BIDDING FAREWELL--AMINA'S FAREWELL TO SELIM--SELIM IN TEARS--SIMBA'S
FEATS OF STRENGTH--MOTO'S CHARACTER DESCRIBED--LITTLE NIANI, THE BOY,
CALLED MONKEY--MOTO MEETS ELEPHANTS--MOTO'S DARING ADVENTURE--A NARROW
ESCAPE--THE STORY OF MOTO--KISESA PREPARES TO ATTACK--THE KING'S SON,
KALULU--WHAT PRINCE KALULU SAID TO MOTO--SIMBA PRAISES MOTO.
On the fifteenth day of the sixth month, the members of the last
caravan, under the command of Amer bin Osman, were taking farewell of
their friends, who had arrived at Bagamoyo from Zanzibar that morning
for last words.
It was a most affecting scene, as all such must be when young men are
about to sever themselves from their connections for the first time, and
fathers and husbands are commending to the care of the good God those
whom they are about to leave behind, perhaps for ever.
Who knows how many of these stalwart and stout-hearted people will
return to those from whom they are now almost tearfully withdrawing?
Will the brave and noble Amer son of Osman, who is now bending over his
beautiful wife, in earnest conversation, ever come back? He appears so
strong and robust in health; two hundred well-appointed servants of his
household are round about him; his Arab companions, with their powerful
retinue, who have gone before him to Simbamwenni, we may be sure, will
be faithful to him. Yet who can insure his return? And thus doubt,
fear, and anxiety alternate in his wife Amina's eyes, as she raises them
appealingly, regretfully, towards his own.
"Yes, Amina, please God, I shall come back within two years, with so
much ivory, and so many slaves, as will make me the richest man in
Zanzibar. Inshallah! Inshallah!" said Amer, in a sanguine tone.
"Amina, say thy farewell to Selim, the pride of the Beni-Hassan. He
will some day return to Oman, a rich and powerful chief. Dost thou not
think he looks a warrior in his marching dress? But hasten, or we shall
have nothing but women's tears, which perhaps will drown us before we
begin our journey."
As Amer turned away after a still but fervent embrace, Amina turned to
Selim, with a look which revealed the love her maternal heart bore him,
and so steadfastly did she regard him, that it seemed she was fixing a
life-long picture of his features in her memory which time would in vain
attempt to efface.
"Thou, Selim," she said, drawing him nearer to her, "thou joy of my
heart, and jewel of my eyes! Thou art really about to depart! Thou to
leave thy mother's heart desolate! What joy is left for me--my son and
lord both going? Wilt thou not let thy mother's voice plead, and
prevail with thee, Selim? Look, Selim, on that dancing sea! Beyond the
narrow strait lies the Zanjian isle! Over its fair shores the gentle
winds waft the perfumes of citron and orange! The sweet scents of the
jasmine flowers, the cinnamon and clove vie with the fragrance of the
orange! Bare odours and sweet strains of bulbul lull the senses into
perfect felicity! The sweet air is pregnant with fragrance! Where
canst thou meet with a land so fair, my Selim? Wilt thou leave thy
mother, these delights, these joys, for the cruel heat, and thirst, and
jungle-thorn of negro-land? Oh, Selim! Oh, Selim! Wilt thou leave thy
mother, the orange-groves, the palms, the cool fountains, for scorching
days and arid plains? The road is long--oh, so long--for weeks, months,
and years it lies to the west! Stay one moment longer, my Selim, and
let thy mother read thee what the Kuran's sacred page, which I've
divined, reveals. Remember, it is the sure decree of Fate, to which God
has affixed his own heavy seal. Hear these words, and stay with me:--
"A day will come, a day of saddest woe,
A day when Arabs meet the savage foe,
And Arabs vainly cry for strength and might,
And vainly strive to save themselves by flight.
"It is a day of woe, a day of doom,
A day surcharg'd with black and bitter gloom;
And sons shall mourn for Arab fathers slain,
And Arab wives shall shed their tears like rain.
"Wilt thou stay with me now? No! Proud boy, shun the death and misery
which wait this venture! Despise not the warning of Allah! Why wilt
thou, oh Selim, shake thy head so stubbornly? Speak."
"Dearest mother, it may not be. If Fate decrees my death and misery,
then why should I try to escape its sure laws by remaining behind? If
death awaits my father, Selim's place is by Amer's side, to die as
becomes the son of an Arab chief. But these are but trivial fears of
thine, my mother. Why shouldst thou fear for me? Am I not with my
father, the brave Amer son of Osman? Have I not my gun and long-sword?
What can the Pagan dogs do against all the great Arabs, and my father's
kinsmen, when Khamis bin Abdullah, and Amer bin Osman lead? Trust in
Allah, mother. Believe me, I shall return to thee, tall and strong,
with plenty of ivory and slaves to make thee rich--to hang such jewels
on thy neck as befits a chief's wife. Hark! the horn of the guide
sounds the signal of departure. My father is impatient, and I must go
to him. Embrace me, mother, and bless me ere I go."
Amina, seeing persuasion useless, needed no command for such an
affectionate duty. A full mother's love rose responsive to the call of
her son, but her son's impatience rendered the embrace, though fervid,
short.
"Allah go with thee, my boy!" cried the mother.
"And with thee also, for ever!" responded Selim.
They were parted at last, one to join his father, who was striding
forward with his caravan, the other to turn to a friend's house, to sob
and weep, and think of the loved ones now fast retiring towards the
west.
For a long time father and son were silent. Amer strode on quickly,
with an impassive countenance, whence all expression was banished save
firmness, and a lofty air of determination.
Selim, thorough son of a thorough Arab, with his head bent down
mechanically followed his father's footsteps, and allowed the strange
birds to rise, and sing, and fly unheeded about him, the sun to sink
unheeded to the west, and the twilight to approach, without seeming to
be at all conscious that he was marching to that grand, fabulous, awful
heart of Africa, about which he had heard so much, and which he had
craved in his heart of hearts to see.
The silence was unbroken until the caravan had halted on the banks of
the Kingani, then Selim recovered himself, and a copious flood of tears
caused by a feeling of tender melancholy which came over him at the
thought that he had really and actually left the pleasant happy home for
that sable, ominous, forested land that stretched deathly still across
the river.
The father turned as he heard the deep sobs of his boy, and on
approaching him laid his hand kindly on his head, and said:
"What! in tears, my son? Art thou sorry thou hast left thy home--eh,
Selim?"
"No, father, I am not sorry, but home seemed so beautiful as I thought
of it, compared to that still dark land beyond. There are nothing but
black-looking forests across the river, even the sky looks black and
desolate, and my heart seems to have caught some of its desolation."
"The forest looks sombrous and dark, my son, because night approaches,"
said Amer, tenderly. "That black-looking sky which hastens from the
east is but the counterpane earth draws about it before folding its arms
to sleep. When we shall have crossed the river we will camp, and in the
tent, which thou wilt learn to love as thy home, thou wilt forget thy
present misery; and in the morning, when earth is wide awake, and the
sun comes out as gay as a bride from the east, and the birds have all
left their nests and fill the air with their joyous songs, and the
fleet-footed antelope browses in the open glades, thou wilt wonder that
thou couldst find it in thy heart to weep."
"Oh, father, I shall weep no more. See, my eyes are already dry;" and
Selim raised a brave face towards his father, which was tenderly kissed.
The caravan was soon across the river, and every man and woman was
engaged in cutting down young trees and branches to form a stockade, a
duty not to be omitted by well-conducted caravans in Africa.
When this was done the people gathered within the camp and prepared
their evening meal. The tents were all disposed in a circle, with their
doors open towards the centre, where stood Amer bin Osman's tent. Close
by the master's tent, on either side, were two or three of the most
faithful slaves, who were styled fundis, or overseers, to whom were
given the orders for the conduct of the caravan by the chief.
Over these overseers, for their fidelity and peculiar qualities, were
placed two men, who are intended to figure conspicuously in this
narrative; their names were Simba (Lion) and Moto (Fire). Where Amer
bin Osman the chief went Simba and Moto followed. To these two Amer was
as dear as their own hearts, and the boy Selim was their delight; his
slightest wish was law to these faithful creatures, who looked upon him
as though he were something immeasurably superior to them, as though he
belonged to some higher world of which they had no comprehension.
Simba was a giant in form, and a lion, as his name denoted, in strength
and courage. He was originally from Urundi, a large country bordering
the northeastern part of Lake Tanganika. He was the son of a chief, and
was captured when a boy in battle when Moeni Khheri's father sided with
the Wasige against Makala, a quarrelsome king living in the northern
districts of Urundi. Being a chief's son he of course belonged to the
Wahuma, a superior race of bronze-coloured people who formerly migrated
from Ethiopia, and from whom only chiefs are selected in the countries
of Urundi, Ruanda, Uganda, and Karagwah.
Simba was now in the prime of manhood, and he had lived in the household
of Amer bin Osman for twenty years, for Amer, after his arrival at
Zanzibar, within a year of his capture, had purchased him, and seeing
him to be docile and good-tempered, though uncommonly strong, had almost
adopted him as his son.
Some of Simba's feats of strength bordered on the marvellous. Taught by
the young kinsmen of Amer the use of the long, sharp sword of the Arabs,
and being apt, he had acquired a terrible proficiency with it. He had
often walked up alongside of a full-grown goat, and had with one well
dealt blow halved the animal from head to tail. Many of his negro
admirers verily believed he could perform the same feat upon an ass, so
extraordinary was his strength, but he had never attempted it, as the
experiment was too costly for his means. He had once carried a
three-year-old bullock on his back half way around the plantation of his
master, Amer. He had often taken one of the large white donkeys of
Muscat by the ears and by a sudden movement of his right foot, had
prostrated the animal on his back; and once, upon an extraordinary
occasion, had actually carried twelve men on his back and shoulders and
chest around his master's house, to the intense wonder of a large crowd
of spectators. He could toss an ordinary man ten feet high into the
air, and catch him as easily as an ordinary man would catch a small
child. But manifold were the stories related with awe of the feats of
strength performed by the brave lion-hearted Simba, chief overseer of
Amer bin Osman's caravan. By measurement he stood six feet and five
inches in his bare feet, and from shoulder to shoulder he measured
thirty-two inches.
Moto, or "fire," could not have been better designated. His name, which
his master had given him, had been bestowed upon him for his peppery,
irascible temper. He was from Urori, as almost any one acquainted with
the peculiarities of the various tribes in Central Africa would have
sworn. A small wiry frame, indicating cat-like activity, strength,
indomitability, capable of enduring great fatigue, characterised the
form of Moto. He had also been brought to Zanzibar when a child by a
slave-trader, and from a mere caprice had been purchased for twenty
dollars by Amer. But his master had never regretted the purchase, for
next to Simba, Amer bin Osman preferred Moto. To serve his master Moto
would have thrown himself into the fire or leaped into the sea. He was
a great hunter, he could track the soft velvet foot of the leopard upon
a rock, could tell what animal had broken a blade of grass if a single
hair but adhered to it, could stalk an elephant and tickle his belly
with a straw without letting the enormous brute know what deadly foe
intruded on his presence; and a man slightly inclined to exaggeration,
and not at all noted for his veracity, declared by this and by that,
that Moto had at one time dragged himself into a jungle after a lion,
and, finding the lion asleep, had from sheer bravado walked noiselessly
up to him and stepped over his body before he shot him through the head.
If you knew Moto as well as his own best friends knew him, you would
describe him as being as brave as a lion, active as a cat, keen-eyed as
the fish-eagle, hot as pepper, as hardy as an ass, and faithful as a
dog. If you will add that he was a little vain, and never disposed to
resent any kind friend boasting of his prowess, you will have a perfect
picture of Moto the Mrori.
The first night on the road with some caravans is not very lively; the
people are engaged either in thinking of the joys they have left behind
them, or they are shy, and are sounding one another's qualities before
making advances. But in the camp of Amer bin Osman there was no regret
at parting from Zanzibar, since the great master and little master were
with them, and every man knew his fellow and mate; thus there was no
disruption of friendships, associations, and congenialities. Most of
those who were married had their wives with them; those who were not
married had their intimate friends and saw time-endeared faces around
them. They were all of one household. It was like unto the migration
of an entire settlement.
One glance within the huts and at the squatting forms informed you that
they were all happy--if not happy, contented. No eyes like the
coal-black, the pure well of jet undefiled, of the native African, when
the firelight is reflected in their quick sparkles, can so well
represent merriness. Those people with those sparkling eyes were merry;
they were interesting each other with their trite stories of very trite
lives; but when a peal of laughter louder than usual startled the camp
and rang through the forest, you may be sure it was either at a story of
hearsay or at something that Simba or Moto had been saying.
Such a laugh was heard, and instantly all eyes and mouths were uplifted,
and ears seemed to be quickened, to catch a few words of the story that
had caused an interested group to so loudly vent their delight.
The interested party of laughers were seated around a miniature bonfire,
which Simba and Moto had kindled some thirty feet or so from the chief's
tent. Selim had lately arrived before it, and Simba had rolled a mighty
log behind his young master and had asked him to be seated, himself
seated on the ground, attentive and alert to please him; and Moto, not
to be outdone in assiduity by Simba, had just begun to draw from the
recesses of his memory, or from the cells of his imagination, one of his
best stories, when a ludicrous incident occurred and Selim had laughed
heartily. Their young master had laughed, and of course when he laughed
Simba laughed; then seeing Simba laugh Moto laughed; and, as real
genuine laughter is contagious, all hands laughed, and the outer circle,
the entire caravan, smiled sympathetically.
Moto had commenced his story thus: "One day, when I was in the caravan
of Kisesa--(Abdullah bin Nasib--you know Kisesa is a great friend of my
master Amer, and if Kisesa liked to have me accompany him, Master Amer
would never say `No.' It is in his caravan as fundi I finished my
education as a hunter)--travelling through Ukonongo, I--"
"Have you been to Ukonongo, Moto?" asked Selim.
"Oh, yes, and much farther. Well, I was saying, I--"
"But, Moto," broke in Selim again, "Ukonongo is the best country for
shooting, is it not?"
"At certain seasons only. In the dry season, yes. Then all kinds of
game travel to the neighbourhood of the Cow River, and shooting is
plenty then, but for elephants give me Kawendi. I was just going to
say, I--"
"But, Moto," broke in a naked youngster called Niani, or the Monkey
[Niani is a Kisawahili term for monkey], a nephew of Moto, "are there
lions in Kawendi? because--"
But he was not permitted to finish, as Moto sprang up furious, with his
kurbash (a hippopotamus-hide whip) in hand. Niani noticed the movement,
and with the activity of his namesake, took a flying leap over the fire,
and alighted in a huge dish half full of rice that was slowly simmering
over some hot embers. There was a loud shriek, and clots of hot rice
splashed in all directions, several falling on the nude shoulders of the
group, which started them all to their feet. Then Selim laughed
heartily at the catastrophe. Simba followed, then Moto stayed his hand
and laughed, and the laugh was taken by all, and this was the cause of
that which startled the camp and drew our attention.
"That is what some people get for interrupting a good story," said Moto,
sententiously addressing unfortunate Niani, who was rubbing his scalded
feet and moaning piteously in a low tone; but the words were said as
more of a hint to Selim.
"Well, go on, Moto; I will not disturb you another time," said Selim.
"Ah, I did not mean you, dear master," replied Moto. "You may disturb
me as often as you like."
"Well, well, go on with your story, and let it be a good one," urged
Selim.
"All right, master. Well, I had just said that I was in the caravan of
Kisesa, travelling through Ukonongo, when that little monkey Niani
interrupted me, and so got--"
"No, no, Moto, it was I that interrupted you; but go on with your story,
and never mind poor Niani; he has got his punishment, and you punish me
too by not telling me the story," asked Selim.
"Yes, yes, Moto, go on!" said the deep-voiced Simba. "Do you not hear
the young master ask you? Heh, what is the matter with the man
to-night?"
"Oh, well, if you are all going to interrupt me, the story will last
from here to Rua," said Moto in a careless tone.
"Moto," said Selim, "I will never disturb you any more--there's my hand
on my promise."
Moto's pride and vanity being gratified by this ready promise of Selim,
cleared his throat, and commenced this time in earnest, as follows:
"We were travelling through Ukonongo, and had reached Sultan Mrera's
village, when Kisesa asked me to go to the forest along the river to
look for game, adding that if I brought a Kudu antelope to the camp he
would give me four yards of cotton cloth.
"After a good breakfast of rice and carry, which Kisesa sent me from his
table to make me strong, I started. It was then about noon, and the sun
was very hot, though once in the forest it would be cool enough. In a
short time I was by the river, a crooked little stream of delicious and
clear water. I walked along, looking to the right and left constantly
for hours, when just about two hours before sunset, I heard a hollow
sound, as though the earth was shaking; but I knew, after listening,
that the sound was caused by a herd of elephants walking in file along
the hard-baked road, and that they were approaching the stream to drink.
"In a moment I was down on my face like a dead man. The grass was about
two feet high, and very thick, so that I was quite safe, if I did not
stir, and I am too old a hunter not to know what to do in the
neighbourhood of elephants. As the elephants passed by I lifted my head
up cautiously, and counted them. Two--four--six--eight--ten enormous
beasts, who tossed their trunks aloft, as if they were masters of the
forest, and knew it. Careless and confident, they passed on, and I
wriggled out until I was some distance away; then I jumped up and leaped
across the stream, and on all fours crept across a deep bend of it; then
lying flat along the ground, I moved forward towards a great tree, a
baobab, that stood between me and them. If the elephants had all stood
in a row drinking from the river I could never have come up to them
unseen, but one greedily thirsty fellow was standing in the middle of
the stream, almost touching the baobab tree with his side, so that he
completely hid me from the others.
"I thought that Kisesa, though he had not told me to shoot elephants,
would not mind my bringing him two great ivory tusks, which would be
worth at Zanzibar 500 dollars, since he had come to Ukonongo to get
ivory, and that if he gave me four yards of cloth for a Kudu antelope,
that he would give many more yards of cloth for 500 dollars worth of
ivory.
"This thought gave me confidence to proceed, and imperceptibly I was
drawing nearer and nearer to the monster near the baobab. After a few
minutes, which seemed to me to be hours, I was lifting myself to my
feet, girding my loins tighter, and preparing myself for a run for life.
But just at the moment I ought to have fired, a mischievous idea came
into my head; the hind quarters of the brute were so close to me that I
thought it would be great fun, and a good story to tell afterwards if I
tickled the brute's tail. Gutting a long straw, I extended the point
towards the tail, and then traced a line across the leg to the belly.
It was delicious to watch the flurry of the short tail and the circles
it described, and to watch the brute half leaning against the tree, and
rubbing it with his ponderous form. When this play had lasted a short
time, I brought down my gun, and pointing it about three inches or so
behind the left fore leg, on a level with the position of the beast, I
fired. The elephant sprang forward, and by doing so disclosed to the
astonished eyes of the others my retreating form, which, I assure you,
was bounding over the low bushes and grass tops as if I were an
antelope.
"The elephants got over their surprise in a second, then a wild snort of
rage greeted my ears, and I knew by the crash, of bushes and splash of
water that they were after me. Never an antelope bounded over the
plains of Ukonongo, when chased by a lion, as I bounded then; never a
timid quagga's fleet feet carried him away from the hunters as my feet
carried me over that ground. But it seemed to me for a time as if it
were of no use--the awful crashing got nearer and nearer, and as I
turned my head to measure the distance the foremost was from me, I saw
the lord of the herd was but thirty paces from me. He seemed to tower
up to three times his usual height, and to swell out into proportions
three times as vast as his natural size; his great ears stood straight
out as flat as a board, as if they were wings, and his eyes were like
coals of fire; his trunk was lifted up, as you sometimes see the deadly
forest snake before it strikes his victim; his head was stretched out,
as the head of a giraffe when chased by a beast of prey, and the two
long, mighty, gleaming teeth seemed awful just then. His eyes caught a
glance of mine as I turned them towards him, and that instant he uttered
another snort of rage, which was as fearful as the war-horn of the
Watuta. But it gave me greater speed; if I ran before, I now flew; yet
closer and closer the monster came. I suppose he was about fifteen feet
from me when the tricks of the elephant hunters of Urori came to my
mind. I had noticed that though the big elephant was the foremost, he
was also the outermost on my right--the other elephants were to my left,
and they seemed to be following the lord of the herd rather than any
particular object. In an instant after observing this, I shot out
straight to the right from the direction I was first going as hard as my
feet and legs would take me. The elephants passed on, the rushing sound
of their feet going through the grass was like unto the wild pepo of
Ugogo, accompanied by thunder, when it comes sweeping over the plain,
with a moan and a rush, whirling and tossing bushes, and even small
trees about sometimes, and darkening the air with what it tears from the
earth.
"I had got fifty yards away before the elephants could turn about. Only
an instant, however, they stopped. They caught sight of me again, and
with loud, furious snorting again they charged in a mass. I am a pretty
swift runner as you all know, but the best of us seem to crawl compared
to the speed of an elephant for the first few hundred yards. The
elephants, especially one or two of the foremost, were gaining on me
rapidly; the stubborn grass whipped my legs severely as I ran, and was a
sore distress to me, but the thick hide of my pursuers was proof against
it. A little distance off before me, and to the left, was a clump of
brushwood. I thought if I could gain it, I would be comparatively safe,
as I could find somewhere to hide. In a few moments I reached it, and
looking sharply about, I discovered, a little distance off, half hidden
by grass and brush, a hole in the ground, which I knew to be that of the
wild boar. I thought it would be a capital place to hide, provided the
boar was out of his hole, and in a second I was on my face crawling
backwards into it. I had barely crawled in when I heard the elephants'
thunder overhead, and at the same instant I heard a deep grunt behind
me, and immediately after I was shot out of that hole, like a bullet out
of a gun, and I lay on the ground a few paces from it like a dead man.
I had just consciousness enough to know that I had been grievously
wounded in one of my hams by the furious owner of the underground
excavation in which I found shelter; that the boar had darted off in the
direction the elephants had taken, then I lost all knowledge of
everything for many hours.
"When I recovered it was night. And soon I heard shots in the distance,
fired at regular intervals, and thinking perhaps that they were my
friends looking for me I fired my gun, which was immediately answered by
another. By firing thus every few minutes I succeeded in guiding them
to where I lay, for I found myself unable to move.
"When my friends found me, and were acquainted with my condition, they
lifted me on their shoulders and bore me to the camp, where I lay unable
to move for about three weeks. The marks that savage boar gave me I
have yet, and shall have to my dying day. I have spoken."
"Well, what became of the elephant you shot?" asked Selim, when Moto had
concluded his graphic and interesting story.
"He was picked up next day, about two hours' distance from the place
where I had shot him. His trail was easily known by his blood, Kisesa
made quite a sum of money from that elephant, as the tusks were as large
as any that were ever seen."
"How many cloths did Kisesa give you?" asked Selim.
"Only forty."
"_Only_ forty? That was a good deal, was it not?" asked Selim.
"Forty cloths for what brought him three hundred at Zanzibar! Do you
call forty cloths a great deal?" asked the offended Moto.
"But you forget, Moto," said Selim, "that you were a slave in the employ
of Kisesa; that the gun you carried was his, that the powder and shot
you used to shoot the elephant with were his, that the clothes you then
wore were given you by him, that the food which gave you strength was
purchased with his money, that the men who carried you from the forest
to the camp were his slaves, that the men who looked after you when you
were sick and wounded were his men, that the man who found the elephant
dead belonged to Kisesa, and that without Kisesa's aid you would have
died in the jungle, perhaps, and never have seen the elephant again.
What do you say now, Moto?" asked Selim.
"You are right, young master, as you are always," said the humiliated
Moto, which remark was echoed and applauded by everybody around the
camp-fire.
"But, now," said the hitherto quiet Simba, "tell us about that battle
Kisesa had with the Warori--your own people--and how you saved the
king's son."
"Ay, do tell us that. It must be an interesting story," said Selim. "I
shall sleep all the better for it this first night of my life in
Africa."
"Well, when my friend Simba asks and my young master commands me, Moto
is always ready," said Moto, adding a huge log to the already cheerful
fire-pile. "It is not such a long time ago but what I can remember
every detail of it. It may have happened three or four years ago;
Kisesa was then in Unyanyembe. He was mortally offended with the Arab
chief Sayd bin Salim, the Wali of the Sultan of Zanzibar at Unyanyembe,
and most of the Arabs took sides with Kisesa, as they knew he was a
brave, powerful, and rich chief, who might defy even the Sultan of
Zanzibar if he chose to do so.
"When Sayd bin Salim requested the Arabs to assist him in fighting the
black chief of Kahama in Ugolo, Kisesa refused to go, and most of the
other Arabs did the same, as they said that Kahama was but a small
village and that the son of Salim had soldiers enough paid by the Sultan
of Zanzibar to do that kind of fighting. Now the son of Salim, though
he knows how to govern Arabs and keep the peace with peaceful merchants,
has neither head nor heart for fighting. (It takes Kisesa to do that
work.) So two or three weeks after Sayd bin Salim had gone to the war
we were not at all astonished to see the Wali come back well beaten by
Kahama; and Kisesa and the other Arabs had a good laugh at him.
"When soon after the war with Urori broke out, and Sayd bin Salim was
requested to call every Arab to the war, Sayd bin Salim refused; but
said that if Kisesa desired to go, he, as king's governor of Unyanyembe,
would empower Kisesa to lead the Arabs to war, and make him chief of the
army. Kisesa accepted at once, and the principal Arabs at once
volunteered to go with him. Within a very few days Kisesa left
Unyanyembe with nearly a thousand men for Urori, so that Unyanyembe
looked like a deserted place.
"I think it was on the twentieth day--I am not sure--of the march, that
after travelling through Unyangwira and Kokoro we came near Kwikuru, the
capital of Urori. We slept on our arms that night until about the
eighth hour, when at a given signal we all crept through the bushes for
about an hour, and by the moonlight we saw just ahead of us the boma
(palisade) of the king's village. I assure you we did not stop long to
look at it, for our horns gave the signal and we all ran for the boma.
Quick as a flash of powder in the musket-pan, as you may say, the men of
Kisesa were at the palisade, and had their guns pointed at the village
through the bare; but not a gun was fired, as Kisesa knew how to make
war.
"Kisesa blew his horn, and a voice from the village shouted out to ask
who we were, and what we wanted.
"Our chief replied, `Come out to fight, for Kisesa is at your gates.'
"`Kisesa!' said the voice, in an astonished tone. `Kisesa! it cannot be
Kisesa from Unyanyembe!'
"`It is Kisesa, and no other man. I am Kisesa, and I have come to kill
you.'
"The man said then, `Kisesa has been in a hurry to die to come so soon
to Kwikuru, the capital of the King of Urori. Does Kisesa usually fight
in such a hurry? It has been our custom to talk first before we fight.
What does Kisesa mean?' asked the King, for it was he, though we could
not see him, as he took care not to let himself be seen.
"`Thou art a dog, and a son of a dog!' answered Kisesa. `Hast thou not
been making war upon our merchants, killing them in the forest for the
sake of their ivory? Hast thou not been mutilating their young sons by
cutting off their right hands? Hast thou not been beating the prisoners
with sticks until many of them have died under the torture? Hast thou
not asked for Kisesa, the great Arab warrior, that thou mightest flay
him alive and make clothes of his skin to cover thy nakedness? Lo!
Kisesa is here at thy gates; come and take his skin.'
"`Kisesa, thou hast done well to come to me before I came for thee.
Kisesa, thou art a good man, but I will flay thee alive nevertheless,
and thou shalt know what it is to come to the gates of Mostana, like a
thief at night. They told me thou wert brave. Is it brave to do what
thou hast done? My young son Kalulu, who is but a child, is more than a
match for thee. Halt where thou art until daylight, that we may at
least see him who is said to be brave, but is but a night prowler!'
"`Mostana, if that be thy name,' said Kisesa, `I will wait for thee
until the sun appears in the east. Thou shalt then look on my face and
die. I have spoken.'
"So we all laid down close against the palisade outside. Every fifth
man was to stand watch while the others slept. As soon as the sun
appeared in the east, over the tops of the trees, the horns of Kisesa
were heard, calling us all to be ready; and at the same time the drums
of Mostana were heard. I had been sleeping soundly, and I now looked in
between the posts of the palisade to see what kind of a place we were
about to attack. It was a large village, circular, like all in Urori,
but the palisades were strong, and but lately put up. There were scores
of huts inside, but what struck me as something very uncommon in Urori
was an inner enclosure (like, that in the King's village at Unyanyembe),
which surrounded Mostana's quarters, so that he could from the inside
hold out as long as we could outside if we were not more numerous or
better armed than he.
"We were not long before we were at it like lions, shooting into one
another's faces, or as near them as the defences would permit. It was
evident that Mostana was getting the worst of the fight, for we were far
more numerous and had better guns, and farther apart from each other,
while Mostana's people were crowded together, and every bullet that went
in through the palisade wounded or killed some one, and the cries of the
women and groans of the wounded were frightful.
"After shooting at each other for an hour Kisesa gave notice to have the
two gates opened, and into these we poured in crowds, and as fast as we
got in we took advantage of the huts that were outside the king's
quarters. Then, working ourselves gradually, shooting as we went, we
sprang at the other palisade, and putting our guns through, fired into
the crowds. I assure you the scene was horrible; the people dropped to
the ground as fast as we could count them, so that in a short time the
few that were left began to cry for mercy, shouting `Aman! Aman!' The
gates of the inner defences, or the King's quarters, were broken open at
once, and Kisesa's men bounded in, making such noise that might be heard
a day's march from the village. They fired their guns, they hooted,
they shouted, they sang. Were they not victors? I was carried in with
the crowd which poured in towards the King's house. Old Mostana--he was
not very old either--was fighting to the last, firing his arrows so fast
into the crowd that many of Kisesa's men, even while they were singing
the songs of victory, fell dead, pierced to the marrow with the deadly
arrows which flew unerringly from his how. At his side was a young lad,
younger by three years than Master Selim is; he was tall, straight, and
slender as one of the light assegais he threw so dexterously and quickly
into the crowds who were pressing onward towards the King. Kisesa
himself was with us, and on seeing the matchless spirit and bearing of
the boy, he shouted, `Kill Mostana, but save the boy. Fifty cloths to
him who brings me Kalulu alive.' I am a Mrori, and I loved that boy for
his bravery the first time I saw him, and I determined to save him, if
possible for Kisesa and at the same time get the fifty cloths. A shield
belonging to one of Mostana's men lay on the ground; I snatched it up,
and defending my body with it, I cried out to Kalulu in Kirori that I
was his friend and wished to save him. The boy, surprised for a moment,
desisted, but seeing me advance hurriedly towards him, and fearing that
I only wished to do him harm, he hurled another light spear at me. So
true was the boy's aim, he hit the centre of the shield and pinned my
hand to it, and at the same moment I saw his father fall across the
threshold of his house. I heard the boy give one wild shriek, and then
saw him disappear inside; but darting forward, heedless of the pain in
my arm, I arrived at the door of the house, only in time, however, to
see him escape by another door, that led outside of the royal quarters.
I saw him take a hasty look, and, as if the coast was clear and no
danger to be apprehended, shoot off like an arrow, and the head-dress of
fish-eagle feathers he wore streamed behind him straight, so swift were
his feet. I permitted him to spring to the palisade, but before he
could well clear himself of its tall posts I laid hold of his feet; but
not for long, however. As the fiery lad clung with one hand, he used
the other in threatening to strike me, and the spears of the Warori are
sometimes dangerous. When I released him, quicker than the black
leopard of the jungles of Kawendi, or the ever-jumping monkey of Sowa,
he sprang over the posts, and picking himself up, he raced away for
liberty as if for life. But I am a Mrori too, and I am not to be
outdone by a boy, even though he were sired by Mostana; so snatching the
assegai, which hitherto had pinned my hand to the shield, I tossed the
shield over to the other side, and sprang after it myself. It did not
take long for me to catch the fugitive; he had just entered the belt of
wood when I caught hold of his arm and bade him, in the Kirori tongue,
not to run away from a friend. He turned round to me with such a look
in his large eyes--eyes that truly were like unto those of the young
Kalulu, his namesake, which, as it bounds over the low brush or grass
clumps in the plains of Urori and Ubena, seems never to touch the ground
as it leaps lightly and swiftly away from the cruel hunter. Perhaps it
is because I am a Mrori that I was rather partial to the son of Mostana,
captive of my bow and of my spear, but when I saw those large, soft,
pleading eyes turned up to me, I wept for him who was a king's son
yesterday, and to-day was Moto's slave.
"`You are a Mrori,' said the boy, `and will you make Mostana's son a
slave to those robbers?'
"`My lord, the Arabs are not robbers; they are rich merchants trading
for ivory, who, when angered by wrong done to them, band together to
fight. Mostana is dead; the Arab chief, Kisesa, wants you for himself.
Will you submit?'
"`You are not a Mrori; no Mrori warrior would talk of submitting to be
the slave of an Arab dog, however great or rich he is. Mostana has
warned me often how it would all end. But Kalulu, his son, will never
be a slave. Listen, my brother. [All strangers are addressed in
"Urori" as brothers. All travellers are hailed as brothers.] I was
born in that village; I first drew breath within that palisaded
enclosure; there I first learned to lisp "baba," "mama;" there I first
learned to distinguish friend from foe, light from darkness, good from
evil; there I first learned how to handle the spear and the bow, how to
throw the war-hatchet and the knob-stick; under those trees I have
sucked at my mother's paps, and when older have listened to the elders
of the village and counsellors of my father relating the traditions of
my great warrior tribe; in those fields now green with corn I have
played with friends of my own age--with Luhambo, Lotaka, Borata Natona,
Kahirigi, and others; in the pleasant stream which is now before us I
have bathed and caught the great fat fish; in this forest I have chased
the honey-bird, and searched for the sweet treasures the wild bees
stored for me; here the antelope and fleet zebra invited me to the
chase; even the very trees seem to know me, and recognise me as
belonging to this portion of earth. But now Mostana, my father, is
dead, my village will be burnt, my kinsmen are either dead or bound
captives, the fields will be left desolate, and what I have hitherto
known as home will become a wilderness. Yet for all this, when Cruelty
would even pause before going farther, I am pleading to a Mrori for the
only thing left for me to ask--my liberty! Mrori, speak; must I ask
twice for that which was never yours to give? Will you not let me
depart to my uncle, to remember the friendly Mrori who scorned to take
advantage of a boy?'
"`Go in peace, my lord, go in peace: I did but try you. Moto is your
friend, and if you can remember Moto when you live happily amongst your
uncle's tribe, Moto will ever be grateful.'
"`Is Moto your name?' he said delightedly, taking my hand, while his
eyes danced with joy. `Then let the Warori of my uncle's tribe ever
remember your name with pleasure. Katalambula, my uncle, shall remember
your name for future benefit, should we ever meet again. Kalulu has
spoken.'
"He embraced me as if I were his father, and then snatching his weapons
and the shield which I gave him, he turned away and, light as the
jumping antelope [the springbok], bounded away from sight.
"Come, my friends, the night is far spent, let us retire," said Moto,
when he had ended his really interesting story.
"What, Moto! I am surprised that you let the fellow go, when you might
have got fifty cloths for him," said Selim.
"And I am not," said Simba, "for I know Moto, and it is for that I love
him as my brother. Why, he was a king's son! Should Moto take that
from Kalulu which was not his to take? Ah, Moto! thou art good as the
yellow metal which all the rich Arabs at Zanzibar love so much, and
which the Banyan women love to hang on their yellow breasts. Master
Selim, you know not what it is to be a slave; pray Allah that you never
will know," said Simba as he rose and yawned.
"I a slave! you are dreaming, Simba. An Arab cannot be a slave, but a
black man was born to be an Arab's slave," replied Selim, with some
tartness in his tones.
"Well, well, we will talk of this another time," said Moto quietly, "eh,
Simba, my brother? Master, the journey is far to-morrow; before the sun
rises, your father has said, we must be on the road to Simbamwenni. It
is now late. Good night, young master."
"I shall go to my father's tent to dream of Mostana's son, Kalulu," said
Selim, recovering his temper, saying which, he walked away.