baked ground. + +By that time the sun had set, and the bushman, who had been watching us +silently all this time, said something in that strange clicking language +of his and hurried off, presumably to a place of safety. + +The Major thought a meal would do us good, and, going back along the +river until we came to a dry place where the banks were high, he lit a +fire. At the sight of a blaze I realised that I was cold. We did not +think of our coats in the heat of the midday sun. However, there was +nothing for it but to see the matter through. + +I felt quite comfortable after some bully-beef and bread, washed down +with two or three cups of hot coffee. + +At eight o'clock we returned to our fort as quietly as possible, +surprising on the way a hyena in the act of dragging off the hide of one +of the oxen. We had to crawl very carefully into our shelter for fear of +disturbing a pole and bringing the whole thing down about our ears. + +Once inside, I had ample time for reflection. We sat within three yards +of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. A +yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a +hundred yards, the grass had been burnt short; beyond that again was +long grass and thick bush. + +The moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five +hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and +the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. The ox, much +distended by a day's exposure to the blazing African sun, was too near +to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the +landscape on the other side of the river. We could distinctly hear the +hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the scraps +of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures. + +We sat facing the ox. The Major thought that if the lions came at all it +would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open +country for a considerable distance. + +Strangely enough, I felt extremely sleepy. We held a short whispered +consultation, and it was agreed that I should sleep while I could. The +Major promised to wake me if things became interesting. He wasn't +sleepy. + +I lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my +feet another. I slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the +hardness of the ground. Not only was the air at night cold by contrast +with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the +temperature. + +The sound of my companion's rifle woke me. Sitting up, I saw a lion in +the air, descending upon us. The Major fired again, and the lion fell +into the water-course, literally at our feet. I could see his rump and +tail quite plainly. His rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. His +bellowing must have been heard for miles around, and doubtless many a +bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it. + +I remember shouting at the top of my voice: "I can see his rump. Shall I +shoot?" + +The reply, I must admit, disconcerted me: "Rump's the wrong end, but if +he shows his head shoot it off." + +I watched the struggling beast so intently that I did not see that a +second lion had approached. He made his presence known to me by a roar +which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. He +was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. The Major fired and +the lion sprang forward. The noise was deafening. A chorus of two +wounded lions is something not often heard. + +I now watched the second lion. He dashed off towards the bush, changed +his mind and charged us. He came in great leaps, roaring as he came, +then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of +dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. All I could see was +his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now +enveloped both the lion and the dead ox. + +Again a steadying warning: "Don't shoot until you can see more of him +than that." + +As the Major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the +bush, grunting savagely as he went. + +"Here he comes again!" And so he did, bounding along as before and +bellowing so that I wondered whether our home of poles could stand the +vibration of sound. + +Again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the +bush. We heard him crashing through it until there was silence once +more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life. + +I must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. My heart thumped +like a sledge hammer. I longed to get out and stretch my legs. A great +deal of action had been compressed into a short space of time, probably +not more than ten minutes. To the Major's suggestion that we should have +a look at the dead fellow I responded with alacrity--too much +alacrity--my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came +crashing down upon his head. + +After extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood +looking at the lion. I followed him. + +I don't know why I did it--some sudden impulse for which I cannot +account--but I stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two +hands, looked into his eyes. + +I certainly heard the Major talking, and I distinctly heard what he +said. + +"What the devil are you doing, you damned young fool? Drop that head and +come away. How do you know he's dead?" + +I took no notice. I couldn't. I was terrified, hypnotised. I could do +nothing but stare and stare. + +No doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. It was +dying, not dead. It was a blazing, vivid, blinding light--as it were, +the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty +body. + +When at length I let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; I stood +shivering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something +not meant for him to see. + + + + +WHITE MEN AND BLACK. + + + + +WHITE MEN AT PLAY. + + +The white man is superior to the black and must show it in his manners +and deportment. + +This is an unwritten law, observed in the early days of any of our +African settlements. + +For the man who breaks this law the punishment is swift and severe: he +is shunned by his caste and colour. + +It is said, but it is nevertheless generally true, that as the +settlement prospers, so does this excellent law fall into abeyance. Men +without manners arrive and are soon in the majority. + +But in the beginnng, the white man watches himself very carefully. He +knows all eyes are upon him. He must not permit himself to unbend. In +the observance of the law, a man is very self-conscious and is apt to +seem stiff and unsympathetic. + +In the very, very early days of Kazungula the natives of the place +watched some white men relax, and the spectacle afforded them as much +pleasurable interest as the knowledge that they had been seen caused +pain to the white men. + +For many a day the natives of Kazungula commanded a ready audience +anywhere in the country, for had not they, and they alone, seen white +men at play? + +It came about in this way. + +A solitary white man stood on the north bank of the Zambesi river, +looking across to the other side. + +It was Knight, the Native Commissioner, who had for the last fortnight +expected daily the arrival of some waggons which carried his year's +provisions and other stores. He had little of anything left. No sugar, +very little tea, and a single bottle of gin represented his cellar. + +He longed each night for the usual "sundowner," but had determined not +to open his one remaining bottle, in case of accident. Just what he +meant by accident he could not have said. In answer to a direct question +he might have replied: "Oh, anything might happen, one never knows." + +To-night, for some reason unknown to himself, he was more impatient of +the sluggard waggons than usual. Would the darned things never come? + +The sun was setting and small flights of duck were going down stream to +the marshy feeding grounds. A goose passed in the same direction. + +The reed birds, in large noisy flocks, were choosing their roosting +place for the night. It seemed that they could not make up their minds. +No sooner had they settled in one patch of reeds than they started up +with much twittering in search of a better place. They had done this at +least a dozen times, and their indecision irritated the man. + +A plump kingfisher, sitting on a log almost at his feet, dived from time +to time into the shallow water and returned to his perch again. Knight +noticed that the busy bird usually returned with a tiny silver fish in +his bill, and mentally commended him for his good fishing. + +Well, the waggons hadn't come, and wouldn't come to-night. The sun had +set and it was growing dark. A chill wind sprang up and the reed birds +had become silent. The watcher turned slowly and walked in the direction +of his camp. + +He had not gone far when he stopped, for he had caught sight of a +queer-looking man hobbling towards him along the path which ran by the +river side. In the dying light he saw that the stranger was a white man +accompanied by a single native, that he wore a long blonde beard, that +he was unusually tall, that his trousers were cut off above the knee, +that he had no boots, that he was very lame and had his feet bandaged in +rags. In short, he saw a fellow white man in distress. + +He forgot his own little troubles and hastened towards the newcomer. + +He gave the usual greeting of "Hulloa." + +"Hulloa," was the reply. + +"Going a bit short, I see." + +"Yes, about done in." + +"Let me give you a hand to my camp." + +"Thanks; I heard I should find you here." + +"Come far to-day?" + +"Yes, from the Falls." + +"A good forty-five miles, by Jove!" + +"Yes, quite that, I should think." + +The two men relapsed into silence; the taller one because he was very +exhausted and felt it acutely now that he had reached his journey's end; +the shorter, because he realised his companion's condition and did not +wish to bother him with questions which could very well wait. + +On reaching the camp Knight shouted to his body servant: "Hot bath and +be quick!" Turning to his companion, he said: "You'd like a hot bath, +wouldn't you?" + +"There is only one thing on earth I should like better, but no doubt you +can give me both." + +"Oh, I know; you want a drink, of course. I'll get you one in a second. +Sit down." + +"Curse those waggons," muttered Knight, as he hurried off to get his +last bottle of gin. His second impulse was to thank goodness that the +bottle was a "baby," that is, one of the largest size. + +Returning with his precious "baby," he saw his guest's face clearly for +the first time. The natives had lit the camp fire, and the light of it +fell upon the strong features of the stranger. + +"Good Lord! It's Lindsay!" + +"Yes, why not? Didn't you recognise me at once?" + +"No. Will you have water or a sparklet with your gin?" asked Knight, +pouring out about half a glass of the spirit--a quantity known to +travellers as a "three-finger tot." + +"I'll chase it," said Lindsay, who, having gulped down the gin, held out +his glass for some water. + +"Bath ready, Morena," a black boy called from an adjoining hut. + +"Have another?" said his host. + +"No, thanks. I can face your hot bath now." + +The tired man entered the hut, followed by the native who had reached +the camp with him. + +Knight called his cook and took stock. What was there for dinner? Soup. +Oh, yes, there was always soup, made by boiling down bones and meat, +throwing in a few dried vegetables and thickening with peaflour. + +Fish? Good man; so he had caught some that very evening? Then there was +that cold bush-pig's head. Yes, they would like that. What else was +there? Remembering the leathery thing his cook called an omelette, he +discouraged a suggestion of eggs. + +To be sure, there were chickens. They had just gone to roost, and were +now quiet after a noisy bed-going. Yes, two very young ones +spatchcocked, and with plenty of black pepper and a little salt. And +there was one tinned plum pudding in the store; they would have that. + +This plum pudding had been suggested daily by the cook, and always +rejected because it might be wanted. It was wanted now. Yes, they would +have the plum pudding. + +And then there was the gin. Well, they wouldn't do so badly after all. +Soup, fish, chickens, the cold pig's head and a hot plum pudding; what +more could two men want? + +By this time Lindsay had splashed to his heart's content, and the +generous qualities of the gin were having their effect. He felt a new +man. + +"Are you out of your bath?" + +"Yes; can you give me some clean kit?" + +"Certainly, but will it fit you?" + +"Oh, near enough. It will be clean, which is the main thing." + +Much chaff ensued as Lindsay, who stood six feet three in his socks, got +into some of his host's clothes, for Knight was the shorter of the two +by some six inches, but fortunately broad in the shoulders. + +"Can't do you in boots." + +"Oh, that's all right. Give me some limbo[2] to tie up my feet." + + [2] Slang term for calico. + +During the bandaging the camp dogs began to bark loudly, and both men +paused to listen. + +"By the way," said Lindsay, "that must be Hobday. I walked on ahead of +him; he is so deuced slow. Do you know Hobday? He's 'pills' to our +expedition. Not a bad fellow, as doctors go." + +"No, I don't know him and you haven't told me what the expedition is or +anything about anything yet." + +"Well, we've walked across country from Zanzibar, or rather Mombasa, +looking for minerals." + +"Found anything?" + +"No." + +"Well, I'd better go and look out for--what did you say his name was?" + +"Hobday, quite a little fellow." + +Knight went out of the hut and, as he passed the kitchen, ordered +another bath and told the cook that as a second white man was arriving +he must kill another chicken. + +Almost immediately Hobday arrived. He was a short, precise little man, +inclined to tubbiness. + +"How do you do? My name is Mr. Hobday. I am the medical man attached to +an important expedition headed by Mr. J.G. Lindsay, who may not be +unknown to you." + +To this long-winded greeting Knight replied: "Well, come along and have +a drink and a hot bath and a change, and by that time dinner will be +ready. Lindsay's here." + +"I do not often indulge in alcoholic beverages and never in the daytime, +but after a very tiring day----" + +"Say when. Will you have a sparklet with it or do you prefer water?" + +"Er, thanks, a sparklet if you please. I am of opinion that the +sparklet is a very useful invention. What would not that great traveller +and hunter, Gordon Cumming, have given for what amounts to a portable +soda-water factory? Ah, thank you, that is ample. And, as I always tell +my patients, if they must drink alcohol, they will find in gin its least +harmful form." + +"What a queer little devil," thought Knight. + +"I am greatly obliged to you for this stimulant, and now I shall be +further and deeply indebted to you if I may have a bath. I always say +that a hot bath, when one is tired, revives one more quickly and +effectually than anything else." + +Knight found it difficult to reply suitably to this, and was relieved +when the bath was announced and the doctor disappeared into the hut. + +Lindsay looked extremely funny in Knight's clothes. The old shooting +jacket was a little short in the skirt and sleeves. The trousers reached +half way down the tall man's shins, but he felt clean and comfortable +and appearances didn't matter. + +"Have another?" + +"Thanks." + +The two men sat and talked whilst the third bathed. + +The rest of the expedition had remained at the Victoria Falls. There +were a dozen white men altogether, and about a hundred and fifty +natives. Lindsay heard that Knight was at Kazungula and came on to see +him. The pair had been through the Matabele rebellion together, and had +had other experiences in common. Hobday had insisted on coming too. His +devotion to "The Head of the Expedition" rather embarrassed Lindsay. He +was not a bad fellow on the whole, and a very capable doctor. The rest +of the men with the exception of Gray--Knight knew Gray--were +professional prospectors, good enough men at their particular job but a +troublesome lot on an expedition. + +No, they hadn't found anything really worth while, Lindsay thought, but +some indications of oil might turn out a big thing. + +Yes, they were going straight home from the Falls by way of Bulawayo, +Salisbury and Beira, and if any of them came back to have another look, +it would be this way and not in from Mombasa. + +The question "Have another?" had been asked and satisfactorily answered +before Hobday reappeared. He looked quite as funny in his host's clothes +as Lindsay did. The only difference was that the coat and trousers +supplied to him were as much too big for him as they were too small for +Lindsay. + +Hobday began to apologise for his appearance, but the announcement that +dinner was ready cut short the unnecessary speech. + +All three were hungry, the two visitors especially so. + +If, during dinner, Hobday noticed that a native replenished his glass +whenever it was empty, he made no protest. + +The conversation almost at once turned to England, to London, and what +each man had seen and done when last there. Towards the end of the meal +dancing was the topic. These new dances, the jazz, the hesitation, the +two-step, the fox-trot, and the rest; all agreed that they were +impossible, that there was little difference, if any, between them and +the average Kaffir dance. Hobday became quite eloquent on the subject, +and, as they moved to chairs set ready for them round a camp fire, +gravely stepped a measure which he was pleased to call the stately +waltz, and then proceeded to contrast it with what he termed the +ridiculous prancings of the present day. + +Although the uncomplimentary terms which he applied to modern dancing +could with equal justice have been applied to the waltz as danced by +him, his companions agreed and fell to talking again of dances they had +been to when last at home. + +Suddenly Lindsay said: "Why shouldn't we have a dance? One could hum the +tune while the other two dance. We can take it turn and turn about to +him. You and Hobday dance first and I'll hum. Why not?" + +And thus began the dance which is talked of to this day by the natives +who saw it. + +Lindsay hummed the "Eton Boating Song" whilst Knight and Hobday waltzed +round and round the fire. Although he bobbed about in an unnecessarily +energetic manner, it was clear to Knight that Hobday had been inside a +ballroom. + +Then Knight sat down and hummed the "Blue Danube," but very badly, and +with many notes strange to the tune, for Lindsay was six foot three and +Hobday only five foot four! + +Then Knight and Lindsay danced to the "Merry Widow," hummed by Hobday. +They really got on very well together in spite of Lindsay's bandaged +feet, for both, in civilisation, were adjudged good dancing men. + +After that they each had some light refreshment in the shape of another +tot of gin, and it was then that Hobday showed himself to be a man of +imagination. + +"Let's all dance now," he said. "Let's dance the Lancers." + +"How?" said Lindsay, "we are only three and there should be at least +eight for the Lancers." + +"That don't matter," replied Hobday, "you two fellows take sides, I'll +do top and bottom; our partners--well, they're in England, don't you +see?" + +And so it came about that in the heart of Africa, under the star-lit +sky, three sane and more or less sober Englishmen danced right through +the Lancers from beginning to end, one taking top and bottom, the other +two the sides, whilst their partners were present only in the mind of +each. + +After the dance they stood silently round the dying fire, gazing into +the embers. + +Who can say what fair forms and faces they saw there? + + * * * * * + +It was Knight who kicked the logs of the fire together and so brought +about a sudden blaze. + +"What's that?" asked Lindsay, peering into the darkness. + +All looked and saw the whites of innumerable black men's eyes reflecting +the camp firelight. Then there was a patter of many feet as the silent +witnesses to the dance hurried away. + + + + +ON THE BUILDING OF BRIDGES. + + +If, in the course of conversation, a Rhodesian referred to "the Old +Man," his fellow Rhodesians knew that Cecil John Rhodes was meant. + +No one who knew him personally spoke of that great man as Rhodes; in +Rhodesia such familiarity was impertinence. + +If anyone in the Bulawayo Club said: "Rhodes told me ..." we turned our +backs, as we knew the fellow was about to lie. + +No, it must be "Mr. Rhodes" or "the Old Man." + +I, personally, never got beyond "Mr. Rhodes" in his lifetime, and I +don't see why I should now that he is dead. + +As I was about to remark, the best piece of imaginative work that Mr. +Rhodes ever did was to plan the Cape to Cairo Railway. It has not been +carried out yet, but that doesn't matter; one day we shall see it, +unless flying kills the train. + +The corner-stone to this imaginative piece of work is, without a doubt, +the bridge over the Victoria Falls. + +I watched that bridge being built, not girder by girder, of course, but +generally speaking. Old Mkuni watched it girder by girder. + +Mkuni was a fine old savage, who had, in his far off younger days, +carved out a little kingdom for himself. He possessed the left bank of a +little river called the Maramba, some square miles of rock, a few acres +of good land, and--the Victoria Falls. + +A man who could establish his claim to the Falls has a right to be +regarded as of some importance. + +Within the memory of man a large herd of elephants went over the Falls +and whirled in the Boiling Pot below--a noble offering to the spirits +who dwell there. Anyone who denies that the Falls are the abode of +spirits is a fool, be he white man or black. + +Old Mkuni looked after the Falls and ministered in divers ways to the +wants of the spirits who inhabited the place. He it was who, in fair and +fierce battle, took this precious spot from old Sekute, the wall-eyed +ruffian who used to live on the north bank of the Zambesi. + +To hide his defeat from the eyes of passing natives, old Sekute set up a +noble avenue of poles from the river to his village. On every pole he +placed a human skull; these, he vowed, were the headpieces of Mkuni's +men. Mkuni could afford to laugh, for did not he and all the world know +that some of the grim trophies were the heads of Sekute's own followers, +slain by Mkuni's men and added to at the expense of half a hundred of +Sekute's own slaves? All this was before Livingstone discovered the +Falls. + +So you see, when all is said and done, Mkuni was a man worthy of +respect. He always had mine, and we were fast friends. + +It fell to my lot to tell him of the bridge which would stand astride +the tumbling waters. He was interested, and gave his consent without +reserve. + +When he asked me how it was going to be done, I had to confess I did +not know; engineering feats are not in my line. + +"Are you going to build it, Morena?" + +"No." + +"Who then will build this bridge?" + +"The people of the Great Man." + +"The King of all the white men?" + +"No, not he himself, but one of his greatest men." + +"If the King would build it, I should believe, or," he added most +politely, "if you would build it, I should agree that it can be done, +but what do others know of bridges?" + +This was a little difficult to answer, so I told him to watch. + +Mkuni took my words literally; he did watch. He could be seen daily +perched upon a rock overlooking the work, surrounded by a large number +of his own people. + +From time to time strangers from inland added to the watchers. To all +Mkuni held forth: + +"Am not I an old man now? Have I not killed many in battle? Did I not +take the thundering smoke from a certain person? Who then knows so much +of the building of bridges as I?" + +With this inconsequent line of argument the crowd of watchers would +murmur full agreement. + +"When a man builds a small hut, is a pole from the ground to the roof +necessary?" + +"No," from his audience. + +"That is true, but if a man builds a hut as high as Heaven, is not a +pole necessary?" + +All agreed that it was so. + +"But see now these white men, who build a bridge across the thundering +smoke. It is not the King of the white men who builds, nor he who +collects from us the Hut Tax, but strangers. They build this bridge from +the north bank and from the south, but where is the pole to hold up the +roof of the bridge?" + +From day to day Mkuni's supporters increased in number. + +"Come and see the white man's bridge fall into the tumbling waters," was +his daily invitation, and many came. + +"I am sorry for these white men, for they work to no profit." + +And Mkuni's adherents increased. + +But, in spite of all, the work progressed. The thin steel arms flung out +from either bank crept nearer daily towards the clasping of hands, and +yet the bridge did not fall. + +Poor old Mkuni, firm in his belief, found it hard to stomach the +thinning in the number of his fellow watchers. He became highly +indignant. In vain he talked--piled unanswerable argument upon argument +unanswerable. Someone put it about that there was nothing the white man +could not do. Many agreed with this, and went home. + +At last the engineer who built the Victoria Falls Bridge saw his work +complete. + +Mkuni, too, saw that the work was finished--all but the pole in the +middle to keep it from tumbling down. + +Under all his anxiety the poor old man had shrunk visibly; so, too, had +the number of those who believed in him, and had come at his invitation +to watch with him the disaster which he assured them must overtake that +bridge. + +Poor old Mkuni! + +It must be admitted that there is something of the gentleman about the +raw, untutored savage, for when the first train had crossed safely over +the Victoria Falls Bridge, Mkuni stood alone on his rock. No one +remained as witness to his discomfiture. + +He climbed slowly down to his village. Everyone in it was busy with his +or her ordinary daily occupation; all strangers had quietly gone their +several ways. + + + + +THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. + + +R. E. Baker was engaged as conductor of our waggons on one of our +journeys from Bulawayo to the Zambesi, and a more capable cattle-man +than he did not, I am sure, exist between the Cape and Cairo. + +If an ox wouldn't pull, he made it. If an ox went sick, he cured it with +amazing rapidity. + +Baker, though English by descent, was a Cape Dutchman through and +through. A bad-natured ox he named "Englishman," and flogged the +wretched beast into a better frame of mind. + +On the other hand, he would walk miles to find good grazing for his +cattle, and to see Baker caress an ox was a thing to remember. Not being +a cattle-man myself, I thought our conductor was gouging out the eye of +an ox. It certainly looked uncommonly like it. He was forcing his fist +with a rotary movement into the beast's eye. + +In answer to my questioning, he explained that he was caressing the ox, +that cattle appreciated the attention; you had to be vigorous or you +tickled the poor thing, and oxen didn't like being tickled. + +He was obviously right, for each ox, as Baker approached, seemed to +know what to expect and tamely submitted. + +A few days out from Bulawayo Baker came back from the water carrying +fish. He had caught them, he said, in the large water-hole. It never +occurred to me that there would be any fish in the almost dried-up +rivers which we crossed from time to time. Baker assured me that where +there was water there were fish, but you must know how to catch them. + +A day or two later we outspanned close to some water-holes. Baker said +he was going to catch some fish, and asked me whether I would like to +come too. I said I should, and began unpacking a rod and some tackle +which I had bought in London with the intention of fishing for +tiger-fish in the Zambesi. + +Baker watched me unpack and make my selection. He seemed much amused. +Presently he drew from his pocket his own tackle, which appeared to me +to be a confused mass of tangled string and hooks. + +We set out. Baker stopped at a small deep hole containing clear water. +It was my turn to smile. The pool he was going to fish in was a little +larger than a water-butt. + +I went on, and found a fairly long pool. The water was rather muddy, and +I found little depth anywhere. However, I hoped for the best, and fished +just clear of the bottom. I used as bait a small piece of meat from a +wild pigeon's breast, recommended by Baker. + +I have a certain amount of patience, but not, I fancy, quite sufficient +to entitle me to describe myself as a fisherman. After about two hours +of this fiddling, I gave it up and went in search of Baker. + +To my amazement, he had quite a score of fish on the grass by his side. + +"Did you catch all those?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +"In that hole?" + +"Why, yes." + +"How on earth do you do it?" + +By way of reply he asked me how many I had caught. I said, "None." + +"Ah," said Baker, "you shouldn't fish, you should angle. Watch me." + +I sat down and watched. + +Baker had a short, thick stick in his hand. From the end of the stick +hung a thick piece of whipcord. On the end of the cord he had a stone +with a hole in it, what we, as children, used to call a lucky stone. +Just above the stone he had tied a skinned pigeon--the whole bird. Hooks +radiated in every direction from the bird; hooks set at every +conceivable angle--dozens of hooks. From time to time Baker threw a few +breadcrumbs at his bait. I could plainly see the small fish cluster +round. Now and then he struck sharply. Nearly every time he fouled a +small fish, mostly under the jaw or in the belly. Each time he hooked a +fish he repeated: "My lad, you shouldn't fish; you should angle." + +When we reached the Gwai River, Baker produced a long hand-line with an +immense hook on the end of it. The bait he used was a lump of washing +soap. I didn't go with him because I wasn't ready and he was impatient +to begin. + +"We shall catch big barbles here," said Baker. + +I followed him, and saw him throw his lump of soap well out into the +river. I stood on the bank above and watched. + +Baker lit his pipe, looked up and down the river, and at his line. Then +he shifted the line to his left hand, which he lifted to his left ear. +With his right he made a winding movement close to his head, and said: +"'Ullo! Exchange; put me on to Mr. Barble, please, miss." + +To my intense amusement, and to Baker's obvious surprise, there was a +sharp tug at the line. He remained for a while with his hand suspended +near his right ear as though still on the handle of the old-fashioned +telephone instrument. Then he gave a violent strike. But the barble--if +indeed it was a barble--had had time to spit out the piece of soap and +so escape. + +Baker, still unaware of my presence, said: "Damn the fellow!" He shifted +the line to his right hand, and went through the pantomime of getting on +to the Exchange again, this time ringing with his left hand. + +"'Ullo! Is that you, Exchange? Put me on to Mr. Barble again, please, +miss." + +No response from the fish. + +"'Ullo! Exchange! What? No answer from Mr. Barble? Gone to lunch, eh?" + +I moved off quietly up the river, and in course of time succeeded in +catching a mud-fish weighing forty-eight pounds. I came back a couple of +hours later, and found Baker had landed two immense fish of the same +kind; one weighed fifty-three pounds and the other fifty-nine. He had +also caught a poisonous looking eel. How he had landed these monsters he +would not tell me; he contented himself with repeating: "My lad, you +mustn't fish; you must angle." + +When we reached the Zambesi, Baker almost neglected his cattle. He had +never seen this grand river before. He at once got out a line and went +"angling." + +Coming down the river bank, I saw Baker standing on a rock a few yards +from the bank. + +Sitting on the bank was an old man, watching him. + +"Any luck?" said I. + +"No." + +"Been here long?" + +"Not very long, but that old man talks too much to please me." + +I looked down at the old man. He looked up at me. He greeted me in the +local language. In his language I replied. Whereupon he calmly said: "I +have been telling that white man that from the rock on which he stands a +crocodile took a woman yesterday." + +I hurriedly translated. Baker did no more angling that day! He thought +the old man had been saying "How do you do?" to him. + +In the end we converted Baker to our way of fishing, so that he became +an expert spinner and killed many a noble tiger-fish. But he had a +mishap the first day he used a rod which almost decided him not to use +one again. He was fishing from the bank for bream, which run large in +that part of the river. He used a float for the first time. Presently +his float disappeared. Baker struck upwards, using both hands. He pulled +his fish out of the water, but with such force that it flew over his +head and fell with a splash into a pond behind--free. + +I think we just saved him from an immediate return to "angling" by +pretending not to have seen his discomfiture. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE GREAT OCCASION. + + +The news spread quickly that the "Great Man," his wife and some friends +were coming north of the Zambesi to shoot. Williams, the Native +Commissioner, heard it from the boy who looked after his fowls a full +week before he received official warning from Headquarters. + +How the chicken-boy heard of it remains a mystery. He who can tell you +how news travels so rapidly in Africa can no doubt explain; but in +answer to questioning, the boy replied: "People say so." + +Thanks to this advance notice, Williams had time to make his plans at +leisure. He had experience of native rumours of this kind, and, +invariably acting upon them, gained a reputation for good organising. + +No doubt the Sovereign's representative would want to shoot lion, +buffalo, eland, sable, and, in addition, at least a specimen of each of +the lesser inhabitants of the plain and forest. Well, he would do this +and that and the other, and it would not be Williams's fault if a +thoroughly representative bag were not made. + +Like all sportsmen in official positions, living far from Headquarters +and having a large district to control, Williams knew exactly where the +game was most plentiful. He kept the information to himself as a general +rule, for he well knew that if he did not do so his special reserves +would soon cease to exist. + +But for the direct representative of the King nothing was too good. + +Williams made his plans, built a camp and awaited the arrival of his +visitors. + +Two days before the "Great Man" was due to arrive, old Garamapingwe, the +musician, passed that way. He stopped to pay his respects to Williams. + +"Good day, my father." + +"Good day to you, Garamapingwe." + +"What are the news, my Chief?" + +"I look to you for news." + +"Oh, there is nothing but the coming of the 'Great Man.'" + +"Yes, he is coming." + +"I should like to see the 'Great Man.'" + +"You shall, Garamapingwe." + +"Much thanks to you, my Chief." + +An idea occurred to Williams. No doubt the sport which he had planned to +provide would be excellent, but what about the evenings spent round the +camp fire after dinner? + +It might happen that his guests did not want to play bridge. He himself +detested the game--most unnatural of him, but there it was. He disliked +"shop" out of hours, and one could have too much talk of personal +experiences. He must provide for a possible gap. + +How many men in a thousand had heard native African music? Not the stuff +you can hear any day from the boys' compound at the back of the house, +but music, worthy of the name of music, made by men like Garamapingwe? +Very few. + +So Williams added to his plan. + + * * * * * + +It was Friday. The Great Man had been shooting for three days. The first +two were decidedly promising. Nothing very wonderful had been shot, but +very fair heads of eland, buffalo, roan and waterbuck had been secured +by various members of the party. + +The Great Man had done fairly well, but he was perhaps more at home with +a shot gun. + +But Friday had been a bad day. At the Great Man's request Williams had +gone with him to look for Sable antelope. So far no one had shot a +Sable. Well, they came across Sable, and in this manner. + +At daylight all had gone their several ways. + +The Great Man and Williams had gone east. Good luck, Sable spoor and +quite fresh. Williams was a fair tracker: he had picked up something of +the art from the bushmen down south. They followed it, Williams leading, +carefully. The report of a rifle in the distance! The Great Man stopped. +Williams felt savage. Who was this poaching? Who had left his beat and +jumped their claim? He motioned the Great Man to sit down. + +They waited. + +They waited for ten minutes and then the snapping of a twig, somewhere +to the left, attracted Williams's attention. + +By Jingo, there they were, the Sable. + +Led by a cow, a noble herd of Sable antelope came slowly through the +forest. + +The Great Man looked at Williams, who grinned and commanded quiet by +lifting his hand. + +On they came, cows, cows and more cows. Where was the bull? Surely a +big bull accompanied such a herd of cows? + +More cows and young bulls, but as yet no big, black, outstanding bull. + +Williams was puzzled. + +The Great Man became restive under inaction: to him there was no +apparent difference between a cow and a bull. He had never seen Sable +antelope before. + +The huge herd filed past within forty yards. + +Still no bull. + +The Great Man looked at Williams and his expression was none too +pleasant. + +Williams felt desperate. He began to think it best after all to let the +Great Man kill a good cow and have done with it when, looking to the +left, he saw the bull. It was the bull! Black as ink, with a snow-white +belly. Horns seemed above the average. + +A great spasm of joy gripped Williams's heart. Here was a bull worthy of +the Great Man, the direct representative of the Sovereign. + +In response to a sign from Williams, the Great Man looked, saw, raised +his rifle and--Williams checked him. Good Heavens, what was the matter +with that bull? Seemed to be going short, off fore. It couldn't be. + +Then he motioned to the Great Man to take his shot. The next moment the +noble bull crashed to the ground and the cows filed on at a gallop and +so out of sight. + +"A good shot and a good bull, Sir," said Williams, but he was conscious +of a sickening sense of dread. + +They hurried up. The bull lay stone dead with a bullet exactly placed +behind the shoulder. + +"Shall I mark out the head skin for you, Sir? You'll want to keep this +head?" + +"Yes, please." + +Williams worked like a man possessed. He cut the sleek, black skin from +the withers to the brisket as the bull lay. Without moving the carcass +he made a slit up the mane to the base of the skull. Here he stopped and +listened. He heard something. Footsteps approaching. With a gasp of +despair he dropped his hunting knife and faced the way the bull had +come. + +Curse the fellow! There he was; the Great Man's A.D.C., babbling like +the fool he was. He was talking in English to the native who accompanied +him. "Are you sure you are on the right track?" The native said nothing +because he didn't understand one word of any language but his own. The +A.D.C. headed straight for the Great Man's bull. Presently he looked up +and walked forward smiling. + +"Hullo, Soames, what are you doing here in my patch of country?" + +"I hit a Sable bull about two miles back and followed him." + +"You hit a bull?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"So I have killed your bull for you, have I?" + +"Oh no, Sir. It's your bull, of course." + +"My dear boy, I know the laws of shooting. Mr. Williams, was this bull +hit before I killed him?" + +"I'll look, Sir," said Williams, feeling like a detected thief. + +Fancy having to say "yes" to the question! There was the bullet hole in +the off fore fetlock. What a shot! + + * * * * * + +The party dined under a sense of restraint that night. The Great Man +congratulated his A.D.C. on having secured a fine bull, but that didn't +improve matters. + +After dinner it was a silent party round the camp fire. + +Williams spoke. + +"Would you like to hear some African music, Sir?" + +"Very much indeed. Do you play?" + +"No, Sir, but I have a man here." + +"By all means let us hear him." + +Garamapingwe was sent for. + +The old musician came, followed by two other natives. He himself carried +two curious looking musical instruments, one of the men carried another; +the third man, led by a little native boy, was blind and empty handed. + +The three natives greeted the Great Man suitably who as suitably +replied. + +They then sat down on the other side of the fire and Garamapingwe struck +a few bold chords. No common musician he. + +Williams said something in the vernacular to Garamapingwe, who replied. + +"What did he say?" asked the Great Man. + +"I asked him what he was going to sing," replied Williams, "and he said: +'The Song of the Great Occasion.'" + +"Will you please ask him what this great occasion is of which he is +going to sing?" + +The question was put and the reply translated. "The great occasion is +the visit paid to our poor country by the Great Man who represents the +King of the white men." + +"How very interesting! Please tell him to proceed." + +Garamapingwe sang and played vigorously. He played an instrument with +either hand. His companion played one with both his hands. The blind +man droned in chorus to Garamapingwe's recitative. It was a very fine +performance. The Great Man had an ear for music. Williams was delighted, +for the Great Man seemed both pleased and interested. + +The second verse was ended and the third began, when suddenly the blind +man leaped into the air, interrupting the harmony with a piercing +shriek. + +All but Williams and the natives thought this part of the performance. +They were not left long in doubt. Clutching wildly at his clothing, the +blind man moaned and moaned and moaned. He stripped himself and turned +to the fire to be inspected by his fellows. The Great Man's wife fled to +her tent. Williams had the musicians hustled away. + +A large scorpion had crept up and stung the blind man as he sat. + +Thus the song of the Great Occasion ended abruptly. + + + + +THE DESCENT OF MAN. + + +Randall was skinning a monkey. He had shot two monkeys during the +morning and had already skinned one of them. He collected monkeys and +had done so steadily for years. + +Randall was District Commissioner and Magistrate of a large tract of +British Africa. One of the many men who live and die unheard of by the +British public; men who quietly but efficiently "administer" England's +African possessions. + +Some day, perhaps, England may realise what a debt it owes to these +unknown men. + +I was Randall's assistant. I had served for four years; that is to say, +one year beyond the probationary period. I had made good to the extent +of getting on the Establishment, and held the rank of Assistant Native +Commissioner. + +Randall had been in the Service for twenty-three years. In his dealings +with the natives he was firm and just. He had a deep sympathy for the +people entrusted to his care, but he successfully concealed it from +them. He used to say to me "Play the game with your people but don't +slobber over them, they don't understand that sort of thing." + +It has often been said that all men who have spent more than ten years +in the heart of Africa are mad. I have known few saner men than Randall, +but I cannot deny that he had one peculiarity: he collected monkeys. + +I could never understand why he shot the wretched things, or why he +skinned them in such a peculiar way. Let me explain. + +Randall only shot one kind of monkey, and only the mature male of that +kind. Having bagged his monkey, he would consult a shabby little black +pocket-book, make an entry in it, and then set to work to skin the +beast. + +From watching him I gathered this much: he kept only the head and +shoulders and one arm of each monkey. Sometimes it was the right arm, +sometimes the left, never both. Some kind of calculation in the +pocket-book appeared to be necessary before he could determine which arm +he wanted. + +I also observed that he carefully cleaned all particles of flesh from +the skull and arm bones and, having put some preservative on the skin, +wrapped it round the skull and bones, making a neat little parcel of the +whole. After labelling the specimen, he packed it away in a box which +was carried, wherever he travelled, by his body servant, Monga. + +On reaching the Station, after a journey in the District, Monga and his +master would repack the contents of the box in a large tin-lined case. +Randall had three such cases. Two of them were quite full, the third +nearly so. + +I never questioned Randall about his hobby. Once I shot a monkey and +gave it to Monga, thinking his master would skin it; but he did not; he +simply told his man to throw it away. As he said nothing to me about it, +I let the matter drop and made no more advances. + +As I said before, on this particular morning Randall had shot two +monkeys. He decided to keep the left arm in each case. Monga was +squatting on the ground in front of him, holding the body of the dead +monkey whilst his master skinned it. The pair were silent; from long +practice Monga knew exactly what was required of him and needed no +instructions. Presently Randall said "This is the last one, Monga: no +more monkeys after this one." + +Monga accepted the statement without comment, but it set me speculating +afresh upon the object of Randall's quaint hobby. However, as my Chief +offered no explanation, I did not ask for one. + +When the skinning was all but done, Monga permitted himself to remark, +"Monkeys were men like me once, Morena." + +Randall paused and looked gravely at Monga for a moment; then, bending +to his task once more, he said, "Monga, I believe you, tell me more." + +Now, if Monga resembled anything, it was a monkey. His eyes were set +close together, his nose was very small, his lower jaw protruded +slightly, and his forehead was very low and much puckered. I saw the +humour of the conversation and wanted to laugh, but to have done so +would, I felt, have lowered me in the estimation of my Chief. Randall +had once said to me: "Blackmore, in spite of your ridiculous name, you +should get on in the Native Department. Had your name been Whitelaw, or +even Smith, you would not have been handicapped. You have a stupid name +to live down, for this is a black man's country. However, always +remember this: never laugh with a native, and only laugh at him if he is +deserving of punishment and you wish to punish him. Only a fool beats a +native; ridicule is a cleaner form of punishment, and not as +brutalising." + +I suppressed my desire to laugh, and Monga resumed. + +"Yes, Morena, monkeys were men once just the same as we are. They lived +in their own villages in nice huts; they had their own chiefs, and spoke +like people do. + +"But they became lazy--lazy to hoe their fields and to weed them; lazy +to build their huts and to plaster them. So they said to each other: 'It +is a bad thing to work; let us go to the forest and live there, and we +will find fruits in the forest to eat.' So they went to the forest and +lived there. + +"One day one said: 'Are we not tired of making clothes? Let us grow hair +on our bodies that we may be warm always.' And all agreed and grew hair +on their bodies. + +"When the autumn came, and the grain in the lands was ripe, the lazy +ones came to steal from the men's gardens. The men tried to watch their +gardens, but the thieves were too clever. + +"The monkeys had their servants, and when they wanted food they sent +their servants on to see if there were any men in the lands. If there +were no men there they would steal corn and pumpkins and melons and +calabashes, and carry them away to the forest. + +"And if they found a sleeping man watching the fields they passed by him +gently; and when they had finished stealing they would cut some twigs +and beat him severely. And when the man woke up and began to run away, +they would laugh at him and mock him. + +"When the monkeys returned to the forest with the foods which they had +stolen, they lit fires and cooked them. Then the people, seeing the +smoke, came with sticks and assegais, and beat some monkeys and killed +others. + +"Then the monkeys said: 'It is not good to have fire, for the men see it +and come and kill us.' So now the monkeys steal when the men are not +looking, and eat the food uncooked in the trees at night." + +Randall made only one comment. He asked Monga where the monkeys got +their tails from. But Monga admitted that he did not know. + +Randall had now finished his skinning, and had made the usual neat +little parcels; Monga brought the box and carefully packed them in with +the rest. + +The travelling box was quite full! + + * * * * * + +A few days later Randall developed black-water fever and died. We +carried his body back to the Station and buried him at the foot of a +large baobab tree. The natives for many miles round attended. + +When all was over, and Randall's successor was on his way to take charge +of the district, Monga came to me and reminded me that there were some +monkey skins in the travelling box to be packed away in the large +tin-lined case. As he knew more of his master's strange hobby than I +did, he did the packing whilst I looked on. + +When the last skin had been transferred I realised that the case was +quite full, and would not have held another one. This, I remember, +struck me as being uncanny. Between us we soldered up the tin lining and +nailed on the lid of the case. + +Then Monga looked at me for instructions. This set me thinking. Why on +earth did Randall collect monkeys? I examined the lids of the cases and +found his name and home address neatly painted on each. Clearly, +therefore, he had intended to take them home. But this did not explain +why he had collected them. I thought of the shabby little black +note-book, so went into the house and looked through it. All I could +gather was that Randall had collected three hundred and eighty +right-armed and one hundred and twenty left-armed skins. Five hundred +wretched monkeys--and what for? And why not two hundred and fifty right +arms and two hundred and fifty left; or why not all right or all left? + +I went back to where Monga stood by the cases, and asked him why his +master had collected the monkeys. He seemed surprised at my question; it +apparently never occurred to him to inquire into the why and the +wherefore of any of his master's acts. He seems to have accepted all his +master did or said as a matter of course. + +The whole thing was monstrous. I could not send the wretched things to +his people at home. They would think him mad, as perhaps he was as +regards his hobby, but no saner man ever lived so far as anything else +was concerned. + +Then I had an inspiration. I ordered a large hole to be dug at the foot +of another tree, which stood about a hundred yards from that under which +Randall's grave lay. Into this hole I had the three cases carried, and +the earth shovelled back. Monga didn't disapprove, or, if he did, he +made no protest. I think he took the whole thing as a matter of course, +as was his way. + +I never found out, nor can I imagine, why Randall collected the heads +and shoulders of five hundred monkeys--three hundred and eighty with +right arms and one hundred and twenty with left arms attached. + +Someone reading this story may guess or may know. For myself, I frankly +admit defeat. + + + + +THE RAILWAY CONTRACTOR. + + +Bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. Most of the +time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy +and the pay light. In physique he was improved almost beyond +recognition. + +The large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained +the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. Much +of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling. + +After Bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his +death. So, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her +new husband with two children. + +Bositi was unreasonable about it. On being told that he was supposed to +be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his +wife. When her husband protested, he beat him too. + +After he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from +it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of +the pretty marriageable girls of the village. In return he received much +strong beer. The beer made him drunk--too drunk to beat or insult anyone +else, but not too drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of +his precious box. + +Next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but +he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size +of that blue-and-yellow tin box. + +He also made friends with the men of the village--not excluding him who +had married his wife--by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco. + +After a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in +his box and set out for the Chief's village. When there he showed off. +He wore his best clothes, and spoke bad English fluently and loudly in +the traders' stores. While his money lasted the traders suffered him; +when it was spent he was told not to come again. + +The Chief soon heard of him and sent for him. + +Bositi had never been presented at Court before. He was immensely +impressed. He squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to +the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. Immediately in +front of him was a long thatched building. Three sides of it were closed +in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. This, a lounger +told him, was the National Council House, or Khotla. + +The Chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. It +consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. The +instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by +talking loudly as they strummed and thumped. + +The Court Fool was aping birds. He had a bunch of feathers in his hair +and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his +make-up. For the moment he was imitating a crested crane. The bird is +beautiful, the Fool was hideous; yet such was his art of mimicry that +all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent. + +The Town Crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and +then passed on his way. + +Some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. The armed guards +drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips. + +Bositi had brought as a present to the Chief a large blanket with a +realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and +a new brass tinder box. He mentally contrasted his gifts with those +brought by other men--mostly to the disadvantage of the others. + +One old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. By the fuss +the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor +of ivory commanded very much respect. + +Bositi had smuggled an old Tower musket across the border and knew where +to get powder. He promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than +those displayed by his rival. + +Presently there was a stir. The Chief was coming! The orchestra struck +up energetically; the Fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the +hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the +long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the +sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands. + +Bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his +right eye and annoyed him for days to come. + +The Chief moved towards the Council House, preceded by a number of body +servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and +stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip. + +Another carried the Chief's chair. This chair was strongly made on the +European pattern. The seat of it was covered with the hide of a Sable +antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. A rude face +was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. To this face men +do reverence when the Chief is not in his chair. + +A third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica, +which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck. + +Another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the Chief himself +had a smaller one in his own hand. + +The sight of the Chief filled Bositi with awe. He paid no attention to +the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august +personage. He felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by +the common herd, was really very mean. + +For the Chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. He +wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward, +disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. On his feet he had a +magnificent--in Bositi's eyes--pair of new bright yellow boots. In his +free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an +ivory and ebony handle. + +In spite of his absurd clothes the Chief had a certain air of dignity. +He was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his +small beard was tinged with grey. + +He stepped along firmly, however, and Bositi noticed with jealousy that +his eyes lit up as they rested for a moment on the two great tusks of +ivory brought by the old man. + +The Chief entered the Council House and sat down. Immediately all +present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will +that the orchestra was not heard for a space. The Court Fool hopped +round with renewed energy. The official Praiser shouted: + + The great lion! + The bull elephant! + The thunderer! + The greatest of all lions! + +The salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again. + +There is no hurry in a native Council House. The band played out its +selection and the Court Fool continued to gyrate. One by one the +Councillors took their seats in the Chamber. This was a lengthy +business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the Chief +and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his +skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed +seat. + +At length quiet prevailed. One by one the visitors were marshalled +forward to present their gifts and state their case--if they had one to +state. + +Many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the +Chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory. + +"Who is this who brings ivory?" asked the Chief. + +"It is Moyo of the Rivoswe country," someone volunteered. + +"Oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. See, he brings two +tusks and they are large ones." + +"Yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in +the Council House. + +"Who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the Chief. + +There was no reply. All knew their master's weakness for ivory. + +The Chief addressed Moyo: "Tell me, old man, what mischief was in your +heart when last you left my village?" + +Moyo pointed to the tusks. "I went to hunt elephants for the Chief. For +long I hunted before I killed. When I had killed, I brought my ivory to +my Chief. I am no law-breaker. Is it against the law for the Chief's +slave to hunt elephants for the Chief?" + +"If," answered the Chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let +many break it. Who accused this man?" + +As no answer was forthcoming, the Chief accepted the ivory. + +As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days +gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and +skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now, +realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make +his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view +of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his +home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would +not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority. + +At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief. + +Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working +for many years for the white man." + +"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?" + +(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word +"steamers.") + +"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas." + +"Can you make good stemalas?" + +"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make +them for many years." + +"What does the white man use stemalas for?" + +"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances +more quickly and greater than a man can travel." + +"Could you build a stemala for me?" + +Without hesitation Bositi declared he could build a railway for the +Chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few +axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber. + +"Is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the Chief. + +"Yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in +pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. He has no big trees in +his country. In the Chief's country iron is only found in little pieces, +but the trees are large and long." + +"If you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your +village and the induna of your district. The axes and the adzes shall be +given to you. Go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the +stemala quickly." + +"I will go, but the Chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to +make. Many men and many days are wanted for its making." + +"It is well; I understand," said the Chief. Then turning to one of his +principal advisers, he directed him to see that Bositi had all the men +and all the tools he required. + +That night much fuss was made over Bositi who was to become the headman +of his village and the induna of his district--when he had made a +railway for his Chief. + +As for Bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man, +bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in +his high position. + +In due course were settled such small details as where the railway was +to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted +from the Chief's store. + +At length the party set out. Bositi was the most important member of it. +Next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the +Chief's representative. This man had power to requisition slave labour +in the Chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of +operations. + +The spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the +Chief's village. This was fortunate for Bositi, for the distance freed +him from too much tiresome supervision. It was on the main river where +free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a +series of formidable rapids. For centuries travellers had been content +to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. The going was very +heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. The railway was to save this +labour. Canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so +transported to the quiet water below. A more useful railway, from the +natives' point of view, could not have been planned. + +I was shown over the works by Bositi himself in the early days of +construction, before those difficult problems arose which sooner or +later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew." + +If Bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that +importance to details which details have a way of demanding, I think his +railway would have been a success. But this is too much to expect of any +native. + +He began well. + +I found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a +dozen well-made wooden rails. Much labour had been expended on these, +for they were cut from large trees. They were perfectly straight and set +in true parallel. Resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each +pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either +extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the +wheels. The wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were +shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to +keep them from slipping off the rails. + +Bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the +two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along +the short length of line, some sixty feet. + +He explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only +to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along. + +I asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. He +said six. I pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails +was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the +railway was ready for use. In the meantime, what about the ravages of +the white ant? + +Bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. I think he put my criticism +down to the natural jealousy which a white man would feel upon finding +that a native is not incapable of great things. + +He explained that the work had required some planning out, that the +local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the +Chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had +hindered progress. + +I admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome, +and asked to be shown his working camp. + +Bositi led me some distance into the forest. Here I saw a number of men +busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into +wooden rails. In very few instances were the rails in the making as +straight as those already laid. It was clear to me that the wheels would +somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and +I wondered how they would do it. + +By no amount of questioning and patient explanation could I get Bositi +to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so I presently continued +my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next I passed that way +with my canoes I should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway. + + * * * * * + +That section of the Cape to Cairo railway was never finished. I +inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as I had +expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as +they were laid. I also saw that less trouble had been taken in making +them. The trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails +widened, there they narrowed. Here there was a hump, there a depression. + +I made it my business to find out what had become of Bositi. He had not +been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but, +having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he +had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp, +where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear +as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun. + + + + +THE LICENSED VICTUALLER. + + +John Smith was an up-country caterer in a remote part of Africa. We +called him Joseph, after other shining lights in the trade. + +I don't think I ever saw him quite sober, but, on the other hand, never +heard of his being drunk. He was not good to look at, being fat, bald +and red-faced. + +A stranger once called him Joe. Our host was indignant at the +familiarity, and snapped: "I'm Joe to me pals, John Smith to me +acquaintances, Mr. Smith to you, damn you!" Coming across to my table, +he winked heavily, and said in a hoarse stage-whisper: "P'raps you've +'eard a bloke say that afore?" + +I admitted I had. + +"Come in nice and 'andy, tho'," said Joe. + +Joe's place of business was a frame house with walls of canvas. He had +named it the "Duke of York's Restuarant." The spelling was his; so, too, +was the sign-writing. + +He was a man of uncertain temper. One day a hungry guest asked for more +beef. Joe thought this unreasonable, and thus addressed the man: + +"Yore twist do give yer nerve. 'Ere, tike the bloomin' lot!" With that +he hurled the round of beef full at the hungry man's head; it missed him +and passed out through the canvas wall. Joe glared at his damaged +property for a space, and then in a loud voice made it known to the rest +of us that "Beef's off." + +On another occasion a boarder declined to partake of a doubtful-looking +meat concoction which Joe declared was "frickerdells." + +"Wot, yer don't like 'em, don't yer?" + +"No." + +"Won't eat 'em, won't yer?" + +"No." + +We all held our breath, wondering what manner of assault Joe would +select for this reckless fellow. + +But Joe grinned, actually grinned, and replied: "I don't blame yer; I +wot makes 'em wouldn't touch 'em; no, not for a fortune." + +One Saturday afternoon I happened to be passing through the yard when +Joe was discussing with his handy-man, Sammy, the Sunday lunch. (Sammy +was an Indian, and in Africa all Indians are "Sammy" to all men.) + +"'Ow many dead chickens are there, Sammy?" + +"Fourteen, Boss." + +"'Ell! 'Ow many died yesterday and 'ow many did yer find dead this +mornin'?" + +"Eight yesterday and six to-day, Boss." + +"Well, we'll curry the eight and roast the six." + +On Sunday I refused curry and roast fowl. Joe asked why. I told him. + +"Blokes wot 'ang around the cook-'ouse door 'ears things an' sees things +o' times wot puts 'em off their grub. 'Ave some bully?" + +I did. + +Joe seldom had enough waiters, and what he had were mostly black men, +quite untrained. I remember one white waiter who answered to the name of +William. In our eyes he had many faults--in Joe's, but one. He would +talk to the customers, stand and talk instead of attending to wants. + +Joe warned him repeatedly, but his warnings were lost on William. + +One day Joe lost his temper. "Look 'ere, you snip, wot 'ave I told yer? +Wot 'ave I kep' on tellin' yer? You'd talk the 'ind leg off a mule! +You'r hat it agen. 'Ere, quit. Sling yer 'ook out o' this. I'm bloomin' +well fed up with yer." + +William blinked at Joe during this harangue, and then quietly asked: "Do +I understand you to mean, Joe, that I'm sacked?" + +"Yes," said Joe, "I sack yer. Come to the till for yer pay." + +"Do you mean," pursued William, "that I am a free man?" + +"You are," said Joe. + +William turned and looked up and down the crowded tables. He then walked +quietly to an empty seat and sat down, bawling: + +"Joe, bring me a plate o' beef; look sharp, I'm in a hurry." + +As Joe's business grew (and it did grow in spite of Joe), the waiting +became too much for him. He had so many guests that he couldn't get them +served quickly enough to please himself, or them. This man wanted one +thing, that another, and a third something else; all called their wants +loudly and together. + +Joe's remedy was, I believe, original. Sharp at one o'clock he had each +place set round with generous helpings of all the dishes for the day. +You would find a plate piled with roast beef, greens and potatoes; a +second equally full of cold pork, potatoes and spring onions; a third +with hashed mutton and potatoes; a fourth with hot suet pudding +plentifully smeared with treacle; half a loaf of bread on a fifth, and +so on. To one arriving a little late, this spectacle was far from +appetising. One knife and fork and one spoon had to do duty for the lot. + +Most people ate what they wanted and left the rest. Once a guest +protested that he could not eat everything set before him. Joe was hurt. +"'Oo the 'ell arst yer to?" he thundered savagely. "It won't cost yer no +more, nor no less, either way." + +Just inside the "restuarant" door there stood what Joe described as a +"wash-and-brush-up-nice-and-'andy." It was his claim that he catered for +the "better clarse." The "wash-and-brush-up" consisted of a tin basin on +an empty upturned whisky case. The water was usually dirty; the towel, +suspended from a roller, was always so; the soap was a long bar of "blue +mottled." Dangling from a piece of string, tied to a nail driven into +the wooden framework of the wall, was a tooth-brush. Heaven knows where +Joe got it from; it was by no means new. He had never used one himself. +When I questioned him on the subject of this "fitting," he said: "Some +people uses 'em. Like as not I should be arst for one quick enough if I +didn't have one. Best to tie it to the 'ouse, or some bloke 'ud lift +it." + +Someone once asked for a table napkin. Joe was puzzled, and looked +searchingly at the man. He suspected a "leg-pull." + +"What for?" he demanded. + +The man explained. + +"Oh, it's a servy-yet yer want, is it? Ain't got any! You wait till +the railway comes, then we'll get all manner o' things--servy-yets, +toothpicks, and suchlike. Don't be unreasonable; you ain't in a +drawin'-room now, yer know." + +When the railway did come, Joe sold his business for much money and went +North. The sight of a starched collar and a tie in his "restuarant" was +a sign for him that civilisation had reached his very door. Joe didn't +like civilisation, and hated "torfs." He had been known to remark: "The +sight of a bloke in a boiled shirt makes me sick." + + * * * * * + +On the spot once occupied by Joe's eating house now stands a large hotel +built of stone, with a bathroom leading out of every bedroom. + + + + +THE JOHNNIE-COME-LATELY. + + +William Blake walked quietly into the bar of the Tantani Hotel. It was +obvious to all that he had not been out from England long, because his +clothes were so new and clean. Besides, he bore the self-conscious air +which is an unmistakeable sign. + +All the men who crowded the bar wore reach-me-downs; or, if their +clothes had been made in England, it was very, very long ago. + +William knew the barman, who had been at Eton with his elder brother. +Men find strange jobs in Africa in the process of reaching their proper +level. I must add that in course of time that same barman bought the +bar--and many other things besides--and ultimately represented his +district on the Legislative Council. + +At the moment of William's entry the barman was busy, so the youngster +edged his way in between the wall and the brawny back of a corduroyed +transport-rider, intending to wait quietly until he could catch the +barman's eye. + +The place was thick with the fumes of strong drink and tobacco +smoke--Boer tobacco smoke. Of all the unlovely habits which men acquire, +that of smoking Boer tobacco is the most trying to other people. I +know, because I used to smoke it once, and I have seen it empty an +Underground railway carriage at every station. + +But William did not smoke, neither did he drink strong drink; he merely +wanted to have a talk to the man his brother fagged for. But, on +reaching the bar, he unintentionally jogged the transport-rider's arm +and spilt some of his liquor. + +"Who the hell are you shovin'?" + +"Sorry." + +"Sorry, are you? Yer bloomin' tailor's model." + +The barman's chief asset was a quick ear and a keen sense of rising +trouble. He was at the end of the counter in a moment. + +"Hullo, Bill. Upset Rogers' drink, have you? Well, both have a drink at +my expense. This boy is a friend of mine, Rogers." + +"Well, Jimmy, as he's a friend of yours I'll overlook the accident--and +I will. Mine's a gin and tonic; what's the boy goin' to drink?" + +Before William could explain that he didn't drink, the barman said: "I +know his poison, don't I, Bill?" following this up with a heavy wink. + +"Mr. John Rogers--Mr. William Blake." + +"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. Put it here." + +The pair shook hands. + +The barman pushed two glasses forward--one, containing gin, towards +Rogers, and the other, lime-juice, for Blake. He took something out a +bottle under the counter for himself, gave Rogers a small tonic, and +split a small soda with William. + +"Here's fun," said Rogers. + +"Chin, chin," said Jimmy the barman. + +The boy nodded gravely at each. They drank. + +"Come on, let's have another," said Rogers. "Same as before for me, but +not quite so much of your bloomin' tonic, Jimmy. Spoils the gin." + +No sooner were the drinks poured out than the barman hurried away to +attend to the calls at the other end of the counter, so the two were +left to themselves. + +"What are you drinkin', might I ask?" + +"Lime-juice and soda," said William. + +"Just what I thought. Now, my young friend, it won't do. Didn't you see +the train come in to-day?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" + +"I don't understand." + +"Don't you? Well, isn't this the very first train to get here from the +South?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, ain't you goin' to get drunk on it?" + +"Certainly not." + +Rogers stepped back and looked the boy up and down. Then---- + +"What will you bet?" + +William didn't answer. The transport-rider knocked over the lime-juice +and placed his gin in front of the boy. + +"Drink that." + +"No, I won't." + +"Yer won't?" + +"No." + +"I'll give you three chances and no more." + +With that Rogers drew a heavy revolver from his coat pocket. + +"Drink! One!" + +"No." + +"Drink! Two!" + +"No." + +"Drink! Three!" + +"No, I won't drink it." + +Rogers stared at the boy for a moment and then put the revolver back in +his pocket again. + +"I like you. You've got grit. Drink rot-gut if you like, it ain't any +business of mine. Here, take these." + +"These" were a bundle of Standard Bank notes tied up with a piece of +string. William edged close to the wall. + +"Here, you take 'em; they're fivers. Got paid for a job to-day, but I +like you, so you've got to have 'em." + +"I don't want your money." + +"Neither do I. Take 'em." + +"No." + +"What? You don't drink and you won't take good money?" + +"No." + +"I'll give you three chances, and this time I'll shoot." + +"Take 'em! One!" + +"No." + +"Take 'em! Two!" + +"No." + +"Take 'em before I say three!" + +"No." + +"Well then, no one shall have 'em." And with that Rogers flung the +bundle out of the door into the darkness. Then he bent his head upon +his crossed arms and sobbed. + +Jimmy seemed to be watching, for he lifted a flap in the bar counter, +went outside the door, and returned almost immediately, stuffing the +bundle into his pocket. + +"Don't mind him, William." + +Then to Rogers, "What about your drink?" + +The transport-rider stood up. + +"Did you see the train, Jimmy?" + +"Yes." + +"Ain't nobody drunk?" + +"Not very." + +"The train's in and nobody drunk? I'll get drunk. I will get drunk." + +And with that he danced round and round the bar waving his glass. "The +train! The train! The train!" ... Crash! + +Everyone turned round. John Rogers, transport-rider of Tantani, had +fallen, and lay on the floor insensible. + +"Rogers drunk?" came in a chorus of incredulity from all quarters. No +one stooped to examine him; perhaps because few besides William and the +barman felt it quite safe to stoop. Then several of his fellows pushed +him under a seat with their feet, and turned to the bar again. + +"Poor old Rogers," they said, "who would have thought it? Must be +breaking up. Used to keep goin' for days together without turnin' a +hair. Poor old blighter. Train's taken his transport-ridin' away from +him. Yes, that's what's upset him." + +But William met Rogers next morning, quite himself again. + +"Morning, boy." + +"Good morning." + +"Jimmy gave me my money back." + +"Of course." + +"Have you got a job?" + +"No." + +"Looking for one?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, come my next journey with me. I'll go on the strict t.t. I'll +show you some good shooting, too, and I want a hefty young man to help +me with my cattle. Jimmy told me he thought you'd come. I want you to +come." + +William went, and a partnership sprang up which resulted in profit to +both. + +Rogers and Blake own that large cattle ranch just beyond Belingwe. +Rogers must be nearly seventy now, and is still hale and hearty. + + + + +THE LOST RUBIES. + + +If you asked a South African mining man, no doubt he would tell you that +there are no rubies in Africa. He would be wrong. + +To my knowledge two very large ones have been found. One of them I have +seen. The other I have heard about. Take my word for it, there are many +rubies in Africa. I will go so far as to tell you where. I hope you will +go and look for them, and, what is more, find them. + +The rubies of which I write are to be found on the banks of the Zambesi, +somewhere below the Victoria Falls. If I could give more exact details, +I wouldn't do it: I should go and look for them myself. + +As I said before, I know they are there, because I have actually held +one in my hand. The man who showed it to me told me it was a ruby. I +believed him, of course. I had reason to. But just to make sure, I +placed it between two half-crowns, put the precious sandwich on a flat +slab of granite, and gave it a severe twisting under my heel. + +My silver suffered. I did manage to pass those half-crowns off on +someone, but I felt a criminal. + +Now this old man who showed the ruby to me looked a very old man +indeed. He was a Scotsman. His long beard was only slightly red, +otherwise it was white. To be quite accurate, I suppose I should say he +had a long white beard tinged with pink. At least, so it seemed to me +the first time I saw it and him. + +It is just twenty-five years ago that the old man came to my camp on the +Zambesi, some forty-five miles above the Victoria Falls. + +Quite apart from his beard he was obviously old. His legs were thin. He +hobbled from rheumatism. His cheeks were hollow, and how very thin his +ears were! I remember his ears quite well, they were almost transparent +and his hands--well, they were just claws. + +This poor old man came to me for three things. + +One. Could I mend a shot-gun? I had a look at the dingy old weapon and +admitted that it was quite beyond me. It was a double-barrelled shot-gun +with four good inches gone from the right barrel, one from the left, and +the rib of metal which should join the two was curled back for a good +ten inches. + +He explained that he had tried to shoot a king-fisher and his gun +exploded. He suggested that a mouse must have crept up the barrel during +the night. + +Perhaps one had. + +I, personally, should have said that the gun was suffering from the same +complaint as its owner--old age. + +Well, I couldn't help him in the matter of the gun, so what was the next +thing? + +Had I a drop of good Scotch? Yes, by Jingo, I had, and very welcome the +poor old fellow was to it. + +I gave him a good dose of his native medicine, which seemed to put back +the clock of time for him at least a couple of dozen years. + +And the third thing? + +Oh, yes, the third thing. He began:-- + +"You see, I am an old man. I'm an honest man, oh yes, quite honest. I +don't lie like the others." + +He paused and looked out of the door of my tent. + +"The other two are bad." + +I don't attempt to reproduce his accent or the queer, querulous way he +had of talking, because I can't. He was an old Scotsman, so you may fill +in the local colour for yourself. + +"I want to tell you something." + +"Yes." + +"You won't give me away?" + +"No, of course not." + +"You won't tell the other two?" + +"Certainly not, but who are the other two?" + +The old man looked out of the tent again and quickly back at me. He +placed his finger alongside his nose and winked. Then he said in a loud +voice: "I must be going. Thanks for the drink. No, I won't have another. +It's getting late and my pals will be anxious." + +Through his talk I heard an approaching footstep. + +The old man backed out of my tent and I followed him. Within a few yards +of us was another man approaching hurriedly. He looked anxiously from me +to the old Scotsman and back again. + +He stopped and, addressing the old, old man, said: "What are you doing +here?" + +This annoyed me. I was on the point of asking very sharply what he +wanted, anyway, when the expression of both made me pause. + +On the old man's face, fear; on the newcomer's, anger, suspicion, greed, +cruelty--a bad face of a bad man. + +My curiosity was aroused; I answered the question. + +"Your friend has been having a drink with me. Won't you have one?" + +"No, I will not." Then, by way of an afterthought: "No, thank you very +much." And the fellow smiled with his ugly mouth, but not with his eyes. + +The intruder, as I now regarded him, seemed in a hurry to be gone. + +"The canoe boys are waiting for us and we must go. Come along, +Macdonald." + +The old man turned his face towards me and, as he said good-bye, I saw a +great fear in his eyes. + +Ignoring the other, I begged him to stay the night and promised to try +my best to mend his gun. He shook his head and turned slowly away. + +The ugly man hurried him along towards the bank of the river and helped +him into the canoe. I felt there was something wrong but didn't see how +I could interfere. + +As the pair pushed off from the bank, the other man turned round and +shot a searching look at me. What could the mystery be? That thick-set, +black-haired little devil was up to no good. He looked as if could +murder the old man, me, or anyone else, if necessary. + +I saw nothing of them next day, but my natives told me that there were +three white men with a waggon camped on the other side. I sent a boy +across to spy out the land, but he came back with no information of any +real importance. + +On the third day I felt so uneasy about the old man that I half made up +my mind to cross the river to see him. I was prevented from doing so by +the arrival at my camp of the veriest pair of ruffians I ever clapped +eyes on. + +As they walked up from the river I had time to study them. And a pair of +arrant scoundrels they looked. + +The man who had already paid me one visit was talking rapidly to a fat, +unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to feel mere walking an excessive +exertion, for he puffed, stooped, and walked awkwardly. + +The stranger wore a waistcoat but no coat. His braces, which were red, +hung untidily on either side; he had forgotten to slip them over his +shoulders when putting on his waistcoat. + +When they reached my tent I offered them chairs. The fat man sank into +one, his thick-set companion stood. + +It was the latter who talked. The other mopped his perspiring forehead +with a blue cotton handkerchief, and seemed capable only of saying: +"That is so; yes, yes," in support of his companion's rapid talk. + +It soon became obvious that this precious pair wanted to know exactly +what the old man had told me three days before. As he had told me +nothing, it was easy to answer them. + +"How did I find the old man?" + +"Just that he seemed very old, much too old to be at the Zambesi at his +time of life." + +"Didn't I find him lightheaded?" + +"On the contrary, quite normal." + +"Hadn't he spun me some queer yarns?" + +"No; just told me of his gun and his accident with it." + +"Well, as a matter of fact, he was off his head, and I really mustn't +believe all he said. Oh dear, he had kept them both in fits of laughter +on the road up with his queer notions. Stories of gold mines and +suchlike nonsense. Hadn't he talked of that kind of thing?" + +"No." + +"Well, he was now in bed with a go of fever and talking queerer than +usual. Yes, if I could spare it, they'd like some quinine for him; but +they had better be going, for it wasn't playing the game to leave an old +man for long who had the fever on him." + +The pair got up to go. + +I disliked them both, especially the fat one, who looked to me like a +city-bred parasite--a barman, bookmaker, tobacconist's assistant, or +something of that sort. They glanced round them and hesitated, evidently +expecting to be asked to drink with me. I would sooner have gone "three +out" of a bottle of beer with a couple of hogs. + +Presently they went off, evidently much relieved to find I knew nothing. + +I was now determined to know all, and quickly; but how to get hold of +the old man alone again was the difficulty. + +As I sat in my chair thinking, I recollected a remark let fall by the +boy I sent to spy upon them: "The fat one drank much Kaffir beer, which +he bought from the natives who lived on the north bank of the river." + +I sent a messenger to the headman of the village with an order to make +much beer, pots and pots of it, and take it new and half-fermented to +the white men on the other side. I instructed the headman to sell it +cheaply, and said that I would make up the difference. + +In due course I had my reward. The old Scotsman came over and told me +one of his companions was in great pain and the other was trying to ease +the pain by rubbing fat on his belly, that he himself had got away +unnoticed, and now wanted to tell me all about "it." + +I was naturally all anxiety to hear what "it" was all about, and made +the old man sit down. + +Now why is it, I wonder, that old men can't come quickly to the point? +Much to my annoyance, he wasted a good half an hour telling me what +scamps the other two were; how he felt sure that, given half a chance, +they would "do him in" but not until they had got from him his secret. +Tell them? Not on your life! + +But he would tell me; oh yes, he would tell me. Ever seen a ruby? No, +not out of a ring? Well, I should see one now and hold it in my hand. A +large one, fit for a king. And he would tell me where to find more. +Hundreds of them. The other two had brought him up to the Zambesi just +to find out where the rubies were. But he wasn't going to tell them, not +he. They were too darned stingy with the whisky bottle; besides, they +wouldn't sign a paper on it. A man who wouldn't sign a paper on a deal +was up to no good--didn't intend to play fair. Now what did I think they +should pay him for showing them where the ruby mine was? Would a couple +of hundred be a fair thing? + +And so on, and on, and on. + +I gave him the best advice I could, which amounted to a warning not to +trust his companions. + +Then he showed me the ruby, which he carried in a small blue medicine +bottle marked "fever mixture." + +I knew precious little about rubies, and told him so. It was then that I +tried it between the two half-crowns. + +Having satisfied myself that it was a very hard stone, even if it +weren't a ruby, I gave it back to him, and he returned it to its bottle. + +He then told me that, many years before, he had been travelling in +company with a Jesuit Father along the banks of the Zambesi. That just +below the village of a native, whose name for the moment he could not +remember, he had found the rubies. One he had kept and the other he had +given to the priest, who told him he was going home to France shortly +and would find out whether the stone was worth anything or not. If it +had value, he would sell it and go halves. + +They went down south together, and parted company at Grahamstown. A year +later he was sent for by the manager of the Bank and told that £480 had +been remitted to him by the Reverend Father. + +The money came in handy, and for one reason or another he didn't bother +about going all the way up to the Zambesi to get more rubies. He also +got married and settled down in Bechuanaland on a farm. + +But his wife had lately died. His two daughters were married, and his +son was killed in the Matabeleland rebellion. Then he lost all his +cattle by rinderpest. + +So he left the farm and went to Bulawayo. He didn't know anyone there, +but took up with his two companions, met them in a bar, told them about +the ruby and showed it to them. A Jew had assured them that the stone +was a ruby right enough, and had, he believed, put up some cash for +their outfit and journey. + +But they wouldn't sign a paper, and were up to no good. He had come up +to the Zambesi--felt he had to. It was hard to make money nowadays. + +"But I'll tell you all about it," he said, "and where the mine is, so +that, if these fellows do me in, you can get the stones. They shan't +have them. You know where the Gwai River runs into the Zambesi?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, it's not quite so far down--Listen! Did you hear that?" + +"No, what?" + +"That calling for help. There it is again." + +We went to the tent door and looked towards the river. In midstream we +could see a canoe bottom up. One white man was sitting astride at one +end, and there was a native at the other. A second white man was +swimming for the bank. + +I ran down to the landing stage, calling my canoe boys as I went. For +the moment I forgot all about my visitor. There was a white man in the +water and, scamp though he undoubtedly was, I couldn't let him drown. + +My boys and I got him ashore. It was the thickset one. His fat, +unhealthy-looking companion was floating down the river astride the +upturned canoe. + +After landing the one, I sent my boys back for the other. They had had a +thorough wetting and the city-bred fellow was very much scared. + +I had their clothes dried and then sent them back to their camp in my +own canoe. It appears that an angry hippopotamus attacked them. + +All this time I had little time to think about old Macdonald. I asked my +people about him and they told me that he had slipped away and crossed +in a canoe to the white man's camp whilst the other men's clothes were +being dried. + +Not a word was said about the Kaffir beer. If the pair of villains were +coming across the river to me for assistance or medicine when the +accident happened, they forgot to mention the fact in the excitement of +the moment and after. + +Next day they were gone--all three of them, ruby and all. And I never +saw any of them again. But I did see in a Bulawayo paper, which reached +me later, the following announcement: + + "At the Memorial Hospital, Bulawayo, John Macdonald, died of + blackwater fever. Funeral (Hendrix and Sons) starting from the + Hospital at 3.30 this afternoon." + +So I repeat there are rubies in Africa, somewhere on the banks of the +Zambesi, below the Falls, but north of where the Gwai river makes its +junction. If you decide to go and look for them, good luck to you! + + + + +THE CATTLE KING. + + +Schiller was a cattle trader by profession, and he made a lot of money. + +He was incidentally a Jew by birth, an Austrian by accident, a +hairdresser by training, and a soldier of fortune when occasion offered. +He was quite illiterate. + +Although he could neither read nor write he yet kept accurate enough +accounts of all his many transactions with the natives. He once showed +me his accounts. They consisted of notches on tally sticks. I couldn't +make head or tail of them, but Schiller knew to a shilling how much each +ox had cost him and how many cattle he had. + +One Sunday morning he came over to my bungalow and told me all the +gossip of the country-side. Incidentally he remarked that my hair wanted +cutting, and asked if he might have the pleasure of operating. + +I thanked him and sat down. + +To my amazement he produced from a little black bag all the implements +of the trade, including a pink print sheet which he proceeded to tuck in +round my neck. + +His touch was unmistakable. + +"Aren't you a professional?" + +"Yes, sir, from ---- of Bond Street." + +From that day on, twice a month if I was at home, this man who was worth +at least twenty thousand pounds cut my hair for sixpence. + +He called himself the "Cattle King." + +I first met him when he made application for a cattle trading licence at +my office: this was many years ago. + +As, in those days, we could issue or withhold a licence at discretion, I +questioned Schiller closely. + +He didn't look like the ordinary Jew. By that I mean he hadn't a +pronounced nose: on the contrary, it was small and snubby. He told me he +was a Jew, I should not have guessed it. + +He wore a long row of medal ribbons and, in support of his claim to +them, produced discharge papers from every irregular force raised in +Africa during the last twenty years. + +I read the papers carefully and could but conclude that the little man +who applied for a licence was a confirmed fire-eater and a very gallant +soldier. + +No camp follower he. His medals were earned and at the cost of not a few +wounds. I later saw these honourable scars. + +I gave him his licence and asked him to sign an undertaking designed to +control certain undesirable activities in which it was just possible he +might wish to indulge. + +He couldn't write his name. A large X with a few unnecessary blots +thrown in adorned the record of his promise. He never broke his word: in +fact that man's word was his bond in the truest sense. + +I have always found that an illiterate man is a much more rapid learner +than one who keeps a note book. The one relies upon his memory and so +strengthens it; the other discourages it by admitting its limitations. + +He learnt the local dialect rapidly, and his pronunciation was quite +good. This gave him advantage over his rival traders. + +Natives like to hear their language spoken by a white man, and, as +Schiller was a fluent talker, his company was much sought after. + +He was a trading genius. Anything he had for sale soon became the rage +with the large native population. He got to know most of the great +ladies of the land. Knowing that great ladies, be they white or black, +set the fashions, he persuaded them to patronise his store and accept +long credit. + +If this particular pattern of print did not generally commend itself to +the community, one of the important dames would shortly appear draped in +yards of it. If that coloured bead did not sell freely, a personage in +the Chief's household would soon be seen wearing string after string of +it. + +But it was cattle he wanted, and cattle he got. So large did his herd of +fine beasts become that the Chief himself grew jealous, and issued a +warning to his people not to sell too freely. + +Still the herd increased. The man dealt more fairly with the people than +the other traders, and, moreover, did not make the mistake of getting +upon too familiar terms with his customers. + +During my absence on a tour of inspection a crisis arose. The Chief +forbade his people to have any further dealings with the Cattle King. + +Schiller counted his gains, branded his cattle, and sent them south to +the rail-head for sale. Then he closed his store. + +Just at this time a number of waggons arrived bearing many cases and +bales of new goods for him. These were off-loaded, unpacked, and +disappeared into the closed store. + +Then Schiller made a hatch in the store door not unlike that of a +railway booking-office. He left the shutter ajar, but piled up goods in +front of all the windows. Black noses in plenty gathered against the +panes, but goods--goods everywhere--blocked a view of the interior of +the store. + +Through the hatch Schiller could be seen mysteriously occupied. He had a +chequered board in front of him with many little discs of wood upon it. +He sat with eyes fixed on the board, and from time to time moved a disc. + +He told all inquirers that his store had been closed by orders of the +Chief, and that he himself was very busy. + +News of the trader's preoccupation spread about. Was he making medicine +with which to harm the people? Surely not; he was a kind little man. + +Was he communicating in some strange way with the absent Commissioner? +That might be; better make sure. + +The Chief became uneasy. At last he sent his principal headman to +inquire. + +This headman had received some education at the Mission school, so he +wrote a polite letter to warn the trader of his coming. + + SIR, + + My greetings to the honest man the merchant. I hope you have slept + well I am telling you that I have not seen you for a long time and + it is my intention of coming to see how you get on. I am well and + my wife is well. Now I must close my letter. + + Your friend, + GONYE. + +The envelope bore the address: + + Mr. Shiler, Esq., + The Merchant. + +The letter was duly delivered at the hatch. Schiller pretended to read +it and said there was no answer. + +As a rule he brought his letters to be read by my native clerk, but I +had taken him with me on my tour. + +If the Cattle King was surprised when the headman pushed open the hatch +shutter and looked in, he did not show it. + +He glanced up from his draught-board impatiently, frowned at the +interruption, and turned to the game again. He was playing self versus +self, and self was giving self no end of a tussle. + +"Good-day to you, Merchant." + +"Good-day, Gonye." + +"I hope you have slept well?" + +"Yes, and you?" + +"Oh, yes, I have slept very well, thank you, Merchant." + +Silence fell upon the pair, and the game of self _v._ self proceeded. + +"Huff you for not taking me here," muttered Schiller. + +"Crown me, please," replied Schiller. + +"What are you doing, honest man?" asked Gonye. + +"Yes," replied the merchant abstractedly. + +"You do not trade now, Merchant." + +"No, your Chief has closed my store." + +"Will you tell the Commissioner?" + +"Of course." + +"What will he do?" + +"The Chief and you will know what he will do when he does it." + +"What are you doing now, honest man?" asked Gonye, and added--"May I +come in?" + +"Yes, if you don't talk or touch the goods." + +The trader got up and let the native in, but returned to his game +without ceremony. + +Gonye walked round the piled-up counters and inspected the well-filled +shelves. Here were goods indeed. Goods worth many head of cattle. +Blankets, coloured print, calico, brass wire, beads, shirts, hats, +coats, sugar, jam, tobacco, pipes, knives, looking-glasses, mouth +organs, and goodness knows what besides. + +Seeing all these nice new things created many wants in the headman's +heart. But the Chief had closed the store. + +Gonye wandered back to where the trader sat and watched him. + +With a shout of triumph, self beat self by two kings. Schiller +rearranged the board for another contest. + +"Is it a game?" asked Gonye. + +"Yes, it's a game." + +"Is it a very hard game?" + +"Very hard." + +"Did it take you long to learn?" + +"Years and years." + +"Could I learn it?" + +The trader sat back in his chair and looked fixedly at the native. "You +might," he said. + +"Will you teach me?" + +"I will try to; bring up that chair and sit down." + +The rest of the afternoon was spent by Schiller initiating Gonye into +the mysteries of draughts. + +Next day the native came again. + +"I think I can play now, Merchant." + +"Do you? Well, you take black and I will play with white." + +Schiller won, with a loss of scarcely a man. + +"Try again, Gonye." + +Schiller played a cunning game, so the native made a slightly better +showing next time. The third game he did better still. The fourth game +he won. + +That was the only game of draughts he ever did win against the trader. +In his triumph the headman persuaded the Chief to declare the store +reopened. The merchant was a good man. He was indeed an honest man. His +cattle kraal was empty. What would they say to the Commissioner on his +return? The trader would of course complain. Moreover, the store was +full of very nice goods. + +The next morning the store was opened and the natives flocked to it with +their cattle. Schiller did a great trade, and bought more cattle in a +week than all the other traders combined had done in three months. + +Gonye felt rather sore as the merchant declared that he was now too busy +trading to play draughts. However, Schiller, who was no fool, made his +position of Cattle King secure by presenting the board and men to Gonye. + +The last I heard of Schiller was at the outbreak of the Great War. He +had joined the Force which set out to take German South-West Africa. + + + + +PARTNERS. + + +Jack Fernie and William Black became partners in the usually pleasant +business of seeing something of the world. + +What the two men had in common was little enough so far as I could +discover. They appeared to meet on the common ground of boots--uncommon +boots. + +Fernie hated wet feet. He argued that if water got in over the top of +the boot, the foot remained damp all day, which was bad for you. So he +punched holes through the leather of the uppers, all round, just where +it bends in to meet the soles. He explained that since water must find +its own level, it will run out of your boots as readily as it will run +in, if given a fair chance. + +Black went in constant dread of developing an ingrowing toenail, so he +wore boots with two compartments inside, one for the big toe and the +other for the rest. They were very ugly, clumsy boots, but Black +declared that they were a sure preventive and very comfortable. + +These two strange creatures were never tired of discussing each other's +boots. + +Now Fernie had been second officer on board a liner. On the way home +from India he had said unrepeatable things to a parson. When he arrived +in London his directors sent for him, scolded him severely, and +dismissed him from their service. + +When I got to know Fernie well, I asked him what all the trouble had +been about. He was not very communicative; he merely said that he could +no more abide a black coat than he could a black cat. With that he +changed the subject, and I had to be content. + +Black had slaved as a clerk in the City for thirty-five years and +doubtless would have remained one for the rest of his natural life had +not an old lady, no relation of his, left him in her will a sum of money +which provided him with an income of between six and seven hundred a +year. There was no mention of the why and the wherefore in the will, and +Black declared that he couldn't imagine why she did him this good turn. + +It appears that Fernie and Black first met in Bulawayo. How, exactly, I +don't know. They had bought a donkey-waggon and set out for the Zambesi +river, which they crossed at a place called Kazungula, some forty-five +miles above the Victoria Falls. + +Their introduction to me was a curious one. Fernie walked into my camp +one day, followed by Black. He said: "Are you the magistrate of these +parts?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, will you sell us up?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You see, we're partners, Black and I. We don't get on as such and want +to dissolve. Isn't that so, Black?" + +"Yes." + +"So we want you to sell us up; sell our outfit as it stands--waggon, +donkeys, and everything else we've got. Don't we, Black?" + +"Yes." + +"But," I said, "who do you expect to buy in a place like this? There +isn't a white man within a couple of hundred miles. I'm not buying +donkeys, and the natives can't." + +"That's all right," said Fernie. "I will do all the bidding, and you can +divide the proceeds between us." + +"Yes," said Black, "that's what we want you to do." + +Of course, I agreed to help and asked them to set out the things for +sale. + +When everything was ready, Black handed to me a list, neatly written and +ruled with two money columns, one headed "Cost Price" and the other +"Sale Price." + +I had never acted as auctioneer before, but that didn't matter; entering +into the spirit of the thing, I began. + +"Gentlemen, I have here as fine a span of donkeys and as sound a waggon +as ever came north of the Zambesi----" + +But Fernie cut me short with: "A hundred and sixty pounds." + +I looked at the list. In the cost-price column, against the item "span +of donkeys and a waggon" was set £160. + +I got no fun out of the sale at all. Fernie bought everything, bidding +cost price for everything. The total, I think, came to just three +hundred pounds. + +"Black, I owe you a hundred and fifty, and here you are." + +Black took the bundle of notes, counted them with practised finger and +thumb, nodded, and handed a receipt to Fernie. The queer pair then +shook hands, grinned at each other sheepishly, and thanked me for +settling their little difference. + +The three of us had lunch together, and during the meal Fernie told me +as much of their story as he thought fit. + +It appears that on their way up to the Zambesi friction arose between +them; nothing serious, but just enough to make them feel a little tired +of one another's company. Fernie considered that he should boss the +outfit; Black wanted a say in matters, too. In Black's opinion Fernie +was too dictatorial. Fernie thought that Black butted in too much and +always unnecessarily--fatuously. So they sat down one day and discussed +the situation calmly and decided that Fernie should buy Black's share +and that Black should become a passenger, paying Fernie so much weekly. + +This arrangement was so simple and complete that I wondered why it was +necessary to bring me into the matter at all. I suspect it was the +ex-clerk's passion for regularity and record, for immediately after the +sale he had drawn up a formal statement of dissolution of partnership. +When he and Fernie had signed this document, they asked me to +countersign it. + +After luncheon we sat for a while discussing guns and rifles. By we, I +mean Fernie and I, for Black possessed no firearms of any sort and +appeared to take little interest in them. + +Fernie set so much store by the Martini-Henry rifle and the old hammer +shot-gun that I correctly guessed these made up his battery. Presently +he produced the weapons for my opinion. + +The shot-gun had been a good one in its far-off day, but the spring of +the right-hand lock had gone, so only the left barrel was serviceable. +The Martini was so old and the rifling so worn that I wondered how +Fernie ever hit anything at which he aimed. But he did. He said he had +got to know the old gas-pipe. + +That evening the pair left me and went North. + +From time to time I came across these men; now and again one or the +other wrote to me; later, their waggon boys told me much; I gathered +more from the natives of the district in which they aimlessly wandered; +finally, Black's sister entrusted her brother's diary to me. The entries +in this book were made in shorthand. I had the whole transcribed. I told +her I had lost the book; I lied. I have the book still. She died +peacefully without an inkling of its contents. + +From these various sources of information I have put together a few +yarns, which I now tell for the first time. For instance, there was a +curious adventure with a lion. + +Fernie had been out shooting most of the day: shooting for the pot, as +the party had been without meat for some time. Black, as usual, remained +in camp writing up his diary. He also mended a boot. + +He concluded that Fernie was having very good sport because of the +number of shots he fired during the afternoon. With an inexperienced man +like Fernie, armed with a rifle such as his, it was not wise to jump at +conclusions. + +Late in the evening Fernie came back to camp very hot and tired. He was +evidently in a bad temper, for when Black asked him if he would like +some tea, he rudely said: "Tea, you bloomin' grandmother," and opened a +bottle of whisky. + +Then he called the driver and said he wanted a couple of donkeys to +bring in the meat of a hartebeest which he had killed. The driver +brought two and followed Fernie into the bush. They didn't return until +eleven o'clock at night. Black had become anxious as time went on. He +heard Fernie shooting again at about ten o'clock and wondered how he +could see to take aim in the dark. He had, of course, never heard of the +common practice of firing a shot in the air if you are not quite sure of +your whereabouts and then listening for a guiding shot from the camp. + +It wouldn't have helped much if he had known, for he had never fired a +gun in his life. It did not occur to the second waggon boy, who had also +remained in camp, to ask Black why he didn't reply to the signals of +distress; he very naturally concluded that Black did not do so for +reasons of his own, not through ignorance or inability. + +It is only fair to Black to say that Fernie had not previously heard of +this manner of signalling either. The waggon boy put him up to it when +they thought they were lost. + +At eleven o'clock the wanderers found their way back to camp. Fernie was +in a worse temper than ever. + +"Why the hell didn't you answer my shots?" + +"Your shots?" + +"Is the fellow deaf as well as a brainless idiot?" + +"I did hear you shooting, but I thought you had come across some more +hartebeest." + +"How the devil do you suppose I could see to shoot in this pitch +darkness?" + +"I don't know; I wondered." + +"Oh, so you wondered, did you?" + +"Well, what did you want me to do?" + +"Sing, or any damn thing. But how could an ex-ink-slinger be expected to +have any horse-sense to do anything requiring a glimmer of intelligence? +Oh, don't talk; of course, it's not your fault, it's your Maker's." + +Black felt keenly the coarse injustice of this attack and sat silently +looking into the fire. The truth of the matter was that Fernie had lost +his way. He couldn't find the dead hartebeest. He cursed the waggon boy +for a fool, which he wasn't; and beat him, which he didn't deserve. + +"Off-load those chunks of meat near the fire and get to hell out of +this," said Fernie roughly to the waggon boy. The fellow relieved the +donkeys of their load and slouched away. + +Black looked up. "You're tired, Fernie. Won't you have some supper?" + +Fernie, who was making a pile of the hartebeest meat, turned with an +angry jerk towards the speaker. Something in Black's attitude brought +him sharply to his senses and saved him from adding fresh insult to +those already thrown at his friend. + +Instead, he said: "I'm sorry, Black old man. I'm a beast and we both +know it. I take back all I said; please forget it. And I must give that +driver fellow a tot of whisky; I hit him, which was a rotten thing to +do, because he can't hit me back, and I, not he, was wrong." + +It certainly was a rotten thing to do. Fernie was a big-boned, powerful +man, with a fist like a leg of mutton in size. He hardly knew his +strength, but many a troublesome seaman could have testified to it in +the old liner days. + +However, the tot of neat whisky put matters more or less right with the +boy. + +Black pressed Fernie to have a good square meal, but he wouldn't. He +drank half a glass of raw whisky, followed by about a gallon of water. +Then he put down his blankets and turned in, his head towards the pile +of meat and his feet to the fire. Completely exhausted, he fell asleep +immediately. + +It had become a habit with Fernie to place his loaded shot-gun by his +side when he went to sleep, and he invariably had a large spanner handy. +He did not forget to make these preparations now, tired though he was. +He made them mechanically. + +Black, who remained by the fire, put on his spectacles and wrote up his +diary. Then he too put down his blankets, close to where Fernie lay. + +He didn't go to sleep at once. In spite of his apology, Fernie's words +had left a sting. This had been his worst outbreak so far. He had never +used the contemptuous epithet "ex-ink-slinger" before. Because of its +truth it hurt. + +So Black lay on his back watching the sparks rise from the fire at his +feet. He was indeed seeing the world, but he began to doubt whether he +had chosen exactly the best parts of it or the most pleasant way of +seeing them. + +No unkind thought of Fernie ever entered his mind. I think I can safely +say this, for his very full diary contains no hint of such. On the +contrary, a strong thread of deep admiration and affection for his +friend can be traced without a break through every page of that strange +book. + +Presently there was a slight movement behind the pile of meat. Black +turned slowly over on his side and looked. To his great alarm he saw a +large lion smelling the meat. He put out his hand and touched Fernie, +who woke at once, sat up, and looked. However uncertain the sailor's +temper might be, his nerve was still good. He snatched up his gun. As he +did so, the lion made a short backward jump and glared at the men, +growling. Fernie put the gun to his shoulder and pressed the trigger. +There was no report! He had forgotten the broken spring. Why he did not +fire the left barrel remains a mystery. Instead, he gripped the gun +about the trigger guard with his left hand, pressed the stock firmly to +his shoulder, and aimed a sharp blow at the hammer with his spanner. He +missed the hammer, but hit his thumb. + +"Gentle, jumping Johnson!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. "The +devil take the blighted thing and chew it!" + +With that he flung the spanner at the beast, and disregarding the blood +spurting from his crushed thumb, fired the left barrel after the lion, +which had bounded away into the darkness. + +It was many days before that thumb healed. + +I don't suppose that at the beginning of their partnership Fernie knew +much or any more about firearms than Black did. It is probable that both +were equally ignorant. This does not appear from the diary, but then +allowance must be made for Black's deep admiration of Fernie and all he +did. + +Of course, Fernie had travelled much and, thanks to his training at sea, +took more quickly to strange conditions and new things than Black. By +dint of perseverance and the expenditure of much ammunition, he managed +to keep the camp supplied with meat, but in those days game was thick +upon the ground. + +It is probable that if the job of keeping the larder full had been +handed over to the driver of the donkey waggon, all would have fared +better. + +It is on record that under Fernie's tuition Black once tried his hand at +shooting at a target. I say once advisedly, for he tried but once. + +The rifle he used was, of course, Fernie's old Martini. The target was +the bleached skull of an ox that they found by the roadside. + +After showing his pupil how to hold the rifle, how to aim, and the use +of sights, Fernie gave Black a handful of cartridges and walked off to +set up the target. + +Black was bubbling over with suppressed excitement. His heart beat +rapidly. His mouth felt unaccountably dry. He almost made up his mind to +borrow the rifle that very afternoon and go out and look for a buck. He +pictured himself soon taking turn and turn about with Fernie in keeping +the pot going. + +With an effort he ceased building castles, pulled himself together, and +mentally repeated Fernie's instruction on the rifle. He determined to +acquit himself creditably. + +Fernie had meanwhile set up the target about fifty yards away, and had +moved to what he considered a safe distance. He now shouted to Black to +have a shot, adding: "Don't be afraid of the darned thing, it won't hurt +you. Besides, it doesn't matter if you do miss the first shot or two." + +Black clenched his teeth, put the rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at +the skull. + +The rifle wobbled. + +He was most anxious to make a good beginning. + +The rifle went on wobbling. + +He held his breath. + +The rifle wobbled more. + +He held his breath until his lungs nearly burst. Then, I'm afraid, he +shut his eyes and pulled the trigger in desperation. + +Goodness knows where the bullet went to. Fernie declared that it passed +just over his head. + +But Black? He threw the rifle on the ground and rubbed his collar-bone +and chin. His spectacles fell off. From where Fernie stood it looked as +if he might be swearing. + +"What's the matter? Have another shot," shouted Fernie, as he walked +towards his friend. + +"Nothing much the matter, but I don't want another shot. It hurts too +much, and you said it wouldn't." + +"Hurt? Nonsense! Slip in another cartridge." + +"I won't." + +Fernie picked up the rifle and began to wipe off the dust with his hand. +"Hulloa! What on earth have you done to the thing?" + +"Done to it?" + +"Why yes; this bulge in the barrel." + +"Did I do that?" + +"Well, it wasn't like that before." + +"Wasn't it?" + +"Why no. And where's my plug?" + +"Your what?" + +"The plug of wood I had in the barrel. Good Heavens! You don't mean to +say that you fired the thing off with the plug in it?" + +"I don't know anything about plugs. You gave me the rifle to fire and I +fired it. My neck hurts, and I'm going back to the waggon." + +There must have been good metal in that old rifle, or it would surely +have exploded. About an inch from the end of the barrel was a bulge as +large as a hen's egg. + +One adventure is fully recorded in the diary. + +Fernie shot a reedbuck. Rain had fallen during the afternoon, so, +following the example of the waggon boys, the white men had taken the +roof from a deserted native hut, propped it up with a pole, and had made +their beds under it. + +Fernie put the reedbuck meat on the raised eaves of the hut roof to be +out of the reach of stray night marauders, such as hyenas, jackals, or +native dogs. + +After his experience with the lion, he had discarded the damaged +shot-gun in favour of the more serviceable rifle as a means of +protection by night. + +In due course the two men went to bed and both fell asleep. + +Their awakening was as sudden as it was unusual. Something fell heavily +on Fernie's chest. Still half-asleep, he hit out instinctively. His fist +came in violent contact with hairy ribs. A beast grunted and scrambled +away. + +Meanwhile Black had received a leg of the reedbuck on his head and was +pushing the clammy thing from him. + +It appears that a hyena had crept up between the sleeping men, had +sprung at the meat piled on the upturned roof, had misjudged the +distance, and had fallen back in a heap upon Fernie. In its ineffectual +attempt to carry off the meat it had dislodged a piece, which fell upon +Black. + +The friends re-made their beds, replenished the fire, and Black turned +in again. Fernie, determined to get a shot at the hyena, should it +return, sat up, rifle in hand, and watched for some time. + +After a while he got tired of sitting up, so got back into his blankets +again. + +For perhaps an hour he lay on his back, holding his rifle in his hand, +the butt resting on his chest and the barrel pointing straight up into +the sky. It was in those positions that Black remembered seeing man and +weapon just before he slipped off to sleep. + +How long it was before Fernie went to sleep neither had means of +knowing, but both awoke to the sound of Fernie's rifle. + +"What's up?" asked Black. + +"Blest if I know quite." + +"Did you see the hyena?" + +"I think so, I thought I did." + +"Do you think you hit him?" + +"I really don't know. I think I must have been dreaming. I believe I let +off the rifle in my sleep and then dropped it. My jaw hurts, so does my +shin--damnably." + +"Do you mean to say you fired the thing into the air?" + +"I expect so; why?" + +Black didn't wait to talk. He jumped up, pulled on his boots and bolted. +As he ran he shouted: "Look out for the bullet!" + +"Come back, you silly ass!" called Fernie after him. But there was no +reply. + +For a little while he could hear the shuffle of Black's unlaced boots as +he hurried away, but not for long, as there was a wind blowing in the +direction which Black had taken. + +From time to time Fernie called, but there was no reply. He became +alarmed for his pal's safety, so got up and dressed. With a lantern in +his hand he wandered here and there, hullooing. + +When it became light enough he called the waggon boys, and all went in +search of Black. + +They hadn't very far to go. They saw him perched in a tree quite +half-a-mile away. Fernie had to climb up and bring the poor fellow down +as he was stiff with cold. He pick-a-backed him to the camp. A vigorous +rubbing, a hot blanket, and a hotter whisky and water soon restored the +patient. + +He had a curious story to tell. + +When he realised that Fernie had fired his rifle straight up into the +air, he concluded that the bullet would sooner or later come straight +down again. It might fall on him. Why run unnecessary risk? So he ran +away. He thought he had time to pull on his boots, but no more. He +intended to give the bullet ten minutes and then come back. + +He heard Fernie call to him, but he also heard a sound which made him +run faster and still faster. It was the movement of some invisible wild +beast trotting parallel and very close to him. He stopped once. It +stopped. Scared out of his senses, he ran on, and so did It. By a stroke +of good fortune he collided in his flight with a tree; instinct made him +clamber up; he did it awkwardly. + +"It" jumped up at him as he climbed. Black, on the verge of exhaustion, +continued to struggle frantically up the tree. He heard the crash of +teeth as It's jaws came together within an inch of his leg. He felt It's +hot breath on his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine. + +He drew up his leg as the beast jumped again. He felt the heel of his +boot seized in the creature's jaws; felt the full weight of the thing at +his hip-joint as his leg swung with the spring of the beast. He clung to +the tree for dear life. Something gave way. He wondered how much of his +leg had gone. + +Fortunately his loss was not so very serious; his boot had been wrenched +from his foot--one of his patent two-compartment boots, and with it much +skin from his toes. + +The waggon boys, who examined the spoor under the tree, declared it to +be that of a hyena, probably the hyena which had tried to steal the +meat. + +The boot was not recovered. + +Fernie really knew very little about shooting--of dangerous game he knew +nothing. I don't suppose it would have made very much difference, +because he was a reckless fellow, quite without fear. + +One afternoon he shot at a skulking beast and hit her in the stomach. +This beast was a female leopard, three-quarters grown. She charged him. +Fernie hadn't time to load again, so hit her with his fist. His heavy +blow stopped her for a moment, but no more. She sprang again, and as she +sprang she struck at him, half-scalping him, and scoring deep wounds in +his stomach and thighs. + +Fernie roared like a mad thing. Dropping his rifle he grappled with her. +She fought with the weapons Nature had given her; he, like savage man +before the days of weapons. He spoke no word; the sounds he made came +from the throat, not from the tongue--the raucous cries of a wild beast +fighting for its life. + +Presently Fernie tripped and fell. They rolled over and over in the +dust; he, half-blinded, searching for her throat; she, biting and +tearing at his flesh. He lay on her and pressed her to the ground; thus +he got his grip upon her throat and held on until the end. + +The end? + +Fernie had killed the leopard with his hands, had strangled her. But +what of the man? + +A blinded, shredded thing, covered with blood and dust; his scalp +hanging like a coarse fringe from his forehead to his chin; his clothes +in tatters; gaping, welling wounds everywhere. This ruin of a strong +man stood up, gave one long, loud roar of victory, and fell insensible. + +The waggon boys had heard the shot, they also heard that cry. Thinking +their master had killed an antelope, they went towards the spot from +whence they judged the cry had come. They found Fernie and the leopard +lying side by side, and thought at first that both were dead. It would +have been better so. + +But Fernie wasn't dead. His hold on life was much loosened, but not yet +lost. For a day or two he lingered, and then he died. His agony was +awful. He couldn't move; blood-poisoning set in; he knew he had to die, +and hour by hour he begged his friend to shoot him. + +"Shoot me, Black. For the love of Heaven shoot. My God, I cannot stand +it. Kill me, Black! Oh, do be quick, Black!" + +Hour after hour Black sat near his dying friend. He did little more than +keep the flies away. He was helpless. He didn't know what to do. He had +scarcely heard of first aid, and they possessed no medicines. + +One of the waggon boys searched me out and found me. I travelled day and +night, but Fernie was dead when I arrived. + +After we had buried Fernie, I think Black was the most alone man in the +whole world. For him there was nothing left. He had aged much during the +few days of his friend's hopeless lingering. Whenever he looked at me +the tears welled up and trickled from under the lower rim of his +spectacles. He couldn't stop them, he no longer seemed to try. + +A man crying is not a thing for a man to see. I began to avoid him. I +pleaded official duties, and hated myself for it. His obvious agony of +grief became a burden to me. His whole being seemed to plead for help, +and I didn't know how to give it; no one could give it. + +Just at that time the South African War broke out. I had official notice +of it and told Black. His manner changed, changed with strange rapidity; +I couldn't understand why. It did not occur to me that this helpless +creature saw opportunity in that war; but he did, and he seized it. + +Next day Black said good-bye to me. He was almost cheerful. He was not +the old Black. He seemed resolute, more a man, he moved briskly. + +I never saw him again. I learnt much of what happened from his diary, +which his sister sent me; the rest from a chance acquaintance in Cape +Town. + +He went south to Bulawayo; from there he travelled to Beira and shipped +to Durban. In Durban he volunteered for active service, and was, of +course, rejected by every recruiting officer. + +In the end, an enterprising newspaper man engaged him. He risked +nothing, because Black asked for no pay. Black went to the front +immediately, as an accredited war correspondent. What his articles would +have been like I cannot imagine, but he didn't write any. His luck was +in. The very day he arrived at Headquarters a stray bullet hit him in +the forehead and dropped him dead. + +How strange it all was! A shot, fired from no one knows where and for no +obvious reason, found its mark in the brain of a man who longed for +death; probably the only man in South Africa at that moment who did long +for death. + + + + +THE LETTER HOME. + + +I. + +"I and my people will pay the Government's tax, we have our money here, +we pay willingly and in full; but the Barushu will not pay, they will +fight the Government." + +Wrenshaw eyed the speaker angrily and replied: "The Barushu will pay. +All will pay the Government tax and all will pay willingly and in full. +Who are you to speak of fighting? Take your receipts and go. Tell all +you meet by the way that the Barushu are paying the Government tax +willingly and in full." + +"I will tell them, Morena," said the old native Chief as he rose to go. +But there was no conviction in his tone, though his attitude towards the +white man was respectful. + +Wrenshaw felt anxious. He had heard vague rumours that the Barushu, a +large tribe living some twenty miles to the North, would refuse to pay +the native tax. This would be awkward. It would have a bad effect on the +rest of the tribes. He had been charged with preparing his district for +the imposition of the tax. For two years he had worked hard and had then +reported that all was in readiness to collect the tax for the first +time. This was quite true of all the tribes of which he had control, +save, perhaps, of the Barushu. They were a truculent people who had +always threatened trouble, although they had never actually given any. + +His two Native Commissioners, who were busy receiving tax-money from +another Chief, were puzzled to find that there were many more people in +this particular community than the census papers showed. + +It was Wrenshaw who discovered the curious fraud which was being +perpetrated by the Chief. It appeared that having met all demands of +him, he deliberately invented names. When asked how it was that all +these people had failed to have their names recorded on the census, he +suggested that they must have been away from home at the time. + +At last the truth came out. + +"I pay willingly," said the old man; "willingly and in full, Morena. I +have paid all the money I have to the Government because the Government +asks for money. I am not a Barushu to refuse to pay. What does it matter +how many people I have; does not the Government want money, and is it +not right that I should give all I have to the Government?" + +"Old man," said Wrenshaw kindly, "take back your money. The Barushu will +certainly pay. If, when all have paid, the Government still wants money, +I will ask you for it. For this time you have done enough; you have paid +willingly and well." + +Then, turning to his assistants, he directed them to cross out all the +new and obviously fictitious names which they had just entered in the +register and return the money paid in excess of the amount due. Later, +and at their leisure, they could check the census, and if they found +that any of the people really did exist, they could, of course, accept +the money. + +As he was speaking a cattle-trader hurried up, panting. "There is a +rising!" he shouted; "the Barushu are up. They have killed my partner +and taken my cattle. They have beaten the police and will soon be here. +Quick! Form a laager and let's get into it!" + +"Stop that, and go in there!" said Wrenshaw, pointing to his tent. To +the officials who had been receiving the tax-money and issuing receipts +he gave instructions to carry on. + +Entering the tent Wrenshaw asked: "What's your name?" + +"Wilkie." + +"Have they killed your partner?" + +"Yes." + +"What did they kill him with?" + +"I don't know; assegais, I suppose." + +"Then you didn't see them kill him?" + +"No." + +"Is he dead?" + +"I have told you that the Barushu are up, that they----" + +Wrenshaw interrupted the man: "Did you see his dead body?" + +"No." + +"Then you don't know that he is dead. You say they have taken your +cattle; how many?" + +"A hundred and fifty head." + +"Did they threaten to kill you?" + +"No." + +"Did you do anything to prevent the Barushu from taking your cattle?" + +"How could I? I wasn't there." + +"Who was in charge of the cattle?" + +"My partner, Jones." + +"One more question: who told you that the Barushu had beaten the +police?" + +"A native." + +"Did he also tell you that the Barushu had risen?" + +"Yes." + +"And that your partner had been killed and your cattle taken away?" + +"Well, not exactly; but----" + +"You're a silly scaremonger, spreading a yarn like this, and a cur to +boot for deserting your partner! Get out of my camp; get out quickly; go +South, go anywhere. I don't care where you go so long as you do go!" + +The man expostulated and threatened to report to Headquarters Wrenshaw's +unmannered treatment of him. As the Commissioner took no more notice of +him, he went off. + +But Wrenshaw was scanning the road which led towards the seat of the +alleged trouble. Presently he stepped back into his tent, picked up his +field-glasses and, returning, focussed them on a distant point of the +road. + +What he saw perturbed him; he returned the glasses to his case and +walked impatiently up and down before his tent. A runner was +approaching, a Government messenger, he could tell that by his uniform. +In his hand he bore a split reed with a letter slipped in it. His long +Arab shirt was gathered up and tucked into his belt to give greater +freedom in running. + +The messenger came along at that steady jog trot which enables the +native to cover such surprising distances in Africa. On nearing Wrenshaw +he dropped into a walk, approached the white man, saluted and handed him +the letter. + +The envelope was addressed to the Commandant of the Police Force at +Headquarters. Without hesitation the Commissioner tore it open and read +as follows: + + C.A.R. POLICE, MORA STATION. + "MONDAY, 26th JUNE, 19--. + + SIR, + + I have the honour to report that there is a native rising. This + p.m. I met a large crowd of them who behaved in such a queer way + that I thought it best to go back to camp, seeing that I had only + two police boys with me and they having no rifles and me only a few + rounds. + + On the way back to camp I fell in with the trader Jones with a mob + of cattle, whose partner Wilkie has been killed by the natives and + he anxious to come into laager. + + I am putting the camp in a state of defence with the help of the + said Jones and await orders. + + Your obedient servant, + JOSEPH WILSON, + Sergeant in Charge. + +So there was something in it after all. Wrenshaw went into his tent and +wrote a reply to the Sergeant of Police: + + To SERGEANT JOSEPH WILSON, + + I have read your letter to the Commandant and will deal with it. Do + not worry overmuch about the rising, I will attend to that too. + Remain in camp or you might miss me, I am coming your way. + + RICHARD WRENSHAW. + +After a short consultation with his juniors Wrenshaw issued his orders. + +He sent for his horse, told the interpreter to get his pony, and also to +saddle-up and load a pack mule. The two Native Commissioners were to +carry on as usual, accepting the tax from those who came to pay. + +It was nearly midday. He had to cover twenty miles by sundown. This was +easy enough for himself and his interpreter, but he would also take his +gunbearer and his cook. He believed in being comfortable, and saw no +reason for roughing it now. The two on foot would have to hurry. + + +II. + +It was after sundown when the party reached their destination. The cook +had stubbed his toe against a root in the path. + +Taking advantage of the remaining light, Wrenshaw helped the interpreter +to pitch the patrol tent. The cook collected wood for an all-night fire +and then fetched water from the nearest stream half-a-mile away. The +gunbearer cut coarse grass for bedding for the horses. Each servant had +his job, which he performed with the precision born of long practice. + +The camping ground was well-chosen. In front was a level plain, probably +a mile wide. After the first quarter of a mile it was very swampy; a +single path led across it to the high ground which flanked the river +beyond. Wrenshaw knew this path, he was probably the only living white +man who did. The high ground was thickly covered with palm trees; behind +the spot chosen for the camp was mile upon mile of thin forest. + +When bringing in his last load of grass the gunbearer stumbled over a +native lying face downwards on the ground. + +He stirred him with his foot. "Now then, you, what do you want?" + +As he could get no satisfactory reply he brought the fellow to Wrenshaw, +who asked who he was. + +"One of Nanzela's men, Morena." + +"Nanzela the Barushu?" + +"He is." + +"Where is he now?" + +"On the river bank." + +"With his people?" + +"With his people." + +"What are you doing here?" + +"I was on my way to join him when you arrived. I was afraid, and hid +myself." + +"You may go to Nanzela and give him a message. Say that I have come. +That I come because I hear Nanzela boasts. He says he will not pay the +Government tax. That he asks for war. Tell him that if by sunrise +to-morrow he does not come to me with tax-money in his hands, I shall +come to him with a gun in mine." + +Whilst Wrenshaw had been speaking the native's eyes had wandered. He was +making a mental note of the white man's forces. There was the white man +himself--an unknown quantity--an alien black man in clothes who +interpreted the white man's words, a native of a neighbouring tribe +attending to two horses, and a half-caste busy with some cooking-pots at +the fire. So far as he could see there were no more than these. He +looked again at the white man and wondered what his real strength might +be. However, it didn't matter, as by this time Nanzela had posted scouts +on every path, and the police camp, some miles away, was being watched. +The white man, too, would be watched. + +The sun had set, and it was now quite dark save for the camp fire which +the cook had made. A mile away, on the high ground by the river, little +points of light appeared. The Barushu were lighting their fires and +preparing for the night. Judging by the distance on either hand to which +these fires extended, the natives had assembled in some force. + +Presently the sound of a drum, then of another, then of many, reached +the white man's ear. + +"What is that sound?" + +"I do not know, Morena." + +"Are they not drums?" + +"They are drums." + +"War drums?" + +"I do not know." + +"What is their message?" + +"I do not know." + +The man, of course, lied; he could read their message as well as any +other native of his tribe within earshot. + +"Go, give my message to Nanzela." + +The man turned to go, bidding the white man rest in peace. + +"Go safely," was the reply. + +Presently the cook announced "Dinner ready, sir," and Wrenshaw moved to +the small camp table. The moment he sat down he felt he could not eat. +He had decided on his lonely journey in the heat of the moment--of the +midday sun, as it were; now that it was dark and cold, he wished he had +brought one of his assistants with him. + +On second thoughts he was very glad he had come alone. If there was +going to be trouble--and it looked uncommonly like it--a life might have +been needlessly sacrificed. + +His cook aroused him from his mooning by: "Soup's cold, sir." + +"Well, take it away and bring something else! What is there?" + +"Guinea-fowl and some native peas, sir." + +"All right, and give me a drink." + +"Whisky or gin, sir?" + +"Whisky to-night; not much, just a little." + +After a drink Wrenshaw felt more settled and attacked the guinea-fowl. + +Presently he started up and walked a few paces from his camp and +listened. + +His message must have reached Nanzela: a roar of distant laughter, +followed by a hum of voices, arose from the encamped Barushu. Then the +drums began again, but this time they beat to a song well known to +Wrenshaw, a song to which natives dance. + + Stop the pig and see where he will pass; + Stop him! Stop him! Stop him! + +That Nanzela should see in his message a huge joke slightly annoyed +Wrenshaw, but he reflected that people with a sense of humour were more +easily dealt with than those in a sullen mood. Yes, it was, perhaps, a +ridiculous thing for him to have come alone on such an errand. + +He went back to his table and attacked the guinea-fowl once more, this +time with vigour. + +After dinner he lit his pipe and ordered a large billy-can of coffee +made very strong. He had a long night in front of him. + +He made no attempt to sleep; he wouldn't risk it. The Barushu had, in +days gone by, a nasty habit of making a night attack. He didn't expect +them to attack him, especially after their laughter; but he intended to +take no risks. + +He had the fire piled up and saw that a plentiful supply of wood had +been collected and placed handy. He told his natives to turn in, and +walked across to where the horses were tethered. The animals seemed +comfortable: one was lying down and the other standing with drooping +head, dozing. He satisfied himself that their blankets were secure and +that they had emptied their nosebags. + +Next he loaded his rifle and tied it lightly to the tent pole; he also +loaded a double-barrelled horse-pistol, a twenty-bore, shooting large, +leaden slugs; very handy for close quarters. + +Then he sat down and listened. The camp fires over the way were for the +most part dying down. Wrenshaw had no illusions: he knew that he was +being watched; by how many, he could not tell. It might be the intention +of the Barushu to make a sudden end of him during the night. If he had +brought a dog with him it would have given him timely warning; but, +then, no dog can travel comfortably for twenty miles in the heat of the +day without water. + +And supposing they did wipe him out, what then? His mind flew back to +England. Would she care? He supposed she would; hoped she would. Well, +no, not exactly hoped; that was hardly the word. But did she care? Did +she care enough to make her home with him in this rough country? + +She certainly seemed sorry when he left England a few months before. Her +letters, too, were a source of encouragement to him, for she dwelt upon +the good times they had had together when he was on leave. + +He took her last letter from his pocket. "Dear Mr. Wrenshaw." How bald +it looked to be sure. If only she had written "Dear Dick," or "My dear +Dick," or.... However, she hadn't; but she did sign herself "Your +friend." Into this simple signature Wrenshaw read a whole world of +meaning, which, of course, might not have been intended; again, it +might. + +By Jove! Why not write to her? It might be his last chance. Those fools +on the high ground over the way might blot him out. He had his writing +gear with him. He would write. + +He must, however, be careful what he wrote. No pathetic sort of last +letter. No heroics of the penny novelette type. If he did go under, +well, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that just before the +event he had thought of her. + +Wrenshaw got some paper and an indelible pencil and began: + + MY FRIEND... + +At this he stuck for a long time; what on earth could he write about? +There were ten thousand things he wanted to say. Most of them he had no +right to say because they were not engaged; there was not even an +understanding between them. The remainder would give the show away; she +would see that he was in danger, or, at any rate, in a tight place. He +must write in some sort of general terms. + +This is what he wrote: + + MY FRIEND, + + I am on one of my journeys through the country; at this moment am + sitting by the light of my camp fire, writing. + + I do not feel very sleepy to-night, some strong coffee which I + drank after dinner is keeping me awake. + + The natives in the distance are beating their drums, which adds to + the mystery of the night. Their booming may mean a message sent by + the African equivalent to the telegraph or it may be that a cheery + dance is in progress miles away. Do you remember our last dance? + + We are quite a small party here, only a couple of horses, a mule, + and three natives. I like to travel light in this way sometimes, it + gives one a sense of greater freedom, of independence. + + To-morrow I continue my journey; until morning comes I shall not + know exactly in which direction I am to travel. All depends upon an + interesting meeting to which I have called the members of a curious + tribe. They may have arranged my journey for me. + +Wrenshaw read through what he had written and mentally condemned it for +a stupid letter, a poor effort. What more was there to say? Plenty he +wanted to say, but what more could he say? He couldn't add that he felt +sleepy now and must go to bed, it would look so silly with that opening +reference to the strong coffee. How should he end it? + +He settled the matter by saying that he would tell her all about his +plans in the morning, and signed himself: "Your sincerest friend, D.W." +He then addressed the envelope. + +Rising, he split a thin stick a few inches down its length, inserted the +envelope, and made it fast with a twist of bark. Then he pressed the +stick into the ground. The letter in its holder resembled a miniature +notice board. If the natives did dispose of him, they wouldn't destroy +the letter. The written message is sacred in Africa: some native would +deliver it to some white man. In due course it would reach her, shortly +after the news of his death, perhaps. If she cared, she would +understand. If she didn't, she would vote it a dull letter. + +Rather ashamed of his weakness, Wrenshaw poured himself out another +large mug of strong black coffee and returned to his lonely vigil. + +His three companions were sound asleep, snoring loudly. Of the three, +the interpreter had most cause for concern, because he should have had +some inkling of the position, but even he slept. The half-caste was a +brainless fellow, albeit a good cook. The gunbearer didn't bother his +head about matters which didn't appear to disturb his master. + +In the far distance a lion was roaring. A large green beetle hurried +past Wrenshaw's feet in the direction of the fire. He picked it up and +threw it far into the darkness; the insect somehow reminded him of +himself. + + +III. + +Just before dawn the gunbearer woke up feeling cold. He crept out of his +blanket and to the fire, which had died down and was nearly out. On +reaching the fire he saw his master sleeping in his chair without other +covering than the clothes he had ridden in throughout the afternoon. The +man quietly got his own blanket and gently spread it over his master's +knees. + +Wrenshaw was wide awake in an instant. His hand shot out to his pistol, +but, recognising his gunbearer, the movement was arrested. He accepted +the attention; to have refused the grimy blanket would have been +ungracious and have hurt the man; besides, he was chilled to the bone. +He told the gunbearer to rake the fire together and throw on some more +wood. There was still some coffee in the pot, and this he heated and +drank. + +Feeling warmer, he got up and paced about to restore his circulation and +get rid off his stiffness. + +So after all he had slept; well, he was glad he had, for now he felt +rested and refreshed. + +He woke the interpreter and told him to feed the horses. The cook got up +and took charge of the fire. + +Looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the +Barushu were also astir. The points of light twinkled at him across the +intervening space. + +The sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. The silence was broken +only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. This, slight as it +was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away; +they began to exchange shrill greetings. + +As it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended +over the swamp. This did not interfere with his view of the high ground +on which the Barushu had camped during the night, but he could +distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and +undergrowth. The light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the +day dawned. + +The gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the +first to notice movement on the other side. + +"The Barushu are coming, Morena." + +"Good, many of them?" + +"Yes, many." + +Wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp. +Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the +twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin +black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of +the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater +part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not +cease. + +Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse +pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent +and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he +had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity +arose; in the meantime they were out of sight. + +Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu +emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the +van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The +natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file. + +By this time it was quite light. + +Wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. They were +an ugly looking lot and quite naked. He presently became aware that +there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course, +contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. Well, that, at any +rate, was a good sign. + +Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time, +obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts +Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his glasses fixed on the +foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He +shifted his glasses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or +stiff in the right leg. + +It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery. + +"Morena." + +"Well?" + +"Why do the Barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?" + +"Why, indeed?" + +So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would +make some of 'em smart for this. + +The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy +on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder +like a miniature notice-board. + +He looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. His +interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. The +gunbearer was quite unperturbed. + +Close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a +hundred yards from where Wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the +Barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. Wrenshaw didn't like +the look of things. Something must be done, and done quickly. He must +make the first move, and lose no time about it. + +"Go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the Barushu that they may +pile their assegais against that tree, and after that they may come +forward and talk to me." + +"Morena, I am afraid." + +"So it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?" + +The interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. He +fiddled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and +again doing them up. His pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes +were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still. + +This would never do. Even if the Barushu meant no mischief, such an +exhibition of fear wasn't good for them. + +"Pick up that log," said Wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood +collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms." + +The frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby. + +Wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "You go and tell them to stack their +assegais and come forward to talk. Don't go too near them, shout from +halfway. I have my rifle ready." + +If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get +in a few shots before the end came. + +The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A +single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save +for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account. +Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could +two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come +forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do. + +Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice +that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the +third time, although he shouted lustily, for the Barushu broke into +peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has +found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as +we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going +to say to us. But it would have been very funny." + +Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between +his toes placed it against the dead tree. + +At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the +imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in +advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in +greeting to the chief official of the District. + +So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal +inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered. + +"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to +you." + +Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down. + +"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you +had warning of it?" + +"I have." + +"All the people are paying the tax willingly and well." + +Nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of +indifference. + +Wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the butt of his rifle and resumed. + +"There are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace, +and the other to trouble, war." + +Nanzela blinked. He had not been able to see the white man's rifle from +where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before +Wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. His arms and those +of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out +of reach. The white man's hand was on his rifle. All white men were good +shots, and Wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. If he +chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. It would not +be wise to run risks. + +"It is only a foolish man who seeks trouble." + +"Exactly," said Wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and +in full. I see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your +tax." And again his hand caressed the butt of his rifle. + +Nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money. + +Turning to the interpreter Wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which +he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the +pack-saddle. + +Nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse. + +The official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in +exchange for the money. Then, raising his voice, he said: "Every man who +has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see +that he has paid willingly and in full." + +The gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and +offered it to Nanzela. The Chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and +bound the top with a shred of bark. + +How simple it all was! Now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and +received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped +into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark. Their Chief had +paid, they naturally followed his example. + +Wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into +the pack-saddle at the last moment. The book held one hundred forms, and +these he had now used. + +Some of the men had no money with them, which was not to be wondered at, +since they had come out looking for trouble and certainly with no +intention of paying tax. He seized upon this as an excuse for collecting +no more tax that day, and informed Nanzela that he would accompany him +and his people back to the village and encamp there, so that each man +might bring his money from his hut. He made no reference to the night +spent on the high land near the river. + +The animals were saddled up and the interpreter sent back on his pony +with a note calling upon the Native Commissioners to follow to Nanzela's +village with all possible speed, bringing their census books, tax +receipt forms, and the rest of their travelling office. + +A strange procession now formed. First walked the Chief with his +assegai--recovered from the tree--in one hand and the tax-paper in the +other. Then a body-guard of fully-armed men, some with and some without +tax-papers. In the midst of these rode Wrenshaw, with his rifle gripped +between his saddle and his thigh. Then followed the gunbearer leading +the mule; the cook slouched along behind. + +The rear was brought up by the remainder of Nanzela's men, a few of whom +had tax-papers, which they carried well in the air, much to the envy of +those who had not yet paid. The little papers in the sticks appealed to +the child-like fancy of these savages; taxpaying had become a game, a +receipt in a stick, a toy. + +To say that Wrenshaw was much relieved is not to overstate the case. As +he looked round him upon this mob of armed men eager to pay their tax +and receive in exchange a piece of coloured paper, he realised better +than anyone else could how tight a corner he had been in. + +His thoughts were disturbed by a commotion as the ranks parted and a man +ran up to him with a letter in a stick; as the native held it up it +resembled a miniature notice-board. + +Good heavens! It was his letter home; in the excitement of starting he +had forgotten it. The man who brought it was one of Nanzela's people who +had gone back to pick up anything which the white man or his servants +might have left behind. He hoped, no doubt, to find a stray cartridge or +two in the grass, or perhaps a spoon or a table knife. + +Wrenshaw did not remove the letter from the stick, but carried it as the +natives did their tax-papers. The simple people became impatient to pay +their tax; was not the white man also playing this new game? + + * * * * * + +The letter home was never sent. In place of it Wrenshaw despatched a +brief account of his adventure, told in a very matter-of-fact way. + + * * * * * + +Over the mantelpiece of his den hangs a frame; in place of a picture it +contains a letter in a stick which, at a short distance, looks like a +miniature notice-board. + + + + +THE DOCTOR. + + +Those who go in search of trouble usually find it. They deserve no +sympathy and seldom get any. + +The well-meaning man frequently meets with trouble too, although it is +the one thing he doesn't want. When he is in difficulties, people pity +him; they give him that pity which is akin to contempt, not to love. + +But Harry Warner was lucky. He most certainly went in search of trouble; +he also meant well. His reward was unusual and quite out of proportion +to the little good he did. He achieved immortal, if only local, fame. + +It was the natives who dubbed him "doctor." He wasn't one, he had no +medical qualifications and little knowledge of medicine. + +But what do black people know or care about qualifications? Wasn't +Warner always accessible? Did he not give medicine to all who asked for +it, no matter what the disease might be? Did not some of those to whom +he gave medicine recover? Had he ever asked anyone for payment? + +What a doctor! + +So the natives declared, and do still declare, that there never has +been, never will be, never could be so great a doctor in their country +as he. + +Now if Warner possessed no medical knowledge, he had the "goods." The +goods consisted of a miscellaneous collection of superfluous drugs, +plasters and pills, all a little stale, packed in an old whisky case and +presented to him by a hospital orderly of his acquaintance. + +Warner watched the packing and asked questions. + +"Iodine, what's that for?" + +"Oh, sore throat, water on the knee, to stop vomiting, for fixing a +gumboil, chilblains, and a host of other things. It's made from +seaweed." + +"Do you drink it?" + +"Not in every case, not with housemaid's knee or sore throat, anyway. +You paint it in the throat or on the knee. Here, we'd better put you in +a camel's hairbrush." + +"Good. And what's nitrate of potash for?" + +"Well, if you have an inflamed eye, put a spot or two in this eye-cup, +fill it up with water and blink into it--like this." + +"Thanks. And what do you use chlorodyne for?" + +"Bad pains in the stomach." + +"I see. And quinine is good for fever, of course." + +"Yes, that's right. Cover a sixpence with the powder, mix it with a +little whisky, add a little water, and toss it off." + +"And corrosive sublimate?" + +"Oh, that's good stuff for washing wounds with, jolly good. Don't make +it too strong or you'll burn the bottom out of the pot you mix it in, +not to mention the wounded part. About one in ten thousand makes a +useful solution if the water you use isn't too dirty." + +"I understand. And what is in this funny little box marked 'Sovereign +Remedy'?" + +"Dash it all! That box belongs to my set of conjuring tricks. Can't +think how it's got mixed up with this lot. But you may as well take it +along; you might want to surprise the natives and you'll certainly do it +with that." + +"How do you use it?" + +"It's all on the box, full directions." + +"And what's in all these pill boxes? Pills?" + +"Yes, pills." + +"But what are they all for?" + +"Bless the man! I haven't time to wade through the lot. Besides, you +must know in a general way what pills are for. All the boxes have the +dose on them. Now let's get a move on. Give a hand with the packing. I'm +on duty in half an hour." + + * * * * * + +And now we know just as much about doctoring as Warner did on the +threshhold of his short medical career. Even a real doctor has much to +learn before he reaches Harley Street; he picks up many wrinkles on the +way and much improves with practice. + + +THE SOVEREIGN REMEDY. + +Warner had travelled many miles from civilisation before his first +patient came to him. The precious box of medicines had all along been +kept handy on the waggon. From time to time he got it down, unpacked it, +examined the labels, shook the bottles, and carefully repacked them. +But, like a real doctor, he did not advertise. It isn't done. + +Somehow it did get about at last that he had a box of medicines. How, it +doesn't really matter. The fact remains that a native came to the waggon +one morning with a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, +another round his chest, and a third round his belly. + +Warner, recognising a case, asked the native what the matter was. + +The boy replied: "I have much pain here and here and here," touching the +bands of bark in downward succession. + +Warner, pleased at getting a patient at last, took the box of medicines +from the waggon, opened it, took out the bottles one by one, and +examined the labels with the eye of a master. + +"Iodine? No, that's for housemaid's knee, gumboils and that sort of +thing. Corrosive sublimate? Wounds. Nitrate of potash? No, eyes. Why not +a pill? Yes, a pill." + +But there were boxes and boxes of them. He picked up one after the +other, but met with a check. Each box had on its label the name of its +pill contents, followed by the words: "From one to three as ordered by +the physician." In some cases: "From two to six." There was nothing +about the complaint for which the pill might be used. + +Just a little difficult. Doctoring was not such an easy job after all. + +"What's this?" + +The gaudy label on a small box read: + + Sovereign Remedy. Trick No. 10. + + Never known to fail. Surprising in its effects. + + _Directions:_--Borrow a sovereign. Request the lender to take a + seat. Ask him how he feels. Tell him he is looking off-colour. + Suggest headache. Say you will brighten him up, that you will make + his head glow pleasantly, etc. Palm the sovereign in your left + hand. Empty contents of box into your right. Rub the powder well + into gent's head, which will become golden (metallic). Then proceed + as in Trick No. 6. + +The directions seemed clear enough. + +"Sit down," said Warner. + +The native obeyed, squatting on the ground and spreading his loin cloth +over his knees like an apron. + +"I am going to take away your pains." + +"Thank you, sir." + +It suddenly occurred to Warner that, though the native might have a +shilling, he certainly would not possess a sovereign, so he took one +from his own pocket, wishing he had thought of this before. + +"You see this?" said Warner, holding up the coin. + +"Yes sir, much money." + +Now Warner didn't know how to palm a coin. He had seen it done, of +course, but had never yet tried to palm or to do anything else in the +nature of a conjuring trick. To guard against possible accident, he +turned his back upon the boy and very cautiously opened the box. + +It was full of some bright yellow metallic powder. He read the +directions again and wondered what Trick No. 6 might be. He wished he +had risked a pill. + +However, he had not the courage to go back now. The native might suspect +his ignorance if he selected another box. It was hardly playing the game +perhaps to trick a poor confiding black, but Warner consoled himself +with the thought that it is said of even real doctors that when in doubt +they sometimes give their patients bread pills. + +So, emptying the contents of the box into his right hand, he turned +again and began to rub the golden powder into the native's woolly head. +The sovereign he held in his left hand. + +The more he rubbed, the brighter grew his patient's head. It +scintillated. + +The trick pleased Warner, who soon forgot his misgivings; he forgot the +sovereign too, and rubbed the powder in with both hands. + +The coin fell into the patient's lap. Warner was busy and didn't notice +the accident at once, but the native did. He picked up the money and +quietly slipped it into the rawhide pouch attached to his belt. + +At length Warner stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. The boy's head +shone like a brass knob. He glanced at his own hands. They looked as if +they had been gilded. Both hands! Where the devil had that sovereign +gone to? + +He looked on the ground. He felt in all his pockets. He looked at the +boy, who said nothing. He therefore dismissed the patient without +mentioning his loss. + +Whilst washing the greasy gold stuff off his hands, Warner was conscious +of a hum of excitement rising from the spot where his natives had made +their midday shelter. Trick No. 10 was evidently a success. The hospital +orderly was right; he had surprised the natives. + +That night all his boys, and a score of strange natives besides, came to +Warner complaining of pains. Each one had a strip of bark tied tightly +round his forehead, a second round his chest, and a third round his +stomach. They lingered as if dissatisfied when he gave pills to +each--one or more as ordered by the physician--taken at random from his +many little pill boxes. + + +IODINE. + +Warner was sitting under a tree on the south bank of the Zambesi, +watching the local natives floating his waggon across the stream. He +was wondering how long, at the present rate of progression, it would +take to get the whole of his stuff across. Two days, three, perhaps +more. + +"Sir, my felicitations upon the indefectibility of the climatology." + +The startled Warner looked round and saw a black man very stout and +short, in European clothes and perspiring freely. He carried his large +elastic-sided boots in his hand and a black alpaca coat over his arm. + +As Warner turned towards him, this strange creature politely lifted his +ridiculously small sun helmet. It could not be said that he bowed to the +white man, but the braces which he wore over his waistcoat sagged +slightly in front and became taut behind, whilst the crease which +represented the highest contour of his stomach deepened a little. Warner +gaped stupidly at the man. He made mental note of the large gold +spectacles astride the fat, flat nose; the collar, once white and +starched, now grubby and collapsed; the heavy brass watchchain stretched +tightly across the ample space between pocket and pocket; the badly +creased loud check trousers, and the dirty white socks; the large green +umbrella which, held to shield the back, framed face and form. + +Warner forgot the man's ridiculous speech in his more ridiculous +appearance. + +"As I ventured to remark, sir, although the orb of day smiles down with +radiance from the firmament, the temperamental calidity is not +unendurable." + +"Yes," said Warner vaguely, "but who are you?" + +"Sir, if you will pardon the expression I may say I am a kind of a +wandering refugee hailing from Jamaica with a mission to carry the +apprehensions of civilisation to the unspeakably incomprehending +aboriginal inhabitants of this beatific equatorial region who are +doubtless immersed in the chaotic complexity of irreligious heathenism +and incondite boorishness." + +Warner eyed the speaker with astonishment, feeling tired, somehow, and +out of breath. + +The black man saw, with obvious pleasure, the effect which his speeches +had produced. + +He had spoken fluently, continuously, without pause or effort. Without +expression or inflexion the long unbroken flow of chosen words had +rumbled off his tongue. + +He cleared his throat as if about to speak again, but Warner hastily +interposed. + +"What is your name?" + +"Joseph Johnson, sir." + +"You are obviously a man of some education." + +"Sir, if I may presume to express an opinion upon Your Honour's +personality I would hazard the conclusion that Your Excellency is a +gentleman of kindly but penetrating discernment for I received my +education at the hands of the Reverend Westinghouse Wilberforce of +Kingston Jamaica alas now dead of whom as the classical writer has it +_de mort nil ni bum_ I repeat sir _de mort nil ni bum_." + +Warner abruptly turned his back, snatched out his handkerchief, and held +it tightly to his nose. + +Joseph Johnson, mistaking for emotion the queer little sounds which +Warner did not entirely succeed in smothering with his handkerchief, +sniffed and blinked his small eyes sympathetically, murmuring +"_de-mort-nil-ni-bum_." + +When Warner had regained his self-control he asked the black man what he +wanted. + +"Sir, I am credibly informed that you are a distinguished member of a +profession which has my humble but unqualified admiration and regard for +what can be nobler than the unselfish alleviation in others of the ills +to which this weak flesh of ours is heir need I say the medical +profession?" + +"What then?" + +"I suffer your honour from a slight but painful derangement of the vocal +chords which hinders my fluency of enunciation and so disturbs my mental +process as to detract from the strength of my disputations and +dissertations." + +"You mean you have a sore throat?" + +"Sir, you grasp my meaning." + +"You want some medicine for it?" + +"Sir, if I might so far encroach upon your generosity...." + +Warner rose hastily and walked to his goods piled up on the bank +awaiting transportation, leaving Johnson to rumble on and on. + +Here, then, was another patient. He must be careful. The man might know +something and question his treatment. That would be most awkward. + +"Corrosive sublimate? Wounds, the orderly had said, and had warned him +about burning out the bottom of the pot used when mixing the stuff. +Better look through the rest before deciding. + +"Pills? Might do the objectionable fellow some general good. + +"Iodine? Yes, that's the stuff for him. Iodine for housemaid's knee or +sore throat. Well, the man said he had a sore throat and he should know, +so iodine let it be. Where's the brush?" + +Warner opened the bottle. The cork was a little soft and inclined to +crumble. He dipped the tip of the large camel's hair brush into the +dark brown liquid and called Joseph Johnson to him. + +"I am going to paint your throat. It also wants a thorough rest, so you +must not talk more than is absolutely necessary." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Now open." + +The black man's mouth was immense. Warner had never seen such a cavern, +nor, for that matter, had he ever seen such a perfect, strong, clean set +of teeth. He gave little dabs here and there, this side and that, and +then withdrew the brush. + +"That's enough for this morning. Come again at sunset, and remember, +don't talk." + +This admonition he repeated in self-defence. He rather dreaded the man's +brook of words. + +His patient bent forward slightly, put on his sun helmet and walked +away, his eyes watering a little. + +The man was most obedient. Punctually at sunset he again appeared. He +smiled pleasantly at Warner, but did not announce himself with any +long-winded speech. + +Warner looked at the throat and remarked that he thought it was better, +that one or two applications would set it right. He then painted as +before. + +This time Johnson coughed and large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. + +Then it occurred to Warner that he himself, when a child, had had his +throat painted, more than once. He recollected that the operation was +not a pleasant one. He had coughed a great deal, and his eyes had +watered very much. Clearly he was underdoing it. No matter, he would put +that right to-morrow. + +Warner was pleasantly surprised when, in the morning, the local natives +came to tell him that they were about to cross the river with the last +of his goods, after which they would take him if he was ready to go. He +had expected the job to take at least another day. + +He kept back the bottle of iodine and the camel's hair brush, and sat +down on a camp stool to wait for Johnson. + +In about a quarter of an hour the patient arrived. + +"How are you this morning?" asked Warner pleasantly. + +"Much better, I thank you, sir." + +"Let's have a look. Capital, capital. Now don't move, I'll just touch it +up." + +Warner, remembering his overnight decision, plunged the brush deeply +into the bottle and withdrew it fully charged and dripping. + +He began to dab the throat here and there as before. A gurgling sound +came from Joseph Johnson's mouth. Warner recognised the warning. He knew +his time was distinctly limited. He felt that, if he did not hurry, much +of the enormous cavern would remain unpainted. With a rapid movement, +like one stirring porridge to save it from burning, he finished the job +and stepped back. + +Joseph Johnson seemed to explode. Tears forced their way through his +tightly closed eyelids. A roar boomed from the painted throat. The +patient's condition quite alarmed the doctor. Surely the fool wasn't +going to die? + +Looking round for inspiration, Warner saw that the native canoe had +returned to ferry him across the river. He didn't actually run away, but +quickly corking his bottle of iodine he walked briskly to the river +bank, entered the canoe and told the crew to paddle to the other side. + +He heaved a sigh of relief when he stepped ashore. He looked back, but +could see no sign of Joseph Johnson. + + * * * * * + +Some weeks later his troubled conscience was set at rest by the +following letter: + + "Bulawayo, + "21/4/19. + + "Honoured Sir, + + "The enablement was not vouchsafed to me to indicate to Your + Excellency the prodigious potentiality of the prophylactic applied + with such consummate and conscientious technicality to my + unostentatious tenement of clay. For full three weeks the + taciturnity prescribed was obediently observed without difficulty + or mutinousness of feeling. After which, rising from the slough of + my despond, I found my multiloquence had returned fourfold, my + linguacious allocution and discursive conversationalism prominently + augmented. I then felt that my mission was not to the unenlightened + ignoramusses of this neighbourhood but to the encyclopedical + omnicients of the south. I have therefore returned to Bulawayo. Now + here...." + +As there were four closely written pages of this kind of thing, Warner +turned to the last of them, which ended: + + "Sir, I have the honour to be + + "Your Honourable Excellency's most grateful, most humble, most + obedient and unforgetful servant, + + "JOSEPH JOHNSON." + + +CORROSIVE SUBLIMATE. + +Late one afternoon some natives carried an old man, wrapped in a +blanket, into Warner's camp and laid him down on the ground before the +tent. Warner came out. + +"What is this?" he asked. + +"A dead man, killed by a leopard." + +"Why do you bring the dead man to me?" + +"He said he wanted to come and told us he would curse us if we did not +bring him. We did not wish to trouble the Doctor with a dead man, but a +'dead man's curse' is a fearful thing." + +Warned stooped and looked under the blanket. The man wasn't dead, he +opened his eyes. + +Although far from dead, the native had been very badly mauled and had +lost a great quantity of blood. Tyro though he was, Warner could see +that his condition was serious. Stepping back into the tent, he poured +out half a tumbler of neat whisky and, lifting the man's head, made him +drain the glass. The effect upon the patient was immediate; he sat up +and began to talk rapidly, describing the accident. + +"We were hunting, these dogs, those others, and I. We came upon a +leopard in the grass. One, who is not here, thrust an assegai through +her. She bit him in the arm and he ran away. Another, and neither is he +here, struck the leopard with his axe. She jumped on him and bit him in +the neck. He ran away crying out that she had killed him. + +"A third, who did not return with us, broke her back with a club, but +she tore his thigh with her teeth. Then I went to her and pierced her +belly with my assegai. But she bit me in the arm and shoulder and clawed +me down the back. She also broke my assegai with her teeth so that it +was useless. + +"Then, having nothing with which to kill her, I held her by the ears +with my two hands, calling to these slaves to come and finish her, for I +could see by her face that she was dying. But they were afraid and ran +away like women. And the leopard shook her head and my hands slipped +because of the blood which had run down my arm from my shoulder. And +when my hands came together, she took them in her mouth and crushed +them both. Then she died." + +The man's hands were swollen and shapeless. He had a large gash and a +deep puncture in his shoulder, and his back was very badly scored. + +After staring for a while at their companion, the natives who brought +him slipped quietly away, hastened in their departure, no doubt, by his +reference to the sorry part which they had played in the affair. + +Warner was greatly pleased. He looked upon the coming of this wounded +man as a stroke of good fortune. Here at last was a straightforward +case, all clear and above board. And he knew exactly what to do. +Corrosive sublimate, one in ten thousand, wash the blood off, keep the +wounds clean, make the man comfortable. + +He shouted for his kitchen boys and ordered warm water in large +quantities. He had not seen them go, so called the wounded man's +companions to build a shelter of grass and branches for him. When he +realised that they had gone, he set to work on the shelter himself. + +For weeks Warner laboured on those wounds. The man improved slowly. As +he grew better he spoke of payment. Warner told him not to bother about +it, but he persisted. + +"Have you not given me back my life?" + +"What of it?" + +"Are not those others dead?" + +Now, this was true. The other wounded men who went to their homes all +died of blood-poisoning, and Warner's reputation grew in consequence. + +But no matter what arguments and persuasions were used, Warner would not +hear of payment in any shape or form. + +The man was obstinate. + +"If I receive a gift from a man, must I not give one in return? Am I to +be shamed? Is it not the custom that a gift shall be received with a +gift? And gifts must be equal. What, then, shall I give to the Great +Doctor? What have I, a very poor man, of value equal to the life which +the Doctor has given back to me? I have no cattle and no sheep. I have a +few goats, very few, and I have some wild cats' skins. But what are +these to a life?" + +Twice daily did Warner wash and dress the man's wounds. Each time the +man spoke of a gift for a gift. He seemed to feel his honour was at +stake. + +At length the day came when Warner thought he could safely send his +patient away. The man's final protestations of gratitude and his +entreaties to be permitted to make some payment caused Warner much +embarrassment. He firmly declined to accept the merest trifle in return +for all his time and trouble. He would not be robbed of the feeling that +at length he had done some genuine good for good's sake. + +Of course he could explain nothing of this to the old native. + +The man was much troubled. He went away at length saying he would bring +next day the gift which he knew now the Doctor wanted. Warner repeated +that he wanted nothing and would take nothing. + +Next morning, when Warner got up and came out of his tent, he found the +old man waiting for him. He was not alone. By his side sat a little +girl, the old man's daughter. + +Warner remembered having seen her several times before during her +father's long illness. From time to time she had come with her mother to +inquire how the old man progressed and to bring him some horrid-looking +native delicacy. + +"Here she is," said the late patient. "Here is my child. She is my only +one. You ask for her and I give her to you. A life for a life, which is +just." + +Warner protested indignantly that he had not asked for the girl, that he +did not want her or anything else. + +"See, she is strong," persisted the old man. "She is strong to carry +water, to grind grain. She is worth three cows, five goats and ten +hoes." + +Warner became quite angry. + +The old man was incredulous and distressed. He had somehow concluded +that Warner had really set his heart upon possessing his daughter, his +plain, fat little daughter and nothing else, but that, native-like, he +had not said so. + +In the end Warner accepted, in self-defence, a mangy, evil-smelling +cat's skin. + + +CHLORODYNE. + +A day or two after Warner had become the unwilling possessor of the +mangy skin, which, by the way, he promptly buried as soon as its donor's +back was turned, he set out on a three days' journey from his camp to +visit a white trader with whom from time to time he transacted business +of some kind. He went on foot, accompanied only by a few natives, one of +whom carried the box of medicines. + +While he was resting during the midday heat, the Headman of the +neighbouring village approached him with many signs of deference. + +"Good day to you, Great Doctor." + +"Good day to you," Warner replied. + +"Are you indeed the Great Doctor?" + +Warner was bold enough to say he was. + +"Will the Great Doctor help me with medicines? My wife, who is very old, +suffers from a great sickness. Her arms are now no thicker than a stick. +Pain is with her always. She never sleeps. All day long and all the +night she lies and moans. She no longer cries out. Will not the Great +Doctor kill this sickness? I have told her of you." + +Warner rose abruptly. He felt a lump rising in his throat. He wished he +were a doctor instead of merely the owner of a box of drugs and all but +ignorant of the uses to which they should be put. + +"Where is your wife?" he asked gruffly. + +"The Great Doctor will come!" exclaimed the delighted old native, +leading the way towards his village. + +Warner could distinguish little or nothing when he found himself inside +the Headman's hut. Coming in directly from the outside glare made it +difficult to see. The native pointed to a form propped up against the +pole which supported the roof of the hut. + +Warner looked; suddenly he saw all there was to see, and gasped as a +faint moan of pain reached his ears. A thin old woman lay there with +closed eyes, so thin that Warner marvelled that she could be alive. Her +arms and legs, too, for that matter were indeed, as the Headman had +said, as thin as sticks. Her distended ribs showed plainly even in the +dim light. She had neither hair nor flesh on her skull, merely wrinkled, +dull brown skin adhering closely to the bone. Her neck was no thicker +than one's wrist. Her stomach was enormous. + +Warner looked down upon this poor, emaciated creature with horror. + +She moaned again. + +Her husband said: "See, woman, here is the Great Doctor of whom all men +speak. He has turned aside from his journeying to make you well with +medicines. Does he not make all men well? Do not the people say so? Soon +you will be well and will laugh again. Soon you will sit in the sun or +go to the fields. Do you hear, woman? The Great Doctor has come." + +Warner cursed under his breath. He never expected this sort of thing +when he lightheartedly accepted from the hospital orderly the box of +medicines with a conjuring trick thrown in. The thought of that +conjuring trick was nauseating in the presence of this pain. + +Save for the rapid heaving of her bony chest to laboured breathing, the +woman had made no move since he entered the hut. Now, however, Warner +saw the drooping eyelids flicker. A fear seized him that the poor +creature would look up. He couldn't stand that. He couldn't meet her +eyes. He hurried away, saying he would bring some medicine. + +He reached his resting place and opened his box. Right on the top lay +the bottle of chlorodyne. He repeated to himself: "Chlorodyne, good for +pains in the stomach! Chlorodyne, good for pains in the stomach!" + +Warner returned to the hut but wouldn't go in. He pushed the bottle into +the old man's hand saying, parrot-like: "Good for pains in the stomach, +give her some water with it." + +Then he went back to his halt again, called to his boys to pack up and +follow him, anxious only to put distance between himself and all that +pain and suffering. + +Ten days later Warner passed by that village again on his return +journey. He could have followed another route, but a strong desire to +ask about the woman drew him to the village. He must know about the +woman. He had casually asked the trader with whom he had transacted his +business how much chlorodyne one usually takes at a dose. The reply: +"Oh, about fifteen drops or from ten to twenty, according to your size," +nearly made his heart stand still. And he, the Great Doctor, had given +the old native a full bottle of the stuff! True, he had not told him how +much to take, but Warner found scant consolation in this thought. + +As he and his carriers neared the village, he heard a great commotion, +men shouting to each other and women making that shrill quavering noise +familiar to all travellers in Africa. He thought he could distinguish +the word "doctor." He was certain of it now. "The Great Doctor is +coming. He who saves the people! The white man with the medicines! The +Doctor! The Doctor!" + +The natives broke through from the bush on every hand. They surrounded +the little party. The carriers were quickly relieved of their loads. +There was no mistaking the nature of the demonstration; it was one of +goodwill, not of hate. + +The old Headman hobbled up, praising Warner lustily. + +What could it all mean? + +At length Warner asked the question point blank: "How is your wife?" + +"Oh, she is dead," replied the old man. "She died with a smile upon her +face. I gave her half a cup full of your medicine filled up with water. +She was silent for a long while. Then she said: 'I have now no pain.' +And then: 'Give me more.' She smiled when I gave her another cup of +your good medicine. And then she slept. And I knew she had no pain +because she smiled. And as she slept she died. And when we buried her +the smile was on her face. You are a Great Doctor and your medicine is +very good. Good Fortune has come to the people that you are here. Can a +man smile who is in pain? Does not a smile mean pleasure? Ah, but that +is a good medicine." + +"Give me back that bottle," said Warner, and his voice sounded strangely +weak. + +"Yes, Great Doctor, it is indeed a precious medicine." + + +NITRATE OF POTASH. + +The memory of that old woman haunted Warner. He argued continuously with +himself. Yes, he had certainly killed her. There was no doubt about it. +On the other hand, she would have died in any case. If he had not come +upon the scene, she might have lingered on for a few more weary weeks, +never free from pain. Still, if he had overdosed her intentionally to +end her pain, it would surely have been murder. At best it was a +criminal blunder. But then he meant well. So, too, do other fools. +Common sense told him he had no cause to worry, nothing to regret, it +was merely a fortunate accident. Conscience viewed the matter seriously +and with harshness. + +Warner was still engaged in this mental struggle when a stranger, a +white man, walked briskly up to his tent. + +"Is anyone at home?" + +"Yes, come in." + +"Have you any nitrate of potash, doctor?" + +Warner had become so used to the term "doctor" that he did not at once +notice the significance of the word when spoken by a white man. So he +merely answered: "Yes, I think so. What do you want it for?" + +"I, too, am a doctor." + +"A doctor?" + +"Yes, a medical missionary, your new neighbour on the other side of the +hill." + +"Sit down a minute, I'll get the stuff." + +Warner went to his box and, opening it, surveyed his wretched stock of +stale drugs. So here was a real doctor! Thank Providence for that! He +passed in review his many cases, only a few of which are set down here. +He knew he had done his best, but he blamed himself for ever having aped +the doctor. + +"Is there anything you want besides nitrate of potash?" + +"No, thanks. I've got everything else I'm likely to require." + +Warner brought the bottle. "Here you are." + +"Thanks. I only want a little." + +"Take the lot." + +"But you'll want it sooner or later." + +"No." + +"Of course you will." + +"No." + +"Then you have some more?" + +"No." + +"Then of course you'll want it." + +"No, I'm not a doctor and I don't know how to use it. I don't really +know the use of any drug. I've probably killed off dozens of people in +my efforts to assist. I'm so glad you've come to live here." + +When Warner sent applicants for medical relief to his new friend on the +other side of the hill, they went, of course, but not too willingly. The +newcomer did much good, but it was Warner who got the credit for it all. +The natives invariably consulted Warner before going to the Missionary, +and returned again to thank him after they had been treated. They +persisted in the belief that the Missionary doctor was their Doctor's +man. + +Warner is still spoken of as "The Doctor"; all others who came later are +referred to as "Medical Men." + + +THE END. + + +Printed by THE FIELD PRESS LTD., Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4 + + * * * * * + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE + +Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Spelling has not been +standardized (e.g. wagon/waggon) or corrected (beginnng). Close quotes +have not been added at the end of paragraphs followed by more dialogue. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian +Studies, by Frank Worthington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + +***** This file should be named 34946-8.txt or 34946-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/9/4/34946/ + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies + +Author: Frank Worthington + +Release Date: January 13, 2011 [EBook #34946] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + + + + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="transnote"> +<h3>Transcriber’s note</h3> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Spelling has not been standardized +(e.g. wagon/waggon) or corrected (beginnng). Close quotes have not been +added at the end of paragraphs followed by more dialogue. +The title on the cover of the book begins with "Chiromo" unlike on the title page.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 320px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="320" height="530" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h1>THE WITCH DOCTOR AND<br /> +OTHER RHODESIAN STUDIES.</h1> + + + + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>FRANK WORTHINGTON, C.B.E.<br /> +<small>(<i>Lately Secretary for Native Affairs, Northern Rhodesia</i>).</small></h2> + +<h4><span class="smcap">London</span>:<br /> +<small>THE FIELD PRESS LTD.,</small><br /> +<small>Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4</small></h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h3>To<br /> +MY WIFE.</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><a href="#THE_MIND_OF_THE_NATIVE">THE MIND OF THE NATIVE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Witch Doctor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Riddle of Life and Death</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Flattery</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Lizizi</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mironda—a Woman</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><a href="#MAN_AND_BEAST">MAN AND BEAST.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Protective Colouring</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Darwin—a Bird</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Lion's Skin</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Reverend Mr. Bumpus</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Salvation Army Captain</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Sport of Kings</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Lions of Makululumi</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><a href="#WHITE_MEN_AND_BLACK">WHITE MEN AND BLACK</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>White Men at Play</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On the Building of Bridges</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Compleat Angler</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Song of the Great Occasion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Descent of Man</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Railway Contractor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Licensed Victualler</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Johnnie-come-Lately</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Lost Rubies</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Cattle King</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Partners</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Letter Home</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Doctor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="THE_MIND_OF_THE_NATIVE" id="THE_MIND_OF_THE_NATIVE"></a>THE MIND OF THE NATIVE.</h1> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WITCH DOCTOR.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>The Native Commissioner's Court had, with a very brief interval for +luncheon, sat throughout the day. The weather was very hot and thundery, +for the breaking of the rains was imminent. A number of cases had been +disposed of, and the last was now drawing to a close. Having listened to +the arguments of both sides, the Commissioner summed up, gave judgment, +and dismissed the litigants, whereupon the native clerk began to collect +the papers and put things away.</p> + +<p>The official lighted a cigarette, put on his hat, and walked towards the +door. He was met by his head messenger.</p> + +<p>"Another case, Morena,"<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> said the messenger, pointing to a middle-aged +native squatting in the courtyard softly clapping his hands. The +hard-worked white man paused; he had thoughts of tea awaiting him in his +bungalow a hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>"Tell the man to come to-morrow," he said, and walked off in the +direction of his house.</p> + +<p>The head messenger turned to the man sitting in the yard and said: "The +Morena won't hear you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> to-day; you must sleep in the compound for +to-night; to-morrow he will listen."</p> + +<p>"But my case is a big one," replied the stranger. "The father of his +people will surely hear my case."</p> + +<p>The messenger pointed to the compound: "All cases are heavy in the hands +of those who bring them; the compound is there."</p> + +<p>The man was evidently distressed. Raising his voice in the hope that the +Commissioner would hear him, he shouted shrilly: "Ma-we! Ma-we! But mine +is a big case, it is one of killing—of killing of people; the father of +his people must hear me. Oh! Morena, I have a case, a big case, a case +of killing."</p> + +<p>But the Native Commissioner had reached his house and was out of sight, +the native clerk had locked the office door and, heedless of the man's +wailing, walked away. If he thought at all, it was that sufficient unto +the day is the evil thereof; evil meaning work to him.</p> + +<p>"Come, father," said the head messenger, "I go now to the compound, and +you with me; to-morrow the Morena will hear your case before any other. +I, Mokorongo, will see to it."</p> + +<p>But the man was not to be consoled. "No," said he, "my case is a big +one, of people killed by witchcraft; I, too, will die to-night. Take me +to the Morena, my father; do not refuse and so kill me."</p> + +<p>The messenger felt uncomfortable. For some reason, best known to +himself, his master disapproved of the killing of people, and also set +his face against witchcraft. No witch doctor could practise for long in +his district, for was not his medicine stronger than that of any witch +doctor? Did not the doctors know it, and had they not all moved to a +safer place? Who, then, could have done this killing by witchcraft? +Yes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> it was a big case, and he would take the man to his master; but he +must break in upon the great man's rest with care, or there would be +trouble.</p> + +<p>Telling the stranger to come with him, he strode towards the house, +pulling down his uniform in front and behind and settling his fez +smartly on his head—evidence of some nervousness. Arriving at the door, +he peered in. The hall was cool and dark, and, coming from the glare, +for a moment he could see nothing; the next, he was aware of the +Commissioner's eye upon him, and started violently at his master's sharp +"Well, Mokorongo, what is it?"</p> + +<p>He began well: "Morena, here is a man who has killed another, and wants +to tell of the matter before the sun sets, when he, too, will die."</p> + +<p>"Let the man come to the door."</p> + +<p>For Mokorongo the worst was over. He had with impunity disturbed the +great man; the rest would be easy. He fitly marshalled the stranger to +the mat just inside the hall door, drew himself up to his full height, +and stood by to obey immediately such orders as his master might be +pleased to give.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner, who was a good linguist, addressed the seated man +direct:</p> + +<p>"So you have killed a man?"</p> + +<p>"No, Morena."</p> + +<p>"And you will yourself die to-night?"</p> + +<p>"No, Morena."</p> + +<p>Mokorongo's uneasiness returned; he shifted slightly and gazed at the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Tell me your story."</p> + +<p>"Morena, my case is a big one; it is of killing—the killing of people, +of my son—by witchcraft. Yesterday at sunset he died, and I, too, shall +die to-night unless the Morena, father of his people, makes a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> stronger +medicine, stronger than that of the witch doctor——" Here the wretched +fellow paused.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him; it was +evident that the native dared not mention the witch doctor's name. +Presently he rose, took from a side-table a decanter, poured himself out +some whisky, and added soda from a sparklet bottle. Returning to his +seat, he drank deeply of the bubbling liquid.</p> + +<p>The native was much impressed. Boiling water alone, so far as he knew, +bubbled like that; he knew of the ordeal by boiling water, and had, no +doubt, seen more than once the test applied. But this white man drank +the boiling mixture with evident pleasure. Here, then, was the chief of +all witch doctors.</p> + +<p>He finished his sentence: "—Chiromo."</p> + +<p>"Where does he live?"</p> + +<p>He explained in detail.</p> + +<p>"Of what do you accuse Chiromo?"</p> + +<p>"Of killing my son by witchcraft."</p> + +<p>"Go on with your story."</p> + +<p>"I have some goats. My son herded them by day and put them in the +village at night. My son had a black-and-white dog which followed him to +the lands each day. Two days ago the dog stole a skin from Chiromo's +bed. Chiromo saw the dog eating the skin, and killed him with his axe. +Chiromo is an angry man: he was angry with my son because his dog had +eaten his skin. He knew the dog was my son's dog. He went to my son and +said: 'I have killed your dog because your dog has eaten my skin.'</p> + +<p>"My son was very much afraid and said: 'Yes, sir.'</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's leg just above the knee, like this, +and said: 'Do you feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo said: 'You will to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's other knee and said: 'Do you feel +pain here?' My son said 'No.'</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's arm at the elbow and said: 'Do you +feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.'</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo touched his other arm and asked my son if he felt pain +there. My son said he did not. He also touched him on the back of the +neck, asking him if he felt any pain there. My son said he felt no pain.</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo said: 'In your two legs and your two arms and in your neck +you will feel much pain to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"Then Chiromo went back to his own hut and my son, who was very +frightened, came and told me what Chiromo had said to him and I also was +frightened, for Chiromo is a great doctor. Then I went to my hut to +sleep and my son went to his hut.</p> + +<p>"In the morning when I rose the goats were still in the village, and I +was angry with my son because he had not taken them to the lands. I +called to him, but he did not answer. I went to his hut, and found him +very stiff. He told me that Chiromo had killed him; that he had much +pain in his arms and legs and neck, and that he could not move. I tried +to lift him, but he cried out with pain. At sunset he died. Oh, Morena, +Chiromo has killed my son. My son who herded my goats. And to-night I +myself shall die. Chiromo is indeed a great doctor. My case is a big +one. A case of killing people by witchcraft. I, too, will——"</p> + +<p>The Native Commissioner interrupted the man. "Enough, now you may go to +the compound, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> you will sleep to-night; you will not die, because +I must talk with you again."</p> + +<p>The man clapped his hands, bowed his forehead several times to the +floor, patted his chest, rose and withdrew, praising the Native +Commissioner as the custom is:</p> + +<p>"Great Chief."</p> + +<p>"Father of his people."</p> + +<p>"The very great doctor."</p> + +<p>"Sir, my best thanks."</p> + +<p>"The Chief of our country."</p> + +<p>"The lion, the great elephant, the Chief."</p> + +<p>The head messenger was about to go too, but the Commissioner stopped +him.</p> + +<p>"Mokorongo, you will have to go out and arrest Chiromo."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"To-night."</p> + +<p>"His village is far and the sun is setting."</p> + +<p>"You will get there before morning and will bring Chiromo back with +you."</p> + +<p>"How many go with me?"</p> + +<p>"You go alone."</p> + +<p>The messenger was very much afraid. He licked his lips, which had become +dry, he shuffled with his feet, his gaze wandered from ceiling to floor +and round the hall in which the Commissioner sat.</p> + +<p>"Mokorongo."</p> + +<p>"Morena."</p> + +<p>"You are afraid."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Very much afraid."</p> + +<p>"Morena."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is not Chiromo a doctor?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What of that?"</p> + +<p>"I am but a man, your servant."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my servant. Why, then, are you afraid?"</p> + +<p>"Morena."</p> + +<p>Again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his +master.</p> + +<p>"Mokorongo."</p> + +<p>"Morena."</p> + +<p>"Are you ready to start? It is getting late."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is late, for the sun sets."</p> + +<p>"Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>Mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. In the ordinary +way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master +anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he +had shown up splendidly. But then his master, in whom he had implicit +faith, had been there. To go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite +another matter. Had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? No, +it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy +paperweight, which he handed to Mokorongo.</p> + +<p>"Take this with you, it will protect you against Chiromo, for it is +mine."</p> + +<p>The messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and +turned to go.</p> + +<p>"Stop," said the Commissioner, "what are your plans?"</p> + +<p>Mokorongo had a quick mind: he unfolded his plan without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I will talk awhile with the stranger, who will tell me of Chiromo; +whether he has a beard or has no beard; whether he is very old or not so +old; if he is fat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> or thin; what his loin cloth is like, or if he wears +a skin."</p> + +<p>"Good, and then?"</p> + +<p>"I will travel to the village, which I shall reach before morning. In +the bush I will hide my uniform. Near the village I will lie in wait. In +the morning Chiromo will come out of his hut. All day I will watch and +when the people have eaten and sleep I will arrest Chiromo."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"I will go to his hut and call to him, saying that I am a traveller from +Sijoba on my way to Katora. That the sun has set and I ask for shelter. +I shall tell him that I have some meat of a buck which I found dead near +the path. Then Chiromo will open the door of his hut and I shall tie +him. And he will come with me because of my uniform and the people will +not hinder me because of my uniform."</p> + +<p>"Good, take the handcuffs. But there is one thing you have forgotten. +You must bring in a basket all Chiromo's medicine."</p> + +<p>"I will bring the medicine," replied the messenger, clutching at the +paperweight which bulged under his tunic.</p> + +<p>"Go safely," said the master.</p> + +<p>"Rest in peace," replied the man.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner watched the retreating figure. The swinging stride +showed self-confidence and courage. Mokorongo would do successfully what +was required of him.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>The dawn was breaking. It had rained all night and the ground was very +wet. When the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it. +Little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume +as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to +the lie of the land.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo was not comfortable. He had travelled far in the night and had +stumbled many times in the darkness. Moreover, he was drenched to the +skin and very cold. The paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his +courage throughout his long journey. He remembered now the cry of a +hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching +at the paperweight. Then some large, dark object stirred beside him and +bounded away, crashing through the bush. Mokorongo's heart had thumped +in time to the heavy hoof-beats.</p> + +<p>However, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure +shield and protection.</p> + +<p>The messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders +as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. He +replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt +again sat down on his heels to watch the village.</p> + +<p>Presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from +another. A man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. A dog +barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck—the day had come.</p> + +<p>He had chosen his observation post well. In front of him lay the village +in a hollow. Behind him, a patch of thick bush. To his left ran the path +to the cultivated lands and to the next village. On his right was a +stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was +unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter.</p> + +<p>The village soon showed signs of full life. When the sun came out +Mokorongo stripped and spread out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to +dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short +grass which was comparatively dry.</p> + +<p>As the sun crept up the sky, Mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt +more comfortable. He watched the coming and going of men, women and +children until midday. He had easily recognised Chiromo. The father of +the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without +that description he would have picked him out. He was fat and looked +prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were +tied to tufts of his hair. He wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a +sure sign that he had killed a lion—or a man.</p> + +<p>His hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. Yes, +this surely was Chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round +his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? And had not the case-bearer of +yesterday said: "Chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?"</p> + +<p>Yes, Mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he +gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the +thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep.</p> + +<p>At sunset he awoke. He felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no +means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately +ahead.</p> + +<p>He crept back to his original post. The cattle were being kraaled; the +goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the +evening meal.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his +belt. He put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. He +then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no +amount of tugging would open them; having reset<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> them he put the key in +the small pouch attached to his belt.</p> + +<p>There is little twilight in Africa. Soon after the sun sets it is dark. +He could see Chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, Chiromo sitting on a +low stool.</p> + +<p>Presently the night sounds began. Someone was beating a drum at a +distant village. A jackal barked far down the valley. Something rustled +in a bush near by. The frogs set up their shrill chorus. A dog in the +village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a +stick at it.</p> + +<p>After a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and Mokorongo +judged that the time for action had arrived.</p> + +<p>He came down from the high ground and skirted the village until he came +to the path from Sijoba. Then he turned and walked boldly towards the +cluster of huts. The dogs began to bark loudly but it didn't matter now: +was he not a stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora?</p> + +<p>He made his way to Chiromo's hut. The door was closed. Mokorongo +knocked.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"A stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora."</p> + +<p>"It is late, what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is late. I ask for shelter for the night. I am in luck, for I +have found meat and I ask shelter of a friend."</p> + +<p>There was a stir in the hut and the word meat was repeated several +times.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo stood ready with the open handcuffs. Would the man never come +out? Meanwhile the occupants of adjacent huts were also astir and doors +were being opened. There would be many witnesses to the arrest of +Chiromo.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>At length the door of the hut slid aside, a hand grasped either door +post and a woolly head appeared. Quick as lightning Mokorongo seized +Chiromo's right wrist and snapped the lock of the handcuff. Grasping the +black head, he pulled the startled Chiromo out of the doorway, and +before the witch doctor had recovered from his surprise, also secured +his left hand.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo stepped back and surveyed his captive.</p> + +<p>Chiromo said nothing, but the look in his eye made Mokorongo's hand fly +to the paperweight. The village was astir, and men came running, but, +seeing the uniform of authority, stood still.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo was himself again. "What is this?" demanded Chiromo.</p> + +<p>"The Morena calls you."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know the Morena's thoughts?"</p> + +<p>"Loose my hands or ill-luck will come to you."</p> + +<p>Mokorongo said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Chiromo.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo listened and heard the laugh of a hyena.</p> + +<p>"That," said Chiromo, "is a spirit."</p> + +<p>Mokorongo clutched his paperweight: "It is a beast, and my master's +medicine is strong."</p> + +<p>Chiromo looked round at the circle of fellow villagers; he could not see +their eyes, but felt that no help might be expected from them; they +would not come between him and a Government man.</p> + +<p>Chiromo tried again.</p> + +<p>"In my hut I have much white man's money and a gun—all are yours if you +will untie my hands; moreover, the iron hurts me and the Morena's orders +are that no man be hurt."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>The mention of the money and the gun reminded Mokorongo of the medicine.</p> + +<p>"Go in," he said, pushing Chiromo before him.</p> + +<p>It is well that Mokorongo had the paperweight to support his courage.</p> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>A fire smouldered in a circular hearth in the middle of the floor, but +the light from it was so dim that nothing more was visible. Mokorongo, +kneeling deftly, drew together the unburnt sticks and blew upon the +pile; the suddenness with which it burst into flame startled him. Then +he rose and looked round the hut.</p> + +<p>Chiromo had walked over to his bed; he now sat watching.</p> + +<p>The blackened walls were profusely decorated with rude drawings, done in +light clay, of men and beasts, with here and there a pattern such as one +sees on primitive earthenware vessels. From the roof, suspended by a +length of plaited bark, dangled the skull of a human being. Mokorongo +had seen many human skulls in his time, but, in such a place, this +ghastly human relic unnerved him a little. The skull spun slightly with +the air current which entered the open door, and ghostly eyes seemed to +peer from the empty sockets, first at one man, then at the other, as if +the lifeless thing were taking a lively interest in the situation.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo pretended to scratch himself; what he really did was to shift +the paperweight until it rested under his left arm. In that position he +could press it to him without being noticed. The relief it brought was +great and lasting.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>From a peg in the wall hung a mummified mass of what looked suspiciously +like entrails; whether human or not the messenger did not pause to +consider. The fleshless forearm and hand of a child protruded from the +thatch; the fingers were spread out as in the act of grasping. A pile of +mouldering skins lay on the floor, and beside it a little heap of dead +chameleons; one, more lately killed than the rest, contributed +generously to the evil smell which pervaded the hut. Just above this +carrion was a cluster of black and red weevils as large as mice; they +hung from a porcupine quill, each tied to it by a thin strand of twisted +sinew. The aimless movements of legs showed that some of the insects +were still alive. Here and there, propped against the wall, were gourds +and pots filled, no doubt, with strange nauseous mixtures brewed by the +witch doctor for his evil purposes.</p> + +<p>Well-worn clothing and filthy rags hung from pegs thrust into the thatch +where the roof of the hut rested on the mud wall. The bleeding head and +slimy skin of a freshly killed goat lay on the floor at the foot of the +bed. Just beyond it was a large basket covered loosely with a leopard +skin; Mokorongo made a mental note of this.</p> + +<p>If Chiromo expected his guard to show any sign of fear, he was +disappointed. Mokorongo drew a small stool towards him, and sat down; +with the exception of the bed, it was the only furniture in the hut.</p> + +<p>The witch doctor was the first to speak:</p> + +<p>"The gun is yours, father, and the money, when you untie my hands so +that I may get them for you."</p> + +<p>"I have two guns in my village," replied the messenger, "and I also have +much money, for as I am a servant of the Government, I pay no tax."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can a man have too much money or too many guns?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot say; but, as for me, I have enough."</p> + +<p>"How many wives have you?" asked Chiromo.</p> + +<p>The messenger did not answer. Such talk did not trouble him. He was a +simple African, whose one desire was to please his master; he was proof +against bribery in any form.</p> + +<p>Chiromo tried other tactics.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday, they say, I killed a man by charms. It is said also that +many men have died by poison. People fall sick, some say, when I think +of them in anger. It well may be that your master has fallen sick, for +my anger is strong towards him, and is rising against his servant, who +has tied me."</p> + +<p>Mokorongo hugged the talisman, but did not reply. He glanced at the +skull which at that moment swung towards him, then at the hand which, in +the flicker of the firelight, seemed to reach out to grasp at him. He +looked at the chameleons, and spat on the floor as he became aware of +the stench arising from them; next, the aimless waving of the weevils' +legs attracted his attention, and then his glance rested on the basket +covered with the leopard skin.</p> + +<p>Chiromo was about to speak again, but Mokorongo, springing to his feet, +interrupted him. His master had said: "Bring Chiromo back with you, and +bring his medicines." The basket must hold those medicines; moreover, +the prospect of listening to Chiromo until the morning, seated in the +midst of his evil properties, was unthinkable. He would feel more at his +ease walking through the night, although it was so dark and cold.</p> + +<p>He went to the door and called. There was no reply. The village was full +of people, but they had a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> real fear of what the witch doctor might +do. All had crept back to their huts. He called again, and in the name +of the Government, but still none came.</p> + +<p>He shouted, that the whole village might hear: "I take Chiromo to our +Chief. Bring a rope, that I may tie him and lead him through the night."</p> + +<p>Presently a woman appeared, bringing in her hand a stout rope such as +all natives use for trapping antelope. She handed it to Mokorongo, +volunteering the information that it was her son whom Chiromo had +killed. She did not actually say that he had been killed, neither did +she mention Chiromo's name—she dared not do this—but she did say that +before sunrise her son had been buried.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo tied a slip-knot in the rope and passed it over Chiromo's +head. A sharp tug, accompanied by a peremptory "Stand, you!" brought +Chiromo quickly to his feet.</p> + +<p>Indicating successively the horrors hanging from the roof and walls, he +said: "Put that, and this, and those into the basket."</p> + +<p>Chiromo hesitated, but only for a moment; a tightening rope round one's +neck has an unpleasant feeling. With his manacled hands he picked up +each repulsive thing and thrust it into the basket.</p> + +<p>"Bring the basket," Mokorongo commanded, moving towards the door. +Outside in the black night, and conscious of the paperweight under his +arm, the messenger's full courage and sense of authority returned to +him.</p> + +<p>"Let all witnesses to this big case follow quickly to the Court; it is +the order of the Chief and the law of the Government."</p> + +<p>Then, helping Chiromo to encircle the basket with his arms, he strode +off down the path leading from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> the village, his captive, securely +handcuffed and led by the rope round his neck, following tamely enough.</p> + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<p>The witnesses were many—of all ages and of both sexes. The case +promised to be a famous one, so relations and friends had come from the +villages round about to attend. The people had travelled slowly, +consequently it was late in the afternoon when they arrived.</p> + +<p>The Native Commissioner had decided to take evidence on the morrow; the +people were therefore directed to camp by the river for the night. +Chiromo was to remain in the cell to which he had been conducted earlier +in the day by the messenger.</p> + +<p>Mokorongo was very happy. He had presented himself to his master on +arrival, returned the paperweight, reported the arrest of Chiromo, and +had handed over the basket of medicines. He would have told his story +then and there, but the Commissioner, who was busy, dismissed him with +"Good, now go and eat and sleep. You can return at sundown and tell me +everything. I will listen to the witnesses to-morrow."</p> + +<p>But, of course, Mokorongo did not sleep. He felt a hero, and was so +regarded by his fellow messengers and others. He told the story of his +adventures to all who cared to hear, and they were many. Little work was +done that day by any native on the Station.</p> + +<p>With much telling the story improved almost beyond recognition. For +instance, his seventh audience was thrilled by the recitation of the +threatening words which the skull had addressed to him; knots of woolly +hair rose when the efforts of the fleshless hand to grasp the master's +talisman were described; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> brave words which Mokorongo had addressed +to the basket of medicines when it had shown an inclination to escape by +the door drew grunts of admiration; a shudder ran through his hearers +when he repeated what the dead chameleons had related to him—how they +had once been men, until transformed and killed by the very bad man now +under arrest.</p> + +<p>The narrative was interrupted by one of the house-boys: "You are +called," was the curt command, meaning that his master wished to see +Mokorongo.</p> + +<p>Under the stimulus of the great admiration of his fellows, generously +expressed, Mokorongo had given free play to his imagination. His +narrative had become thrilling; but now, under the cold eye of the +master, fancy fled, and the messenger's account of himself conformed to +the court formula—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth.</p> + +<p>How Chiromo passed the night cannot, of course, be told. He might have +spent the time preparing his defence; it is much more likely that he +simply slept.</p> + + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<p>Everything was ready for the hearing of the case. On the veranda of the +Court House the Commissioner's table had been placed. Conspicuous upon +it was the paperweight. On the ground in front of it lay the witch +doctor's basket with its leopard skin covering. On the right sat +Chiromo; he was still handcuffed, but without the rope round his neck. +By his side stood Mokorongo. Immediately behind them were ranged the +rest of the messengers attached to the Station. They, with the Court +House, formed two sides of a square: the figure was completed by the +crowd of witnesses seated on the ground.</p> + +<p>Presently the Commissioner was seen approaching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> along the path which +led from his house. The people began to clap their hands, which, in +certain parts of Africa, is the native way of showing respect. As the +Commissioner appeared on the verandah, the messengers saluted him by +raising their right hands above their heads and ejaculating "Morena."</p> + +<p>The Commissioner nodded by way of acknowledgment, the people ceased to +clap; there was dead silence.</p> + +<p>The white man looked across his table at the witch doctor. For a time he +said nothing. Chiromo blinked and looked away. Glancing up and finding +that unpleasantly steady gaze upon him still, he again looked quickly +away.</p> + +<p>"Unlock those handcuffs," said the Commissioner. Mokorongo produced the +key from the pouch on his belt and freed the witch doctor's hands.</p> + +<p>Addressing Chiromo, the official asked: "Is it true that you are the +killer of people?"</p> + +<p>"It is not true," replied Chiromo.</p> + +<p>"Can you kill people by means of charms and medicines?"</p> + +<p>Chiromo said he could not.</p> + +<p>"Is that your basket?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is my basket."</p> + +<p>"What is in the basket?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>"Are not the things in the basket yours?"</p> + +<p>"No, they are your messenger's; he put them in my basket."</p> + +<p>Mokorongo was indignant at the lie. The witnesses, too, were amazed at +Chiromo's effrontery. But none spoke.</p> + +<p>"Take the things out of the basket one by one and place them on the +ground in front of you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>The witch doctor without hesitation began to do as he was bid. The +skull, the arm, the weevils as large as mice, the chameleons, the stale +offal: these Mokorongo had seen in the hut, but there were other things +he had not seen. A necklet of human teeth, another of small antelope +horns, yet another of rats' skulls. These were followed by the shell of +a very small tortoise, a bush buck's horn containing a reddish-coloured +paste, four discs of ivory strangely carved, commonly known as "witch +doctor's bones," a small piece of looking-glass, a dozen or more little +bundles of something tied up in scraps of rag, a piece of red clay, a +length of snake's skin, several cartridge cases plugged with pieces of +wood, the sun-dried paw of a monkey, the beaks of several birds, a +feather ball or two, another set of "bones," a small knife with a wooden +sheath, a little gourd covered with beads, some charms of various sizes +and shapes to wear round the neck or wrist. There were many other bits +of rubbish which, at a sign from his master, Mokorongo emptied out on +the ground.</p> + +<p>Under the direction of the Commissioner, Chiromo's possessions were +separated into two heaps. The skull, the arm, the offal, and anything +else of which there was only a single specimen, made one heap. The +chameleons, and anything of which there were more than one, were +carefully divided, half placed on one heap and the remainder on the +other.</p> + +<p>"None of these things are yours?" asked the Commissioner.</p> + +<p>"None, save the leopard skin," said Chiromo.</p> + +<p>"Those I shall want later on," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +larger heap, "the rest you shall burn."</p> + +<p>The witch doctor collected some dry grass, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> some twigs and some +larger sticks. The Commissioner produced a box of matches. Mokorongo lit +the grass. The twigs crackled, the sticks caught fire and burned +brightly.</p> + +<p>"Put those things on the fire," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +smaller of the two heaps.</p> + +<p>Chiromo paused and looked round at the witnesses in a strange manner. As +his eyes sought out those of each witness ranged against him, his +personality made itself felt. Men quailed, women covered their faces, +and children cried lustily. The witch doctor pointed suddenly to the +sky, then at the ground, and then at the witnesses. Picking up a +chameleon he dangled it over the flame; he did not drop it in the fire, +but looked round again with a malignant grin. This was more than the +witnesses could stand; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry +them. Something dreadful was about to happen. When doctors engaged in a +trial of strength, ordinary men were better out of the way. The +messengers alone stood fast. They kept their eyes on Mokorongo who, in +turn, watched the Commissioner.</p> + +<p>"Bring back the headman," thundered the Commissioner; "two of you will +do," as all the messengers started off.</p> + +<p>The headman of the village in which Chiromo lived was quickly brought +back, and stood, covering his eyes with his hands.</p> + +<p>"Now go on with the burning," ordered the Commissioner.</p> + +<p>The tone of authority was unmistakable, so Chiromo complied without +further ado.</p> + +<p>One by one the medicines, necklets, charms and other rubbish were +dropped into the fire. After a while, the headman removed his hands from +his face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> It was evident that the white man was the stronger doctor of +the two. Chiromo had looked very bad, it was true, but he had been able +to do nothing. One by one the witnesses crept back and took their seats.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner then sent for one of his house-boys and gave him an +order in an undertone. The boy presently returned, carrying a carpet +slipper.</p> + +<p>"Hold Chiromo face downwards on the ground," said the Commissioner. The +messengers obeyed. "Now, Mokorongo, beat him."</p> + +<p>And Mokorongo did so, in the manner of a mother chastising her +child—but rather harder.</p> + +<p>Chiromo squealed, promising loudly never to offend again. Then someone +laughed, then another and another; presently all were laughing—with the +exception of Chiromo—even the Commissioner smiled: Mokorongo stopped +beating and laughed too.</p> + +<p>The messengers released their hold on Chiromo, who got up rubbing a +certain portion of his anatomy. Everybody laughed again.</p> + +<p>Laughter at a man kills faith in him. The spell was broken. From that +day forward this witch doctor, once powerful in hypnotic suggestion, was +as other men.</p> + +<p>"And now," said the Commissioner, "we will hear the evidence."</p> + +<p>The preliminary examination in the case of Rex v. Chiromo then began.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE RIDDLE OF LIFE AND DEATH.</h2> + + +<p>Of the many curios which I acquired during my twenty-five years' +residence in Africa, there is one which I value above all others. I +bought it a few weeks before I left the country. It is a round wooden +pot with a lid to it. On the lid is the seated figure of a little old +man with his shoulders hunched up, his chin resting in his two hands, +his elbows on his knees. There is a mildly amused expression on the +rudely carved face; whether this is there by accident or design I cannot +say. On one side of the pot is a snake in relief; on the other, a +tortoise.</p> + +<p>I bought this pot from a very old native. So old was he that his scanty +knots of hair were quite white and his eyes were very dim. He must have +been a fine enough man once, but now his dull, greyish-black skin clung +in folds about his gaunt frame. I paid the old man the modest price he +named, and asked him the meaning of the figures on the lid and sides of +the pot.</p> + +<p>The following is his explanation, given in short, jerky sentences, done +into English as literally as our language will permit:</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was a long time ago. So long ago was it that no white man had +then come to this country. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> was before my father's day. Before that +even of his father. Both died old men. Yes, so long ago was it, that +only the old people now speak of those past times. It was when men did +not grow old and die. There was no death then; all men lived on, and +happily.</p> + +<p>"One day all this was changed. God became angry—that is God on the lid +of the pot. What foolish things men did to make God angry, I do not +know. He must have been very angry. In his anger God sent His messenger +of death to men. He sent His messenger, the snake. Then people began to +die—that is the snake on the side of the pot.</p> + +<p>"So many people died that all became frightened. They thought all would +soon be dead. In their fear they cried to God. They said they were sorry +for their foolish act, whatever that might have been. They promised they +would anger Him no more. They begged Him to recall His messenger, the +snake.</p> + +<p>"After a while God agreed. He said He would recall His messenger, the +snake. He would send another messenger—that is the second messenger on +the other side of the pot. God sent the tortoise to recall the snake."</p> + +<p>The old man paused and mused for a little while, and then resumed:</p> + +<p>"When I was a young man I thought to myself, perhaps the tortoise will +overtake the snake; that some day he will deliver God's message. I am an +old man now. I do not think the tortoise will ever overtake the +snake—at least, not in my time."</p> + +<p>He said all this without a trace of emotion. He was too much of a +philosopher, it seemed, to indulge in anything so profitless as +self-pity.</p> + +<p>"Do you kill snakes when you see them?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No," said he. "Why should I? But I do kill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> tortoises. The tortoise is +very lazy. He runs with his message so slowly. Moreover, a tortoise is +good meat."</p> + +<p>Having told his story and pouched the price of his pot, the old man rose +painfully and hobbled away. Just outside my compound gate he paused and +made a vicious stab at something in a patch of grass.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>Shouldering his assegai, he passed on his way, a writhing tortoise +impaled upon the blade.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<h2>FLATTERY.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Robert Gregory was proud of his house. A Colonial Bishop, passing +through on his way to England, stayed with Gregory; in his +bread-and-butter letter he wrote:</p> + +<p>"... I think your house the most beautiful and unique in Central +Africa...."</p> + +<p>Unique perhaps it was, but scarcely beautiful.</p> + +<p>When all is said and done, it was merely the ordinary bungalow of which +one finds examples all over Africa. In size it was very modest, having +only a hall, with a dining-room on one side and a bedroom on the other. +There were in addition various excrescences, termed locally "lean-to's." +One of these was a pantry, another a storeroom, a third a bathroom, and +so on. No, it must have been to the interior decorations that the Bishop +referred.</p> + +<p>Gregory hoped to marry when next he went to England. During his last +visit to the old country, on leave, he became engaged.</p> + +<p>The woman of his choice had once remarked to him: "I do hope you have +heaps and heaps of curios."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>On his return to Africa Gregory began to collect curios, and now he had +indeed "heaps and heaps" of them. You see, he had his excuses.</p> + +<p>On the walls of the hall were trophies of assegais and shields. These +trophies were arranged in the approved armoury manner; that is to say, a +shield in the centre with assegai blades radiating from it in all +directions.</p> + +<p>Flanking each of the principal trophies were lesser ones, composed of +battle-axes in groups of two or three. These battle-axes were +murderous-looking things. The heads of some were crescent-shaped, others +were merely wedges of metal.</p> + +<p>In the intervening spaces were a variety of knives remarkable chiefly +for their sheaths, which were curiously shaped and carved. There was a +dado, too, round the wall, made of arrows arranged head downwards +towards the floor. These were surmounted by bows fixed horizontally to +the wall; they completed the dado, as it were.</p> + +<p>On the other two sides ancient guns of various makes and ages took the +place of the arrows. There were flint locks, Tower muskets, Portuguese, +French and German smooth-bore rifles, gaily decorated by native owners +with bands of highly polished copper round the barrel and brass-headed +nails driven into the stock.</p> + +<p>On a shelf, which ran round the hall a few feet from the ceiling, were +specimens of native pottery. Some were highly coloured, others dull red. +All had curious patterns scratched on them, done before baking, and most +of them bore fire marks and other evidence that their makers were +somewhat lacking in the potter's skill. The shapes, however, were +pleasing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dining-room held a miscellaneous collection. The principal objects +were musical instruments, chiefly of the harmonica variety, strips of +hard wood suspended over gourds of different sizes. In the bad old days +human skulls were used in place of gourds. But there were many others, +both string and wind instruments, and some rattles.</p> + +<p>In this room was also a collection of snuff boxes; nearly all of them +were minute gourds, differing one from another in decoration. Some were +completely covered with gaily coloured beads affixed cunningly and in +pleasing patterns. Some were banded with beads, which gave them the +appearance of small school globes. Others, again, were simply carved in +relief, whilst a few were decorated with plaited brass, copper, or iron +wire. All were very neatly made.</p> + +<p>Occupying a space between a window and a door was a unique collection of +snuff spoons. These were nearly all made of bright metal. Not only do +the natives use them for taking snuff, but also for preparing to take +snuff and for recovering after snuffing. To be quite plain, they use +them as our snuff-taking ancestors used their bandannas. They have yet a +third use, namely, scraping the skin on a hot day.</p> + +<p>The only reason why Gregory had so many of these nasty little implements +was that they were so neatly made and in such diversity of pattern.</p> + +<p>In the spaces usually occupied by pictures were specimens of the native +weavers' art, very highly coloured cloths of coarse texture. On shelves +over the doors and windows of his dining-room were pots, mugs, bowls, +and platters of carved wood. The patterns were curiously like those one +finds on early pottery dug up in such quantities and in so many spots +along the shores of the Mediterranean. A kaross or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> skin blanket was +thrown over the back of almost every chair and covered the one settee.</p> + +<p>There was hardly anything of European manufacture in the hall and +dining-room. Even the tables and chairs were native made and of country +timber. In place of carpets, the floors were covered with rush and reed +mats ornamented with strange patterns done in brightly dyed bark and +fibre.</p> + +<p>The bedroom alone held nothing but European furniture.</p> + +<p>The collection was certainly a remarkable one—I have not attempted a +complete inventory—and Gregory had taken great pains to arrange it, as +some would say, artistically.</p> + +<p>One day five natives arrived carrying a letter addressed to Gregory. It +was from a woman, Chief in her own right. It ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Friend</span>,</p> + +<p>I send to you my servant Siadiadiadi with four others. As I cannot +come to you myself I send my five people. I have heard much of your +fine house and wish to see it. As I am old I send my people that +they may see it and bring me word of it. I ask you to let them see +it for three days, and on the fourth they shall return to me.</p> + +<p>I am well and all my people are well, but the cattle have a +disease. I hope you are well.</p> + +<p>I must close my letter now with greetings.</p> + +<p class="regards">Your faithful friend,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Movana.</span></p> + +<p>Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni.</p></div> + +<p>I believe Gregory was pleased: at any rate he permitted the messengers +to see his house. For the full three days they stayed. He often found +them agape in the hall or in the dining room, taking mental notes. It +was clear that the five natives were much impressed. Whenever Gregory +entered the house, they saluted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> him and crept silently out. There was +no reason to guard against theft; uncivilised natives do not steal.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day Siadiadiadi and his companions thanked Gregory in the +name of their mistress and went away.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +O wad some power the giftie gie us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see oorsel's as ithers see us!</span><br /> +It wad frae monie a blunder free us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And foolish notion.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>Some six months later Gregory, travelling to the extreme limit of his +district, found himself within easy distance of the village occupied by +the Chieftainess who had been so curious about his house. He felt +inclined to go out of his way to see her. When he was resting at midday +a native brought him a letter which helped him to make up his mind to do +so.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My Friend</span>,</p> + +<p>I hear that you have arrived near to my village. Please come and +see my house. I think you will like it. Hoping you are well, with +greetings.</p> + +<p class="regards">Your faithful friend,</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Movana.</span></p> + +<p>Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni. I, too, send greetings.</p></div> + +<p>So Gregory went to see the house.</p> + +<p>Outside the village he was met by the usual gathering of elderly +headmen, polite and dignified, who led him to the door of their Chief's +house.</p> + +<p>The house was barnlike, with a high, well-thatched roof.</p> + +<p>At the entrance stood the owner. She was very stout and wore a print +dress. A red shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and she had a very +small straw hat perched on her large, woolly head. Gregory noticed that +the hat was very much on one side. Her feet were bare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>After unusually hearty greetings she led the white man into her house.</p> + +<p>When Gregory stepped over the threshold he stopped and stood looking +from wall to wall aghast. The old black woman interpreted his open mouth +to indicate admiration, wonder. This is what he saw.</p> + +<p>On a deal table a complete toilet set. Complete to the extent that it +included two of those very intimate pieces of domestic furniture seldom +seen outside the shops where toilet ware is sold, and surely never +before exhibited with pride by the owner. Hanging awkwardly from a nail +in the wall, a slop pail of enamelled iron. This was supported on the +one side by a dustpan and brush, on the other by a pair of elastic-sided +boots. On each side of this remarkable trophy were pinned two very +ordinary coloured pocket handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p>On a small corner shelf was a large brown earthenware teapot with the +words "Advance Australia" done in raised letters. Four enamelled ware +egg cups were its companions.</p> + +<p>One wall was devoted exclusively to kitchen utensils; new tin kettles +predominated, but almost everything was represented.</p> + +<p>Opposite this bright array the wall was literally covered with bedding. +The centre piece was a mattress; sheets on one side, blankets on the +other, pillows above, bolsters below.</p> + +<p>But what shocked Gregory more than anything else was a regular trousseau +of feminine underclothing, ranged round the door through which he had +entered. He blushed hotly and with difficulty suppressed an impulse to +bolt without ceremony.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of my house, my friend?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think it—er—beautiful, the most wonderful in all the world."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I thought you would like it. Do you not like the things my people +use? For myself, I like the things the white people use. You put the +black man's things in your house. I put the white man's things in my +house. We are two friends who have the same thoughts. You buy from the +people. I buy from the traders. The traders have promised to bring me +many more things. My house is not finished yet. After the rains it will +be finished, then you must come and see it again."</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>When Gregory reached his bungalow after his journey he stripped his +walls and packed all his curios in boxes. These he despatched to his +father in England, who was very pleased with them.</p> + +<p>He replaced his curios by the Hundred Best Pictures, framed suitably in +fumed oak.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h2>"LIZIZI."</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>The Native Commissioner was hurrying home. It was nearly midday and +getting hot. Moreover, he had been on a long journey and was anxious to +get back to his bungalow which, for him, meant a measure of +civilisation. His garden, his books, prints on the wall, white ducks, +fair cooking and no more tinned food for a while, a cool verandah and +occasional converse with his fellow officials. At daylight he had left +his caravan to follow whilst he pushed on ahead.</p> + +<p>His sturdy horse also had thoughts of home for, in spite of the heat, he +cantered briskly along the dusty road without any encouragement from his +master. Half a mile from the house a short cut skirted a patch of young +gum trees and led through the servants' compound to the back door of the +bungalow.</p> + +<p>The horse, without hesitation and not waiting for direction, took the +short cut. As a general rule the Commissioner chose the longer way. He +preferred entering his own house by the front door; he had designed and +built his home himself and had given much thought to its face and +approach, for, who could tell, might he not some day lead an English +bride up the winding drive?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Commissioner let the beast have his way: he was amused and, leaning +forward, patted his horse's neck.</p> + +<p>As he clattered through the compound he caught sight of some of his +servants conversing with a stranger. There was nothing remarkable in +that, but two things he noticed. One, that his people did not see or +hear him until he was almost abreast of them, and secondly, that the +stranger, a native from the river district, let him pass without the +usual salute.</p> + +<p>He rode on and dismounted at the back of the house. A groom took his +horse. A small boy opened the door for him and led him through to the +front hall. The Commissioner dropped into a chair and, after a short +rest, busied himself with getting comfortable.</p> + +<p>A shave, followed by a hot bath, a change into "slacks," a light +luncheon, and a pipe. Then he attacked his accumulated mail. He had +scarcely sorted his home from his official letters—the latter could +well wait—when his head house boy came in rather breathless.</p> + +<p>"Morena," he said, "what is to-day?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, the day of the month or of the week, and why do you +ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said the boy, "but what is the number of the day?"</p> + +<p>"Tuesday the sixth. Why?"</p> + +<p>"It is only that I wanted to know, for has not the Morena been absent +for a great many days?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's the sixth, Tuesday the sixth of September."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Morena."</p> + +<p>The boy withdrew.</p> + +<p>The Native Commissioner turned to his letters again. His mother had +written pages telling him of his sister's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> engagement to his oldest +friend; his sister wrote more pages about her happiness; his father +referred to his younger brother at Oxford, to the engagement just +announced, and described the latest strike at some length.</p> + +<p>Presently he got up and went out to the verandah to stretch his legs. He +admired his garden and mentally praised his own cunning in setting it +out. The rains had not yet broken but some of the trees were already in +new leaf. What a blaze of colour there would be in a few weeks!</p> + +<p>"Morena, what day is it to-day?"</p> + +<p>Turning, he met the gaze of a garden labourer who, spade in hand, was +standing slightly in advance of some half a dozen of his fellows.</p> + +<p>"The sixth. But why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"It is because black people do not know how to count, and one day with +us is as another."</p> + +<p>All returned to their work. A few minutes later the dog boy came with a +litter born during his master's absence. They were a likely looking lot +and the native took personally the remarks passed upon his charge: he +appeared to assume responsibility for their colour, shape and sex.</p> + +<p>"Morena, what day is it to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"See, Morena, I mark each day on a stick; the dogs were born ten days +ago."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's the sixth."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Morena."</p> + +<p>At sundown the cattle came in. The herdsman came up to the house to +report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his +journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his +good management. When bull calves came the cattle herd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> made many excuses +and neither expected nor received any reward.</p> + +<p>"You have done well."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his +loin cloth. "What is the number of the day to-day?"</p> + +<p>Now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. What did it +mean? Could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what?</p> + +<p>But the Commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some +trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point. +Still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but +knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good +time.</p> + +<p>He asked no question this time but replied simply: "The sixth."</p> + +<p>The news of his return spread quickly and several officials dropped in +for a "sundowner." Headquarters news, dull and trivial as it usually is, +was quickly disposed of. The Browns had gone home on leave, Jones had +just come back, and Robinson had passed the law exam very well. A lion +had been heard outside the township, and a mad cur had run amok through +the compounds and, as a result, several good dogs had been shot and half +a dozen natives sent south for treatment.</p> + +<p>What sport had the Commissioner had?</p> + +<p>On the whole, bad; he had missed a black-maned lion in a patch of bush +near the river, and as the beast slipped through to the main forest he +didn't bother to follow. He had, however, bagged a small leopard and two +full-grown cheetahs. There were plenty of birds and buck about and, oh, +yes, he had killed a bad old buffalo bull who nearly turned the tables +on him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> After listening to the details of the adventure, the visitors +rose to leave.</p> + +<p>No, he would not join them at the Club later, he felt tired and was +looking forward to a comfortable bed for a change.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner dined alone and turned in early.</p> + +<p>In the morning he woke with a start. It was late, nearly eight o'clock; +what the deuce were his people about?</p> + +<p>He jumped out of bed and went to the bath-room. The bath was not set +ready. He called to his boy. There was no answer. He slipped on a +dressing gown and went to the kitchen. It was empty, the fire was not +even lighted. He went back to the house for a pair of slippers and a hat +and walked across to the native compound. By this time he was very +angry.</p> + +<p>To his amazement, the compound was quite empty. On his way back he +looked in at the stable. His horses whinnied: they had not been fed, nor +had the stable been cleaned. He fed the horses himself and then walked +over to the cattle kraal. His half-dozen cows had not been milked.</p> + +<p>At that moment the Magistrate came up.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with the natives?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, why?"</p> + +<p>"Not a black soul in the township will do a hand's turn."</p> + +<p>"Mine aren't here."</p> + +<p>"Is there going to be a rising?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. You people who live in camp are always expecting +risings."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know best, of course, but the boys refuse to work. They say +Lizizi has told them not to."</p> + +<p>"Who's Lizizi?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How should I know? I came to ask you that."</p> + +<p>"Never heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Well, what are you going to do about it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet. Send some of your people down to me, mine have made +themselves scarce."</p> + +<p>"Right, but what are you going to do to them?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, of course, except question them."</p> + +<p>"I'll send my two house boys down."</p> + +<p>"Send your cook as well."</p> + +<p>"Why my cook?"</p> + +<p>"Because I haven't had my breakfast yet."</p> + +<p>"Well, neither have I for that matter."</p> + +<p>"Then you had better come with them, we'll have breakfast all right."</p> + +<p>The Magistrate went away and the Commissioner returned to his house to +dress.</p> + +<p>He hated having no bath; he disliked, too, going without breakfast. +Discomfort on a journey he thought nothing of, but discomfort in his own +home was ridiculous.</p> + +<p>When the Commissioner emerged from his room, dressed but unshaven, and +in a very bad temper, he found his head native in the hall and the rest +of the servants standing on the verandah.</p> + +<p>"We wish to speak with you," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I, too, have something to say."</p> + +<p>"We cannot work to-day. To-morrow we will work."</p> + +<p>"You will work to-day and now."</p> + +<p>"No, Morena, we cannot work to-day, to-morrow we will work well."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you work to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Because Lizizi says we may not work to-day."</p> + +<p>"Who's Lizizi?"</p> + +<p>"A great doctor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where is he?" said the Commissioner, looking round.</p> + +<p>"No, he is not here, Morena, he lives on the Zambesi. He sent his man +with a message yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Was that the messenger I saw in the compound?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"He has gone."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"He did not say where he was going. He told us he must carry the +master's messages."</p> + +<p>"What are the messages?"</p> + +<p>"No man may work for his master to-day."</p> + +<p>"What are the others?"</p> + +<p>"That is all he said to us."</p> + +<p>"Have you eaten this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Then bring breakfast for the Magistrate and me, and quickly."</p> + +<p>"But, Morena—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I may not work to-day."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast is food, not work. Bring it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Morena."</p> + +<p>The boy went out. The Commissioner turned to the rest of his servants.</p> + +<p>"You won't work to-day?"</p> + +<p>The cattle herd answered: "We may not, it is forbidden."</p> + +<p>"Who forbids you?"</p> + +<p>"Lizizi."</p> + +<p>"Who is Lizizi?"</p> + +<p>"The great doctor."</p> + +<p>"Great?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, Morena. Does he not jump into the river and come out alive on the +third day?"</p> + +<p>"I should say not, but where does he live?"</p> + +<p>"At Minanga, on the Zambesi."</p> + +<p>"Go to your work. I will visit this Lizizi. There is some mistake. The +messenger is a foolish fellow, he had forgotten his master's words. I +will see to it. Tell all the people that I go on a visit to Lizizi. He +who does not work now and at once and well will meet with misfortune."</p> + +<p>The servants dispersed to their various occupations. Slowly at first, +and with evident reluctance; but, hearing that the head boy was busy +getting his master's breakfast, they, too, set about their various +duties.</p> + +<p>When the Magistrate arrived he found everything normal. He had breakfast +with the Commissioner. When the meal was over he found his own servants +had gone back to his compound. The word had spread abroad that the +Commissioner would visit Lizizi and put matters right.</p> + +<p>"How did you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Just talked to them a little."</p> + +<p>"No violence, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"Unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"What was it all about?"</p> + +<p>"I know no more than you, but intend to find out."</p> + +<p>In a few hours the Commissioner was on his way to Minanga, on the +Zambesi, the home of Lizizi, the great doctor.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>All next day, and for several days following, natives might be seen +passing south in the direction of Minanga. The curious thing about these +flocks of travellers was that they were chiefly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> composed of +children—little children, from infants in arms to boys and girls of +nine or ten, none older. When questioned, the parents would reply +simply: "We are called. We are called to Minanga by Lizizi—by Lizizi, +the great doctor."</p> + +<p>The native servants who worked in the houses of the officials could, or +would, give no fuller explanation. "Yes, they are called by Lizizi," was +the only answer to all questioning.</p> + +<p>In the Club, speculation as to what the Commissioner would do +monopolised the conversation. Nearly all the officials wagered on a +native rising. The Commandant of Police went about to prepare +systematically for an event of this kind.</p> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>The Commissioner travelled light and quickly. He, too, passed hordes of +natives, mostly children. He, too, learnt that Lizizi called—that +Lizizi had apparently mustered all the children of the district. He was +now doubly certain that this was no native rebellion, or the children +would have been conspicuously absent. He grudged Lizizi this implicit +obedience. Two could not run the same country.</p> + +<p>At length he approached Minanga. The neighbouring villages were thronged +with children. In Minanga itself there were many hundreds. The +Commissioner rode to the centre of the village and demanded to be shown +Lizizi's hut. He was led up the hill to a single small hut built +half-way up the slope. In front of it grew a huge tamarind tree.</p> + +<p>"There is Lizizi," said his guide, pointing to an old man sitting on a +stool in front of the hut.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner watched. A strange performance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> was going on. A long +queue of children was moving slowly past the seated figure, and as each +child was marshalled forward—screaming with fright, for the most +part—the old man put his hands on its head.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner rode up to the hut. The old man touched the head of the +child in front of him with his crossed thumbs; that was all, and the +child passed hurriedly on to join a throng, already large, of others who +had passed through the ordeal, or whatever it was.</p> + +<p>On seeing the Commissioner the old man rose and seated himself on the +ground, clapping his hands by way of greeting.</p> + +<p>This curious native wore a large pair of spectacles, which gave him a +benevolent air. His feet were bare—so, too, was his head—but he was +otherwise clothed to the extent of a patched and very dirty shirt and an +aged pair of trousers.</p> + +<p>"Are you Lizizi?" asked the Commissioner.</p> + +<p>"Morena, I am his slave."</p> + +<p>"Where is Lizizi?"</p> + +<p>"He walked on the water. Then he went to the bottom of the river and +stayed there. After three days he came out alive and well. Some people +said so who saw him."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"Who can tell?"</p> + +<p>"Did you send that message to the servants of the white men, saying that +they were not to work?"</p> + +<p>"I sent my master's message."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing to these children?"</p> + +<p>"My master said they must come."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"I put my hands on them, as my master said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> Lizizi said: 'Let the +children come, the little children, and do not stop them.' And Lizizi +said: 'You must work for six days, and on the seventh day you must not +do anything.'"</p> + +<p>So that was the explanation. It came to the Commissioner in a flash.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"My name is Sinyoro."</p> + +<p>"You have worked for a white man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was with the Mission."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much."</p> + +<p>"Lizizi" was the nearest this native could get to Jesus. The poor old +man was, it transpired, a little mad. He had lived with the missionaries +for many years, and had recently asked permission to visit friends on +the Zambesi. The head missionary had let him go. As he afterwards +explained, he knew the man was a little mad, but quite harmless. They +had christened him James—James Sinyoro.</p> + +<p>However, James, it seemed, had been trying his prentice hand at +missionary work, and had given orders based on the little he remembered +of the Mission Bible teaching.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>James Sinyoro returned to the Mission Station, and the district to its +normal tranquillity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<h2>MIRONDA—A WOMAN.</h2> + + +<p>The Paramount Chief had many wives. A newly arrived missionary, +determined to convert the great man, opened his attack by asking why he +had so many wives. The answer was disconcerting: "For political +reasons." This matter of the Chief's was a rock upon which all +missionary endeavours foundered. The Chief must discard all his wives, +save one. The Chief was determined to keep them all.</p> + +<p>To another reformer he said: "Leave me alone. Do what you will with the +children and young people. Leave me to myself. You have shown me that my +beliefs are foolish. You have not proved to me that yours are any +wiser."</p> + +<p>A third good man, about to transfer his activities to other fields, +offered to present the Chief with his bright brass bedstead provided he +became a Christian.</p> + +<p>"Let me see it," said the old heathen. The bed was produced. "I have a +better one. I paid a trader ten head of cattle for it." So no bargain +was struck.</p> + +<p>I think there must have been some grounds for saying that he clung to +his many wives "for political reasons," because they, or at any rate +some of them, were more trouble to the Chief than they were perhaps +worth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was Mavevana, for instance, who was large and fat and therefore +very beautiful from a native point of view, but whose tongue was a +constant source of strife without and within the harem.</p> + +<p>I should explain that each wife had her own group of huts. These +groups—there were seventeen of them—were surrounded by a high reed +fence, strengthened by sharply-pointed poles. The harem was a village +within a village. Outside the fence the common people lived.</p> + +<p>Each woman had her slaves. A strong guard of fully-armed men patrolled +the harem at night. Old Sikoro, the keeper of the harem, was about day +and night.</p> + +<p>Then there was Mironda. Poor Mironda, who later paid, as women do, be +they white, black or yellow.</p> + +<p>Mironda was rather nearer to yellow than to black. I think she had some +European blood in her. One does not often see a native woman with hazel +eyes nor with freckles; and besides, she was very tall and slim.</p> + +<p>As a special mark of his good will the Chief once took me through his +harem. That is how I first came to see Mironda.</p> + +<p>The woman aroused my interest. When we entered her compound she glared +at her lord and master as a caged beast does upon free men. She did not +for a moment take her eyes off him. She never so much as glanced in my +direction. Her eyes caught the light once and reflected it as do those +of a cat, a tiger. Yes, that was it, she put me in mind of a caged +tiger.</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands continuously during our short stay. The click, +click, click of her ivory bangles drew my attention to her hands. Her +hands and her wrists were very small, her finger nails long and sharp. I +noticed her hands particularly because she had solid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> ivory bangles on +each arm from wrist to elbow. These bangles were very small and, as they +were solid, could only pass over very small hands.</p> + +<p>I saw this curious woman twice only: the second time was some years +later.</p> + +<p>As I have said before, old Sikoro was the keeper of the harem. I hated +him instinctively the moment I first set eyes on him: I hated him more +when I heard the whole story.</p> + +<p>Sikoro had only one eye. In his youth he had had smallpox, which pitted +his face remorselessly and destroyed one eye. He wore a soldier's red +tunic, the colour dimmed with age and dirt. Perched on his head was a +tall cone-shaped fur cap which he plucked off whenever he met a +superior. He was always plucking it off, not because he was really +inferior in the black man's social scale to all he so saluted; on the +contrary, in view of his office, he was an important person; he was over +polite because he chose to appear humble.</p> + +<p>The man knew his power well: his occupation gave him the ear of the +Chief. All realized this and were ready to show him the respect which +was justly his due: Sikoro was before them in showing respect, which was +unnecessary. Men did not understand this humbleness of his and feared +him. Sikoro loved their fear.</p> + +<p>The woman, Mironda, alone had no fear of him. She despised the man and +did not try to hide it. She often refused to see him. It was only utter +boredom that induced her to admit him to her compound at all. The truth +is he was a great gossip and was the link between the harem and the +outer world. Sikoro knew everything, was an authority on everything, and +the first to hear all news.</p> + +<p>Now this is what befell Mironda. I don't blame her;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> no one could. I +consider her a victim of circumstances. The old, old story. A young and +impulsive woman, an elderly, much married lord, a well-favoured young +man. The long and the short of it is that Mironda was in the end +divorced; but the manner of that divorce enrages me whenever I think of +it.</p> + +<p>One morning she was sitting on a mat in the shade thrown by the +overhanging thatch of her hut. She was singing in a low voice and +threading beads picked with the point of her needle from a wooden bowl +held by a small girl slave.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +The father of Mbututu<br /> +Was killed on the sand bank<br /> +Wei ye-i, wei i-ye,<br /> +Wei ye-i, wei i-ye,<br /> +The father of Mbututu<br /> +Was killed on the sand bank<br /> +Wei ye-i, etc.<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The monotonous chant in a minor key was interrupted by someone +scratching on the reed fence.</p> + +<p>"Go," said Mironda to the child, "see who it is."</p> + +<p>The child put down the bowl of beads and ran to the fold in the fence +which formed the gate. She looked out. A glance was sufficient. She ran +back past her mistress and into a far hut, muttering as she went +"Ma—we! Ma—we! It is Sikoro!"</p> + +<p>Mironda moved uneasily on her mat, then fell to fumbling nervously with +the brightly-dyed bark patterns which ornamented it.</p> + +<p>Sikoro slouched into the compound, removing his fur cap as he came. Just +inside he knelt down and sat on his heels, placing his cap on the ground +beside him. He arranged his voluminous skirts carefully round him and +then clapped his hands very respectfully.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mironda did not look at him. After a short interval Sikoro broke the +silence.</p> + +<p>"Good day to you, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Yes, good day."</p> + +<p>"And has the Chief's wife slept well?"</p> + +<p>"She has."</p> + +<p>"And the slaves of her house, have they slept well?"</p> + +<p>"They have."</p> + +<p>"And is the Chief's wife pleased with the new shawl chosen by Sikoro as +a gift from the Chief to his wife?"</p> + +<p>"It is all right."</p> + +<p>Sikoro relapsed into silence and Mironda did not speak. Presently the +man got up and, in a crouching attitude, shuffled nearer and sat down as +close as possible to the edge of the woman's mat without actually +touching it. To touch the mat of the Chief's wife would have been an +offence, to come so near to it was studied insolence.</p> + +<p>Mironda looked up angrily, met the bloodshot eye of Sikoro and opened +her mouth as if to speak. Instead of doing so, however, she looked away +and examined the work upon which she had been engaged when the man +arrived.</p> + +<p>Sikoro grinned and, detaching from his belt a small gourd, emptied some +snuff into the palm of his hand.</p> + +<p>This was a deliberate insult to the Chief's wife and conclusive evidence +to her, if indeed she needed it, that she might now expect the worst.</p> + +<p>Sikoro blew his nose unpleasantly and loudly sniffed up the snuff from +the palm of his hand. Then, clearing his throat, he said: "Someone has +stolen one of the Chief's heifers."</p> + +<p>"Eh."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A yellow one which the Chief might well have sold to a Jew."</p> + +<p>"So."</p> + +<p>"It is no great loss to the Chief, as the heifer is barren."</p> + +<p>Mironda's eyes blazed with fury; she had no child.</p> + +<p>"The thief has been caught."</p> + +<p>"What will be done with him?"</p> + +<p>Ah! he had aroused her interest at last. Sikoro smiled pleasantly as he +said: "He will, of course, be strangled."</p> + +<p>"Will not the Missionaries prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"The Missionaries? They do not know and may not know for many days, and +anyhow, what could they do?"</p> + +<p>"The white man's Government will prevent the killing of people."</p> + +<p>"No doubt the white man's Government will do many foolish things, but +the Magistrate has not yet come."</p> + +<p>"He is coming soon."</p> + +<p>"But they strangle Miyobo to-day, now."</p> + +<p>No name had been mentioned before: indeed it was not necessary even now; +Mironda had known Sikoro's errand from the manner of entry into her +compound.</p> + +<p>The abominable man leant forward and repeated: "Now, now, now," then put +his hand to his ear. The woman listened, too, and heard distinctly the +shriek and gurgle of a dying man: then silence save for the pattering of +slaves' feet and their shrill inquiries and conjectures. Miyobo had been +strangled just outside the compound in which the woman sat.</p> + +<p>Mironda looked at Sikoro with wide eyes of fear. He, of course, enjoyed +the situation. Did he not hate this woman for her overbearing pride? Had +not she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> and Miyobo fooled him more than once, and had it not been the +merest chance which had delivered them into his hand?</p> + +<p>His one eye contracted with merriment, a cruel smile lifted his lip and +disclosed a row of sharply-filed teeth—the tribal mark of a subject +race; he was a freed slave.</p> + +<p>Pointing to the bangles on the woman's arm, Sikoro asked: "What are you +doing with the Chief's ivory?"</p> + +<p>One by one Mironda took her bangles off and placed them on the mat +before her.</p> + +<p>"Is not that the Chief's new shawl?"</p> + +<p>The wretched woman took the garment from her shoulders and laid it on +the mat beside the bangles.</p> + +<p>"And why," said Sikoro, "do you sit on the Chief's mat?"</p> + +<p>Mironda slowly rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>"And is not this the Chief's hut?"</p> + +<p>This was the last word, the full sentence of divorce; she, now a common +woman, had no right to stand where she stood. She looked hastily round +the compound and then walked silently to the gate and so out.</p> + +<p>The man gathered up the ivory bangles and tied them in the shawl. He +rolled up the mat upon which Mironda had been sitting and tucked it +under his arm. Then, spitting contemptuously on the ground, he followed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>Some years later I saw Mironda, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, +begging food at the Mission station.</p> + +<p>When the wife of the Chief is divorced, her fall is gradual. For a space +she becomes the wife of a head man, who presently passes her on to +someone lower<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> in the social scale, and so from hand to hand she passes +until she becomes the consort of a slave.</p> + +<p>In Mironda's case she first became the wife of Sikoro; surely a no more +cruel punishment could have been devised for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="MAN_AND_BEAST" id="MAN_AND_BEAST"></a>MAN AND BEAST.</h1> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<h2>PROTECTIVE COLOURING.</h2> + + +<p>Mobita had views on protective colouring. Who is Mobita? Oh, an elephant +hunter, a black man; a very good fellow—as black men go. Mobita used to +say that elephants, and big and small game generally, could not see +black and white. Black they could and white they could, but not a +judicious combination of the two. His usual hunting kit was a black hat +with a white feather in it, a black waistcoat over a white shirt, a +black and white striped loin cloth. His thin arms and legs were dull +ebony. There you have Mobita.</p> + +<p>Mobita's theory worked very well for a time, but as he had missed an +essential he paid the penalty in the end. A zebra is black and +white—more or less—and in the bush is practically invisible so long as +it stands still. That, then, is the essential adjunct to protective +colouring—you must keep still.</p> + +<p>This is what happened to Mobita.</p> + +<p>Just before the war I was hunting on the edge of the Great Swamp. Early +one afternoon, when the day was at its hottest, I heard a shot fired. +Later, I met a freshly-wounded tusker and dropped him. I went up to have +a look at him, and found dry blood on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +his ground tusk and a hole behind his near shoulder; someone had just +missed his heart. My shot took him in the ear.</p> + +<p>I left some of my men to cut out his tusks, and, out of curiosity, went +back along his spoor. I had not far to go. Sitting round a pile of green +branches I found a dozen of Mobita's people, looking very glum.</p> + +<p>They told me their yarn, which I did not believe until I had had a look +round for myself. The spoor told me their story was true enough.</p> + +<p>It appears that Mobita had followed the bull since early morning. He got +in a moderate shot; the bull saw him and gave chase. The ground was +unbroken, with no large ant-hills or big trees to dodge behind. Here and +there they went, this way and that, but the tusker kept his eye on +Mobita—on his protective colouring, I should think. Then somehow Mobita +tripped and fell, and the game was up. The elephant stamped on him, +knelt on him, put his tusk through him. Then—and here is the strange +part of it all—went from tree to tree picking green branches and piling +them up on what was left of Mobita.</p> + +<p>Then he moved off and shortly met me.</p> + +<p>Did I bury Mobita? Why, no. People came around presently—as natives +will when meat is about—and I made them pile stones on him; quite a +hill they made. I paid them for their trouble with elephant meat, and +handed the tusks to Mobita's men, as the custom is.</p> + +<p>Protective colouring is all right, no doubt—if you keep still.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2>DARWIN—A BIRD.</h2> + + +<p>When the railway construction reached to within reasonable distance of +my camp, I realised how tired I was of living in a mud hut, and acquired +sufficient material from the contractor for a small house. I also asked +him to spare one of his carpenters to erect it for me.</p> + +<p>The man sent to me was a German named Fritz Kunst. He was not only a +carpenter, but a mason, bricklayer, plumber, and painter as well. He was +an excellent workman, a member of no union, and intent only on finishing +his job quickly and well. I hasten to explain that this was many years +before the war.</p> + +<p>In build he was very short, almost deformed. His head was abnormally +large; so, too, were his hands and feet, especially his feet. He looked +upon his feet as his salvation. He was flat-footed, and on that account +had never served in the German army. He referred to his feet as, "My +goot luck, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>I had but one fault to find with him. He was rough with his native +servant. The boy sometimes complained to me, and when I remonstrated +with Kunst or threatened him with the law he would burst into a flood of +tears and offer to pay cash for his lapse. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> day the boy complained +to me that Kunst had beaten him severely and without cause. He could, +however, show no mark, but I sent for his master and demanded an +explanation. Kunst was evidently very angry with the boy, for he shook +his fist in his face and bellowed in his coarse, guttural voice: "Zo, +you make er tam vool of me, eh? I will your head break. You spoil my +money. Gott tam you!"</p> + +<p>In broken English, but with considerable fluency and force, Kunst told +me the source of his indignation. It appeared that from time to time he +commissioned his boy to make small purchases for him—eggs, fowls, milk, +fish, and the like. On the previous evening the boy produced a very +large egg for which he said he had paid sixpence. As eggs were then +never more than sixpence a dozen in that country, Kunst charged him with +cheating. The boy explained that the egg was a very large one. It was +large—huge, in fact—for a hen's egg, so Kunst did not press the +charge, but went to bed, telling the boy to boil it for breakfast next +morning.</p> + +<p>On the breakfast-table the egg looked larger than ever. It couldn't sit +in the tin egg-cup, so lay on the table beside it.</p> + +<p>Now Kunst was a greedy man and attacked the egg in the best of good +spirits. He tried to crack it in the usual way with a spoon, but without +success. He banged it on the table. The shell did crack then, but, to +Kunst's indignation, the egg proved to be hard set. Whether he thought +parts of it might be good I cannot say, but the German broke open the +egg and examined it more closely. He then became very angry indeed, for +what he found satisfied him that the egg was not a hen's egg at all. The +creature upon which he gazed was three-parts beak and most of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> the rest +was made up of feet. Kunst had never seen anything like it. In a rage of +disappointment he beat the boy. He had so looked forward to eating that +very large egg which the boy assured him was a hen's egg. Had not his +trusted servant declared that the egg had cost sixpence?</p> + +<p>I soothed Kunst's ruffled feelings, and persuaded him to go to his work +and forgive the boy.</p> + +<p>When I had settled the little differences between the German and the +native, I cross-questioned the latter. It transpired that the giant egg +was that of a marabout stork which had nested in a tree a few miles +away. As one egg still remained in the nest, I told the boy to let a +week or two go by, and if by then the egg had hatched out to bring the +chick to me.</p> + +<p>In due course Darwin arrived. I did not call him Darwin for several +weeks; the name occurred to me later. Darwin was the queerest of +objects. He was a large ball of fluff based on two very long legs, and +surmounted by a huge beak protruding from a bald head. He was wise from +birth; it was when I had fully realised how very wise he was that I +christened him Darwin.</p> + +<p>When he first came to me he made no proper use of his legs. He could not +stand erect, but sat awkwardly with his bird equivalent to knees +protruding behind and his large feet, with toes spread out, in front. He +resembled a downy globe on rails. He crawled about my bungalow almost +from the first day I had him. This he managed by sliding first his right +hand rail along the floor and then his left, clapping his huge beak +after each movement. I suppose I subconsciously accepted this beak +clapping as the crooning of a baby bird, for I soon found myself +indulging in baby talk with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>His appetite was amazing; moreover, he was omnivorous.</p> + +<p>When it was neither his meal time nor mine, he would sit on the floor in +front of me blinking up at me with wisdom in his eyes. He winked. There +is no doubt about it. It was as if he had just remarked: "What you and I +don't know isn't worth knowing." I soon dropped the baby talk with +Darwin, and discussed with him Affairs of State.</p> + +<p>He grew rapidly. One day I detected a feather. By degrees feathers +replaced the down, but the most important sign of Darwin's growing up +was when he took his first step. One morning without warning he heaved +himself up, and, by using his beak as a third leg, actually stood on his +feet. For the space of a full minute he remained in this position, then, +suddenly lifting his head, he was erect. For one moment only; then, +overbalancing backwards, he fell with a crash full length on the floor. +He appeared stunned at first. I picked him up and placed him on his +rails again, and there he sat, thinking the matter over. Presently he +repeated the manœuvre, but with no better success, falling this time on +his "front" as a child would say. Again I gathered him up, and +apparently, after mature consideration, he decided that his time for +walking had not yet come, for he made no more attempts that day.</p> + +<p>About a week later, as if the idea had struck him for the first time, he +got up quite suddenly, and coolly walked out of the back door into the +yard; he stood there sunning himself, and chattering to and at everybody +and everything in sight.</p> + +<p>Darwin never looked back. He quickly developed a curiosity as insatiable +as his appetite. He became playful, too. He made friends with the dogs, +and romped with them. He noticed that the doctor paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> a daily visit to +the compound, and hid behind the fence in wait for him. As the doctor +sped past on his bicycle, Darwin would shoot out his heavy beak at him. +So sure a marksman did the bird become—he always narrowly missed the +saddle, but hit the doctor—that the good man complained, and approached +the compound by the long way round.</p> + +<p>The day arrived when certain puppies had to lose their tails. Darwin +took a proper interest in the operation, and gobbled up each tail as it +fell. He appeared to like dogs' tails, and went in search of more. He +found a nice long one which he tried to swallow, but it happened to be +still attached to an elderly greyhound. Poor Darwin met with his first +serious rebuff in life; he came to me for sympathy with a large puncture +in his beak. The mark of the dog's displeasure was permanent.</p> + +<p>When natives came, as they did in hundreds, to sell the produce of their +gardens, woods, and streams, Darwin inspected their wares. With a twist +of his beak he would filch a pinch of meal from a bowl to see, so the +natives declared, whether it was of uniform whiteness throughout. Eggs +had to be protected with outstretched arms, so, too, had baskets of +little fishes, for he was very partial to them both, and only a very +full sample would satisfy him. The natives declared him possessed. +Judging by the way he first abused and then assaulted any one of them +bold enough to resist his inspection, I think they were right.</p> + +<p>I have already mentioned his curiosity. He permitted this defect in his +character to carry him too far when he became a common thief. A +traveller stayed with me for a few days. In spite of warning, he left +the door of his hut open when he came across to the mess hut for +breakfast. Darwin entered to inspect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> It is surmised that he swallowed +my guest's shaving brush and tooth brush, for they have never been +found. It is only surmise, but there was circumstantial evidence to +support the charge in the form of the stick of shaving soap which was +found on the floor with marks on it which might have been made by the +beak of a large bird.</p> + +<p>Again, the contents of two boxes of cigars were found scattered far and +wide; each cigar had been nipped in half. Darwin was questioned; he +looked wise but said nothing. A native witness swore he had seen the +accused walking in the yard with the white man's pipe in his mouth. This +was a wicked slander, for the white man had that pipe in his pocket, and +it was his only one.</p> + +<p>The case was not proven, but Darwin left the court without a shred of +character.</p> + +<p>I have referred to his appetite. One day the cook missed a piece of +lamb's neck, weighing probably half a dozen pounds. He couldn't blame +the cat, because there wasn't one, so he pointed the finger of +accusation at Darwin. The evil bird was sent for. I felt he was guilty, +and, although he winked at me for sympathy, I had to say so. Besides, he +had not been sufficiently careful to hide the loot; even a professional +detective could have recognised the meat by the very large, irregular +bulge in the bird's pouch. In places the mutton bones threatened to +pierce the thin disguise.</p> + +<p>Darwin certainly had his uses. No nasty-smelling scrap could lie +undetected for long. His scent was keen and his eye sharp. I never found +a snake in the house after Darwin grew up, nor were there many rats +about the place.</p> + +<p>Once a huge swarm of locusts fell upon us, and all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> hands turned out to +destroy them. Darwin joined in the fray, and soon we retired and left +him to finish the job, as he disposed of thousands to our joint +hundreds. His method was simplicity itself. He dashed here, there, and +everywhere with his huge beak wide open. Only now and then, and for a +moment, did he close it to gulp down what had fallen in.</p> + +<p>The doctor, who lived a mile away, did not like Darwin; partly because +of his stupid trick of pecking at him as he cycled by, but chiefly +because he seemed to know what was going on in the hospital. If an +operation was being performed, Darwin could be heard tramping about +impatiently on the corrugated iron roof of the building. As the marabout +stork mainly lives on carrion scraps, there was, the doctor considered, +questionable taste in Darwin's visits.</p> + +<p>Alas! Darwin met with a violent death in his early prime.</p> + +<p>Like all others of his kind, he grew those beautiful downy feathers so +highly prized by women who dress well. There was a demand throughout the +country for the feathers, and many of these delightful and useful birds +died at the hands of the natives in consequence.</p> + +<p>An operation was going on at the hospital, and Darwin was hurrying +thither on foot, as I had recently cut the feathers of one of his wings. +In the road he met a strange native, who despatched him with his +assegai, stripped him of his feathers, and walked on.</p> + +<p>The spoiler soon came up with two of my servants who, on hearing of the +man's good luck, as he put it, took him back to the scene of the +outrage.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was "Da-wi-ni"; was not that the hole in his beak which the +angry greyhound made?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>My servants decided that Darwin had been most foully murdered, and acted +according to their lights.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>It was well that the doctor knew his job. After six anxious weeks the +native was so far recovered from the beating as to be pronounced out of +danger.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LION'S SKIN.</h2> + + +<p>In the year 1898 Sergeant Johnson, the one with the bright red beard, +was sent up country to establish and to remain in charge of the new +out-station of Likonga. Likonga, a little-known spot in Central Africa, +was, and still is, miles away from civilisation. Sergeant Johnson's +command was cut to small dimensions by malaria at headquarters. He had +but a corporal and two men. Likonga in those days consisted of nothing +but a name on the map, and nothing at all in the way of buildings or +anything else to show you when you had got there. The Commandant of +Police had dotted vaguely the imperfect sketch map with his pencil, and +had instructed Sergeant Johnson to go there. The Sergeant had glanced at +the map as it lay on the office table, and had said, "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You will take with you Corporal Merton and Privates Hay and Hare. I +cannot spare more."</p> + +<p>Again the Sergeant said, "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You will take rations for ninety days, the small buck waggon, and the +black span of oxen."</p> + +<p>For the third time Sergeant Johnson said, "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Now, this man with the bright red beard had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> a soldier elsewhere +before he became a policeman in the middle of Africa. His old training +had not encouraged questions, so he never asked any now. When, +therefore, the Commandant of Police glanced up from the map, the +Sergeant saluted, turned about, and left the office.</p> + +<p>He wasted no time. He took Corporal Merton, Privates Hay and Hare, the +small waggon, ninety days' rations, a span of fourteen black oxen, the +Zulu Jacob to drive, and the Kaffir boy "Nine-thirty" to lead.</p> + +<p>Just before sundown he pulled out of camp. It is hardly necessary, +perhaps, to say that the leader of a waggon is the native who walks in +front of the oxen, but it is necessary to explain that a leader of oxen +in Africa answers to any name flung at him. This particular one was +called "Nine-thirty" because, without any apparent effort, he stood and +walked with his feet splayed at what should have been an impossible +angle to his legs. If his right big toe pointed east, his left one +pointed west, whilst he himself faced north or south, as the case might +be.</p> + +<p>For seven days the party travelled in a northeasterly direction, +Sergeant Johnson spending most of the time on his back on the waggon, +Corporal Merton tramping immediately behind, whilst Privates Hay and +Hare followed at any distance ranging between a hundred yards and half a +mile.</p> + +<p>The party was not a cheery one; it might have travelled for yet another +day, or even more, had not the Sergeant dropped his looking glass off +the tail end of the waggon. He was devoted to his big red beard. While +lying on the waggon he spent his time fondling and trimming this beard, +smearing vaseline on it and admiring it in his little lead-framed +looking glass.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>When, therefore, he dropped his glass, he said: "Damn," and then, more +loudly, "This is Likonga; outspan, Jacob!"</p> + +<p>The driver shouted "Ah, now!" to the oxen, and the outfit came to a +halt.</p> + +<p>As a camping place, the spot so casually chosen was not a bad one. There +was wood and there was water, good grazing for the cattle, and obviously +some game about. Moreover, there were some granite boulders on the left, +set round in the form of a rude circle. Under the Sergeant's direction +all were soon roughly housed. The cattle had been made secure at night +by a skilful reinforcement of the circle of boulders, here a thorn bush +and there a few poles. Patrol tents, protected by a straggling fence, +satisfied the Sergeant and his men. Jacob spent the day in the lee of +his waggon and the night under it. "Nine-thirty" slept on the other side +of the cattle kraal, under the propped-up roof of an abandoned native +hut; during the day he herded the cattle. The making of this very +primitive out-station occupied less than a couple of days, and then the +question, "What the devil shall we do now?" fell upon the party like a +blight.</p> + +<p>But, as is so often the case, the devil decided.</p> + +<p>All had turned in for the night. The Sergeant had taken a last look at +his beard. Corporal Merton had read something of Kipling's. Private Hay, +after a long-winded argument with Private Hare, in which neither seemed +to gain advantage, had told his adversary to go to hell. Private Hare +had found satisfaction in saying, "Ditto, brother." Jacob had retired +under his waggon, and, like most natives, fell asleep immediately, with +his head well covered by his blanket.</p> + +<p>The leader with the silly name, alone of all the party,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> remained awake +in his solitude on the other side of the cattle kraal. His evening meal +of maize porridge was bubbling in his small cooking pot, perched on a +handful of embers. He was playing a minute native "piano," a trumpery, +tinkling thing, made of half a gourd, a strip of hard wood, with a few +tongues of metal affixed to it.</p> + +<p>The tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink; tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink, sounded very +plaintive and lonely in Africa's wide expanse. The boy was singing, +too—if his wail could be called singing.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crocodile,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating near the bank,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleeps in the river.</span><br /> +Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fish,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating on the water,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleeps in the river.</span><br /> +Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hippopotamus,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating in mid-stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleeps in the river.</span><br /> +Tinkle, tinkle,...<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The music stopped. Africa was deadly still, save for the croaking of a +frog.</p> + +<p>"Nine-thirty" sat motionless, looking straight before him, out beyond +his little fire. Immediately opposite stood a large, black-maned lion. +The pair faced each other, a yard or so apart. The only movement was the +lion's tail, which switched from side to side. The huge beast looked +steadily at "Nine-thirty," who, full of fear, stared back at the lion.</p> + +<p>Where life and death are concerned, things happen very suddenly. The +lion took one step forward and seized "Nine-thirty" by the knee. The boy +reached for his assegai and plunged it into the lion's ribs.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant heard the cry and a roar of pain in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> his sleep, and woke up +to fumble with his beard. Corporal Merton, from an interrupted dream, +cried out: "Halt! Who goes there?" Private Hay, if awake, said nothing, +whilst his companion in arms muttered: "What's up?" Jacob answered from +under his blanket: "It's a lion, master, and he has killed my leader." +At any rate, it was certain something serious had happened. A lion, +uncomfortably close, was making such a din that the leaves of the trees +near by seemed to flutter, and "Nine-thirty" was moaning on the other +side of the cattle kraal.</p> + +<p>"Stand to arms!" commanded the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>All tumbled out of their blankets, rifle in hand, shirttails flapping in +the night wind. They were not cowards, neither were they fools. The four +listened to the sound of a lion growling and retreating as he growled. +The moaning came from one place, so it was evident that Nine-thirty was +for the moment safe. Then, hastily lighting a lantern, the policemen +picked their way round the cattle kraal to Nine-thirty's little fire. +The Sergeant knew something of first aid. He lifted the mauled native +carefully and carried him back to the waggon. The boy's knee was in a +bad state—the joint was crushed. A "tot" of brandy, a thorough wash of +the wound, a bandage, a blanket or two, and a bed of grass near the camp +fire made Nine-thirty as comfortable as possible. After making up the +fire, all turned in again.</p> + +<p>At daylight the Sergeant mustered his men, and thus addressed them:</p> + +<p>"We will now go and blot out this accursed lion. Load, and remember no +one fires until I give the word. Put on your boots, don't bother about +your bags."</p> + +<p>The four lined up.</p> + +<p>"March!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>They hadn't far to go—barely a couple of hundred yards. The lion raised +his head and growled. Nine-thirty's assegai, broken off short, still +protruded from the beast's ribs.</p> + +<p>"Fire!" commanded the Sergeant. Four shots rang out as one, and the +lion's head sank upon his paws. The men reloaded, and approached with +caution, but the marauder was dead.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant instructed Jacob to skin the beast, and the four returned +to camp for breakfast and to think out the problem which had arisen out +of the killing of this lion.</p> + +<p>All things being equal in sport, and rank apart, and as man to man, to +whom belonged the skin? Someone had missed, because there were only +three holes in the skin. Someone had made a rotten bad shot, because +there was a bullet hole in the lion's rump. Someone had killed the beast +outright, because a bullet had passed through the lion's brain. Someone +had done for him, because another shot had taken him behind the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>All claimed the head shot.</p> + +<p>Well, Jacob was out of it anyway. So, too, was poor Nine-thirty. Neither +had fired a shot.</p> + +<p>When I arrived I found Nine-thirty well on the way to recovery, but the +policemen still "man to man." A deputation presented me with the skull +and asked me to decide about the skin. I declared Nine-thirty the owner +by all the rules of hunting; he had drawn first blood, and had stopped +the lion.</p> + +<p>I suggested, however, that as Nine-thirty did not want the skin, the +four who fired at the lion should have a five shilling sweepstake for +it, Nine-thirty to have the pound and the winner the skin.</p> + +<p>Sergeant Johnson drew the prize.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Jacob, being a Zulu, collected the lion's fat, melted it into tins, +bottles, and small gourds, and sold it for many pounds to his friends +when he went home a year later. All Zulus know that lion's fat smeared +on the head, face, or beard makes a man brave in battle.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE REVEREND MR. BUMPUS.</h2> + + +<p>Some missionaries I like very much, they are good fellows; others I am +not so sure about; others, again, I admit I cordially dislike. I place +the Rev. Mr. Bumpus in the third category. I met him once going down the +road from the Zambesi as I was going up. He, lucky beggar, was +travelling to rail-head in his ox-waggon, going on leave. I was trekking +north in my waggon, having just exhausted my home leave. All his fun was +to come; mine was over for a period. I felt, when I met him, like a boy +who, having eaten his own plum cake, must now watch another boy devour +his.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Bumpus had a wife. Poor soul, she was cooped up with him in the +waggon, and had been for three weeks. They had come about two hundred +miles from their mission station in that time. Think of it, cooped up +for three solid weeks with the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. How I pitied her!</p> + +<p>What a change there was in the little woman. Three years earlier, I +remember, she had gone north with Bumpus, newly married, and with a look +in her eyes of a brave soldier of the faith, rosy cheeked, well favoured +and plump. And now! What a battle she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> must have had! And I'm sure she +didn't find a good ally in the man of her choice. She was thin and +drawn, had a sad, discouraged eye, and looked more than twice her age.</p> + +<p>Almost the first question she asked was: "Oh, have you any tobacco? Any +you can spare, I mean?" I produced my pouch, and said I had plenty in my +waggon coming on behind.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Bumpus slipped off the waggon, took a handful, crammed his +pipe, and put the remainder in his alpaca coat pocket. Then he lit up, +took a puff or two, and said—nothing! It was she who thanked me, +adding:</p> + +<p>"Fred has been impossible for the last five days; he's had no tobacco. I +didn't pack enough. Perhaps his temper will be better now." And this +poor little lady cast a beseeching look at her lord and master.</p> + +<p>As for the reverend gentleman, he climbed back into the waggon, sat down +with a grunt of contentment, and puffed vigorously at his pipe.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad we've met you," continued the woman. "We've been followed +for days by some lions. Last night they took my riding donkey."</p> + +<p>"They'll have you next," interjected her gallant spouse with a grin. +"They like donkey-meat."</p> + +<p>The fellow was a brute. His wife was scared, and even if he couldn't +encourage her he needn't have tried to frighten her more. But there he +sat, grinning down from his perch in the waggon, and showing his big, +yellow teeth. Yes, certainly, I disliked the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. I did my +best to reassure the lady, advised the man to put out lighted lanterns +at night to keep off the lions, and said good-bye.</p> + +<p>I did a short trek that evening, and outspanned early. I couldn't help +thinking of the callous man and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> the frightened woman. I knew that if +the lions came round Bumpus was no man to cope with them, or, for that +matter, to take sensible precautions. For myself, I had some poles out, +tied lighted lanterns to them, and set them up some distance ahead, +behind, and on either side of my waggon. In addition, I had a good fire +lit beyond the leading oxen and an extra large one in front of my patrol +tent by the side of the waggon.</p> + +<p>I had been sitting by the fire for a little while after dinner, smoking, +when I was startled by a rifle shot, and then another. I judged by the +direction that they must have been fired by the Rev. Bumpus or his +driver, and, by the sound, that we were not camped very far apart. I +took a couple of boys, my rifle, and a lantern, and hurried along the +road to see what had happened. The missionary's waggon was further away +than I expected. When I got there the Rev. Bumpus was on the roof of the +waggon, on the top of the tent, in his nightshirt. I hadn't seen a +nightshirt on a man for years. His wife was inside the waggon. The +driver—it was he who had fired the shots—was, with his leader, +crouching under the waggon. The oxen were very restless.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark, and there would be no moon all night. The +missionary's fire had died down, and I couldn't see a yard beyond the +ring of light shed by the lantern in my hand. My first concern, +therefore, was to shake the unburnt logs together and get the fire going +again. Then, with my lantern in one hand and my rifle in the other, I +walked along the line of oxen, talking to them as I went, with the +object of settling them down. I counted the cattle as I passed and found +the span intact.</p> + +<p>Then, under my direction, my boys collected as much wood as we could +find handy, and lighted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> another fire, ahead of the oxen. Then I went +back to the waggon to question the missionary.</p> + +<p>Had he seen a lion?</p> + +<p>"Yes, a large one."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Close to the leading oxen."</p> + +<p>Had she seen any?</p> + +<p>"No, nothing," said his wife.</p> + +<p>Had the driver seen the lion?</p> + +<p>"Ja, baas, two."</p> + +<p>At that moment I nearly jumped out of my skin. The driver, from under +the waggon, fired again; his bullet must have missed my legs by inches +only. I had to use un-Sunday School language before I could make the +Rev. Bumpus stop his din from the top of the waggon; he was terrified, +and showed it without shame or reserve. I took the rifle from the +driver. Lions at night are bad enough, but the additional risk of a +scared native armed with a Martini is a little too much.</p> + +<p>"What the devil did you let fly for?"</p> + +<p>"At the lion, baas."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Over there, baas."</p> + +<p>"Over there," indeed, a few yards from the waggon, it was as black as +ink, but I argued, natives have good eyesight, and a lion's eyes have a +way of reflecting the light of a distant fire. He might have seen a +lion.</p> + +<p>Well, there was nothing for it, more fires must be built.</p> + +<p>The missionary had only one lantern, and that I lighted. It was too dark +to find a pole, so I dug a hole in the sandy soil, planted the waggon +whip in it, and slung the lantern to the whip-stick.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then began a night of toil and anxiety; I have no wish to live through +such a night again. My boys were frightened now. Frightened does not +describe the condition of the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. There he was, a weird +figure, perched on the top of the waggon-tent, ghostly in his white +nightshirt, chattering with alarm. Mrs. Bumpus sat, fully dressed, +inside the waggon, quite still and silent. The missionary's driver, +leader, and my boys stood huddled round the largest fire at the tail end +of the waggon, their eyes looking unusually large and white as they +peered into the thick darkness.</p> + +<p>"There he is, baas!"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"There!"</p> + +<p>"Where's there, you fool?"</p> + +<p>"Listen!"</p> + +<p>I listened, and sure enough I heard the shush, shush of something moving +in the dead leaves and dry grass a little distance away. The oxen +nearest the waggon showed signs of nervousness. I would have given much +for a dog that night. The movement stopped. We all listened. The Rev. +Bumpus began to mumble something from his perch aloft.</p> + +<p>"For goodness sake shut up! How can I hear anything while you're making +all that noise!"</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"There he is, baas!"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"There!"</p> + +<p>I listened, but could hear nothing. I listened for quite a long time. We +all listened—we could hear nothing. The nearest ox lay down with a +grunt, which meant that he, at any rate, was not much alarmed.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Bumpus asked whether I thought he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> come down, as on the +top of the waggon-tent it was very cold. I was just about to say he +could when again that shush, shush! I heard it myself distinctly this +time. At once the chorus again of "There he is," in as many languages as +there were natives huddled round me.</p> + +<p>I decided that we must do something, make a sortie and get more wood; +the fires had burnt low.</p> + +<p>Presently we had four fires blazing away, the one in front of the +leading oxen, one on either side of the waggon, and one at the tail-end +of it. My boys' courage rose as the circle of light grew. They dashed +here and there—strictly within the circle of light formed by the +fires—collecting dry wood. After a while you could have roasted the +proverbial ox at any one of the fires.</p> + +<p>While we were busy the Rev. Bumpus had crept down from his place of +vantage and had gone to bed. His wife, the better man of the two, made +us some strong coffee. The missionary's driver and leader joined in the +scramble for wood.</p> + +<p>The lion had evidently drawn off, so we had some coffee and stood +warming ourselves by the fire.</p> + +<p>"There he is, baas!"</p> + +<p>I grabbed my rifle. "Where?"</p> + +<p>"There, I can hear him now."</p> + +<p>"Listen! Silence, all of you!"</p> + +<p>Shush, shush; shush, shush.</p> + +<p>From over there! No, from there! Where the devil is he?</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>And this sort of thing went on the whole night through. Quiet for a +while. Fires die down. Shush, shush; shush, shush. Hurried collection of +wood. Fires blaze up. Silence. The shush, shush just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> beyond the limit +of light. "There, he is, baas!" "Where?" "There!" and so on.</p> + +<p>Then dawn. How slowly it came! Intense desire to murder that lion or +lions. A little lighter now.</p> + +<p>I set out, with the natives following, to look for the spoor.</p> + +<p>Shush, shush; I heard it quite plainly. Good heavens! where is that +lion? Broad daylight now. Is the thing a ghost?</p> + +<p>No. There it is—a scrubby, little, scaly anteater! Still grubbing in +the fallen leaves. Shush, shush; shush, shush.</p> + +<p>We stood looking at it, tired-eyed and weary.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you kill the wretched rat?"</p> + +<p>It was the Rev. Mr. Bumpus who spoke.</p> + +<p>Talking of rats, I could have killed that man there and then.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>When I got back to my own waggon I found lion spoor on the sandy road. +It was not difficult to read from their tracks—there were three +lions—that they had followed the missionary's waggon until they came to +a turn in the road and saw my lanterns. From that point the spoor led +down to the river bed, across it, and into the thick bush on the other +side. They hadn't come near the waggons.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SALVATION ARMY CAPTAIN.</h2> + + +<p>To-day you may book your passage with Cook's, in Ludgate Circus, to the +Victoria Falls and back, and travel in comfort all the way. In 1897 it +was different. There was no road to the Victoria Falls then, let alone a +railway. I won't bother you with an account of our journey out by waggon +as far as Panda-Ma-Tenga, or of how we rode across country from the edge +of the Kalahari Desert to the Falls, guided by the column of spray +arising from them, or, where the land dipped, by a sense of direction.</p> + +<p>At length we got there, or, more correctly, within a hundred yards of +the tumbling waters. Their roar was deafening. It was a wonderful sound +and a more wonderful sight. Imagine the hum of London traffic increased +ten thousand fold. Imagine a forest of palm, fern, black-trunked trees, +all within a hothouse of immense proportions, and a tepid, tropical rain +soaking you to the skin. We cut through the distance which separated us +from the lip of the Falls. Thick, tough creeper and undergrowth, +maidenhair fern waist high; it seemed a sin to trample it underfoot. +From time to time up to the thigh in watery mud when, unluckily, one +stepped in the pit-like spoor of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> hippopotamus which had passed in the +night. Monkeys chattering from overhead. I think I caught sight of a +buffalo.</p> + +<p>What a difference to-day! You might see a monkey in the trees now and +then, but a fire has since passed through that jungle at the end of a +dry season, and a century will not repair the damage. Moreover, there +are gravel paths leading from the new hotel to every "view" now, but we, +who saw the Victoria Falls twenty-four years ago, have something to +remember and to brag about.</p> + +<p>We spent half a day looking and looking and looking. We were drenched by +the spray, dried by the sun, deafened by the roar of the waters, and +struck dumb by the beauty of it all.</p> + +<p>At about one o'clock we felt hungry, and went in search of our +pack-horses. We had off-saddled outside the thicket and turned our +beasts loose. We found our saddles easily enough, and the horses, too, +for that matter; the grass was so luscious and plentiful that no horse +would desire to stray far after several weeks in the dry Kalahari. We +had lunch and a little rest, and then set out again to do more +exploring. We hadn't gone far before we came upon the track of a waggon. +Robinson Crusoe, when he found the footprint of the man Friday, could +not have been more amazed than we.</p> + +<p>So far as we knew, no other expedition had come to the Falls ahead of +us. Who, then, was the intruder?</p> + +<p>We followed the track, and presently, in a small clearing, we saw a +waggon. Whoever he was, this traveller deserved full credit for what he +had done. We had ridden to the Falls, and were proud of it, but here was +a man who had got a waggon through. Stout fellow. And there, seated on a +skin near his oxen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> was the man. He had a matted beard, and didn't look +too clean. Under one arm he hugged a huge calabash, from which he was +eating honey with a stick. The honey was old and granulated. There were +many flies in it, too, evidence that the neck of the calabash had been +left uncovered at times. He didn't move when he saw us, but, holding out +his stick, said: "Have some."</p> + +<p>We told him we had just fed, but thanked him all the same.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said he, "sit on this skin," but he made no room for us. "I +shot it yesterday at the Falls. This is the cub; the lioness went off."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"A couple of days."</p> + +<p>"How did you get through?"</p> + +<p>"Cut my way."</p> + +<p>"Lose any cattle in the thirst country?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't come that way; took a bee line from Bulawayo."</p> + +<p>This was a good performance indeed. All the old hands had said it +couldn't be done.</p> + +<p>"What did you come for?"</p> + +<p>"What did you?"</p> + +<p>The man who asked the question first was travelling north to take over +the administration of a tract of country as big as France. He explained +his business.</p> + +<p>"Oh, so you're the magistrate, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's about it. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a captain in the Salvation Army down south, but I've brought a +fellow up to prospect for mineral on the other side of the Zambesi. He +crossed yesterday, and moved up country on foot this morning."</p> + +<p>I looked at this queer fellow with interest. His cap of calling lay on +the ground beside him. Throughout<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> the conversation he went on eating +the honey. The Zambesi in those days was about the last place I should +have expected to find a Salvation Army man. Looking round I caught sight +of the familiar red jersey with the yellow letters. It was hanging on a +bush, evidently drying. The captain had followed my gaze, and +volunteered: "Had a bit of a washing day, first on this trip." From the +look of him I concluded that his own turn was yet to come.</p> + +<p>"Well, tell us about the lion cub."</p> + +<p>I think he told the truth. I can't, of course, vouch for it, but he was +sitting on the skin of a newly-killed cub. Before we left the Falls the +vultures told us where to find the lioness. But this is his story:</p> + +<p>"I was walking along in the rain-forest with my rifle, looking for a pig +or a palla or anything else eatable. I hadn't gone far when I nearly +fell over this cub. He snarled at me, so I shot him. While he lay +kicking on his back up comes his mother, so I reloaded my old Martini +and gave her one for herself. Not being a first-class shot, I didn't do +for her right off. She looked so angry and seemed to be coming on that I +stepped back a pace or two, but keeping my eye on her. I tried to +reload, but the empty cartridge case jammed. I broke off a stick from a +handy bush and plugged it down the muzzle. I must have pushed too hard, +for the stick broke off short."</p> + +<p>The captain stopped, got up, and fetched his rifle from the wagon. The +stick was still in the barrel, evidently stuck fast in the cartridge, +which, in its turn, was firmly fixed in the breech. We had a look at the +rifle and then at the captain. He simply said: "Can either of you +gentlemen fix this up for me?" We both said we could, and both asked: +"But what about the lioness?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, the lioness. Why, there she was and there I was. She with a very +ugly look, and growling, and I with my rifle put out of action. I felt +it was time to do something, so I backed out of the bush singing a hymn +in a loud voice."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SPORT OF KINGS.</h2> + + +<p>The days have gone by when the Paramount Chiefs of the Barotse embarked +annually upon a large-scale Lechwe drive. I believe the last big hunt +took place in 1899. I, at any rate, have heard of no such happening +since.</p> + +<p>It is just as well that these drives have come to an end. The African +natives' idea of sport does not altogether tally with that of the white +man; no sportsman likes to see animals slaughtered <i>en masse</i>.</p> + +<p>In those days the Lechwe antelope were strictly preserved for the +pleasure of the Paramount Chief and his entourage. No native was +permitted to disturb them in their natural haunts—the wide, open +plains—and no man could kill one under pain of heavy penalty. The only +exception to this rule was when a few head strayed into the vicinity of +Lealni, the principal native village of the Barotse valley. Then the +people were allowed to hunt them with dogs, but not to shoot them.</p> + +<p>The time chosen for these drives was after the rains had ceased to fall, +but while the Zambesi had still more water to carry off than its banks +could contain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> The overflow was such that for a space the Barotse +Valley became a vast lake, varying in depth from a few inches to a dozen +feet.</p> + +<p>The same may be said with equal truth of the Luena river, an important +tributary which, flowing from the East, made its junction with the +Zambesi not far from Lealni. It was in the Luena basin that the drives +took place.</p> + +<p>For two months before the time of hunting preparations for the drive +began. Those long, heavy casting assegais, peculiar, I believe, to that +part of Africa, were cleaned and sharpened. Narrow hunting canoes were +collected, repaired and caulked. Four foot long pikes, sharpened at one +end—which was hardened by burning—with a stout blade fixed in the +other, were prepared in great numbers by the Batotela, a slave tribe +cunning in the manufacture of iron. The blades of these pikes were short +and flat and had the rounded point of an oyster-knife.</p> + +<p>I was invited by the Chief to be present at the drive in 1899, and I +went.</p> + +<p>It took two days to reach the hunting ground. We travelled in +shallow-draught, dug-out canoes. The first night we slept in elaborate +grass shelters prepared for us beforehand.</p> + +<p>Next morning we resumed our journey at daylight. The Chief went first in +a very small and narrow canoe. He was accompanied by one man only. They +stood up in the canoe and punted with long, red-wood poles. All European +clothes had been discarded by the natives. The Chief wore a woollen +nightcap and a long, white shirt. Round his waist, but under his shirt, +he had a highly-coloured, fringed tablecloth. His legs and feet were +bare; so, too, were his arms to the elbow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>My canoe started immediately after that of the Chief, but I did not +retain that position long. It was more comfortable and, therefore, much +heavier and slower. It carried a crew of seven.</p> + +<p>I suppose there must have been several thousand canoe loads of men. Two +of the Chief's wives accompanied the party. All etiquette was abandoned. +It became a race to follow the Chief, and although the waterway was +several miles wide, collisions were frequent. Everyone was +good-humoured, including one of the Chief's wives, whose canoe was +capsized in the scurry. She was rescued amid much laughter and joking, +in which she joined.</p> + +<p><i>En route</i> we passed many canoes loaded down to the gunwale with pikes. +To these everyone gave a wide berth for fear of swamping them, for the +pikes were necessary to the sport.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of the second day we arrived at the spot selected, or, +to be more precise, at a large camping ground within easy reach of it.</p> + +<p>Here we found even more elaborate grass huts ready for us. The Chief +gave me a hut quite near to his own, a compliment which I did not +appreciate at its intended value, because his band played and women sang +throughout the night and robbed me of all sleep.</p> + +<p>The moment we arrived the Chief started off in his fast canoe to inspect +the ground over which the Lechwe were to be driven next day. On his +return he told me that the place had been well chosen and that the +country was alive with Lechwe. He also said he had found a high ant-hill +for me to stand upon and watch the drive.</p> + +<p>At daylight we set out again and reached my ant-hill in about an hour. +The Chief took me to the top of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> it, pointed out the direction from +which the antelope would come, and explained the plans for the day's +sport.</p> + +<p>Looking through my field-glasses I saw two faint lines which, beginning +more than a mile away in the open plain, converged, forming a funnel. +The narrow end of the funnel terminated within a quarter of a mile from +my ant-heap and in a line with it.</p> + +<p>The faint lines were really thin strips of dry palmleaf tape, which +shone white in the bright sunlight. Every few yards a bight was taken +round a bunch of tall, growing grass, which lent support to it and gave +the impression that a one-strand fence or a barrier of some sort had +been erected.</p> + +<p>The Chief referred to the two thin lines as walls, and assured me that +the antelope, if properly driven, would not break through them.</p> + +<p>He then drew my attention to the apparent opening at the narrow end of +the funnel, and asked me if I saw anything to prevent the Lechwe from +escaping in that direction.</p> + +<p>I said I could see no bar. He replied that the Lechwe couldn't either, +so, when pressed, would dash for the opening.</p> + +<p>"It is then that the sport will begin," he added.</p> + +<p>At this I looked more carefully and saw innumerable pikes had been +driven into the ground with their iron points sloping forward towards +the wire end of the funnel. The grass had been carefully rearranged.</p> + +<p>This, then, was the general plan: to drive the Lechwe into the funnel, +down it, and on to the pikes at the narrow end.</p> + +<p>In reply to my questions, he said that many thousands of beaters, drawn +from the slave tribes, had been wading through the swamps for two days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +collecting small herds of antelope and driving them slowly forward +towards the mouth of the funnel.</p> + +<p>He drew a diagram with his stick on the side of the ant-heap to show how +the beaters were disposed. He had adopted the well-known African method +of envelopment—the crescent, with the horns well forward. The men who +formed the horns had already reached the extremities of the funnel and +were passing slowly down outside the line. The antelope, he told me, +were contained in the arc of men coming forward.</p> + +<p>As yet I could see no antelope, nor could I see the men who formed the +arc; they were still too far away.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, all the men who had come in small hunting canoes had +taken their places outside, but close to, the two thin lines or walls. +The moment they reached their stations they sat down and were lost to +view in the long grass. The Chief explained that these men remained +hidden until the Lechwe had passed them, when their business was to +stand up and frighten the antelope forward with shouts and +gesticulations. Should any Lechwe attempt to break through the sides of +the funnel, the canoemen had to drive them back or assegai them.</p> + +<p>I now knew what to expect.</p> + +<p>The Chief presently left me, as he, too, had to take up his station. He +begged me to keep myself hidden, as a premature exposure might easily +spoil the entire drive.</p> + +<p>I lay flat on the ant-heap, looking through a small gap which I made in +the tall grass which crowned it. I could see admirably, but could not be +seen.</p> + +<p>It was a long time before I could discern any movement, even at the +mouth of the funnel. I could hear the cries of the beaters as they +approached, faintly at first, then a hum, then a roar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently I saw a single reed-buck ram pacing very slowly towards the +concealed assegais. From time to time he stopped, stamped, sniffed and +whistled, scenting danger. What became of him, I don't know. I lost +sight of him.</p> + +<p>Looking through my glasses towards the entrance of the funnel again, I +saw a sight which made me gasp. Although the most distant beaters had +not yet appeared, a huge herd of Lechwe seemed literally to block the +funnel and were trotting steadily down it. Half way they stopped. A fine +ram turned and walked towards the left-hand wall. A man stood up and the +antelope turned in the direction of the opposite wall; he went at a trot +again and the immense herd followed him. When within twenty yards of the +palmleaf tape, some dozen men stood up. All the antelope but the ram +stopped. He, fine fellow that he was, made a bold bid for liberty. He +dashed on, gathered himself together, and cleared the fence. One of the +men in a canoe made a movement. It was too far off to see anything +clearly, but as the Lechwe landed in a heap, I realised that he had been +transfixed in mid-air by one of those heavy hunting assegais.</p> + +<p>The herd was not leaderless for long. Another ram forged ahead and +trotted straight towards the narrow end of the funnel. Immediately every +man sat down. It was clear that these hunters had been very well +drilled.</p> + +<p>After moving rapidly for a hundred yards the Lechwe came to a halt. They +were not as yet frightened, but highly suspicious.</p> + +<p>First, they turned at a walk towards the right-hand wall: a man stood +up. They moved across to the left: the first man sat down and his +opposite number stood up. The antelope broke into a trot. After heading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +to the right again for a little way, some hundreds broke back, and this, +I think, is where the mistake was made, for, instead of leaving them to +the beaters, who were approaching, driving many more herds of Lechwe +before them, man after man stood up, shouting and waving their arms +wildly.</p> + +<p>This had the effect of breaking up the whole of the antelope formation. +They dashed here and there, thoroughly frightened; some broke through +the wall, some cleared it, some dashed right back, and others came on +towards the trap.</p> + +<p>I watched these last. There were several hundred of them. They came +along at a very fast trot, the rams with their heads forward, noses up, +and horns lying along their backs. A ram led. He struck one of the +hidden pikes full with his chest and gave a mighty leap into the air, +bleeding from a terrible wound in the brisket. He landed on the point of +another pike and bounded up from it, his entrails dragging behind him. +Much weakened, he leaped and leaped again until, completely +disembowelled, he fell and lay still.</p> + +<p>There was no escape, the pikes were set so closely together: not a foot +apart. They reached right across the gap in the funnel and to the depth +of forty or fifty yards. I do not think a single one of this part of the +large herd escaped. For the space of two minutes they were dashing past +me and on to the hidden pikes. Every one was disembowelled before it +fell dead—rams, ewes, and young alike. It was a disgusting sight.</p> + +<p>The natives were in a frenzy of excitement. No doubt their one idea was +to drive the Lechwe to the trap and in that they succeeded; but they +also drove a considerable part of the herd back upon the beaters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> who +were pressing other herds before them. The confusion was complete. +Lechwe were dashing in all directions. Men were shouting and hurling +their assegais. A deafening roar rose from the beaters, now close in. +From time to time a score or so Lechwe dashed upon the pikes and added +to the slaughter.</p> + +<p>I saw a Setutunga approach the pikes leisurely out of the confusion. He +lifted his feet high at every step, a habit bred of life in the papyrus +swamps. A native appeared from nowhere in particular and running him +down killed him with a club.</p> + +<p>The drive was over.</p> + +<p>That evening when I met the Chief he was still furious. Someone had +blundered and most of the Lechwe had escaped. Moreover, a man in a small +canoe, hurling his heavy assegai at a Lechwe, had missed the beast and +killed his brother. The Chief's own cook and several of his companions +had been mauled out in the plain by a leopard. No, the drive had not +been a success by any means.</p> + +<p>I wondered what the bag would have been if all had gone well with the +Chief's plans. I had personally counted three hundred mutilated +carcasses, but, feeling sick, had given up the tally and returned to +camp.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LIONS OF MAKULULUMI.</h2> + + +<p>How hot it was! September, 1897. I had not shot my first lion then, and +many, many months were to pass before my luck came. Dame Fortune doesn't +often condescend to glance my way. She smiled broadly once when, with +three tickets, I won first, second, and third prize in a sweep on the +Grand National; but then I have never drawn a prize in a sweep since.</p> + +<p>However, to return to September, 1897. Yes, by Jingo, it was hot. Not a +breath of air; not a leaf on any tree. The rains were almost due, but +not a shower had fallen. The only shade was in the shadow of the wagon.</p> + +<p>But it was not the blazing sun alone with which we had to contend. There +thrives in the Kalahari Desert a pestiferous little winged insect called +the Mopani bee, named after the hardwood tree in which it sets its hive. +It would seem that this creature must have moisture, moisture of any +kind—it isn't at all particular. And to think that I used to eat the +stuff they call Mopani honey until, one day, I saw a bunch of them +lapping up the moisture from a perspiring native runner. Ugh!</p> + +<p>These bees will congregate in dozens at the corners<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> of your eyes, try +to burrow into them and then collect the tears which the discomfort of +their burrowing produces. They will crowd at the corners of your mouth; +when you open it to blow the little plagues away, they rush in. Thank +Heaven, the Mopani bee doesn't sting.</p> + +<p>We were struggling up to the Zambesi from Bulawayo. Our waggons were +overloaded, for the Kalahari had taken heavy toll of our cattle and our +spans were therefore many oxen short.</p> + +<p>We had reached and covered the first ten miles of the thirty-five which +separate Makululumi from Kasibi. All those who knew the old Hunter's +road will remember that stretch. The first ten miles are not bad going, +but the next seven are the heaviest and loosest sand that oxen were ever +asked to drag a waggon through.</p> + +<p>Between Makululumi and Kasibi there is no water, so the Major who +commanded our little party thought it wise to send the oxen back from +the ten-mile point to have the best part of a couple of days' rest at +Makululumi before calling upon them to tackle the next stage of the +journey.</p> + +<p>During the afternoon of the second day, by following my chief's example, +I got the better of those bees. It is true I was slowly suffocating, but +that was better than being tormented. I was lying on my back under the +waggon, with my head covered with a blanket, perspiring immoderately. At +least three more hours of this before the cattle returned and we resumed +our journey.</p> + +<p>Presently I heard a conversation going on in Dutch between the Major and +one of his boys. I looked out and saw one of the drivers who should have +been with the cattle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" the Major asked.</p> + +<p>"Lions, baas."</p> + +<p>"Where? How many? When?"</p> + +<p>"Last night at Makululumi. Yes, many of them, baas."</p> + +<p>"Any cattle dead?"</p> + +<p>"Four, baas."</p> + +<p>"Tell me about it."</p> + +<p>The driver told his story. It appeared that the night before, as soon as +it was dark, the boys had collected the cattle together and had driven +them up to the camp fires. The oxen stood about for a little while and +then settled down. Seeing this, the boys had turned in. When the moon +set, the cattle moved off to the water holes again to drink and graze.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a great commotion at the water, oxen bellowing and +stampeding. The boys got up and ran down with lights and a rifle. There +they found three of the oxen lying dead within a hundred yards of each +other, and a fourth, also dead, some little distance on. Each ox had his +neck broken, but was otherwise unmarked. One of the boys thought he +heard a lion in the grass, so fired his rifle off.</p> + +<p>Collecting the cattle again, they drove them up to the camp fires and +kept a strict watch for the remainder of the night.</p> + +<p>At daylight they went back to the scene of the killing, and found that +the lions had returned to the carcasses and made a heavy meal off two of +them, the third was half eaten, the fourth untouched.</p> + +<p>This was indeed a disaster; we simply couldn't spare these four oxen.</p> + +<p>"Where are the cattle now?"</p> + +<p>"At the water holes with the other boys."</p> + +<p>"What did you tell the other boys to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let the cattle graze until sundown, then water them and bring them +along."</p> + +<p>"Good. Now let's get busy."</p> + +<p>During this conversation I had got out from under the waggon and was now +listening.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Go back and blot out some of those lions."</p> + +<p>"May I come, too?"</p> + +<p>"Have you ever shot a lion?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen one?"</p> + +<p>"Not outside the Zoo, but I should like to."</p> + +<p>"Well, you may come on one condition."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Don't shoot unless and until I tell you to."</p> + +<p>I promised. Here was adventure indeed!</p> + +<p>The Major took an axe and a length of cord. He handed me a billy-can, +two cups and some coffee. He selected a double .303 from his battery. I +took the only rifle I possessed, namely, a single Martini Metford.</p> + +<p>Without more ado we set off to cover the ten miles back to Makululumi. +There was no path, of course, merely the overgrown waggon track through +the forest. The traffic on that road was insufficient to cope with the +suckers which had sprung up round the stump of every tree felled in the +cutting of this so-called road. The men who originally made the road had +not troubled to stump it. The going was tiresome, and, lightly loaded as +I was, I soon found the little I had to carry an increasing burden to +me.</p> + +<p>About a mile from our destination we met the rest of our natives driving +the cattle along. We stopped for a few minutes to question them. They +had kept the vultures off the fourth ox, which was still intact,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> but +the birds had eaten up the other three almost entirely. A bushman had +arrived shortly before they came away, attracted by the circling +vultures. They made him stand guard over the yet untouched ox in case we +came back for the lion.</p> + +<p>All this was satisfactory, so, telling the boys to inspan the waggons +when they reached them, and make as long a trek as they could through +the heavy sand, we pushed on.</p> + +<p>We had no difficulty in finding the spot where the oxen had been killed. +Hundreds of vultures, gorged with meat, sat on the upper branches of a +clump of trees. A little further on an unusually tall bushman stood up +as we approached.</p> + +<p>The Major examined the lie of the land with an experienced eye, and +quickly made his plans.</p> + +<p>The Makululumi water holes are really a series of pools strung out along +the otherwise dry bed of a small river. Of three of the slaughtered oxen +little remained but the bones and hide; they had been killed in the bed +of the river. The fourth lay on the far bank, where the river made a +very sharp hairpin bend and narrowed to not more than a dozen feet.</p> + +<p>The Major selected a point as near as possible to the bank and +immediately opposite the dead ox. He didn't waste much time in +explanation, but, taking the axe, told me to follow him. The sun was +just beginning to set. He hurried to the nearest clump of small trees +and felled them rapidly, trimming off the branches and cutting them into +poles about six feet long.</p> + +<p>My part of the work was to carry the poles to the hairpin bend. Twenty +in all were cut, varying in thickness from two to five inches in +diameter. Then we built our moral support, for it was no more. I held<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +the tops of three poles while the Major tied them together with the +piece of cord which he had brought from the waggon. Then, standing them +on end, he spread them to form a tripod. This he reinforced with +additional poles, which he made fast with strips of bark. The finished +shelter looked like a skeleton bell-tent. It had neither strength nor +stability, for we had no time to sink the ends of the poles in the +sun-baked ground.</p> + +<p>By that time the sun had set, and the bushman, who had been watching us +silently all this time, said something in that strange clicking language +of his and hurried off, presumably to a place of safety.</p> + +<p>The Major thought a meal would do us good, and, going back along the +river until we came to a dry place where the banks were high, he lit a +fire. At the sight of a blaze I realised that I was cold. We did not +think of our coats in the heat of the midday sun. However, there was +nothing for it but to see the matter through.</p> + +<p>I felt quite comfortable after some bully-beef and bread, washed down +with two or three cups of hot coffee.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock we returned to our fort as quietly as possible, +surprising on the way a hyena in the act of dragging off the hide of one +of the oxen. We had to crawl very carefully into our shelter for fear of +disturbing a pole and bringing the whole thing down about our ears.</p> + +<p>Once inside, I had ample time for reflection. We sat within three yards +of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. A +yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a +hundred yards, the grass had been burnt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> short; beyond that again was +long grass and thick bush.</p> + +<p>The moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five +hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and +the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. The ox, much +distended by a day's exposure to the blazing African sun, was too near +to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the +landscape on the other side of the river. We could distinctly hear the +hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the scraps +of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures.</p> + +<p>We sat facing the ox. The Major thought that if the lions came at all it +would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open +country for a considerable distance.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, I felt extremely sleepy. We held a short whispered +consultation, and it was agreed that I should sleep while I could. The +Major promised to wake me if things became interesting. He wasn't +sleepy.</p> + +<p>I lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my +feet another. I slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the +hardness of the ground. Not only was the air at night cold by contrast +with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the +temperature.</p> + +<p>The sound of my companion's rifle woke me. Sitting up, I saw a lion in +the air, descending upon us. The Major fired again, and the lion fell +into the water-course, literally at our feet. I could see his rump and +tail quite plainly. His rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. His +bellowing must have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> heard for miles around, and doubtless many a +bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it.</p> + +<p>I remember shouting at the top of my voice: "I can see his rump. Shall I +shoot?"</p> + +<p>The reply, I must admit, disconcerted me: "Rump's the wrong end, but if +he shows his head shoot it off."</p> + +<p>I watched the struggling beast so intently that I did not see that a +second lion had approached. He made his presence known to me by a roar +which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. He +was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. The Major fired and +the lion sprang forward. The noise was deafening. A chorus of two +wounded lions is something not often heard.</p> + +<p>I now watched the second lion. He dashed off towards the bush, changed +his mind and charged us. He came in great leaps, roaring as he came, +then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of +dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. All I could see was +his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now +enveloped both the lion and the dead ox.</p> + +<p>Again a steadying warning: "Don't shoot until you can see more of him +than that."</p> + +<p>As the Major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the +bush, grunting savagely as he went.</p> + +<p>"Here he comes again!" And so he did, bounding along as before and +bellowing so that I wondered whether our home of poles could stand the +vibration of sound.</p> + +<p>Again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the +bush. We heard him crashing through it until there was silence once +more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>I must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. My heart thumped +like a sledge hammer. I longed to get out and stretch my legs. A great +deal of action had been compressed into a short space of time, probably +not more than ten minutes. To the Major's suggestion that we should have +a look at the dead fellow I responded with alacrity—too much +alacrity—my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came +crashing down upon his head.</p> + +<p>After extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood +looking at the lion. I followed him.</p> + +<p>I don't know why I did it—some sudden impulse for which I cannot +account—but I stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two +hands, looked into his eyes.</p> + +<p>I certainly heard the Major talking, and I distinctly heard what he +said.</p> + +<p>"What the devil are you doing, you damned young fool? Drop that head and +come away. How do you know he's dead?"</p> + +<p>I took no notice. I couldn't. I was terrified, hypnotised. I could do +nothing but stare and stare.</p> + +<p>No doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. It was +dying, not dead. It was a blazing, vivid, blinding light—as it were, +the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty +body.</p> + +<p>When at length I let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; I stood +shivering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something +not meant for him to see.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="WHITE_MEN_AND_BLACK" id="WHITE_MEN_AND_BLACK"></a>WHITE MEN AND BLACK.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> +<h2>WHITE MEN AT PLAY.</h2> + + +<p>The white man is superior to the black and must show it in his manners +and deportment.</p> + +<p>This is an unwritten law, observed in the early days of any of our +African settlements.</p> + +<p>For the man who breaks this law the punishment is swift and severe: he +is shunned by his caste and colour.</p> + +<p>It is said, but it is nevertheless generally true, that as the +settlement prospers, so does this excellent law fall into abeyance. Men +without manners arrive and are soon in the majority.</p> + +<p>But in the beginnng, the white man watches himself very carefully. He +knows all eyes are upon him. He must not permit himself to unbend. In +the observance of the law, a man is very self-conscious and is apt to +seem stiff and unsympathetic.</p> + +<p>In the very, very early days of Kazungula the natives of the place +watched some white men relax, and the spectacle afforded them as much +pleasurable interest as the knowledge that they had been seen caused +pain to the white men.</p> + +<p>For many a day the natives of Kazungula commanded a ready audience +anywhere in the country, for had not they, and they alone, seen white +men at play?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>It came about in this way.</p> + +<p>A solitary white man stood on the north bank of the Zambesi river, +looking across to the other side.</p> + +<p>It was Knight, the Native Commissioner, who had for the last fortnight +expected daily the arrival of some waggons which carried his year's +provisions and other stores. He had little of anything left. No sugar, +very little tea, and a single bottle of gin represented his cellar.</p> + +<p>He longed each night for the usual "sundowner," but had determined not +to open his one remaining bottle, in case of accident. Just what he +meant by accident he could not have said. In answer to a direct question +he might have replied: "Oh, anything might happen, one never knows."</p> + +<p>To-night, for some reason unknown to himself, he was more impatient of +the sluggard waggons than usual. Would the darned things never come?</p> + +<p>The sun was setting and small flights of duck were going down stream to +the marshy feeding grounds. A goose passed in the same direction.</p> + +<p>The reed birds, in large noisy flocks, were choosing their roosting +place for the night. It seemed that they could not make up their minds. +No sooner had they settled in one patch of reeds than they started up +with much twittering in search of a better place. They had done this at +least a dozen times, and their indecision irritated the man.</p> + +<p>A plump kingfisher, sitting on a log almost at his feet, dived from time +to time into the shallow water and returned to his perch again. Knight +noticed that the busy bird usually returned with a tiny silver fish in +his bill, and mentally commended him for his good fishing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, the waggons hadn't come, and wouldn't come to-night. The sun had +set and it was growing dark. A chill wind sprang up and the reed birds +had become silent. The watcher turned slowly and walked in the direction +of his camp.</p> + +<p>He had not gone far when he stopped, for he had caught sight of a +queer-looking man hobbling towards him along the path which ran by the +river side. In the dying light he saw that the stranger was a white man +accompanied by a single native, that he wore a long blonde beard, that +he was unusually tall, that his trousers were cut off above the knee, +that he had no boots, that he was very lame and had his feet bandaged in +rags. In short, he saw a fellow white man in distress.</p> + +<p>He forgot his own little troubles and hastened towards the newcomer.</p> + +<p>He gave the usual greeting of "Hulloa."</p> + +<p>"Hulloa," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"Going a bit short, I see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, about done in."</p> + +<p>"Let me give you a hand to my camp."</p> + +<p>"Thanks; I heard I should find you here."</p> + +<p>"Come far to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, from the Falls."</p> + +<p>"A good forty-five miles, by Jove!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite that, I should think."</p> + +<p>The two men relapsed into silence; the taller one because he was very +exhausted and felt it acutely now that he had reached his journey's end; +the shorter, because he realised his companion's condition and did not +wish to bother him with questions which could very well wait.</p> + +<p>On reaching the camp Knight shouted to his body servant: "Hot bath and +be quick!" Turning to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> companion, he said: "You'd like a hot bath, +wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing on earth I should like better, but no doubt you +can give me both."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know; you want a drink, of course. I'll get you one in a second. +Sit down."</p> + +<p>"Curse those waggons," muttered Knight, as he hurried off to get his +last bottle of gin. His second impulse was to thank goodness that the +bottle was a "baby," that is, one of the largest size.</p> + +<p>Returning with his precious "baby," he saw his guest's face clearly for +the first time. The natives had lit the camp fire, and the light of it +fell upon the strong features of the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! It's Lindsay!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, why not? Didn't you recognise me at once?"</p> + +<p>"No. Will you have water or a sparklet with your gin?" asked Knight, +pouring out about half a glass of the spirit—a quantity known to +travellers as a "three-finger tot."</p> + +<p>"I'll chase it," said Lindsay, who, having gulped down the gin, held out +his glass for some water.</p> + +<p>"Bath ready, Morena," a black boy called from an adjoining hut.</p> + +<p>"Have another?" said his host.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. I can face your hot bath now."</p> + +<p>The tired man entered the hut, followed by the native who had reached +the camp with him.</p> + +<p>Knight called his cook and took stock. What was there for dinner? Soup. +Oh, yes, there was always soup, made by boiling down bones and meat, +throwing in a few dried vegetables and thickening with peaflour.</p> + +<p>Fish? Good man; so he had caught some that very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> evening? Then there was +that cold bush-pig's head. Yes, they would like that. What else was +there? Remembering the leathery thing his cook called an omelette, he +discouraged a suggestion of eggs.</p> + +<p>To be sure, there were chickens. They had just gone to roost, and were +now quiet after a noisy bed-going. Yes, two very young ones +spatchcocked, and with plenty of black pepper and a little salt. And +there was one tinned plum pudding in the store; they would have that.</p> + +<p>This plum pudding had been suggested daily by the cook, and always +rejected because it might be wanted. It was wanted now. Yes, they would +have the plum pudding.</p> + +<p>And then there was the gin. Well, they wouldn't do so badly after all. +Soup, fish, chickens, the cold pig's head and a hot plum pudding; what +more could two men want?</p> + +<p>By this time Lindsay had splashed to his heart's content, and the +generous qualities of the gin were having their effect. He felt a new +man.</p> + +<p>"Are you out of your bath?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; can you give me some clean kit?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, but will it fit you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, near enough. It will be clean, which is the main thing."</p> + +<p>Much chaff ensued as Lindsay, who stood six feet three in his socks, got +into some of his host's clothes, for Knight was the shorter of the two +by some six inches, but fortunately broad in the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Can't do you in boots."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right. Give me some limbo<a name="FNanchor_A_2" id="FNanchor_A_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> to tie up my feet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>During the bandaging the camp dogs began to bark loudly, and both men +paused to listen.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Lindsay, "that must be Hobday. I walked on ahead of +him; he is so deuced slow. Do you know Hobday? He's 'pills' to our +expedition. Not a bad fellow, as doctors go."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't know him and you haven't told me what the expedition is or +anything about anything yet."</p> + +<p>"Well, we've walked across country from Zanzibar, or rather Mombasa, +looking for minerals."</p> + +<p>"Found anything?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd better go and look out for—what did you say his name was?"</p> + +<p>"Hobday, quite a little fellow."</p> + +<p>Knight went out of the hut and, as he passed the kitchen, ordered +another bath and told the cook that as a second white man was arriving +he must kill another chicken.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately Hobday arrived. He was a short, precise little man, +inclined to tubbiness.</p> + +<p>"How do you do? My name is Mr. Hobday. I am the medical man attached to +an important expedition headed by Mr. J.G. Lindsay, who may not be +unknown to you."</p> + +<p>To this long-winded greeting Knight replied: "Well, come along and have +a drink and a hot bath and a change, and by that time dinner will be +ready. Lindsay's here."</p> + +<p>"I do not often indulge in alcoholic beverages and never in the daytime, +but after a very tiring day——"</p> + +<p>"Say when. Will you have a sparklet with it or do you prefer water?"</p> + +<p>"Er, thanks, a sparklet if you please. I am of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> opinion that the +sparklet is a very useful invention. What would not that great traveller +and hunter, Gordon Cumming, have given for what amounts to a portable +soda-water factory? Ah, thank you, that is ample. And, as I always tell +my patients, if they must drink alcohol, they will find in gin its least +harmful form."</p> + +<p>"What a queer little devil," thought Knight.</p> + +<p>"I am greatly obliged to you for this stimulant, and now I shall be +further and deeply indebted to you if I may have a bath. I always say +that a hot bath, when one is tired, revives one more quickly and +effectually than anything else."</p> + +<p>Knight found it difficult to reply suitably to this, and was relieved +when the bath was announced and the doctor disappeared into the hut.</p> + +<p>Lindsay looked extremely funny in Knight's clothes. The old shooting +jacket was a little short in the skirt and sleeves. The trousers reached +half way down the tall man's shins, but he felt clean and comfortable +and appearances didn't matter.</p> + +<p>"Have another?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>The two men sat and talked whilst the third bathed.</p> + +<p>The rest of the expedition had remained at the Victoria Falls. There +were a dozen white men altogether, and about a hundred and fifty +natives. Lindsay heard that Knight was at Kazungula and came on to see +him. The pair had been through the Matabele rebellion together, and had +had other experiences in common. Hobday had insisted on coming too. His +devotion to "The Head of the Expedition" rather embarrassed Lindsay. He +was not a bad fellow on the whole, and a very capable doctor. The rest +of the men with the exception of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> Gray—Knight knew Gray—were +professional prospectors, good enough men at their particular job but a +troublesome lot on an expedition.</p> + +<p>No, they hadn't found anything really worth while, Lindsay thought, but +some indications of oil might turn out a big thing.</p> + +<p>Yes, they were going straight home from the Falls by way of Bulawayo, +Salisbury and Beira, and if any of them came back to have another look, +it would be this way and not in from Mombasa.</p> + +<p>The question "Have another?" had been asked and satisfactorily answered +before Hobday reappeared. He looked quite as funny in his host's clothes +as Lindsay did. The only difference was that the coat and trousers +supplied to him were as much too big for him as they were too small for +Lindsay.</p> + +<p>Hobday began to apologise for his appearance, but the announcement that +dinner was ready cut short the unnecessary speech.</p> + +<p>All three were hungry, the two visitors especially so.</p> + +<p>If, during dinner, Hobday noticed that a native replenished his glass +whenever it was empty, he made no protest.</p> + +<p>The conversation almost at once turned to England, to London, and what +each man had seen and done when last there. Towards the end of the meal +dancing was the topic. These new dances, the jazz, the hesitation, the +two-step, the fox-trot, and the rest; all agreed that they were +impossible, that there was little difference, if any, between them and +the average Kaffir dance. Hobday became quite eloquent on the subject, +and, as they moved to chairs set ready for them round a camp fire, +gravely stepped a measure which he was pleased to call the stately +waltz, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> then proceeded to contrast it with what he termed the +ridiculous prancings of the present day.</p> + +<p>Although the uncomplimentary terms which he applied to modern dancing +could with equal justice have been applied to the waltz as danced by +him, his companions agreed and fell to talking again of dances they had +been to when last at home.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lindsay said: "Why shouldn't we have a dance? One could hum the +tune while the other two dance. We can take it turn and turn about to +him. You and Hobday dance first and I'll hum. Why not?"</p> + +<p>And thus began the dance which is talked of to this day by the natives +who saw it.</p> + +<p>Lindsay hummed the "Eton Boating Song" whilst Knight and Hobday waltzed +round and round the fire. Although he bobbed about in an unnecessarily +energetic manner, it was clear to Knight that Hobday had been inside a +ballroom.</p> + +<p>Then Knight sat down and hummed the "Blue Danube," but very badly, and +with many notes strange to the tune, for Lindsay was six foot three and +Hobday only five foot four!</p> + +<p>Then Knight and Lindsay danced to the "Merry Widow," hummed by Hobday. +They really got on very well together in spite of Lindsay's bandaged +feet, for both, in civilisation, were adjudged good dancing men.</p> + +<p>After that they each had some light refreshment in the shape of another +tot of gin, and it was then that Hobday showed himself to be a man of +imagination.</p> + +<p>"Let's all dance now," he said. "Let's dance the Lancers."</p> + +<p>"How?" said Lindsay, "we are only three and there should be at least +eight for the Lancers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That don't matter," replied Hobday, "you two fellows take sides, I'll +do top and bottom; our partners—well, they're in England, don't you +see?"</p> + +<p>And so it came about that in the heart of Africa, under the star-lit +sky, three sane and more or less sober Englishmen danced right through +the Lancers from beginning to end, one taking top and bottom, the other +two the sides, whilst their partners were present only in the mind of +each.</p> + +<p>After the dance they stood silently round the dying fire, gazing into +the embers.</p> + +<p>Who can say what fair forms and faces they saw there?</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>It was Knight who kicked the logs of the fire together and so brought +about a sudden blaze.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Lindsay, peering into the darkness.</p> + +<p>All looked and saw the whites of innumerable black men's eyes reflecting +the camp firelight. Then there was a patter of many feet as the silent +witnesses to the dance hurried away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> +<h2>ON THE BUILDING OF BRIDGES.</h2> + + +<p>If, in the course of conversation, a Rhodesian referred to "the Old +Man," his fellow Rhodesians knew that Cecil John Rhodes was meant.</p> + +<p>No one who knew him personally spoke of that great man as Rhodes; in +Rhodesia such familiarity was impertinence.</p> + +<p>If anyone in the Bulawayo Club said: "Rhodes told me ..." we turned our +backs, as we knew the fellow was about to lie.</p> + +<p>No, it must be "Mr. Rhodes" or "the Old Man."</p> + +<p>I, personally, never got beyond "Mr. Rhodes" in his lifetime, and I +don't see why I should now that he is dead.</p> + +<p>As I was about to remark, the best piece of imaginative work that Mr. +Rhodes ever did was to plan the Cape to Cairo Railway. It has not been +carried out yet, but that doesn't matter; one day we shall see it, +unless flying kills the train.</p> + +<p>The corner-stone to this imaginative piece of work is, without a doubt, +the bridge over the Victoria Falls.</p> + +<p>I watched that bridge being built, not girder by girder, of course, but +generally speaking. Old Mkuni watched it girder by girder.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mkuni was a fine old savage, who had, in his far off younger days, +carved out a little kingdom for himself. He possessed the left bank of a +little river called the Maramba, some square miles of rock, a few acres +of good land, and—the Victoria Falls.</p> + +<p>A man who could establish his claim to the Falls has a right to be +regarded as of some importance.</p> + +<p>Within the memory of man a large herd of elephants went over the Falls +and whirled in the Boiling Pot below—a noble offering to the spirits +who dwell there. Anyone who denies that the Falls are the abode of +spirits is a fool, be he white man or black.</p> + +<p>Old Mkuni looked after the Falls and ministered in divers ways to the +wants of the spirits who inhabited the place. He it was who, in fair and +fierce battle, took this precious spot from old Sekute, the wall-eyed +ruffian who used to live on the north bank of the Zambesi.</p> + +<p>To hide his defeat from the eyes of passing natives, old Sekute set up a +noble avenue of poles from the river to his village. On every pole he +placed a human skull; these, he vowed, were the headpieces of Mkuni's +men. Mkuni could afford to laugh, for did not he and all the world know +that some of the grim trophies were the heads of Sekute's own followers, +slain by Mkuni's men and added to at the expense of half a hundred of +Sekute's own slaves? All this was before Livingstone discovered the +Falls.</p> + +<p>So you see, when all is said and done, Mkuni was a man worthy of +respect. He always had mine, and we were fast friends.</p> + +<p>It fell to my lot to tell him of the bridge which would stand astride +the tumbling waters. He was interested, and gave his consent without +reserve.</p> + +<p>When he asked me how it was going to be done, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> had to confess I did +not know; engineering feats are not in my line.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to build it, Morena?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Who then will build this bridge?"</p> + +<p>"The people of the Great Man."</p> + +<p>"The King of all the white men?"</p> + +<p>"No, not he himself, but one of his greatest men."</p> + +<p>"If the King would build it, I should believe, or," he added most +politely, "if you would build it, I should agree that it can be done, +but what do others know of bridges?"</p> + +<p>This was a little difficult to answer, so I told him to watch.</p> + +<p>Mkuni took my words literally; he did watch. He could be seen daily +perched upon a rock overlooking the work, surrounded by a large number +of his own people.</p> + +<p>From time to time strangers from inland added to the watchers. To all +Mkuni held forth:</p> + +<p>"Am not I an old man now? Have I not killed many in battle? Did I not +take the thundering smoke from a certain person? Who then knows so much +of the building of bridges as I?"</p> + +<p>With this inconsequent line of argument the crowd of watchers would +murmur full agreement.</p> + +<p>"When a man builds a small hut, is a pole from the ground to the roof +necessary?"</p> + +<p>"No," from his audience.</p> + +<p>"That is true, but if a man builds a hut as high as Heaven, is not a +pole necessary?"</p> + +<p>All agreed that it was so.</p> + +<p>"But see now these white men, who build a bridge across the thundering +smoke. It is not the King of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> the white men who builds, nor he who +collects from us the Hut Tax, but strangers. They build this bridge from +the north bank and from the south, but where is the pole to hold up the +roof of the bridge?"</p> + +<p>From day to day Mkuni's supporters increased in number.</p> + +<p>"Come and see the white man's bridge fall into the tumbling waters," was +his daily invitation, and many came.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for these white men, for they work to no profit."</p> + +<p>And Mkuni's adherents increased.</p> + +<p>But, in spite of all, the work progressed. The thin steel arms flung out +from either bank crept nearer daily towards the clasping of hands, and +yet the bridge did not fall.</p> + +<p>Poor old Mkuni, firm in his belief, found it hard to stomach the +thinning in the number of his fellow watchers. He became highly +indignant. In vain he talked—piled unanswerable argument upon argument +unanswerable. Someone put it about that there was nothing the white man +could not do. Many agreed with this, and went home.</p> + +<p>At last the engineer who built the Victoria Falls Bridge saw his work +complete.</p> + +<p>Mkuni, too, saw that the work was finished—all but the pole in the +middle to keep it from tumbling down.</p> + +<p>Under all his anxiety the poor old man had shrunk visibly; so, too, had +the number of those who believed in him, and had come at his invitation +to watch with him the disaster which he assured them must overtake that +bridge.</p> + +<p>Poor old Mkuni!</p> + +<p>It must be admitted that there is something of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> gentleman about the +raw, untutored savage, for when the first train had crossed safely over +the Victoria Falls Bridge, Mkuni stood alone on his rock. No one +remained as witness to his discomfiture.</p> + +<p>He climbed slowly down to his village. Everyone in it was busy with his +or her ordinary daily occupation; all strangers had quietly gone their +several ways.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE COMPLEAT ANGLER.</h2> + + +<p>R. E. Baker was engaged as conductor of our waggons on one of our +journeys from Bulawayo to the Zambesi, and a more capable cattle-man +than he did not, I am sure, exist between the Cape and Cairo.</p> + +<p>If an ox wouldn't pull, he made it. If an ox went sick, he cured it with +amazing rapidity.</p> + +<p>Baker, though English by descent, was a Cape Dutchman through and +through. A bad-natured ox he named "Englishman," and flogged the +wretched beast into a better frame of mind.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he would walk miles to find good grazing for his +cattle, and to see Baker caress an ox was a thing to remember. Not being +a cattle-man myself, I thought our conductor was gouging out the eye of +an ox. It certainly looked uncommonly like it. He was forcing his fist +with a rotary movement into the beast's eye.</p> + +<p>In answer to my questioning, he explained that he was caressing the ox, +that cattle appreciated the attention; you had to be vigorous or you +tickled the poor thing, and oxen didn't like being tickled.</p> + +<p>He was obviously right, for each ox, as Baker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> approached, seemed to +know what to expect and tamely submitted.</p> + +<p>A few days out from Bulawayo Baker came back from the water carrying +fish. He had caught them, he said, in the large water-hole. It never +occurred to me that there would be any fish in the almost dried-up +rivers which we crossed from time to time. Baker assured me that where +there was water there were fish, but you must know how to catch them.</p> + +<p>A day or two later we outspanned close to some water-holes. Baker said +he was going to catch some fish, and asked me whether I would like to +come too. I said I should, and began unpacking a rod and some tackle +which I had bought in London with the intention of fishing for +tiger-fish in the Zambesi.</p> + +<p>Baker watched me unpack and make my selection. He seemed much amused. +Presently he drew from his pocket his own tackle, which appeared to me +to be a confused mass of tangled string and hooks.</p> + +<p>We set out. Baker stopped at a small deep hole containing clear water. +It was my turn to smile. The pool he was going to fish in was a little +larger than a water-butt.</p> + +<p>I went on, and found a fairly long pool. The water was rather muddy, and +I found little depth anywhere. However, I hoped for the best, and fished +just clear of the bottom. I used as bait a small piece of meat from a +wild pigeon's breast, recommended by Baker.</p> + +<p>I have a certain amount of patience, but not, I fancy, quite sufficient +to entitle me to describe myself as a fisherman. After about two hours +of this fiddling, I gave it up and went in search of Baker.</p> + +<p>To my amazement, he had quite a score of fish on the grass by his side.</p> + +<p>"Did you catch all those?" I asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"In that hole?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes."</p> + +<p>"How on earth do you do it?"</p> + +<p>By way of reply he asked me how many I had caught. I said, "None."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Baker, "you shouldn't fish, you should angle. Watch me."</p> + +<p>I sat down and watched.</p> + +<p>Baker had a short, thick stick in his hand. From the end of the stick +hung a thick piece of whipcord. On the end of the cord he had a stone +with a hole in it, what we, as children, used to call a lucky stone. +Just above the stone he had tied a skinned pigeon—the whole bird. Hooks +radiated in every direction from the bird; hooks set at every +conceivable angle—dozens of hooks. From time to time Baker threw a few +breadcrumbs at his bait. I could plainly see the small fish cluster +round. Now and then he struck sharply. Nearly every time he fouled a +small fish, mostly under the jaw or in the belly. Each time he hooked a +fish he repeated: "My lad, you shouldn't fish; you should angle."</p> + +<p>When we reached the Gwai River, Baker produced a long hand-line with an +immense hook on the end of it. The bait he used was a lump of washing +soap. I didn't go with him because I wasn't ready and he was impatient +to begin.</p> + +<p>"We shall catch big barbles here," said Baker.</p> + +<p>I followed him, and saw him throw his lump of soap well out into the +river. I stood on the bank above and watched.</p> + +<p>Baker lit his pipe, looked up and down the river, and at his line. Then +he shifted the line to his left hand, which he lifted to his left ear. +With his right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> he made a winding movement close to his head, and said: +"'Ullo! Exchange; put me on to Mr. Barble, please, miss."</p> + +<p>To my intense amusement, and to Baker's obvious surprise, there was a +sharp tug at the line. He remained for a while with his hand suspended +near his right ear as though still on the handle of the old-fashioned +telephone instrument. Then he gave a violent strike. But the barble—if +indeed it was a barble—had had time to spit out the piece of soap and +so escape.</p> + +<p>Baker, still unaware of my presence, said: "Damn the fellow!" He shifted +the line to his right hand, and went through the pantomime of getting on +to the Exchange again, this time ringing with his left hand.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo! Is that you, Exchange? Put me on to Mr. Barble again, please, +miss."</p> + +<p>No response from the fish.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo! Exchange! What? No answer from Mr. Barble? Gone to lunch, eh?"</p> + +<p>I moved off quietly up the river, and in course of time succeeded in +catching a mud-fish weighing forty-eight pounds. I came back a couple of +hours later, and found Baker had landed two immense fish of the same +kind; one weighed fifty-three pounds and the other fifty-nine. He had +also caught a poisonous looking eel. How he had landed these monsters he +would not tell me; he contented himself with repeating: "My lad, you +mustn't fish; you must angle."</p> + +<p>When we reached the Zambesi, Baker almost neglected his cattle. He had +never seen this grand river before. He at once got out a line and went +"angling."</p> + +<p>Coming down the river bank, I saw Baker standing on a rock a few yards +from the bank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sitting on the bank was an old man, watching him.</p> + +<p>"Any luck?" said I.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Been here long?"</p> + +<p>"Not very long, but that old man talks too much to please me."</p> + +<p>I looked down at the old man. He looked up at me. He greeted me in the +local language. In his language I replied. Whereupon he calmly said: "I +have been telling that white man that from the rock on which he stands a +crocodile took a woman yesterday."</p> + +<p>I hurriedly translated. Baker did no more angling that day! He thought +the old man had been saying "How do you do?" to him.</p> + +<p>In the end we converted Baker to our way of fishing, so that he became +an expert spinner and killed many a noble tiger-fish. But he had a +mishap the first day he used a rod which almost decided him not to use +one again. He was fishing from the bank for bream, which run large in +that part of the river. He used a float for the first time. Presently +his float disappeared. Baker struck upwards, using both hands. He pulled +his fish out of the water, but with such force that it flew over his +head and fell with a splash into a pond behind—free.</p> + +<p>I think we just saved him from an immediate return to "angling" by +pretending not to have seen his discomfiture.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SONG OF THE GREAT OCCASION.</h2> + + +<p>The news spread quickly that the "Great Man," his wife and some friends +were coming north of the Zambesi to shoot. Williams, the Native +Commissioner, heard it from the boy who looked after his fowls a full +week before he received official warning from Headquarters.</p> + +<p>How the chicken-boy heard of it remains a mystery. He who can tell you +how news travels so rapidly in Africa can no doubt explain; but in +answer to questioning, the boy replied: "People say so."</p> + +<p>Thanks to this advance notice, Williams had time to make his plans at +leisure. He had experience of native rumours of this kind, and, +invariably acting upon them, gained a reputation for good organising.</p> + +<p>No doubt the Sovereign's representative would want to shoot lion, +buffalo, eland, sable, and, in addition, at least a specimen of each of +the lesser inhabitants of the plain and forest. Well, he would do this +and that and the other, and it would not be Williams's fault if a +thoroughly representative bag were not made.</p> + +<p>Like all sportsmen in official positions, living far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> from Headquarters +and having a large district to control, Williams knew exactly where the +game was most plentiful. He kept the information to himself as a general +rule, for he well knew that if he did not do so his special reserves +would soon cease to exist.</p> + +<p>But for the direct representative of the King nothing was too good.</p> + +<p>Williams made his plans, built a camp and awaited the arrival of his +visitors.</p> + +<p>Two days before the "Great Man" was due to arrive, old Garamapingwe, the +musician, passed that way. He stopped to pay his respects to Williams.</p> + +<p>"Good day, my father."</p> + +<p>"Good day to you, Garamapingwe."</p> + +<p>"What are the news, my Chief?"</p> + +<p>"I look to you for news."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there is nothing but the coming of the 'Great Man.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is coming."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see the 'Great Man.'"</p> + +<p>"You shall, Garamapingwe."</p> + +<p>"Much thanks to you, my Chief."</p> + +<p>An idea occurred to Williams. No doubt the sport which he had planned to +provide would be excellent, but what about the evenings spent round the +camp fire after dinner?</p> + +<p>It might happen that his guests did not want to play bridge. He himself +detested the game—most unnatural of him, but there it was. He disliked +"shop" out of hours, and one could have too much talk of personal +experiences. He must provide for a possible gap.</p> + +<p>How many men in a thousand had heard native African music? Not the stuff +you can hear any day from the boys' compound at the back of the house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +but music, worthy of the name of music, made by men like Garamapingwe? +Very few.</p> + +<p>So Williams added to his plan.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>It was Friday. The Great Man had been shooting for three days. The first +two were decidedly promising. Nothing very wonderful had been shot, but +very fair heads of eland, buffalo, roan and waterbuck had been secured +by various members of the party.</p> + +<p>The Great Man had done fairly well, but he was perhaps more at home with +a shot gun.</p> + +<p>But Friday had been a bad day. At the Great Man's request Williams had +gone with him to look for Sable antelope. So far no one had shot a +Sable. Well, they came across Sable, and in this manner.</p> + +<p>At daylight all had gone their several ways.</p> + +<p>The Great Man and Williams had gone east. Good luck, Sable spoor and +quite fresh. Williams was a fair tracker: he had picked up something of +the art from the bushmen down south. They followed it, Williams leading, +carefully. The report of a rifle in the distance! The Great Man stopped. +Williams felt savage. Who was this poaching? Who had left his beat and +jumped their claim? He motioned the Great Man to sit down.</p> + +<p>They waited.</p> + +<p>They waited for ten minutes and then the snapping of a twig, somewhere +to the left, attracted Williams's attention.</p> + +<p>By Jingo, there they were, the Sable.</p> + +<p>Led by a cow, a noble herd of Sable antelope came slowly through the +forest.</p> + +<p>The Great Man looked at Williams, who grinned and commanded quiet by +lifting his hand.</p> + +<p>On they came, cows, cows and more cows. Where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> was the bull? Surely a +big bull accompanied such a herd of cows?</p> + +<p>More cows and young bulls, but as yet no big, black, outstanding bull.</p> + +<p>Williams was puzzled.</p> + +<p>The Great Man became restive under inaction: to him there was no +apparent difference between a cow and a bull. He had never seen Sable +antelope before.</p> + +<p>The huge herd filed past within forty yards.</p> + +<p>Still no bull.</p> + +<p>The Great Man looked at Williams and his expression was none too +pleasant.</p> + +<p>Williams felt desperate. He began to think it best after all to let the +Great Man kill a good cow and have done with it when, looking to the +left, he saw the bull. It was the bull! Black as ink, with a snow-white +belly. Horns seemed above the average.</p> + +<p>A great spasm of joy gripped Williams's heart. Here was a bull worthy of +the Great Man, the direct representative of the Sovereign.</p> + +<p>In response to a sign from Williams, the Great Man looked, saw, raised +his rifle and—Williams checked him. Good Heavens, what was the matter +with that bull? Seemed to be going short, off fore. It couldn't be.</p> + +<p>Then he motioned to the Great Man to take his shot. The next moment the +noble bull crashed to the ground and the cows filed on at a gallop and +so out of sight.</p> + +<p>"A good shot and a good bull, Sir," said Williams, but he was conscious +of a sickening sense of dread.</p> + +<p>They hurried up. The bull lay stone dead with a bullet exactly placed +behind the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Shall I mark out the head skin for you, Sir? You'll want to keep this +head?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, please."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Williams worked like a man possessed. He cut the sleek, black skin from +the withers to the brisket as the bull lay. Without moving the carcass +he made a slit up the mane to the base of the skull. Here he stopped and +listened. He heard something. Footsteps approaching. With a gasp of +despair he dropped his hunting knife and faced the way the bull had +come.</p> + +<p>Curse the fellow! There he was; the Great Man's A.D.C., babbling like +the fool he was. He was talking in English to the native who accompanied +him. "Are you sure you are on the right track?" The native said nothing +because he didn't understand one word of any language but his own. The +A.D.C. headed straight for the Great Man's bull. Presently he looked up +and walked forward smiling.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Soames, what are you doing here in my patch of country?"</p> + +<p>"I hit a Sable bull about two miles back and followed him."</p> + +<p>"You hit a bull?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir."</p> + +<p>"So I have killed your bull for you, have I?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Sir. It's your bull, of course."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I know the laws of shooting. Mr. Williams, was this bull +hit before I killed him?"</p> + +<p>"I'll look, Sir," said Williams, feeling like a detected thief.</p> + +<p>Fancy having to say "yes" to the question! There was the bullet hole in +the off fore fetlock. What a shot!</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>The party dined under a sense of restraint that night. The Great Man +congratulated his A.D.C. on having secured a fine bull, but that didn't +improve matters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>After dinner it was a silent party round the camp fire.</p> + +<p>Williams spoke.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to hear some African music, Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Very much indeed. Do you play?"</p> + +<p>"No, Sir, but I have a man here."</p> + +<p>"By all means let us hear him."</p> + +<p>Garamapingwe was sent for.</p> + +<p>The old musician came, followed by two other natives. He himself carried +two curious looking musical instruments, one of the men carried another; +the third man, led by a little native boy, was blind and empty handed.</p> + +<p>The three natives greeted the Great Man suitably who as suitably +replied.</p> + +<p>They then sat down on the other side of the fire and Garamapingwe struck +a few bold chords. No common musician he.</p> + +<p>Williams said something in the vernacular to Garamapingwe, who replied.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" asked the Great Man.</p> + +<p>"I asked him what he was going to sing," replied Williams, "and he said: +'The Song of the Great Occasion.'"</p> + +<p>"Will you please ask him what this great occasion is of which he is +going to sing?"</p> + +<p>The question was put and the reply translated. "The great occasion is +the visit paid to our poor country by the Great Man who represents the +King of the white men."</p> + +<p>"How very interesting! Please tell him to proceed."</p> + +<p>Garamapingwe sang and played vigorously. He played an instrument with +either hand. His companion played one with both his hands. The blind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +man droned in chorus to Garamapingwe's recitative. It was a very fine +performance. The Great Man had an ear for music. Williams was delighted, +for the Great Man seemed both pleased and interested.</p> + +<p>The second verse was ended and the third began, when suddenly the blind +man leaped into the air, interrupting the harmony with a piercing +shriek.</p> + +<p>All but Williams and the natives thought this part of the performance. +They were not left long in doubt. Clutching wildly at his clothing, the +blind man moaned and moaned and moaned. He stripped himself and turned +to the fire to be inspected by his fellows. The Great Man's wife fled to +her tent. Williams had the musicians hustled away.</p> + +<p>A large scorpion had crept up and stung the blind man as he sat.</p> + +<p>Thus the song of the Great Occasion ended abruptly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE DESCENT OF MAN.</h2> + + +<p>Randall was skinning a monkey. He had shot two monkeys during the +morning and had already skinned one of them. He collected monkeys and +had done so steadily for years.</p> + +<p>Randall was District Commissioner and Magistrate of a large tract of +British Africa. One of the many men who live and die unheard of by the +British public; men who quietly but efficiently "administer" England's +African possessions.</p> + +<p>Some day, perhaps, England may realise what a debt it owes to these +unknown men.</p> + +<p>I was Randall's assistant. I had served for four years; that is to say, +one year beyond the probationary period. I had made good to the extent +of getting on the Establishment, and held the rank of Assistant Native +Commissioner.</p> + +<p>Randall had been in the Service for twenty-three years. In his dealings +with the natives he was firm and just. He had a deep sympathy for the +people entrusted to his care, but he successfully concealed it from +them. He used to say to me "Play the game with your people but don't +slobber over them, they don't understand that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>It has often been said that all men who have spent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> more than ten years +in the heart of Africa are mad. I have known few saner men than Randall, +but I cannot deny that he had one peculiarity: he collected monkeys.</p> + +<p>I could never understand why he shot the wretched things, or why he +skinned them in such a peculiar way. Let me explain.</p> + +<p>Randall only shot one kind of monkey, and only the mature male of that +kind. Having bagged his monkey, he would consult a shabby little black +pocket-book, make an entry in it, and then set to work to skin the beast.</p> + +<p>From watching him I gathered this much: he kept only the head and +shoulders and one arm of each monkey. Sometimes it was the right arm, +sometimes the left, never both. Some kind of calculation in the +pocket-book appeared to be necessary before he could determine which arm +he wanted.</p> + +<p>I also observed that he carefully cleaned all particles of flesh from +the skull and arm bones and, having put some preservative on the skin, +wrapped it round the skull and bones, making a neat little parcel of the +whole. After labelling the specimen, he packed it away in a box which +was carried, wherever he travelled, by his body servant, Monga.</p> + +<p>On reaching the Station, after a journey in the District, Monga and his +master would repack the contents of the box in a large tin-lined case. +Randall had three such cases. Two of them were quite full, the third +nearly so.</p> + +<p>I never questioned Randall about his hobby. Once I shot a monkey and +gave it to Monga, thinking his master would skin it; but he did not; he +simply told his man to throw it away. As he said nothing to me about it, +I let the matter drop and made no more advances.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>As I said before, on this particular morning Randall had shot two +monkeys. He decided to keep the left arm in each case. Monga was +squatting on the ground in front of him, holding the body of the dead +monkey whilst his master skinned it. The pair were silent; from long +practice Monga knew exactly what was required of him and needed no +instructions. Presently Randall said "This is the last one, Monga: no +more monkeys after this one."</p> + +<p>Monga accepted the statement without comment, but it set me speculating +afresh upon the object of Randall's quaint hobby. However, as my Chief +offered no explanation, I did not ask for one.</p> + +<p>When the skinning was all but done, Monga permitted himself to remark, +"Monkeys were men like me once, Morena."</p> + +<p>Randall paused and looked gravely at Monga for a moment; then, bending +to his task once more, he said, "Monga, I believe you, tell me more."</p> + +<p>Now, if Monga resembled anything, it was a monkey. His eyes were set +close together, his nose was very small, his lower jaw protruded +slightly, and his forehead was very low and much puckered. I saw the +humour of the conversation and wanted to laugh, but to have done so +would, I felt, have lowered me in the estimation of my Chief. Randall +had once said to me: "Blackmore, in spite of your ridiculous name, you +should get on in the Native Department. Had your name been Whitelaw, or +even Smith, you would not have been handicapped. You have a stupid name +to live down, for this is a black man's country. However, always +remember this: never laugh with a native, and only laugh at him if he is +deserving of punishment and you wish to punish him. Only a fool<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> beats a +native; ridicule is a cleaner form of punishment, and not as +brutalising."</p> + +<p>I suppressed my desire to laugh, and Monga resumed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Morena, monkeys were men once just the same as we are. They lived +in their own villages in nice huts; they had their own chiefs, and spoke +like people do.</p> + +<p>"But they became lazy—lazy to hoe their fields and to weed them; lazy +to build their huts and to plaster them. So they said to each other: 'It +is a bad thing to work; let us go to the forest and live there, and we +will find fruits in the forest to eat.' So they went to the forest and +lived there.</p> + +<p>"One day one said: 'Are we not tired of making clothes? Let us grow hair +on our bodies that we may be warm always.' And all agreed and grew hair +on their bodies.</p> + +<p>"When the autumn came, and the grain in the lands was ripe, the lazy +ones came to steal from the men's gardens. The men tried to watch their +gardens, but the thieves were too clever.</p> + +<p>"The monkeys had their servants, and when they wanted food they sent +their servants on to see if there were any men in the lands. If there +were no men there they would steal corn and pumpkins and melons and +calabashes, and carry them away to the forest.</p> + +<p>"And if they found a sleeping man watching the fields they passed by him +gently; and when they had finished stealing they would cut some twigs +and beat him severely. And when the man woke up and began to run away, +they would laugh at him and mock him.</p> + +<p>"When the monkeys returned to the forest with the foods which they had +stolen, they lit fires and cooked them. Then the people, seeing the +smoke,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> came with sticks and assegais, and beat some monkeys and killed +others.</p> + +<p>"Then the monkeys said: 'It is not good to have fire, for the men see it +and come and kill us.' So now the monkeys steal when the men are not +looking, and eat the food uncooked in the trees at night."</p> + +<p>Randall made only one comment. He asked Monga where the monkeys got +their tails from. But Monga admitted that he did not know.</p> + +<p>Randall had now finished his skinning, and had made the usual neat +little parcels; Monga brought the box and carefully packed them in with +the rest.</p> + +<p>The travelling box was quite full!</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>A few days later Randall developed black-water fever and died. We +carried his body back to the Station and buried him at the foot of a +large baobab tree. The natives for many miles round attended.</p> + +<p>When all was over, and Randall's successor was on his way to take charge +of the district, Monga came to me and reminded me that there were some +monkey skins in the travelling box to be packed away in the large +tin-lined case. As he knew more of his master's strange hobby than I +did, he did the packing whilst I looked on.</p> + +<p>When the last skin had been transferred I realised that the case was +quite full, and would not have held another one. This, I remember, +struck me as being uncanny. Between us we soldered up the tin lining and +nailed on the lid of the case.</p> + +<p>Then Monga looked at me for instructions. This set me thinking. Why on +earth did Randall collect monkeys? I examined the lids of the cases and +found his name and home address neatly painted on each. Clearly, +therefore, he had intended to take them home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> But this did not explain +why he had collected them. I thought of the shabby little black +note-book, so went into the house and looked through it. All I could +gather was that Randall had collected three hundred and eighty +right-armed and one hundred and twenty left-armed skins. Five hundred +wretched monkeys—and what for? And why not two hundred and fifty right +arms and two hundred and fifty left; or why not all right or all left?</p> + +<p>I went back to where Monga stood by the cases, and asked him why his +master had collected the monkeys. He seemed surprised at my question; it +apparently never occurred to him to inquire into the why and the +wherefore of any of his master's acts. He seems to have accepted all his +master did or said as a matter of course.</p> + +<p>The whole thing was monstrous. I could not send the wretched things to +his people at home. They would think him mad, as perhaps he was as +regards his hobby, but no saner man ever lived so far as anything else +was concerned.</p> + +<p>Then I had an inspiration. I ordered a large hole to be dug at the foot +of another tree, which stood about a hundred yards from that under which +Randall's grave lay. Into this hole I had the three cases carried, and +the earth shovelled back. Monga didn't disapprove, or, if he did, he +made no protest. I think he took the whole thing as a matter of course, +as was his way.</p> + +<p>I never found out, nor can I imagine, why Randall collected the heads +and shoulders of five hundred monkeys—three hundred and eighty with +right arms and one hundred and twenty with left arms attached.</p> + +<p>Someone reading this story may guess or may know. For myself, I frankly +admit defeat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE RAILWAY CONTRACTOR.</h2> + + +<p>Bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. Most of the +time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy +and the pay light. In physique he was improved almost beyond +recognition.</p> + +<p>The large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained +the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. Much +of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling.</p> + +<p>After Bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his +death. So, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her +new husband with two children.</p> + +<p>Bositi was unreasonable about it. On being told that he was supposed to +be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his +wife. When her husband protested, he beat him too.</p> + +<p>After he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from +it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of +the pretty marriageable girls of the village. In return he received much +strong beer. The beer made him drunk—too drunk to beat or insult anyone +else, but not too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of +his precious box.</p> + +<p>Next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but +he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size +of that blue-and-yellow tin box.</p> + +<p>He also made friends with the men of the village—not excluding him who +had married his wife—by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco.</p> + +<p>After a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in +his box and set out for the Chief's village. When there he showed off. +He wore his best clothes, and spoke bad English fluently and loudly in +the traders' stores. While his money lasted the traders suffered him; +when it was spent he was told not to come again.</p> + +<p>The Chief soon heard of him and sent for him.</p> + +<p>Bositi had never been presented at Court before. He was immensely +impressed. He squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to +the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. Immediately in +front of him was a long thatched building. Three sides of it were closed +in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. This, a lounger +told him, was the National Council House, or Khotla.</p> + +<p>The Chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. It +consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. The +instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by +talking loudly as they strummed and thumped.</p> + +<p>The Court Fool was aping birds. He had a bunch of feathers in his hair +and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his +make-up. For the moment he was imitating a crested crane. The bird is +beautiful, the Fool was hideous; yet such was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> his art of mimicry that +all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent.</p> + +<p>The Town Crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and +then passed on his way.</p> + +<p>Some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. The armed guards +drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips.</p> + +<p>Bositi had brought as a present to the Chief a large blanket with a +realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and +a new brass tinder box. He mentally contrasted his gifts with those +brought by other men—mostly to the disadvantage of the others.</p> + +<p>One old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. By the fuss +the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor +of ivory commanded very much respect.</p> + +<p>Bositi had smuggled an old Tower musket across the border and knew where +to get powder. He promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than +those displayed by his rival.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a stir. The Chief was coming! The orchestra struck +up energetically; the Fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the +hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the +long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the +sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands.</p> + +<p>Bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his +right eye and annoyed him for days to come.</p> + +<p>The Chief moved towards the Council House, preceded by a number of body +servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip.</p> + +<p>Another carried the Chief's chair. This chair was strongly made on the +European pattern. The seat of it was covered with the hide of a Sable +antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. A rude face +was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. To this face men +do reverence when the Chief is not in his chair.</p> + +<p>A third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica, +which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck.</p> + +<p>Another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the Chief himself +had a smaller one in his own hand.</p> + +<p>The sight of the Chief filled Bositi with awe. He paid no attention to +the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august +personage. He felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by +the common herd, was really very mean.</p> + +<p>For the Chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. He +wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward, +disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. On his feet he had a +magnificent—in Bositi's eyes—pair of new bright yellow boots. In his +free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an +ivory and ebony handle.</p> + +<p>In spite of his absurd clothes the Chief had a certain air of dignity. +He was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his +small beard was tinged with grey.</p> + +<p>He stepped along firmly, however, and Bositi noticed with jealousy that +his eyes lit up as they rested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> for a moment on the two great tusks of +ivory brought by the old man.</p> + +<p>The Chief entered the Council House and sat down. Immediately all +present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will +that the orchestra was not heard for a space. The Court Fool hopped +round with renewed energy. The official Praiser shouted:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +The great lion!<br /> +The bull elephant!<br /> +The thunderer!<br /> +The greatest of all lions!<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again.</p> + +<p>There is no hurry in a native Council House. The band played out its +selection and the Court Fool continued to gyrate. One by one the +Councillors took their seats in the Chamber. This was a lengthy +business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the Chief +and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his +skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed +seat.</p> + +<p>At length quiet prevailed. One by one the visitors were marshalled +forward to present their gifts and state their case—if they had one to +state.</p> + +<p>Many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the +Chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory.</p> + +<p>"Who is this who brings ivory?" asked the Chief.</p> + +<p>"It is Moyo of the Rivoswe country," someone volunteered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. See, he brings two +tusks and they are large ones."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in +the Council House.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the Chief.</p> + +<p>There was no reply. All knew their master's weakness for ivory.</p> + +<p>The Chief addressed Moyo: "Tell me, old man, what mischief was in your +heart when last you left my village?"</p> + +<p>Moyo pointed to the tusks. "I went to hunt elephants for the Chief. For +long I hunted before I killed. When I had killed, I brought my ivory to +my Chief. I am no law-breaker. Is it against the law for the Chief's +slave to hunt elephants for the Chief?"</p> + +<p>"If," answered the Chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let +many break it. Who accused this man?"</p> + +<p>As no answer was forthcoming, the Chief accepted the ivory.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days +gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and +skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now, +realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make +his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view +of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his +home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would +not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority.</p> + +<p>At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief.</p> + +<p>Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working +for many years for the white man."</p> + +<p>"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word +"steamers.")</p> + +<p>"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas."</p> + +<p>"Can you make good stemalas?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make +them for many years."</p> + +<p>"What does the white man use stemalas for?"</p> + +<p>"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances +more quickly and greater than a man can travel."</p> + +<p>"Could you build a stemala for me?"</p> + +<p>Without hesitation Bositi declared he could build a railway for the +Chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few +axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber.</p> + +<p>"Is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the Chief.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in +pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. He has no big trees in +his country. In the Chief's country iron is only found in little pieces, +but the trees are large and long."</p> + +<p>"If you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your +village and the induna of your district. The axes and the adzes shall be +given to you. Go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the +stemala quickly."</p> + +<p>"I will go, but the Chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to +make. Many men and many days are wanted for its making."</p> + +<p>"It is well; I understand," said the Chief. Then turning to one of his +principal advisers, he directed him to see that Bositi had all the men +and all the tools he required.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>That night much fuss was made over Bositi who was to become the headman +of his village and the induna of his district—when he had made a +railway for his Chief.</p> + +<p>As for Bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man, +bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in +his high position.</p> + +<p>In due course were settled such small details as where the railway was +to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted +from the Chief's store.</p> + +<p>At length the party set out. Bositi was the most important member of it. +Next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the +Chief's representative. This man had power to requisition slave labour +in the Chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of +operations.</p> + +<p>The spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the +Chief's village. This was fortunate for Bositi, for the distance freed +him from too much tiresome supervision. It was on the main river where +free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a +series of formidable rapids. For centuries travellers had been content +to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. The going was very +heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. The railway was to save this +labour. Canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so +transported to the quiet water below. A more useful railway, from the +natives' point of view, could not have been planned.</p> + +<p>I was shown over the works by Bositi himself in the early days of +construction, before those difficult<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> problems arose which sooner or +later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew."</p> + +<p>If Bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that +importance to details which details have a way of demanding, I think his +railway would have been a success. But this is too much to expect of any +native.</p> + +<p>He began well.</p> + +<p>I found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a +dozen well-made wooden rails. Much labour had been expended on these, +for they were cut from large trees. They were perfectly straight and set +in true parallel. Resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each +pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either +extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the +wheels. The wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were +shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to +keep them from slipping off the rails.</p> + +<p>Bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the +two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along +the short length of line, some sixty feet.</p> + +<p>He explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only +to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along.</p> + +<p>I asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. He +said six. I pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails +was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the +railway was ready for use. In the meantime, what about the ravages of +the white ant?</p> + +<p>Bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. I think he put my criticism +down to the natural jealousy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> which a white man would feel upon finding +that a native is not incapable of great things.</p> + +<p>He explained that the work had required some planning out, that the +local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the +Chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had +hindered progress.</p> + +<p>I admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome, +and asked to be shown his working camp.</p> + +<p>Bositi led me some distance into the forest. Here I saw a number of men +busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into +wooden rails. In very few instances were the rails in the making as +straight as those already laid. It was clear to me that the wheels would +somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and +I wondered how they would do it.</p> + +<p>By no amount of questioning and patient explanation could I get Bositi +to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so I presently continued +my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next I passed that way +with my canoes I should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>That section of the Cape to Cairo railway was never finished. I +inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as I had +expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as +they were laid. I also saw that less trouble had been taken in making +them. The trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails +widened, there they narrowed. Here there was a hump, there a depression.</p> + +<p>I made it my business to find out what had become<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> of Bositi. He had not +been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but, +having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he +had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp, +where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear +as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LICENSED VICTUALLER.</h2> + + +<p>John Smith was an up-country caterer in a remote part of Africa. We +called him Joseph, after other shining lights in the trade.</p> + +<p>I don't think I ever saw him quite sober, but, on the other hand, never +heard of his being drunk. He was not good to look at, being fat, bald +and red-faced.</p> + +<p>A stranger once called him Joe. Our host was indignant at the +familiarity, and snapped: "I'm Joe to me pals, John Smith to me +acquaintances, Mr. Smith to you, damn you!" Coming across to my table, +he winked heavily, and said in a hoarse stage-whisper: "P'raps you've +'eard a bloke say that afore?"</p> + +<p>I admitted I had.</p> + +<p>"Come in nice and 'andy, tho'," said Joe.</p> + +<p>Joe's place of business was a frame house with walls of canvas. He had +named it the "Duke of York's Restuarant." The spelling was his; so, too, +was the sign-writing.</p> + +<p>He was a man of uncertain temper. One day a hungry guest asked for more +beef. Joe thought this unreasonable, and thus addressed the man:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yore twist do give yer nerve. 'Ere, tike the bloomin' lot!" With that +he hurled the round of beef full at the hungry man's head; it missed him +and passed out through the canvas wall. Joe glared at his damaged +property for a space, and then in a loud voice made it known to the rest +of us that "Beef's off."</p> + +<p>On another occasion a boarder declined to partake of a doubtful-looking +meat concoction which Joe declared was "frickerdells."</p> + +<p>"Wot, yer don't like 'em, don't yer?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Won't eat 'em, won't yer?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>We all held our breath, wondering what manner of assault Joe would +select for this reckless fellow.</p> + +<p>But Joe grinned, actually grinned, and replied: "I don't blame yer; I +wot makes 'em wouldn't touch 'em; no, not for a fortune."</p> + +<p>One Saturday afternoon I happened to be passing through the yard when +Joe was discussing with his handy-man, Sammy, the Sunday lunch. (Sammy +was an Indian, and in Africa all Indians are "Sammy" to all men.)</p> + +<p>"'Ow many dead chickens are there, Sammy?"</p> + +<p>"Fourteen, Boss."</p> + +<p>"'Ell! 'Ow many died yesterday and 'ow many did yer find dead this +mornin'?"</p> + +<p>"Eight yesterday and six to-day, Boss."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll curry the eight and roast the six."</p> + +<p>On Sunday I refused curry and roast fowl. Joe asked why. I told him.</p> + +<p>"Blokes wot 'ang around the cook-'ouse door 'ears things an' sees things +o' times wot puts 'em off their grub. 'Ave some bully?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>I did.</p> + +<p>Joe seldom had enough waiters, and what he had were mostly black men, +quite untrained. I remember one white waiter who answered to the name of +William. In our eyes he had many faults—in Joe's, but one. He would +talk to the customers, stand and talk instead of attending to wants.</p> + +<p>Joe warned him repeatedly, but his warnings were lost on William.</p> + +<p>One day Joe lost his temper. "Look 'ere, you snip, wot 'ave I told yer? +Wot 'ave I kep' on tellin' yer? You'd talk the 'ind leg off a mule! +You'r hat it agen. 'Ere, quit. Sling yer 'ook out o' this. I'm bloomin' +well fed up with yer."</p> + +<p>William blinked at Joe during this harangue, and then quietly asked: "Do +I understand you to mean, Joe, that I'm sacked?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joe, "I sack yer. Come to the till for yer pay."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," pursued William, "that I am a free man?"</p> + +<p>"You are," said Joe.</p> + +<p>William turned and looked up and down the crowded tables. He then walked +quietly to an empty seat and sat down, bawling:</p> + +<p>"Joe, bring me a plate o' beef; look sharp, I'm in a hurry."</p> + +<p>As Joe's business grew (and it did grow in spite of Joe), the waiting +became too much for him. He had so many guests that he couldn't get them +served quickly enough to please himself, or them. This man wanted one +thing, that another, and a third something else; all called their wants +loudly and together.</p> + +<p>Joe's remedy was, I believe, original. Sharp at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> one o'clock he had each +place set round with generous helpings of all the dishes for the day. +You would find a plate piled with roast beef, greens and potatoes; a +second equally full of cold pork, potatoes and spring onions; a third +with hashed mutton and potatoes; a fourth with hot suet pudding +plentifully smeared with treacle; half a loaf of bread on a fifth, and +so on. To one arriving a little late, this spectacle was far from +appetising. One knife and fork and one spoon had to do duty for the lot.</p> + +<p>Most people ate what they wanted and left the rest. Once a guest +protested that he could not eat everything set before him. Joe was hurt. +"'Oo the 'ell arst yer to?" he thundered savagely. "It won't cost yer no +more, nor no less, either way."</p> + +<p>Just inside the "restuarant" door there stood what Joe described as a +"wash-and-brush-up-nice-and-'andy." It was his claim that he catered for +the "better clarse." The "wash-and-brush-up" consisted of a tin basin on +an empty upturned whisky case. The water was usually dirty; the towel, +suspended from a roller, was always so; the soap was a long bar of "blue +mottled." Dangling from a piece of string, tied to a nail driven into +the wooden framework of the wall, was a tooth-brush. Heaven knows where +Joe got it from; it was by no means new. He had never used one himself. +When I questioned him on the subject of this "fitting," he said: "Some +people uses 'em. Like as not I should be arst for one quick enough if I +didn't have one. Best to tie it to the 'ouse, or some bloke 'ud lift +it."</p> + +<p>Someone once asked for a table napkin. Joe was puzzled, and looked +searchingly at the man. He suspected a "leg-pull."</p> + +<p>"What for?" he demanded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man explained.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a servy-yet yer want, is it? Ain't got any! You wait till the +railway comes, then we'll get all manner o' things—servy-yets, +toothpicks, and suchlike. Don't be unreasonable; you ain't in a +drawin'-room now, yer know."</p> + +<p>When the railway did come, Joe sold his business for much money and went +North. The sight of a starched collar and a tie in his "restuarant" was +a sign for him that civilisation had reached his very door. Joe didn't +like civilisation, and hated "torfs." He had been known to remark: "The +sight of a bloke in a boiled shirt makes me sick."</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>On the spot once occupied by Joe's eating house now stands a large hotel +built of stone, with a bathroom leading out of every bedroom.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE JOHNNIE-COME-LATELY.</h2> + + +<p>William Blake walked quietly into the bar of the Tantani Hotel. It was +obvious to all that he had not been out from England long, because his +clothes were so new and clean. Besides, he bore the self-conscious air +which is an unmistakeable sign.</p> + +<p>All the men who crowded the bar wore reach-me-downs; or, if their +clothes had been made in England, it was very, very long ago.</p> + +<p>William knew the barman, who had been at Eton with his elder brother. +Men find strange jobs in Africa in the process of reaching their proper +level. I must add that in course of time that same barman bought the +bar—and many other things besides—and ultimately represented his +district on the Legislative Council.</p> + +<p>At the moment of William's entry the barman was busy, so the youngster +edged his way in between the wall and the brawny back of a corduroyed +transport-rider, intending to wait quietly until he could catch the +barman's eye.</p> + +<p>The place was thick with the fumes of strong drink and tobacco +smoke—Boer tobacco smoke. Of all the unlovely habits which men acquire, +that of smoking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> Boer tobacco is the most trying to other people. I +know, because I used to smoke it once, and I have seen it empty an +Underground railway carriage at every station.</p> + +<p>But William did not smoke, neither did he drink strong drink; he merely +wanted to have a talk to the man his brother fagged for. But, on +reaching the bar, he unintentionally jogged the transport-rider's arm +and spilt some of his liquor.</p> + +<p>"Who the hell are you shovin'?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, are you? Yer bloomin' tailor's model."</p> + +<p>The barman's chief asset was a quick ear and a keen sense of rising +trouble. He was at the end of the counter in a moment.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Bill. Upset Rogers' drink, have you? Well, both have a drink at +my expense. This boy is a friend of mine, Rogers."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jimmy, as he's a friend of yours I'll overlook the accident—and +I will. Mine's a gin and tonic; what's the boy goin' to drink?"</p> + +<p>Before William could explain that he didn't drink, the barman said: "I +know his poison, don't I, Bill?" following this up with a heavy wink.</p> + +<p>"Mr. John Rogers—Mr. William Blake."</p> + +<p>"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. Put it here."</p> + +<p>The pair shook hands.</p> + +<p>The barman pushed two glasses forward—one, containing gin, towards +Rogers, and the other, lime-juice, for Blake. He took something out a +bottle under the counter for himself, gave Rogers a small tonic, and +split a small soda with William.</p> + +<p>"Here's fun," said Rogers.</p> + +<p>"Chin, chin," said Jimmy the barman.</p> + +<p>The boy nodded gravely at each. They drank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come on, let's have another," said Rogers. "Same as before for me, but +not quite so much of your bloomin' tonic, Jimmy. Spoils the gin."</p> + +<p>No sooner were the drinks poured out than the barman hurried away to +attend to the calls at the other end of the counter, so the two were +left to themselves.</p> + +<p>"What are you drinkin', might I ask?"</p> + +<p>"Lime-juice and soda," said William.</p> + +<p>"Just what I thought. Now, my young friend, it won't do. Didn't you see +the train come in to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Don't you? Well, isn't this the very first train to get here from the +South?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, ain't you goin' to get drunk on it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>Rogers stepped back and looked the boy up and down. Then——</p> + +<p>"What will you bet?"</p> + +<p>William didn't answer. The transport-rider knocked over the lime-juice +and placed his gin in front of the boy.</p> + +<p>"Drink that."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't."</p> + +<p>"Yer won't?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you three chances and no more."</p> + +<p>With that Rogers drew a heavy revolver from his coat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Drink! One!"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Drink! Two!"</p> + +<p>"No."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Drink! Three!"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't drink it."</p> + +<p>Rogers stared at the boy for a moment and then put the revolver back in +his pocket again.</p> + +<p>"I like you. You've got grit. Drink rot-gut if you like, it ain't any +business of mine. Here, take these."</p> + +<p>"These" were a bundle of Standard Bank notes tied up with a piece of +string. William edged close to the wall.</p> + +<p>"Here, you take 'em; they're fivers. Got paid for a job to-day, but I +like you, so you've got to have 'em."</p> + +<p>"I don't want your money."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I. Take 'em."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"What? You don't drink and you won't take good money?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you three chances, and this time I'll shoot."</p> + +<p>"Take 'em! One!"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Take 'em! Two!"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Take 'em before I say three!"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well then, no one shall have 'em." And with that Rogers flung the +bundle out of the door into the darkness. Then he bent his head upon his +crossed arms and sobbed.</p> + +<p>Jimmy seemed to be watching, for he lifted a flap in the bar counter, +went outside the door, and returned almost immediately, stuffing the +bundle into his pocket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't mind him, William."</p> + +<p>Then to Rogers, "What about your drink?"</p> + +<p>The transport-rider stood up.</p> + +<p>"Did you see the train, Jimmy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ain't nobody drunk?"</p> + +<p>"Not very."</p> + +<p>"The train's in and nobody drunk? I'll get drunk. I will get drunk."</p> + +<p>And with that he danced round and round the bar waving his glass. "The +train! The train! The train!" ... Crash!</p> + +<p>Everyone turned round. John Rogers, transport-rider of Tantani, had +fallen, and lay on the floor insensible.</p> + +<p>"Rogers drunk?" came in a chorus of incredulity from all quarters. No +one stooped to examine him; perhaps because few besides William and the +barman felt it quite safe to stoop. Then several of his fellows pushed +him under a seat with their feet, and turned to the bar again.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Rogers," they said, "who would have thought it? Must be +breaking up. Used to keep goin' for days together without turnin' a +hair. Poor old blighter. Train's taken his transport-ridin' away from +him. Yes, that's what's upset him."</p> + +<p>But William met Rogers next morning, quite himself again.</p> + +<p>"Morning, boy."</p> + +<p>"Good morning."</p> + +<p>"Jimmy gave me my money back."</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Have you got a job?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Looking for one?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, come my next journey with me. I'll go on the strict t.t. I'll +show you some good shooting, too, and I want a hefty young man to help +me with my cattle. Jimmy told me he thought you'd come. I want you to +come."</p> + +<p>William went, and a partnership sprang up which resulted in profit to +both.</p> + +<p>Rogers and Blake own that large cattle ranch just beyond Belingwe. +Rogers must be nearly seventy now, and is still hale and hearty.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LOST RUBIES.</h2> + + +<p>If you asked a South African mining man, no doubt he would tell you that +there are no rubies in Africa. He would be wrong.</p> + +<p>To my knowledge two very large ones have been found. One of them I have +seen. The other I have heard about. Take my word for it, there are many +rubies in Africa. I will go so far as to tell you where. I hope you will +go and look for them, and, what is more, find them.</p> + +<p>The rubies of which I write are to be found on the banks of the Zambesi, +somewhere below the Victoria Falls. If I could give more exact details, +I wouldn't do it: I should go and look for them myself.</p> + +<p>As I said before, I know they are there, because I have actually held +one in my hand. The man who showed it to me told me it was a ruby. I +believed him, of course. I had reason to. But just to make sure, I +placed it between two half-crowns, put the precious sandwich on a flat +slab of granite, and gave it a severe twisting under my heel.</p> + +<p>My silver suffered. I did manage to pass those half-crowns off on +someone, but I felt a criminal.</p> + +<p>Now this old man who showed the ruby to me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> looked a very old man +indeed. He was a Scotsman. His long beard was only slightly red, +otherwise it was white. To be quite accurate, I suppose I should say he +had a long white beard tinged with pink. At least, so it seemed to me +the first time I saw it and him.</p> + +<p>It is just twenty-five years ago that the old man came to my camp on the +Zambesi, some forty-five miles above the Victoria Falls.</p> + +<p>Quite apart from his beard he was obviously old. His legs were thin. He +hobbled from rheumatism. His cheeks were hollow, and how very thin his +ears were! I remember his ears quite well, they were almost transparent +and his hands—well, they were just claws.</p> + +<p>This poor old man came to me for three things.</p> + +<p>One. Could I mend a shot-gun? I had a look at the dingy old weapon and +admitted that it was quite beyond me. It was a double-barrelled shot-gun +with four good inches gone from the right barrel, one from the left, and +the rib of metal which should join the two was curled back for a good +ten inches.</p> + +<p>He explained that he had tried to shoot a king-fisher and his gun +exploded. He suggested that a mouse must have crept up the barrel during +the night.</p> + +<p>Perhaps one had.</p> + +<p>I, personally, should have said that the gun was suffering from the same +complaint as its owner—old age.</p> + +<p>Well, I couldn't help him in the matter of the gun, so what was the next +thing?</p> + +<p>Had I a drop of good Scotch? Yes, by Jingo, I had, and very welcome the +poor old fellow was to it.</p> + +<p>I gave him a good dose of his native medicine, which seemed to put back +the clock of time for him at least a couple of dozen years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the third thing?</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, the third thing. He began:—</p> + +<p>"You see, I am an old man. I'm an honest man, oh yes, quite honest. I +don't lie like the others."</p> + +<p>He paused and looked out of the door of my tent.</p> + +<p>"The other two are bad."</p> + +<p>I don't attempt to reproduce his accent or the queer, querulous way he +had of talking, because I can't. He was an old Scotsman, so you may fill +in the local colour for yourself.</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you something."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You won't give me away?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>"You won't tell the other two?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, but who are the other two?"</p> + +<p>The old man looked out of the tent again and quickly back at me. He +placed his finger alongside his nose and winked. Then he said in a loud +voice: "I must be going. Thanks for the drink. No, I won't have another. +It's getting late and my pals will be anxious."</p> + +<p>Through his talk I heard an approaching footstep.</p> + +<p>The old man backed out of my tent and I followed him. Within a few yards +of us was another man approaching hurriedly. He looked anxiously from me +to the old Scotsman and back again.</p> + +<p>He stopped and, addressing the old, old man, said: "What are you doing +here?"</p> + +<p>This annoyed me. I was on the point of asking very sharply what he +wanted, anyway, when the expression of both made me pause.</p> + +<p>On the old man's face, fear; on the newcomer's, anger, suspicion, greed, +cruelty—a bad face of a bad man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>My curiosity was aroused; I answered the question.</p> + +<p>"Your friend has been having a drink with me. Won't you have one?"</p> + +<p>"No, I will not." Then, by way of an afterthought: "No, thank you very +much." And the fellow smiled with his ugly mouth, but not with his eyes.</p> + +<p>The intruder, as I now regarded him, seemed in a hurry to be gone.</p> + +<p>"The canoe boys are waiting for us and we must go. Come along, +Macdonald."</p> + +<p>The old man turned his face towards me and, as he said good-bye, I saw a +great fear in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Ignoring the other, I begged him to stay the night and promised to try +my best to mend his gun. He shook his head and turned slowly away.</p> + +<p>The ugly man hurried him along towards the bank of the river and helped +him into the canoe. I felt there was something wrong but didn't see how +I could interfere.</p> + +<p>As the pair pushed off from the bank, the other man turned round and +shot a searching look at me. What could the mystery be? That thick-set, +black-haired little devil was up to no good. He looked as if could +murder the old man, me, or anyone else, if necessary.</p> + +<p>I saw nothing of them next day, but my natives told me that there were +three white men with a waggon camped on the other side. I sent a boy +across to spy out the land, but he came back with no information of any +real importance.</p> + +<p>On the third day I felt so uneasy about the old man that I half made up +my mind to cross the river to see him. I was prevented from doing so by +the arrival at my camp of the veriest pair of ruffians I ever clapped +eyes on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>As they walked up from the river I had time to study them. And a pair of +arrant scoundrels they looked.</p> + +<p>The man who had already paid me one visit was talking rapidly to a fat, +unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to feel mere walking an excessive +exertion, for he puffed, stooped, and walked awkwardly.</p> + +<p>The stranger wore a waistcoat but no coat. His braces, which were red, +hung untidily on either side; he had forgotten to slip them over his +shoulders when putting on his waistcoat.</p> + +<p>When they reached my tent I offered them chairs. The fat man sank into +one, his thick-set companion stood.</p> + +<p>It was the latter who talked. The other mopped his perspiring forehead +with a blue cotton handkerchief, and seemed capable only of saying: +"That is so; yes, yes," in support of his companion's rapid talk.</p> + +<p>It soon became obvious that this precious pair wanted to know exactly +what the old man had told me three days before. As he had told me +nothing, it was easy to answer them.</p> + +<p>"How did I find the old man?"</p> + +<p>"Just that he seemed very old, much too old to be at the Zambesi at his +time of life."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I find him lightheaded?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, quite normal."</p> + +<p>"Hadn't he spun me some queer yarns?"</p> + +<p>"No; just told me of his gun and his accident with it."</p> + +<p>"Well, as a matter of fact, he was off his head, and I really mustn't +believe all he said. Oh dear, he had kept them both in fits of laughter +on the road up with his queer notions. Stories of gold mines and +suchlike nonsense. Hadn't he talked of that kind of thing?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, he was now in bed with a go of fever and talking queerer than +usual. Yes, if I could spare it, they'd like some quinine for him; but +they had better be going, for it wasn't playing the game to leave an old +man for long who had the fever on him."</p> + +<p>The pair got up to go.</p> + +<p>I disliked them both, especially the fat one, who looked to me like a +city-bred parasite—a barman, bookmaker, tobacconist's assistant, or +something of that sort. They glanced round them and hesitated, evidently +expecting to be asked to drink with me. I would sooner have gone "three +out" of a bottle of beer with a couple of hogs.</p> + +<p>Presently they went off, evidently much relieved to find I knew nothing.</p> + +<p>I was now determined to know all, and quickly; but how to get hold of +the old man alone again was the difficulty.</p> + +<p>As I sat in my chair thinking, I recollected a remark let fall by the +boy I sent to spy upon them: "The fat one drank much Kaffir beer, which +he bought from the natives who lived on the north bank of the river."</p> + +<p>I sent a messenger to the headman of the village with an order to make +much beer, pots and pots of it, and take it new and half-fermented to +the white men on the other side. I instructed the headman to sell it +cheaply, and said that I would make up the difference.</p> + +<p>In due course I had my reward. The old Scotsman came over and told me +one of his companions was in great pain and the other was trying to ease +the pain by rubbing fat on his belly, that he himself had got away +unnoticed, and now wanted to tell me all about "it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was naturally all anxiety to hear what "it" was all about, and made +the old man sit down.</p> + +<p>Now why is it, I wonder, that old men can't come quickly to the point? +Much to my annoyance, he wasted a good half an hour telling me what +scamps the other two were; how he felt sure that, given half a chance, +they would "do him in" but not until they had got from him his secret. +Tell them? Not on your life!</p> + +<p>But he would tell me; oh yes, he would tell me. Ever seen a ruby? No, +not out of a ring? Well, I should see one now and hold it in my hand. A +large one, fit for a king. And he would tell me where to find more. +Hundreds of them. The other two had brought him up to the Zambesi just +to find out where the rubies were. But he wasn't going to tell them, not +he. They were too darned stingy with the whisky bottle; besides, they +wouldn't sign a paper on it. A man who wouldn't sign a paper on a deal +was up to no good—didn't intend to play fair. Now what did I think they +should pay him for showing them where the ruby mine was? Would a couple +of hundred be a fair thing?</p> + +<p>And so on, and on, and on.</p> + +<p>I gave him the best advice I could, which amounted to a warning not to +trust his companions.</p> + +<p>Then he showed me the ruby, which he carried in a small blue medicine +bottle marked "fever mixture."</p> + +<p>I knew precious little about rubies, and told him so. It was then that I +tried it between the two half-crowns.</p> + +<p>Having satisfied myself that it was a very hard stone, even if it +weren't a ruby, I gave it back to him, and he returned it to its bottle.</p> + +<p>He then told me that, many years before, he had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> travelling in +company with a Jesuit Father along the banks of the Zambesi. That just +below the village of a native, whose name for the moment he could not +remember, he had found the rubies. One he had kept and the other he had +given to the priest, who told him he was going home to France shortly +and would find out whether the stone was worth anything or not. If it +had value, he would sell it and go halves.</p> + +<p>They went down south together, and parted company at Grahamstown. A year +later he was sent for by the manager of the Bank and told that £480 had +been remitted to him by the Reverend Father.</p> + +<p>The money came in handy, and for one reason or another he didn't bother +about going all the way up to the Zambesi to get more rubies. He also +got married and settled down in Bechuanaland on a farm.</p> + +<p>But his wife had lately died. His two daughters were married, and his +son was killed in the Matabeleland rebellion. Then he lost all his +cattle by rinderpest.</p> + +<p>So he left the farm and went to Bulawayo. He didn't know anyone there, +but took up with his two companions, met them in a bar, told them about +the ruby and showed it to them. A Jew had assured them that the stone +was a ruby right enough, and had, he believed, put up some cash for +their outfit and journey.</p> + +<p>But they wouldn't sign a paper, and were up to no good. He had come up +to the Zambesi—felt he had to. It was hard to make money nowadays.</p> + +<p>"But I'll tell you all about it," he said, "and where the mine is, so +that, if these fellows do me in, you can get the stones. They shan't +have them. You know where the Gwai River runs into the Zambesi?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, it's not quite so far down—Listen! Did you hear that?"</p> + +<p>"No, what?"</p> + +<p>"That calling for help. There it is again."</p> + +<p>We went to the tent door and looked towards the river. In midstream we +could see a canoe bottom up. One white man was sitting astride at one +end, and there was a native at the other. A second white man was +swimming for the bank.</p> + +<p>I ran down to the landing stage, calling my canoe boys as I went. For +the moment I forgot all about my visitor. There was a white man in the +water and, scamp though he undoubtedly was, I couldn't let him drown.</p> + +<p>My boys and I got him ashore. It was the thickset one. His fat, +unhealthy-looking companion was floating down the river astride the +upturned canoe.</p> + +<p>After landing the one, I sent my boys back for the other. They had had a +thorough wetting and the city-bred fellow was very much scared.</p> + +<p>I had their clothes dried and then sent them back to their camp in my +own canoe. It appears that an angry hippopotamus attacked them.</p> + +<p>All this time I had little time to think about old Macdonald. I asked my +people about him and they told me that he had slipped away and crossed +in a canoe to the white man's camp whilst the other men's clothes were +being dried.</p> + +<p>Not a word was said about the Kaffir beer. If the pair of villains were +coming across the river to me for assistance or medicine when the +accident happened, they forgot to mention the fact in the excitement of +the moment and after.</p> + +<p>Next day they were gone—all three of them, ruby and all. And I never +saw any of them again. But I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> did see in a Bulawayo paper, which reached +me later, the following announcement:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"At the Memorial Hospital, Bulawayo, John Macdonald, died of +blackwater fever. Funeral (Hendrix and Sons) starting from the +Hospital at 3.30 this afternoon."</p></div> + +<p>So I repeat there are rubies in Africa, somewhere on the banks of the +Zambesi, below the Falls, but north of where the Gwai river makes its +junction. If you decide to go and look for them, good luck to you!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CATTLE KING.</h2> + + +<p>Schiller was a cattle trader by profession, and he made a lot of money.</p> + +<p>He was incidentally a Jew by birth, an Austrian by accident, a +hairdresser by training, and a soldier of fortune when occasion offered. +He was quite illiterate.</p> + +<p>Although he could neither read nor write he yet kept accurate enough +accounts of all his many transactions with the natives. He once showed +me his accounts. They consisted of notches on tally sticks. I couldn't +make head or tail of them, but Schiller knew to a shilling how much each +ox had cost him and how many cattle he had.</p> + +<p>One Sunday morning he came over to my bungalow and told me all the +gossip of the country-side. Incidentally he remarked that my hair wanted +cutting, and asked if he might have the pleasure of operating.</p> + +<p>I thanked him and sat down.</p> + +<p>To my amazement he produced from a little black bag all the implements +of the trade, including a pink print sheet which he proceeded to tuck in +round my neck.</p> + +<p>His touch was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you a professional?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, from —— of Bond Street."</p> + +<p>From that day on, twice a month if I was at home, this man who was worth +at least twenty thousand pounds cut my hair for sixpence.</p> + +<p>He called himself the "Cattle King."</p> + +<p>I first met him when he made application for a cattle trading licence at +my office: this was many years ago.</p> + +<p>As, in those days, we could issue or withhold a licence at discretion, I +questioned Schiller closely.</p> + +<p>He didn't look like the ordinary Jew. By that I mean he hadn't a +pronounced nose: on the contrary, it was small and snubby. He told me he +was a Jew, I should not have guessed it.</p> + +<p>He wore a long row of medal ribbons and, in support of his claim to +them, produced discharge papers from every irregular force raised in +Africa during the last twenty years.</p> + +<p>I read the papers carefully and could but conclude that the little man +who applied for a licence was a confirmed fire-eater and a very gallant +soldier.</p> + +<p>No camp follower he. His medals were earned and at the cost of not a few +wounds. I later saw these honourable scars.</p> + +<p>I gave him his licence and asked him to sign an undertaking designed to +control certain undesirable activities in which it was just possible he +might wish to indulge.</p> + +<p>He couldn't write his name. A large X with a few unnecessary blots +thrown in adorned the record of his promise. He never broke his word: in +fact that man's word was his bond in the truest sense.</p> + +<p>I have always found that an illiterate man is a much more rapid learner +than one who keeps a note book. The one relies upon his memory and so +strengthens it; the other discourages it by admitting its limitations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>He learnt the local dialect rapidly, and his pronunciation was quite +good. This gave him advantage over his rival traders.</p> + +<p>Natives like to hear their language spoken by a white man, and, as +Schiller was a fluent talker, his company was much sought after.</p> + +<p>He was a trading genius. Anything he had for sale soon became the rage +with the large native population. He got to know most of the great +ladies of the land. Knowing that great ladies, be they white or black, +set the fashions, he persuaded them to patronise his store and accept +long credit.</p> + +<p>If this particular pattern of print did not generally commend itself to +the community, one of the important dames would shortly appear draped in +yards of it. If that coloured bead did not sell freely, a personage in +the Chief's household would soon be seen wearing string after string of +it.</p> + +<p>But it was cattle he wanted, and cattle he got. So large did his herd of +fine beasts become that the Chief himself grew jealous, and issued a +warning to his people not to sell too freely.</p> + +<p>Still the herd increased. The man dealt more fairly with the people than +the other traders, and, moreover, did not make the mistake of getting +upon too familiar terms with his customers.</p> + +<p>During my absence on a tour of inspection a crisis arose. The Chief +forbade his people to have any further dealings with the Cattle King.</p> + +<p>Schiller counted his gains, branded his cattle, and sent them south to +the rail-head for sale. Then he closed his store.</p> + +<p>Just at this time a number of waggons arrived bearing many cases and +bales of new goods for him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> These were off-loaded, unpacked, and +disappeared into the closed store.</p> + +<p>Then Schiller made a hatch in the store door not unlike that of a +railway booking-office. He left the shutter ajar, but piled up goods in +front of all the windows. Black noses in plenty gathered against the +panes, but goods—goods everywhere—blocked a view of the interior of +the store.</p> + +<p>Through the hatch Schiller could be seen mysteriously occupied. He had a +chequered board in front of him with many little discs of wood upon it. +He sat with eyes fixed on the board, and from time to time moved a disc.</p> + +<p>He told all inquirers that his store had been closed by orders of the +Chief, and that he himself was very busy.</p> + +<p>News of the trader's preoccupation spread about. Was he making medicine +with which to harm the people? Surely not; he was a kind little man.</p> + +<p>Was he communicating in some strange way with the absent Commissioner? +That might be; better make sure.</p> + +<p>The Chief became uneasy. At last he sent his principal headman to +inquire.</p> + +<p>This headman had received some education at the Mission school, so he +wrote a polite letter to warn the trader of his coming.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>My greetings to the honest man the merchant. I hope you have slept +well I am telling you that I have not seen you for a long time and +it is my intention of coming to see how you get on. I am well and +my wife is well. Now I must close my letter.</p> + +<p class="regards">Your friend,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Gonye</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>The envelope bore the address:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +Mr. Shiler, Esq.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Merchant.</span><br /> +</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>The letter was duly delivered at the hatch. Schiller pretended to read +it and said there was no answer.</p> + +<p>As a rule he brought his letters to be read by my native clerk, but I +had taken him with me on my tour.</p> + +<p>If the Cattle King was surprised when the headman pushed open the hatch +shutter and looked in, he did not show it.</p> + +<p>He glanced up from his draught-board impatiently, frowned at the +interruption, and turned to the game again. He was playing self versus +self, and self was giving self no end of a tussle.</p> + +<p>"Good-day to you, Merchant."</p> + +<p>"Good-day, Gonye."</p> + +<p>"I hope you have slept well?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I have slept very well, thank you, Merchant."</p> + +<p>Silence fell upon the pair, and the game of self <i>v.</i> self proceeded.</p> + +<p>"Huff you for not taking me here," muttered Schiller.</p> + +<p>"Crown me, please," replied Schiller.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, honest man?" asked Gonye.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the merchant abstractedly.</p> + +<p>"You do not trade now, Merchant."</p> + +<p>"No, your Chief has closed my store."</p> + +<p>"Will you tell the Commissioner?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"What will he do?"</p> + +<p>"The Chief and you will know what he will do when he does it."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing now, honest man?" asked Gonye, and added—"May I +come in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you don't talk or touch the goods."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>The trader got up and let the native in, but returned to his game +without ceremony.</p> + +<p>Gonye walked round the piled-up counters and inspected the well-filled +shelves. Here were goods indeed. Goods worth many head of cattle. +Blankets, coloured print, calico, brass wire, beads, shirts, hats, +coats, sugar, jam, tobacco, pipes, knives, looking-glasses, mouth +organs, and goodness knows what besides.</p> + +<p>Seeing all these nice new things created many wants in the headman's +heart. But the Chief had closed the store.</p> + +<p>Gonye wandered back to where the trader sat and watched him.</p> + +<p>With a shout of triumph, self beat self by two kings. Schiller +rearranged the board for another contest.</p> + +<p>"Is it a game?" asked Gonye.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a game."</p> + +<p>"Is it a very hard game?"</p> + +<p>"Very hard."</p> + +<p>"Did it take you long to learn?"</p> + +<p>"Years and years."</p> + +<p>"Could I learn it?"</p> + +<p>The trader sat back in his chair and looked fixedly at the native. "You +might," he said.</p> + +<p>"Will you teach me?"</p> + +<p>"I will try to; bring up that chair and sit down."</p> + +<p>The rest of the afternoon was spent by Schiller initiating Gonye into +the mysteries of draughts.</p> + +<p>Next day the native came again.</p> + +<p>"I think I can play now, Merchant."</p> + +<p>"Do you? Well, you take black and I will play with white."</p> + +<p>Schiller won, with a loss of scarcely a man.</p> + +<p>"Try again, Gonye."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Schiller played a cunning game, so the native made a slightly better +showing next time. The third game he did better still. The fourth game +he won.</p> + +<p>That was the only game of draughts he ever did win against the trader. +In his triumph the headman persuaded the Chief to declare the store +reopened. The merchant was a good man. He was indeed an honest man. His +cattle kraal was empty. What would they say to the Commissioner on his +return? The trader would of course complain. Moreover, the store was +full of very nice goods.</p> + +<p>The next morning the store was opened and the natives flocked to it with +their cattle. Schiller did a great trade, and bought more cattle in a +week than all the other traders combined had done in three months.</p> + +<p>Gonye felt rather sore as the merchant declared that he was now too busy +trading to play draughts. However, Schiller, who was no fool, made his +position of Cattle King secure by presenting the board and men to Gonye.</p> + +<p>The last I heard of Schiller was at the outbreak of the Great War. He +had joined the Force which set out to take German South-West Africa.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> +<h2>PARTNERS.</h2> + + +<p>Jack Fernie and William Black became partners in the usually pleasant +business of seeing something of the world.</p> + +<p>What the two men had in common was little enough so far as I could +discover. They appeared to meet on the common ground of boots—uncommon +boots.</p> + +<p>Fernie hated wet feet. He argued that if water got in over the top of +the boot, the foot remained damp all day, which was bad for you. So he +punched holes through the leather of the uppers, all round, just where +it bends in to meet the soles. He explained that since water must find +its own level, it will run out of your boots as readily as it will run +in, if given a fair chance.</p> + +<p>Black went in constant dread of developing an ingrowing toenail, so he +wore boots with two compartments inside, one for the big toe and the +other for the rest. They were very ugly, clumsy boots, but Black +declared that they were a sure preventive and very comfortable.</p> + +<p>These two strange creatures were never tired of discussing each other's +boots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now Fernie had been second officer on board a liner. On the way home +from India he had said unrepeatable things to a parson. When he arrived +in London his directors sent for him, scolded him severely, and +dismissed him from their service.</p> + +<p>When I got to know Fernie well, I asked him what all the trouble had +been about. He was not very communicative; he merely said that he could +no more abide a black coat than he could a black cat. With that he +changed the subject, and I had to be content.</p> + +<p>Black had slaved as a clerk in the City for thirty-five years and +doubtless would have remained one for the rest of his natural life had +not an old lady, no relation of his, left him in her will a sum of money +which provided him with an income of between six and seven hundred a +year. There was no mention of the why and the wherefore in the will, and +Black declared that he couldn't imagine why she did him this good turn.</p> + +<p>It appears that Fernie and Black first met in Bulawayo. How, exactly, I +don't know. They had bought a donkey-waggon and set out for the Zambesi +river, which they crossed at a place called Kazungula, some forty-five +miles above the Victoria Falls.</p> + +<p>Their introduction to me was a curious one. Fernie walked into my camp +one day, followed by Black. He said: "Are you the magistrate of these +parts?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, will you sell us up?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You see, we're partners, Black and I. We don't get on as such and want +to dissolve. Isn't that so, Black?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"So we want you to sell us up; sell our outfit as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> it stands—waggon, +donkeys, and everything else we've got. Don't we, Black?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But," I said, "who do you expect to buy in a place like this? There +isn't a white man within a couple of hundred miles. I'm not buying +donkeys, and the natives can't."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Fernie. "I will do all the bidding, and you can +divide the proceeds between us."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Black, "that's what we want you to do."</p> + +<p>Of course, I agreed to help and asked them to set out the things for +sale.</p> + +<p>When everything was ready, Black handed to me a list, neatly written and +ruled with two money columns, one headed "Cost Price" and the other +"Sale Price."</p> + +<p>I had never acted as auctioneer before, but that didn't matter; entering +into the spirit of the thing, I began.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, I have here as fine a span of donkeys and as sound a waggon +as ever came north of the Zambesi——"</p> + +<p>But Fernie cut me short with: "A hundred and sixty pounds."</p> + +<p>I looked at the list. In the cost-price column, against the item "span +of donkeys and a waggon" was set £160.</p> + +<p>I got no fun out of the sale at all. Fernie bought everything, bidding +cost price for everything. The total, I think, came to just three +hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>"Black, I owe you a hundred and fifty, and here you are."</p> + +<p>Black took the bundle of notes, counted them with practised finger and +thumb, nodded, and handed a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> receipt to Fernie. The queer pair then +shook hands, grinned at each other sheepishly, and thanked me for +settling their little difference.</p> + +<p>The three of us had lunch together, and during the meal Fernie told me +as much of their story as he thought fit.</p> + +<p>It appears that on their way up to the Zambesi friction arose between +them; nothing serious, but just enough to make them feel a little tired +of one another's company. Fernie considered that he should boss the +outfit; Black wanted a say in matters, too. In Black's opinion Fernie +was too dictatorial. Fernie thought that Black butted in too much and +always unnecessarily—fatuously. So they sat down one day and discussed +the situation calmly and decided that Fernie should buy Black's share +and that Black should become a passenger, paying Fernie so much weekly.</p> + +<p>This arrangement was so simple and complete that I wondered why it was +necessary to bring me into the matter at all. I suspect it was the +ex-clerk's passion for regularity and record, for immediately after the +sale he had drawn up a formal statement of dissolution of partnership. +When he and Fernie had signed this document, they asked me to +countersign it.</p> + +<p>After luncheon we sat for a while discussing guns and rifles. By we, I +mean Fernie and I, for Black possessed no firearms of any sort and +appeared to take little interest in them.</p> + +<p>Fernie set so much store by the Martini-Henry rifle and the old hammer +shot-gun that I correctly guessed these made up his battery. Presently +he produced the weapons for my opinion.</p> + +<p>The shot-gun had been a good one in its far-off day, but the spring of +the right-hand lock had gone, so only the left barrel was serviceable. +The Martini<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> was so old and the rifling so worn that I wondered how +Fernie ever hit anything at which he aimed. But he did. He said he had +got to know the old gas-pipe.</p> + +<p>That evening the pair left me and went North.</p> + +<p>From time to time I came across these men; now and again one or the +other wrote to me; later, their waggon boys told me much; I gathered +more from the natives of the district in which they aimlessly wandered; +finally, Black's sister entrusted her brother's diary to me. The entries +in this book were made in shorthand. I had the whole transcribed. I told +her I had lost the book; I lied. I have the book still. She died +peacefully without an inkling of its contents.</p> + +<p>From these various sources of information I have put together a few +yarns, which I now tell for the first time. For instance, there was a +curious adventure with a lion.</p> + +<p>Fernie had been out shooting most of the day: shooting for the pot, as +the party had been without meat for some time. Black, as usual, remained +in camp writing up his diary. He also mended a boot.</p> + +<p>He concluded that Fernie was having very good sport because of the +number of shots he fired during the afternoon. With an inexperienced man +like Fernie, armed with a rifle such as his, it was not wise to jump at +conclusions.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening Fernie came back to camp very hot and tired. He was +evidently in a bad temper, for when Black asked him if he would like +some tea, he rudely said: "Tea, you bloomin' grandmother," and opened a +bottle of whisky.</p> + +<p>Then he called the driver and said he wanted a couple of donkeys to +bring in the meat of a hartebeest which he had killed. The driver +brought two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> and followed Fernie into the bush. They didn't return until +eleven o'clock at night. Black had become anxious as time went on. He +heard Fernie shooting again at about ten o'clock and wondered how he +could see to take aim in the dark. He had, of course, never heard of the +common practice of firing a shot in the air if you are not quite sure of +your whereabouts and then listening for a guiding shot from the camp.</p> + +<p>It wouldn't have helped much if he had known, for he had never fired a +gun in his life. It did not occur to the second waggon boy, who had also +remained in camp, to ask Black why he didn't reply to the signals of +distress; he very naturally concluded that Black did not do so for +reasons of his own, not through ignorance or inability.</p> + +<p>It is only fair to Black to say that Fernie had not previously heard of +this manner of signalling either. The waggon boy put him up to it when +they thought they were lost.</p> + +<p>At eleven o'clock the wanderers found their way back to camp. Fernie was +in a worse temper than ever.</p> + +<p>"Why the hell didn't you answer my shots?"</p> + +<p>"Your shots?"</p> + +<p>"Is the fellow deaf as well as a brainless idiot?"</p> + +<p>"I did hear you shooting, but I thought you had come across some more +hartebeest."</p> + +<p>"How the devil do you suppose I could see to shoot in this pitch +darkness?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; I wondered."</p> + +<p>"Oh, so you wondered, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, what did you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"Sing, or any damn thing. But how could an ex-ink-slinger be expected to +have any horse-sense to do anything requiring a glimmer of intelligence? +Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> don't talk; of course, it's not your fault, it's your Maker's."</p> + +<p>Black felt keenly the coarse injustice of this attack and sat silently +looking into the fire. The truth of the matter was that Fernie had lost +his way. He couldn't find the dead hartebeest. He cursed the waggon boy +for a fool, which he wasn't; and beat him, which he didn't deserve.</p> + +<p>"Off-load those chunks of meat near the fire and get to hell out of +this," said Fernie roughly to the waggon boy. The fellow relieved the +donkeys of their load and slouched away.</p> + +<p>Black looked up. "You're tired, Fernie. Won't you have some supper?"</p> + +<p>Fernie, who was making a pile of the hartebeest meat, turned with an +angry jerk towards the speaker. Something in Black's attitude brought +him sharply to his senses and saved him from adding fresh insult to +those already thrown at his friend.</p> + +<p>Instead, he said: "I'm sorry, Black old man. I'm a beast and we both +know it. I take back all I said; please forget it. And I must give that +driver fellow a tot of whisky; I hit him, which was a rotten thing to +do, because he can't hit me back, and I, not he, was wrong."</p> + +<p>It certainly was a rotten thing to do. Fernie was a big-boned, powerful +man, with a fist like a leg of mutton in size. He hardly knew his +strength, but many a troublesome seaman could have testified to it in +the old liner days.</p> + +<p>However, the tot of neat whisky put matters more or less right with the +boy.</p> + +<p>Black pressed Fernie to have a good square meal, but he wouldn't. He +drank half a glass of raw whisky, followed by about a gallon of water. +Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> he put down his blankets and turned in, his head towards the pile +of meat and his feet to the fire. Completely exhausted, he fell asleep +immediately.</p> + +<p>It had become a habit with Fernie to place his loaded shot-gun by his +side when he went to sleep, and he invariably had a large spanner handy. +He did not forget to make these preparations now, tired though he was. +He made them mechanically.</p> + +<p>Black, who remained by the fire, put on his spectacles and wrote up his +diary. Then he too put down his blankets, close to where Fernie lay.</p> + +<p>He didn't go to sleep at once. In spite of his apology, Fernie's words +had left a sting. This had been his worst outbreak so far. He had never +used the contemptuous epithet "ex-ink-slinger" before. Because of its +truth it hurt.</p> + +<p>So Black lay on his back watching the sparks rise from the fire at his +feet. He was indeed seeing the world, but he began to doubt whether he +had chosen exactly the best parts of it or the most pleasant way of +seeing them.</p> + +<p>No unkind thought of Fernie ever entered his mind. I think I can safely +say this, for his very full diary contains no hint of such. On the +contrary, a strong thread of deep admiration and affection for his +friend can be traced without a break through every page of that strange +book.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a slight movement behind the pile of meat. Black +turned slowly over on his side and looked. To his great alarm he saw a +large lion smelling the meat. He put out his hand and touched Fernie, +who woke at once, sat up, and looked. However uncertain the sailor's +temper might be, his nerve was still good. He snatched up his gun. As he +did so, the lion made a short backward jump and glared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> at the men, +growling. Fernie put the gun to his shoulder and pressed the trigger. +There was no report! He had forgotten the broken spring. Why he did not +fire the left barrel remains a mystery. Instead, he gripped the gun +about the trigger guard with his left hand, pressed the stock firmly to +his shoulder, and aimed a sharp blow at the hammer with his spanner. He +missed the hammer, but hit his thumb.</p> + +<p>"Gentle, jumping Johnson!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. "The +devil take the blighted thing and chew it!"</p> + +<p>With that he flung the spanner at the beast, and disregarding the blood +spurting from his crushed thumb, fired the left barrel after the lion, +which had bounded away into the darkness.</p> + +<p>It was many days before that thumb healed.</p> + +<p>I don't suppose that at the beginning of their partnership Fernie knew +much or any more about firearms than Black did. It is probable that both +were equally ignorant. This does not appear from the diary, but then +allowance must be made for Black's deep admiration of Fernie and all he +did.</p> + +<p>Of course, Fernie had travelled much and, thanks to his training at sea, +took more quickly to strange conditions and new things than Black. By +dint of perseverance and the expenditure of much ammunition, he managed +to keep the camp supplied with meat, but in those days game was thick +upon the ground.</p> + +<p>It is probable that if the job of keeping the larder full had been +handed over to the driver of the donkey waggon, all would have fared +better.</p> + +<p>It is on record that under Fernie's tuition Black once tried his hand at +shooting at a target. I say once advisedly, for he tried but once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>The rifle he used was, of course, Fernie's old Martini. The target was +the bleached skull of an ox that they found by the roadside.</p> + +<p>After showing his pupil how to hold the rifle, how to aim, and the use +of sights, Fernie gave Black a handful of cartridges and walked off to +set up the target.</p> + +<p>Black was bubbling over with suppressed excitement. His heart beat +rapidly. His mouth felt unaccountably dry. He almost made up his mind to +borrow the rifle that very afternoon and go out and look for a buck. He +pictured himself soon taking turn and turn about with Fernie in keeping +the pot going.</p> + +<p>With an effort he ceased building castles, pulled himself together, and +mentally repeated Fernie's instruction on the rifle. He determined to +acquit himself creditably.</p> + +<p>Fernie had meanwhile set up the target about fifty yards away, and had +moved to what he considered a safe distance. He now shouted to Black to +have a shot, adding: "Don't be afraid of the darned thing, it won't hurt +you. Besides, it doesn't matter if you do miss the first shot or two."</p> + +<p>Black clenched his teeth, put the rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at +the skull.</p> + +<p>The rifle wobbled.</p> + +<p>He was most anxious to make a good beginning.</p> + +<p>The rifle went on wobbling.</p> + +<p>He held his breath.</p> + +<p>The rifle wobbled more.</p> + +<p>He held his breath until his lungs nearly burst. Then, I'm afraid, he +shut his eyes and pulled the trigger in desperation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Goodness knows where the bullet went to. Fernie declared that it passed +just over his head.</p> + +<p>But Black? He threw the rifle on the ground and rubbed his collar-bone +and chin. His spectacles fell off. From where Fernie stood it looked as +if he might be swearing.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Have another shot," shouted Fernie, as he walked +towards his friend.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much the matter, but I don't want another shot. It hurts too +much, and you said it wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Hurt? Nonsense! Slip in another cartridge."</p> + +<p>"I won't."</p> + +<p>Fernie picked up the rifle and began to wipe off the dust with his hand. +"Hulloa! What on earth have you done to the thing?"</p> + +<p>"Done to it?"</p> + +<p>"Why yes; this bulge in the barrel."</p> + +<p>"Did I do that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it wasn't like that before."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why no. And where's my plug?"</p> + +<p>"Your what?"</p> + +<p>"The plug of wood I had in the barrel. Good Heavens! You don't mean to +say that you fired the thing off with the plug in it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about plugs. You gave me the rifle to fire and I +fired it. My neck hurts, and I'm going back to the waggon."</p> + +<p>There must have been good metal in that old rifle, or it would surely +have exploded. About an inch from the end of the barrel was a bulge as +large as a hen's egg.</p> + +<p>One adventure is fully recorded in the diary.</p> + +<p>Fernie shot a reedbuck. Rain had fallen during the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> afternoon, so, +following the example of the waggon boys, the white men had taken the +roof from a deserted native hut, propped it up with a pole, and had made +their beds under it.</p> + +<p>Fernie put the reedbuck meat on the raised eaves of the hut roof to be +out of the reach of stray night marauders, such as hyenas, jackals, or +native dogs.</p> + +<p>After his experience with the lion, he had discarded the damaged +shot-gun in favour of the more serviceable rifle as a means of +protection by night.</p> + +<p>In due course the two men went to bed and both fell asleep.</p> + +<p>Their awakening was as sudden as it was unusual. Something fell heavily +on Fernie's chest. Still half-asleep, he hit out instinctively. His fist +came in violent contact with hairy ribs. A beast grunted and scrambled +away.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Black had received a leg of the reedbuck on his head and was +pushing the clammy thing from him.</p> + +<p>It appears that a hyena had crept up between the sleeping men, had +sprung at the meat piled on the upturned roof, had misjudged the +distance, and had fallen back in a heap upon Fernie. In its ineffectual +attempt to carry off the meat it had dislodged a piece, which fell upon +Black.</p> + +<p>The friends re-made their beds, replenished the fire, and Black turned +in again. Fernie, determined to get a shot at the hyena, should it +return, sat up, rifle in hand, and watched for some time.</p> + +<p>After a while he got tired of sitting up, so got back into his blankets +again.</p> + +<p>For perhaps an hour he lay on his back, holding his rifle in his hand, +the butt resting on his chest and the barrel pointing straight up into +the sky. It was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> those positions that Black remembered seeing man and +weapon just before he slipped off to sleep.</p> + +<p>How long it was before Fernie went to sleep neither had means of +knowing, but both awoke to the sound of Fernie's rifle.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" asked Black.</p> + +<p>"Blest if I know quite."</p> + +<p>"Did you see the hyena?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, I thought I did."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you hit him?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't know. I think I must have been dreaming. I believe I let +off the rifle in my sleep and then dropped it. My jaw hurts, so does my +shin—damnably."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you fired the thing into the air?"</p> + +<p>"I expect so; why?"</p> + +<p>Black didn't wait to talk. He jumped up, pulled on his boots and bolted. +As he ran he shouted: "Look out for the bullet!"</p> + +<p>"Come back, you silly ass!" called Fernie after him. But there was no +reply.</p> + +<p>For a little while he could hear the shuffle of Black's unlaced boots as +he hurried away, but not for long, as there was a wind blowing in the +direction which Black had taken.</p> + +<p>From time to time Fernie called, but there was no reply. He became +alarmed for his pal's safety, so got up and dressed. With a lantern in +his hand he wandered here and there, hullooing.</p> + +<p>When it became light enough he called the waggon boys, and all went in +search of Black.</p> + +<p>They hadn't very far to go. They saw him perched in a tree quite +half-a-mile away. Fernie had to climb up and bring the poor fellow down +as he was stiff<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> with cold. He pick-a-backed him to the camp. A vigorous +rubbing, a hot blanket, and a hotter whisky and water soon restored the +patient.</p> + +<p>He had a curious story to tell.</p> + +<p>When he realised that Fernie had fired his rifle straight up into the +air, he concluded that the bullet would sooner or later come straight +down again. It might fall on him. Why run unnecessary risk? So he ran +away. He thought he had time to pull on his boots, but no more. He +intended to give the bullet ten minutes and then come back.</p> + +<p>He heard Fernie call to him, but he also heard a sound which made him +run faster and still faster. It was the movement of some invisible wild +beast trotting parallel and very close to him. He stopped once. It +stopped. Scared out of his senses, he ran on, and so did It. By a stroke +of good fortune he collided in his flight with a tree; instinct made him +clamber up; he did it awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"It" jumped up at him as he climbed. Black, on the verge of exhaustion, +continued to struggle frantically up the tree. He heard the crash of +teeth as It's jaws came together within an inch of his leg. He felt It's +hot breath on his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine.</p> + +<p>He drew up his leg as the beast jumped again. He felt the heel of his +boot seized in the creature's jaws; felt the full weight of the thing at +his hip-joint as his leg swung with the spring of the beast. He clung to +the tree for dear life. Something gave way. He wondered how much of his +leg had gone.</p> + +<p>Fortunately his loss was not so very serious; his boot had been wrenched +from his foot—one of his patent two-compartment boots, and with it much +skin from his toes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>The waggon boys, who examined the spoor under the tree, declared it to +be that of a hyena, probably the hyena which had tried to steal the +meat.</p> + +<p>The boot was not recovered.</p> + +<p>Fernie really knew very little about shooting—of dangerous game he knew +nothing. I don't suppose it would have made very much difference, +because he was a reckless fellow, quite without fear.</p> + +<p>One afternoon he shot at a skulking beast and hit her in the stomach. +This beast was a female leopard, three-quarters grown. She charged him. +Fernie hadn't time to load again, so hit her with his fist. His heavy +blow stopped her for a moment, but no more. She sprang again, and as she +sprang she struck at him, half-scalping him, and scoring deep wounds in +his stomach and thighs.</p> + +<p>Fernie roared like a mad thing. Dropping his rifle he grappled with her. +She fought with the weapons Nature had given her; he, like savage man +before the days of weapons. He spoke no word; the sounds he made came +from the throat, not from the tongue—the raucous cries of a wild beast +fighting for its life.</p> + +<p>Presently Fernie tripped and fell. They rolled over and over in the +dust; he, half-blinded, searching for her throat; she, biting and +tearing at his flesh. He lay on her and pressed her to the ground; thus +he got his grip upon her throat and held on until the end.</p> + +<p>The end?</p> + +<p>Fernie had killed the leopard with his hands, had strangled her. But +what of the man?</p> + +<p>A blinded, shredded thing, covered with blood and dust; his scalp +hanging like a coarse fringe from his forehead to his chin; his clothes +in tatters; gaping, welling wounds everywhere. This ruin of a strong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +man stood up, gave one long, loud roar of victory, and fell insensible.</p> + +<p>The waggon boys had heard the shot, they also heard that cry. Thinking +their master had killed an antelope, they went towards the spot from +whence they judged the cry had come. They found Fernie and the leopard +lying side by side, and thought at first that both were dead. It would +have been better so.</p> + +<p>But Fernie wasn't dead. His hold on life was much loosened, but not yet +lost. For a day or two he lingered, and then he died. His agony was +awful. He couldn't move; blood-poisoning set in; he knew he had to die, +and hour by hour he begged his friend to shoot him.</p> + +<p>"Shoot me, Black. For the love of Heaven shoot. My God, I cannot stand +it. Kill me, Black! Oh, do be quick, Black!"</p> + +<p>Hour after hour Black sat near his dying friend. He did little more than +keep the flies away. He was helpless. He didn't know what to do. He had +scarcely heard of first aid, and they possessed no medicines.</p> + +<p>One of the waggon boys searched me out and found me. I travelled day and +night, but Fernie was dead when I arrived.</p> + +<p>After we had buried Fernie, I think Black was the most alone man in the +whole world. For him there was nothing left. He had aged much during the +few days of his friend's hopeless lingering. Whenever he looked at me +the tears welled up and trickled from under the lower rim of his +spectacles. He couldn't stop them, he no longer seemed to try.</p> + +<p>A man crying is not a thing for a man to see. I began to avoid him. I +pleaded official duties, and hated myself for it. His obvious agony of +grief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> became a burden to me. His whole being seemed to plead for help, +and I didn't know how to give it; no one could give it.</p> + +<p>Just at that time the South African War broke out. I had official notice +of it and told Black. His manner changed, changed with strange rapidity; +I couldn't understand why. It did not occur to me that this helpless +creature saw opportunity in that war; but he did, and he seized it.</p> + +<p>Next day Black said good-bye to me. He was almost cheerful. He was not +the old Black. He seemed resolute, more a man, he moved briskly.</p> + +<p>I never saw him again. I learnt much of what happened from his diary, +which his sister sent me; the rest from a chance acquaintance in Cape +Town.</p> + +<p>He went south to Bulawayo; from there he travelled to Beira and shipped +to Durban. In Durban he volunteered for active service, and was, of +course, rejected by every recruiting officer.</p> + +<p>In the end, an enterprising newspaper man engaged him. He risked +nothing, because Black asked for no pay. Black went to the front +immediately, as an accredited war correspondent. What his articles would +have been like I cannot imagine, but he didn't write any. His luck was +in. The very day he arrived at Headquarters a stray bullet hit him in +the forehead and dropped him dead.</p> + +<p>How strange it all was! A shot, fired from no one knows where and for no +obvious reason, found its mark in the brain of a man who longed for +death; probably the only man in South Africa at that moment who did long +for death.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LETTER HOME.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>"I and my people will pay the Government's tax, we have our money here, +we pay willingly and in full; but the Barushu will not pay, they will +fight the Government."</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw eyed the speaker angrily and replied: "The Barushu will pay. +All will pay the Government tax and all will pay willingly and in full. +Who are you to speak of fighting? Take your receipts and go. Tell all +you meet by the way that the Barushu are paying the Government tax +willingly and in full."</p> + +<p>"I will tell them, Morena," said the old native Chief as he rose to go. +But there was no conviction in his tone, though his attitude towards the +white man was respectful.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw felt anxious. He had heard vague rumours that the Barushu, a +large tribe living some twenty miles to the North, would refuse to pay +the native tax. This would be awkward. It would have a bad effect on the +rest of the tribes. He had been charged with preparing his district for +the imposition of the tax. For two years he had worked hard and had then +reported that all was in readiness to collect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> the tax for the first +time. This was quite true of all the tribes of which he had control, +save, perhaps, of the Barushu. They were a truculent people who had +always threatened trouble, although they had never actually given any.</p> + +<p>His two Native Commissioners, who were busy receiving tax-money from +another Chief, were puzzled to find that there were many more people in +this particular community than the census papers showed.</p> + +<p>It was Wrenshaw who discovered the curious fraud which was being +perpetrated by the Chief. It appeared that having met all demands of +him, he deliberately invented names. When asked how it was that all +these people had failed to have their names recorded on the census, he +suggested that they must have been away from home at the time.</p> + +<p>At last the truth came out.</p> + +<p>"I pay willingly," said the old man; "willingly and in full, Morena. I +have paid all the money I have to the Government because the Government +asks for money. I am not a Barushu to refuse to pay. What does it matter +how many people I have; does not the Government want money, and is it +not right that I should give all I have to the Government?"</p> + +<p>"Old man," said Wrenshaw kindly, "take back your money. The Barushu will +certainly pay. If, when all have paid, the Government still wants money, +I will ask you for it. For this time you have done enough; you have paid +willingly and well."</p> + +<p>Then, turning to his assistants, he directed them to cross out all the +new and obviously fictitious names which they had just entered in the +register and return the money paid in excess of the amount due. Later, +and at their leisure, they could check the census, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> if they found +that any of the people really did exist, they could, of course, accept +the money.</p> + +<p>As he was speaking a cattle-trader hurried up, panting. "There is a +rising!" he shouted; "the Barushu are up. They have killed my partner +and taken my cattle. They have beaten the police and will soon be here. +Quick! Form a laager and let's get into it!"</p> + +<p>"Stop that, and go in there!" said Wrenshaw, pointing to his tent. To +the officials who had been receiving the tax-money and issuing receipts +he gave instructions to carry on.</p> + +<p>Entering the tent Wrenshaw asked: "What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Wilkie."</p> + +<p>"Have they killed your partner?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What did they kill him with?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; assegais, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Then you didn't see them kill him?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Is he dead?"</p> + +<p>"I have told you that the Barushu are up, that they——"</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw interrupted the man: "Did you see his dead body?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't know that he is dead. You say they have taken your +cattle; how many?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred and fifty head."</p> + +<p>"Did they threaten to kill you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did you do anything to prevent the Barushu from taking your cattle?"</p> + +<p>"How could I? I wasn't there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who was in charge of the cattle?"</p> + +<p>"My partner, Jones."</p> + +<p>"One more question: who told you that the Barushu had beaten the +police?"</p> + +<p>"A native."</p> + +<p>"Did he also tell you that the Barushu had risen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And that your partner had been killed and your cattle taken away?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly; but——"</p> + +<p>"You're a silly scaremonger, spreading a yarn like this, and a cur to +boot for deserting your partner! Get out of my camp; get out quickly; go +South, go anywhere. I don't care where you go so long as you do go!"</p> + +<p>The man expostulated and threatened to report to Headquarters Wrenshaw's +unmannered treatment of him. As the Commissioner took no more notice of +him, he went off.</p> + +<p>But Wrenshaw was scanning the road which led towards the seat of the +alleged trouble. Presently he stepped back into his tent, picked up his +field-glasses and, returning, focussed them on a distant point of the +road.</p> + +<p>What he saw perturbed him; he returned the glasses to his case and +walked impatiently up and down before his tent. A runner was +approaching, a Government messenger, he could tell that by his uniform. +In his hand he bore a split reed with a letter slipped in it. His long +Arab shirt was gathered up and tucked into his belt to give greater +freedom in running.</p> + +<p>The messenger came along at that steady jog trot which enables the +native to cover such surprising distances in Africa. On nearing Wrenshaw +he dropped into a walk, approached the white man, saluted and handed him +the letter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>The envelope was addressed to the Commandant of the Police Force at +Headquarters. Without hesitation the Commissioner tore it open and read +as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="author">C.A.R. <span class="smcap">Police, Mora Station</span>. <br /> +"<span class="smcap">Monday</span>, 26th <span class="smcap">June</span>, 19—.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>I have the honour to report that there is a native rising. This +p.m. I met a large crowd of them who behaved in such a queer way +that I thought it best to go back to camp, seeing that I had only +two police boys with me and they having no rifles and me only a few +rounds.</p> + +<p>On the way back to camp I fell in with the trader Jones with a mob +of cattle, whose partner Wilkie has been killed by the natives and +he anxious to come into laager.</p> + +<p>I am putting the camp in a state of defence with the help of the +said Jones and await orders.</p> + +<p class="regards">Your obedient servant,</p> +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Joseph Wilson</span>, <br /> +Sergeant in Charge.</p> +</div> + +<p>So there was something in it after all. Wrenshaw went into his tent and +wrote a reply to the Sergeant of Police:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>To <span class="smcap">Sergeant Joseph Wilson</span>,</p> + +<p>I have read your letter to the Commandant and will deal with it. Do +not worry overmuch about the rising, I will attend to that too. +Remain in camp or you might miss me, I am coming your way.</p> + +<p class="author"> +<span class="smcap">Richard Wrenshaw.</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<p>After a short consultation with his juniors Wrenshaw issued his orders.</p> + +<p>He sent for his horse, told the interpreter to get his pony, and also to +saddle-up and load a pack mule. The two Native Commissioners were to +carry on as usual, accepting the tax from those who came to pay.</p> + +<p>It was nearly midday. He had to cover twenty miles by sundown. This was +easy enough for himself and his interpreter, but he would also take his +gunbearer and his cook. He believed in being com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>fortable, and saw no +reason for roughing it now. The two on foot would have to hurry.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>It was after sundown when the party reached their destination. The cook +had stubbed his toe against a root in the path.</p> + +<p>Taking advantage of the remaining light, Wrenshaw helped the interpreter +to pitch the patrol tent. The cook collected wood for an all-night fire +and then fetched water from the nearest stream half-a-mile away. The +gunbearer cut coarse grass for bedding for the horses. Each servant had +his job, which he performed with the precision born of long practice.</p> + +<p>The camping ground was well-chosen. In front was a level plain, probably +a mile wide. After the first quarter of a mile it was very swampy; a +single path led across it to the high ground which flanked the river +beyond. Wrenshaw knew this path, he was probably the only living white +man who did. The high ground was thickly covered with palm trees; behind +the spot chosen for the camp was mile upon mile of thin forest.</p> + +<p>When bringing in his last load of grass the gunbearer stumbled over a +native lying face downwards on the ground.</p> + +<p>He stirred him with his foot. "Now then, you, what do you want?"</p> + +<p>As he could get no satisfactory reply he brought the fellow to Wrenshaw, +who asked who he was.</p> + +<p>"One of Nanzela's men, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Nanzela the Barushu?"</p> + +<p>"He is."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"On the river bank."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"With his people?"</p> + +<p>"With his people."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I was on my way to join him when you arrived. I was afraid, and hid +myself."</p> + +<p>"You may go to Nanzela and give him a message. Say that I have come. +That I come because I hear Nanzela boasts. He says he will not pay the +Government tax. That he asks for war. Tell him that if by sunrise +to-morrow he does not come to me with tax-money in his hands, I shall +come to him with a gun in mine."</p> + +<p>Whilst Wrenshaw had been speaking the native's eyes had wandered. He was +making a mental note of the white man's forces. There was the white man +himself—an unknown quantity—an alien black man in clothes who +interpreted the white man's words, a native of a neighbouring tribe +attending to two horses, and a half-caste busy with some cooking-pots at +the fire. So far as he could see there were no more than these. He +looked again at the white man and wondered what his real strength might +be. However, it didn't matter, as by this time Nanzela had posted scouts +on every path, and the police camp, some miles away, was being watched. +The white man, too, would be watched.</p> + +<p>The sun had set, and it was now quite dark save for the camp fire which +the cook had made. A mile away, on the high ground by the river, little +points of light appeared. The Barushu were lighting their fires and +preparing for the night. Judging by the distance on either hand to which +these fires extended, the natives had assembled in some force.</p> + +<p>Presently the sound of a drum, then of another, then of many, reached +the white man's ear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is that sound?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Are they not drums?"</p> + +<p>"They are drums."</p> + +<p>"War drums?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>"What is their message?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>The man, of course, lied; he could read their message as well as any +other native of his tribe within earshot.</p> + +<p>"Go, give my message to Nanzela."</p> + +<p>The man turned to go, bidding the white man rest in peace.</p> + +<p>"Go safely," was the reply.</p> + +<p>Presently the cook announced "Dinner ready, sir," and Wrenshaw moved to +the small camp table. The moment he sat down he felt he could not eat. +He had decided on his lonely journey in the heat of the moment—of the +midday sun, as it were; now that it was dark and cold, he wished he had +brought one of his assistants with him.</p> + +<p>On second thoughts he was very glad he had come alone. If there was +going to be trouble—and it looked uncommonly like it—a life might have +been needlessly sacrificed.</p> + +<p>His cook aroused him from his mooning by: "Soup's cold, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, take it away and bring something else! What is there?"</p> + +<p>"Guinea-fowl and some native peas, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right, and give me a drink."</p> + +<p>"Whisky or gin, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Whisky to-night; not much, just a little."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a drink Wrenshaw felt more settled and attacked the guinea-fowl.</p> + +<p>Presently he started up and walked a few paces from his camp and +listened.</p> + +<p>His message must have reached Nanzela: a roar of distant laughter, +followed by a hum of voices, arose from the encamped Barushu. Then the +drums began again, but this time they beat to a song well known to +Wrenshaw, a song to which natives dance.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +Stop the pig and see where he will pass;<br /> +Stop him! Stop him! Stop him!<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>That Nanzela should see in his message a huge joke slightly annoyed +Wrenshaw, but he reflected that people with a sense of humour were more +easily dealt with than those in a sullen mood. Yes, it was, perhaps, a +ridiculous thing for him to have come alone on such an errand.</p> + +<p>He went back to his table and attacked the guinea-fowl once more, this +time with vigour.</p> + +<p>After dinner he lit his pipe and ordered a large billy-can of coffee +made very strong. He had a long night in front of him.</p> + +<p>He made no attempt to sleep; he wouldn't risk it. The Barushu had, in +days gone by, a nasty habit of making a night attack. He didn't expect +them to attack him, especially after their laughter; but he intended to +take no risks.</p> + +<p>He had the fire piled up and saw that a plentiful supply of wood had +been collected and placed handy. He told his natives to turn in, and +walked across to where the horses were tethered. The animals seemed +comfortable: one was lying down and the other standing with drooping +head, dozing. He satisfied himself that their blankets were secure and +that they had emptied their nosebags.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next he loaded his rifle and tied it lightly to the tent pole; he also +loaded a double-barrelled horse-pistol, a twenty-bore, shooting large, +leaden slugs; very handy for close quarters.</p> + +<p>Then he sat down and listened. The camp fires over the way were for the +most part dying down. Wrenshaw had no illusions: he knew that he was +being watched; by how many, he could not tell. It might be the intention +of the Barushu to make a sudden end of him during the night. If he had +brought a dog with him it would have given him timely warning; but, +then, no dog can travel comfortably for twenty miles in the heat of the +day without water.</p> + +<p>And supposing they did wipe him out, what then? His mind flew back to +England. Would she care? He supposed she would; hoped she would. Well, +no, not exactly hoped; that was hardly the word. But did she care? Did +she care enough to make her home with him in this rough country?</p> + +<p>She certainly seemed sorry when he left England a few months before. Her +letters, too, were a source of encouragement to him, for she dwelt upon +the good times they had had together when he was on leave.</p> + +<p>He took her last letter from his pocket. "Dear Mr. Wrenshaw." How bald +it looked to be sure. If only she had written "Dear Dick," or "My dear +Dick," or.... However, she hadn't; but she did sign herself "Your +friend." Into this simple signature Wrenshaw read a whole world of +meaning, which, of course, might not have been intended; again, it +might.</p> + +<p>By Jove! Why not write to her? It might be his last chance. Those fools +on the high ground over the way might blot him out. He had his writing +gear with him. He would write.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>He must, however, be careful what he wrote. No pathetic sort of last +letter. No heroics of the penny novelette type. If he did go under, +well, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that just before the +event he had thought of her.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw got some paper and an indelible pencil and began:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +<span class="smcap">My Friend</span> ...<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>At this he stuck for a long time; what on earth could he write about? +There were ten thousand things he wanted to say. Most of them he had no +right to say because they were not engaged; there was not even an +understanding between them. The remainder would give the show away; she +would see that he was in danger, or, at any rate, in a tight place. He +must write in some sort of general terms.</p> + +<p>This is what he wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">My Friend</span>,</p> + +<p>I am on one of my journeys through the country; at this moment am +sitting by the light of my camp fire, writing.</p> + +<p>I do not feel very sleepy to-night, some strong coffee which I +drank after dinner is keeping me awake.</p> + +<p>The natives in the distance are beating their drums, which adds to +the mystery of the night. Their booming may mean a message sent by +the African equivalent to the telegraph or it may be that a cheery +dance is in progress miles away. Do you remember our last dance?</p> + +<p>We are quite a small party here, only a couple of horses, a mule, +and three natives. I like to travel light in this way sometimes, it +gives one a sense of greater freedom, of independence.</p> + +<p>To-morrow I continue my journey; until morning comes I shall not +know exactly in which direction I am to travel. All depends upon an +interesting meeting to which I have called the members of a curious +tribe. They may have arranged my journey for me.</p></div> + +<p>Wrenshaw read through what he had written and mentally condemned it for +a stupid letter, a poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> effort. What more was there to say? Plenty he +wanted to say, but what more could he say? He couldn't add that he felt +sleepy now and must go to bed, it would look so silly with that opening +reference to the strong coffee. How should he end it?</p> + +<p>He settled the matter by saying that he would tell her all about his +plans in the morning, and signed himself: "Your sincerest friend, D.W." +He then addressed the envelope.</p> + +<p>Rising, he split a thin stick a few inches down its length, inserted the +envelope, and made it fast with a twist of bark. Then he pressed the +stick into the ground. The letter in its holder resembled a miniature +notice board. If the natives did dispose of him, they wouldn't destroy +the letter. The written message is sacred in Africa: some native would +deliver it to some white man. In due course it would reach her, shortly +after the news of his death, perhaps. If she cared, she would +understand. If she didn't, she would vote it a dull letter.</p> + +<p>Rather ashamed of his weakness, Wrenshaw poured himself out another +large mug of strong black coffee and returned to his lonely vigil.</p> + +<p>His three companions were sound asleep, snoring loudly. Of the three, +the interpreter had most cause for concern, because he should have had +some inkling of the position, but even he slept. The half-caste was a +brainless fellow, albeit a good cook. The gunbearer didn't bother his +head about matters which didn't appear to disturb his master.</p> + +<p>In the far distance a lion was roaring. A large green beetle hurried +past Wrenshaw's feet in the direction of the fire. He picked it up and +threw it far into the darkness; the insect somehow reminded him of +himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<p>Just before dawn the gunbearer woke up feeling cold. He crept out of his +blanket and to the fire, which had died down and was nearly out. On +reaching the fire he saw his master sleeping in his chair without other +covering than the clothes he had ridden in throughout the afternoon. The +man quietly got his own blanket and gently spread it over his master's +knees.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw was wide awake in an instant. His hand shot out to his pistol, +but, recognising his gunbearer, the movement was arrested. He accepted +the attention; to have refused the grimy blanket would have been +ungracious and have hurt the man; besides, he was chilled to the bone. +He told the gunbearer to rake the fire together and throw on some more +wood. There was still some coffee in the pot, and this he heated and +drank.</p> + +<p>Feeling warmer, he got up and paced about to restore his circulation and +get rid off his stiffness.</p> + +<p>So after all he had slept; well, he was glad he had, for now he felt +rested and refreshed.</p> + +<p>He woke the interpreter and told him to feed the horses. The cook got up +and took charge of the fire.</p> + +<p>Looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the +Barushu were also astir. The points of light twinkled at him across the +intervening space.</p> + +<p>The sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. The silence was broken +only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. This, slight as it +was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away; +they began to exchange shrill greetings.</p> + +<p>As it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended +over the swamp. This did not interfere with his view of the high ground +on which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> the Barushu had camped during the night, but he could +distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and +undergrowth. The light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the +day dawned.</p> + +<p>The gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the +first to notice movement on the other side.</p> + +<p>"The Barushu are coming, Morena."</p> + +<p>"Good, many of them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, many."</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp. +Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the +twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin +black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of +the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater +part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not +cease.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse +pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent +and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he +had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity +arose; in the meantime they were out of sight.</p> + +<p>Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu +emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the +van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The +natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file.</p> + +<p>By this time it was quite light.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. They were +an ugly looking lot and quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> naked. He presently became aware that +there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course, +contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. Well, that, at any +rate, was a good sign.</p> + +<p>Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time, +obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts +Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his glasses fixed on the +foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He +shifted his glasses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or +stiff in the right leg.</p> + +<p>It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery.</p> + +<p>"Morena."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Why do the Barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Why, indeed?"</p> + +<p>So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would +make some of 'em smart for this.</p> + +<p>The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy +on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder +like a miniature notice-board.</p> + +<p>He looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. His +interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. The +gunbearer was quite unperturbed.</p> + +<p>Close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a +hundred yards from where Wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the +Barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. Wrenshaw didn't like +the look of things. Something must be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> done, and done quickly. He must +make the first move, and lose no time about it.</p> + +<p>"Go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the Barushu that they may +pile their assegais against that tree, and after that they may come +forward and talk to me."</p> + +<p>"Morena, I am afraid."</p> + +<p>"So it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?"</p> + +<p>The interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. He +fiddled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and +again doing them up. His pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes +were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still.</p> + +<p>This would never do. Even if the Barushu meant no mischief, such an +exhibition of fear wasn't good for them.</p> + +<p>"Pick up that log," said Wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood +collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms."</p> + +<p>The frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "You go and tell them to stack their +assegais and come forward to talk. Don't go too near them, shout from +halfway. I have my rifle ready."</p> + +<p>If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get +in a few shots before the end came.</p> + +<p>The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A +single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save +for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account. +Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could +two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do.</p> + +<p>Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice +that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the +third time, although he shouted lustily, for the Barushu broke into +peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has +found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as +we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going +to say to us. But it would have been very funny."</p> + +<p>Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between +his toes placed it against the dead tree.</p> + +<p>At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the +imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in +advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in +greeting to the chief official of the District.</p> + +<p>So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal +inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered.</p> + +<p>"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to +you."</p> + +<p>Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down.</p> + +<p>"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you +had warning of it?"</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"All the people are paying the tax willingly and well."</p> + +<p>Nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of +indifference.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the butt of his rifle and resumed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace, +and the other to trouble, war."</p> + +<p>Nanzela blinked. He had not been able to see the white man's rifle from +where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before +Wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. His arms and those +of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out +of reach. The white man's hand was on his rifle. All white men were good +shots, and Wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. If he +chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. It would not +be wise to run risks.</p> + +<p>"It is only a foolish man who seeks trouble."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and +in full. I see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your +tax." And again his hand caressed the butt of his rifle.</p> + +<p>Nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money.</p> + +<p>Turning to the interpreter Wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which +he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the +pack-saddle.</p> + +<p>Nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse.</p> + +<p>The official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in +exchange for the money. Then, raising his voice, he said: "Every man who +has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see +that he has paid willingly and in full."</p> + +<p>The gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and +offered it to Nanzela. The Chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and +bound the top with a shred of bark.</p> + +<p>How simple it all was! Now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and +received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped +into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> Their Chief had +paid, they naturally followed his example.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into +the pack-saddle at the last moment. The book held one hundred forms, and +these he had now used.</p> + +<p>Some of the men had no money with them, which was not to be wondered at, +since they had come out looking for trouble and certainly with no +intention of paying tax. He seized upon this as an excuse for collecting +no more tax that day, and informed Nanzela that he would accompany him +and his people back to the village and encamp there, so that each man +might bring his money from his hut. He made no reference to the night +spent on the high land near the river.</p> + +<p>The animals were saddled up and the interpreter sent back on his pony +with a note calling upon the Native Commissioners to follow to Nanzela's +village with all possible speed, bringing their census books, tax +receipt forms, and the rest of their travelling office.</p> + +<p>A strange procession now formed. First walked the Chief with his +assegai—recovered from the tree—in one hand and the tax-paper in the +other. Then a body-guard of fully-armed men, some with and some without +tax-papers. In the midst of these rode Wrenshaw, with his rifle gripped +between his saddle and his thigh. Then followed the gunbearer leading +the mule; the cook slouched along behind.</p> + +<p>The rear was brought up by the remainder of Nanzela's men, a few of whom +had tax-papers, which they carried well in the air, much to the envy of +those who had not yet paid. The little papers in the sticks appealed to +the child-like fancy of these savages; taxpaying had become a game, a +receipt in a stick, a toy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>To say that Wrenshaw was much relieved is not to overstate the case. As +he looked round him upon this mob of armed men eager to pay their tax +and receive in exchange a piece of coloured paper, he realised better +than anyone else could how tight a corner he had been in.</p> + +<p>His thoughts were disturbed by a commotion as the ranks parted and a man +ran up to him with a letter in a stick; as the native held it up it +resembled a miniature notice-board.</p> + +<p>Good heavens! It was his letter home; in the excitement of starting he +had forgotten it. The man who brought it was one of Nanzela's people who +had gone back to pick up anything which the white man or his servants +might have left behind. He hoped, no doubt, to find a stray cartridge or +two in the grass, or perhaps a spoon or a table knife.</p> + +<p>Wrenshaw did not remove the letter from the stick, but carried it as the +natives did their tax-papers. The simple people became impatient to pay +their tax; was not the white man also playing this new game?</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>The letter home was never sent. In place of it Wrenshaw despatched a +brief account of his adventure, told in a very matter-of-fact way.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>Over the mantelpiece of his den hangs a frame; in place of a picture it +contains a letter in a stick which, at a short distance, looks like a +miniature notice-board.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE DOCTOR.</h2> + + +<p>Those who go in search of trouble usually find it. They deserve no +sympathy and seldom get any.</p> + +<p>The well-meaning man frequently meets with trouble too, although it is +the one thing he doesn't want. When he is in difficulties, people pity +him; they give him that pity which is akin to contempt, not to love.</p> + +<p>But Harry Warner was lucky. He most certainly went in search of trouble; +he also meant well. His reward was unusual and quite out of proportion +to the little good he did. He achieved immortal, if only local, fame.</p> + +<p>It was the natives who dubbed him "doctor." He wasn't one, he had no +medical qualifications and little knowledge of medicine.</p> + +<p>But what do black people know or care about qualifications? Wasn't +Warner always accessible? Did he not give medicine to all who asked for +it, no matter what the disease might be? Did not some of those to whom +he gave medicine recover? Had he ever asked anyone for payment?</p> + +<p>What a doctor!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>So the natives declared, and do still declare, that there never has +been, never will be, never could be so great a doctor in their country +as he.</p> + +<p>Now if Warner possessed no medical knowledge, he had the "goods." The +goods consisted of a miscellaneous collection of superfluous drugs, +plasters and pills, all a little stale, packed in an old whisky case and +presented to him by a hospital orderly of his acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Warner watched the packing and asked questions.</p> + +<p>"Iodine, what's that for?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sore throat, water on the knee, to stop vomiting, for fixing a +gumboil, chilblains, and a host of other things. It's made from +seaweed."</p> + +<p>"Do you drink it?"</p> + +<p>"Not in every case, not with housemaid's knee or sore throat, anyway. +You paint it in the throat or on the knee. Here, we'd better put you in +a camel's hairbrush."</p> + +<p>"Good. And what's nitrate of potash for?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if you have an inflamed eye, put a spot or two in this eye-cup, +fill it up with water and blink into it—like this."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. And what do you use chlorodyne for?"</p> + +<p>"Bad pains in the stomach."</p> + +<p>"I see. And quinine is good for fever, of course."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's right. Cover a sixpence with the powder, mix it with a +little whisky, add a little water, and toss it off."</p> + +<p>"And corrosive sublimate?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's good stuff for washing wounds with, jolly good. Don't make +it too strong or you'll burn the bottom out of the pot you mix it in, +not to mention the wounded part. About one in ten thousand makes a +useful solution if the water you use isn't too dirty."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I understand. And what is in this funny little box marked 'Sovereign +Remedy'?"</p> + +<p>"Dash it all! That box belongs to my set of conjuring tricks. Can't +think how it's got mixed up with this lot. But you may as well take it +along; you might want to surprise the natives and you'll certainly do it +with that."</p> + +<p>"How do you use it?"</p> + +<p>"It's all on the box, full directions."</p> + +<p>"And what's in all these pill boxes? Pills?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, pills."</p> + +<p>"But what are they all for?"</p> + +<p>"Bless the man! I haven't time to wade through the lot. Besides, you +must know in a general way what pills are for. All the boxes have the +dose on them. Now let's get a move on. Give a hand with the packing. I'm +on duty in half an hour."</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>And now we know just as much about doctoring as Warner did on the +threshhold of his short medical career. Even a real doctor has much to +learn before he reaches Harley Street; he picks up many wrinkles on the +way and much improves with practice.</p> + + +<h3 class="smcap">The Sovereign Remedy.</h3> + +<p>Warner had travelled many miles from civilisation before his first +patient came to him. The precious box of medicines had all along been +kept handy on the waggon. From time to time he got it down, unpacked it, +examined the labels, shook the bottles, and carefully repacked them. +But, like a real doctor, he did not advertise. It isn't done.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>Somehow it did get about at last that he had a box of medicines. How, it +doesn't really matter. The fact remains that a native came to the waggon +one morning with a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, +another round his chest, and a third round his belly.</p> + +<p>Warner, recognising a case, asked the native what the matter was.</p> + +<p>The boy replied: "I have much pain here and here and here," touching the +bands of bark in downward succession.</p> + +<p>Warner, pleased at getting a patient at last, took the box of medicines +from the waggon, opened it, took out the bottles one by one, and +examined the labels with the eye of a master.</p> + +<p>"Iodine? No, that's for housemaid's knee, gumboils and that sort of +thing. Corrosive sublimate? Wounds. Nitrate of potash? No, eyes. Why not +a pill? Yes, a pill."</p> + +<p>But there were boxes and boxes of them. He picked up one after the +other, but met with a check. Each box had on its label the name of its +pill contents, followed by the words: "From one to three as ordered by +the physician." In some cases: "From two to six." There was nothing +about the complaint for which the pill might be used.</p> + +<p>Just a little difficult. Doctoring was not such an easy job after all.</p> + +<p>"What's this?"</p> + +<p>The gaudy label on a small box read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sovereign Remedy. Trick No. 10.</p> + +<p>Never known to fail. Surprising in its effects.</p> + +<p><i>Directions:</i>—Borrow a sovereign. Request the lender to take a +seat. Ask him how he feels. Tell him he is looking off-colour. +Suggest headache. Say you will brighten him up, that you will make +his head glow pleasantly, etc. Palm the sovereign in your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>left +hand. Empty contents of box into your right. Rub the powder well +into gent's head, which will become golden (metallic). Then proceed +as in Trick No. 6.</p></div> + +<p>The directions seemed clear enough.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said Warner.</p> + +<p>The native obeyed, squatting on the ground and spreading his loin cloth +over his knees like an apron.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take away your pains."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>It suddenly occurred to Warner that, though the native might have a +shilling, he certainly would not possess a sovereign, so he took one +from his own pocket, wishing he had thought of this before.</p> + +<p>"You see this?" said Warner, holding up the coin.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir, much money."</p> + +<p>Now Warner didn't know how to palm a coin. He had seen it done, of +course, but had never yet tried to palm or to do anything else in the +nature of a conjuring trick. To guard against possible accident, he +turned his back upon the boy and very cautiously opened the box.</p> + +<p>It was full of some bright yellow metallic powder. He read the +directions again and wondered what Trick No. 6 might be. He wished he +had risked a pill.</p> + +<p>However, he had not the courage to go back now. The native might suspect +his ignorance if he selected another box. It was hardly playing the game +perhaps to trick a poor confiding black, but Warner consoled himself +with the thought that it is said of even real doctors that when in doubt +they sometimes give their patients bread pills.</p> + +<p>So, emptying the contents of the box into his right hand, he turned +again and began to rub the golden powder into the native's woolly head. +The sovereign he held in his left hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>The more he rubbed, the brighter grew his patient's head. It +scintillated.</p> + +<p>The trick pleased Warner, who soon forgot his misgivings; he forgot the +sovereign too, and rubbed the powder in with both hands.</p> + +<p>The coin fell into the patient's lap. Warner was busy and didn't notice +the accident at once, but the native did. He picked up the money and +quietly slipped it into the rawhide pouch attached to his belt.</p> + +<p>At length Warner stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. The boy's head +shone like a brass knob. He glanced at his own hands. They looked as if +they had been gilded. Both hands! Where the devil had that sovereign +gone to?</p> + +<p>He looked on the ground. He felt in all his pockets. He looked at the +boy, who said nothing. He therefore dismissed the patient without +mentioning his loss.</p> + +<p>Whilst washing the greasy gold stuff off his hands, Warner was conscious +of a hum of excitement rising from the spot where his natives had made +their midday shelter. Trick No. 10 was evidently a success. The hospital +orderly was right; he had surprised the natives.</p> + +<p>That night all his boys, and a score of strange natives besides, came to +Warner complaining of pains. Each one had a strip of bark tied tightly +round his forehead, a second round his chest, and a third round his +stomach. They lingered as if dissatisfied when he gave pills to +each—one or more as ordered by the physician—taken at random from his +many little pill boxes.</p> + + +<h3 class="smcap">Iodine.</h3> + +<p>Warner was sitting under a tree on the south bank of the Zambesi, +watching the local natives floating his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> waggon across the stream. He +was wondering how long, at the present rate of progression, it would +take to get the whole of his stuff across. Two days, three, perhaps +more.</p> + +<p>"Sir, my felicitations upon the indefectibility of the climatology."</p> + +<p>The startled Warner looked round and saw a black man very stout and +short, in European clothes and perspiring freely. He carried his large +elastic-sided boots in his hand and a black alpaca coat over his arm.</p> + +<p>As Warner turned towards him, this strange creature politely lifted his +ridiculously small sun helmet. It could not be said that he bowed to the +white man, but the braces which he wore over his waistcoat sagged +slightly in front and became taut behind, whilst the crease which +represented the highest contour of his stomach deepened a little. Warner +gaped stupidly at the man. He made mental note of the large gold +spectacles astride the fat, flat nose; the collar, once white and +starched, now grubby and collapsed; the heavy brass watchchain stretched +tightly across the ample space between pocket and pocket; the badly +creased loud check trousers, and the dirty white socks; the large green +umbrella which, held to shield the back, framed face and form.</p> + +<p>Warner forgot the man's ridiculous speech in his more ridiculous +appearance.</p> + +<p>"As I ventured to remark, sir, although the orb of day smiles down with +radiance from the firmament, the temperamental calidity is not +unendurable."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Warner vaguely, "but who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Sir, if you will pardon the expression I may say I am a kind of a +wandering refugee hailing from Jamaica<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> with a mission to carry the +apprehensions of civilisation to the unspeakably incomprehending +aboriginal inhabitants of this beatific equatorial region who are +doubtless immersed in the chaotic complexity of irreligious heathenism +and incondite boorishness."</p> + +<p>Warner eyed the speaker with astonishment, feeling tired, somehow, and +out of breath.</p> + +<p>The black man saw, with obvious pleasure, the effect which his speeches +had produced.</p> + +<p>He had spoken fluently, continuously, without pause or effort. Without +expression or inflexion the long unbroken flow of chosen words had +rumbled off his tongue.</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat as if about to speak again, but Warner hastily +interposed.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Joseph Johnson, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are obviously a man of some education."</p> + +<p>"Sir, if I may presume to express an opinion upon Your Honour's +personality I would hazard the conclusion that Your Excellency is a +gentleman of kindly but penetrating discernment for I received my +education at the hands of the Reverend Westinghouse Wilberforce of +Kingston Jamaica alas now dead of whom as the classical writer has it +<i>de mort nil ni bum</i> I repeat sir <i>de mort nil ni bum</i>."</p> + +<p>Warner abruptly turned his back, snatched out his handkerchief, and held +it tightly to his nose.</p> + +<p>Joseph Johnson, mistaking for emotion the queer little sounds which +Warner did not entirely succeed in smothering with his handkerchief, +sniffed and blinked his small eyes sympathetically, murmuring +"<i>de-mort-nil-ni-bum</i>."</p> + +<p>When Warner had regained his self-control he asked the black man what he +wanted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sir, I am credibly informed that you are a distinguished member of a +profession which has my humble but unqualified admiration and regard for +what can be nobler than the unselfish alleviation in others of the ills +to which this weak flesh of ours is heir need I say the medical +profession?"</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"I suffer your honour from a slight but painful derangement of the vocal +chords which hinders my fluency of enunciation and so disturbs my mental +process as to detract from the strength of my disputations and +dissertations."</p> + +<p>"You mean you have a sore throat?"</p> + +<p>"Sir, you grasp my meaning."</p> + +<p>"You want some medicine for it?"</p> + +<p>"Sir, if I might so far encroach upon your generosity...."</p> + +<p>Warner rose hastily and walked to his goods piled up on the bank +awaiting transportation, leaving Johnson to rumble on and on.</p> + +<p>Here, then, was another patient. He must be careful. The man might know +something and question his treatment. That would be most awkward.</p> + +<p>"Corrosive sublimate? Wounds, the orderly had said, and had warned him +about burning out the bottom of the pot used when mixing the stuff. +Better look through the rest before deciding.</p> + +<p>"Pills? Might do the objectionable fellow some general good.</p> + +<p>"Iodine? Yes, that's the stuff for him. Iodine for housemaid's knee or +sore throat. Well, the man said he had a sore throat and he should know, +so iodine let it be. Where's the brush?"</p> + +<p>Warner opened the bottle. The cork was a little soft and inclined to +crumble. He dipped the tip of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> large camel's hair brush into the +dark brown liquid and called Joseph Johnson to him.</p> + +<p>"I am going to paint your throat. It also wants a thorough rest, so you +must not talk more than is absolutely necessary."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Now open."</p> + +<p>The black man's mouth was immense. Warner had never seen such a cavern, +nor, for that matter, had he ever seen such a perfect, strong, clean set +of teeth. He gave little dabs here and there, this side and that, and +then withdrew the brush.</p> + +<p>"That's enough for this morning. Come again at sunset, and remember, +don't talk."</p> + +<p>This admonition he repeated in self-defence. He rather dreaded the man's +brook of words.</p> + +<p>His patient bent forward slightly, put on his sun helmet and walked +away, his eyes watering a little.</p> + +<p>The man was most obedient. Punctually at sunset he again appeared. He +smiled pleasantly at Warner, but did not announce himself with any +long-winded speech.</p> + +<p>Warner looked at the throat and remarked that he thought it was better, +that one or two applications would set it right. He then painted as +before.</p> + +<p>This time Johnson coughed and large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.</p> + +<p>Then it occurred to Warner that he himself, when a child, had had his +throat painted, more than once. He recollected that the operation was +not a pleasant one. He had coughed a great deal, and his eyes had +watered very much. Clearly he was underdoing it. No matter, he would put +that right to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Warner was pleasantly surprised when, in the morning, the local natives +came to tell him that they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> about to cross the river with the last +of his goods, after which they would take him if he was ready to go. He +had expected the job to take at least another day.</p> + +<p>He kept back the bottle of iodine and the camel's hair brush, and sat +down on a camp stool to wait for Johnson.</p> + +<p>In about a quarter of an hour the patient arrived.</p> + +<p>"How are you this morning?" asked Warner pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Much better, I thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Let's have a look. Capital, capital. Now don't move, I'll just touch it +up."</p> + +<p>Warner, remembering his overnight decision, plunged the brush deeply +into the bottle and withdrew it fully charged and dripping.</p> + +<p>He began to dab the throat here and there as before. A gurgling sound +came from Joseph Johnson's mouth. Warner recognised the warning. He knew +his time was distinctly limited. He felt that, if he did not hurry, much +of the enormous cavern would remain unpainted. With a rapid movement, +like one stirring porridge to save it from burning, he finished the job +and stepped back.</p> + +<p>Joseph Johnson seemed to explode. Tears forced their way through his +tightly closed eyelids. A roar boomed from the painted throat. The +patient's condition quite alarmed the doctor. Surely the fool wasn't +going to die?</p> + +<p>Looking round for inspiration, Warner saw that the native canoe had +returned to ferry him across the river. He didn't actually run away, but +quickly corking his bottle of iodine he walked briskly to the river +bank, entered the canoe and told the crew to paddle to the other side.</p> + +<p>He heaved a sigh of relief when he stepped ashore.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> He looked back, but +could see no sign of Joseph Johnson.</p> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<p>Some weeks later his troubled conscience was set at rest by the +following letter:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="author">"Bulawayo, <br /> +"21/4/19.</p> + +<p>"Honoured Sir,</p> + +<p>"The enablement was not vouchsafed to me to indicate to Your +Excellency the prodigious potentiality of the prophylactic applied +with such consummate and conscientious technicality to my +unostentatious tenement of clay. For full three weeks the +taciturnity prescribed was obediently observed without difficulty +or mutinousness of feeling. After which, rising from the slough of +my despond, I found my multiloquence had returned fourfold, my +linguacious allocution and discursive conversationalism prominently +augmented. I then felt that my mission was not to the unenlightened +ignoramusses of this neighbourhood but to the encyclopedical +omnicients of the south. I have therefore returned to Bulawayo. Now +here...."</p></div> + +<p>As there were four closely written pages of this kind of thing, Warner +turned to the last of them, which ended:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Sir, I have the honour to be</p> + +<p>"Your Honourable Excellency's most grateful, most humble, most +obedient and unforgetful servant,</p> + +<p class="author"> +"<span class="smcap">Joseph Johnson.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3 class="smcap">Corrosive Sublimate.</h3> + +<p>Late one afternoon some natives carried an old man, wrapped in a +blanket, into Warner's camp and laid him down on the ground before the +tent. Warner came out.</p> + +<p>"What is this?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"A dead man, killed by a leopard."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why do you bring the dead man to me?"</p> + +<p>"He said he wanted to come and told us he would curse us if we did not +bring him. We did not wish to trouble the Doctor with a dead man, but a +'dead man's curse' is a fearful thing."</p> + +<p>Warned stooped and looked under the blanket. The man wasn't dead, he +opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>Although far from dead, the native had been very badly mauled and had +lost a great quantity of blood. Tyro though he was, Warner could see +that his condition was serious. Stepping back into the tent, he poured +out half a tumbler of neat whisky and, lifting the man's head, made him +drain the glass. The effect upon the patient was immediate; he sat up +and began to talk rapidly, describing the accident.</p> + +<p>"We were hunting, these dogs, those others, and I. We came upon a +leopard in the grass. One, who is not here, thrust an assegai through +her. She bit him in the arm and he ran away. Another, and neither is he +here, struck the leopard with his axe. She jumped on him and bit him in +the neck. He ran away crying out that she had killed him.</p> + +<p>"A third, who did not return with us, broke her back with a club, but +she tore his thigh with her teeth. Then I went to her and pierced her +belly with my assegai. But she bit me in the arm and shoulder and clawed +me down the back. She also broke my assegai with her teeth so that it +was useless.</p> + +<p>"Then, having nothing with which to kill her, I held her by the ears +with my two hands, calling to these slaves to come and finish her, for I +could see by her face that she was dying. But they were afraid and ran +away like women. And the leopard shook her head and my hands slipped +because of the blood which had run down my arm from my shoulder. And +when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> my hands came together, she took them in her mouth and crushed +them both. Then she died."</p> + +<p>The man's hands were swollen and shapeless. He had a large gash and a +deep puncture in his shoulder, and his back was very badly scored.</p> + +<p>After staring for a while at their companion, the natives who brought +him slipped quietly away, hastened in their departure, no doubt, by his +reference to the sorry part which they had played in the affair.</p> + +<p>Warner was greatly pleased. He looked upon the coming of this wounded +man as a stroke of good fortune. Here at last was a straightforward +case, all clear and above board. And he knew exactly what to do. +Corrosive sublimate, one in ten thousand, wash the blood off, keep the +wounds clean, make the man comfortable.</p> + +<p>He shouted for his kitchen boys and ordered warm water in large +quantities. He had not seen them go, so called the wounded man's +companions to build a shelter of grass and branches for him. When he +realised that they had gone, he set to work on the shelter himself.</p> + +<p>For weeks Warner laboured on those wounds. The man improved slowly. As +he grew better he spoke of payment. Warner told him not to bother about +it, but he persisted.</p> + +<p>"Have you not given me back my life?"</p> + +<p>"What of it?"</p> + +<p>"Are not those others dead?"</p> + +<p>Now, this was true. The other wounded men who went to their homes all +died of blood-poisoning, and Warner's reputation grew in consequence.</p> + +<p>But no matter what arguments and persuasions were used, Warner would not +hear of payment in any shape or form.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man was obstinate.</p> + +<p>"If I receive a gift from a man, must I not give one in return? Am I to +be shamed? Is it not the custom that a gift shall be received with a +gift? And gifts must be equal. What, then, shall I give to the Great +Doctor? What have I, a very poor man, of value equal to the life which +the Doctor has given back to me? I have no cattle and no sheep. I have a +few goats, very few, and I have some wild cats' skins. But what are +these to a life?"</p> + +<p>Twice daily did Warner wash and dress the man's wounds. Each time the +man spoke of a gift for a gift. He seemed to feel his honour was at +stake.</p> + +<p>At length the day came when Warner thought he could safely send his +patient away. The man's final protestations of gratitude and his +entreaties to be permitted to make some payment caused Warner much +embarrassment. He firmly declined to accept the merest trifle in return +for all his time and trouble. He would not be robbed of the feeling that +at length he had done some genuine good for good's sake.</p> + +<p>Of course he could explain nothing of this to the old native.</p> + +<p>The man was much troubled. He went away at length saying he would bring +next day the gift which he knew now the Doctor wanted. Warner repeated +that he wanted nothing and would take nothing.</p> + +<p>Next morning, when Warner got up and came out of his tent, he found the +old man waiting for him. He was not alone. By his side sat a little +girl, the old man's daughter.</p> + +<p>Warner remembered having seen her several times before during her +father's long illness. From time to time she had come with her mother to +inquire how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> the old man progressed and to bring him some horrid-looking +native delicacy.</p> + +<p>"Here she is," said the late patient. "Here is my child. She is my only +one. You ask for her and I give her to you. A life for a life, which is +just."</p> + +<p>Warner protested indignantly that he had not asked for the girl, that he +did not want her or anything else.</p> + +<p>"See, she is strong," persisted the old man. "She is strong to carry +water, to grind grain. She is worth three cows, five goats and ten +hoes."</p> + +<p>Warner became quite angry.</p> + +<p>The old man was incredulous and distressed. He had somehow concluded +that Warner had really set his heart upon possessing his daughter, his +plain, fat little daughter and nothing else, but that, native-like, he +had not said so.</p> + +<p>In the end Warner accepted, in self-defence, a mangy, evil-smelling +cat's skin.</p> + + +<h3 class="smcap">Chlorodyne.</h3> + +<p>A day or two after Warner had become the unwilling possessor of the +mangy skin, which, by the way, he promptly buried as soon as its donor's +back was turned, he set out on a three days' journey from his camp to +visit a white trader with whom from time to time he transacted business +of some kind. He went on foot, accompanied only by a few natives, one of +whom carried the box of medicines.</p> + +<p>While he was resting during the midday heat, the Headman of the +neighbouring village approached him with many signs of deference.</p> + +<p>"Good day to you, Great Doctor."</p> + +<p>"Good day to you," Warner replied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you indeed the Great Doctor?"</p> + +<p>Warner was bold enough to say he was.</p> + +<p>"Will the Great Doctor help me with medicines? My wife, who is very old, +suffers from a great sickness. Her arms are now no thicker than a stick. +Pain is with her always. She never sleeps. All day long and all the +night she lies and moans. She no longer cries out. Will not the Great +Doctor kill this sickness? I have told her of you."</p> + +<p>Warner rose abruptly. He felt a lump rising in his throat. He wished he +were a doctor instead of merely the owner of a box of drugs and all but +ignorant of the uses to which they should be put.</p> + +<p>"Where is your wife?" he asked gruffly.</p> + +<p>"The Great Doctor will come!" exclaimed the delighted old native, +leading the way towards his village.</p> + +<p>Warner could distinguish little or nothing when he found himself inside +the Headman's hut. Coming in directly from the outside glare made it +difficult to see. The native pointed to a form propped up against the +pole which supported the roof of the hut.</p> + +<p>Warner looked; suddenly he saw all there was to see, and gasped as a +faint moan of pain reached his ears. A thin old woman lay there with +closed eyes, so thin that Warner marvelled that she could be alive. Her +arms and legs, too, for that matter were indeed, as the Headman had +said, as thin as sticks. Her distended ribs showed plainly even in the +dim light. She had neither hair nor flesh on her skull, merely wrinkled, +dull brown skin adhering closely to the bone. Her neck was no thicker +than one's wrist. Her stomach was enormous.</p> + +<p>Warner looked down upon this poor, emaciated creature with horror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>She moaned again.</p> + +<p>Her husband said: "See, woman, here is the Great Doctor of whom all men +speak. He has turned aside from his journeying to make you well with +medicines. Does he not make all men well? Do not the people say so? Soon +you will be well and will laugh again. Soon you will sit in the sun or +go to the fields. Do you hear, woman? The Great Doctor has come."</p> + +<p>Warner cursed under his breath. He never expected this sort of thing +when he lightheartedly accepted from the hospital orderly the box of +medicines with a conjuring trick thrown in. The thought of that +conjuring trick was nauseating in the presence of this pain.</p> + +<p>Save for the rapid heaving of her bony chest to laboured breathing, the +woman had made no move since he entered the hut. Now, however, Warner +saw the drooping eyelids flicker. A fear seized him that the poor +creature would look up. He couldn't stand that. He couldn't meet her +eyes. He hurried away, saying he would bring some medicine.</p> + +<p>He reached his resting place and opened his box. Right on the top lay +the bottle of chlorodyne. He repeated to himself: "Chlorodyne, good for +pains in the stomach! Chlorodyne, good for pains in the stomach!"</p> + +<p>Warner returned to the hut but wouldn't go in. He pushed the bottle into +the old man's hand saying, parrot-like: "Good for pains in the stomach, +give her some water with it."</p> + +<p>Then he went back to his halt again, called to his boys to pack up and +follow him, anxious only to put distance between himself and all that +pain and suffering.</p> + +<p>Ten days later Warner passed by that village again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> on his return +journey. He could have followed another route, but a strong desire to +ask about the woman drew him to the village. He must know about the +woman. He had casually asked the trader with whom he had transacted his +business how much chlorodyne one usually takes at a dose. The reply: +"Oh, about fifteen drops or from ten to twenty, according to your size," +nearly made his heart stand still. And he, the Great Doctor, had given +the old native a full bottle of the stuff! True, he had not told him how +much to take, but Warner found scant consolation in this thought.</p> + +<p>As he and his carriers neared the village, he heard a great commotion, +men shouting to each other and women making that shrill quavering noise +familiar to all travellers in Africa. He thought he could distinguish +the word "doctor." He was certain of it now. "The Great Doctor is +coming. He who saves the people! The white man with the medicines! The +Doctor! The Doctor!"</p> + +<p>The natives broke through from the bush on every hand. They surrounded +the little party. The carriers were quickly relieved of their loads. +There was no mistaking the nature of the demonstration; it was one of +goodwill, not of hate.</p> + +<p>The old Headman hobbled up, praising Warner lustily.</p> + +<p>What could it all mean?</p> + +<p>At length Warner asked the question point blank: "How is your wife?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is dead," replied the old man. "She died with a smile upon her +face. I gave her half a cup full of your medicine filled up with water. +She was silent for a long while. Then she said: 'I have now no pain.' +And then: 'Give me more.' She smiled when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> I gave her another cup of +your good medicine. And then she slept. And I knew she had no pain +because she smiled. And as she slept she died. And when we buried her +the smile was on her face. You are a Great Doctor and your medicine is +very good. Good Fortune has come to the people that you are here. Can a +man smile who is in pain? Does not a smile mean pleasure? Ah, but that +is a good medicine."</p> + +<p>"Give me back that bottle," said Warner, and his voice sounded strangely +weak.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Great Doctor, it is indeed a precious medicine."</p> + + +<h3 class="smcap">Nitrate of Potash.</h3> + +<p>The memory of that old woman haunted Warner. He argued continuously with +himself. Yes, he had certainly killed her. There was no doubt about it. +On the other hand, she would have died in any case. If he had not come +upon the scene, she might have lingered on for a few more weary weeks, +never free from pain. Still, if he had overdosed her intentionally to +end her pain, it would surely have been murder. At best it was a +criminal blunder. But then he meant well. So, too, do other fools. +Common sense told him he had no cause to worry, nothing to regret, it +was merely a fortunate accident. Conscience viewed the matter seriously +and with harshness.</p> + +<p>Warner was still engaged in this mental struggle when a stranger, a +white man, walked briskly up to his tent.</p> + +<p>"Is anyone at home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, come in."</p> + +<p>"Have you any nitrate of potash, doctor?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Warner had become so used to the term "doctor" that he did not at once +notice the significance of the word when spoken by a white man. So he +merely answered: "Yes, I think so. What do you want it for?"</p> + +<p>"I, too, am a doctor."</p> + +<p>"A doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a medical missionary, your new neighbour on the other side of the +hill."</p> + +<p>"Sit down a minute, I'll get the stuff."</p> + +<p>Warner went to his box and, opening it, surveyed his wretched stock of +stale drugs. So here was a real doctor! Thank Providence for that! He +passed in review his many cases, only a few of which are set down here. +He knew he had done his best, but he blamed himself for ever having aped +the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you want besides nitrate of potash?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. I've got everything else I'm likely to require."</p> + +<p>Warner brought the bottle. "Here you are."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. I only want a little."</p> + +<p>"Take the lot."</p> + +<p>"But you'll want it sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Of course you will."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then you have some more?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then of course you'll want it."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not a doctor and I don't know how to use it. I don't really +know the use of any drug. I've probably killed off dozens of people in +my efforts to assist. I'm so glad you've come to live here."</p> + +<p>When Warner sent applicants for medical relief to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> his new friend on the +other side of the hill, they went, of course, but not too willingly. The +newcomer did much good, but it was Warner who got the credit for it all. +The natives invariably consulted Warner before going to the Missionary, +and returned again to thank him after they had been treated. They +persisted in the belief that the Missionary doctor was their Doctor's +man.</p> + +<p>Warner is still spoken of as "The Doctor"; all others who came later are +referred to as "Medical Men."</p> + + +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h4>Printed by <span class="smcap">The Field Press Ltd.</span>, Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4</h4> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Morena</i> signifies <i>Chief</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_2" id="Footnote_A_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Slang term for calico.</p></div> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian +Studies, by Frank Worthington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + +***** This file should be named 34946-h.htm or 34946-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/9/4/34946/ + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies + +Author: Frank Worthington + +Release Date: January 13, 2011 [EBook #34946] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + + + + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE WITCH DOCTOR AND + OTHER RHODESIAN STUDIES. + + + + + THE WITCH DOCTOR + AND OTHER + RHODESIAN STUDIES. + + BY + + FRANK WORTHINGTON, C.B.E. + + (_Lately Secretary for Native Affairs, Northern Rhodesia_). + + + LONDON: + THE FIELD PRESS LTD., + Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4 + + + + + To + MY WIFE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +THE MIND OF THE NATIVE. + PAGE + The Witch Doctor 3 + The Riddle of Life and Death 25 + Flattery 28 + Lizizi 35 + Mironda--a Woman 46 + +MAN AND BEAST. + + Protective Colouring 57 + Darwin--a Bird 59 + The Lion's Skin 67 + The Reverend Mr. Bumpus 74 + The Salvation Army Captain 81 + The Sport of Kings 86 + The Lions of Makululumi 94 + +WHITE MEN AND BLACK + + White Men at Play 105 + On the Building of Bridges 115 + The Compleat Angler 120 + The Song of the Great Occasion 125 + The Descent of Man 132 + The Railway Contractor 138 + The Licensed Victualler 149 + The Johnnie-come-Lately 154 + The Lost Rubies 160 + The Cattle King 170 + Partners 177 + The Letter Home 194 + The Doctor 214 + + + + +THE MIND OF THE NATIVE. + + + + +THE WITCH DOCTOR. + + +I. + +The Native Commissioner's Court had, with a very brief interval for +luncheon, sat throughout the day. The weather was very hot and thundery, +for the breaking of the rains was imminent. A number of cases had been +disposed of, and the last was now drawing to a close. Having listened to +the arguments of both sides, the Commissioner summed up, gave judgment, +and dismissed the litigants, whereupon the native clerk began to collect +the papers and put things away. + +The official lighted a cigarette, put on his hat, and walked towards the +door. He was met by his head messenger. + +"Another case, Morena,"[1] said the messenger, pointing to a middle-aged +native squatting in the courtyard softly clapping his hands. The +hard-worked white man paused; he had thoughts of tea awaiting him in his +bungalow a hundred yards away. + + [1] _Morena_ signifies _Chief_. + +"Tell the man to come to-morrow," he said, and walked off in the +direction of his house. + +The head messenger turned to the man sitting in the yard and said: "The +Morena won't hear you to-day; you must sleep in the compound for +to-night; to-morrow he will listen." + +"But my case is a big one," replied the stranger. "The father of his +people will surely hear my case." + +The messenger pointed to the compound: "All cases are heavy in the hands +of those who bring them; the compound is there." + +The man was evidently distressed. Raising his voice in the hope that the +Commissioner would hear him, he shouted shrilly: "Ma-we! Ma-we! But mine +is a big case, it is one of killing--of killing of people; the father of +his people must hear me. Oh! Morena, I have a case, a big case, a case +of killing." + +But the Native Commissioner had reached his house and was out of sight, +the native clerk had locked the office door and, heedless of the man's +wailing, walked away. If he thought at all, it was that sufficient unto +the day is the evil thereof; evil meaning work to him. + +"Come, father," said the head messenger, "I go now to the compound, and +you with me; to-morrow the Morena will hear your case before any other. +I, Mokorongo, will see to it." + +But the man was not to be consoled. "No," said he, "my case is a big +one, of people killed by witchcraft; I, too, will die to-night. Take me +to the Morena, my father; do not refuse and so kill me." + +The messenger felt uncomfortable. For some reason, best known to +himself, his master disapproved of the killing of people, and also set +his face against witchcraft. No witch doctor could practise for long in +his district, for was not his medicine stronger than that of any witch +doctor? Did not the doctors know it, and had they not all moved to a +safer place? Who, then, could have done this killing by witchcraft? +Yes, it was a big case, and he would take the man to his master; but he +must break in upon the great man's rest with care, or there would be +trouble. + +Telling the stranger to come with him, he strode towards the house, +pulling down his uniform in front and behind and settling his fez +smartly on his head--evidence of some nervousness. Arriving at the door, +he peered in. The hall was cool and dark, and, coming from the glare, +for a moment he could see nothing; the next, he was aware of the +Commissioner's eye upon him, and started violently at his master's sharp +"Well, Mokorongo, what is it?" + +He began well: "Morena, here is a man who has killed another, and wants +to tell of the matter before the sun sets, when he, too, will die." + +"Let the man come to the door." + +For Mokorongo the worst was over. He had with impunity disturbed the +great man; the rest would be easy. He fitly marshalled the stranger to +the mat just inside the hall door, drew himself up to his full height, +and stood by to obey immediately such orders as his master might be +pleased to give. + +The Commissioner, who was a good linguist, addressed the seated man +direct: + +"So you have killed a man?" + +"No, Morena." + +"And you will yourself die to-night?" + +"No, Morena." + +Mokorongo's uneasiness returned; he shifted slightly and gazed at the +ceiling. + +"Tell me your story." + +"Morena, my case is a big one; it is of killing--the killing of people, +of my son--by witchcraft. Yesterday at sunset he died, and I, too, shall +die to-night unless the Morena, father of his people, makes a stronger +medicine, stronger than that of the witch doctor----" Here the wretched +fellow paused. + +The Commissioner looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him; it was +evident that the native dared not mention the witch doctor's name. +Presently he rose, took from a side-table a decanter, poured himself out +some whisky, and added soda from a sparklet bottle. Returning to his +seat, he drank deeply of the bubbling liquid. + +The native was much impressed. Boiling water alone, so far as he knew, +bubbled like that; he knew of the ordeal by boiling water, and had, no +doubt, seen more than once the test applied. But this white man drank +the boiling mixture with evident pleasure. Here, then, was the chief of +all witch doctors. + +He finished his sentence: "--Chiromo." + +"Where does he live?" + +He explained in detail. + +"Of what do you accuse Chiromo?" + +"Of killing my son by witchcraft." + +"Go on with your story." + +"I have some goats. My son herded them by day and put them in the +village at night. My son had a black-and-white dog which followed him to +the lands each day. Two days ago the dog stole a skin from Chiromo's +bed. Chiromo saw the dog eating the skin, and killed him with his axe. +Chiromo is an angry man: he was angry with my son because his dog had +eaten his skin. He knew the dog was my son's dog. He went to my son and +said: 'I have killed your dog because your dog has eaten my skin.' + +"My son was very much afraid and said: 'Yes, sir.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's leg just above the knee, like this, +and said: 'Do you feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo said: 'You will to-morrow.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's other knee and said: 'Do you feel +pain here?' My son said 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo took hold of my son's arm at the elbow and said: 'Do you +feel pain here?' My son said: 'No.' + +"Then Chiromo touched his other arm and asked my son if he felt pain +there. My son said he did not. He also touched him on the back of the +neck, asking him if he felt any pain there. My son said he felt no pain. + +"Then Chiromo said: 'In your two legs and your two arms and in your neck +you will feel much pain to-morrow.' + +"Then Chiromo went back to his own hut and my son, who was very +frightened, came and told me what Chiromo had said to him and I also was +frightened, for Chiromo is a great doctor. Then I went to my hut to +sleep and my son went to his hut. + +"In the morning when I rose the goats were still in the village, and I +was angry with my son because he had not taken them to the lands. I +called to him, but he did not answer. I went to his hut, and found him +very stiff. He told me that Chiromo had killed him; that he had much +pain in his arms and legs and neck, and that he could not move. I tried +to lift him, but he cried out with pain. At sunset he died. Oh, Morena, +Chiromo has killed my son. My son who herded my goats. And to-night I +myself shall die. Chiromo is indeed a great doctor. My case is a big +one. A case of killing people by witchcraft. I, too, will----" + +The Native Commissioner interrupted the man. "Enough, now you may go to +the compound, where you will sleep to-night; you will not die, because +I must talk with you again." + +The man clapped his hands, bowed his forehead several times to the +floor, patted his chest, rose and withdrew, praising the Native +Commissioner as the custom is: + +"Great Chief." + +"Father of his people." + +"The very great doctor." + +"Sir, my best thanks." + +"The Chief of our country." + +"The lion, the great elephant, the Chief." + +The head messenger was about to go too, but the Commissioner stopped +him. + +"Mokorongo, you will have to go out and arrest Chiromo." + +"To-morrow?" + +"To-night." + +"His village is far and the sun is setting." + +"You will get there before morning and will bring Chiromo back with +you." + +"How many go with me?" + +"You go alone." + +The messenger was very much afraid. He licked his lips, which had become +dry, he shuffled with his feet, his gaze wandered from ceiling to floor +and round the hall in which the Commissioner sat. + +"Mokorongo." + +"Morena." + +"You are afraid." + +"I am afraid, Morena." + +"Very much afraid." + +"Morena." + +"Why?" + +"Is not Chiromo a doctor?" + +"What of that?" + +"I am but a man, your servant." + +"Yes, my servant. Why, then, are you afraid?" + +"Morena." + +Again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his +master. + +"Mokorongo." + +"Morena." + +"Are you ready to start? It is getting late." + +"Yes, it is late, for the sun sets." + +"Are you ready?" + +Mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. In the ordinary +way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master +anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he +had shown up splendidly. But then his master, in whom he had implicit +faith, had been there. To go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite +another matter. Had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? No, +it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night. + +The Commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy +paperweight, which he handed to Mokorongo. + +"Take this with you, it will protect you against Chiromo, for it is +mine." + +The messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and +turned to go. + +"Stop," said the Commissioner, "what are your plans?" + +Mokorongo had a quick mind: he unfolded his plan without hesitation. + +"I will talk awhile with the stranger, who will tell me of Chiromo; +whether he has a beard or has no beard; whether he is very old or not so +old; if he is fat or thin; what his loin cloth is like, or if he wears +a skin." + +"Good, and then?" + +"I will travel to the village, which I shall reach before morning. In +the bush I will hide my uniform. Near the village I will lie in wait. In +the morning Chiromo will come out of his hut. All day I will watch and +when the people have eaten and sleep I will arrest Chiromo." + +"How?" + +"I will go to his hut and call to him, saying that I am a traveller from +Sijoba on my way to Katora. That the sun has set and I ask for shelter. +I shall tell him that I have some meat of a buck which I found dead near +the path. Then Chiromo will open the door of his hut and I shall tie +him. And he will come with me because of my uniform and the people will +not hinder me because of my uniform." + +"Good, take the handcuffs. But there is one thing you have forgotten. +You must bring in a basket all Chiromo's medicine." + +"I will bring the medicine," replied the messenger, clutching at the +paperweight which bulged under his tunic. + +"Go safely," said the master. + +"Rest in peace," replied the man. + +The Commissioner watched the retreating figure. The swinging stride +showed self-confidence and courage. Mokorongo would do successfully what +was required of him. + + +II. + +The dawn was breaking. It had rained all night and the ground was very +wet. When the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it. +Little puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume +as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to +the lie of the land. + +Mokorongo was not comfortable. He had travelled far in the night and had +stumbled many times in the darkness. Moreover, he was drenched to the +skin and very cold. The paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his +courage throughout his long journey. He remembered now the cry of a +hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching +at the paperweight. Then some large, dark object stirred beside him and +bounded away, crashing through the bush. Mokorongo's heart had thumped +in time to the heavy hoof-beats. + +However, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure +shield and protection. + +The messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders +as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. He +replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt +again sat down on his heels to watch the village. + +Presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from +another. A man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. A dog +barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck--the day had come. + +He had chosen his observation post well. In front of him lay the village +in a hollow. Behind him, a patch of thick bush. To his left ran the path +to the cultivated lands and to the next village. On his right was a +stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was +unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter. + +The village soon showed signs of full life. When the sun came out +Mokorongo stripped and spread out his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to +dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short +grass which was comparatively dry. + +As the sun crept up the sky, Mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt +more comfortable. He watched the coming and going of men, women and +children until midday. He had easily recognised Chiromo. The father of +the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without +that description he would have picked him out. He was fat and looked +prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were +tied to tufts of his hair. He wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a +sure sign that he had killed a lion--or a man. + +His hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. Yes, +this surely was Chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round +his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? And had not the case-bearer of +yesterday said: "Chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?" + +Yes, Mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he +gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the +thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep. + +At sunset he awoke. He felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no +means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately +ahead. + +He crept back to his original post. The cattle were being kraaled; the +goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the +evening meal. + +Mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his +belt. He put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. He +then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no +amount of tugging would open them; having reset them he put the key in +the small pouch attached to his belt. + +There is little twilight in Africa. Soon after the sun sets it is dark. +He could see Chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, Chiromo sitting on a +low stool. + +Presently the night sounds began. Someone was beating a drum at a +distant village. A jackal barked far down the valley. Something rustled +in a bush near by. The frogs set up their shrill chorus. A dog in the +village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a +stick at it. + +After a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and Mokorongo +judged that the time for action had arrived. + +He came down from the high ground and skirted the village until he came +to the path from Sijoba. Then he turned and walked boldly towards the +cluster of huts. The dogs began to bark loudly but it didn't matter now: +was he not a stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora? + +He made his way to Chiromo's hut. The door was closed. Mokorongo +knocked. + +"Who is it?" + +"A stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora." + +"It is late, what do you want?" + +"Yes, it is late. I ask for shelter for the night. I am in luck, for I +have found meat and I ask shelter of a friend." + +There was a stir in the hut and the word meat was repeated several +times. + +Mokorongo stood ready with the open handcuffs. Would the man never come +out? Meanwhile the occupants of adjacent huts were also astir and doors +were being opened. There would be many witnesses to the arrest of +Chiromo. + +At length the door of the hut slid aside, a hand grasped either door +post and a woolly head appeared. Quick as lightning Mokorongo seized +Chiromo's right wrist and snapped the lock of the handcuff. Grasping the +black head, he pulled the startled Chiromo out of the doorway, and +before the witch doctor had recovered from his surprise, also secured +his left hand. + +Mokorongo stepped back and surveyed his captive. + +Chiromo said nothing, but the look in his eye made Mokorongo's hand fly +to the paperweight. The village was astir, and men came running, but, +seeing the uniform of authority, stood still. + +Mokorongo was himself again. "What is this?" demanded Chiromo. + +"The Morena calls you." + +"What for?" + +"How should I know the Morena's thoughts?" + +"Loose my hands or ill-luck will come to you." + +Mokorongo said nothing. + +"Listen," said Chiromo. + +Mokorongo listened and heard the laugh of a hyena. + +"That," said Chiromo, "is a spirit." + +Mokorongo clutched his paperweight: "It is a beast, and my master's +medicine is strong." + +Chiromo looked round at the circle of fellow villagers; he could not see +their eyes, but felt that no help might be expected from them; they +would not come between him and a Government man. + +Chiromo tried again. + +"In my hut I have much white man's money and a gun--all are yours if you +will untie my hands; moreover, the iron hurts me and the Morena's orders +are that no man be hurt." + +The mention of the money and the gun reminded Mokorongo of the medicine. + +"Go in," he said, pushing Chiromo before him. + +It is well that Mokorongo had the paperweight to support his courage. + + +III. + +A fire smouldered in a circular hearth in the middle of the floor, but +the light from it was so dim that nothing more was visible. Mokorongo, +kneeling deftly, drew together the unburnt sticks and blew upon the +pile; the suddenness with which it burst into flame startled him. Then +he rose and looked round the hut. + +Chiromo had walked over to his bed; he now sat watching. + +The blackened walls were profusely decorated with rude drawings, done in +light clay, of men and beasts, with here and there a pattern such as one +sees on primitive earthenware vessels. From the roof, suspended by a +length of plaited bark, dangled the skull of a human being. Mokorongo +had seen many human skulls in his time, but, in such a place, this +ghastly human relic unnerved him a little. The skull spun slightly with +the air current which entered the open door, and ghostly eyes seemed to +peer from the empty sockets, first at one man, then at the other, as if +the lifeless thing were taking a lively interest in the situation. + +Mokorongo pretended to scratch himself; what he really did was to shift +the paperweight until it rested under his left arm. In that position he +could press it to him without being noticed. The relief it brought was +great and lasting. + +From a peg in the wall hung a mummified mass of what looked suspiciously +like entrails; whether human or not the messenger did not pause to +consider. The fleshless forearm and hand of a child protruded from the +thatch; the fingers were spread out as in the act of grasping. A pile of +mouldering skins lay on the floor, and beside it a little heap of dead +chameleons; one, more lately killed than the rest, contributed +generously to the evil smell which pervaded the hut. Just above this +carrion was a cluster of black and red weevils as large as mice; they +hung from a porcupine quill, each tied to it by a thin strand of twisted +sinew. The aimless movements of legs showed that some of the insects +were still alive. Here and there, propped against the wall, were gourds +and pots filled, no doubt, with strange nauseous mixtures brewed by the +witch doctor for his evil purposes. + +Well-worn clothing and filthy rags hung from pegs thrust into the thatch +where the roof of the hut rested on the mud wall. The bleeding head and +slimy skin of a freshly killed goat lay on the floor at the foot of the +bed. Just beyond it was a large basket covered loosely with a leopard +skin; Mokorongo made a mental note of this. + +If Chiromo expected his guard to show any sign of fear, he was +disappointed. Mokorongo drew a small stool towards him, and sat down; +with the exception of the bed, it was the only furniture in the hut. + +The witch doctor was the first to speak: + +"The gun is yours, father, and the money, when you untie my hands so +that I may get them for you." + +"I have two guns in my village," replied the messenger, "and I also have +much money, for as I am a servant of the Government, I pay no tax." + +"Can a man have too much money or too many guns?" + +"I cannot say; but, as for me, I have enough." + +"How many wives have you?" asked Chiromo. + +The messenger did not answer. Such talk did not trouble him. He was a +simple African, whose one desire was to please his master; he was proof +against bribery in any form. + +Chiromo tried other tactics. + +"Yesterday, they say, I killed a man by charms. It is said also that +many men have died by poison. People fall sick, some say, when I think +of them in anger. It well may be that your master has fallen sick, for +my anger is strong towards him, and is rising against his servant, who +has tied me." + +Mokorongo hugged the talisman, but did not reply. He glanced at the +skull which at that moment swung towards him, then at the hand which, in +the flicker of the firelight, seemed to reach out to grasp at him. He +looked at the chameleons, and spat on the floor as he became aware of +the stench arising from them; next, the aimless waving of the weevils' +legs attracted his attention, and then his glance rested on the basket +covered with the leopard skin. + +Chiromo was about to speak again, but Mokorongo, springing to his feet, +interrupted him. His master had said: "Bring Chiromo back with you, and +bring his medicines." The basket must hold those medicines; moreover, +the prospect of listening to Chiromo until the morning, seated in the +midst of his evil properties, was unthinkable. He would feel more at his +ease walking through the night, although it was so dark and cold. + +He went to the door and called. There was no reply. The village was full +of people, but they had a very real fear of what the witch doctor might +do. All had crept back to their huts. He called again, and in the name +of the Government, but still none came. + +He shouted, that the whole village might hear: "I take Chiromo to our +Chief. Bring a rope, that I may tie him and lead him through the night." + +Presently a woman appeared, bringing in her hand a stout rope such as +all natives use for trapping antelope. She handed it to Mokorongo, +volunteering the information that it was her son whom Chiromo had +killed. She did not actually say that he had been killed, neither did +she mention Chiromo's name--she dared not do this--but she did say that +before sunrise her son had been buried. + +Mokorongo tied a slip-knot in the rope and passed it over Chiromo's +head. A sharp tug, accompanied by a peremptory "Stand, you!" brought +Chiromo quickly to his feet. + +Indicating successively the horrors hanging from the roof and walls, he +said: "Put that, and this, and those into the basket." + +Chiromo hesitated, but only for a moment; a tightening rope round one's +neck has an unpleasant feeling. With his manacled hands he picked up +each repulsive thing and thrust it into the basket. + +"Bring the basket," Mokorongo commanded, moving towards the door. +Outside in the black night, and conscious of the paperweight under his +arm, the messenger's full courage and sense of authority returned to +him. + +"Let all witnesses to this big case follow quickly to the Court; it is +the order of the Chief and the law of the Government." + +Then, helping Chiromo to encircle the basket with his arms, he strode +off down the path leading from the village, his captive, securely +handcuffed and led by the rope round his neck, following tamely enough. + + +IV. + +The witnesses were many--of all ages and of both sexes. The case +promised to be a famous one, so relations and friends had come from the +villages round about to attend. The people had travelled slowly, +consequently it was late in the afternoon when they arrived. + +The Native Commissioner had decided to take evidence on the morrow; the +people were therefore directed to camp by the river for the night. +Chiromo was to remain in the cell to which he had been conducted earlier +in the day by the messenger. + +Mokorongo was very happy. He had presented himself to his master on +arrival, returned the paperweight, reported the arrest of Chiromo, and +had handed over the basket of medicines. He would have told his story +then and there, but the Commissioner, who was busy, dismissed him with +"Good, now go and eat and sleep. You can return at sundown and tell me +everything. I will listen to the witnesses to-morrow." + +But, of course, Mokorongo did not sleep. He felt a hero, and was so +regarded by his fellow messengers and others. He told the story of his +adventures to all who cared to hear, and they were many. Little work was +done that day by any native on the Station. + +With much telling the story improved almost beyond recognition. For +instance, his seventh audience was thrilled by the recitation of the +threatening words which the skull had addressed to him; knots of woolly +hair rose when the efforts of the fleshless hand to grasp the master's +talisman were described; the brave words which Mokorongo had addressed +to the basket of medicines when it had shown an inclination to escape by +the door drew grunts of admiration; a shudder ran through his hearers +when he repeated what the dead chameleons had related to him--how they +had once been men, until transformed and killed by the very bad man now +under arrest. + +The narrative was interrupted by one of the house-boys: "You are +called," was the curt command, meaning that his master wished to see +Mokorongo. + +Under the stimulus of the great admiration of his fellows, generously +expressed, Mokorongo had given free play to his imagination. His +narrative had become thrilling; but now, under the cold eye of the +master, fancy fled, and the messenger's account of himself conformed to +the court formula--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth. + +How Chiromo passed the night cannot, of course, be told. He might have +spent the time preparing his defence; it is much more likely that he +simply slept. + + +V. + +Everything was ready for the hearing of the case. On the veranda of the +Court House the Commissioner's table had been placed. Conspicuous upon +it was the paperweight. On the ground in front of it lay the witch +doctor's basket with its leopard skin covering. On the right sat +Chiromo; he was still handcuffed, but without the rope round his neck. +By his side stood Mokorongo. Immediately behind them were ranged the +rest of the messengers attached to the Station. They, with the Court +House, formed two sides of a square: the figure was completed by the +crowd of witnesses seated on the ground. + +Presently the Commissioner was seen approaching along the path which +led from his house. The people began to clap their hands, which, in +certain parts of Africa, is the native way of showing respect. As the +Commissioner appeared on the verandah, the messengers saluted him by +raising their right hands above their heads and ejaculating "Morena." + +The Commissioner nodded by way of acknowledgment, the people ceased to +clap; there was dead silence. + +The white man looked across his table at the witch doctor. For a time he +said nothing. Chiromo blinked and looked away. Glancing up and finding +that unpleasantly steady gaze upon him still, he again looked quickly +away. + +"Unlock those handcuffs," said the Commissioner. Mokorongo produced the +key from the pouch on his belt and freed the witch doctor's hands. + +Addressing Chiromo, the official asked: "Is it true that you are the +killer of people?" + +"It is not true," replied Chiromo. + +"Can you kill people by means of charms and medicines?" + +Chiromo said he could not. + +"Is that your basket?" + +"Yes, it is my basket." + +"What is in the basket?" + +"I do not know." + +"Are not the things in the basket yours?" + +"No, they are your messenger's; he put them in my basket." + +Mokorongo was indignant at the lie. The witnesses, too, were amazed at +Chiromo's effrontery. But none spoke. + +"Take the things out of the basket one by one and place them on the +ground in front of you." + +The witch doctor without hesitation began to do as he was bid. The +skull, the arm, the weevils as large as mice, the chameleons, the stale +offal: these Mokorongo had seen in the hut, but there were other things +he had not seen. A necklet of human teeth, another of small antelope +horns, yet another of rats' skulls. These were followed by the shell of +a very small tortoise, a bush buck's horn containing a reddish-coloured +paste, four discs of ivory strangely carved, commonly known as "witch +doctor's bones," a small piece of looking-glass, a dozen or more little +bundles of something tied up in scraps of rag, a piece of red clay, a +length of snake's skin, several cartridge cases plugged with pieces of +wood, the sun-dried paw of a monkey, the beaks of several birds, a +feather ball or two, another set of "bones," a small knife with a wooden +sheath, a little gourd covered with beads, some charms of various sizes +and shapes to wear round the neck or wrist. There were many other bits +of rubbish which, at a sign from his master, Mokorongo emptied out on +the ground. + +Under the direction of the Commissioner, Chiromo's possessions were +separated into two heaps. The skull, the arm, the offal, and anything +else of which there was only a single specimen, made one heap. The +chameleons, and anything of which there were more than one, were +carefully divided, half placed on one heap and the remainder on the +other. + +"None of these things are yours?" asked the Commissioner. + +"None, save the leopard skin," said Chiromo. + +"Those I shall want later on," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +larger heap, "the rest you shall burn." + +The witch doctor collected some dry grass, and some twigs and some +larger sticks. The Commissioner produced a box of matches. Mokorongo lit +the grass. The twigs crackled, the sticks caught fire and burned +brightly. + +"Put those things on the fire," said the Commissioner, pointing to the +smaller of the two heaps. + +Chiromo paused and looked round at the witnesses in a strange manner. As +his eyes sought out those of each witness ranged against him, his +personality made itself felt. Men quailed, women covered their faces, +and children cried lustily. The witch doctor pointed suddenly to the +sky, then at the ground, and then at the witnesses. Picking up a +chameleon he dangled it over the flame; he did not drop it in the fire, +but looked round again with a malignant grin. This was more than the +witnesses could stand; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry +them. Something dreadful was about to happen. When doctors engaged in a +trial of strength, ordinary men were better out of the way. The +messengers alone stood fast. They kept their eyes on Mokorongo who, in +turn, watched the Commissioner. + +"Bring back the headman," thundered the Commissioner; "two of you will +do," as all the messengers started off. + +The headman of the village in which Chiromo lived was quickly brought +back, and stood, covering his eyes with his hands. + +"Now go on with the burning," ordered the Commissioner. + +The tone of authority was unmistakable, so Chiromo complied without +further ado. + +One by one the medicines, necklets, charms and other rubbish were +dropped into the fire. After a while, the headman removed his hands from +his face. It was evident that the white man was the stronger doctor of +the two. Chiromo had looked very bad, it was true, but he had been able +to do nothing. One by one the witnesses crept back and took their seats. + +The Commissioner then sent for one of his house-boys and gave him an +order in an undertone. The boy presently returned, carrying a carpet +slipper. + +"Hold Chiromo face downwards on the ground," said the Commissioner. The +messengers obeyed. "Now, Mokorongo, beat him." + +And Mokorongo did so, in the manner of a mother chastising her +child--but rather harder. + +Chiromo squealed, promising loudly never to offend again. Then someone +laughed, then another and another; presently all were laughing--with the +exception of Chiromo--even the Commissioner smiled: Mokorongo stopped +beating and laughed too. + +The messengers released their hold on Chiromo, who got up rubbing a +certain portion of his anatomy. Everybody laughed again. + +Laughter at a man kills faith in him. The spell was broken. From that +day forward this witch doctor, once powerful in hypnotic suggestion, was +as other men. + +"And now," said the Commissioner, "we will hear the evidence." + +The preliminary examination in the case of Rex v. Chiromo then began. + + + + +THE RIDDLE OF LIFE AND DEATH. + + +Of the many curios which I acquired during my twenty-five years' +residence in Africa, there is one which I value above all others. I +bought it a few weeks before I left the country. It is a round wooden +pot with a lid to it. On the lid is the seated figure of a little old +man with his shoulders hunched up, his chin resting in his two hands, +his elbows on his knees. There is a mildly amused expression on the +rudely carved face; whether this is there by accident or design I cannot +say. On one side of the pot is a snake in relief; on the other, a +tortoise. + +I bought this pot from a very old native. So old was he that his scanty +knots of hair were quite white and his eyes were very dim. He must have +been a fine enough man once, but now his dull, greyish-black skin clung +in folds about his gaunt frame. I paid the old man the modest price he +named, and asked him the meaning of the figures on the lid and sides of +the pot. + +The following is his explanation, given in short, jerky sentences, done +into English as literally as our language will permit: + +"Yes, it was a long time ago. So long ago was it that no white man had +then come to this country. It was before my father's day. Before that +even of his father. Both died old men. Yes, so long ago was it, that +only the old people now speak of those past times. It was when men did +not grow old and die. There was no death then; all men lived on, and +happily. + +"One day all this was changed. God became angry--that is God on the lid +of the pot. What foolish things men did to make God angry, I do not +know. He must have been very angry. In his anger God sent His messenger +of death to men. He sent His messenger, the snake. Then people began to +die--that is the snake on the side of the pot. + +"So many people died that all became frightened. They thought all would +soon be dead. In their fear they cried to God. They said they were sorry +for their foolish act, whatever that might have been. They promised they +would anger Him no more. They begged Him to recall His messenger, the +snake. + +"After a while God agreed. He said He would recall His messenger, the +snake. He would send another messenger--that is the second messenger on +the other side of the pot. God sent the tortoise to recall the snake." + +The old man paused and mused for a little while, and then resumed: + +"When I was a young man I thought to myself, perhaps the tortoise will +overtake the snake; that some day he will deliver God's message. I am an +old man now. I do not think the tortoise will ever overtake the +snake--at least, not in my time." + +He said all this without a trace of emotion. He was too much of a +philosopher, it seemed, to indulge in anything so profitless as +self-pity. + +"Do you kill snakes when you see them?" I asked. + +"No," said he. "Why should I? But I do kill tortoises. The tortoise is +very lazy. He runs with his message so slowly. Moreover, a tortoise is +good meat." + +Having told his story and pouched the price of his pot, the old man rose +painfully and hobbled away. Just outside my compound gate he paused and +made a vicious stab at something in a patch of grass. + + * * * * * + +Shouldering his assegai, he passed on his way, a writhing tortoise +impaled upon the blade. + + + + +FLATTERY. + + +I. + +Robert Gregory was proud of his house. A Colonial Bishop, passing +through on his way to England, stayed with Gregory; in his +bread-and-butter letter he wrote: + +"... I think your house the most beautiful and unique in Central +Africa...." + +Unique perhaps it was, but scarcely beautiful. + +When all is said and done, it was merely the ordinary bungalow of which +one finds examples all over Africa. In size it was very modest, having +only a hall, with a dining-room on one side and a bedroom on the other. +There were in addition various excrescences, termed locally "lean-to's." +One of these was a pantry, another a storeroom, a third a bathroom, and +so on. No, it must have been to the interior decorations that the Bishop +referred. + +Gregory hoped to marry when next he went to England. During his last +visit to the old country, on leave, he became engaged. + +The woman of his choice had once remarked to him: "I do hope you have +heaps and heaps of curios." + +On his return to Africa Gregory began to collect curios, and now he had +indeed "heaps and heaps" of them. You see, he had his excuses. + +On the walls of the hall were trophies of assegais and shields. These +trophies were arranged in the approved armoury manner; that is to say, a +shield in the centre with assegai blades radiating from it in all +directions. + +Flanking each of the principal trophies were lesser ones, composed of +battle-axes in groups of two or three. These battle-axes were +murderous-looking things. The heads of some were crescent-shaped, others +were merely wedges of metal. + +In the intervening spaces were a variety of knives remarkable chiefly +for their sheaths, which were curiously shaped and carved. There was a +dado, too, round the wall, made of arrows arranged head downwards +towards the floor. These were surmounted by bows fixed horizontally to +the wall; they completed the dado, as it were. + +On the other two sides ancient guns of various makes and ages took the +place of the arrows. There were flint locks, Tower muskets, Portuguese, +French and German smooth-bore rifles, gaily decorated by native owners +with bands of highly polished copper round the barrel and brass-headed +nails driven into the stock. + +On a shelf, which ran round the hall a few feet from the ceiling, were +specimens of native pottery. Some were highly coloured, others dull red. +All had curious patterns scratched on them, done before baking, and most +of them bore fire marks and other evidence that their makers were +somewhat lacking in the potter's skill. The shapes, however, were +pleasing. + +The dining-room held a miscellaneous collection. The principal objects +were musical instruments, chiefly of the harmonica variety, strips of +hard wood suspended over gourds of different sizes. In the bad old days +human skulls were used in place of gourds. But there were many others, +both string and wind instruments, and some rattles. + +In this room was also a collection of snuff boxes; nearly all of them +were minute gourds, differing one from another in decoration. Some were +completely covered with gaily coloured beads affixed cunningly and in +pleasing patterns. Some were banded with beads, which gave them the +appearance of small school globes. Others, again, were simply carved in +relief, whilst a few were decorated with plaited brass, copper, or iron +wire. All were very neatly made. + +Occupying a space between a window and a door was a unique collection of +snuff spoons. These were nearly all made of bright metal. Not only do +the natives use them for taking snuff, but also for preparing to take +snuff and for recovering after snuffing. To be quite plain, they use +them as our snuff-taking ancestors used their bandannas. They have yet a +third use, namely, scraping the skin on a hot day. + +The only reason why Gregory had so many of these nasty little implements +was that they were so neatly made and in such diversity of pattern. + +In the spaces usually occupied by pictures were specimens of the native +weavers' art, very highly coloured cloths of coarse texture. On shelves +over the doors and windows of his dining-room were pots, mugs, bowls, +and platters of carved wood. The patterns were curiously like those one +finds on early pottery dug up in such quantities and in so many spots +along the shores of the Mediterranean. A kaross or skin blanket was +thrown over the back of almost every chair and covered the one settee. + +There was hardly anything of European manufacture in the hall and +dining-room. Even the tables and chairs were native made and of country +timber. In place of carpets, the floors were covered with rush and reed +mats ornamented with strange patterns done in brightly dyed bark and +fibre. + +The bedroom alone held nothing but European furniture. + +The collection was certainly a remarkable one--I have not attempted a +complete inventory--and Gregory had taken great pains to arrange it, as +some would say, artistically. + +One day five natives arrived carrying a letter addressed to Gregory. It +was from a woman, Chief in her own right. It ran as follows: + + APRIL. + + MY FRIEND, + + I send to you my servant Siadiadiadi with four others. As I cannot + come to you myself I send my five people. I have heard much of your + fine house and wish to see it. As I am old I send my people that + they may see it and bring me word of it. I ask you to let them see + it for three days, and on the fourth they shall return to me. + + I am well and all my people are well, but the cattle have a + disease. I hope you are well. + + I must close my letter now with greetings. + + Your faithful friend, + + MOVANA. + + Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni. + +I believe Gregory was pleased: at any rate he permitted the messengers +to see his house. For the full three days they stayed. He often found +them agape in the hall or in the dining room, taking mental notes. It +was clear that the five natives were much impressed. Whenever Gregory +entered the house, they saluted him and crept silently out. There was +no reason to guard against theft; uncivilised natives do not steal. + +On the fourth day Siadiadiadi and his companions thanked Gregory in the +name of their mistress and went away. + + O wad some power the giftie gie us + To see oorsel's as ithers see us! + It wad frae monie a blunder free us + And foolish notion. + + +II. + +Some six months later Gregory, travelling to the extreme limit of his +district, found himself within easy distance of the village occupied by +the Chieftainess who had been so curious about his house. He felt +inclined to go out of his way to see her. When he was resting at midday +a native brought him a letter which helped him to make up his mind to do +so. + + MY FRIEND, + + I hear that you have arrived near to my village. Please come and + see my house. I think you will like it. Hoping you are well, with + greetings. + + Your faithful friend, + + MOVANA. + + Written by interpreter Jacob Mazuni. I, too, send greetings. + +So Gregory went to see the house. + +Outside the village he was met by the usual gathering of elderly +headmen, polite and dignified, who led him to the door of their Chief's +house. + +The house was barnlike, with a high, well-thatched roof. + +At the entrance stood the owner. She was very stout and wore a print +dress. A red shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and she had a very +small straw hat perched on her large, woolly head. Gregory noticed that +the hat was very much on one side. Her feet were bare. + +After unusually hearty greetings she led the white man into her house. + +When Gregory stepped over the threshold he stopped and stood looking +from wall to wall aghast. The old black woman interpreted his open mouth +to indicate admiration, wonder. This is what he saw. + +On a deal table a complete toilet set. Complete to the extent that it +included two of those very intimate pieces of domestic furniture seldom +seen outside the shops where toilet ware is sold, and surely never +before exhibited with pride by the owner. Hanging awkwardly from a nail +in the wall, a slop pail of enamelled iron. This was supported on the +one side by a dustpan and brush, on the other by a pair of elastic-sided +boots. On each side of this remarkable trophy were pinned two very +ordinary coloured pocket handkerchiefs. + +On a small corner shelf was a large brown earthenware teapot with the +words "Advance Australia" done in raised letters. Four enamelled ware +egg cups were its companions. + +One wall was devoted exclusively to kitchen utensils; new tin kettles +predominated, but almost everything was represented. + +Opposite this bright array the wall was literally covered with bedding. +The centre piece was a mattress; sheets on one side, blankets on the +other, pillows above, bolsters below. + +But what shocked Gregory more than anything else was a regular trousseau +of feminine underclothing, ranged round the door through which he had +entered. He blushed hotly and with difficulty suppressed an impulse to +bolt without ceremony. + +"What do you think of my house, my friend?" + +"I think it--er--beautiful, the most wonderful in all the world." + +"Yes, I thought you would like it. Do you not like the things my people +use? For myself, I like the things the white people use. You put the +black man's things in your house. I put the white man's things in my +house. We are two friends who have the same thoughts. You buy from the +people. I buy from the traders. The traders have promised to bring me +many more things. My house is not finished yet. After the rains it will +be finished, then you must come and see it again." + + * * * * * + +When Gregory reached his bungalow after his journey he stripped his +walls and packed all his curios in boxes. These he despatched to his +father in England, who was very pleased with them. + +He replaced his curios by the Hundred Best Pictures, framed suitably in +fumed oak. + + + + +"LIZIZI." + + +I. + +The Native Commissioner was hurrying home. It was nearly midday and +getting hot. Moreover, he had been on a long journey and was anxious to +get back to his bungalow which, for him, meant a measure of +civilisation. His garden, his books, prints on the wall, white ducks, +fair cooking and no more tinned food for a while, a cool verandah and +occasional converse with his fellow officials. At daylight he had left +his caravan to follow whilst he pushed on ahead. + +His sturdy horse also had thoughts of home for, in spite of the heat, he +cantered briskly along the dusty road without any encouragement from his +master. Half a mile from the house a short cut skirted a patch of young +gum trees and led through the servants' compound to the back door of the +bungalow. + +The horse, without hesitation and not waiting for direction, took the +short cut. As a general rule the Commissioner chose the longer way. He +preferred entering his own house by the front door; he had designed and +built his home himself and had given much thought to its face and +approach, for, who could tell, might he not some day lead an English +bride up the winding drive? + +The Commissioner let the beast have his way: he was amused and, leaning +forward, patted his horse's neck. + +As he clattered through the compound he caught sight of some of his +servants conversing with a stranger. There was nothing remarkable in +that, but two things he noticed. One, that his people did not see or +hear him until he was almost abreast of them, and secondly, that the +stranger, a native from the river district, let him pass without the +usual salute. + +He rode on and dismounted at the back of the house. A groom took his +horse. A small boy opened the door for him and led him through to the +front hall. The Commissioner dropped into a chair and, after a short +rest, busied himself with getting comfortable. + +A shave, followed by a hot bath, a change into "slacks," a light +luncheon, and a pipe. Then he attacked his accumulated mail. He had +scarcely sorted his home from his official letters--the latter could +well wait--when his head house boy came in rather breathless. + +"Morena," he said, "what is to-day?" + +"What do you mean, the day of the month or of the week, and why do you +ask?" + +"Oh no," said the boy, "but what is the number of the day?" + +"Tuesday the sixth. Why?" + +"It is only that I wanted to know, for has not the Morena been absent +for a great many days?" + +"Well, it's the sixth, Tuesday the sixth of September." + +"Thank you, Morena." + +The boy withdrew. + +The Native Commissioner turned to his letters again. His mother had +written pages telling him of his sister's engagement to his oldest +friend; his sister wrote more pages about her happiness; his father +referred to his younger brother at Oxford, to the engagement just +announced, and described the latest strike at some length. + +Presently he got up and went out to the verandah to stretch his legs. He +admired his garden and mentally praised his own cunning in setting it +out. The rains had not yet broken but some of the trees were already in +new leaf. What a blaze of colour there would be in a few weeks! + +"Morena, what day is it to-day?" + +Turning, he met the gaze of a garden labourer who, spade in hand, was +standing slightly in advance of some half a dozen of his fellows. + +"The sixth. But why do you ask?" + +"It is because black people do not know how to count, and one day with +us is as another." + +All returned to their work. A few minutes later the dog boy came with a +litter born during his master's absence. They were a likely looking lot +and the native took personally the remarks passed upon his charge: he +appeared to assume responsibility for their colour, shape and sex. + +"Morena, what day is it to-day?" + +"Why?" + +"See, Morena, I mark each day on a stick; the dogs were born ten days +ago." + +"Well, it's the sixth." + +"Thank you, Morena." + +At sundown the cattle came in. The herdsman came up to the house to +report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his +journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his +good management When bull calves came the cattle herd made many excuses +and neither expected nor received any reward. + +"You have done well." + +"Thank you, Morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his +loin cloth. "What is the number of the day to-day?" + +Now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. What did it +mean? Could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what? + +But the Commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some +trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point. +Still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but +knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good +time. + +He asked no question this time but replied simply: "The sixth." + +The news of his return spread quickly and several officials dropped in +for a "sundowner." Headquarters news, dull and trivial as it usually is, +was quickly disposed of. The Browns had gone home on leave, Jones had +just come back, and Robinson had passed the law exam very well. A lion +had been heard outside the township, and a mad cur had run amok through +the compounds and, as a result, several good dogs had been shot and half +a dozen natives sent south for treatment. + +What sport had the Commissioner had? + +On the whole, bad; he had missed a black-maned lion in a patch of bush +near the river, and as the beast slipped through to the main forest he +didn't bother to follow. He had, however, bagged a small leopard and two +full-grown cheetahs. There were plenty of birds and buck about and, oh, +yes, he had killed a bad old buffalo bull who nearly turned the tables +on him. After listening to the details of the adventure, the visitors +rose to leave. + +No, he would not join them at the Club later, he felt tired and was +looking forward to a comfortable bed for a change. + +The Commissioner dined alone and turned in early. + +In the morning he woke with a start. It was late, nearly eight o'clock; +what the deuce were his people about? + +He jumped out of bed and went to the bath-room. The bath was not set +ready. He called to his boy. There was no answer. He slipped on a +dressing gown and went to the kitchen. It was empty, the fire was not +even lighted. He went back to the house for a pair of slippers and a hat +and walked across to the native compound. By this time he was very +angry. + +To his amazement, the compound was quite empty. On his way back he +looked in at the stable. His horses whinnied: they had not been fed, nor +had the stable been cleaned. He fed the horses himself and then walked +over to the cattle kraal. His half-dozen cows had not been milked. + +At that moment the Magistrate came up. + +"What's the matter with the natives?" + +"I don't know, why?" + +"Not a black soul in the township will do a hand's turn." + +"Mine aren't here." + +"Is there going to be a rising?" + +"Certainly not. You people who live in camp are always expecting +risings." + +"Well, you know best, of course, but the boys refuse to work. They say +Lizizi has told them not to." + +"Who's Lizizi?" + +"How should I know? I came to ask you that." + +"Never heard of him." + +"Well, what are you going to do about it?" + +"I don't know yet. Send some of your people down to me, mine have made +themselves scarce." + +"Right, but what are you going to do to them?" + +"Nothing, of course, except question them." + +"I'll send my two house boys down." + +"Send your cook as well." + +"Why my cook?" + +"Because I haven't had my breakfast yet." + +"Well, neither have I for that matter." + +"Then you had better come with them, we'll have breakfast all right." + +The Magistrate went away and the Commissioner returned to his house to +dress. + +He hated having no bath; he disliked, too, going without breakfast. +Discomfort on a journey he thought nothing of, but discomfort in his own +home was ridiculous. + +When the Commissioner emerged from his room, dressed but unshaven, and +in a very bad temper, he found his head native in the hall and the rest +of the servants standing on the verandah. + +"We wish to speak with you," said the boy. + +"I, too, have something to say." + +"We cannot work to-day. To-morrow we will work." + +"You will work to-day and now." + +"No, Morena, we cannot work to-day, to-morrow we will work well." + +"Why can't you work to-day?" + +"Because Lizizi says we may not work to-day." + +"Who's Lizizi?" + +"A great doctor." + +"Where is he?" said the Commissioner, looking round. + +"No, he is not here, Morena, he lives on the Zambesi. He sent his man +with a message yesterday." + +"Was that the messenger I saw in the compound?" + +"Yes, Morena." + +"Where is he?" + +"He has gone." + +"Where?" + +"He did not say where he was going. He told us he must carry the +master's messages." + +"What are the messages?" + +"No man may work for his master to-day." + +"What are the others?" + +"That is all he said to us." + +"Have you eaten this morning?" + +"Yes, Morena." + +"Then bring breakfast for the Magistrate and me, and quickly." + +"But, Morena--" + +"Well?" + +"I may not work to-day." + +"Breakfast is food, not work. Bring it." + +"Yes, Morena." + +The boy went out. The Commissioner turned to the rest of his servants. + +"You won't work to-day?" + +The cattle herd answered: "We may not, it is forbidden." + +"Who forbids you?" + +"Lizizi." + +"Who is Lizizi?" + +"The great doctor." + +"Great?" + +"Yes, Morena. Does he not jump into the river and come out alive on the +third day?" + +"I should say not, but where does he live?" + +"At Minanga, on the Zambesi." + +"Go to your work. I will visit this Lizizi. There is some mistake. The +messenger is a foolish fellow, he had forgotten his master's words. I +will see to it. Tell all the people that I go on a visit to Lizizi. He +who does not work now and at once and well will meet with misfortune." + +The servants dispersed to their various occupations. Slowly at first, +and with evident reluctance; but, hearing that the head boy was busy +getting his master's breakfast, they, too, set about their various +duties. + +When the Magistrate arrived he found everything normal. He had breakfast +with the Commissioner. When the meal was over he found his own servants +had gone back to his compound. The word had spread abroad that the +Commissioner would visit Lizizi and put matters right. + +"How did you do it?" + +"Just talked to them a little." + +"No violence, I hope?" + +"Unnecessary." + +"What was it all about?" + +"I know no more than you, but intend to find out." + +In a few hours the Commissioner was on his way to Minanga, on the +Zambesi, the home of Lizizi, the great doctor. + + +II. + +All next day, and for several days following, natives might be seen +passing south in the direction of Minanga. The curious thing about these +flocks of travellers was that they were chiefly composed of +children--little children, from infants in arms to boys and girls of +nine or ten, none older. When questioned, the parents would reply +simply: "We are called. We are called to Minanga by Lizizi--by Lizizi, +the great doctor." + +The native servants who worked in the houses of the officials could, or +would, give no fuller explanation. "Yes, they are called by Lizizi," was +the only answer to all questioning. + +In the Club, speculation as to what the Commissioner would do +monopolised the conversation. Nearly all the officials wagered on a +native rising. The Commandant of Police went about to prepare +systematically for an event of this kind. + + +III. + +The Commissioner travelled light and quickly. He, too, passed hordes of +natives, mostly children. He, too, learnt that Lizizi called--that +Lizizi had apparently mustered all the children of the district. He was +now doubly certain that this was no native rebellion, or the children +would have been conspicuously absent. He grudged Lizizi this implicit +obedience. Two could not run the same country. + +At length he approached Minanga. The neighbouring villages were thronged +with children. In Minanga itself there were many hundreds. The +Commissioner rode to the centre of the village and demanded to be shown +Lizizi's hut. He was led up the hill to a single small hut built +half-way up the slope. In front of it grew a huge tamarind tree. + +"There is Lizizi," said his guide, pointing to an old man sitting on a +stool in front of the hut. + +The Commissioner watched. A strange performance was going on. A long +queue of children was moving slowly past the seated figure, and as each +child was marshalled forward--screaming with fright, for the most +part--the old man put his hands on its head. + +The Commissioner rode up to the hut. The old man touched the head of the +child in front of him with his crossed thumbs; that was all, and the +child passed hurriedly on to join a throng, already large, of others who +had passed through the ordeal, or whatever it was. + +On seeing the Commissioner the old man rose and seated himself on the +ground, clapping his hands by way of greeting. + +This curious native wore a large pair of spectacles, which gave him a +benevolent air. His feet were bare--so, too, was his head--but he was +otherwise clothed to the extent of a patched and very dirty shirt and an +aged pair of trousers. + +"Are you Lizizi?" asked the Commissioner. + +"Morena, I am his slave." + +"Where is Lizizi?" + +"He walked on the water. Then he went to the bottom of the river and +stayed there. After three days he came out alive and well. Some people +said so who saw him." + +"Where is he now?" + +"Who can tell?" + +"Did you send that message to the servants of the white men, saying that +they were not to work?" + +"I sent my master's message." + +"What are you doing to these children?" + +"My master said they must come." + +"What for?" + +"I put my hands on them, as my master said. Lizizi said: 'Let the +children come, the little children, and do not stop them.' And Lizizi +said: 'You must work for six days, and on the seventh day you must not +do anything.'" + +So that was the explanation. It came to the Commissioner in a flash. + +"Who are you?" he asked. + +"My name is Sinyoro." + +"You have worked for a white man?" + +"Yes, I was with the Mission." + +"I thought as much." + +"Lizizi" was the nearest this native could get to Jesus. The poor old +man was, it transpired, a little mad. He had lived with the missionaries +for many years, and had recently asked permission to visit friends on +the Zambesi. The head missionary had let him go. As he afterwards +explained, he knew the man was a little mad, but quite harmless. They +had christened him James--James Sinyoro. + +However, James, it seemed, had been trying his prentice hand at +missionary work, and had given orders based on the little he remembered +of the Mission Bible teaching. + + * * * * * + +James Sinyoro returned to the Mission Station, and the district to its +normal tranquillity. + + + + +MIRONDA--A WOMAN. + + +The Paramount Chief had many wives. A newly arrived missionary, +determined to convert the great man, opened his attack by asking why he +had so many wives. The answer was disconcerting: "For political +reasons." This matter of the Chief's was a rock upon which all +missionary endeavours foundered. The Chief must discard all his wives, +save one. The Chief was determined to keep them all. + +To another reformer he said: "Leave me alone. Do what you will with the +children and young people. Leave me to myself. You have shown me that my +beliefs are foolish. You have not proved to me that yours are any +wiser." + +A third good man, about to transfer his activities to other fields, +offered to present the Chief with his bright brass bedstead provided he +became a Christian. + +"Let me see it," said the old heathen. The bed was produced. "I have a +better one. I paid a trader ten head of cattle for it." So no bargain +was struck. + +I think there must have been some grounds for saying that he clung to +his many wives "for political reasons," because they, or at any rate +some of them, were more trouble to the Chief than they were perhaps +worth. + +There was Mavevana, for instance, who was large and fat and therefore +very beautiful from a native point of view, but whose tongue was a +constant source of strife without and within the harem. + +I should explain that each wife had her own group of huts. These +groups--there were seventeen of them--were surrounded by a high reed +fence, strengthened by sharply-pointed poles. The harem was a village +within a village. Outside the fence the common people lived. + +Each woman had her slaves. A strong guard of fully-armed men patrolled +the harem at night. Old Sikoro, the keeper of the harem, was about day +and night. + +Then there was Mironda. Poor Mironda, who later paid, as women do, be +they white, black or yellow. + +Mironda was rather nearer to yellow than to black. I think she had some +European blood in her. One does not often see a native woman with hazel +eyes nor with freckles; and besides, she was very tall and slim. + +As a special mark of his good will the Chief once took me through his +harem. That is how I first came to see Mironda. + +The woman aroused my interest. When we entered her compound she glared +at her lord and master as a caged beast does upon free men. She did not +for a moment take her eyes off him. She never so much as glanced in my +direction. Her eyes caught the light once and reflected it as do those +of a cat, a tiger. Yes, that was it, she put me in mind of a caged +tiger. + +She clasped her hands continuously during our short stay. The click, +click, click of her ivory bangles drew my attention to her hands. Her +hands and her wrists were very small, her finger nails long and sharp. I +noticed her hands particularly because she had solid ivory bangles on +each arm from wrist to elbow. These bangles were very small and, as they +were solid, could only pass over very small hands. + +I saw this curious woman twice only: the second time was some years +later. + +As I have said before, old Sikoro was the keeper of the harem. I hated +him instinctively the moment I first set eyes on him: I hated him more +when I heard the whole story. + +Sikoro had only one eye. In his youth he had had smallpox, which pitted +his face remorselessly and destroyed one eye. He wore a soldier's red +tunic, the colour dimmed with age and dirt. Perched on his head was a +tall cone-shaped fur cap which he plucked off whenever he met a +superior. He was always plucking it off, not because he was really +inferior in the black man's social scale to all he so saluted; on the +contrary, in view of his office, he was an important person; he was over +polite because he chose to appear humble. + +The man knew his power well: his occupation gave him the ear of the +Chief. All realized this and were ready to show him the respect which +was justly his due: Sikoro was before them in showing respect, which was +unnecessary. Men did not understand this humbleness of his and feared +him. Sikoro loved their fear. + +The woman, Mironda, alone had no fear of him. She despised the man and +did not try to hide it. She often refused to see him. It was only utter +boredom that induced her to admit him to her compound at all. The truth +is he was a great gossip and was the link between the harem and the +outer world. Sikoro knew everything, was an authority on everything, and +the first to hear all news. + +Now this is what befell Mironda. I don't blame her; no one could. I +consider her a victim of circumstances. The old, old story. A young and +impulsive woman, an elderly, much married lord, a well-favoured young +man. The long and the short of it is that Mironda was in the end +divorced; but the manner of that divorce enrages me whenever I think of +it. + +One morning she was sitting on a mat in the shade thrown by the +overhanging thatch of her hut. She was singing in a low voice and +threading beads picked with the point of her needle from a wooden bowl +held by a small girl slave. + + The father of Mbututu + Was killed on the sand bank + Wei ye-i, wei i-ye, + Wei ye-i, wei i-ye, + The father of Mbututu + Was killed on the sand bank + Wei ye-i, etc. + +The monotonous chant in a minor key was interrupted by someone +scratching on the reed fence. + +"Go," said Mironda to the child, "see who it is." + +The child put down the bowl of beads and ran to the fold in the fence +which formed the gate. She looked out. A glance was sufficient. She ran +back past her mistress and into a far hut, muttering as she went +"Ma--we! Ma--we! It is Sikoro!" + +Mironda moved uneasily on her mat, then fell to fumbling nervously with +the brightly-dyed bark patterns which ornamented it. + +Sikoro slouched into the compound, removing his fur cap as he came. Just +inside he knelt down and sat on his heels, placing his cap on the ground +beside him. He arranged his voluminous skirts carefully round him and +then clapped his hands very respectfully. + +Mironda did not look at him. After a short interval Sikoro broke the +silence. + +"Good day to you, Morena." + +"Yes, good day." + +"And has the Chief's wife slept well?" + +"She has." + +"And the slaves of her house, have they slept well?" + +"They have." + +"And is the Chief's wife pleased with the new shawl chosen by Sikoro as +a gift from the Chief to his wife?" + +"It is all right." + +Sikoro relapsed into silence and Mironda did not speak. Presently the +man got up and, in a crouching attitude, shuffled nearer and sat down as +close as possible to the edge of the woman's mat without actually +touching it. To touch the mat of the Chief's wife would have been an +offence, to come so near to it was studied insolence. + +Mironda looked up angrily, met the bloodshot eye of Sikoro and opened +her mouth as if to speak. Instead of doing so, however, she looked away +and examined the work upon which she had been engaged when the man +arrived. + +Sikoro grinned and, detaching from his belt a small gourd, emptied some +snuff into the palm of his hand. + +This was a deliberate insult to the Chief's wife and conclusive evidence +to her, if indeed she needed it, that she might now expect the worst. + +Sikoro blew his nose unpleasantly and loudly sniffed up the snuff from +the palm of his hand. Then, clearing his throat, he said: "Someone has +stolen one of the Chief's heifers." + +"Eh." + +"A yellow one which the Chief might well have sold to a Jew." + +"So." + +"It is no great loss to the Chief, as the heifer is barren." + +Mironda's eyes blazed with fury; she had no child. + +"The thief has been caught." + +"What will be done with him?" + +Ah! he had aroused her interest at last. Sikoro smiled pleasantly as he +said: "He will, of course, be strangled." + +"Will not the Missionaries prevent it?" + +"The Missionaries? They do not know and may not know for many days, and +anyhow, what could they do?" + +"The white man's Government will prevent the killing of people." + +"No doubt the white man's Government will do many foolish things, but +the Magistrate has not yet come." + +"He is coming soon." + +"But they strangle Miyobo to-day, now." + +No name had been mentioned before: indeed it was not necessary even now; +Mironda had known Sikoro's errand from the manner of entry into her +compound. + +The abominable man leant forward and repeated: "Now, now, now," then put +his hand to his ear. The woman listened, too, and heard distinctly the +shriek and gurgle of a dying man: then silence save for the pattering of +slaves' feet and their shrill inquiries and conjectures. Miyobo had been +strangled just outside the compound in which the woman sat. + +Mironda looked at Sikoro with wide eyes of fear. He, of course, enjoyed +the situation. Did he not hate this woman for her overbearing pride? Had +not she and Miyobo fooled him more than once, and had it not been the +merest chance which had delivered them into his hand? + +His one eye contracted with merriment, a cruel smile lifted his lip and +disclosed a row of sharply-filed teeth--the tribal mark of a subject +race; he was a freed slave. + +Pointing to the bangles on the woman's arm, Sikoro asked: "What are you +doing with the Chief's ivory?" + +One by one Mironda took her bangles off and placed them on the mat +before her. + +"Is not that the Chief's new shawl?" + +The wretched woman took the garment from her shoulders and laid it on +the mat beside the bangles. + +"And why," said Sikoro, "do you sit on the Chief's mat?" + +Mironda slowly rose to her feet. + +"And is not this the Chief's hut?" + +This was the last word, the full sentence of divorce; she, now a common +woman, had no right to stand where she stood. She looked hastily round +the compound and then walked silently to the gate and so out. + +The man gathered up the ivory bangles and tied them in the shawl. He +rolled up the mat upon which Mironda had been sitting and tucked it +under his arm. Then, spitting contemptuously on the ground, he followed. + + * * * * * + +Some years later I saw Mironda, clothed in the rags of a slave woman, +begging food at the Mission station. + +When the wife of the Chief is divorced, her fall is gradual. For a space +she becomes the wife of a head man, who presently passes her on to +someone lower in the social scale, and so from hand to hand she passes +until she becomes the consort of a slave. + +In Mironda's case she first became the wife of Sikoro; surely a no more +cruel punishment could have been devised for her. + + + + +MAN AND BEAST. + + + + +PROTECTIVE COLOURING. + + +Mobita had views on protective colouring. Who is Mobita? Oh, an elephant +hunter, a black man; a very good fellow--as black men go. Mobita used to +say that elephants, and big and small game generally, could not see +black and white. Black they could and white they could, but not a +judicious combination of the two. His usual hunting kit was a black hat +with a white feather in it, a black waistcoat over a white shirt, a +black and white striped loin cloth. His thin arms and legs were dull +ebony. There you have Mobita. + +Mobita's theory worked very well for a time, but as he had missed an +essential he paid the penalty in the end. A zebra is black and +white--more or less--and in the bush is practically invisible so long as +it stands still. That, then, is the essential adjunct to protective +colouring--you must keep still. + +This is what happened to Mobita. + +Just before the war I was hunting on the edge of the Great Swamp. Early +one afternoon, when the day was at its hottest, I heard a shot fired. +Later, I met a freshly-wounded tusker and dropped him. I went up to have +a look at him, and found dry blood on his ground tusk and a hole behind +his near shoulder; someone had just missed his heart. My shot took him +in the ear. + +I left some of my men to cut out his tusks, and, out of curiosity, went +back along his spoor. I had not far to go. Sitting round a pile of green +branches I found a dozen of Mobita's people, looking very glum. + +They told me their yarn, which I did not believe until I had had a look +round for myself. The spoor told me their story was true enough. + +It appears that Mobita had followed the bull since early morning. He got +in a moderate shot; the bull saw him and gave chase. The ground was +unbroken, with no large ant-hills or big trees to dodge behind. Here and +there they went, this way and that, but the tusker kept his eye on +Mobita--on his protective colouring, I should think. Then somehow Mobita +tripped and fell, and the game was up. The elephant stamped on him, +knelt on him, put his tusk through him. Then--and here is the strange +part of it all--went from tree to tree picking green branches and piling +them up on what was left of Mobita. + +Then he moved off and shortly met me. + +Did I bury Mobita? Why, no. People came around presently--as natives +will when meat is about--and I made them pile stones on him; quite a +hill they made. I paid them for their trouble with elephant meat, and +handed the tusks to Mobita's men, as the custom is. + +Protective colouring is all right, no doubt--if you keep still. + + + + +DARWIN--A BIRD. + + +When the railway construction reached to within reasonable distance of +my camp, I realised how tired I was of living in a mud hut, and acquired +sufficient material from the contractor for a small house. I also asked +him to spare one of his carpenters to erect it for me. + +The man sent to me was a German named Fritz Kunst. He was not only a +carpenter, but a mason, bricklayer, plumber, and painter as well. He was +an excellent workman, a member of no union, and intent only on finishing +his job quickly and well. I hasten to explain that this was many years +before the war. + +In build he was very short, almost deformed. His head was abnormally +large; so, too, were his hands and feet, especially his feet. He looked +upon his feet as his salvation. He was flat-footed, and on that account +had never served in the German army. He referred to his feet as, "My +goot luck, isn't it?" + +I had but one fault to find with him. He was rough with his native +servant. The boy sometimes complained to me, and when I remonstrated +with Kunst or threatened him with the law he would burst into a flood of +tears and offer to pay cash for his lapse. One day the boy complained +to me that Kunst had beaten him severely and without cause. He could, +however, show no mark, but I sent for his master and demanded an +explanation. Kunst was evidently very angry with the boy, for he shook +his fist in his face and bellowed in his coarse, guttural voice: "Zo, +you make er tam vool of me, eh? I will your head break. You spoil my +money. Gott tam you!" + +In broken English, but with considerable fluency and force, Kunst told +me the source of his indignation. It appeared that from time to time he +commissioned his boy to make small purchases for him--eggs, fowls, milk, +fish, and the like. On the previous evening the boy produced a very +large egg for which he said he had paid sixpence. As eggs were then +never more than sixpence a dozen in that country, Kunst charged him with +cheating. The boy explained that the egg was a very large one. It was +large--huge, in fact--for a hen's egg, so Kunst did not press the +charge, but went to bed, telling the boy to boil it for breakfast next +morning. + +On the breakfast-table the egg looked larger than ever. It couldn't sit +in the tin egg-cup, so lay on the table beside it. + +Now Kunst was a greedy man and attacked the egg in the best of good +spirits. He tried to crack it in the usual way with a spoon, but without +success. He banged it on the table. The shell did crack then, but, to +Kunst's indignation, the egg proved to be hard set. Whether he thought +parts of it might be good I cannot say, but the German broke open the +egg and examined it more closely. He then became very angry indeed, for +what he found satisfied him that the egg was not a hen's egg at all. The +creature upon which he gazed was three-parts beak and most of the rest +was made up of feet. Kunst had never seen anything like it. In a rage of +disappointment he beat the boy. He had so looked forward to eating that +very large egg which the boy assured him was a hen's egg. Had not his +trusted servant declared that the egg had cost sixpence? + +I soothed Kunst's ruffled feelings, and persuaded him to go to his work +and forgive the boy. + +When I had settled the little differences between the German and the +native, I cross-questioned the latter. It transpired that the giant egg +was that of a marabout stork which had nested in a tree a few miles +away. As one egg still remained in the nest, I told the boy to let a +week or two go by, and if by then the egg had hatched out to bring the +chick to me. + +In due course Darwin arrived. I did not call him Darwin for several +weeks; the name occurred to me later. Darwin was the queerest of +objects. He was a large ball of fluff based on two very long legs, and +surmounted by a huge beak protruding from a bald head. He was wise from +birth; it was when I had fully realised how very wise he was that I +christened him Darwin. + +When he first came to me he made no proper use of his legs. He could not +stand erect, but sat awkwardly with his bird equivalent to knees +protruding behind and his large feet, with toes spread out, in front. He +resembled a downy globe on rails. He crawled about my bungalow almost +from the first day I had him. This he managed by sliding first his right +hand rail along the floor and then his left, clapping his huge beak +after each movement. I suppose I subconsciously accepted this beak +clapping as the crooning of a baby bird, for I soon found myself +indulging in baby talk with him. + +His appetite was amazing; moreover, he was omnivorous. + +When it was neither his meal time nor mine, he would sit on the floor in +front of me blinking up at me with wisdom in his eyes. He winked. There +is no doubt about it. It was as if he had just remarked: "What you and I +don't know isn't worth knowing." I soon dropped the baby talk with +Darwin, and discussed with him Affairs of State. + +He grew rapidly. One day I detected a feather. By degrees feathers +replaced the down, but the most important sign of Darwin's growing up +was when he took his first step. One morning without warning he heaved +himself up, and, by using his beak as a third leg, actually stood on his +feet. For the space of a full minute he remained in this position, then, +suddenly lifting his head, he was erect. For one moment only; then, +overbalancing backwards, he fell with a crash full length on the floor. +He appeared stunned at first. I picked him up and placed him on his +rails again, and there he sat, thinking the matter over. Presently he +repeated the manoeuvre, but with no better success, falling this time on +his "front" as a child would say. Again I gathered him up, and +apparently, after mature consideration, he decided that his time for +walking had not yet come, for he made no more attempts that day. + +About a week later, as if the idea had struck him for the first time, he +got up quite suddenly, and coolly walked out of the back door into the +yard; he stood there sunning himself, and chattering to and at everybody +and everything in sight. + +Darwin never looked back. He quickly developed a curiosity as insatiable +as his appetite. He became playful, too. He made friends with the dogs, +and romped with them. He noticed that the doctor paid a daily visit to +the compound, and hid behind the fence in wait for him. As the doctor +sped past on his bicycle, Darwin would shoot out his heavy beak at him. +So sure a marksman did the bird become--he always narrowly missed the +saddle, but hit the doctor--that the good man complained, and approached +the compound by the long way round. + +The day arrived when certain puppies had to lose their tails. Darwin +took a proper interest in the operation, and gobbled up each tail as it +fell. He appeared to like dogs' tails, and went in search of more. He +found a nice long one which he tried to swallow, but it happened to be +still attached to an elderly greyhound. Poor Darwin met with his first +serious rebuff in life; he came to me for sympathy with a large puncture +in his beak. The mark of the dog's displeasure was permanent. + +When natives came, as they did in hundreds, to sell the produce of their +gardens, woods, and streams, Darwin inspected their wares. With a twist +of his beak he would filch a pinch of meal from a bowl to see, so the +natives declared, whether it was of uniform whiteness throughout. Eggs +had to be protected with outstretched arms, so, too, had baskets of +little fishes, for he was very partial to them both, and only a very +full sample would satisfy him. The natives declared him possessed. +Judging by the way he first abused and then assaulted any one of them +bold enough to resist his inspection, I think they were right. + +I have already mentioned his curiosity. He permitted this defect in his +character to carry him too far when he became a common thief. A +traveller stayed with me for a few days. In spite of warning, he left +the door of his hut open when he came across to the mess hut for +breakfast. Darwin entered to inspect. It is surmised that he swallowed +my guest's shaving brush and tooth brush, for they have never been +found. It is only surmise, but there was circumstantial evidence to +support the charge in the form of the stick of shaving soap which was +found on the floor with marks on it which might have been made by the +beak of a large bird. + +Again, the contents of two boxes of cigars were found scattered far and +wide; each cigar had been nipped in half. Darwin was questioned; he +looked wise but said nothing. A native witness swore he had seen the +accused walking in the yard with the white man's pipe in his mouth. This +was a wicked slander, for the white man had that pipe in his pocket, and +it was his only one. + +The case was not proven, but Darwin left the court without a shred of +character. + +I have referred to his appetite. One day the cook missed a piece of +lamb's neck, weighing probably half a dozen pounds. He couldn't blame +the cat, because there wasn't one, so he pointed the finger of +accusation at Darwin. The evil bird was sent for. I felt he was guilty, +and, although he winked at me for sympathy, I had to say so. Besides, he +had not been sufficiently careful to hide the loot; even a professional +detective could have recognised the meat by the very large, irregular +bulge in the bird's pouch. In places the mutton bones threatened to +pierce the thin disguise. + +Darwin certainly had his uses. No nasty-smelling scrap could lie +undetected for long. His scent was keen and his eye sharp. I never found +a snake in the house after Darwin grew up, nor were there many rats +about the place. + +Once a huge swarm of locusts fell upon us, and all hands turned out to +destroy them. Darwin joined in the fray, and soon we retired and left +him to finish the job, as he disposed of thousands to our joint +hundreds. His method was simplicity itself. He dashed here, there, and +everywhere with his huge beak wide open. Only now and then, and for a +moment, did he close it to gulp down what had fallen in. + +The doctor, who lived a mile away, did not like Darwin; partly because +of his stupid trick of pecking at him as he cycled by, but chiefly +because he seemed to know what was going on in the hospital. If an +operation was being performed, Darwin could be heard tramping about +impatiently on the corrugated iron roof of the building. As the marabout +stork mainly lives on carrion scraps, there was, the doctor considered, +questionable taste in Darwin's visits. + +Alas! Darwin met with a violent death in his early prime. + +Like all others of his kind, he grew those beautiful downy feathers so +highly prized by women who dress well. There was a demand throughout the +country for the feathers, and many of these delightful and useful birds +died at the hands of the natives in consequence. + +An operation was going on at the hospital, and Darwin was hurrying +thither on foot, as I had recently cut the feathers of one of his wings. +In the road he met a strange native, who despatched him with his +assegai, stripped him of his feathers, and walked on. + +The spoiler soon came up with two of my servants who, on hearing of the +man's good luck, as he put it, took him back to the scene of the +outrage. + +Yes, it was "Da-wi-ni"; was not that the hole in his beak which the +angry greyhound made? + +My servants decided that Darwin had been most foully murdered, and acted +according to their lights. + + * * * * * + +It was well that the doctor knew his job. After six anxious weeks the +native was so far recovered from the beating as to be pronounced out of +danger. + + + + +THE LION'S SKIN. + + +In the year 1898 Sergeant Johnson, the one with the bright red beard, +was sent up country to establish and to remain in charge of the new +out-station of Likonga. Likonga, a little-known spot in Central Africa, +was, and still is, miles away from civilisation. Sergeant Johnson's +command was cut to small dimensions by malaria at headquarters. He had +but a corporal and two men. Likonga in those days consisted of nothing +but a name on the map, and nothing at all in the way of buildings or +anything else to show you when you had got there. The Commandant of +Police had dotted vaguely the imperfect sketch map with his pencil, and +had instructed Sergeant Johnson to go there. The Sergeant had glanced at +the map as it lay on the office table, and had said, "Yes, sir." + +"You will take with you Corporal Merton and Privates Hay and Hare. I +cannot spare more." + +Again the Sergeant said, "Yes, sir." + +"You will take rations for ninety days, the small buck waggon, and the +black span of oxen." + +For the third time Sergeant Johnson said, "Yes, sir." + +Now, this man with the bright red beard had been a soldier elsewhere +before he became a policeman in the middle of Africa. His old training +had not encouraged questions, so he never asked any now. When, +therefore, the Commandant of Police glanced up from the map, the +Sergeant saluted, turned about, and left the office. + +He wasted no time. He took Corporal Merton, Privates Hay and Hare, the +small waggon, ninety days' rations, a span of fourteen black oxen, the +Zulu Jacob to drive, and the Kaffir boy "Nine-thirty" to lead. + +Just before sundown he pulled out of camp. It is hardly necessary, +perhaps, to say that the leader of a waggon is the native who walks in +front of the oxen, but it is necessary to explain that a leader of oxen +in Africa answers to any name flung at him. This particular one was +called "Nine-thirty" because, without any apparent effort, he stood and +walked with his feet splayed at what should have been an impossible +angle to his legs. If his right big toe pointed east, his left one +pointed west, whilst he himself faced north or south, as the case might +be. + +For seven days the party travelled in a northeasterly direction, +Sergeant Johnson spending most of the time on his back on the waggon, +Corporal Merton tramping immediately behind, whilst Privates Hay and +Hare followed at any distance ranging between a hundred yards and half a +mile. + +The party was not a cheery one; it might have travelled for yet another +day, or even more, had not the Sergeant dropped his looking glass off +the tail end of the waggon. He was devoted to his big red beard. While +lying on the waggon he spent his time fondling and trimming this beard, +smearing vaseline on it and admiring it in his little lead-framed +looking glass. + +When, therefore, he dropped his glass, he said: "Damn," and then, more +loudly, "This is Likonga; outspan, Jacob!" + +The driver shouted "Ah, now!" to the oxen, and the outfit came to a +halt. + +As a camping place, the spot so casually chosen was not a bad one. There +was wood and there was water, good grazing for the cattle, and obviously +some game about. Moreover, there were some granite boulders on the left, +set round in the form of a rude circle. Under the Sergeant's direction +all were soon roughly housed. The cattle had been made secure at night +by a skilful reinforcement of the circle of boulders, here a thorn bush +and there a few poles. Patrol tents, protected by a straggling fence, +satisfied the Sergeant and his men. Jacob spent the day in the lee of +his waggon and the night under it. "Nine-thirty" slept on the other side +of the cattle kraal, under the propped-up roof of an abandoned native +hut; during the day he herded the cattle. The making of this very +primitive out-station occupied less than a couple of days, and then the +question, "What the devil shall we do now?" fell upon the party like a +blight. + +But, as is so often the case, the devil decided. + +All had turned in for the night. The Sergeant had taken a last look at +his beard. Corporal Merton had read something of Kipling's. Private Hay, +after a long-winded argument with Private Hare, in which neither seemed +to gain advantage, had told his adversary to go to hell. Private Hare +had found satisfaction in saying, "Ditto, brother." Jacob had retired +under his waggon, and, like most natives, fell asleep immediately, with +his head well covered by his blanket. + +The leader with the silly name, alone of all the party, remained awake +in his solitude on the other side of the cattle kraal. His evening meal +of maize porridge was bubbling in his small cooking pot, perched on a +handful of embers. He was playing a minute native "piano," a trumpery, +tinkling thing, made of half a gourd, a strip of hard wood, with a few +tongues of metal affixed to it. + +The tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink; tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink, sounded very +plaintive and lonely in Africa's wide expanse. The boy was singing, +too--if his wail could be called singing. + + The crocodile, + Floating near the bank, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. + The fish, + Floating on the water, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle, tink, tink. + The hippopotamus, + Floating in mid-stream, + Sleeps in the river. + Tinkle, tinkle,... + +The music stopped. Africa was deadly still, save for the croaking of a +frog. + +"Nine-thirty" sat motionless, looking straight before him, out beyond +his little fire. Immediately opposite stood a large, black-maned lion. +The pair faced each other, a yard or so apart. The only movement was the +lion's tail, which switched from side to side. The huge beast looked +steadily at "Nine-thirty," who, full of fear, stared back at the lion. + +Where life and death are concerned, things happen very suddenly. The +lion took one step forward and seized "Nine-thirty" by the knee. The boy +reached for his assegai and plunged it into the lion's ribs. + +The Sergeant heard the cry and a roar of pain in his sleep, and woke up +to fumble with his beard. Corporal Merton, from an interrupted dream, +cried out: "Halt! Who goes there?" Private Hay, if awake, said nothing, +whilst his companion in arms muttered: "What's up?" Jacob answered from +under his blanket: "It's a lion, master, and he has killed my leader." +At any rate, it was certain something serious had happened. A lion, +uncomfortably close, was making such a din that the leaves of the trees +near by seemed to flutter, and "Nine-thirty" was moaning on the other +side of the cattle kraal. + +"Stand to arms!" commanded the Sergeant. + +All tumbled out of their blankets, rifle in hand, shirttails flapping in +the night wind. They were not cowards, neither were they fools. The four +listened to the sound of a lion growling and retreating as he growled. +The moaning came from one place, so it was evident that Nine-thirty was +for the moment safe. Then, hastily lighting a lantern, the policemen +picked their way round the cattle kraal to Nine-thirty's little fire. +The Sergeant knew something of first aid. He lifted the mauled native +carefully and carried him back to the waggon. The boy's knee was in a +bad state--the joint was crushed. A "tot" of brandy, a thorough wash of +the wound, a bandage, a blanket or two, and a bed of grass near the camp +fire made Nine-thirty as comfortable as possible. After making up the +fire, all turned in again. + +At daylight the Sergeant mustered his men, and thus addressed them: + +"We will now go and blot out this accursed lion. Load, and remember no +one fires until I give the word. Put on your boots, don't bother about +your bags." + +The four lined up. + +"March!" + +They hadn't far to go--barely a couple of hundred yards. The lion raised +his head and growled. Nine-thirty's assegai, broken off short, still +protruded from the beast's ribs. + +"Fire!" commanded the Sergeant. Four shots rang out as one, and the +lion's head sank upon his paws. The men reloaded, and approached with +caution, but the marauder was dead. + +The Sergeant instructed Jacob to skin the beast, and the four returned +to camp for breakfast and to think out the problem which had arisen out +of the killing of this lion. + +All things being equal in sport, and rank apart, and as man to man, to +whom belonged the skin? Someone had missed, because there were only +three holes in the skin. Someone had made a rotten bad shot, because +there was a bullet hole in the lion's rump. Someone had killed the beast +outright, because a bullet had passed through the lion's brain. Someone +had done for him, because another shot had taken him behind the +shoulder. + +All claimed the head shot. + +Well, Jacob was out of it anyway. So, too, was poor Nine-thirty. Neither +had fired a shot. + +When I arrived I found Nine-thirty well on the way to recovery, but the +policemen still "man to man." A deputation presented me with the skull +and asked me to decide about the skin. I declared Nine-thirty the owner +by all the rules of hunting; he had drawn first blood, and had stopped +the lion. + +I suggested, however, that as Nine-thirty did not want the skin, the +four who fired at the lion should have a five shilling sweepstake for +it, Nine-thirty to have the pound and the winner the skin. + +Sergeant Johnson drew the prize. + +But Jacob, being a Zulu, collected the lion's fat, melted it into tins, +bottles, and small gourds, and sold it for many pounds to his friends +when he went home a year later. All Zulus know that lion's fat smeared +on the head, face, or beard makes a man brave in battle. + + + + +THE REVEREND MR. BUMPUS. + + +Some missionaries I like very much, they are good fellows; others I am +not so sure about; others, again, I admit I cordially dislike. I place +the Rev. Mr. Bumpus in the third category. I met him once going down the +road from the Zambesi as I was going up. He, lucky beggar, was +travelling to rail-head in his ox-waggon, going on leave. I was trekking +north in my waggon, having just exhausted my home leave. All his fun was +to come; mine was over for a period. I felt, when I met him, like a boy +who, having eaten his own plum cake, must now watch another boy devour +his. + +The Rev. Bumpus had a wife. Poor soul, she was cooped up with him in the +waggon, and had been for three weeks. They had come about two hundred +miles from their mission station in that time. Think of it, cooped up +for three solid weeks with the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. How I pitied her! + +What a change there was in the little woman. Three years earlier, I +remember, she had gone north with Bumpus, newly married, and with a look +in her eyes of a brave soldier of the faith, rosy cheeked, well favoured +and plump. And now! What a battle she must have had! And I'm sure she +didn't find a good ally in the man of her choice. She was thin and +drawn, had a sad, discouraged eye, and looked more than twice her age. + +Almost the first question she asked was: "Oh, have you any tobacco? Any +you can spare, I mean?" I produced my pouch, and said I had plenty in my +waggon coming on behind. + +The Rev. Bumpus slipped off the waggon, took a handful, crammed his +pipe, and put the remainder in his alpaca coat pocket. Then he lit up, +took a puff or two, and said--nothing! It was she who thanked me, +adding: + +"Fred has been impossible for the last five days; he's had no tobacco. I +didn't pack enough. Perhaps his temper will be better now." And this +poor little lady cast a beseeching look at her lord and master. + +As for the reverend gentleman, he climbed back into the waggon, sat down +with a grunt of contentment, and puffed vigorously at his pipe. + +"I'm so glad we've met you," continued the woman. "We've been followed +for days by some lions. Last night they took my riding donkey." + +"They'll have you next," interjected her gallant spouse with a grin. +"They like donkey-meat." + +The fellow was a brute. His wife was scared, and even if he couldn't +encourage her he needn't have tried to frighten her more. But there he +sat, grinning down from his perch in the waggon, and showing his big, +yellow teeth. Yes, certainly, I disliked the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. I did my +best to reassure the lady, advised the man to put out lighted lanterns +at night to keep off the lions, and said good-bye. + +I did a short trek that evening, and outspanned early. I couldn't help +thinking of the callous man and the frightened woman. I knew that if +the lions came round Bumpus was no man to cope with them, or, for that +matter, to take sensible precautions. For myself, I had some poles out, +tied lighted lanterns to them, and set them up some distance ahead, +behind, and on either side of my waggon. In addition, I had a good fire +lit beyond the leading oxen and an extra large one in front of my patrol +tent by the side of the waggon. + +I had been sitting by the fire for a little while after dinner, smoking, +when I was startled by a rifle shot, and then another. I judged by the +direction that they must have been fired by the Rev. Bumpus or his +driver, and, by the sound, that we were not camped very far apart. I +took a couple of boys, my rifle, and a lantern, and hurried along the +road to see what had happened. The missionary's waggon was further away +than I expected. When I got there the Rev. Bumpus was on the roof of the +waggon, on the top of the tent, in his nightshirt. I hadn't seen a +nightshirt on a man for years. His wife was inside the waggon. The +driver--it was he who had fired the shots--was, with his leader, +crouching under the waggon. The oxen were very restless. + +It was quite dark, and there would be no moon all night. The +missionary's fire had died down, and I couldn't see a yard beyond the +ring of light shed by the lantern in my hand. My first concern, +therefore, was to shake the unburnt logs together and get the fire going +again. Then, with my lantern in one hand and my rifle in the other, I +walked along the line of oxen, talking to them as I went, with the +object of settling them down. I counted the cattle as I passed and found +the span intact. + +Then, under my direction, my boys collected as much wood as we could +find handy, and lighted another fire, ahead of the oxen. Then I went +back to the waggon to question the missionary. + +Had he seen a lion? + +"Yes, a large one." + +"Where?" + +"Close to the leading oxen." + +Had she seen any? + +"No, nothing," said his wife. + +Had the driver seen the lion? + +"Ja, baas, two." + +At that moment I nearly jumped out of my skin. The driver, from under +the waggon, fired again; his bullet must have missed my legs by inches +only. I had to use un-Sunday School language before I could make the +Rev. Bumpus stop his din from the top of the waggon; he was terrified, +and showed it without shame or reserve. I took the rifle from the +driver. Lions at night are bad enough, but the additional risk of a +scared native armed with a Martini is a little too much. + +"What the devil did you let fly for?" + +"At the lion, baas." + +"Where?" + +"Over there, baas." + +"Over there," indeed, a few yards from the waggon, it was as black as +ink, but I argued, natives have good eyesight, and a lion's eyes have a +way of reflecting the light of a distant fire. He might have seen a +lion. + +Well, there was nothing for it, more fires must be built. + +The missionary had only one lantern, and that I lighted. It was too dark +to find a pole, so I dug a hole in the sandy soil, planted the waggon +whip in it, and slung the lantern to the whip-stick. + +Then began a night of toil and anxiety; I have no wish to live through +such a night again. My boys were frightened now. Frightened does not +describe the condition of the Rev. Mr. Bumpus. There he was, a weird +figure, perched on the top of the waggon-tent, ghostly in his white +nightshirt, chattering with alarm. Mrs. Bumpus sat, fully dressed, +inside the waggon, quite still and silent. The missionary's driver, +leader, and my boys stood huddled round the largest fire at the tail end +of the waggon, their eyes looking unusually large and white as they +peered into the thick darkness. + +"There he is, baas!" + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +"Where's there, you fool?" + +"Listen!" + +I listened, and sure enough I heard the shush, shush of something moving +in the dead leaves and dry grass a little distance away. The oxen +nearest the waggon showed signs of nervousness. I would have given much +for a dog that night. The movement stopped. We all listened. The Rev. +Bumpus began to mumble something from his perch aloft. + +"For goodness sake shut up! How can I hear anything while you're making +all that noise!" + +He stopped. + +"There he is, baas!" + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +I listened, but could hear nothing. I listened for quite a long time. We +all listened--we could hear nothing. The nearest ox lay down with a +grunt, which meant that he, at any rate, was not much alarmed. + +The Rev. Bumpus asked whether I thought he could come down, as on the +top of the waggon-tent it was very cold. I was just about to say he +could when again that shush, shush! I heard it myself distinctly this +time. At once the chorus again of "There he is," in as many languages as +there were natives huddled round me. + +I decided that we must do something, make a sortie and get more wood; +the fires had burnt low. + +Presently we had four fires blazing away, the one in front of the +leading oxen, one on either side of the waggon, and one at the tail-end +of it. My boys' courage rose as the circle of light grew. They dashed +here and there--strictly within the circle of light formed by the +fires--collecting dry wood. After a while you could have roasted the +proverbial ox at any one of the fires. + +While we were busy the Rev. Bumpus had crept down from his place of +vantage and had gone to bed. His wife, the better man of the two, made +us some strong coffee. The missionary's driver and leader joined in the +scramble for wood. + +The lion had evidently drawn off, so we had some coffee and stood +warming ourselves by the fire. + +"There he is, baas!" + +I grabbed my rifle. "Where?" + +"There, I can hear him now." + +"Listen! Silence, all of you!" + +Shush, shush; shush, shush. + +From over there! No, from there! Where the devil is he? + + * * * * * + +And this sort of thing went on the whole night through. Quiet for a +while. Fires die down. Shush, shush; shush, shush. Hurried collection of +wood. Fires blaze up. Silence. The shush, shush just beyond the limit +of light. "There, he is, baas!" "Where?" "There!" and so on. + +Then dawn. How slowly it came! Intense desire to murder that lion or +lions. A little lighter now. + +I set out, with the natives following, to look for the spoor. + +Shush, shush; I heard it quite plainly. Good heavens! where is that +lion? Broad daylight now. Is the thing a ghost? + +No. There it is--a scrubby, little, scaly anteater! Still grubbing in +the fallen leaves. Shush, shush; shush, shush. + +We stood looking at it, tired-eyed and weary. + +"Why don't you kill the wretched rat?" + +It was the Rev. Mr. Bumpus who spoke. + +Talking of rats, I could have killed that man there and then. + + * * * * * + +When I got back to my own waggon I found lion spoor on the sandy road. +It was not difficult to read from their tracks--there were three +lions--that they had followed the missionary's waggon until they came to +a turn in the road and saw my lanterns. From that point the spoor led +down to the river bed, across it, and into the thick bush on the other +side. They hadn't come near the waggons. + + + + +THE SALVATION ARMY CAPTAIN. + + +To-day you may book your passage with Cook's, in Ludgate Circus, to the +Victoria Falls and back, and travel in comfort all the way. In 1897 it +was different. There was no road to the Victoria Falls then, let alone a +railway. I won't bother you with an account of our journey out by waggon +as far as Panda-Ma-Tenga, or of how we rode across country from the edge +of the Kalahari Desert to the Falls, guided by the column of spray +arising from them, or, where the land dipped, by a sense of direction. + +At length we got there, or, more correctly, within a hundred yards of +the tumbling waters. Their roar was deafening. It was a wonderful sound +and a more wonderful sight. Imagine the hum of London traffic increased +ten thousand fold. Imagine a forest of palm, fern, black-trunked trees, +all within a hothouse of immense proportions, and a tepid, tropical rain +soaking you to the skin. We cut through the distance which separated us +from the lip of the Falls. Thick, tough creeper and undergrowth, +maidenhair fern waist high; it seemed a sin to trample it underfoot. +From time to time up to the thigh in watery mud when, unluckily, one +stepped in the pit-like spoor of a hippopotamus which had passed in the +night. Monkeys chattering from overhead. I think I caught sight of a +buffalo. + +What a difference to-day! You might see a monkey in the trees now and +then, but a fire has since passed through that jungle at the end of a +dry season, and a century will not repair the damage. Moreover, there +are gravel paths leading from the new hotel to every "view" now, but we, +who saw the Victoria Falls twenty-four years ago, have something to +remember and to brag about. + +We spent half a day looking and looking and looking. We were drenched by +the spray, dried by the sun, deafened by the roar of the waters, and +struck dumb by the beauty of it all. + +At about one o'clock we felt hungry, and went in search of our +pack-horses. We had off-saddled outside the thicket and turned our +beasts loose. We found our saddles easily enough, and the horses, too, +for that matter; the grass was so luscious and plentiful that no horse +would desire to stray far after several weeks in the dry Kalahari. We +had lunch and a little rest, and then set out again to do more +exploring. We hadn't gone far before we came upon the track of a waggon. +Robinson Crusoe, when he found the footprint of the man Friday, could +not have been more amazed than we. + +So far as we knew, no other expedition had come to the Falls ahead of +us. Who, then, was the intruder? + +We followed the track, and presently, in a small clearing, we saw a +waggon. Whoever he was, this traveller deserved full credit for what he +had done. We had ridden to the Falls, and were proud of it, but here was +a man who had got a waggon through. Stout fellow. And there, seated on a +skin near his oxen, was the man. He had a matted beard, and didn't look +too clean. Under one arm he hugged a huge calabash, from which he was +eating honey with a stick. The honey was old and granulated. There were +many flies in it, too, evidence that the neck of the calabash had been +left uncovered at times. He didn't move when he saw us, but, holding out +his stick, said: "Have some." + +We told him we had just fed, but thanked him all the same. + +"Sit down," said he, "sit on this skin," but he made no room for us. "I +shot it yesterday at the Falls. This is the cub; the lioness went off." + +"How long have you been here?" + +"A couple of days." + +"How did you get through?" + +"Cut my way." + +"Lose any cattle in the thirst country?" + +"Didn't come that way; took a bee line from Bulawayo." + +This was a good performance indeed. All the old hands had said it +couldn't be done. + +"What did you come for?" + +"What did you?" + +The man who asked the question first was travelling north to take over +the administration of a tract of country as big as France. He explained +his business. + +"Oh, so you're the magistrate, are you?" + +"Yes, that's about it. And you?" + +"I'm a captain in the Salvation Army down south, but I've brought a +fellow up to prospect for mineral on the other side of the Zambesi. He +crossed yesterday, and moved up country on foot this morning." + +I looked at this queer fellow with interest. His cap of calling lay on +the ground beside him. Throughout the conversation he went on eating +the honey. The Zambesi in those days was about the last place I should +have expected to find a Salvation Army man. Looking round I caught sight +of the familiar red jersey with the yellow letters. It was hanging on a +bush, evidently drying. The captain had followed my gaze, and +volunteered: "Had a bit of a washing day, first on this trip." From the +look of him I concluded that his own turn was yet to come. + +"Well, tell us about the lion cub." + +I think he told the truth. I can't, of course, vouch for it, but he was +sitting on the skin of a newly-killed cub. Before we left the Falls the +vultures told us where to find the lioness. But this is his story: + +"I was walking along in the rain-forest with my rifle, looking for a pig +or a palla or anything else eatable. I hadn't gone far when I nearly +fell over this cub. He snarled at me, so I shot him. While he lay +kicking on his back up comes his mother, so I reloaded my old Martini +and gave her one for herself. Not being a first-class shot, I didn't do +for her right off. She looked so angry and seemed to be coming on that I +stepped back a pace or two, but keeping my eye on her. I tried to +reload, but the empty cartridge case jammed. I broke off a stick from a +handy bush and plugged it down the muzzle. I must have pushed too hard, +for the stick broke off short." + +The captain stopped, got up, and fetched his rifle from the wagon. The +stick was still in the barrel, evidently stuck fast in the cartridge, +which, in its turn, was firmly fixed in the breech. We had a look at the +rifle and then at the captain. He simply said: "Can either of you +gentlemen fix this up for me?" We both said we could, and both asked: +"But what about the lioness?" + +"Oh, the lioness. Why, there she was and there I was. She with a very +ugly look, and growling, and I with my rifle put out of action. I felt +it was time to do something, so I backed out of the bush singing a hymn +in a loud voice." + + + + +THE SPORT OF KINGS. + + +The days have gone by when the Paramount Chiefs of the Barotse embarked +annually upon a large-scale Lechwe drive. I believe the last big hunt +took place in 1899. I, at any rate, have heard of no such happening +since. + +It is just as well that these drives have come to an end. The African +natives' idea of sport does not altogether tally with that of the white +man; no sportsman likes to see animals slaughtered _en masse_. + +In those days the Lechwe antelope were strictly preserved for the +pleasure of the Paramount Chief and his entourage. No native was +permitted to disturb them in their natural haunts--the wide, open +plains--and no man could kill one under pain of heavy penalty. The only +exception to this rule was when a few head strayed into the vicinity of +Lealni, the principal native village of the Barotse valley. Then the +people were allowed to hunt them with dogs, but not to shoot them. + +The time chosen for these drives was after the rains had ceased to fall, +but while the Zambesi had still more water to carry off than its banks +could contain. The overflow was such that for a space the Barotse +Valley became a vast lake, varying in depth from a few inches to a dozen +feet. + +The same may be said with equal truth of the Luena river, an important +tributary which, flowing from the East, made its junction with the +Zambesi not far from Lealni. It was in the Luena basin that the drives +took place. + +For two months before the time of hunting preparations for the drive +began. Those long, heavy casting assegais, peculiar, I believe, to that +part of Africa, were cleaned and sharpened. Narrow hunting canoes were +collected, repaired and caulked. Four foot long pikes, sharpened at one +end--which was hardened by burning--with a stout blade fixed in the +other, were prepared in great numbers by the Batotela, a slave tribe +cunning in the manufacture of iron. The blades of these pikes were short +and flat and had the rounded point of an oyster-knife. + +I was invited by the Chief to be present at the drive in 1899, and I +went. + +It took two days to reach the hunting ground. We travelled in +shallow-draught, dug-out canoes. The first night we slept in elaborate +grass shelters prepared for us beforehand. + +Next morning we resumed our journey at daylight. The Chief went first in +a very small and narrow canoe. He was accompanied by one man only. They +stood up in the canoe and punted with long, red-wood poles. All European +clothes had been discarded by the natives. The Chief wore a woollen +nightcap and a long, white shirt. Round his waist, but under his shirt, +he had a highly-coloured, fringed tablecloth. His legs and feet were +bare; so, too, were his arms to the elbow. + +My canoe started immediately after that of the Chief, but I did not +retain that position long. It was more comfortable and, therefore, much +heavier and slower. It carried a crew of seven. + +I suppose there must have been several thousand canoe loads of men. Two +of the Chief's wives accompanied the party. All etiquette was abandoned. +It became a race to follow the Chief, and although the waterway was +several miles wide, collisions were frequent. Everyone was +good-humoured, including one of the Chief's wives, whose canoe was +capsized in the scurry. She was rescued amid much laughter and joking, +in which she joined. + +_En route_ we passed many canoes loaded down to the gunwale with pikes. +To these everyone gave a wide berth for fear of swamping them, for the +pikes were necessary to the sport. + +In the afternoon of the second day we arrived at the spot selected, or, +to be more precise, at a large camping ground within easy reach of it. + +Here we found even more elaborate grass huts ready for us. The Chief +gave me a hut quite near to his own, a compliment which I did not +appreciate at its intended value, because his band played and women sang +throughout the night and robbed me of all sleep. + +The moment we arrived the Chief started off in his fast canoe to inspect +the ground over which the Lechwe were to be driven next day. On his +return he told me that the place had been well chosen and that the +country was alive with Lechwe. He also said he had found a high ant-hill +for me to stand upon and watch the drive. + +At daylight we set out again and reached my ant-hill in about an hour. +The Chief took me to the top of it, pointed out the direction from +which the antelope would come, and explained the plans for the day's +sport. + +Looking through my field-glasses I saw two faint lines which, beginning +more than a mile away in the open plain, converged, forming a funnel. +The narrow end of the funnel terminated within a quarter of a mile from +my ant-heap and in a line with it. + +The faint lines were really thin strips of dry palmleaf tape, which +shone white in the bright sunlight. Every few yards a bight was taken +round a bunch of tall, growing grass, which lent support to it and gave +the impression that a one-strand fence or a barrier of some sort had +been erected. + +The Chief referred to the two thin lines as walls, and assured me that +the antelope, if properly driven, would not break through them. + +He then drew my attention to the apparent opening at the narrow end of +the funnel, and asked me if I saw anything to prevent the Lechwe from +escaping in that direction. + +I said I could see no bar. He replied that the Lechwe couldn't either, +so, when pressed, would dash for the opening. + +"It is then that the sport will begin," he added. + +At this I looked more carefully and saw innumerable pikes had been +driven into the ground with their iron points sloping forward towards +the wire end of the funnel. The grass had been carefully rearranged. + +This, then, was the general plan: to drive the Lechwe into the funnel, +down it, and on to the pikes at the narrow end. + +In reply to my questions, he said that many thousands of beaters, drawn +from the slave tribes, had been wading through the swamps for two days +collecting small herds of antelope and driving them slowly forward +towards the mouth of the funnel. + +He drew a diagram with his stick on the side of the ant-heap to show how +the beaters were disposed. He had adopted the well-known African method +of envelopment--the crescent, with the horns well forward. The men who +formed the horns had already reached the extremities of the funnel and +were passing slowly down outside the line. The antelope, he told me, +were contained in the arc of men coming forward. + +As yet I could see no antelope, nor could I see the men who formed the +arc; they were still too far away. + +In the meantime, all the men who had come in small hunting canoes had +taken their places outside, but close to, the two thin lines or walls. +The moment they reached their stations they sat down and were lost to +view in the long grass. The Chief explained that these men remained +hidden until the Lechwe had passed them, when their business was to +stand up and frighten the antelope forward with shouts and +gesticulations. Should any Lechwe attempt to break through the sides of +the funnel, the canoemen had to drive them back or assegai them. + +I now knew what to expect. + +The Chief presently left me, as he, too, had to take up his station. He +begged me to keep myself hidden, as a premature exposure might easily +spoil the entire drive. + +I lay flat on the ant-heap, looking through a small gap which I made in +the tall grass which crowned it. I could see admirably, but could not be +seen. + +It was a long time before I could discern any movement, even at the +mouth of the funnel. I could hear the cries of the beaters as they +approached, faintly at first, then a hum, then a roar. + +Presently I saw a single reed-buck ram pacing very slowly towards the +concealed assegais. From time to time he stopped, stamped, sniffed and +whistled, scenting danger. What became of him, I don't know. I lost +sight of him. + +Looking through my glasses towards the entrance of the funnel again, I +saw a sight which made me gasp. Although the most distant beaters had +not yet appeared, a huge herd of Lechwe seemed literally to block the +funnel and were trotting steadily down it. Half way they stopped. A fine +ram turned and walked towards the left-hand wall. A man stood up and the +antelope turned in the direction of the opposite wall; he went at a trot +again and the immense herd followed him. When within twenty yards of the +palmleaf tape, some dozen men stood up. All the antelope but the ram +stopped. He, fine fellow that he was, made a bold bid for liberty. He +dashed on, gathered himself together, and cleared the fence. One of the +men in a canoe made a movement. It was too far off to see anything +clearly, but as the Lechwe landed in a heap, I realised that he had been +transfixed in mid-air by one of those heavy hunting assegais. + +The herd was not leaderless for long. Another ram forged ahead and +trotted straight towards the narrow end of the funnel. Immediately every +man sat down. It was clear that these hunters had been very well +drilled. + +After moving rapidly for a hundred yards the Lechwe came to a halt. They +were not as yet frightened, but highly suspicious. + +First, they turned at a walk towards the right-hand wall: a man stood +up. They moved across to the left: the first man sat down and his +opposite number stood up. The antelope broke into a trot. After heading +to the right again for a little way, some hundreds broke back, and this, +I think, is where the mistake was made, for, instead of leaving them to +the beaters, who were approaching, driving many more herds of Lechwe +before them, man after man stood up, shouting and waving their arms +wildly. + +This had the effect of breaking up the whole of the antelope formation. +They dashed here and there, thoroughly frightened; some broke through +the wall, some cleared it, some dashed right back, and others came on +towards the trap. + +I watched these last. There were several hundred of them. They came +along at a very fast trot, the rams with their heads forward, noses up, +and horns lying along their backs. A ram led. He struck one of the +hidden pikes full with his chest and gave a mighty leap into the air, +bleeding from a terrible wound in the brisket. He landed on the point of +another pike and bounded up from it, his entrails dragging behind him. +Much weakened, he leaped and leaped again until, completely +disembowelled, he fell and lay still. + +There was no escape, the pikes were set so closely together: not a foot +apart. They reached right across the gap in the funnel and to the depth +of forty or fifty yards. I do not think a single one of this part of the +large herd escaped. For the space of two minutes they were dashing past +me and on to the hidden pikes. Every one was disembowelled before it +fell dead--rams, ewes, and young alike. It was a disgusting sight. + +The natives were in a frenzy of excitement. No doubt their one idea was +to drive the Lechwe to the trap and in that they succeeded; but they +also drove a considerable part of the herd back upon the beaters, who +were pressing other herds before them. The confusion was complete. +Lechwe were dashing in all directions. Men were shouting and hurling +their assegais. A deafening roar rose from the beaters, now close in. +From time to time a score or so Lechwe dashed upon the pikes and added +to the slaughter. + +I saw a Setutunga approach the pikes leisurely out of the confusion. He +lifted his feet high at every step, a habit bred of life in the papyrus +swamps. A native appeared from nowhere in particular and running him +down killed him with a club. + +The drive was over. + +That evening when I met the Chief he was still furious. Someone had +blundered and most of the Lechwe had escaped. Moreover, a man in a small +canoe, hurling his heavy assegai at a Lechwe, had missed the beast and +killed his brother. The Chief's own cook and several of his companions +had been mauled out in the plain by a leopard. No, the drive had not +been a success by any means. + +I wondered what the bag would have been if all had gone well with the +Chief's plans. I had personally counted three hundred mutilated +carcasses, but, feeling sick, had given up the tally and returned to +camp. + + + + +THE LIONS OF MAKULULUMI. + + +How hot it was! September, 1897. I had not shot my first lion then, and +many, many months were to pass before my luck came. Dame Fortune doesn't +often condescend to glance my way. She smiled broadly once when, with +three tickets, I won first, second, and third prize in a sweep on the +Grand National; but then I have never drawn a prize in a sweep since. + +However, to return to September, 1897. Yes, by Jingo, it was hot. Not a +breath of air; not a leaf on any tree. The rains were almost due, but +not a shower had fallen. The only shade was in the shadow of the wagon. + +But it was not the blazing sun alone with which we had to contend. There +thrives in the Kalahari Desert a pestiferous little winged insect called +the Mopani bee, named after the hardwood tree in which it sets its hive. +It would seem that this creature must have moisture, moisture of any +kind--it isn't at all particular. And to think that I used to eat the +stuff they call Mopani honey until, one day, I saw a bunch of them +lapping up the moisture from a perspiring native runner. Ugh! + +These bees will congregate in dozens at the corners of your eyes, try +to burrow into them and then collect the tears which the discomfort of +their burrowing produces. They will crowd at the corners of your mouth; +when you open it to blow the little plagues away, they rush in. Thank +Heaven, the Mopani bee doesn't sting. + +We were struggling up to the Zambesi from Bulawayo. Our waggons were +overloaded, for the Kalahari had taken heavy toll of our cattle and our +spans were therefore many oxen short. + +We had reached and covered the first ten miles of the thirty-five which +separate Makululumi from Kasibi. All those who knew the old Hunter's +road will remember that stretch. The first ten miles are not bad going, +but the next seven are the heaviest and loosest sand that oxen were ever +asked to drag a waggon through. + +Between Makululumi and Kasibi there is no water, so the Major who +commanded our little party thought it wise to send the oxen back from +the ten-mile point to have the best part of a couple of days' rest at +Makululumi before calling upon them to tackle the next stage of the +journey. + +During the afternoon of the second day, by following my chief's example, +I got the better of those bees. It is true I was slowly suffocating, but +that was better than being tormented. I was lying on my back under the +waggon, with my head covered with a blanket, perspiring immoderately. At +least three more hours of this before the cattle returned and we resumed +our journey. + +Presently I heard a conversation going on in Dutch between the Major and +one of his boys. I looked out and saw one of the drivers who should have +been with the cattle. + +"What are you doing here?" the Major asked. + +"Lions, baas." + +"Where? How many? When?" + +"Last night at Makululumi. Yes, many of them, baas." + +"Any cattle dead?" + +"Four, baas." + +"Tell me about it." + +The driver told his story. It appeared that the night before, as soon as +it was dark, the boys had collected the cattle together and had driven +them up to the camp fires. The oxen stood about for a little while and +then settled down. Seeing this, the boys had turned in. When the moon +set, the cattle moved off to the water holes again to drink and graze. + +Presently there was a great commotion at the water, oxen bellowing and +stampeding. The boys got up and ran down with lights and a rifle. There +they found three of the oxen lying dead within a hundred yards of each +other, and a fourth, also dead, some little distance on. Each ox had his +neck broken, but was otherwise unmarked. One of the boys thought he +heard a lion in the grass, so fired his rifle off. + +Collecting the cattle again, they drove them up to the camp fires and +kept a strict watch for the remainder of the night. + +At daylight they went back to the scene of the killing, and found that +the lions had returned to the carcasses and made a heavy meal off two of +them, the third was half eaten, the fourth untouched. + +This was indeed a disaster; we simply couldn't spare these four oxen. + +"Where are the cattle now?" + +"At the water holes with the other boys." + +"What did you tell the other boys to do?" + +"Let the cattle graze until sundown, then water them and bring them +along." + +"Good. Now let's get busy." + +During this conversation I had got out from under the waggon and was now +listening. + +"What are you going to do?" I asked. + +"Go back and blot out some of those lions." + +"May I come, too?" + +"Have you ever shot a lion?" + +"No." + +"Have you ever seen one?" + +"Not outside the Zoo, but I should like to." + +"Well, you may come on one condition." + +"What's that?" + +"Don't shoot unless and until I tell you to." + +I promised. Here was adventure indeed! + +The Major took an axe and a length of cord. He handed me a billy-can, +two cups and some coffee. He selected a double .303 from his battery. I +took the only rifle I possessed, namely, a single Martini Metford. + +Without more ado we set off to cover the ten miles back to Makululumi. +There was no path, of course, merely the overgrown waggon track through +the forest. The traffic on that road was insufficient to cope with the +suckers which had sprung up round the stump of every tree felled in the +cutting of this so-called road. The men who originally made the road had +not troubled to stump it. The going was tiresome, and, lightly loaded as +I was, I soon found the little I had to carry an increasing burden to +me. + +About a mile from our destination we met the rest of our natives driving +the cattle along. We stopped for a few minutes to question them. They +had kept the vultures off the fourth ox, which was still intact, but +the birds had eaten up the other three almost entirely. A bushman had +arrived shortly before they came away, attracted by the circling +vultures. They made him stand guard over the yet untouched ox in case we +came back for the lion. + +All this was satisfactory, so, telling the boys to inspan the waggons +when they reached them, and make as long a trek as they could through +the heavy sand, we pushed on. + +We had no difficulty in finding the spot where the oxen had been killed. +Hundreds of vultures, gorged with meat, sat on the upper branches of a +clump of trees. A little further on an unusually tall bushman stood up +as we approached. + +The Major examined the lie of the land with an experienced eye, and +quickly made his plans. + +The Makululumi water holes are really a series of pools strung out along +the otherwise dry bed of a small river. Of three of the slaughtered oxen +little remained but the bones and hide; they had been killed in the bed +of the river. The fourth lay on the far bank, where the river made a +very sharp hairpin bend and narrowed to not more than a dozen feet. + +The Major selected a point as near as possible to the bank and +immediately opposite the dead ox. He didn't waste much time in +explanation, but, taking the axe, told me to follow him. The sun was +just beginning to set. He hurried to the nearest clump of small trees +and felled them rapidly, trimming off the branches and cutting them into +poles about six feet long. + +My part of the work was to carry the poles to the hairpin bend. Twenty +in all were cut, varying in thickness from two to five inches in +diameter. Then we built our moral support, for it was no more. I held +the tops of three poles while the Major tied them together with the +piece of cord which he had brought from the waggon. Then, standing them +on end, he spread them to form a tripod. This he reinforced with +additional poles, which he made fast with strips of bark. The finished +shelter looked like a skeleton bell-tent. It had neither strength nor +stability, for we had no time to sink the ends of the poles in the +sun-baked ground. + +By that time the sun had set, and the bushman, who had been watching us +silently all this time, said something in that strange clicking language +of his and hurried off, presumably to a place of safety. + +The Major thought a meal would do us good, and, going back along the +river until we came to a dry place where the banks were high, he lit a +fire. At the sight of a blaze I realised that I was cold. We did not +think of our coats in the heat of the midday sun. However, there was +nothing for it but to see the matter through. + +I felt quite comfortable after some bully-beef and bread, washed down +with two or three cups of hot coffee. + +At eight o'clock we returned to our fort as quietly as possible, +surprising on the way a hyena in the act of dragging off the hide of one +of the oxen. We had to crawl very carefully into our shelter for fear of +disturbing a pole and bringing the whole thing down about our ears. + +Once inside, I had ample time for reflection. We sat within three yards +of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. A +yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a +hundred yards, the grass had been burnt short; beyond that again was +long grass and thick bush. + +The moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five +hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and +the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. The ox, much +distended by a day's exposure to the blazing African sun, was too near +to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the +landscape on the other side of the river. We could distinctly hear the +hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the scraps +of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures. + +We sat facing the ox. The Major thought that if the lions came at all it +would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open +country for a considerable distance. + +Strangely enough, I felt extremely sleepy. We held a short whispered +consultation, and it was agreed that I should sleep while I could. The +Major promised to wake me if things became interesting. He wasn't +sleepy. + +I lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my +feet another. I slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the +hardness of the ground. Not only was the air at night cold by contrast +with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the +temperature. + +The sound of my companion's rifle woke me. Sitting up, I saw a lion in +the air, descending upon us. The Major fired again, and the lion fell +into the water-course, literally at our feet. I could see his rump and +tail quite plainly. His rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. His +bellowing must have been heard for miles around, and doubtless many a +bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it. + +I remember shouting at the top of my voice: "I can see his rump. Shall I +shoot?" + +The reply, I must admit, disconcerted me: "Rump's the wrong end, but if +he shows his head shoot it off." + +I watched the struggling beast so intently that I did not see that a +second lion had approached. He made his presence known to me by a roar +which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. He +was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. The Major fired and +the lion sprang forward. The noise was deafening. A chorus of two +wounded lions is something not often heard. + +I now watched the second lion. He dashed off towards the bush, changed +his mind and charged us. He came in great leaps, roaring as he came, +then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of +dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. All I could see was +his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now +enveloped both the lion and the dead ox. + +Again a steadying warning: "Don't shoot until you can see more of him +than that." + +As the Major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the +bush, grunting savagely as he went. + +"Here he comes again!" And so he did, bounding along as before and +bellowing so that I wondered whether our home of poles could stand the +vibration of sound. + +Again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the +bush. We heard him crashing through it until there was silence once +more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life. + +I must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. My heart thumped +like a sledge hammer. I longed to get out and stretch my legs. A great +deal of action had been compressed into a short space of time, probably +not more than ten minutes. To the Major's suggestion that we should have +a look at the dead fellow I responded with alacrity--too much +alacrity--my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came +crashing down upon his head. + +After extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood +looking at the lion. I followed him. + +I don't know why I did it--some sudden impulse for which I cannot +account--but I stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two +hands, looked into his eyes. + +I certainly heard the Major talking, and I distinctly heard what he +said. + +"What the devil are you doing, you damned young fool? Drop that head and +come away. How do you know he's dead?" + +I took no notice. I couldn't. I was terrified, hypnotised. I could do +nothing but stare and stare. + +No doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. It was +dying, not dead. It was a blazing, vivid, blinding light--as it were, +the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty +body. + +When at length I let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; I stood +shivering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something +not meant for him to see. + + + + +WHITE MEN AND BLACK. + + + + +WHITE MEN AT PLAY. + + +The white man is superior to the black and must show it in his manners +and deportment. + +This is an unwritten law, observed in the early days of any of our +African settlements. + +For the man who breaks this law the punishment is swift and severe: he +is shunned by his caste and colour. + +It is said, but it is nevertheless generally true, that as the +settlement prospers, so does this excellent law fall into abeyance. Men +without manners arrive and are soon in the majority. + +But in the beginnng, the white man watches himself very carefully. He +knows all eyes are upon him. He must not permit himself to unbend. In +the observance of the law, a man is very self-conscious and is apt to +seem stiff and unsympathetic. + +In the very, very early days of Kazungula the natives of the place +watched some white men relax, and the spectacle afforded them as much +pleasurable interest as the knowledge that they had been seen caused +pain to the white men. + +For many a day the natives of Kazungula commanded a ready audience +anywhere in the country, for had not they, and they alone, seen white +men at play? + +It came about in this way. + +A solitary white man stood on the north bank of the Zambesi river, +looking across to the other side. + +It was Knight, the Native Commissioner, who had for the last fortnight +expected daily the arrival of some waggons which carried his year's +provisions and other stores. He had little of anything left. No sugar, +very little tea, and a single bottle of gin represented his cellar. + +He longed each night for the usual "sundowner," but had determined not +to open his one remaining bottle, in case of accident. Just what he +meant by accident he could not have said. In answer to a direct question +he might have replied: "Oh, anything might happen, one never knows." + +To-night, for some reason unknown to himself, he was more impatient of +the sluggard waggons than usual. Would the darned things never come? + +The sun was setting and small flights of duck were going down stream to +the marshy feeding grounds. A goose passed in the same direction. + +The reed birds, in large noisy flocks, were choosing their roosting +place for the night. It seemed that they could not make up their minds. +No sooner had they settled in one patch of reeds than they started up +with much twittering in search of a better place. They had done this at +least a dozen times, and their indecision irritated the man. + +A plump kingfisher, sitting on a log almost at his feet, dived from time +to time into the shallow water and returned to his perch again. Knight +noticed that the busy bird usually returned with a tiny silver fish in +his bill, and mentally commended him for his good fishing. + +Well, the waggons hadn't come, and wouldn't come to-night. The sun had +set and it was growing dark. A chill wind sprang up and the reed birds +had become silent. The watcher turned slowly and walked in the direction +of his camp. + +He had not gone far when he stopped, for he had caught sight of a +queer-looking man hobbling towards him along the path which ran by the +river side. In the dying light he saw that the stranger was a white man +accompanied by a single native, that he wore a long blonde beard, that +he was unusually tall, that his trousers were cut off above the knee, +that he had no boots, that he was very lame and had his feet bandaged in +rags. In short, he saw a fellow white man in distress. + +He forgot his own little troubles and hastened towards the newcomer. + +He gave the usual greeting of "Hulloa." + +"Hulloa," was the reply. + +"Going a bit short, I see." + +"Yes, about done in." + +"Let me give you a hand to my camp." + +"Thanks; I heard I should find you here." + +"Come far to-day?" + +"Yes, from the Falls." + +"A good forty-five miles, by Jove!" + +"Yes, quite that, I should think." + +The two men relapsed into silence; the taller one because he was very +exhausted and felt it acutely now that he had reached his journey's end; +the shorter, because he realised his companion's condition and did not +wish to bother him with questions which could very well wait. + +On reaching the camp Knight shouted to his body servant: "Hot bath and +be quick!" Turning to his companion, he said: "You'd like a hot bath, +wouldn't you?" + +"There is only one thing on earth I should like better, but no doubt you +can give me both." + +"Oh, I know; you want a drink, of course. I'll get you one in a second. +Sit down." + +"Curse those waggons," muttered Knight, as he hurried off to get his +last bottle of gin. His second impulse was to thank goodness that the +bottle was a "baby," that is, one of the largest size. + +Returning with his precious "baby," he saw his guest's face clearly for +the first time. The natives had lit the camp fire, and the light of it +fell upon the strong features of the stranger. + +"Good Lord! It's Lindsay!" + +"Yes, why not? Didn't you recognise me at once?" + +"No. Will you have water or a sparklet with your gin?" asked Knight, +pouring out about half a glass of the spirit--a quantity known to +travellers as a "three-finger tot." + +"I'll chase it," said Lindsay, who, having gulped down the gin, held out +his glass for some water. + +"Bath ready, Morena," a black boy called from an adjoining hut. + +"Have another?" said his host. + +"No, thanks. I can face your hot bath now." + +The tired man entered the hut, followed by the native who had reached +the camp with him. + +Knight called his cook and took stock. What was there for dinner? Soup. +Oh, yes, there was always soup, made by boiling down bones and meat, +throwing in a few dried vegetables and thickening with peaflour. + +Fish? Good man; so he had caught some that very evening? Then there was +that cold bush-pig's head. Yes, they would like that. What else was +there? Remembering the leathery thing his cook called an omelette, he +discouraged a suggestion of eggs. + +To be sure, there were chickens. They had just gone to roost, and were +now quiet after a noisy bed-going. Yes, two very young ones +spatchcocked, and with plenty of black pepper and a little salt. And +there was one tinned plum pudding in the store; they would have that. + +This plum pudding had been suggested daily by the cook, and always +rejected because it might be wanted. It was wanted now. Yes, they would +have the plum pudding. + +And then there was the gin. Well, they wouldn't do so badly after all. +Soup, fish, chickens, the cold pig's head and a hot plum pudding; what +more could two men want? + +By this time Lindsay had splashed to his heart's content, and the +generous qualities of the gin were having their effect. He felt a new +man. + +"Are you out of your bath?" + +"Yes; can you give me some clean kit?" + +"Certainly, but will it fit you?" + +"Oh, near enough. It will be clean, which is the main thing." + +Much chaff ensued as Lindsay, who stood six feet three in his socks, got +into some of his host's clothes, for Knight was the shorter of the two +by some six inches, but fortunately broad in the shoulders. + +"Can't do you in boots." + +"Oh, that's all right. Give me some limbo[2] to tie up my feet." + + [2] Slang term for calico. + +During the bandaging the camp dogs began to bark loudly, and both men +paused to listen. + +"By the way," said Lindsay, "that must be Hobday. I walked on ahead of +him; he is so deuced slow. Do you know Hobday? He's 'pills' to our +expedition. Not a bad fellow, as doctors go." + +"No, I don't know him and you haven't told me what the expedition is or +anything about anything yet." + +"Well, we've walked across country from Zanzibar, or rather Mombasa, +looking for minerals." + +"Found anything?" + +"No." + +"Well, I'd better go and look out for--what did you say his name was?" + +"Hobday, quite a little fellow." + +Knight went out of the hut and, as he passed the kitchen, ordered +another bath and told the cook that as a second white man was arriving +he must kill another chicken. + +Almost immediately Hobday arrived. He was a short, precise little man, +inclined to tubbiness. + +"How do you do? My name is Mr. Hobday. I am the medical man attached to +an important expedition headed by Mr. J.G. Lindsay, who may not be +unknown to you." + +To this long-winded greeting Knight replied: "Well, come along and have +a drink and a hot bath and a change, and by that time dinner will be +ready. Lindsay's here." + +"I do not often indulge in alcoholic beverages and never in the daytime, +but after a very tiring day----" + +"Say when. Will you have a sparklet with it or do you prefer water?" + +"Er, thanks, a sparklet if you please. I am of opinion that the +sparklet is a very useful invention. What would not that great traveller +and hunter, Gordon Cumming, have given for what amounts to a portable +soda-water factory? Ah, thank you, that is ample. And, as I always tell +my patients, if they must drink alcohol, they will find in gin its least +harmful form." + +"What a queer little devil," thought Knight. + +"I am greatly obliged to you for this stimulant, and now I shall be +further and deeply indebted to you if I may have a bath. I always say +that a hot bath, when one is tired, revives one more quickly and +effectually than anything else." + +Knight found it difficult to reply suitably to this, and was relieved +when the bath was announced and the doctor disappeared into the hut. + +Lindsay looked extremely funny in Knight's clothes. The old shooting +jacket was a little short in the skirt and sleeves. The trousers reached +half way down the tall man's shins, but he felt clean and comfortable +and appearances didn't matter. + +"Have another?" + +"Thanks." + +The two men sat and talked whilst the third bathed. + +The rest of the expedition had remained at the Victoria Falls. There +were a dozen white men altogether, and about a hundred and fifty +natives. Lindsay heard that Knight was at Kazungula and came on to see +him. The pair had been through the Matabele rebellion together, and had +had other experiences in common. Hobday had insisted on coming too. His +devotion to "The Head of the Expedition" rather embarrassed Lindsay. He +was not a bad fellow on the whole, and a very capable doctor. The rest +of the men with the exception of Gray--Knight knew Gray--were +professional prospectors, good enough men at their particular job but a +troublesome lot on an expedition. + +No, they hadn't found anything really worth while, Lindsay thought, but +some indications of oil might turn out a big thing. + +Yes, they were going straight home from the Falls by way of Bulawayo, +Salisbury and Beira, and if any of them came back to have another look, +it would be this way and not in from Mombasa. + +The question "Have another?" had been asked and satisfactorily answered +before Hobday reappeared. He looked quite as funny in his host's clothes +as Lindsay did. The only difference was that the coat and trousers +supplied to him were as much too big for him as they were too small for +Lindsay. + +Hobday began to apologise for his appearance, but the announcement that +dinner was ready cut short the unnecessary speech. + +All three were hungry, the two visitors especially so. + +If, during dinner, Hobday noticed that a native replenished his glass +whenever it was empty, he made no protest. + +The conversation almost at once turned to England, to London, and what +each man had seen and done when last there. Towards the end of the meal +dancing was the topic. These new dances, the jazz, the hesitation, the +two-step, the fox-trot, and the rest; all agreed that they were +impossible, that there was little difference, if any, between them and +the average Kaffir dance. Hobday became quite eloquent on the subject, +and, as they moved to chairs set ready for them round a camp fire, +gravely stepped a measure which he was pleased to call the stately +waltz, and then proceeded to contrast it with what he termed the +ridiculous prancings of the present day. + +Although the uncomplimentary terms which he applied to modern dancing +could with equal justice have been applied to the waltz as danced by +him, his companions agreed and fell to talking again of dances they had +been to when last at home. + +Suddenly Lindsay said: "Why shouldn't we have a dance? One could hum the +tune while the other two dance. We can take it turn and turn about to +him. You and Hobday dance first and I'll hum. Why not?" + +And thus began the dance which is talked of to this day by the natives +who saw it. + +Lindsay hummed the "Eton Boating Song" whilst Knight and Hobday waltzed +round and round the fire. Although he bobbed about in an unnecessarily +energetic manner, it was clear to Knight that Hobday had been inside a +ballroom. + +Then Knight sat down and hummed the "Blue Danube," but very badly, and +with many notes strange to the tune, for Lindsay was six foot three and +Hobday only five foot four! + +Then Knight and Lindsay danced to the "Merry Widow," hummed by Hobday. +They really got on very well together in spite of Lindsay's bandaged +feet, for both, in civilisation, were adjudged good dancing men. + +After that they each had some light refreshment in the shape of another +tot of gin, and it was then that Hobday showed himself to be a man of +imagination. + +"Let's all dance now," he said. "Let's dance the Lancers." + +"How?" said Lindsay, "we are only three and there should be at least +eight for the Lancers." + +"That don't matter," replied Hobday, "you two fellows take sides, I'll +do top and bottom; our partners--well, they're in England, don't you +see?" + +And so it came about that in the heart of Africa, under the star-lit +sky, three sane and more or less sober Englishmen danced right through +the Lancers from beginning to end, one taking top and bottom, the other +two the sides, whilst their partners were present only in the mind of +each. + +After the dance they stood silently round the dying fire, gazing into +the embers. + +Who can say what fair forms and faces they saw there? + + * * * * * + +It was Knight who kicked the logs of the fire together and so brought +about a sudden blaze. + +"What's that?" asked Lindsay, peering into the darkness. + +All looked and saw the whites of innumerable black men's eyes reflecting +the camp firelight. Then there was a patter of many feet as the silent +witnesses to the dance hurried away. + + + + +ON THE BUILDING OF BRIDGES. + + +If, in the course of conversation, a Rhodesian referred to "the Old +Man," his fellow Rhodesians knew that Cecil John Rhodes was meant. + +No one who knew him personally spoke of that great man as Rhodes; in +Rhodesia such familiarity was impertinence. + +If anyone in the Bulawayo Club said: "Rhodes told me ..." we turned our +backs, as we knew the fellow was about to lie. + +No, it must be "Mr. Rhodes" or "the Old Man." + +I, personally, never got beyond "Mr. Rhodes" in his lifetime, and I +don't see why I should now that he is dead. + +As I was about to remark, the best piece of imaginative work that Mr. +Rhodes ever did was to plan the Cape to Cairo Railway. It has not been +carried out yet, but that doesn't matter; one day we shall see it, +unless flying kills the train. + +The corner-stone to this imaginative piece of work is, without a doubt, +the bridge over the Victoria Falls. + +I watched that bridge being built, not girder by girder, of course, but +generally speaking. Old Mkuni watched it girder by girder. + +Mkuni was a fine old savage, who had, in his far off younger days, +carved out a little kingdom for himself. He possessed the left bank of a +little river called the Maramba, some square miles of rock, a few acres +of good land, and--the Victoria Falls. + +A man who could establish his claim to the Falls has a right to be +regarded as of some importance. + +Within the memory of man a large herd of elephants went over the Falls +and whirled in the Boiling Pot below--a noble offering to the spirits +who dwell there. Anyone who denies that the Falls are the abode of +spirits is a fool, be he white man or black. + +Old Mkuni looked after the Falls and ministered in divers ways to the +wants of the spirits who inhabited the place. He it was who, in fair and +fierce battle, took this precious spot from old Sekute, the wall-eyed +ruffian who used to live on the north bank of the Zambesi. + +To hide his defeat from the eyes of passing natives, old Sekute set up a +noble avenue of poles from the river to his village. On every pole he +placed a human skull; these, he vowed, were the headpieces of Mkuni's +men. Mkuni could afford to laugh, for did not he and all the world know +that some of the grim trophies were the heads of Sekute's own followers, +slain by Mkuni's men and added to at the expense of half a hundred of +Sekute's own slaves? All this was before Livingstone discovered the +Falls. + +So you see, when all is said and done, Mkuni was a man worthy of +respect. He always had mine, and we were fast friends. + +It fell to my lot to tell him of the bridge which would stand astride +the tumbling waters. He was interested, and gave his consent without +reserve. + +When he asked me how it was going to be done, I had to confess I did +not know; engineering feats are not in my line. + +"Are you going to build it, Morena?" + +"No." + +"Who then will build this bridge?" + +"The people of the Great Man." + +"The King of all the white men?" + +"No, not he himself, but one of his greatest men." + +"If the King would build it, I should believe, or," he added most +politely, "if you would build it, I should agree that it can be done, +but what do others know of bridges?" + +This was a little difficult to answer, so I told him to watch. + +Mkuni took my words literally; he did watch. He could be seen daily +perched upon a rock overlooking the work, surrounded by a large number +of his own people. + +From time to time strangers from inland added to the watchers. To all +Mkuni held forth: + +"Am not I an old man now? Have I not killed many in battle? Did I not +take the thundering smoke from a certain person? Who then knows so much +of the building of bridges as I?" + +With this inconsequent line of argument the crowd of watchers would +murmur full agreement. + +"When a man builds a small hut, is a pole from the ground to the roof +necessary?" + +"No," from his audience. + +"That is true, but if a man builds a hut as high as Heaven, is not a +pole necessary?" + +All agreed that it was so. + +"But see now these white men, who build a bridge across the thundering +smoke. It is not the King of the white men who builds, nor he who +collects from us the Hut Tax, but strangers. They build this bridge from +the north bank and from the south, but where is the pole to hold up the +roof of the bridge?" + +From day to day Mkuni's supporters increased in number. + +"Come and see the white man's bridge fall into the tumbling waters," was +his daily invitation, and many came. + +"I am sorry for these white men, for they work to no profit." + +And Mkuni's adherents increased. + +But, in spite of all, the work progressed. The thin steel arms flung out +from either bank crept nearer daily towards the clasping of hands, and +yet the bridge did not fall. + +Poor old Mkuni, firm in his belief, found it hard to stomach the +thinning in the number of his fellow watchers. He became highly +indignant. In vain he talked--piled unanswerable argument upon argument +unanswerable. Someone put it about that there was nothing the white man +could not do. Many agreed with this, and went home. + +At last the engineer who built the Victoria Falls Bridge saw his work +complete. + +Mkuni, too, saw that the work was finished--all but the pole in the +middle to keep it from tumbling down. + +Under all his anxiety the poor old man had shrunk visibly; so, too, had +the number of those who believed in him, and had come at his invitation +to watch with him the disaster which he assured them must overtake that +bridge. + +Poor old Mkuni! + +It must be admitted that there is something of the gentleman about the +raw, untutored savage, for when the first train had crossed safely over +the Victoria Falls Bridge, Mkuni stood alone on his rock. No one +remained as witness to his discomfiture. + +He climbed slowly down to his village. Everyone in it was busy with his +or her ordinary daily occupation; all strangers had quietly gone their +several ways. + + + + +THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. + + +R. E. Baker was engaged as conductor of our waggons on one of our +journeys from Bulawayo to the Zambesi, and a more capable cattle-man +than he did not, I am sure, exist between the Cape and Cairo. + +If an ox wouldn't pull, he made it. If an ox went sick, he cured it with +amazing rapidity. + +Baker, though English by descent, was a Cape Dutchman through and +through. A bad-natured ox he named "Englishman," and flogged the +wretched beast into a better frame of mind. + +On the other hand, he would walk miles to find good grazing for his +cattle, and to see Baker caress an ox was a thing to remember. Not being +a cattle-man myself, I thought our conductor was gouging out the eye of +an ox. It certainly looked uncommonly like it. He was forcing his fist +with a rotary movement into the beast's eye. + +In answer to my questioning, he explained that he was caressing the ox, +that cattle appreciated the attention; you had to be vigorous or you +tickled the poor thing, and oxen didn't like being tickled. + +He was obviously right, for each ox, as Baker approached, seemed to +know what to expect and tamely submitted. + +A few days out from Bulawayo Baker came back from the water carrying +fish. He had caught them, he said, in the large water-hole. It never +occurred to me that there would be any fish in the almost dried-up +rivers which we crossed from time to time. Baker assured me that where +there was water there were fish, but you must know how to catch them. + +A day or two later we outspanned close to some water-holes. Baker said +he was going to catch some fish, and asked me whether I would like to +come too. I said I should, and began unpacking a rod and some tackle +which I had bought in London with the intention of fishing for +tiger-fish in the Zambesi. + +Baker watched me unpack and make my selection. He seemed much amused. +Presently he drew from his pocket his own tackle, which appeared to me +to be a confused mass of tangled string and hooks. + +We set out. Baker stopped at a small deep hole containing clear water. +It was my turn to smile. The pool he was going to fish in was a little +larger than a water-butt. + +I went on, and found a fairly long pool. The water was rather muddy, and +I found little depth anywhere. However, I hoped for the best, and fished +just clear of the bottom. I used as bait a small piece of meat from a +wild pigeon's breast, recommended by Baker. + +I have a certain amount of patience, but not, I fancy, quite sufficient +to entitle me to describe myself as a fisherman. After about two hours +of this fiddling, I gave it up and went in search of Baker. + +To my amazement, he had quite a score of fish on the grass by his side. + +"Did you catch all those?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +"In that hole?" + +"Why, yes." + +"How on earth do you do it?" + +By way of reply he asked me how many I had caught. I said, "None." + +"Ah," said Baker, "you shouldn't fish, you should angle. Watch me." + +I sat down and watched. + +Baker had a short, thick stick in his hand. From the end of the stick +hung a thick piece of whipcord. On the end of the cord he had a stone +with a hole in it, what we, as children, used to call a lucky stone. +Just above the stone he had tied a skinned pigeon--the whole bird. Hooks +radiated in every direction from the bird; hooks set at every +conceivable angle--dozens of hooks. From time to time Baker threw a few +breadcrumbs at his bait. I could plainly see the small fish cluster +round. Now and then he struck sharply. Nearly every time he fouled a +small fish, mostly under the jaw or in the belly. Each time he hooked a +fish he repeated: "My lad, you shouldn't fish; you should angle." + +When we reached the Gwai River, Baker produced a long hand-line with an +immense hook on the end of it. The bait he used was a lump of washing +soap. I didn't go with him because I wasn't ready and he was impatient +to begin. + +"We shall catch big barbles here," said Baker. + +I followed him, and saw him throw his lump of soap well out into the +river. I stood on the bank above and watched. + +Baker lit his pipe, looked up and down the river, and at his line. Then +he shifted the line to his left hand, which he lifted to his left ear. +With his right he made a winding movement close to his head, and said: +"'Ullo! Exchange; put me on to Mr. Barble, please, miss." + +To my intense amusement, and to Baker's obvious surprise, there was a +sharp tug at the line. He remained for a while with his hand suspended +near his right ear as though still on the handle of the old-fashioned +telephone instrument. Then he gave a violent strike. But the barble--if +indeed it was a barble--had had time to spit out the piece of soap and +so escape. + +Baker, still unaware of my presence, said: "Damn the fellow!" He shifted +the line to his right hand, and went through the pantomime of getting on +to the Exchange again, this time ringing with his left hand. + +"'Ullo! Is that you, Exchange? Put me on to Mr. Barble again, please, +miss." + +No response from the fish. + +"'Ullo! Exchange! What? No answer from Mr. Barble? Gone to lunch, eh?" + +I moved off quietly up the river, and in course of time succeeded in +catching a mud-fish weighing forty-eight pounds. I came back a couple of +hours later, and found Baker had landed two immense fish of the same +kind; one weighed fifty-three pounds and the other fifty-nine. He had +also caught a poisonous looking eel. How he had landed these monsters he +would not tell me; he contented himself with repeating: "My lad, you +mustn't fish; you must angle." + +When we reached the Zambesi, Baker almost neglected his cattle. He had +never seen this grand river before. He at once got out a line and went +"angling." + +Coming down the river bank, I saw Baker standing on a rock a few yards +from the bank. + +Sitting on the bank was an old man, watching him. + +"Any luck?" said I. + +"No." + +"Been here long?" + +"Not very long, but that old man talks too much to please me." + +I looked down at the old man. He looked up at me. He greeted me in the +local language. In his language I replied. Whereupon he calmly said: "I +have been telling that white man that from the rock on which he stands a +crocodile took a woman yesterday." + +I hurriedly translated. Baker did no more angling that day! He thought +the old man had been saying "How do you do?" to him. + +In the end we converted Baker to our way of fishing, so that he became +an expert spinner and killed many a noble tiger-fish. But he had a +mishap the first day he used a rod which almost decided him not to use +one again. He was fishing from the bank for bream, which run large in +that part of the river. He used a float for the first time. Presently +his float disappeared. Baker struck upwards, using both hands. He pulled +his fish out of the water, but with such force that it flew over his +head and fell with a splash into a pond behind--free. + +I think we just saved him from an immediate return to "angling" by +pretending not to have seen his discomfiture. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE GREAT OCCASION. + + +The news spread quickly that the "Great Man," his wife and some friends +were coming north of the Zambesi to shoot. Williams, the Native +Commissioner, heard it from the boy who looked after his fowls a full +week before he received official warning from Headquarters. + +How the chicken-boy heard of it remains a mystery. He who can tell you +how news travels so rapidly in Africa can no doubt explain; but in +answer to questioning, the boy replied: "People say so." + +Thanks to this advance notice, Williams had time to make his plans at +leisure. He had experience of native rumours of this kind, and, +invariably acting upon them, gained a reputation for good organising. + +No doubt the Sovereign's representative would want to shoot lion, +buffalo, eland, sable, and, in addition, at least a specimen of each of +the lesser inhabitants of the plain and forest. Well, he would do this +and that and the other, and it would not be Williams's fault if a +thoroughly representative bag were not made. + +Like all sportsmen in official positions, living far from Headquarters +and having a large district to control, Williams knew exactly where the +game was most plentiful. He kept the information to himself as a general +rule, for he well knew that if he did not do so his special reserves +would soon cease to exist. + +But for the direct representative of the King nothing was too good. + +Williams made his plans, built a camp and awaited the arrival of his +visitors. + +Two days before the "Great Man" was due to arrive, old Garamapingwe, the +musician, passed that way. He stopped to pay his respects to Williams. + +"Good day, my father." + +"Good day to you, Garamapingwe." + +"What are the news, my Chief?" + +"I look to you for news." + +"Oh, there is nothing but the coming of the 'Great Man.'" + +"Yes, he is coming." + +"I should like to see the 'Great Man.'" + +"You shall, Garamapingwe." + +"Much thanks to you, my Chief." + +An idea occurred to Williams. No doubt the sport which he had planned to +provide would be excellent, but what about the evenings spent round the +camp fire after dinner? + +It might happen that his guests did not want to play bridge. He himself +detested the game--most unnatural of him, but there it was. He disliked +"shop" out of hours, and one could have too much talk of personal +experiences. He must provide for a possible gap. + +How many men in a thousand had heard native African music? Not the stuff +you can hear any day from the boys' compound at the back of the house, +but music, worthy of the name of music, made by men like Garamapingwe? +Very few. + +So Williams added to his plan. + + * * * * * + +It was Friday. The Great Man had been shooting for three days. The first +two were decidedly promising. Nothing very wonderful had been shot, but +very fair heads of eland, buffalo, roan and waterbuck had been secured +by various members of the party. + +The Great Man had done fairly well, but he was perhaps more at home with +a shot gun. + +But Friday had been a bad day. At the Great Man's request Williams had +gone with him to look for Sable antelope. So far no one had shot a +Sable. Well, they came across Sable, and in this manner. + +At daylight all had gone their several ways. + +The Great Man and Williams had gone east. Good luck, Sable spoor and +quite fresh. Williams was a fair tracker: he had picked up something of +the art from the bushmen down south. They followed it, Williams leading, +carefully. The report of a rifle in the distance! The Great Man stopped. +Williams felt savage. Who was this poaching? Who had left his beat and +jumped their claim? He motioned the Great Man to sit down. + +They waited. + +They waited for ten minutes and then the snapping of a twig, somewhere +to the left, attracted Williams's attention. + +By Jingo, there they were, the Sable. + +Led by a cow, a noble herd of Sable antelope came slowly through the +forest. + +The Great Man looked at Williams, who grinned and commanded quiet by +lifting his hand. + +On they came, cows, cows and more cows. Where was the bull? Surely a +big bull accompanied such a herd of cows? + +More cows and young bulls, but as yet no big, black, outstanding bull. + +Williams was puzzled. + +The Great Man became restive under inaction: to him there was no +apparent difference between a cow and a bull. He had never seen Sable +antelope before. + +The huge herd filed past within forty yards. + +Still no bull. + +The Great Man looked at Williams and his expression was none too +pleasant. + +Williams felt desperate. He began to think it best after all to let the +Great Man kill a good cow and have done with it when, looking to the +left, he saw the bull. It was the bull! Black as ink, with a snow-white +belly. Horns seemed above the average. + +A great spasm of joy gripped Williams's heart. Here was a bull worthy of +the Great Man, the direct representative of the Sovereign. + +In response to a sign from Williams, the Great Man looked, saw, raised +his rifle and--Williams checked him. Good Heavens, what was the matter +with that bull? Seemed to be going short, off fore. It couldn't be. + +Then he motioned to the Great Man to take his shot. The next moment the +noble bull crashed to the ground and the cows filed on at a gallop and +so out of sight. + +"A good shot and a good bull, Sir," said Williams, but he was conscious +of a sickening sense of dread. + +They hurried up. The bull lay stone dead with a bullet exactly placed +behind the shoulder. + +"Shall I mark out the head skin for you, Sir? You'll want to keep this +head?" + +"Yes, please." + +Williams worked like a man possessed. He cut the sleek, black skin from +the withers to the brisket as the bull lay. Without moving the carcass +he made a slit up the mane to the base of the skull. Here he stopped and +listened. He heard something. Footsteps approaching. With a gasp of +despair he dropped his hunting knife and faced the way the bull had +come. + +Curse the fellow! There he was; the Great Man's A.D.C., babbling like +the fool he was. He was talking in English to the native who accompanied +him. "Are you sure you are on the right track?" The native said nothing +because he didn't understand one word of any language but his own. The +A.D.C. headed straight for the Great Man's bull. Presently he looked up +and walked forward smiling. + +"Hullo, Soames, what are you doing here in my patch of country?" + +"I hit a Sable bull about two miles back and followed him." + +"You hit a bull?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"So I have killed your bull for you, have I?" + +"Oh no, Sir. It's your bull, of course." + +"My dear boy, I know the laws of shooting. Mr. Williams, was this bull +hit before I killed him?" + +"I'll look, Sir," said Williams, feeling like a detected thief. + +Fancy having to say "yes" to the question! There was the bullet hole in +the off fore fetlock. What a shot! + + * * * * * + +The party dined under a sense of restraint that night. The Great Man +congratulated his A.D.C. on having secured a fine bull, but that didn't +improve matters. + +After dinner it was a silent party round the camp fire. + +Williams spoke. + +"Would you like to hear some African music, Sir?" + +"Very much indeed. Do you play?" + +"No, Sir, but I have a man here." + +"By all means let us hear him." + +Garamapingwe was sent for. + +The old musician came, followed by two other natives. He himself carried +two curious looking musical instruments, one of the men carried another; +the third man, led by a little native boy, was blind and empty handed. + +The three natives greeted the Great Man suitably who as suitably +replied. + +They then sat down on the other side of the fire and Garamapingwe struck +a few bold chords. No common musician he. + +Williams said something in the vernacular to Garamapingwe, who replied. + +"What did he say?" asked the Great Man. + +"I asked him what he was going to sing," replied Williams, "and he said: +'The Song of the Great Occasion.'" + +"Will you please ask him what this great occasion is of which he is +going to sing?" + +The question was put and the reply translated. "The great occasion is +the visit paid to our poor country by the Great Man who represents the +King of the white men." + +"How very interesting! Please tell him to proceed." + +Garamapingwe sang and played vigorously. He played an instrument with +either hand. His companion played one with both his hands. The blind +man droned in chorus to Garamapingwe's recitative. It was a very fine +performance. The Great Man had an ear for music. Williams was delighted, +for the Great Man seemed both pleased and interested. + +The second verse was ended and the third began, when suddenly the blind +man leaped into the air, interrupting the harmony with a piercing +shriek. + +All but Williams and the natives thought this part of the performance. +They were not left long in doubt. Clutching wildly at his clothing, the +blind man moaned and moaned and moaned. He stripped himself and turned +to the fire to be inspected by his fellows. The Great Man's wife fled to +her tent. Williams had the musicians hustled away. + +A large scorpion had crept up and stung the blind man as he sat. + +Thus the song of the Great Occasion ended abruptly. + + + + +THE DESCENT OF MAN. + + +Randall was skinning a monkey. He had shot two monkeys during the +morning and had already skinned one of them. He collected monkeys and +had done so steadily for years. + +Randall was District Commissioner and Magistrate of a large tract of +British Africa. One of the many men who live and die unheard of by the +British public; men who quietly but efficiently "administer" England's +African possessions. + +Some day, perhaps, England may realise what a debt it owes to these +unknown men. + +I was Randall's assistant. I had served for four years; that is to say, +one year beyond the probationary period. I had made good to the extent +of getting on the Establishment, and held the rank of Assistant Native +Commissioner. + +Randall had been in the Service for twenty-three years. In his dealings +with the natives he was firm and just. He had a deep sympathy for the +people entrusted to his care, but he successfully concealed it from +them. He used to say to me "Play the game with your people but don't +slobber over them, they don't understand that sort of thing." + +It has often been said that all men who have spent more than ten years +in the heart of Africa are mad. I have known few saner men than Randall, +but I cannot deny that he had one peculiarity: he collected monkeys. + +I could never understand why he shot the wretched things, or why he +skinned them in such a peculiar way. Let me explain. + +Randall only shot one kind of monkey, and only the mature male of that +kind. Having bagged his monkey, he would consult a shabby little black +pocket-book, make an entry in it, and then set to work to skin the +beast. + +From watching him I gathered this much: he kept only the head and +shoulders and one arm of each monkey. Sometimes it was the right arm, +sometimes the left, never both. Some kind of calculation in the +pocket-book appeared to be necessary before he could determine which arm +he wanted. + +I also observed that he carefully cleaned all particles of flesh from +the skull and arm bones and, having put some preservative on the skin, +wrapped it round the skull and bones, making a neat little parcel of the +whole. After labelling the specimen, he packed it away in a box which +was carried, wherever he travelled, by his body servant, Monga. + +On reaching the Station, after a journey in the District, Monga and his +master would repack the contents of the box in a large tin-lined case. +Randall had three such cases. Two of them were quite full, the third +nearly so. + +I never questioned Randall about his hobby. Once I shot a monkey and +gave it to Monga, thinking his master would skin it; but he did not; he +simply told his man to throw it away. As he said nothing to me about it, +I let the matter drop and made no more advances. + +As I said before, on this particular morning Randall had shot two +monkeys. He decided to keep the left arm in each case. Monga was +squatting on the ground in front of him, holding the body of the dead +monkey whilst his master skinned it. The pair were silent; from long +practice Monga knew exactly what was required of him and needed no +instructions. Presently Randall said "This is the last one, Monga: no +more monkeys after this one." + +Monga accepted the statement without comment, but it set me speculating +afresh upon the object of Randall's quaint hobby. However, as my Chief +offered no explanation, I did not ask for one. + +When the skinning was all but done, Monga permitted himself to remark, +"Monkeys were men like me once, Morena." + +Randall paused and looked gravely at Monga for a moment; then, bending +to his task once more, he said, "Monga, I believe you, tell me more." + +Now, if Monga resembled anything, it was a monkey. His eyes were set +close together, his nose was very small, his lower jaw protruded +slightly, and his forehead was very low and much puckered. I saw the +humour of the conversation and wanted to laugh, but to have done so +would, I felt, have lowered me in the estimation of my Chief. Randall +had once said to me: "Blackmore, in spite of your ridiculous name, you +should get on in the Native Department. Had your name been Whitelaw, or +even Smith, you would not have been handicapped. You have a stupid name +to live down, for this is a black man's country. However, always +remember this: never laugh with a native, and only laugh at him if he is +deserving of punishment and you wish to punish him. Only a fool beats a +native; ridicule is a cleaner form of punishment, and not as +brutalising." + +I suppressed my desire to laugh, and Monga resumed. + +"Yes, Morena, monkeys were men once just the same as we are. They lived +in their own villages in nice huts; they had their own chiefs, and spoke +like people do. + +"But they became lazy--lazy to hoe their fields and to weed them; lazy +to build their huts and to plaster them. So they said to each other: 'It +is a bad thing to work; let us go to the forest and live there, and we +will find fruits in the forest to eat.' So they went to the forest and +lived there. + +"One day one said: 'Are we not tired of making clothes? Let us grow hair +on our bodies that we may be warm always.' And all agreed and grew hair +on their bodies. + +"When the autumn came, and the grain in the lands was ripe, the lazy +ones came to steal from the men's gardens. The men tried to watch their +gardens, but the thieves were too clever. + +"The monkeys had their servants, and when they wanted food they sent +their servants on to see if there were any men in the lands. If there +were no men there they would steal corn and pumpkins and melons and +calabashes, and carry them away to the forest. + +"And if they found a sleeping man watching the fields they passed by him +gently; and when they had finished stealing they would cut some twigs +and beat him severely. And when the man woke up and began to run away, +they would laugh at him and mock him. + +"When the monkeys returned to the forest with the foods which they had +stolen, they lit fires and cooked them. Then the people, seeing the +smoke, came with sticks and assegais, and beat some monkeys and killed +others. + +"Then the monkeys said: 'It is not good to have fire, for the men see it +and come and kill us.' So now the monkeys steal when the men are not +looking, and eat the food uncooked in the trees at night." + +Randall made only one comment. He asked Monga where the monkeys got +their tails from. But Monga admitted that he did not know. + +Randall had now finished his skinning, and had made the usual neat +little parcels; Monga brought the box and carefully packed them in with +the rest. + +The travelling box was quite full! + + * * * * * + +A few days later Randall developed black-water fever and died. We +carried his body back to the Station and buried him at the foot of a +large baobab tree. The natives for many miles round attended. + +When all was over, and Randall's successor was on his way to take charge +of the district, Monga came to me and reminded me that there were some +monkey skins in the travelling box to be packed away in the large +tin-lined case. As he knew more of his master's strange hobby than I +did, he did the packing whilst I looked on. + +When the last skin had been transferred I realised that the case was +quite full, and would not have held another one. This, I remember, +struck me as being uncanny. Between us we soldered up the tin lining and +nailed on the lid of the case. + +Then Monga looked at me for instructions. This set me thinking. Why on +earth did Randall collect monkeys? I examined the lids of the cases and +found his name and home address neatly painted on each. Clearly, +therefore, he had intended to take them home. But this did not explain +why he had collected them. I thought of the shabby little black +note-book, so went into the house and looked through it. All I could +gather was that Randall had collected three hundred and eighty +right-armed and one hundred and twenty left-armed skins. Five hundred +wretched monkeys--and what for? And why not two hundred and fifty right +arms and two hundred and fifty left; or why not all right or all left? + +I went back to where Monga stood by the cases, and asked him why his +master had collected the monkeys. He seemed surprised at my question; it +apparently never occurred to him to inquire into the why and the +wherefore of any of his master's acts. He seems to have accepted all his +master did or said as a matter of course. + +The whole thing was monstrous. I could not send the wretched things to +his people at home. They would think him mad, as perhaps he was as +regards his hobby, but no saner man ever lived so far as anything else +was concerned. + +Then I had an inspiration. I ordered a large hole to be dug at the foot +of another tree, which stood about a hundred yards from that under which +Randall's grave lay. Into this hole I had the three cases carried, and +the earth shovelled back. Monga didn't disapprove, or, if he did, he +made no protest. I think he took the whole thing as a matter of course, +as was his way. + +I never found out, nor can I imagine, why Randall collected the heads +and shoulders of five hundred monkeys--three hundred and eighty with +right arms and one hundred and twenty with left arms attached. + +Someone reading this story may guess or may know. For myself, I frankly +admit defeat. + + + + +THE RAILWAY CONTRACTOR. + + +Bositi had returned to his village after six years' absence. Most of the +time he had spent on the railway construction, where the work was heavy +and the pay light. In physique he was improved almost beyond +recognition. + +The large blue-and-yellow tin box which he carried on his head contained +the miscellaneous goods upon which he had spent some of his wages. Much +of his money had gone in drink, more in gambling. + +After Bositi had been away two years the headman and elders presumed his +death. So, too, did his wife; she married again, and had presented her +new husband with two children. + +Bositi was unreasonable about it. On being told that he was supposed to +be dead, he insulted the headman and beat the woman who was once his +wife. When her husband protested, he beat him too. + +After he had thus relieved his feelings he opened his box, and took from +it many strings of pink and white beads; these he gave to the mothers of +the pretty marriageable girls of the village. In return he received much +strong beer. The beer made him drunk--too drunk to beat or insult anyone +else, but not too drunk to grasp securely in a moist hand the key of +his precious box. + +Next morning he made his peace with the headman by giving him a hat, but +he rudely rebuffed his late wife, whose cupidity was excited by the size +of that blue-and-yellow tin box. + +He also made friends with the men of the village--not excluding him who +had married his wife--by distributing pieces of strong twist tobacco. + +After a few days' rest he made certain selections from the treasure in +his box and set out for the Chief's village. When there he showed off. +He wore his best clothes, and spoke bad English fluently and loudly in +the traders' stores. While his money lasted the traders suffered him; +when it was spent he was told not to come again. + +The Chief soon heard of him and sent for him. + +Bositi had never been presented at Court before. He was immensely +impressed. He squatted in the sand, one of a long row of strangers to +the capital, with his gifts neatly folded before him. Immediately in +front of him was a long thatched building. Three sides of it were closed +in with reed mats, the fourth was open to the public. This, a lounger +told him, was the National Council House, or Khotla. + +The Chief had not yet arrived, but his orchestra was playing idly. It +consisted of three gigantic harmonicas and a number of drums. The +instrumentalists showed their utter contempt of all common people by +talking loudly as they strummed and thumped. + +The Court Fool was aping birds. He had a bunch of feathers in his hair +and a few stuck in his waist-belt behind; this was the extent of his +make-up. For the moment he was imitating a crested crane. The bird is +beautiful, the Fool was hideous; yet such was his art of mimicry that +all recognised the bird he had chosen to represent. + +The Town Crier paused for a moment to bawl something unintelligibly, and +then passed on his way. + +Some oxen straying by stopped to sniff at some rubbish. The armed guards +drove them off with a few cuts of their raw hide whips. + +Bositi had brought as a present to the Chief a large blanket with a +realistic lion printed on it, a highly-coloured pocket handkerchief, and +a new brass tinder box. He mentally contrasted his gifts with those +brought by other men--mostly to the disadvantage of the others. + +One old man was about to offer two goodly tusks of ivory. By the fuss +the hangers-on made of this old man it was very evident that a possessor +of ivory commanded very much respect. + +Bositi had smuggled an old Tower musket across the border and knew where +to get powder. He promised himself an elephant with larger tusks than +those displayed by his rival. + +Presently there was a stir. The Chief was coming! The orchestra struck +up energetically; the Fool twirled rapidly round on one foot; the +hangers-on crouched and shaded their faces as from the rising sun; the +long row of visitors bent forward until their foreheads touched the +sand; the guards fell upon one knee and all clapped their hands. + +Bositi literally buried his face in the sand; a little got into his +right eye and annoyed him for days to come. + +The Chief moved towards the Council House, preceded by a number of body +servants, one of whom pointed with a long stick to imaginary stumps and +stones over which his lord and master, if not warned, might trip. + +Another carried the Chief's chair. This chair was strongly made on the +European pattern. The seat of it was covered with the hide of a Sable +antelope, from which constant use had worn much of the hair. A rude face +was carved on the bar which supports the sitter's back. To this face men +do reverence when the Chief is not in his chair. + +A third man beat with two small drum-sticks upon a large harmonica, +which was suspended by a bark rope from his neck. + +Another carried a green umbrella, not open, because the Chief himself +had a smaller one in his own hand. + +The sight of the Chief filled Bositi with awe. He paid no attention to +the crowd of councillors following in the footsteps of the august +personage. He felt that his own finery, which had been much admired by +the common herd, was really very mean. + +For the Chief had on a grey top hat with a wide black band to it. He +wore a long magenta dressing gown, which fell open as he strode forward, +disclosing a pair of pepper and salt trousers. On his feet he had a +magnificent--in Bositi's eyes--pair of new bright yellow boots. In his +free hand he carried an eland's tail fitted as a fly-whisk, with an +ivory and ebony handle. + +In spite of his absurd clothes the Chief had a certain air of dignity. +He was heavily built and stooped slightly at the shoulders with age; his +small beard was tinged with grey. + +He stepped along firmly, however, and Bositi noticed with jealousy that +his eyes lit up as they rested for a moment on the two great tusks of +ivory brought by the old man. + +The Chief entered the Council House and sat down. Immediately all +present raised their hands and shouted a salutation with such good will +that the orchestra was not heard for a space. The Court Fool hopped +round with renewed energy. The official Praiser shouted: + + The great lion! + The bull elephant! + The thunderer! + The greatest of all lions! + +The salutations died down and the orchestra came to its own again. + +There is no hurry in a native Council House. The band played out its +selection and the Court Fool continued to gyrate. One by one the +Councillors took their seats in the Chamber. This was a lengthy +business: each man in turn seated himself on the ground before the Chief +and clapped his hands and bowed several times; then, collecting his +skirts round him, he moved in a crouching position to his accustomed +seat. + +At length quiet prevailed. One by one the visitors were marshalled +forward to present their gifts and state their case--if they had one to +state. + +Many trivial matters were discussed and trumpery gifts bestowed upon the +Chief, when it came to the turn of the old man with the ivory. + +"Who is this who brings ivory?" asked the Chief. + +"It is Moyo of the Rivoswe country," someone volunteered. + +"Oh, the man who is said to have broken our laws. See, he brings two +tusks and they are large ones." + +"Yes, the tusks he brings are large ones," remarked several of those in +the Council House. + +"Who accuses this man of law-breaking?" demanded the Chief. + +There was no reply. All knew their master's weakness for ivory. + +The Chief addressed Moyo: "Tell me, old man, what mischief was in your +heart when last you left my village?" + +Moyo pointed to the tusks. "I went to hunt elephants for the Chief. For +long I hunted before I killed. When I had killed, I brought my ivory to +my Chief. I am no law-breaker. Is it against the law for the Chief's +slave to hunt elephants for the Chief?" + +"If," answered the Chief, "to bring me ivory is to break the law, let +many break it. Who accused this man?" + +As no answer was forthcoming, the Chief accepted the ivory. + +As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days +gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and +skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now, +realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make +his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view +of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his +home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would +not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority. + +At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief. + +Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working +for many years for the white man." + +"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?" + +(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word +"steamers.") + +"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas." + +"Can you make good stemalas?" + +"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make +them for many years." + +"What does the white man use stemalas for?" + +"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances +more quickly and greater than a man can travel." + +"Could you build a stemala for me?" + +Without hesitation Bositi declared he could build a railway for the +Chief if he were provided with the necessary men to help him and a few +axes and adzes for felling and shaping the timber. + +"Is not the stemala made of iron?" inquired the Chief. + +"Yes, the white man uses iron from his country where it is found in +pieces as long and as straight as a palm tree. He has no big trees in +his country. In the Chief's country iron is only found in little pieces, +but the trees are large and long." + +"If you make a good stemala for me you shall be the headman of your +village and the induna of your district. The axes and the adzes shall be +given to you. Go and make a stemala for me; go quickly and make the +stemala quickly." + +"I will go, but the Chief must know that a stemala is a big thing to +make. Many men and many days are wanted for its making." + +"It is well; I understand," said the Chief. Then turning to one of his +principal advisers, he directed him to see that Bositi had all the men +and all the tools he required. + +That night much fuss was made over Bositi who was to become the headman +of his village and the induna of his district--when he had made a +railway for his Chief. + +As for Bositi, he talked big things and adopted the manner of a big man, +bearing himself as if his railway were already built and he installed in +his high position. + +In due course were settled such small details as where the railway was +to be built, how many men were required, and what tools would be wanted +from the Chief's store. + +At length the party set out. Bositi was the most important member of it. +Next, and with authority in some respects even greater than his, was the +Chief's representative. This man had power to requisition slave labour +in the Chief's name and free food from the villages near to the seat of +operations. + +The spot chosen for the railway was some two hundred miles from the +Chief's village. This was fortunate for Bositi, for the distance freed +him from too much tiresome supervision. It was on the main river where +free navigation is interrupted by a waterfall of considerable size and a +series of formidable rapids. For centuries travellers had been content +to drag their canoes overland round these obstacles. The going was very +heavy as the soil was loose and sandy. The railway was to save this +labour. Canoes were to be put on the rails above the falls and so +transported to the quiet water below. A more useful railway, from the +natives' point of view, could not have been planned. + +I was shown over the works by Bositi himself in the early days of +construction, before those difficult problems arose which sooner or +later confront all who "bite off more than they can chew." + +If Bositi had paid strict attention to business and had attached that +importance to details which details have a way of demanding, I think his +railway would have been a success. But this is too much to expect of any +native. + +He began well. + +I found firmly fixed to the ground by means of stout wooden pegs half a +dozen well-made wooden rails. Much labour had been expended on these, +for they were cut from large trees. They were perfectly straight and set +in true parallel. Resting on the rails were two pairs of wheels: each +pair was linked together by a heavy axle bar, rounded at either +extremity to permit the wheels to turn freely, but squared between the +wheels. The wheels, which were secured to the axle by wooden pins, were +shaped like cotton reels: that is, they were doubly flanged in order to +keep them from slipping off the rails. + +Bositi ordered his men to put a long, heavy log across the axle of the +two pairs of wheels and proudly pushed it backwards and forwards along +the short length of line, some sixty feet. + +He explained that when the work was finished it would be necessary only +to place a canoe, fully loaded, across the axles and push it along. + +I asked him how many months he had been at work on the construction. He +said six. I pointed out that as the distance to be covered by the rails +was some three miles, it would be forty years and more before the +railway was ready for use. In the meantime, what about the ravages of +the white ant? + +Bositi appeared hurt but not discouraged. I think he put my criticism +down to the natural jealousy which a white man would feel upon finding +that a native is not incapable of great things. + +He explained that the work had required some planning out, that the +local people had been slow to respond to the calls made upon them by the +Chief's representative for food and labour, and that the rains had +hindered progress. + +I admitted that these were difficulties which required time to overcome, +and asked to be shown his working camp. + +Bositi led me some distance into the forest. Here I saw a number of men +busy with tiny native adzes upon some felled trees, shaping them into +wooden rails. In very few instances were the rails in the making as +straight as those already laid. It was clear to me that the wheels would +somehow have to negotiate very awkward turns and twists in the line, and +I wondered how they would do it. + +By no amount of questioning and patient explanation could I get Bositi +to see the difficulty which lay ahead of him, so I presently continued +my journey, encouraged by the promise that when next I passed that way +with my canoes I should enjoy a ride on the wooden railway. + + * * * * * + +That section of the Cape to Cairo railway was never finished. I +inspected the abandoned line many months later and found, as I had +expected, that the white ants had eaten the rails almost as quickly as +they were laid. I also saw that less trouble had been taken in making +them. The trees from which they were cut were crooked, so here the rails +widened, there they narrowed. Here there was a hump, there a depression. + +I made it my business to find out what had become of Bositi. He had not +been made a headman of his village nor an induna of his district; but, +having failed in his undertaking and squandered all his substance, he +had gone south again to live the careless life of the railway camp, +where, under the hand of the white man, difficulties seem to disappear +as quickly as the morning mist before the rising sun. + + + + +THE LICENSED VICTUALLER. + + +John Smith was an up-country caterer in a remote part of Africa. We +called him Joseph, after other shining lights in the trade. + +I don't think I ever saw him quite sober, but, on the other hand, never +heard of his being drunk. He was not good to look at, being fat, bald +and red-faced. + +A stranger once called him Joe. Our host was indignant at the +familiarity, and snapped: "I'm Joe to me pals, John Smith to me +acquaintances, Mr. Smith to you, damn you!" Coming across to my table, +he winked heavily, and said in a hoarse stage-whisper: "P'raps you've +'eard a bloke say that afore?" + +I admitted I had. + +"Come in nice and 'andy, tho'," said Joe. + +Joe's place of business was a frame house with walls of canvas. He had +named it the "Duke of York's Restuarant." The spelling was his; so, too, +was the sign-writing. + +He was a man of uncertain temper. One day a hungry guest asked for more +beef. Joe thought this unreasonable, and thus addressed the man: + +"Yore twist do give yer nerve. 'Ere, tike the bloomin' lot!" With that +he hurled the round of beef full at the hungry man's head; it missed him +and passed out through the canvas wall. Joe glared at his damaged +property for a space, and then in a loud voice made it known to the rest +of us that "Beef's off." + +On another occasion a boarder declined to partake of a doubtful-looking +meat concoction which Joe declared was "frickerdells." + +"Wot, yer don't like 'em, don't yer?" + +"No." + +"Won't eat 'em, won't yer?" + +"No." + +We all held our breath, wondering what manner of assault Joe would +select for this reckless fellow. + +But Joe grinned, actually grinned, and replied: "I don't blame yer; I +wot makes 'em wouldn't touch 'em; no, not for a fortune." + +One Saturday afternoon I happened to be passing through the yard when +Joe was discussing with his handy-man, Sammy, the Sunday lunch. (Sammy +was an Indian, and in Africa all Indians are "Sammy" to all men.) + +"'Ow many dead chickens are there, Sammy?" + +"Fourteen, Boss." + +"'Ell! 'Ow many died yesterday and 'ow many did yer find dead this +mornin'?" + +"Eight yesterday and six to-day, Boss." + +"Well, we'll curry the eight and roast the six." + +On Sunday I refused curry and roast fowl. Joe asked why. I told him. + +"Blokes wot 'ang around the cook-'ouse door 'ears things an' sees things +o' times wot puts 'em off their grub. 'Ave some bully?" + +I did. + +Joe seldom had enough waiters, and what he had were mostly black men, +quite untrained. I remember one white waiter who answered to the name of +William. In our eyes he had many faults--in Joe's, but one. He would +talk to the customers, stand and talk instead of attending to wants. + +Joe warned him repeatedly, but his warnings were lost on William. + +One day Joe lost his temper. "Look 'ere, you snip, wot 'ave I told yer? +Wot 'ave I kep' on tellin' yer? You'd talk the 'ind leg off a mule! +You'r hat it agen. 'Ere, quit. Sling yer 'ook out o' this. I'm bloomin' +well fed up with yer." + +William blinked at Joe during this harangue, and then quietly asked: "Do +I understand you to mean, Joe, that I'm sacked?" + +"Yes," said Joe, "I sack yer. Come to the till for yer pay." + +"Do you mean," pursued William, "that I am a free man?" + +"You are," said Joe. + +William turned and looked up and down the crowded tables. He then walked +quietly to an empty seat and sat down, bawling: + +"Joe, bring me a plate o' beef; look sharp, I'm in a hurry." + +As Joe's business grew (and it did grow in spite of Joe), the waiting +became too much for him. He had so many guests that he couldn't get them +served quickly enough to please himself, or them. This man wanted one +thing, that another, and a third something else; all called their wants +loudly and together. + +Joe's remedy was, I believe, original. Sharp at one o'clock he had each +place set round with generous helpings of all the dishes for the day. +You would find a plate piled with roast beef, greens and potatoes; a +second equally full of cold pork, potatoes and spring onions; a third +with hashed mutton and potatoes; a fourth with hot suet pudding +plentifully smeared with treacle; half a loaf of bread on a fifth, and +so on. To one arriving a little late, this spectacle was far from +appetising. One knife and fork and one spoon had to do duty for the lot. + +Most people ate what they wanted and left the rest. Once a guest +protested that he could not eat everything set before him. Joe was hurt. +"'Oo the 'ell arst yer to?" he thundered savagely. "It won't cost yer no +more, nor no less, either way." + +Just inside the "restuarant" door there stood what Joe described as a +"wash-and-brush-up-nice-and-'andy." It was his claim that he catered for +the "better clarse." The "wash-and-brush-up" consisted of a tin basin on +an empty upturned whisky case. The water was usually dirty; the towel, +suspended from a roller, was always so; the soap was a long bar of "blue +mottled." Dangling from a piece of string, tied to a nail driven into +the wooden framework of the wall, was a tooth-brush. Heaven knows where +Joe got it from; it was by no means new. He had never used one himself. +When I questioned him on the subject of this "fitting," he said: "Some +people uses 'em. Like as not I should be arst for one quick enough if I +didn't have one. Best to tie it to the 'ouse, or some bloke 'ud lift +it." + +Someone once asked for a table napkin. Joe was puzzled, and looked +searchingly at the man. He suspected a "leg-pull." + +"What for?" he demanded. + +The man explained. + +"Oh, it's a servy-yet yer want, is it? Ain't got any! You wait till +the railway comes, then we'll get all manner o' things--servy-yets, +toothpicks, and suchlike. Don't be unreasonable; you ain't in a +drawin'-room now, yer know." + +When the railway did come, Joe sold his business for much money and went +North. The sight of a starched collar and a tie in his "restuarant" was +a sign for him that civilisation had reached his very door. Joe didn't +like civilisation, and hated "torfs." He had been known to remark: "The +sight of a bloke in a boiled shirt makes me sick." + + * * * * * + +On the spot once occupied by Joe's eating house now stands a large hotel +built of stone, with a bathroom leading out of every bedroom. + + + + +THE JOHNNIE-COME-LATELY. + + +William Blake walked quietly into the bar of the Tantani Hotel. It was +obvious to all that he had not been out from England long, because his +clothes were so new and clean. Besides, he bore the self-conscious air +which is an unmistakeable sign. + +All the men who crowded the bar wore reach-me-downs; or, if their +clothes had been made in England, it was very, very long ago. + +William knew the barman, who had been at Eton with his elder brother. +Men find strange jobs in Africa in the process of reaching their proper +level. I must add that in course of time that same barman bought the +bar--and many other things besides--and ultimately represented his +district on the Legislative Council. + +At the moment of William's entry the barman was busy, so the youngster +edged his way in between the wall and the brawny back of a corduroyed +transport-rider, intending to wait quietly until he could catch the +barman's eye. + +The place was thick with the fumes of strong drink and tobacco +smoke--Boer tobacco smoke. Of all the unlovely habits which men acquire, +that of smoking Boer tobacco is the most trying to other people. I +know, because I used to smoke it once, and I have seen it empty an +Underground railway carriage at every station. + +But William did not smoke, neither did he drink strong drink; he merely +wanted to have a talk to the man his brother fagged for. But, on +reaching the bar, he unintentionally jogged the transport-rider's arm +and spilt some of his liquor. + +"Who the hell are you shovin'?" + +"Sorry." + +"Sorry, are you? Yer bloomin' tailor's model." + +The barman's chief asset was a quick ear and a keen sense of rising +trouble. He was at the end of the counter in a moment. + +"Hullo, Bill. Upset Rogers' drink, have you? Well, both have a drink at +my expense. This boy is a friend of mine, Rogers." + +"Well, Jimmy, as he's a friend of yours I'll overlook the accident--and +I will. Mine's a gin and tonic; what's the boy goin' to drink?" + +Before William could explain that he didn't drink, the barman said: "I +know his poison, don't I, Bill?" following this up with a heavy wink. + +"Mr. John Rogers--Mr. William Blake." + +"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. Put it here." + +The pair shook hands. + +The barman pushed two glasses forward--one, containing gin, towards +Rogers, and the other, lime-juice, for Blake. He took something out a +bottle under the counter for himself, gave Rogers a small tonic, and +split a small soda with William. + +"Here's fun," said Rogers. + +"Chin, chin," said Jimmy the barman. + +The boy nodded gravely at each. They drank. + +"Come on, let's have another," said Rogers. "Same as before for me, but +not quite so much of your bloomin' tonic, Jimmy. Spoils the gin." + +No sooner were the drinks poured out than the barman hurried away to +attend to the calls at the other end of the counter, so the two were +left to themselves. + +"What are you drinkin', might I ask?" + +"Lime-juice and soda," said William. + +"Just what I thought. Now, my young friend, it won't do. Didn't you see +the train come in to-day?" + +"Yes." + +"Well?" + +"I don't understand." + +"Don't you? Well, isn't this the very first train to get here from the +South?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, ain't you goin' to get drunk on it?" + +"Certainly not." + +Rogers stepped back and looked the boy up and down. Then---- + +"What will you bet?" + +William didn't answer. The transport-rider knocked over the lime-juice +and placed his gin in front of the boy. + +"Drink that." + +"No, I won't." + +"Yer won't?" + +"No." + +"I'll give you three chances and no more." + +With that Rogers drew a heavy revolver from his coat pocket. + +"Drink! One!" + +"No." + +"Drink! Two!" + +"No." + +"Drink! Three!" + +"No, I won't drink it." + +Rogers stared at the boy for a moment and then put the revolver back in +his pocket again. + +"I like you. You've got grit. Drink rot-gut if you like, it ain't any +business of mine. Here, take these." + +"These" were a bundle of Standard Bank notes tied up with a piece of +string. William edged close to the wall. + +"Here, you take 'em; they're fivers. Got paid for a job to-day, but I +like you, so you've got to have 'em." + +"I don't want your money." + +"Neither do I. Take 'em." + +"No." + +"What? You don't drink and you won't take good money?" + +"No." + +"I'll give you three chances, and this time I'll shoot." + +"Take 'em! One!" + +"No." + +"Take 'em! Two!" + +"No." + +"Take 'em before I say three!" + +"No." + +"Well then, no one shall have 'em." And with that Rogers flung the +bundle out of the door into the darkness. Then he bent his head upon +his crossed arms and sobbed. + +Jimmy seemed to be watching, for he lifted a flap in the bar counter, +went outside the door, and returned almost immediately, stuffing the +bundle into his pocket. + +"Don't mind him, William." + +Then to Rogers, "What about your drink?" + +The transport-rider stood up. + +"Did you see the train, Jimmy?" + +"Yes." + +"Ain't nobody drunk?" + +"Not very." + +"The train's in and nobody drunk? I'll get drunk. I will get drunk." + +And with that he danced round and round the bar waving his glass. "The +train! The train! The train!" ... Crash! + +Everyone turned round. John Rogers, transport-rider of Tantani, had +fallen, and lay on the floor insensible. + +"Rogers drunk?" came in a chorus of incredulity from all quarters. No +one stooped to examine him; perhaps because few besides William and the +barman felt it quite safe to stoop. Then several of his fellows pushed +him under a seat with their feet, and turned to the bar again. + +"Poor old Rogers," they said, "who would have thought it? Must be +breaking up. Used to keep goin' for days together without turnin' a +hair. Poor old blighter. Train's taken his transport-ridin' away from +him. Yes, that's what's upset him." + +But William met Rogers next morning, quite himself again. + +"Morning, boy." + +"Good morning." + +"Jimmy gave me my money back." + +"Of course." + +"Have you got a job?" + +"No." + +"Looking for one?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, come my next journey with me. I'll go on the strict t.t. I'll +show you some good shooting, too, and I want a hefty young man to help +me with my cattle. Jimmy told me he thought you'd come. I want you to +come." + +William went, and a partnership sprang up which resulted in profit to +both. + +Rogers and Blake own that large cattle ranch just beyond Belingwe. +Rogers must be nearly seventy now, and is still hale and hearty. + + + + +THE LOST RUBIES. + + +If you asked a South African mining man, no doubt he would tell you that +there are no rubies in Africa. He would be wrong. + +To my knowledge two very large ones have been found. One of them I have +seen. The other I have heard about. Take my word for it, there are many +rubies in Africa. I will go so far as to tell you where. I hope you will +go and look for them, and, what is more, find them. + +The rubies of which I write are to be found on the banks of the Zambesi, +somewhere below the Victoria Falls. If I could give more exact details, +I wouldn't do it: I should go and look for them myself. + +As I said before, I know they are there, because I have actually held +one in my hand. The man who showed it to me told me it was a ruby. I +believed him, of course. I had reason to. But just to make sure, I +placed it between two half-crowns, put the precious sandwich on a flat +slab of granite, and gave it a severe twisting under my heel. + +My silver suffered. I did manage to pass those half-crowns off on +someone, but I felt a criminal. + +Now this old man who showed the ruby to me looked a very old man +indeed. He was a Scotsman. His long beard was only slightly red, +otherwise it was white. To be quite accurate, I suppose I should say he +had a long white beard tinged with pink. At least, so it seemed to me +the first time I saw it and him. + +It is just twenty-five years ago that the old man came to my camp on the +Zambesi, some forty-five miles above the Victoria Falls. + +Quite apart from his beard he was obviously old. His legs were thin. He +hobbled from rheumatism. His cheeks were hollow, and how very thin his +ears were! I remember his ears quite well, they were almost transparent +and his hands--well, they were just claws. + +This poor old man came to me for three things. + +One. Could I mend a shot-gun? I had a look at the dingy old weapon and +admitted that it was quite beyond me. It was a double-barrelled shot-gun +with four good inches gone from the right barrel, one from the left, and +the rib of metal which should join the two was curled back for a good +ten inches. + +He explained that he had tried to shoot a king-fisher and his gun +exploded. He suggested that a mouse must have crept up the barrel during +the night. + +Perhaps one had. + +I, personally, should have said that the gun was suffering from the same +complaint as its owner--old age. + +Well, I couldn't help him in the matter of the gun, so what was the next +thing? + +Had I a drop of good Scotch? Yes, by Jingo, I had, and very welcome the +poor old fellow was to it. + +I gave him a good dose of his native medicine, which seemed to put back +the clock of time for him at least a couple of dozen years. + +And the third thing? + +Oh, yes, the third thing. He began:-- + +"You see, I am an old man. I'm an honest man, oh yes, quite honest. I +don't lie like the others." + +He paused and looked out of the door of my tent. + +"The other two are bad." + +I don't attempt to reproduce his accent or the queer, querulous way he +had of talking, because I can't. He was an old Scotsman, so you may fill +in the local colour for yourself. + +"I want to tell you something." + +"Yes." + +"You won't give me away?" + +"No, of course not." + +"You won't tell the other two?" + +"Certainly not, but who are the other two?" + +The old man looked out of the tent again and quickly back at me. He +placed his finger alongside his nose and winked. Then he said in a loud +voice: "I must be going. Thanks for the drink. No, I won't have another. +It's getting late and my pals will be anxious." + +Through his talk I heard an approaching footstep. + +The old man backed out of my tent and I followed him. Within a few yards +of us was another man approaching hurriedly. He looked anxiously from me +to the old Scotsman and back again. + +He stopped and, addressing the old, old man, said: "What are you doing +here?" + +This annoyed me. I was on the point of asking very sharply what he +wanted, anyway, when the expression of both made me pause. + +On the old man's face, fear; on the newcomer's, anger, suspicion, greed, +cruelty--a bad face of a bad man. + +My curiosity was aroused; I answered the question. + +"Your friend has been having a drink with me. Won't you have one?" + +"No, I will not." Then, by way of an afterthought: "No, thank you very +much." And the fellow smiled with his ugly mouth, but not with his eyes. + +The intruder, as I now regarded him, seemed in a hurry to be gone. + +"The canoe boys are waiting for us and we must go. Come along, +Macdonald." + +The old man turned his face towards me and, as he said good-bye, I saw a +great fear in his eyes. + +Ignoring the other, I begged him to stay the night and promised to try +my best to mend his gun. He shook his head and turned slowly away. + +The ugly man hurried him along towards the bank of the river and helped +him into the canoe. I felt there was something wrong but didn't see how +I could interfere. + +As the pair pushed off from the bank, the other man turned round and +shot a searching look at me. What could the mystery be? That thick-set, +black-haired little devil was up to no good. He looked as if could +murder the old man, me, or anyone else, if necessary. + +I saw nothing of them next day, but my natives told me that there were +three white men with a waggon camped on the other side. I sent a boy +across to spy out the land, but he came back with no information of any +real importance. + +On the third day I felt so uneasy about the old man that I half made up +my mind to cross the river to see him. I was prevented from doing so by +the arrival at my camp of the veriest pair of ruffians I ever clapped +eyes on. + +As they walked up from the river I had time to study them. And a pair of +arrant scoundrels they looked. + +The man who had already paid me one visit was talking rapidly to a fat, +unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to feel mere walking an excessive +exertion, for he puffed, stooped, and walked awkwardly. + +The stranger wore a waistcoat but no coat. His braces, which were red, +hung untidily on either side; he had forgotten to slip them over his +shoulders when putting on his waistcoat. + +When they reached my tent I offered them chairs. The fat man sank into +one, his thick-set companion stood. + +It was the latter who talked. The other mopped his perspiring forehead +with a blue cotton handkerchief, and seemed capable only of saying: +"That is so; yes, yes," in support of his companion's rapid talk. + +It soon became obvious that this precious pair wanted to know exactly +what the old man had told me three days before. As he had told me +nothing, it was easy to answer them. + +"How did I find the old man?" + +"Just that he seemed very old, much too old to be at the Zambesi at his +time of life." + +"Didn't I find him lightheaded?" + +"On the contrary, quite normal." + +"Hadn't he spun me some queer yarns?" + +"No; just told me of his gun and his accident with it." + +"Well, as a matter of fact, he was off his head, and I really mustn't +believe all he said. Oh dear, he had kept them both in fits of laughter +on the road up with his queer notions. Stories of gold mines and +suchlike nonsense. Hadn't he talked of that kind of thing?" + +"No." + +"Well, he was now in bed with a go of fever and talking queerer than +usual. Yes, if I could spare it, they'd like some quinine for him; but +they had better be going, for it wasn't playing the game to leave an old +man for long who had the fever on him." + +The pair got up to go. + +I disliked them both, especially the fat one, who looked to me like a +city-bred parasite--a barman, bookmaker, tobacconist's assistant, or +something of that sort. They glanced round them and hesitated, evidently +expecting to be asked to drink with me. I would sooner have gone "three +out" of a bottle of beer with a couple of hogs. + +Presently they went off, evidently much relieved to find I knew nothing. + +I was now determined to know all, and quickly; but how to get hold of +the old man alone again was the difficulty. + +As I sat in my chair thinking, I recollected a remark let fall by the +boy I sent to spy upon them: "The fat one drank much Kaffir beer, which +he bought from the natives who lived on the north bank of the river." + +I sent a messenger to the headman of the village with an order to make +much beer, pots and pots of it, and take it new and half-fermented to +the white men on the other side. I instructed the headman to sell it +cheaply, and said that I would make up the difference. + +In due course I had my reward. The old Scotsman came over and told me +one of his companions was in great pain and the other was trying to ease +the pain by rubbing fat on his belly, that he himself had got away +unnoticed, and now wanted to tell me all about "it." + +I was naturally all anxiety to hear what "it" was all about, and made +the old man sit down. + +Now why is it, I wonder, that old men can't come quickly to the point? +Much to my annoyance, he wasted a good half an hour telling me what +scamps the other two were; how he felt sure that, given half a chance, +they would "do him in" but not until they had got from him his secret. +Tell them? Not on your life! + +But he would tell me; oh yes, he would tell me. Ever seen a ruby? No, +not out of a ring? Well, I should see one now and hold it in my hand. A +large one, fit for a king. And he would tell me where to find more. +Hundreds of them. The other two had brought him up to the Zambesi just +to find out where the rubies were. But he wasn't going to tell them, not +he. They were too darned stingy with the whisky bottle; besides, they +wouldn't sign a paper on it. A man who wouldn't sign a paper on a deal +was up to no good--didn't intend to play fair. Now what did I think they +should pay him for showing them where the ruby mine was? Would a couple +of hundred be a fair thing? + +And so on, and on, and on. + +I gave him the best advice I could, which amounted to a warning not to +trust his companions. + +Then he showed me the ruby, which he carried in a small blue medicine +bottle marked "fever mixture." + +I knew precious little about rubies, and told him so. It was then that I +tried it between the two half-crowns. + +Having satisfied myself that it was a very hard stone, even if it +weren't a ruby, I gave it back to him, and he returned it to its bottle. + +He then told me that, many years before, he had been travelling in +company with a Jesuit Father along the banks of the Zambesi. That just +below the village of a native, whose name for the moment he could not +remember, he had found the rubies. One he had kept and the other he had +given to the priest, who told him he was going home to France shortly +and would find out whether the stone was worth anything or not. If it +had value, he would sell it and go halves. + +They went down south together, and parted company at Grahamstown. A year +later he was sent for by the manager of the Bank and told that L480 had +been remitted to him by the Reverend Father. + +The money came in handy, and for one reason or another he didn't bother +about going all the way up to the Zambesi to get more rubies. He also +got married and settled down in Bechuanaland on a farm. + +But his wife had lately died. His two daughters were married, and his +son was killed in the Matabeleland rebellion. Then he lost all his +cattle by rinderpest. + +So he left the farm and went to Bulawayo. He didn't know anyone there, +but took up with his two companions, met them in a bar, told them about +the ruby and showed it to them. A Jew had assured them that the stone +was a ruby right enough, and had, he believed, put up some cash for +their outfit and journey. + +But they wouldn't sign a paper, and were up to no good. He had come up +to the Zambesi--felt he had to. It was hard to make money nowadays. + +"But I'll tell you all about it," he said, "and where the mine is, so +that, if these fellows do me in, you can get the stones. They shan't +have them. You know where the Gwai River runs into the Zambesi?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, it's not quite so far down--Listen! Did you hear that?" + +"No, what?" + +"That calling for help. There it is again." + +We went to the tent door and looked towards the river. In midstream we +could see a canoe bottom up. One white man was sitting astride at one +end, and there was a native at the other. A second white man was +swimming for the bank. + +I ran down to the landing stage, calling my canoe boys as I went. For +the moment I forgot all about my visitor. There was a white man in the +water and, scamp though he undoubtedly was, I couldn't let him drown. + +My boys and I got him ashore. It was the thickset one. His fat, +unhealthy-looking companion was floating down the river astride the +upturned canoe. + +After landing the one, I sent my boys back for the other. They had had a +thorough wetting and the city-bred fellow was very much scared. + +I had their clothes dried and then sent them back to their camp in my +own canoe. It appears that an angry hippopotamus attacked them. + +All this time I had little time to think about old Macdonald. I asked my +people about him and they told me that he had slipped away and crossed +in a canoe to the white man's camp whilst the other men's clothes were +being dried. + +Not a word was said about the Kaffir beer. If the pair of villains were +coming across the river to me for assistance or medicine when the +accident happened, they forgot to mention the fact in the excitement of +the moment and after. + +Next day they were gone--all three of them, ruby and all. And I never +saw any of them again. But I did see in a Bulawayo paper, which reached +me later, the following announcement: + + "At the Memorial Hospital, Bulawayo, John Macdonald, died of + blackwater fever. Funeral (Hendrix and Sons) starting from the + Hospital at 3.30 this afternoon." + +So I repeat there are rubies in Africa, somewhere on the banks of the +Zambesi, below the Falls, but north of where the Gwai river makes its +junction. If you decide to go and look for them, good luck to you! + + + + +THE CATTLE KING. + + +Schiller was a cattle trader by profession, and he made a lot of money. + +He was incidentally a Jew by birth, an Austrian by accident, a +hairdresser by training, and a soldier of fortune when occasion offered. +He was quite illiterate. + +Although he could neither read nor write he yet kept accurate enough +accounts of all his many transactions with the natives. He once showed +me his accounts. They consisted of notches on tally sticks. I couldn't +make head or tail of them, but Schiller knew to a shilling how much each +ox had cost him and how many cattle he had. + +One Sunday morning he came over to my bungalow and told me all the +gossip of the country-side. Incidentally he remarked that my hair wanted +cutting, and asked if he might have the pleasure of operating. + +I thanked him and sat down. + +To my amazement he produced from a little black bag all the implements +of the trade, including a pink print sheet which he proceeded to tuck in +round my neck. + +His touch was unmistakable. + +"Aren't you a professional?" + +"Yes, sir, from ---- of Bond Street." + +From that day on, twice a month if I was at home, this man who was worth +at least twenty thousand pounds cut my hair for sixpence. + +He called himself the "Cattle King." + +I first met him when he made application for a cattle trading licence at +my office: this was many years ago. + +As, in those days, we could issue or withhold a licence at discretion, I +questioned Schiller closely. + +He didn't look like the ordinary Jew. By that I mean he hadn't a +pronounced nose: on the contrary, it was small and snubby. He told me he +was a Jew, I should not have guessed it. + +He wore a long row of medal ribbons and, in support of his claim to +them, produced discharge papers from every irregular force raised in +Africa during the last twenty years. + +I read the papers carefully and could but conclude that the little man +who applied for a licence was a confirmed fire-eater and a very gallant +soldier. + +No camp follower he. His medals were earned and at the cost of not a few +wounds. I later saw these honourable scars. + +I gave him his licence and asked him to sign an undertaking designed to +control certain undesirable activities in which it was just possible he +might wish to indulge. + +He couldn't write his name. A large X with a few unnecessary blots +thrown in adorned the record of his promise. He never broke his word: in +fact that man's word was his bond in the truest sense. + +I have always found that an illiterate man is a much more rapid learner +than one who keeps a note book. The one relies upon his memory and so +strengthens it; the other discourages it by admitting its limitations. + +He learnt the local dialect rapidly, and his pronunciation was quite +good. This gave him advantage over his rival traders. + +Natives like to hear their language spoken by a white man, and, as +Schiller was a fluent talker, his company was much sought after. + +He was a trading genius. Anything he had for sale soon became the rage +with the large native population. He got to know most of the great +ladies of the land. Knowing that great ladies, be they white or black, +set the fashions, he persuaded them to patronise his store and accept +long credit. + +If this particular pattern of print did not generally commend itself to +the community, one of the important dames would shortly appear draped in +yards of it. If that coloured bead did not sell freely, a personage in +the Chief's household would soon be seen wearing string after string of +it. + +But it was cattle he wanted, and cattle he got. So large did his herd of +fine beasts become that the Chief himself grew jealous, and issued a +warning to his people not to sell too freely. + +Still the herd increased. The man dealt more fairly with the people than +the other traders, and, moreover, did not make the mistake of getting +upon too familiar terms with his customers. + +During my absence on a tour of inspection a crisis arose. The Chief +forbade his people to have any further dealings with the Cattle King. + +Schiller counted his gains, branded his cattle, and sent them south to +the rail-head for sale. Then he closed his store. + +Just at this time a number of waggons arrived bearing many cases and +bales of new goods for him. These were off-loaded, unpacked, and +disappeared into the closed store. + +Then Schiller made a hatch in the store door not unlike that of a +railway booking-office. He left the shutter ajar, but piled up goods in +front of all the windows. Black noses in plenty gathered against the +panes, but goods--goods everywhere--blocked a view of the interior of +the store. + +Through the hatch Schiller could be seen mysteriously occupied. He had a +chequered board in front of him with many little discs of wood upon it. +He sat with eyes fixed on the board, and from time to time moved a disc. + +He told all inquirers that his store had been closed by orders of the +Chief, and that he himself was very busy. + +News of the trader's preoccupation spread about. Was he making medicine +with which to harm the people? Surely not; he was a kind little man. + +Was he communicating in some strange way with the absent Commissioner? +That might be; better make sure. + +The Chief became uneasy. At last he sent his principal headman to +inquire. + +This headman had received some education at the Mission school, so he +wrote a polite letter to warn the trader of his coming. + + SIR, + + My greetings to the honest man the merchant. I hope you have slept + well I am telling you that I have not seen you for a long time and + it is my intention of coming to see how you get on. I am well and + my wife is well. Now I must close my letter. + + Your friend, + GONYE. + +The envelope bore the address: + + Mr. Shiler, Esq., + The Merchant. + +The letter was duly delivered at the hatch. Schiller pretended to read +it and said there was no answer. + +As a rule he brought his letters to be read by my native clerk, but I +had taken him with me on my tour. + +If the Cattle King was surprised when the headman pushed open the hatch +shutter and looked in, he did not show it. + +He glanced up from his draught-board impatiently, frowned at the +interruption, and turned to the game again. He was playing self versus +self, and self was giving self no end of a tussle. + +"Good-day to you, Merchant." + +"Good-day, Gonye." + +"I hope you have slept well?" + +"Yes, and you?" + +"Oh, yes, I have slept very well, thank you, Merchant." + +Silence fell upon the pair, and the game of self _v._ self proceeded. + +"Huff you for not taking me here," muttered Schiller. + +"Crown me, please," replied Schiller. + +"What are you doing, honest man?" asked Gonye. + +"Yes," replied the merchant abstractedly. + +"You do not trade now, Merchant." + +"No, your Chief has closed my store." + +"Will you tell the Commissioner?" + +"Of course." + +"What will he do?" + +"The Chief and you will know what he will do when he does it." + +"What are you doing now, honest man?" asked Gonye, and added--"May I +come in?" + +"Yes, if you don't talk or touch the goods." + +The trader got up and let the native in, but returned to his game +without ceremony. + +Gonye walked round the piled-up counters and inspected the well-filled +shelves. Here were goods indeed. Goods worth many head of cattle. +Blankets, coloured print, calico, brass wire, beads, shirts, hats, +coats, sugar, jam, tobacco, pipes, knives, looking-glasses, mouth +organs, and goodness knows what besides. + +Seeing all these nice new things created many wants in the headman's +heart. But the Chief had closed the store. + +Gonye wandered back to where the trader sat and watched him. + +With a shout of triumph, self beat self by two kings. Schiller +rearranged the board for another contest. + +"Is it a game?" asked Gonye. + +"Yes, it's a game." + +"Is it a very hard game?" + +"Very hard." + +"Did it take you long to learn?" + +"Years and years." + +"Could I learn it?" + +The trader sat back in his chair and looked fixedly at the native. "You +might," he said. + +"Will you teach me?" + +"I will try to; bring up that chair and sit down." + +The rest of the afternoon was spent by Schiller initiating Gonye into +the mysteries of draughts. + +Next day the native came again. + +"I think I can play now, Merchant." + +"Do you? Well, you take black and I will play with white." + +Schiller won, with a loss of scarcely a man. + +"Try again, Gonye." + +Schiller played a cunning game, so the native made a slightly better +showing next time. The third game he did better still. The fourth game +he won. + +That was the only game of draughts he ever did win against the trader. +In his triumph the headman persuaded the Chief to declare the store +reopened. The merchant was a good man. He was indeed an honest man. His +cattle kraal was empty. What would they say to the Commissioner on his +return? The trader would of course complain. Moreover, the store was +full of very nice goods. + +The next morning the store was opened and the natives flocked to it with +their cattle. Schiller did a great trade, and bought more cattle in a +week than all the other traders combined had done in three months. + +Gonye felt rather sore as the merchant declared that he was now too busy +trading to play draughts. However, Schiller, who was no fool, made his +position of Cattle King secure by presenting the board and men to Gonye. + +The last I heard of Schiller was at the outbreak of the Great War. He +had joined the Force which set out to take German South-West Africa. + + + + +PARTNERS. + + +Jack Fernie and William Black became partners in the usually pleasant +business of seeing something of the world. + +What the two men had in common was little enough so far as I could +discover. They appeared to meet on the common ground of boots--uncommon +boots. + +Fernie hated wet feet. He argued that if water got in over the top of +the boot, the foot remained damp all day, which was bad for you. So he +punched holes through the leather of the uppers, all round, just where +it bends in to meet the soles. He explained that since water must find +its own level, it will run out of your boots as readily as it will run +in, if given a fair chance. + +Black went in constant dread of developing an ingrowing toenail, so he +wore boots with two compartments inside, one for the big toe and the +other for the rest. They were very ugly, clumsy boots, but Black +declared that they were a sure preventive and very comfortable. + +These two strange creatures were never tired of discussing each other's +boots. + +Now Fernie had been second officer on board a liner. On the way home +from India he had said unrepeatable things to a parson. When he arrived +in London his directors sent for him, scolded him severely, and +dismissed him from their service. + +When I got to know Fernie well, I asked him what all the trouble had +been about. He was not very communicative; he merely said that he could +no more abide a black coat than he could a black cat. With that he +changed the subject, and I had to be content. + +Black had slaved as a clerk in the City for thirty-five years and +doubtless would have remained one for the rest of his natural life had +not an old lady, no relation of his, left him in her will a sum of money +which provided him with an income of between six and seven hundred a +year. There was no mention of the why and the wherefore in the will, and +Black declared that he couldn't imagine why she did him this good turn. + +It appears that Fernie and Black first met in Bulawayo. How, exactly, I +don't know. They had bought a donkey-waggon and set out for the Zambesi +river, which they crossed at a place called Kazungula, some forty-five +miles above the Victoria Falls. + +Their introduction to me was a curious one. Fernie walked into my camp +one day, followed by Black. He said: "Are you the magistrate of these +parts?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, will you sell us up?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You see, we're partners, Black and I. We don't get on as such and want +to dissolve. Isn't that so, Black?" + +"Yes." + +"So we want you to sell us up; sell our outfit as it stands--waggon, +donkeys, and everything else we've got. Don't we, Black?" + +"Yes." + +"But," I said, "who do you expect to buy in a place like this? There +isn't a white man within a couple of hundred miles. I'm not buying +donkeys, and the natives can't." + +"That's all right," said Fernie. "I will do all the bidding, and you can +divide the proceeds between us." + +"Yes," said Black, "that's what we want you to do." + +Of course, I agreed to help and asked them to set out the things for +sale. + +When everything was ready, Black handed to me a list, neatly written and +ruled with two money columns, one headed "Cost Price" and the other +"Sale Price." + +I had never acted as auctioneer before, but that didn't matter; entering +into the spirit of the thing, I began. + +"Gentlemen, I have here as fine a span of donkeys and as sound a waggon +as ever came north of the Zambesi----" + +But Fernie cut me short with: "A hundred and sixty pounds." + +I looked at the list. In the cost-price column, against the item "span +of donkeys and a waggon" was set L160. + +I got no fun out of the sale at all. Fernie bought everything, bidding +cost price for everything. The total, I think, came to just three +hundred pounds. + +"Black, I owe you a hundred and fifty, and here you are." + +Black took the bundle of notes, counted them with practised finger and +thumb, nodded, and handed a receipt to Fernie. The queer pair then +shook hands, grinned at each other sheepishly, and thanked me for +settling their little difference. + +The three of us had lunch together, and during the meal Fernie told me +as much of their story as he thought fit. + +It appears that on their way up to the Zambesi friction arose between +them; nothing serious, but just enough to make them feel a little tired +of one another's company. Fernie considered that he should boss the +outfit; Black wanted a say in matters, too. In Black's opinion Fernie +was too dictatorial. Fernie thought that Black butted in too much and +always unnecessarily--fatuously. So they sat down one day and discussed +the situation calmly and decided that Fernie should buy Black's share +and that Black should become a passenger, paying Fernie so much weekly. + +This arrangement was so simple and complete that I wondered why it was +necessary to bring me into the matter at all. I suspect it was the +ex-clerk's passion for regularity and record, for immediately after the +sale he had drawn up a formal statement of dissolution of partnership. +When he and Fernie had signed this document, they asked me to +countersign it. + +After luncheon we sat for a while discussing guns and rifles. By we, I +mean Fernie and I, for Black possessed no firearms of any sort and +appeared to take little interest in them. + +Fernie set so much store by the Martini-Henry rifle and the old hammer +shot-gun that I correctly guessed these made up his battery. Presently +he produced the weapons for my opinion. + +The shot-gun had been a good one in its far-off day, but the spring of +the right-hand lock had gone, so only the left barrel was serviceable. +The Martini was so old and the rifling so worn that I wondered how +Fernie ever hit anything at which he aimed. But he did. He said he had +got to know the old gas-pipe. + +That evening the pair left me and went North. + +From time to time I came across these men; now and again one or the +other wrote to me; later, their waggon boys told me much; I gathered +more from the natives of the district in which they aimlessly wandered; +finally, Black's sister entrusted her brother's diary to me. The entries +in this book were made in shorthand. I had the whole transcribed. I told +her I had lost the book; I lied. I have the book still. She died +peacefully without an inkling of its contents. + +From these various sources of information I have put together a few +yarns, which I now tell for the first time. For instance, there was a +curious adventure with a lion. + +Fernie had been out shooting most of the day: shooting for the pot, as +the party had been without meat for some time. Black, as usual, remained +in camp writing up his diary. He also mended a boot. + +He concluded that Fernie was having very good sport because of the +number of shots he fired during the afternoon. With an inexperienced man +like Fernie, armed with a rifle such as his, it was not wise to jump at +conclusions. + +Late in the evening Fernie came back to camp very hot and tired. He was +evidently in a bad temper, for when Black asked him if he would like +some tea, he rudely said: "Tea, you bloomin' grandmother," and opened a +bottle of whisky. + +Then he called the driver and said he wanted a couple of donkeys to +bring in the meat of a hartebeest which he had killed. The driver +brought two and followed Fernie into the bush. They didn't return until +eleven o'clock at night. Black had become anxious as time went on. He +heard Fernie shooting again at about ten o'clock and wondered how he +could see to take aim in the dark. He had, of course, never heard of the +common practice of firing a shot in the air if you are not quite sure of +your whereabouts and then listening for a guiding shot from the camp. + +It wouldn't have helped much if he had known, for he had never fired a +gun in his life. It did not occur to the second waggon boy, who had also +remained in camp, to ask Black why he didn't reply to the signals of +distress; he very naturally concluded that Black did not do so for +reasons of his own, not through ignorance or inability. + +It is only fair to Black to say that Fernie had not previously heard of +this manner of signalling either. The waggon boy put him up to it when +they thought they were lost. + +At eleven o'clock the wanderers found their way back to camp. Fernie was +in a worse temper than ever. + +"Why the hell didn't you answer my shots?" + +"Your shots?" + +"Is the fellow deaf as well as a brainless idiot?" + +"I did hear you shooting, but I thought you had come across some more +hartebeest." + +"How the devil do you suppose I could see to shoot in this pitch +darkness?" + +"I don't know; I wondered." + +"Oh, so you wondered, did you?" + +"Well, what did you want me to do?" + +"Sing, or any damn thing. But how could an ex-ink-slinger be expected to +have any horse-sense to do anything requiring a glimmer of intelligence? +Oh, don't talk; of course, it's not your fault, it's your Maker's." + +Black felt keenly the coarse injustice of this attack and sat silently +looking into the fire. The truth of the matter was that Fernie had lost +his way. He couldn't find the dead hartebeest. He cursed the waggon boy +for a fool, which he wasn't; and beat him, which he didn't deserve. + +"Off-load those chunks of meat near the fire and get to hell out of +this," said Fernie roughly to the waggon boy. The fellow relieved the +donkeys of their load and slouched away. + +Black looked up. "You're tired, Fernie. Won't you have some supper?" + +Fernie, who was making a pile of the hartebeest meat, turned with an +angry jerk towards the speaker. Something in Black's attitude brought +him sharply to his senses and saved him from adding fresh insult to +those already thrown at his friend. + +Instead, he said: "I'm sorry, Black old man. I'm a beast and we both +know it. I take back all I said; please forget it. And I must give that +driver fellow a tot of whisky; I hit him, which was a rotten thing to +do, because he can't hit me back, and I, not he, was wrong." + +It certainly was a rotten thing to do. Fernie was a big-boned, powerful +man, with a fist like a leg of mutton in size. He hardly knew his +strength, but many a troublesome seaman could have testified to it in +the old liner days. + +However, the tot of neat whisky put matters more or less right with the +boy. + +Black pressed Fernie to have a good square meal, but he wouldn't. He +drank half a glass of raw whisky, followed by about a gallon of water. +Then he put down his blankets and turned in, his head towards the pile +of meat and his feet to the fire. Completely exhausted, he fell asleep +immediately. + +It had become a habit with Fernie to place his loaded shot-gun by his +side when he went to sleep, and he invariably had a large spanner handy. +He did not forget to make these preparations now, tired though he was. +He made them mechanically. + +Black, who remained by the fire, put on his spectacles and wrote up his +diary. Then he too put down his blankets, close to where Fernie lay. + +He didn't go to sleep at once. In spite of his apology, Fernie's words +had left a sting. This had been his worst outbreak so far. He had never +used the contemptuous epithet "ex-ink-slinger" before. Because of its +truth it hurt. + +So Black lay on his back watching the sparks rise from the fire at his +feet. He was indeed seeing the world, but he began to doubt whether he +had chosen exactly the best parts of it or the most pleasant way of +seeing them. + +No unkind thought of Fernie ever entered his mind. I think I can safely +say this, for his very full diary contains no hint of such. On the +contrary, a strong thread of deep admiration and affection for his +friend can be traced without a break through every page of that strange +book. + +Presently there was a slight movement behind the pile of meat. Black +turned slowly over on his side and looked. To his great alarm he saw a +large lion smelling the meat. He put out his hand and touched Fernie, +who woke at once, sat up, and looked. However uncertain the sailor's +temper might be, his nerve was still good. He snatched up his gun. As he +did so, the lion made a short backward jump and glared at the men, +growling. Fernie put the gun to his shoulder and pressed the trigger. +There was no report! He had forgotten the broken spring. Why he did not +fire the left barrel remains a mystery. Instead, he gripped the gun +about the trigger guard with his left hand, pressed the stock firmly to +his shoulder, and aimed a sharp blow at the hammer with his spanner. He +missed the hammer, but hit his thumb. + +"Gentle, jumping Johnson!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. "The +devil take the blighted thing and chew it!" + +With that he flung the spanner at the beast, and disregarding the blood +spurting from his crushed thumb, fired the left barrel after the lion, +which had bounded away into the darkness. + +It was many days before that thumb healed. + +I don't suppose that at the beginning of their partnership Fernie knew +much or any more about firearms than Black did. It is probable that both +were equally ignorant. This does not appear from the diary, but then +allowance must be made for Black's deep admiration of Fernie and all he +did. + +Of course, Fernie had travelled much and, thanks to his training at sea, +took more quickly to strange conditions and new things than Black. By +dint of perseverance and the expenditure of much ammunition, he managed +to keep the camp supplied with meat, but in those days game was thick +upon the ground. + +It is probable that if the job of keeping the larder full had been +handed over to the driver of the donkey waggon, all would have fared +better. + +It is on record that under Fernie's tuition Black once tried his hand at +shooting at a target. I say once advisedly, for he tried but once. + +The rifle he used was, of course, Fernie's old Martini. The target was +the bleached skull of an ox that they found by the roadside. + +After showing his pupil how to hold the rifle, how to aim, and the use +of sights, Fernie gave Black a handful of cartridges and walked off to +set up the target. + +Black was bubbling over with suppressed excitement. His heart beat +rapidly. His mouth felt unaccountably dry. He almost made up his mind to +borrow the rifle that very afternoon and go out and look for a buck. He +pictured himself soon taking turn and turn about with Fernie in keeping +the pot going. + +With an effort he ceased building castles, pulled himself together, and +mentally repeated Fernie's instruction on the rifle. He determined to +acquit himself creditably. + +Fernie had meanwhile set up the target about fifty yards away, and had +moved to what he considered a safe distance. He now shouted to Black to +have a shot, adding: "Don't be afraid of the darned thing, it won't hurt +you. Besides, it doesn't matter if you do miss the first shot or two." + +Black clenched his teeth, put the rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at +the skull. + +The rifle wobbled. + +He was most anxious to make a good beginning. + +The rifle went on wobbling. + +He held his breath. + +The rifle wobbled more. + +He held his breath until his lungs nearly burst. Then, I'm afraid, he +shut his eyes and pulled the trigger in desperation. + +Goodness knows where the bullet went to. Fernie declared that it passed +just over his head. + +But Black? He threw the rifle on the ground and rubbed his collar-bone +and chin. His spectacles fell off. From where Fernie stood it looked as +if he might be swearing. + +"What's the matter? Have another shot," shouted Fernie, as he walked +towards his friend. + +"Nothing much the matter, but I don't want another shot. It hurts too +much, and you said it wouldn't." + +"Hurt? Nonsense! Slip in another cartridge." + +"I won't." + +Fernie picked up the rifle and began to wipe off the dust with his hand. +"Hulloa! What on earth have you done to the thing?" + +"Done to it?" + +"Why yes; this bulge in the barrel." + +"Did I do that?" + +"Well, it wasn't like that before." + +"Wasn't it?" + +"Why no. And where's my plug?" + +"Your what?" + +"The plug of wood I had in the barrel. Good Heavens! You don't mean to +say that you fired the thing off with the plug in it?" + +"I don't know anything about plugs. You gave me the rifle to fire and I +fired it. My neck hurts, and I'm going back to the waggon." + +There must have been good metal in that old rifle, or it would surely +have exploded. About an inch from the end of the barrel was a bulge as +large as a hen's egg. + +One adventure is fully recorded in the diary. + +Fernie shot a reedbuck. Rain had fallen during the afternoon, so, +following the example of the waggon boys, the white men had taken the +roof from a deserted native hut, propped it up with a pole, and had made +their beds under it. + +Fernie put the reedbuck meat on the raised eaves of the hut roof to be +out of the reach of stray night marauders, such as hyenas, jackals, or +native dogs. + +After his experience with the lion, he had discarded the damaged +shot-gun in favour of the more serviceable rifle as a means of +protection by night. + +In due course the two men went to bed and both fell asleep. + +Their awakening was as sudden as it was unusual. Something fell heavily +on Fernie's chest. Still half-asleep, he hit out instinctively. His fist +came in violent contact with hairy ribs. A beast grunted and scrambled +away. + +Meanwhile Black had received a leg of the reedbuck on his head and was +pushing the clammy thing from him. + +It appears that a hyena had crept up between the sleeping men, had +sprung at the meat piled on the upturned roof, had misjudged the +distance, and had fallen back in a heap upon Fernie. In its ineffectual +attempt to carry off the meat it had dislodged a piece, which fell upon +Black. + +The friends re-made their beds, replenished the fire, and Black turned +in again. Fernie, determined to get a shot at the hyena, should it +return, sat up, rifle in hand, and watched for some time. + +After a while he got tired of sitting up, so got back into his blankets +again. + +For perhaps an hour he lay on his back, holding his rifle in his hand, +the butt resting on his chest and the barrel pointing straight up into +the sky. It was in those positions that Black remembered seeing man and +weapon just before he slipped off to sleep. + +How long it was before Fernie went to sleep neither had means of +knowing, but both awoke to the sound of Fernie's rifle. + +"What's up?" asked Black. + +"Blest if I know quite." + +"Did you see the hyena?" + +"I think so, I thought I did." + +"Do you think you hit him?" + +"I really don't know. I think I must have been dreaming. I believe I let +off the rifle in my sleep and then dropped it. My jaw hurts, so does my +shin--damnably." + +"Do you mean to say you fired the thing into the air?" + +"I expect so; why?" + +Black didn't wait to talk. He jumped up, pulled on his boots and bolted. +As he ran he shouted: "Look out for the bullet!" + +"Come back, you silly ass!" called Fernie after him. But there was no +reply. + +For a little while he could hear the shuffle of Black's unlaced boots as +he hurried away, but not for long, as there was a wind blowing in the +direction which Black had taken. + +From time to time Fernie called, but there was no reply. He became +alarmed for his pal's safety, so got up and dressed. With a lantern in +his hand he wandered here and there, hullooing. + +When it became light enough he called the waggon boys, and all went in +search of Black. + +They hadn't very far to go. They saw him perched in a tree quite +half-a-mile away. Fernie had to climb up and bring the poor fellow down +as he was stiff with cold. He pick-a-backed him to the camp. A vigorous +rubbing, a hot blanket, and a hotter whisky and water soon restored the +patient. + +He had a curious story to tell. + +When he realised that Fernie had fired his rifle straight up into the +air, he concluded that the bullet would sooner or later come straight +down again. It might fall on him. Why run unnecessary risk? So he ran +away. He thought he had time to pull on his boots, but no more. He +intended to give the bullet ten minutes and then come back. + +He heard Fernie call to him, but he also heard a sound which made him +run faster and still faster. It was the movement of some invisible wild +beast trotting parallel and very close to him. He stopped once. It +stopped. Scared out of his senses, he ran on, and so did It. By a stroke +of good fortune he collided in his flight with a tree; instinct made him +clamber up; he did it awkwardly. + +"It" jumped up at him as he climbed. Black, on the verge of exhaustion, +continued to struggle frantically up the tree. He heard the crash of +teeth as It's jaws came together within an inch of his leg. He felt It's +hot breath on his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine. + +He drew up his leg as the beast jumped again. He felt the heel of his +boot seized in the creature's jaws; felt the full weight of the thing at +his hip-joint as his leg swung with the spring of the beast. He clung to +the tree for dear life. Something gave way. He wondered how much of his +leg had gone. + +Fortunately his loss was not so very serious; his boot had been wrenched +from his foot--one of his patent two-compartment boots, and with it much +skin from his toes. + +The waggon boys, who examined the spoor under the tree, declared it to +be that of a hyena, probably the hyena which had tried to steal the +meat. + +The boot was not recovered. + +Fernie really knew very little about shooting--of dangerous game he knew +nothing. I don't suppose it would have made very much difference, +because he was a reckless fellow, quite without fear. + +One afternoon he shot at a skulking beast and hit her in the stomach. +This beast was a female leopard, three-quarters grown. She charged him. +Fernie hadn't time to load again, so hit her with his fist. His heavy +blow stopped her for a moment, but no more. She sprang again, and as she +sprang she struck at him, half-scalping him, and scoring deep wounds in +his stomach and thighs. + +Fernie roared like a mad thing. Dropping his rifle he grappled with her. +She fought with the weapons Nature had given her; he, like savage man +before the days of weapons. He spoke no word; the sounds he made came +from the throat, not from the tongue--the raucous cries of a wild beast +fighting for its life. + +Presently Fernie tripped and fell. They rolled over and over in the +dust; he, half-blinded, searching for her throat; she, biting and +tearing at his flesh. He lay on her and pressed her to the ground; thus +he got his grip upon her throat and held on until the end. + +The end? + +Fernie had killed the leopard with his hands, had strangled her. But +what of the man? + +A blinded, shredded thing, covered with blood and dust; his scalp +hanging like a coarse fringe from his forehead to his chin; his clothes +in tatters; gaping, welling wounds everywhere. This ruin of a strong +man stood up, gave one long, loud roar of victory, and fell insensible. + +The waggon boys had heard the shot, they also heard that cry. Thinking +their master had killed an antelope, they went towards the spot from +whence they judged the cry had come. They found Fernie and the leopard +lying side by side, and thought at first that both were dead. It would +have been better so. + +But Fernie wasn't dead. His hold on life was much loosened, but not yet +lost. For a day or two he lingered, and then he died. His agony was +awful. He couldn't move; blood-poisoning set in; he knew he had to die, +and hour by hour he begged his friend to shoot him. + +"Shoot me, Black. For the love of Heaven shoot. My God, I cannot stand +it. Kill me, Black! Oh, do be quick, Black!" + +Hour after hour Black sat near his dying friend. He did little more than +keep the flies away. He was helpless. He didn't know what to do. He had +scarcely heard of first aid, and they possessed no medicines. + +One of the waggon boys searched me out and found me. I travelled day and +night, but Fernie was dead when I arrived. + +After we had buried Fernie, I think Black was the most alone man in the +whole world. For him there was nothing left. He had aged much during the +few days of his friend's hopeless lingering. Whenever he looked at me +the tears welled up and trickled from under the lower rim of his +spectacles. He couldn't stop them, he no longer seemed to try. + +A man crying is not a thing for a man to see. I began to avoid him. I +pleaded official duties, and hated myself for it. His obvious agony of +grief became a burden to me. His whole being seemed to plead for help, +and I didn't know how to give it; no one could give it. + +Just at that time the South African War broke out. I had official notice +of it and told Black. His manner changed, changed with strange rapidity; +I couldn't understand why. It did not occur to me that this helpless +creature saw opportunity in that war; but he did, and he seized it. + +Next day Black said good-bye to me. He was almost cheerful. He was not +the old Black. He seemed resolute, more a man, he moved briskly. + +I never saw him again. I learnt much of what happened from his diary, +which his sister sent me; the rest from a chance acquaintance in Cape +Town. + +He went south to Bulawayo; from there he travelled to Beira and shipped +to Durban. In Durban he volunteered for active service, and was, of +course, rejected by every recruiting officer. + +In the end, an enterprising newspaper man engaged him. He risked +nothing, because Black asked for no pay. Black went to the front +immediately, as an accredited war correspondent. What his articles would +have been like I cannot imagine, but he didn't write any. His luck was +in. The very day he arrived at Headquarters a stray bullet hit him in +the forehead and dropped him dead. + +How strange it all was! A shot, fired from no one knows where and for no +obvious reason, found its mark in the brain of a man who longed for +death; probably the only man in South Africa at that moment who did long +for death. + + + + +THE LETTER HOME. + + +I. + +"I and my people will pay the Government's tax, we have our money here, +we pay willingly and in full; but the Barushu will not pay, they will +fight the Government." + +Wrenshaw eyed the speaker angrily and replied: "The Barushu will pay. +All will pay the Government tax and all will pay willingly and in full. +Who are you to speak of fighting? Take your receipts and go. Tell all +you meet by the way that the Barushu are paying the Government tax +willingly and in full." + +"I will tell them, Morena," said the old native Chief as he rose to go. +But there was no conviction in his tone, though his attitude towards the +white man was respectful. + +Wrenshaw felt anxious. He had heard vague rumours that the Barushu, a +large tribe living some twenty miles to the North, would refuse to pay +the native tax. This would be awkward. It would have a bad effect on the +rest of the tribes. He had been charged with preparing his district for +the imposition of the tax. For two years he had worked hard and had then +reported that all was in readiness to collect the tax for the first +time. This was quite true of all the tribes of which he had control, +save, perhaps, of the Barushu. They were a truculent people who had +always threatened trouble, although they had never actually given any. + +His two Native Commissioners, who were busy receiving tax-money from +another Chief, were puzzled to find that there were many more people in +this particular community than the census papers showed. + +It was Wrenshaw who discovered the curious fraud which was being +perpetrated by the Chief. It appeared that having met all demands of +him, he deliberately invented names. When asked how it was that all +these people had failed to have their names recorded on the census, he +suggested that they must have been away from home at the time. + +At last the truth came out. + +"I pay willingly," said the old man; "willingly and in full, Morena. I +have paid all the money I have to the Government because the Government +asks for money. I am not a Barushu to refuse to pay. What does it matter +how many people I have; does not the Government want money, and is it +not right that I should give all I have to the Government?" + +"Old man," said Wrenshaw kindly, "take back your money. The Barushu will +certainly pay. If, when all have paid, the Government still wants money, +I will ask you for it. For this time you have done enough; you have paid +willingly and well." + +Then, turning to his assistants, he directed them to cross out all the +new and obviously fictitious names which they had just entered in the +register and return the money paid in excess of the amount due. Later, +and at their leisure, they could check the census, and if they found +that any of the people really did exist, they could, of course, accept +the money. + +As he was speaking a cattle-trader hurried up, panting. "There is a +rising!" he shouted; "the Barushu are up. They have killed my partner +and taken my cattle. They have beaten the police and will soon be here. +Quick! Form a laager and let's get into it!" + +"Stop that, and go in there!" said Wrenshaw, pointing to his tent. To +the officials who had been receiving the tax-money and issuing receipts +he gave instructions to carry on. + +Entering the tent Wrenshaw asked: "What's your name?" + +"Wilkie." + +"Have they killed your partner?" + +"Yes." + +"What did they kill him with?" + +"I don't know; assegais, I suppose." + +"Then you didn't see them kill him?" + +"No." + +"Is he dead?" + +"I have told you that the Barushu are up, that they----" + +Wrenshaw interrupted the man: "Did you see his dead body?" + +"No." + +"Then you don't know that he is dead. You say they have taken your +cattle; how many?" + +"A hundred and fifty head." + +"Did they threaten to kill you?" + +"No." + +"Did you do anything to prevent the Barushu from taking your cattle?" + +"How could I? I wasn't there." + +"Who was in charge of the cattle?" + +"My partner, Jones." + +"One more question: who told you that the Barushu had beaten the +police?" + +"A native." + +"Did he also tell you that the Barushu had risen?" + +"Yes." + +"And that your partner had been killed and your cattle taken away?" + +"Well, not exactly; but----" + +"You're a silly scaremonger, spreading a yarn like this, and a cur to +boot for deserting your partner! Get out of my camp; get out quickly; go +South, go anywhere. I don't care where you go so long as you do go!" + +The man expostulated and threatened to report to Headquarters Wrenshaw's +unmannered treatment of him. As the Commissioner took no more notice of +him, he went off. + +But Wrenshaw was scanning the road which led towards the seat of the +alleged trouble. Presently he stepped back into his tent, picked up his +field-glasses and, returning, focussed them on a distant point of the +road. + +What he saw perturbed him; he returned the glasses to his case and +walked impatiently up and down before his tent. A runner was +approaching, a Government messenger, he could tell that by his uniform. +In his hand he bore a split reed with a letter slipped in it. His long +Arab shirt was gathered up and tucked into his belt to give greater +freedom in running. + +The messenger came along at that steady jog trot which enables the +native to cover such surprising distances in Africa. On nearing Wrenshaw +he dropped into a walk, approached the white man, saluted and handed him +the letter. + +The envelope was addressed to the Commandant of the Police Force at +Headquarters. Without hesitation the Commissioner tore it open and read +as follows: + + C.A.R. POLICE, MORA STATION. + "MONDAY, 26th JUNE, 19--. + + SIR, + + I have the honour to report that there is a native rising. This + p.m. I met a large crowd of them who behaved in such a queer way + that I thought it best to go back to camp, seeing that I had only + two police boys with me and they having no rifles and me only a few + rounds. + + On the way back to camp I fell in with the trader Jones with a mob + of cattle, whose partner Wilkie has been killed by the natives and + he anxious to come into laager. + + I am putting the camp in a state of defence with the help of the + said Jones and await orders. + + Your obedient servant, + JOSEPH WILSON, + Sergeant in Charge. + +So there was something in it after all. Wrenshaw went into his tent and +wrote a reply to the Sergeant of Police: + + To SERGEANT JOSEPH WILSON, + + I have read your letter to the Commandant and will deal with it. Do + not worry overmuch about the rising, I will attend to that too. + Remain in camp or you might miss me, I am coming your way. + + RICHARD WRENSHAW. + +After a short consultation with his juniors Wrenshaw issued his orders. + +He sent for his horse, told the interpreter to get his pony, and also to +saddle-up and load a pack mule. The two Native Commissioners were to +carry on as usual, accepting the tax from those who came to pay. + +It was nearly midday. He had to cover twenty miles by sundown. This was +easy enough for himself and his interpreter, but he would also take his +gunbearer and his cook. He believed in being comfortable, and saw no +reason for roughing it now. The two on foot would have to hurry. + + +II. + +It was after sundown when the party reached their destination. The cook +had stubbed his toe against a root in the path. + +Taking advantage of the remaining light, Wrenshaw helped the interpreter +to pitch the patrol tent. The cook collected wood for an all-night fire +and then fetched water from the nearest stream half-a-mile away. The +gunbearer cut coarse grass for bedding for the horses. Each servant had +his job, which he performed with the precision born of long practice. + +The camping ground was well-chosen. In front was a level plain, probably +a mile wide. After the first quarter of a mile it was very swampy; a +single path led across it to the high ground which flanked the river +beyond. Wrenshaw knew this path, he was probably the only living white +man who did. The high ground was thickly covered with palm trees; behind +the spot chosen for the camp was mile upon mile of thin forest. + +When bringing in his last load of grass the gunbearer stumbled over a +native lying face downwards on the ground. + +He stirred him with his foot. "Now then, you, what do you want?" + +As he could get no satisfactory reply he brought the fellow to Wrenshaw, +who asked who he was. + +"One of Nanzela's men, Morena." + +"Nanzela the Barushu?" + +"He is." + +"Where is he now?" + +"On the river bank." + +"With his people?" + +"With his people." + +"What are you doing here?" + +"I was on my way to join him when you arrived. I was afraid, and hid +myself." + +"You may go to Nanzela and give him a message. Say that I have come. +That I come because I hear Nanzela boasts. He says he will not pay the +Government tax. That he asks for war. Tell him that if by sunrise +to-morrow he does not come to me with tax-money in his hands, I shall +come to him with a gun in mine." + +Whilst Wrenshaw had been speaking the native's eyes had wandered. He was +making a mental note of the white man's forces. There was the white man +himself--an unknown quantity--an alien black man in clothes who +interpreted the white man's words, a native of a neighbouring tribe +attending to two horses, and a half-caste busy with some cooking-pots at +the fire. So far as he could see there were no more than these. He +looked again at the white man and wondered what his real strength might +be. However, it didn't matter, as by this time Nanzela had posted scouts +on every path, and the police camp, some miles away, was being watched. +The white man, too, would be watched. + +The sun had set, and it was now quite dark save for the camp fire which +the cook had made. A mile away, on the high ground by the river, little +points of light appeared. The Barushu were lighting their fires and +preparing for the night. Judging by the distance on either hand to which +these fires extended, the natives had assembled in some force. + +Presently the sound of a drum, then of another, then of many, reached +the white man's ear. + +"What is that sound?" + +"I do not know, Morena." + +"Are they not drums?" + +"They are drums." + +"War drums?" + +"I do not know." + +"What is their message?" + +"I do not know." + +The man, of course, lied; he could read their message as well as any +other native of his tribe within earshot. + +"Go, give my message to Nanzela." + +The man turned to go, bidding the white man rest in peace. + +"Go safely," was the reply. + +Presently the cook announced "Dinner ready, sir," and Wrenshaw moved to +the small camp table. The moment he sat down he felt he could not eat. +He had decided on his lonely journey in the heat of the moment--of the +midday sun, as it were; now that it was dark and cold, he wished he had +brought one of his assistants with him. + +On second thoughts he was very glad he had come alone. If there was +going to be trouble--and it looked uncommonly like it--a life might have +been needlessly sacrificed. + +His cook aroused him from his mooning by: "Soup's cold, sir." + +"Well, take it away and bring something else! What is there?" + +"Guinea-fowl and some native peas, sir." + +"All right, and give me a drink." + +"Whisky or gin, sir?" + +"Whisky to-night; not much, just a little." + +After a drink Wrenshaw felt more settled and attacked the guinea-fowl. + +Presently he started up and walked a few paces from his camp and +listened. + +His message must have reached Nanzela: a roar of distant laughter, +followed by a hum of voices, arose from the encamped Barushu. Then the +drums began again, but this time they beat to a song well known to +Wrenshaw, a song to which natives dance. + + Stop the pig and see where he will pass; + Stop him! Stop him! Stop him! + +That Nanzela should see in his message a huge joke slightly annoyed +Wrenshaw, but he reflected that people with a sense of humour were more +easily dealt with than those in a sullen mood. Yes, it was, perhaps, a +ridiculous thing for him to have come alone on such an errand. + +He went back to his table and attacked the guinea-fowl once more, this +time with vigour. + +After dinner he lit his pipe and ordered a large billy-can of coffee +made very strong. He had a long night in front of him. + +He made no attempt to sleep; he wouldn't risk it. The Barushu had, in +days gone by, a nasty habit of making a night attack. He didn't expect +them to attack him, especially after their laughter; but he intended to +take no risks. + +He had the fire piled up and saw that a plentiful supply of wood had +been collected and placed handy. He told his natives to turn in, and +walked across to where the horses were tethered. The animals seemed +comfortable: one was lying down and the other standing with drooping +head, dozing. He satisfied himself that their blankets were secure and +that they had emptied their nosebags. + +Next he loaded his rifle and tied it lightly to the tent pole; he also +loaded a double-barrelled horse-pistol, a twenty-bore, shooting large, +leaden slugs; very handy for close quarters. + +Then he sat down and listened. The camp fires over the way were for the +most part dying down. Wrenshaw had no illusions: he knew that he was +being watched; by how many, he could not tell. It might be the intention +of the Barushu to make a sudden end of him during the night. If he had +brought a dog with him it would have given him timely warning; but, +then, no dog can travel comfortably for twenty miles in the heat of the +day without water. + +And supposing they did wipe him out, what then? His mind flew back to +England. Would she care? He supposed she would; hoped she would. Well, +no, not exactly hoped; that was hardly the word. But did she care? Did +she care enough to make her home with him in this rough country? + +She certainly seemed sorry when he left England a few months before. Her +letters, too, were a source of encouragement to him, for she dwelt upon +the good times they had had together when he was on leave. + +He took her last letter from his pocket. "Dear Mr. Wrenshaw." How bald +it looked to be sure. If only she had written "Dear Dick," or "My dear +Dick," or.... However, she hadn't; but she did sign herself "Your +friend." Into this simple signature Wrenshaw read a whole world of +meaning, which, of course, might not have been intended; again, it +might. + +By Jove! Why not write to her? It might be his last chance. Those fools +on the high ground over the way might blot him out. He had his writing +gear with him. He would write. + +He must, however, be careful what he wrote. No pathetic sort of last +letter. No heroics of the penny novelette type. If he did go under, +well, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that just before the +event he had thought of her. + +Wrenshaw got some paper and an indelible pencil and began: + + MY FRIEND... + +At this he stuck for a long time; what on earth could he write about? +There were ten thousand things he wanted to say. Most of them he had no +right to say because they were not engaged; there was not even an +understanding between them. The remainder would give the show away; she +would see that he was in danger, or, at any rate, in a tight place. He +must write in some sort of general terms. + +This is what he wrote: + + MY FRIEND, + + I am on one of my journeys through the country; at this moment am + sitting by the light of my camp fire, writing. + + I do not feel very sleepy to-night, some strong coffee which I + drank after dinner is keeping me awake. + + The natives in the distance are beating their drums, which adds to + the mystery of the night. Their booming may mean a message sent by + the African equivalent to the telegraph or it may be that a cheery + dance is in progress miles away. Do you remember our last dance? + + We are quite a small party here, only a couple of horses, a mule, + and three natives. I like to travel light in this way sometimes, it + gives one a sense of greater freedom, of independence. + + To-morrow I continue my journey; until morning comes I shall not + know exactly in which direction I am to travel. All depends upon an + interesting meeting to which I have called the members of a curious + tribe. They may have arranged my journey for me. + +Wrenshaw read through what he had written and mentally condemned it for +a stupid letter, a poor effort. What more was there to say? Plenty he +wanted to say, but what more could he say? He couldn't add that he felt +sleepy now and must go to bed, it would look so silly with that opening +reference to the strong coffee. How should he end it? + +He settled the matter by saying that he would tell her all about his +plans in the morning, and signed himself: "Your sincerest friend, D.W." +He then addressed the envelope. + +Rising, he split a thin stick a few inches down its length, inserted the +envelope, and made it fast with a twist of bark. Then he pressed the +stick into the ground. The letter in its holder resembled a miniature +notice board. If the natives did dispose of him, they wouldn't destroy +the letter. The written message is sacred in Africa: some native would +deliver it to some white man. In due course it would reach her, shortly +after the news of his death, perhaps. If she cared, she would +understand. If she didn't, she would vote it a dull letter. + +Rather ashamed of his weakness, Wrenshaw poured himself out another +large mug of strong black coffee and returned to his lonely vigil. + +His three companions were sound asleep, snoring loudly. Of the three, +the interpreter had most cause for concern, because he should have had +some inkling of the position, but even he slept. The half-caste was a +brainless fellow, albeit a good cook. The gunbearer didn't bother his +head about matters which didn't appear to disturb his master. + +In the far distance a lion was roaring. A large green beetle hurried +past Wrenshaw's feet in the direction of the fire. He picked it up and +threw it far into the darkness; the insect somehow reminded him of +himself. + + +III. + +Just before dawn the gunbearer woke up feeling cold. He crept out of his +blanket and to the fire, which had died down and was nearly out. On +reaching the fire he saw his master sleeping in his chair without other +covering than the clothes he had ridden in throughout the afternoon. The +man quietly got his own blanket and gently spread it over his master's +knees. + +Wrenshaw was wide awake in an instant. His hand shot out to his pistol, +but, recognising his gunbearer, the movement was arrested. He accepted +the attention; to have refused the grimy blanket would have been +ungracious and have hurt the man; besides, he was chilled to the bone. +He told the gunbearer to rake the fire together and throw on some more +wood. There was still some coffee in the pot, and this he heated and +drank. + +Feeling warmer, he got up and paced about to restore his circulation and +get rid off his stiffness. + +So after all he had slept; well, he was glad he had, for now he felt +rested and refreshed. + +He woke the interpreter and told him to feed the horses. The cook got up +and took charge of the fire. + +Looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the +Barushu were also astir. The points of light twinkled at him across the +intervening space. + +The sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. The silence was broken +only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. This, slight as it +was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away; +they began to exchange shrill greetings. + +As it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended +over the swamp. This did not interfere with his view of the high ground +on which the Barushu had camped during the night, but he could +distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and +undergrowth. The light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the +day dawned. + +The gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the +first to notice movement on the other side. + +"The Barushu are coming, Morena." + +"Good, many of them?" + +"Yes, many." + +Wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp. +Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the +twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin +black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of +the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater +part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not +cease. + +Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse +pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent +and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he +had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity +arose; in the meantime they were out of sight. + +Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu +emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the +van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The +natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file. + +By this time it was quite light. + +Wrenshaw took up his glasses again and examined his visitors. They were +an ugly looking lot and quite naked. He presently became aware that +there was something strange about them; what was it? Oh, of course, +contrary to their custom, they carried no assegais. Well, that, at any +rate, was a good sign. + +Then again, they were walking extraordinarily slowly. Marking time, +obviously, until their fellows had crossed the swamp. On second thoughts +Wrenshaw rejected that explanation. He kept his glasses fixed on the +foremost man. The fellow appeared to be lame, lame in the right leg. He +shifted his glasses. By Jingo, the whole lot were lame, all lame or +stiff in the right leg. + +It was the gunbearer who solved the mystery. + +"Morena." + +"Well?" + +"Why do the Barushu carry their assegais in their toes to-day?" + +"Why, indeed?" + +So the devils meant trouble after all. Stalking him, were they? He would +make some of 'em smart for this. + +The white man took some cartridges from his pocket and placed them handy +on the table. He glanced at his letter, which stood erect in its holder +like a miniature notice-board. + +He looked at the dull-brained cook and felt sorry for him. His +interpreter, who was standing, appeared to be feeling faint. The +gunbearer was quite unperturbed. + +Close to a large dead tree, which stood alone in the plain about a +hundred yards from where Wrenshaw was sitting, the leader halted and the +Barushu began to bunch into knots, talking quietly. Wrenshaw didn't like +the look of things. Something must be done, and done quickly. He must +make the first move, and lose no time about it. + +"Go," he said to the interpreter, "and tell the Barushu that they may +pile their assegais against that tree, and after that they may come +forward and talk to me." + +"Morena, I am afraid." + +"So it seems, but what's the matter with your hands, with your coat?" + +The interpreter was terrified, and, which was worse, showed it. He +fiddled with the buttons of his coat, doing them up, undoing them, and +again doing them up. His pale, yellow face had become greenish, his eyes +were rolling, and he seemed unable to stand still. + +This would never do. Even if the Barushu meant no mischief, such an +exhibition of fear wasn't good for them. + +"Pick up that log," said Wrenshaw, pointing to a huge piece of wood +collected overnight for the fire, "and hold it in your arms." + +The frightened man obeyed, he held the log as a woman does a baby. + +Wrenshaw turned to the gunbearer, "You go and tell them to stack their +assegais and come forward to talk. Don't go too near them, shout from +halfway. I have my rifle ready." + +If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get +in a few shots before the end came. + +The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A +single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save +for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account. +Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could +two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come +forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do. + +Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice +that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the +third time, although he shouted lustily, for the Barushu broke into +peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has +found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as +we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going +to say to us. But it would have been very funny." + +Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between +his toes placed it against the dead tree. + +At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the +imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in +advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in +greeting to the chief official of the District. + +So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal +inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered. + +"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to +you." + +Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down. + +"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you +had warning of it?" + +"I have." + +"All the people are paying the tax willingly and well." + +Nanzela made no reply, but gazed at the speaker with an expression of +indifference. + +Wrenshaw put his hand carelessly on the butt of his rifle and resumed. + +"There are but two paths for a man to travel, the one is towards peace, +and the other to trouble, war." + +Nanzela blinked. He had not been able to see the white man's rifle from +where he sat until called to come closer, nor had he noticed it before +Wrenshaw's careless gesture drew his attention to it. His arms and those +of his people were piled against the tree, and so, for the moment, out +of reach. The white man's hand was on his rifle. All white men were good +shots, and Wrenshaw had a reputation for being better than most. If he +chose the wrong path now he would be the first to suffer. It would not +be wise to run risks. + +"It is only a foolish man who seeks trouble." + +"Exactly," said Wrenshaw, "that is why all men are paying willingly and +in full. I see you have your purse on your arm and have come to pay your +tax." And again his hand caressed the butt of his rifle. + +Nanzela unbuckled an armlet which held his money. + +Turning to the interpreter Wrenshaw told him to put down the log, which +he was still nursing, and get a book of tax receipt forms from the +pack-saddle. + +Nanzela shook half-a-sovereign from his purse. + +The official made out a receipt for ten shillings, which he gave in +exchange for the money. Then, raising his voice, he said: "Every man who +has paid the tax must carry his tax-paper in a stick so that all may see +that he has paid willingly and in full." + +The gunbearer cut a reed, slit it a few inches down its length, and +offered it to Nanzela. The Chief slipped his tax-paper into the slit and +bound the top with a shred of bark. + +How simple it all was! Now man after man came forward, paid his tax, and +received in exchange a small square of coloured paper, which he slipped +into a split reed, making it fast with a shred of bark. Their Chief had +paid, they naturally followed his example. + +Wrenshaw had only one book of receipts with him; he had thrown it into +the pack-saddle at the last moment. The book held one hundred forms, and +these he had now used. + +Some of the men had no money with them, which was not to be wondered at, +since they had come out looking for trouble and certainly with no +intention of paying tax. He seized upon this as an excuse for collecting +no more tax that day, and informed Nanzela that he would accompany him +and his people back to the village and encamp there, so that each man +might bring his money from his hut. He made no reference to the night +spent on the high land near the river. + +The animals were saddled up and the interpreter sent back on his pony +with a note calling upon the Native Commissioners to follow to Nanzela's +village with all possible speed, bringing their census books, tax +receipt forms, and the rest of their travelling office. + +A strange procession now formed. First walked the Chief with his +assegai--recovered from the tree--in one hand and the tax-paper in the +other. Then a body-guard of fully-armed men, some with and some without +tax-papers. In the midst of these rode Wrenshaw, with his rifle gripped +between his saddle and his thigh. Then followed the gunbearer leading +the mule; the cook slouched along behind. + +The rear was brought up by the remainder of Nanzela's men, a few of whom +had tax-papers, which they carried well in the air, much to the envy of +those who had not yet paid. The little papers in the sticks appealed to +the child-like fancy of these savages; taxpaying had become a game, a +receipt in a stick, a toy. + +To say that Wrenshaw was much relieved is not to overstate the case. As +he looked round him upon this mob of armed men eager to pay their tax +and receive in exchange a piece of coloured paper, he realised better +than anyone else could how tight a corner he had been in. + +His thoughts were disturbed by a commotion as the ranks parted and a man +ran up to him with a letter in a stick; as the native held it up it +resembled a miniature notice-board. + +Good heavens! It was his letter home; in the excitement of starting he +had forgotten it. The man who brought it was one of Nanzela's people who +had gone back to pick up anything which the white man or his servants +might have left behind. He hoped, no doubt, to find a stray cartridge or +two in the grass, or perhaps a spoon or a table knife. + +Wrenshaw did not remove the letter from the stick, but carried it as the +natives did their tax-papers. The simple people became impatient to pay +their tax; was not the white man also playing this new game? + + * * * * * + +The letter home was never sent. In place of it Wrenshaw despatched a +brief account of his adventure, told in a very matter-of-fact way. + + * * * * * + +Over the mantelpiece of his den hangs a frame; in place of a picture it +contains a letter in a stick which, at a short distance, looks like a +miniature notice-board. + + + + +THE DOCTOR. + + +Those who go in search of trouble usually find it. They deserve no +sympathy and seldom get any. + +The well-meaning man frequently meets with trouble too, although it is +the one thing he doesn't want. When he is in difficulties, people pity +him; they give him that pity which is akin to contempt, not to love. + +But Harry Warner was lucky. He most certainly went in search of trouble; +he also meant well. His reward was unusual and quite out of proportion +to the little good he did. He achieved immortal, if only local, fame. + +It was the natives who dubbed him "doctor." He wasn't one, he had no +medical qualifications and little knowledge of medicine. + +But what do black people know or care about qualifications? Wasn't +Warner always accessible? Did he not give medicine to all who asked for +it, no matter what the disease might be? Did not some of those to whom +he gave medicine recover? Had he ever asked anyone for payment? + +What a doctor! + +So the natives declared, and do still declare, that there never has +been, never will be, never could be so great a doctor in their country +as he. + +Now if Warner possessed no medical knowledge, he had the "goods." The +goods consisted of a miscellaneous collection of superfluous drugs, +plasters and pills, all a little stale, packed in an old whisky case and +presented to him by a hospital orderly of his acquaintance. + +Warner watched the packing and asked questions. + +"Iodine, what's that for?" + +"Oh, sore throat, water on the knee, to stop vomiting, for fixing a +gumboil, chilblains, and a host of other things. It's made from +seaweed." + +"Do you drink it?" + +"Not in every case, not with housemaid's knee or sore throat, anyway. +You paint it in the throat or on the knee. Here, we'd better put you in +a camel's hairbrush." + +"Good. And what's nitrate of potash for?" + +"Well, if you have an inflamed eye, put a spot or two in this eye-cup, +fill it up with water and blink into it--like this." + +"Thanks. And what do you use chlorodyne for?" + +"Bad pains in the stomach." + +"I see. And quinine is good for fever, of course." + +"Yes, that's right. Cover a sixpence with the powder, mix it with a +little whisky, add a little water, and toss it off." + +"And corrosive sublimate?" + +"Oh, that's good stuff for washing wounds with, jolly good. Don't make +it too strong or you'll burn the bottom out of the pot you mix it in, +not to mention the wounded part. About one in ten thousand makes a +useful solution if the water you use isn't too dirty." + +"I understand. And what is in this funny little box marked 'Sovereign +Remedy'?" + +"Dash it all! That box belongs to my set of conjuring tricks. Can't +think how it's got mixed up with this lot. But you may as well take it +along; you might want to surprise the natives and you'll certainly do it +with that." + +"How do you use it?" + +"It's all on the box, full directions." + +"And what's in all these pill boxes? Pills?" + +"Yes, pills." + +"But what are they all for?" + +"Bless the man! I haven't time to wade through the lot. Besides, you +must know in a general way what pills are for. All the boxes have the +dose on them. Now let's get a move on. Give a hand with the packing. I'm +on duty in half an hour." + + * * * * * + +And now we know just as much about doctoring as Warner did on the +threshhold of his short medical career. Even a real doctor has much to +learn before he reaches Harley Street; he picks up many wrinkles on the +way and much improves with practice. + + +THE SOVEREIGN REMEDY. + +Warner had travelled many miles from civilisation before his first +patient came to him. The precious box of medicines had all along been +kept handy on the waggon. From time to time he got it down, unpacked it, +examined the labels, shook the bottles, and carefully repacked them. +But, like a real doctor, he did not advertise. It isn't done. + +Somehow it did get about at last that he had a box of medicines. How, it +doesn't really matter. The fact remains that a native came to the waggon +one morning with a strip of bark tied tightly round his forehead, +another round his chest, and a third round his belly. + +Warner, recognising a case, asked the native what the matter was. + +The boy replied: "I have much pain here and here and here," touching the +bands of bark in downward succession. + +Warner, pleased at getting a patient at last, took the box of medicines +from the waggon, opened it, took out the bottles one by one, and +examined the labels with the eye of a master. + +"Iodine? No, that's for housemaid's knee, gumboils and that sort of +thing. Corrosive sublimate? Wounds. Nitrate of potash? No, eyes. Why not +a pill? Yes, a pill." + +But there were boxes and boxes of them. He picked up one after the +other, but met with a check. Each box had on its label the name of its +pill contents, followed by the words: "From one to three as ordered by +the physician." In some cases: "From two to six." There was nothing +about the complaint for which the pill might be used. + +Just a little difficult. Doctoring was not such an easy job after all. + +"What's this?" + +The gaudy label on a small box read: + + Sovereign Remedy. Trick No. 10. + + Never known to fail. Surprising in its effects. + + _Directions:_--Borrow a sovereign. Request the lender to take a + seat. Ask him how he feels. Tell him he is looking off-colour. + Suggest headache. Say you will brighten him up, that you will make + his head glow pleasantly, etc. Palm the sovereign in your left + hand. Empty contents of box into your right. Rub the powder well + into gent's head, which will become golden (metallic). Then proceed + as in Trick No. 6. + +The directions seemed clear enough. + +"Sit down," said Warner. + +The native obeyed, squatting on the ground and spreading his loin cloth +over his knees like an apron. + +"I am going to take away your pains." + +"Thank you, sir." + +It suddenly occurred to Warner that, though the native might have a +shilling, he certainly would not possess a sovereign, so he took one +from his own pocket, wishing he had thought of this before. + +"You see this?" said Warner, holding up the coin. + +"Yes sir, much money." + +Now Warner didn't know how to palm a coin. He had seen it done, of +course, but had never yet tried to palm or to do anything else in the +nature of a conjuring trick. To guard against possible accident, he +turned his back upon the boy and very cautiously opened the box. + +It was full of some bright yellow metallic powder. He read the +directions again and wondered what Trick No. 6 might be. He wished he +had risked a pill. + +However, he had not the courage to go back now. The native might suspect +his ignorance if he selected another box. It was hardly playing the game +perhaps to trick a poor confiding black, but Warner consoled himself +with the thought that it is said of even real doctors that when in doubt +they sometimes give their patients bread pills. + +So, emptying the contents of the box into his right hand, he turned +again and began to rub the golden powder into the native's woolly head. +The sovereign he held in his left hand. + +The more he rubbed, the brighter grew his patient's head. It +scintillated. + +The trick pleased Warner, who soon forgot his misgivings; he forgot the +sovereign too, and rubbed the powder in with both hands. + +The coin fell into the patient's lap. Warner was busy and didn't notice +the accident at once, but the native did. He picked up the money and +quietly slipped it into the rawhide pouch attached to his belt. + +At length Warner stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. The boy's head +shone like a brass knob. He glanced at his own hands. They looked as if +they had been gilded. Both hands! Where the devil had that sovereign +gone to? + +He looked on the ground. He felt in all his pockets. He looked at the +boy, who said nothing. He therefore dismissed the patient without +mentioning his loss. + +Whilst washing the greasy gold stuff off his hands, Warner was conscious +of a hum of excitement rising from the spot where his natives had made +their midday shelter. Trick No. 10 was evidently a success. The hospital +orderly was right; he had surprised the natives. + +That night all his boys, and a score of strange natives besides, came to +Warner complaining of pains. Each one had a strip of bark tied tightly +round his forehead, a second round his chest, and a third round his +stomach. They lingered as if dissatisfied when he gave pills to +each--one or more as ordered by the physician--taken at random from his +many little pill boxes. + + +IODINE. + +Warner was sitting under a tree on the south bank of the Zambesi, +watching the local natives floating his waggon across the stream. He +was wondering how long, at the present rate of progression, it would +take to get the whole of his stuff across. Two days, three, perhaps +more. + +"Sir, my felicitations upon the indefectibility of the climatology." + +The startled Warner looked round and saw a black man very stout and +short, in European clothes and perspiring freely. He carried his large +elastic-sided boots in his hand and a black alpaca coat over his arm. + +As Warner turned towards him, this strange creature politely lifted his +ridiculously small sun helmet. It could not be said that he bowed to the +white man, but the braces which he wore over his waistcoat sagged +slightly in front and became taut behind, whilst the crease which +represented the highest contour of his stomach deepened a little. Warner +gaped stupidly at the man. He made mental note of the large gold +spectacles astride the fat, flat nose; the collar, once white and +starched, now grubby and collapsed; the heavy brass watchchain stretched +tightly across the ample space between pocket and pocket; the badly +creased loud check trousers, and the dirty white socks; the large green +umbrella which, held to shield the back, framed face and form. + +Warner forgot the man's ridiculous speech in his more ridiculous +appearance. + +"As I ventured to remark, sir, although the orb of day smiles down with +radiance from the firmament, the temperamental calidity is not +unendurable." + +"Yes," said Warner vaguely, "but who are you?" + +"Sir, if you will pardon the expression I may say I am a kind of a +wandering refugee hailing from Jamaica with a mission to carry the +apprehensions of civilisation to the unspeakably incomprehending +aboriginal inhabitants of this beatific equatorial region who are +doubtless immersed in the chaotic complexity of irreligious heathenism +and incondite boorishness." + +Warner eyed the speaker with astonishment, feeling tired, somehow, and +out of breath. + +The black man saw, with obvious pleasure, the effect which his speeches +had produced. + +He had spoken fluently, continuously, without pause or effort. Without +expression or inflexion the long unbroken flow of chosen words had +rumbled off his tongue. + +He cleared his throat as if about to speak again, but Warner hastily +interposed. + +"What is your name?" + +"Joseph Johnson, sir." + +"You are obviously a man of some education." + +"Sir, if I may presume to express an opinion upon Your Honour's +personality I would hazard the conclusion that Your Excellency is a +gentleman of kindly but penetrating discernment for I received my +education at the hands of the Reverend Westinghouse Wilberforce of +Kingston Jamaica alas now dead of whom as the classical writer has it +_de mort nil ni bum_ I repeat sir _de mort nil ni bum_." + +Warner abruptly turned his back, snatched out his handkerchief, and held +it tightly to his nose. + +Joseph Johnson, mistaking for emotion the queer little sounds which +Warner did not entirely succeed in smothering with his handkerchief, +sniffed and blinked his small eyes sympathetically, murmuring +"_de-mort-nil-ni-bum_." + +When Warner had regained his self-control he asked the black man what he +wanted. + +"Sir, I am credibly informed that you are a distinguished member of a +profession which has my humble but unqualified admiration and regard for +what can be nobler than the unselfish alleviation in others of the ills +to which this weak flesh of ours is heir need I say the medical +profession?" + +"What then?" + +"I suffer your honour from a slight but painful derangement of the vocal +chords which hinders my fluency of enunciation and so disturbs my mental +process as to detract from the strength of my disputations and +dissertations." + +"You mean you have a sore throat?" + +"Sir, you grasp my meaning." + +"You want some medicine for it?" + +"Sir, if I might so far encroach upon your generosity...." + +Warner rose hastily and walked to his goods piled up on the bank +awaiting transportation, leaving Johnson to rumble on and on. + +Here, then, was another patient. He must be careful. The man might know +something and question his treatment. That would be most awkward. + +"Corrosive sublimate? Wounds, the orderly had said, and had warned him +about burning out the bottom of the pot used when mixing the stuff. +Better look through the rest before deciding. + +"Pills? Might do the objectionable fellow some general good. + +"Iodine? Yes, that's the stuff for him. Iodine for housemaid's knee or +sore throat. Well, the man said he had a sore throat and he should know, +so iodine let it be. Where's the brush?" + +Warner opened the bottle. The cork was a little soft and inclined to +crumble. He dipped the tip of the large camel's hair brush into the +dark brown liquid and called Joseph Johnson to him. + +"I am going to paint your throat. It also wants a thorough rest, so you +must not talk more than is absolutely necessary." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Now open." + +The black man's mouth was immense. Warner had never seen such a cavern, +nor, for that matter, had he ever seen such a perfect, strong, clean set +of teeth. He gave little dabs here and there, this side and that, and +then withdrew the brush. + +"That's enough for this morning. Come again at sunset, and remember, +don't talk." + +This admonition he repeated in self-defence. He rather dreaded the man's +brook of words. + +His patient bent forward slightly, put on his sun helmet and walked +away, his eyes watering a little. + +The man was most obedient. Punctually at sunset he again appeared. He +smiled pleasantly at Warner, but did not announce himself with any +long-winded speech. + +Warner looked at the throat and remarked that he thought it was better, +that one or two applications would set it right. He then painted as +before. + +This time Johnson coughed and large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. + +Then it occurred to Warner that he himself, when a child, had had his +throat painted, more than once. He recollected that the operation was +not a pleasant one. He had coughed a great deal, and his eyes had +watered very much. Clearly he was underdoing it. No matter, he would put +that right to-morrow. + +Warner was pleasantly surprised when, in the morning, the local natives +came to tell him that they were about to cross the river with the last +of his goods, after which they would take him if he was ready to go. He +had expected the job to take at least another day. + +He kept back the bottle of iodine and the camel's hair brush, and sat +down on a camp stool to wait for Johnson. + +In about a quarter of an hour the patient arrived. + +"How are you this morning?" asked Warner pleasantly. + +"Much better, I thank you, sir." + +"Let's have a look. Capital, capital. Now don't move, I'll just touch it +up." + +Warner, remembering his overnight decision, plunged the brush deeply +into the bottle and withdrew it fully charged and dripping. + +He began to dab the throat here and there as before. A gurgling sound +came from Joseph Johnson's mouth. Warner recognised the warning. He knew +his time was distinctly limited. He felt that, if he did not hurry, much +of the enormous cavern would remain unpainted. With a rapid movement, +like one stirring porridge to save it from burning, he finished the job +and stepped back. + +Joseph Johnson seemed to explode. Tears forced their way through his +tightly closed eyelids. A roar boomed from the painted throat. The +patient's condition quite alarmed the doctor. Surely the fool wasn't +going to die? + +Looking round for inspiration, Warner saw that the native canoe had +returned to ferry him across the river. He didn't actually run away, but +quickly corking his bottle of iodine he walked briskly to the river +bank, entered the canoe and told the crew to paddle to the other side. + +He heaved a sigh of relief when he stepped ashore. He looked back, but +could see no sign of Joseph Johnson. + + * * * * * + +Some weeks later his troubled conscience was set at rest by the +following letter: + + "Bulawayo, + "21/4/19. + + "Honoured Sir, + + "The enablement was not vouchsafed to me to indicate to Your + Excellency the prodigious potentiality of the prophylactic applied + with such consummate and conscientious technicality to my + unostentatious tenement of clay. For full three weeks the + taciturnity prescribed was obediently observed without difficulty + or mutinousness of feeling. After which, rising from the slough of + my despond, I found my multiloquence had returned fourfold, my + linguacious allocution and discursive conversationalism prominently + augmented. I then felt that my mission was not to the unenlightened + ignoramusses of this neighbourhood but to the encyclopedical + omnicients of the south. I have therefore returned to Bulawayo. Now + here...." + +As there were four closely written pages of this kind of thing, Warner +turned to the last of them, which ended: + + "Sir, I have the honour to be + + "Your Honourable Excellency's most grateful, most humble, most + obedient and unforgetful servant, + + "JOSEPH JOHNSON." + + +CORROSIVE SUBLIMATE. + +Late one afternoon some natives carried an old man, wrapped in a +blanket, into Warner's camp and laid him down on the ground before the +tent. Warner came out. + +"What is this?" he asked. + +"A dead man, killed by a leopard." + +"Why do you bring the dead man to me?" + +"He said he wanted to come and told us he would curse us if we did not +bring him. We did not wish to trouble the Doctor with a dead man, but a +'dead man's curse' is a fearful thing." + +Warned stooped and looked under the blanket. The man wasn't dead, he +opened his eyes. + +Although far from dead, the native had been very badly mauled and had +lost a great quantity of blood. Tyro though he was, Warner could see +that his condition was serious. Stepping back into the tent, he poured +out half a tumbler of neat whisky and, lifting the man's head, made him +drain the glass. The effect upon the patient was immediate; he sat up +and began to talk rapidly, describing the accident. + +"We were hunting, these dogs, those others, and I. We came upon a +leopard in the grass. One, who is not here, thrust an assegai through +her. She bit him in the arm and he ran away. Another, and neither is he +here, struck the leopard with his axe. She jumped on him and bit him in +the neck. He ran away crying out that she had killed him. + +"A third, who did not return with us, broke her back with a club, but +she tore his thigh with her teeth. Then I went to her and pierced her +belly with my assegai. But she bit me in the arm and shoulder and clawed +me down the back. She also broke my assegai with her teeth so that it +was useless. + +"Then, having nothing with which to kill her, I held her by the ears +with my two hands, calling to these slaves to come and finish her, for I +could see by her face that she was dying. But they were afraid and ran +away like women. And the leopard shook her head and my hands slipped +because of the blood which had run down my arm from my shoulder. And +when my hands came together, she took them in her mouth and crushed +them both. Then she died." + +The man's hands were swollen and shapeless. He had a large gash and a +deep puncture in his shoulder, and his back was very badly scored. + +After staring for a while at their companion, the natives who brought +him slipped quietly away, hastened in their departure, no doubt, by his +reference to the sorry part which they had played in the affair. + +Warner was greatly pleased. He looked upon the coming of this wounded +man as a stroke of good fortune. Here at last was a straightforward +case, all clear and above board. And he knew exactly what to do. +Corrosive sublimate, one in ten thousand, wash the blood off, keep the +wounds clean, make the man comfortable. + +He shouted for his kitchen boys and ordered warm water in large +quantities. He had not seen them go, so called the wounded man's +companions to build a shelter of grass and branches for him. When he +realised that they had gone, he set to work on the shelter himself. + +For weeks Warner laboured on those wounds. The man improved slowly. As +he grew better he spoke of payment. Warner told him not to bother about +it, but he persisted. + +"Have you not given me back my life?" + +"What of it?" + +"Are not those others dead?" + +Now, this was true. The other wounded men who went to their homes all +died of blood-poisoning, and Warner's reputation grew in consequence. + +But no matter what arguments and persuasions were used, Warner would not +hear of payment in any shape or form. + +The man was obstinate. + +"If I receive a gift from a man, must I not give one in return? Am I to +be shamed? Is it not the custom that a gift shall be received with a +gift? And gifts must be equal. What, then, shall I give to the Great +Doctor? What have I, a very poor man, of value equal to the life which +the Doctor has given back to me? I have no cattle and no sheep. I have a +few goats, very few, and I have some wild cats' skins. But what are +these to a life?" + +Twice daily did Warner wash and dress the man's wounds. Each time the +man spoke of a gift for a gift. He seemed to feel his honour was at +stake. + +At length the day came when Warner thought he could safely send his +patient away. The man's final protestations of gratitude and his +entreaties to be permitted to make some payment caused Warner much +embarrassment. He firmly declined to accept the merest trifle in return +for all his time and trouble. He would not be robbed of the feeling that +at length he had done some genuine good for good's sake. + +Of course he could explain nothing of this to the old native. + +The man was much troubled. He went away at length saying he would bring +next day the gift which he knew now the Doctor wanted. Warner repeated +that he wanted nothing and would take nothing. + +Next morning, when Warner got up and came out of his tent, he found the +old man waiting for him. He was not alone. By his side sat a little +girl, the old man's daughter. + +Warner remembered having seen her several times before during her +father's long illness. From time to time she had come with her mother to +inquire how the old man progressed and to bring him some horrid-looking +native delicacy. + +"Here she is," said the late patient. "Here is my child. She is my only +one. You ask for her and I give her to you. A life for a life, which is +just." + +Warner protested indignantly that he had not asked for the girl, that he +did not want her or anything else. + +"See, she is strong," persisted the old man. "She is strong to carry +water, to grind grain. She is worth three cows, five goats and ten +hoes." + +Warner became quite angry. + +The old man was incredulous and distressed. He had somehow concluded +that Warner had really set his heart upon possessing his daughter, his +plain, fat little daughter and nothing else, but that, native-like, he +had not said so. + +In the end Warner accepted, in self-defence, a mangy, evil-smelling +cat's skin. + + +CHLORODYNE. + +A day or two after Warner had become the unwilling possessor of the +mangy skin, which, by the way, he promptly buried as soon as its donor's +back was turned, he set out on a three days' journey from his camp to +visit a white trader with whom from time to time he transacted business +of some kind. He went on foot, accompanied only by a few natives, one of +whom carried the box of medicines. + +While he was resting during the midday heat, the Headman of the +neighbouring village approached him with many signs of deference. + +"Good day to you, Great Doctor." + +"Good day to you," Warner replied. + +"Are you indeed the Great Doctor?" + +Warner was bold enough to say he was. + +"Will the Great Doctor help me with medicines? My wife, who is very old, +suffers from a great sickness. Her arms are now no thicker than a stick. +Pain is with her always. She never sleeps. All day long and all the +night she lies and moans. She no longer cries out. Will not the Great +Doctor kill this sickness? I have told her of you." + +Warner rose abruptly. He felt a lump rising in his throat. He wished he +were a doctor instead of merely the owner of a box of drugs and all but +ignorant of the uses to which they should be put. + +"Where is your wife?" he asked gruffly. + +"The Great Doctor will come!" exclaimed the delighted old native, +leading the way towards his village. + +Warner could distinguish little or nothing when he found himself inside +the Headman's hut. Coming in directly from the outside glare made it +difficult to see. The native pointed to a form propped up against the +pole which supported the roof of the hut. + +Warner looked; suddenly he saw all there was to see, and gasped as a +faint moan of pain reached his ears. A thin old woman lay there with +closed eyes, so thin that Warner marvelled that she could be alive. Her +arms and legs, too, for that matter were indeed, as the Headman had +said, as thin as sticks. Her distended ribs showed plainly even in the +dim light. She had neither hair nor flesh on her skull, merely wrinkled, +dull brown skin adhering closely to the bone. Her neck was no thicker +than one's wrist. Her stomach was enormous. + +Warner looked down upon this poor, emaciated creature with horror. + +She moaned again. + +Her husband said: "See, woman, here is the Great Doctor of whom all men +speak. He has turned aside from his journeying to make you well with +medicines. Does he not make all men well? Do not the people say so? Soon +you will be well and will laugh again. Soon you will sit in the sun or +go to the fields. Do you hear, woman? The Great Doctor has come." + +Warner cursed under his breath. He never expected this sort of thing +when he lightheartedly accepted from the hospital orderly the box of +medicines with a conjuring trick thrown in. The thought of that +conjuring trick was nauseating in the presence of this pain. + +Save for the rapid heaving of her bony chest to laboured breathing, the +woman had made no move since he entered the hut. Now, however, Warner +saw the drooping eyelids flicker. A fear seized him that the poor +creature would look up. He couldn't stand that. He couldn't meet her +eyes. He hurried away, saying he would bring some medicine. + +He reached his resting place and opened his box. Right on the top lay +the bottle of chlorodyne. He repeated to himself: "Chlorodyne, good for +pains in the stomach! Chlorodyne, good for pains in the stomach!" + +Warner returned to the hut but wouldn't go in. He pushed the bottle into +the old man's hand saying, parrot-like: "Good for pains in the stomach, +give her some water with it." + +Then he went back to his halt again, called to his boys to pack up and +follow him, anxious only to put distance between himself and all that +pain and suffering. + +Ten days later Warner passed by that village again on his return +journey. He could have followed another route, but a strong desire to +ask about the woman drew him to the village. He must know about the +woman. He had casually asked the trader with whom he had transacted his +business how much chlorodyne one usually takes at a dose. The reply: +"Oh, about fifteen drops or from ten to twenty, according to your size," +nearly made his heart stand still. And he, the Great Doctor, had given +the old native a full bottle of the stuff! True, he had not told him how +much to take, but Warner found scant consolation in this thought. + +As he and his carriers neared the village, he heard a great commotion, +men shouting to each other and women making that shrill quavering noise +familiar to all travellers in Africa. He thought he could distinguish +the word "doctor." He was certain of it now. "The Great Doctor is +coming. He who saves the people! The white man with the medicines! The +Doctor! The Doctor!" + +The natives broke through from the bush on every hand. They surrounded +the little party. The carriers were quickly relieved of their loads. +There was no mistaking the nature of the demonstration; it was one of +goodwill, not of hate. + +The old Headman hobbled up, praising Warner lustily. + +What could it all mean? + +At length Warner asked the question point blank: "How is your wife?" + +"Oh, she is dead," replied the old man. "She died with a smile upon her +face. I gave her half a cup full of your medicine filled up with water. +She was silent for a long while. Then she said: 'I have now no pain.' +And then: 'Give me more.' She smiled when I gave her another cup of +your good medicine. And then she slept. And I knew she had no pain +because she smiled. And as she slept she died. And when we buried her +the smile was on her face. You are a Great Doctor and your medicine is +very good. Good Fortune has come to the people that you are here. Can a +man smile who is in pain? Does not a smile mean pleasure? Ah, but that +is a good medicine." + +"Give me back that bottle," said Warner, and his voice sounded strangely +weak. + +"Yes, Great Doctor, it is indeed a precious medicine." + + +NITRATE OF POTASH. + +The memory of that old woman haunted Warner. He argued continuously with +himself. Yes, he had certainly killed her. There was no doubt about it. +On the other hand, she would have died in any case. If he had not come +upon the scene, she might have lingered on for a few more weary weeks, +never free from pain. Still, if he had overdosed her intentionally to +end her pain, it would surely have been murder. At best it was a +criminal blunder. But then he meant well. So, too, do other fools. +Common sense told him he had no cause to worry, nothing to regret, it +was merely a fortunate accident. Conscience viewed the matter seriously +and with harshness. + +Warner was still engaged in this mental struggle when a stranger, a +white man, walked briskly up to his tent. + +"Is anyone at home?" + +"Yes, come in." + +"Have you any nitrate of potash, doctor?" + +Warner had become so used to the term "doctor" that he did not at once +notice the significance of the word when spoken by a white man. So he +merely answered: "Yes, I think so. What do you want it for?" + +"I, too, am a doctor." + +"A doctor?" + +"Yes, a medical missionary, your new neighbour on the other side of the +hill." + +"Sit down a minute, I'll get the stuff." + +Warner went to his box and, opening it, surveyed his wretched stock of +stale drugs. So here was a real doctor! Thank Providence for that! He +passed in review his many cases, only a few of which are set down here. +He knew he had done his best, but he blamed himself for ever having aped +the doctor. + +"Is there anything you want besides nitrate of potash?" + +"No, thanks. I've got everything else I'm likely to require." + +Warner brought the bottle. "Here you are." + +"Thanks. I only want a little." + +"Take the lot." + +"But you'll want it sooner or later." + +"No." + +"Of course you will." + +"No." + +"Then you have some more?" + +"No." + +"Then of course you'll want it." + +"No, I'm not a doctor and I don't know how to use it. I don't really +know the use of any drug. I've probably killed off dozens of people in +my efforts to assist. I'm so glad you've come to live here." + +When Warner sent applicants for medical relief to his new friend on the +other side of the hill, they went, of course, but not too willingly. The +newcomer did much good, but it was Warner who got the credit for it all. +The natives invariably consulted Warner before going to the Missionary, +and returned again to thank him after they had been treated. They +persisted in the belief that the Missionary doctor was their Doctor's +man. + +Warner is still spoken of as "The Doctor"; all others who came later are +referred to as "Medical Men." + + +THE END. + + +Printed by THE FIELD PRESS LTD., Windsor House, Bream's Buildings, E.C.4 + + * * * * * + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE + +Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Spelling has not been +standardized (e.g. wagon/waggon) or corrected (beginnng). Close quotes +have not been added at the end of paragraphs followed by more dialogue. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian +Studies, by Frank Worthington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WITCH DOCTOR *** + +***** This file should be named 34946.txt or 34946.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/9/4/34946/ + +Produced by Hunter Monroe, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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