the land of footprints-第5部分

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　of　our　travel。　The　train　went　off　and　left　us　in　the　middle　of　a　high　plateau；　with　low　ridges　running　across　it；　and　mountains　in　the　distance。　Men　were　squabbling　earnestly　for　the　most　convenient　loads　to　carry；　and　as　fast　as　they　had　gained　undisputed　possession；　they　marked　the　loads　with　some　private　sign　of　their　own。　M'ganga；　the　headman；　tall；　fierce；　big…framed　and　bony；　clad　in　fez；　a　long　black　overcoat；　blue　puttees　and　boots；　stood　stiff　as　a　ramrod；　extended　a　rigid　right　arm　and　rattled　off　orders　in　a　high　dynamic　voice。　In　his　left　hand　he　clasped　a　bulgy　umbrella；　the　badge　of　his　dignity　and　the　symbol　of　his　authority。　The　four　askaris；　big　men　too；　with　masterful　high…cheekboned　countenances；　rushed　here　and　there　seeing　that　the　orders　were　carried　out。　Expostulations；　laughter；　the　sound　of　quarrelling　rose　and　fell。　Never　could　the　combined　volume　of　it　all　override　the　firecracker　stream　of　M'ganga's　eloquence。

We　had　nothing　to　do　with　it　all；　but　stood　a　little　dazed；　staring　at　the　novel　scene。　Our　men　were　of　many　tribes；　each　with　its　own　cast　of　features；　its　own　notions　of　what　befitted　man's　performance　of　his　duties　here　below。　They　stuck　together　each　in　its　clan。　A　fine　free　individualism　of　personal　adornment　characterized　them。　Every　man　dressed　for　his　own　satisfaction　solely。　They　hung　all　sorts　of　things　in　the　distended　lobes　of　their　ears。　One　had　succeeded　in　inserting　a　fine　big　glittering　tobacco　tin。　Others　had　invented　elaborate　topiary　designs　in　their　hair；　shaving　their　heads　so　as　to　leave　strange　tufts；　patches；　crescents　on　the　most　unexpected　places。　Of　the　intricacy　of　these　designs　they　seemed　absurdly　proud。　Various　sorts　of　treasure　trove　hung　from　them…a　bunch　of　keys　to　which　there　were　no　locks；　discarded　hunting　knives；　tips　of　antelope　horns；　discharged　brass　cartridges；　a　hundred　and　one　valueless　trifles　plucked　proudly　from　the　rubbish　heap。　They　were　all　clothed。　We　had　supplied　each　with　a　red　blanket；　a　blue　jersey；　and　a　water　bottle。　The　blankets　they　were　twisting　most　ingeniously　into　turbans。　Beside　these　they　sported　a　great　variety　of　garments。　Shooting　coats　that　had　seen　better　days；　a　dozen　shabby　overcoats…worn　proudly　through　the　hottest　noons…raggety　breeches　and　trousers　made　by　some　London　tailor；　queer　baggy　homemades　of　the　same　persuasion；　or　quite　simply　the　square　of　cotton　cloth　arranged　somewhat　like　a　short　tight　skirt；　or　nothing　at　all　as　the　man's　taste　ran。　They　were　many　of　them　amusing　enough；　but　somehow　they　did　not　look　entirely　farcical　and　ridiculous；　like　our　negroes　putting　on　airs。　All　these　things　were　worn　with　a　simplicity　of　quiet　confidence　in　their　entire　fitness。　And　beneath　the　red　blanket　turbans　the　half…wild　savage　faces　peered　out。

Now　Mahomet　approached。　Mahomet　was　my　personal　boy。　He　was　a　Somali　from　the　Northwest　coast；　dusky　brown；　with　the　regular　clear…cut　features　of　a　Greek　marble　god。　His　dress　was　of　neat　khaki；　and　he　looked　down　on　savages；　but；　also；　as　with　all　the　dark…skinned　races；　up　to　his　white　master。　Mahomet　was　with　me　during　all　my　African　stay；　and　tested　out　nobly。　As　yet；　of　course；　I　did　not　know　him。

〃Chakula　taiari；〃　said　he。

That　is　Swahili。　It　means　literally　〃food　is　ready。〃　After　one　has　hunted　in　Africa　for　a　few　months；　it　means　also　〃paradise　is　opened；〃　〃grief　is　at　an　end；〃　〃joy　and　thanksgiving　are　now　in　order；〃　and　similar　affairs。　Those　two　words　are　never　forgotten；　and　the　veriest　beginner　in　Swahili　can　recognize　them　without　the　slightest　effort。

We　followed　Mahomet。　Somehow；　without　orders；　in　all　this　confusion；　the　personal　staff　had　been　quietly　and　efficiently　busy。　Drawn　a　little　to　one　side　stood　a　table　with　four　chairs。　The　table　was　covered　with　a　white　cloth；　and　was　set　with　a　beautiful　white　enamel　service。　We　took　our　places。　Behind　each　chair　straight　as　a　ramrod　stood　a　neat　khaki…clad　boy。　They　brought　us　food；　and　presented　it　properly　on　the　left　side；　waiting　like　well…trained　butlers。　We　might　have　been　in　a　London　restaurant。　As　three　of　us　were　Americans；　we　felt　a　trifle　dazed。　The　porters；　having　finished　the　distribution　of　their　loads；　squatted　on　their　heels　and　watched　us　respectfully。

And　then；　not　two　hundred　yards　away；　four　ostriches　paced　slowly　across　the　track；　paying　not　the　slightest　attention　to　us…our　first　real　wild　ostriches；　scornful　of　oranges；　careless　of　tourists；　and　rightful　guardians　of　their　own　snowy　plumes。　The　passage　of　these　four　solemn　birds　seemed　somehow　to　lend　this　strange　open…air　meal　an　exotic　flavour。　We　were　indeed　in　Africa；　and　the　ostriches　helped　us　to　realize　it。

We　finished　breakfast　and　arose　from　our　chairs。　Instantly　a　half　dozen　men　sprang　forward。　Before　our　amazed　eyes　the　table　service；　the　chairs　and　the　table　itself　disappeared　into　neat　packages。　M'ganga　arose　to　his　feet。

〃Bandika！〃　he　cried。

The　askaris　rushed　here　and　there　actively。

〃Bandika！　bandika！　bandika！〃　they　cried　repeatedly。

The　men　sprang　into　activity。　A　struggle　heaved　the　varicoloured　multitude…and；　lo！　each　man　stood　upright；　his　load　balanced　on　his　head。　At　the　same　moment　the　syces　led　up　our　horses；　mounted　and　headed　across　the　little　plain　whence　had　come　the　four　ostriches。　Our　African　journey　had　definitely　begun。

Behind　us；　all　abreast　marched　the　four　gunbearers；　then　the　four　syces；　then　the　safari　single　file；　an　askari　at　the　head　bearing　proudly　his　ancient　musket　and　our　banner；　other　askaris　flanking；　M'ganga　bringing　up　the　rear　with　his　mighty　umbrella　and　an　unsuspected　rhinoceros…hide　whip。　The　tent　boys　and　the　cook　scattered　along　the　flank　anywhere；　as　befitted　the　free　and　independent　who　had　nothing　to　do　with　the　serious　business　of　marching。　A　measured　sound　of　drumming　followed　the　beating　of　loads　with　a　hundred　sticks；　a　wild；　weird　chanting　burst　from　the　ranks　and　died　down　again　as　one　or　another　individual　or　group　felt　moved　to　song。　One　lot　had　a　formal　chant　and　response。　Their　leader；　in　a　high　falsetto；　said　something　like

〃Kuna　koma　kuno；〃

and　all　his　tribesmen　would　follow　with　a　single　word　in　a　deep　gruff　tone

〃Za…la…nee！〃

All　of　which　undoubtedly　helped　immensely。

The　country　was　a　bully　country；　but　somehow　it　did　not　look　like　Africa。　That　is　to　say；　it　looked　altogether　too　much　like　any　amount　of　country　at　home。　There　was　nothing　strange　and　exotic　about　it。　We　crossed　a　little　plain；　and　up　over　a　small　hill；　down　into　a　shallow　canyon　that　seemed　to　be　wooded　with　live　oaks；　across　a　grass　valley　or　so；　and　around　a　grass　hill。　Then　we　went　into　camp　at　the　edge　of　another　grass　valley；　by　a　stream　across　which　rose　some　ordinary　low　cliffs。

That　is　the　disconcerting　thing　about　a　whole　lot　of　this　country…it　is　so　much　like　home。　Of　course；　there　are　many　wide　districts　exotic　enough　in　all　conscience…the　jungle　beds　of　the　rivers；　the　bamboo　forests；　the　great　tangled　forests　themselves；　the　banana　groves　down　the　aisles　of　which　dance　savages　with　shields…but　so　very　much　of　it　is　familiar。　One　needs　only　church　spires　and　a　red…roofed　village　or　so　to　imagine　one's　self　in　Surrey。　There　is　any　amount　of　country　like　Arizona；　and　more　like　the　uplands　of　Wyoming；　and　a　lot　of　it　resembling　the　smaller　landscapes　of　New　England。　The　prospects　of　the　whole　world　are　there；　so　that　somewhere　every　wanderer　can　find　the　countryside　of　his　own　home　repeated。　And；　by　the　same　token；　that　is　exactly　what　makes　a　good　deal　of　it　so　startling。　When　a　man　sees　a　file　of　spear…armed　savages；　or　a　pair　of　snorty　old　rhinos；　step　out　into　what　has　seemed　practically　his　own　back　yard　home；　he　is　even　more　startled　than　if　he　had　encountered　them　in　quite　strange　surroundings。

We　rode　into　the　grass　meadow　and　picked　camp　site。　The　men　trailed　in　and　dumped　down　their　loads　in　a　row。

At　a　signal　they　set　to　work。　A　dozen　to　each　tent　got　them　up　in　a　jiffy。　A　long　file　brought　firewood　from　the　stream　bed。　Others　carried　water；　stones　for　the　cook；　a　dozen　other　matters。　The　tent　boys　rescued　our　boxes；　they　put　together　the　cots　and　made　the　beds；　even　before　the　tents　were　raised　from　the　ground。　Within　an　incredibly　short　space　of　time　the　three　green　tents　were　up　and　arranged；　each　with　its　bed　made；　its　mosquito　bar　hung；　its　personal　box　open；　its　folding　washstand　ready　with　towels　and　soap；　the　table　and　chairs　unlimbered。　At　a　discreet　distance　flickered　the　cook　campfire；　and　at　a　still　discreeter　distance　the　little　tents　of　the　men　gleamed　pure　white　against　the　green　of　the　high　grass。



V。　MEMBA　SASA

I　wish　I　could　plunge　you　at　once　into　the　excitements　of　big　game　in　Africa；　but　I　cannot　truthfully　do　so。　To　be　sure；　we　went　hunting　that　afternoon；　up　over　the　low　cliffs；　and　we　saw　several　of　a　very　lively　little　animal　known　as　the　Chandler's　reedbuck。　This　was　not　supposed　to　be　a　game　country；　and　that　was　all　we　did　see。　At　these　we　shot　several　times…disgracefully。　In　fact；　for　several　days　we　could　not　shoot　at　all；　at　any　range；　nor　at　anything。　It　was　very　sad；　and　very　aggravating。　Afterward　we　found　that　this　is　an　invariable　experience　to　the　newcomer。　The　light　is　new；　the　air　is　different；　the　sizes　of　the　game　are　deceiving。　Nobody　can　at　first　hit　anything。　At　the　end　of　five　days　we　suddenly　began　to　shoot　our　normal　gait。　Why；　I　do　not　know。

But　in　this　afternoon　tramp　around　the　low　cliffs　after　the　elusive　reedbuck；　I　for　the　first　time　became　acquainted　with　a　man　who　developed　into　a　real　friend。

His　name　is　Memba　Sasa。　Memba　Sasa　are　two　Swahili　words　meaning　〃now　a　crocodile。〃　Subsequently；　after　I　had　learned　to　talk　Swahili；　I　tried　to　find　out　what　he　was　formerly；　before　he　was　a　crocodile；　but　did　not　succeed。

He　was　of　the　tribe　of　the　Monumwezi；　of　medium　height；　compactly　and　sturdily　built；　carried　himself　very　erect；　and　moved　with　a　concentrated　and　vigorous　purposefulness。　His　countenance　might　be　described　as　pleasing　but　not　handsome；　of　a　dark　chocolate　brown；　with　the　broad　nose　of　the　negro；　but　with　a　firm　mouth；　high　cheekbones；　and　a　frowning　intentness　of　brow　that　was　very　fine。　When　you　talked　to　him　he　looked　you　straight　in　the　eye。　His　own　eyes　we