M'TELA'S COUNTRY
To the bewilderment of the Leopard Woman the pace of the safari now
slackened. Heretofore the marches had been stretched to the limit of
endurance; now the day's journey was as leisurely as that of a
sportsman's caravan. It started at daybreak, to be sure, but it ended
at noon, unless exigencies of water required an hour or two additional.
As a matter of fact, Kingozi knew that he had done everything possible.
If Simba & Co. succeeded, then there was no immediate hurry; if they
failed, hurry would be useless.
Bibi-ya-chui noticed the absence of two such prominent members of the
safari as Simba and Mali-ya-bwana, of course, but readily accepted
Kingozi's explanation that he had sent them "as messengers."
The little safari for the third time crawled its antlike way across the
immensities of the veldt. Cazi Moto managed to keep them supplied with
meat, but at an excessive expenditure of cartridges. As he used the
Leopard Woman's rifle, this did not so much matter, for she was
abundantly supplied. At last the blue ranges rose before them; each
day's journey defined their outlines better. The foothills began to
sketch themselves, to separate from the ranges, finally to surround the
travellers with the low swells of broken country. Running water
replaced the still water-holes. Cazi Moto reported herds of goats in
the distance. One evening several of the goatherds ventured into camp.
They spoke no Swahili, but at the name M'tela they nodded vigorously,
and at the mention of Kabilagani they pointed at their own breasts.
"I wish I had eyes!" cried Kingozi petulantly. "What kind of people are
they?"
The Leopard Woman told him as best she could--tall, well-formed, copper
in hue, of a pleasing expression, clad scantily in goat skins.
"Their ornaments, their arms?" cried Kingozi with impatience.
"They are poor people," replied Bibi-ya-chui. "They have armlets of
iron beaten out, and necklaces of shell fragments or bone. They carry
spears with a short blade, broad like a leaf."
"Their armlets are not of wire? They have no cowrie shells?"
"No, it is beaten iron----"
"Good!" cried Kingozi. "There has been little or no trading here!"
One of the goatherds went with them as guide to M'tela.
"Without doubt," Kingozi surmised, "others have run on to warn M'tela
of our coming."
Their way led on a gentle, steady up grade without steep climbs. The
hills, at first only scattered, low hummocks, became higher, more
numerous, closed in on them; until, before they knew it, they found
themselves walking up the flat bed of a cañon between veritable
mountains. The end of the view, the Leopard Woman said, was shut by a
frowning, unbroken rampart many thousands of feet high.
"Then we are due for a climb," sighed Kingozi. "These native tracks
never hunt for a grade! When they want to go up, why up they go!"
But the head of the cañon, instead of stopping against the wall, bent
sharply to the left. A "saddle" was disclosed.
Toward this the hard-beaten track led. Shortly it began to mount
steeply, and shortly after it entered a high forest growing on the
abrupt slopes. Here it was cool and mysterious, with green shadows, and
the swing of rope vines, and the sudden remoteness of glimpsed skies.
The earth was soft and moist under foot; so the dampness of it rose to
the nostrils. Vines and head-high bracken and feather growths covered
the ground. In every shallow ravine were groves of tree ferns forty
feet tall. A silence dwelt there, a different silence from that of the
veldt at night; compounded of a few simple elements, such as the faint,
incessant drip of hidden waters and occasional loud, hollowly echoing
noises such as the bark of a colobus or the scream of a hyrax. There
were birds, rare, flashing, brilliant, furtive birds, but they said
nothing.
Through this forest on edge the path led steeply upward. Sometimes it
was almost perpendicular; sometimes it took an angle; sometimes--but
rarely--it paused at a little ledge wide enough to rest nearly the
whole safari at once.
For an hour and a half they climbed, then topped the rim of the
escarpment and emerged from the forest at the same time.
Immediately they were a thousand leagues from the Africa they knew. A
gently rolling country stretched out before them with sweeps of green
grass shoulder high, and compact groves of trees as though planted. For
miles it undulated away until the very multitude of its low, peaceful
hills shut in the horizon. Cattle grazed in the wide-flung hollows, and
little herds of game; goats and sheep dotted the hills. The groves of
trees were very green. Everything breathed of peace and plenty. Almost
would one with proper childhood recollections listen for a church-going
bell, search for spires and cottage roofs among the trees. Slim columns
of smoke rose straight into the motionless air. The very sun seemed to
have abated its African fierceness, and to have become mild.
Some of these things Kingozi learned from Cazi Moto; some from the
Leopard Woman; each after his kind.
About a half-mile away a number of warriors in single file walked
across the wide valley and disappeared in the forest to the left. They
carried heavy spears and oval shields painted in various designs. A
fillet bound long ostrich plumes that slanted backward on either side
the head; and as they walked forward in the rather teetery fashion of
the savage dandy these plumes waved up and down in rhythm.
"M'tela," said the _shenzi_ goatherd waving his hand abroad.
They camped at the edge of a pleasant grove near running water. The
donkey that the Leopard Woman rode fell to the tall lush grasses with a
thankfulness beyond all expression. All the safari was in high spirits.
They saw _potio_ in sight again; and, immediately, long grass for beds.
Visitors came in shortly--a dozen armed men, like the warriors seen
earlier in the day, and a dignified older man who spoke a sufficient
Swahili. Kingozi received these in a friendly fashion, did not permit
them to sit, but at once began to cross-question them. The Leopard
Woman emerged from her tent.
"Stay where you are," Kingozi called to her in decided tones. "You must
in this permit me to judge of expediencies. I forbid you to hold any
communication with these people. I hope you will not make it necessary
for me to take measures to see that my wishes are carried out."
She showed no irritation, not even at the "forbid," but smiled quietly,
and without reply returned to her tent.
"Yes," said the old man, "this was M'tela's country, these were
M'tela's people." He disclaimed having been sent by M'tela.
At this point Kingozi, apparently losing all interest, dismissed them
into the hands of Cazi Moto. The latter, previously instructed, took
his guests to his own camp. There he distributed roast meat, one
_balauri_ of coffee to the old man, and many tales, some of them true.
These people had never before laid eyes on a white man, but naturally,
at this late date in African history, all had heard more or less of the
phenomenon. Cazi Moto found that the distinction between _Inglishee_
and _Duyche_ was known. He left a general impression that Kingozi was
the favourite son of the King, come from sheer friendship and curiosity
to see M'tela, whose fame was universal. For two hours the warriors
squatted, or walked about camp examining with carefully concealed
curiosity its various activities and strange belongings. Then all
disappeared. No more people appeared that day.
Kingozi knew well enough that this was a spying party sent directly
from M'tela's court; and that, pending its report, nothing more was to
be done. Cazi Moto's detailed description of what had been said and
done cheered his master wonderfully. By all the signs the simplest of
the white man's wonders were brand new to the visitors; _ergo_
Winkleman could not have arrived. If he were not yet at M'tela's court,
the chances seemed good that Simba and the magic bone had succeeded.
Nothing at present could be done. Kingozi sent Cazi Moto out to kill an
abundance of game. The little headman returned later to report the
extraordinary luck of two zebra to two cartridges (at thirty yards to
be sure!) and that after each kill very many _shenzis_ gathered to
examine the bullet wound, the gun, and the distance. They were
immensely excited, not at all awestricken, entirely friendly. There was
no indication of any desire to rob the hunters. Evidently, Kingozi
reflected, they were familiar with firearms by hearsay, and were deeply
interested at this first hand experience.
The safari remained encamped at this spot all the next day, and the day
succeeding. Natives came into camp, at first only the men,
hesitatingly; then the women. A brisk little trade sprang up for yams,
bananas, _m'wembe_ meal, eggs, and milk. No shrewder bargainer exists
than your African safari man, and these soon discovered that beads and
wire possessed great purchasing power in this unsophisticated country.
The bartering had to be done in sign language, as Swahili seemed to be
unknown; and no man in the safari understood this unknown tongue.
Kingozi sat in state before his tent, smoking his pipe--which he still
enjoyed in spite of his blindness--and awaiting events in that vast
patience so necessary to the successful African traveller. Occasionally
a group of the chatting natives would drift toward his throne, would
fall into awestricken silence, would stare, would drift away again; but
none addressed him. The Leopard Woman, obeying rules that Kingozi had
managed to convey as very strict, held apart. Only in the evening,
after the lion-fearing visitors had all departed, did they sit together
sociably by the fire. The nights at this elevation were cool--cold they
seemed to the heat-seasoned travellers.
There was not much conversation. Kingozi was lost in a deep brooding,
which she respected. The occasion was serious, and both knew it. During
the moment of decision the man's duty and principle had been the most
important matters in the world. Once the decision was irrevocably made,
however, these things fell below the horizon. There loomed only the
thought of perpetual blindness. Kingozi faced it bravely; but such a
fact requires adjustment, and in these hours of waiting the adjustments
were being made.
Only once or twice did Bibi-ya-chui utter the thoughts that continually
possessed her.
"It seems so foolish!" she complained to him. "You are making yourself
blind for always; and you are going to be a prisoner for long! If you
would go back, you would not be captured and held by Winkleman when you
reach M'tela!"
But such expostulations she knew to be vain, even as she uttered them.
At about nine o'clock of the third day Cazi Moto reported a file of
warriors, many warriors--"like the leaves of grass!" armed with spears
and shields, wearing black ostrich plumes, debouching from the grove a
mile across the way. At the same instant the Leopard Woman, her alarm
causing her to violate her instructions, came to Kingozi's camp.
"They attack us!" she cried. "They come in thousands! How can we resist
so many--and you blind! Tell me what I shall do!"
"There is no danger," Kingozi reassured her. "This is undoubtedly an
escort. No natives ever attack at this hour of the day. Their time is
just at first dawn."
She sighed with relief. Then a new thought struck her.
"But if they had wished to attack--at dawn--we have had no extra
guards--we have not fortified! What would prevent their killing us all?"
"Not a thing," replied Kingozi calmly. "We are too weak for resistance.
That is a chance we had to take. Now please go back to your tent. Cazi
Moto, strike camp, and get ready to safari."
The warriors of M'tela debouched on the open plain, seemingly without
end. The sun glinted from their upraised, polished spears; their
ostrich plumes swayed gently as though a wind ruffled a field of sombre
grain tassels; the anklets and leg bracelets clashed softly together to
produce in the aggregate a rhythmic marching cadence. Their front was
nearly a quarter of a mile in width. Rank after rank in succession
appeared: literally thousands. Drums roared and throbbed; and the
blowing of innumerable trumpets, fashioned mostly from the horns of
oryx and sing-sing, added to the martial ensemble.
The members of the safari were gathered in little knots, staring, wide
eyed with apprehension. Upon them descended zealous Cazi Moto. Even his
_kiboko_ had difficulty in breaking up the groups, in setting the men
at the commonplace occupations of breaking camp. Yet that must be done,
in all decent dignity; and at length it was done.
The first ranks were now fairly at the outskirts of camp; the last had
but just left the woods. The plains were literally covered with
spearmen. A magnificent sight! They came to a halt, raised their spears
horizontally above their heads; the horns and drums redoubled their
din; a mighty, concerted shout rent the air. Then abruptly fell dead
silence.
From the front rank a tall, impressive savage stepped forward, pacing
with dignified stride. He walked directly to Kingozi's chair.
"_Jambo, bwana!_" He uttered his greeting in deep chest tones that
rumbled like distant thunder.
"_Jambo, n'ympara_," responded Kingozi in a mild tone. By his use of
the word _n'ympara_--headman--he indicated his perfect understanding of
the fact that this man, for all his magnificence, for all the strength
of his escort, was not M'tela himself, but only one of M'tela's
ministers.
"_Jambo, bwana m'kubwa!_" rolled the latter.
"_Jambo_" replied Kingozi.
"_Jambo, bwana m'kubwa-sana!_"
"_Jambo_."
"_Jambo, bwana m'kubwa-sana!_"
"_Jambo_."
Having thus climbed by easy steps to the superlative greeting, the
minister uttered his real message. As befitted his undoubted position
in court, he spoke excellent Swahili.
"I am come to take you to the _manyatta_ of M'tela," he announced.
"That is well," replied Kingozi calmly. "In one hour we shall go."