CAMPING, TRAVELLING, SHOOTING, DREAMING, POETISING, PHILOSOPHISING, AND
SURPRISING, IN EQUATORIAL AFRICA.
At sunset the travellers halted in a peculiarly wild spot and encamped
under the shelter of a gigantic baobab tree.
Two rousing fires were quickly kindled, round which the natives busied
themselves in preparing supper, while their leaders sat down, the one to
write up his journal, the other to smoke his pipe.
"Well, sir," said Disco, after a few puffs delivered with extreme
satisfaction, "you do seem for to enjoy writin'. You go at that log of
yours every night, as if it wos yer last will and testament that ye
couldn't die happy without exikootin' an' signin' it with yer blood."
"A better occupation, isn't it," replied Harold, with a sly glance,
"than to make a chimney-pot of my mouth?"
"Come, sir," returned Disco, with a deprecatory smile, "don't be too
hard on a poor feller's pipe. If you can't enjoy it, that's no argiment
against it."
"How d'you know I can't enjoy it?"
"Why? cos I s'pose you'd take to it if you did."
"Did _you_ enjoy it when you first began?" asked Harold.
"Well, I can't 'zactly say as I did."
"Well, then, if you didn't, that proves that it is not _natural_ to
smoke, and why should I acquire an unnatural and useless habit?"
"Useless! why, sir, on'y think of wot you loses by not smokin'--wot a
deal of enjoyment!"
"Well, I _am_ thinking," replied Harold, affecting a look of profound
thoughtfulness, "but I can't quite make it out--enjoyment? let me see.
Do I not enjoy as good health as you do?"
"O, cer'nly, sir, cer'nly. You're quite up to the mark in that
respect."
"Well then, I enjoy my food as well, and can eat as much, can't I?"
"No doubt of it," replied Disco, with a grin; "I was used to be
considered raither a dab at wittles, but I must say I knocks under to
_you_, sir."
"Very good," rejoined Harold, laughing; "then as to sleep, I enjoy sleep
quite as soundly as yourself; don't I?"
"I can't say as to that," replied Disco. "You see, sir, as I never
opens my eyes arter shuttin' of 'em till the bo's'n pipes all hands
ahoy, I've no means of knowin' wot you accomplish in that way."
"On the whole, then, it seems that I enjoy everything as much as you do,
and--"
"No, not everything; you don't enjoy baccy, you know.--But please, sir,
don't go for to moralise; I can't stand it. You'll spile my pipe if ye
do!"
"Well, I shall spare you," said Harold, "all the more that I perceive
supper is about--"
At that moment Antonio, who had gone down to a streamlet which trickled
close at hand, gave utterance to a hideous yell, and came rushing into
camp with a face that was pea-green from terror.
"Ach!" he gasped, "a lion! queek! your guns!" Every one leaped up and
seized his weapon with marvellous alacrity on receiving an alarm so
violent and unlooked-for.
"Where away?" inquired Disco, blazing with excitement, and ready at a
moment's notice to rush into the jungle and fire both barrels at
whatever should present itself.
"No, no, don' go," cried Antonio in alarm; "be cautionous."
The interpreter's caution was enforced by Chimbolo, who laid his hand on
Disco's arm, and looked at him with such solemnity that he felt it
necessary to restrain his ardour.
Meanwhile Antonio with trembling steps led Harold to a point in the
thicket whence he beheld two bright phosphoric-looking objects which his
companion said were the lion's eyes, adding that lion's eyes always
shone in that way.
Harold threw forward his rifle with the intention of taking aim, but
lowered it quickly, for he felt convinced that no lion could possibly
have eyes so wide apart unless its head were as large as that of an
elephant.
"Nonsense, Antonio!" he said, laughing; "that cannot be a lion."
"Ho, yis, him's a lion, for sure," Antonio returned, positively.
"We shall see."
Harold raised his rifle and fired, while Antonio turned and fled, fully
expecting the wounded beast to spring. Harold himself half looked for
some such act, and shrank behind a bush by way of precaution, but when
the smoke cleared away, he saw that the two glowing eyes were gazing at
him as fixedly as ever.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Disco, brushing past; "I knows wot it is. Many a time
I've seed 'em in the West Injies."
Saying which, he went straight up to the supposed lion, picked up a
couple of glow-worms, and brought them to the camp-fires, much to the
amusement of the men, especially of Jumbo, and greatly to the confusion
of the valorous interpreter, who, according to his invariable custom
when danger threatened, was found to have sought refuge in a tree.
This incident furnished ground for much discussion and merriment during
supper, in which Antonio, being in no wise ashamed of himself, joined
noisily; and Chimbolo took occasion to reprove Disco for his rashness,
telling him that it was impossible to kill lions in the jungle during
the darkness of night, and that, if they did pay them a visit, it would
be wise to let them be, and trust to the camp-fires keeping them at a
respectful distance. To which Disco retorted that he didn't believe
there was any lions in Afriky, for he'd heard a deal about 'em an'
travelled far, but had not yet heard the sound of their woices, an', wot
was more, didn't expect to.
Before that night was far advanced, Disco was constrained to acknowledge
himself in error, for a veritable lion did actually prowl down to the
camp, and salute them with a roar which had a wonderfully awe-inspiring
effect on every member of the party, especially on those who heard it
for the first time in their lives.
Just before the arrival of this nocturnal visitor, one of the men had
been engaged in some poetic effusions, which claim preliminary notice
here, because they were rudely terminated by the lion.
This man was one of Kambira's people, and had joined the party by
permission. He was one of those beings who, gifted with something like
genius, or with superior powers of some sort, have sprung up in Africa,
as elsewhere, no doubt from time immemorial, to dazzle their fellows for
a little, and then pass away, leaving a trail of tradition behind them.
The existence there, in time past, of men of mind far in advance of
their fellows, as well as of heroes whose physical powers were
marvellous, may be assumed from the fact that some such exist at the
present time, as well as from tradition. Some of these heroes have
excited the admiration of large districts by their wisdom, others by
their courage or their superior dexterity with the spear and bow, like
William Tell and Robin Hood, but the memory of these must soon have been
obliterated for want of literature. The man who had joined Harold was a
poet and a musician. He was an _improvvisatore_, composed verses on the
incidents that occurred as they travelled along, and sang them with an
accompaniment on an instrument called the _sansa_, which had nine iron
keys and a calabash for a sounding-board.
The poet's name was Mokompa. With the free and easy disposition of his
race, he allowed his fancy to play round the facts of which he sang, and
was never at a loss, for, if the right word did not come readily, he
spun out the measure with musical sounds which meant nothing at all.
After supper was over, or rather when the first interval of repose
occurred, Mokompa, who was an obliging and hearty little fellow, was
called on for a song. Nothing loath, he seized his sansa and began a
ditty, of which the following, given by Antonio, may be regarded as a
remarkably free, not to say easy, translation:--