the land of footprints-第6部分

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f　brow　that　was　very　fine。　When　you　talked　to　him　he　looked　you　straight　in　the　eye。　His　own　eyes　were　shaded　by　long；　soft；　curling　lashes　behind　which　they　looked　steadily　and　gravely…sometimes　fiercely…on　the　world。　He　rarely　smiled…never　merely　in　understanding　or　for　politeness'　sake…and　never　laughed　unless　there　was　something　really　amusing。　Then　he　chuckled　from　deep　in　his　chest；　the　most　contagious　laughter　you　can　imagine。　Often　we；　at　the　other　end　of　the　camp；　have　laughed　in　sympathy；　just　at　the　sound　of　that　deep　and　hearty　ho！　ho！　ho！　of　Memba　Sasa。　Even　at　something　genuinely　amusing　he　never　laughed　much；　nor　without　a　very　definite　restraint。　In　fact；　about　him　was　no　slackness；　no　sprawling　abandon　of　the　native　in　relaxation；　but　always　a　taut　efficiency　and　a　never…failing　self…respect。

Naturally；　behind　such　a　fixed　moral　fibre　must　always　be　some　moral　idea。　When　a　man　lives　up　to　a　real；　not　a　pompous；　dignity　some　ideal　must　inform　it。　Memba　Sasa's　ideal　was　that　of　the　Hunter。

He　was　a　gunbearer；　and　he　considered　that　a　good　gunbearer　stood　quite　a　few　notches　above　any　other　human　being；　save　always　the　white　man；　of　course。　And　even　among　the　latter　Memba　Sasa　made　great　differences。　These　differences　he　kept　to　himself；　and　treated　all　with　equal　respect。　Nevertheless；　they　existed；　and　Memba　Sasa　very　well　knew　that　fact。　In　the　white　world　were　two　classes　of　masters：　those　who　hunted　well；　and　those　who　were　considered　by　them　as　their　friends　and　equals。　Why　they　should　be　so　considered　Memba　Sasa　did　not　know；　but　he　trusted　the　Hunter's　judgment。　These　were　the　bwanas；　or　masters。　All　the　rest　were　merely　mazungos；　or；　〃white　men。〃　To　their　faces　he　called　them　bwana；　but　in　his　heart　he　considered　them　not。

Observe；　I　say　those　who　hunted　well。　Memba　Sasa；　in　his　profession　as　gunbearer；　had　to　accompany　those　who　hunted　badly。　In　them　he　took　no　pride；　from　them　he　held　aloof　in　spirit；　but　for　them　he　did　his　conscientious　best；　upheld　by　the　dignity　of　his　profession。

For　to　Mamba　Sasa　that　profession　was　the　proudest　to　which　a　black　man　could　aspire。　He　prided　himself　on　mastering　its　every　detail；　in　accomplishing　its　every　duty　minutely　and　exactly。　The　major　virtues　of　a　gunbearer　are　not　to　be　despised　by　anybody；　for　they　comprise　great　physical　courage；　endurance；　and　loyalty：　the　accomplishments　of　a　gunbearer　are　worthy　of　a　man's　best　faculties；　for　they　include　the　ability　to　see　and　track　game；　to　take　and　prepare　properly　any　sort　of　a　trophy；　field　taxidermy；　butchering　game　meat；　wood　and　plainscraft；　the　knowledge　of　how　properly　to　care　for　firearms　in　all　sorts　of　circumstances；　and　a　half　hundred　other　like　minutiae。　Memba　Sasa　knew　these　things；　and　he　performed　them　with　the　artist's　love　for　details；　and　his　keen　eyes　were　always　spying　for　new　ways。

At　a　certain　time　I　shot　an　egret；　and　prepared　to　take　the　skin。　Memba　Sasa　asked　if　he　might　watch　me　do　it。　Two　months　later；　having　killed　a　really　gaudy　peacocklike　member　of　the　guinea　fowl　tribe；　I　handed　it　over　to　him　with　instructions　to　take　off　the　breast　feathers　before　giving　it　to　the　cook。　In　a　half　hour　he　brought　me　the　complete　skin；　I　examined　it　carefully；　and　found　it　to　be　well　done　in　every　respect。　Now　in　skinning　a　bird　there　are　a　number　of　delicate　and　unusual　operations；　such　as　stripping　the　primary　quills　from　the　bone；　cutting　the　ear　cover；　and　the　like。　I　had　explained　none　of　them；　and　yet　Memba　Sasa；　unassisted；　had　grasped　their　method　from　a　single　demonstration　and　had　remembered　them　all　two　months　later！　C。　had　a　trick　in　making　the　second　skin　incision　of　a　trophy　head　that　had　the　effect　of　giving　a　better　purchase　to　the　knife。　Its　exact　description　would　be　out　of　place　here；　but　it　actually　consisted　merely　in　inserting　the　point　of　the　knife　two　inches　away　from　the　place　it　is　ordinarily　inserted。　One　day　we　noticed　that　Memba　Sasa　was　making　his　incisions　in　that　manner。　I　went　to　Africa　fully　determined　to　care　for　my　own　rifle。　The　modern　high…velocity　gun　needs　rather　especial　treatment；　mere　wiping　out　will　not　do。　I　found　that　Memba　Sasa　already　knew　all　about　boiling　water；　and　the　necessity　for　having　it　really　boiling；　about　subsequent　metal　sweating；　and　all　the　rest。　After　watching　him　at　work　I　concluded；　rightly；　that　he　would　do　a　lot　better　job　than　I。

To　the　new　employer　Memba　Sasa　maintained　an　attitude　of　strict　professional　loyalty。　His　personal　respect　was　upheld　by　the　necessity　of　every　man　to　do　his　job　in　the　world。　Memba　Sasa　did　his。　He　cleaned　the　rifles；　he　saw　that　everything　was　in　order　for　the　day's　march；　he　was　at　my　elbow　all　ways　with　more　cartridges　and　the　spare　rifle；　he　trailed　and　looked　conscientiously。　In　his　attitude　was　the　stolidity　of　the　wooden　Indian。　No　action　of　mine；　no　joke　on　the　part　of　his　companions；　no　circumstance　in　the　varying　fortunes　of　the　field　gained　from　him　the　faintest　flicker　of　either　approval；　disapproval；　or　interest。　When　we　returned　to　camp　he　deposited　my　water　bottle　and　camera；　seized　the　cleaning　implements；　and　departed　to　his　own　campfire。　In　the　field　he　pointed　out　game　that　I　did　not　see；　and　waited　imperturbably　the　result　of　my　shot。

As　I　before　stated；　the　result　of　that　shot　for　the　first　five　days　was　very　apt　to　be　nil。　This；　at　the　time；　puzzled　and　grieved　me　a　lot。　Occasionally　I　looked　at　Memba　Sasa　to　catch　some　sign　of　sympathy；　disgust；　contempt；　or…rarely…triumph　at　a　lucky　shot。　Nothing。　He　gently　but　firmly　took　away　my　rifle；　reloaded　it；　and　handed　it　back；　then　waited　respectfully　for　my　next　move。　He　knew　no　English；　and　I　no　Swahili。

But　as　time　went　on　this　attitude　changed。　I　was　armed　with　the　new　Springfield　rifle；　a　weapon　with　2；700　feet　velocity；　and　with　a　marvellously　flat　trajectory。　This　commanding　advantage；　combined　with　a　very　long　familiarity　with　firearms；　enabled　me　to　do　some　fairish　shooting；　after　the　strangeness　of　these　new　conditions　had　been　mastered。　Memba　Sasa　began　to　take　a　dawning　interest　in　me　as　a　possible　source　of　pride。　We　began　to　develop　between　us　a　means　of　communication。　I　set　myself　deliberately　to　learn　his　language；　and　after　he　had　cautiously　determined　that　I　really　meant　it；　he　took　the　greatest　pains…always　gravely…to　teach　me。　A　more　human　feeling　sprang　up　between　us。

But　we　had　still　the　final　test　to　undergo…that　of　danger　and　the　tight　corner。

In　close　quarters　the　gunbearer　has　the　hardest　job　in　the　world。　I　have　the　most　profound　respect　for　his　absolute　courage。　Even　to　a　man　armed　and　privileged　to　shoot　and　defend　himself；　a　charging　lion　is　an　awesome　thing；　requiring　a　certain　amount　of　coolness　and　resolution　to　face　effectively。　Think　of　the　gunbearer　at　his　elbow；　depending　not　on　himself　but　on　the　courage　and　coolness　of　another。　He　cannot　do　one　solitary　thing　to　defend　himself。　To　bolt　for　the　safety　of　a　tree　is　to　beg　the　question　completely；　to　brand　himself　as　a　shenzi　forever；　to　fire　a　gun　in　any　circumstances　is　to　beg　the　question　also；　for　the　white　man　must　be　able　to　depend　absolutely　on　his　second　gun　in　an　emergency。　Those　things　are　outside　consideration；　even；　of　any　respectable　gunbearer。　In　addition；　he　must　keep　cool。　He　must　see　clearly　in　the　thickest　excitement；　must　be　ready　unobtrusively　to　pass　up　the　second　gun　in　the　position　most　convenient　for　immediate　use；　to　seize　the　other　and　to　perform　the　finicky　task　of　reloading　correctly　while　some　rampageous　beast　is　raising　particular　thunder　a　few　yards　away。　All　this　in　absolute　dependence　on　the　ability　of　his　bwana　to　deal　with　the　situation。　I　can　confess　very　truly　that　once　or　twice　that　little　unobtrusive　touch　of　Memba　Sasa　crouched　close　to　my　elbow　steadied　me　with　the　thought　of　how　little　right　I…with　a　rifle　in　my　hand…had　to　be　scared。　And　the　best　compliment　I　ever　received　I　overheard　by　chance。　I　had　wounded　a　lion　when　out　by　myself；　and　had　returned　to　camp　for　a　heavier　rifle　and　for　Memba　Sasa　to　do　the　trailing。　From　my　tent　I　overheard　the　following　conversation　between　Memba　Sasa　and　the　cook：

〃The　grass　is　high；〃　said　the　cook。　〃Are　you　not　afraid　to　go　after　a　wounded　lion　with　only　one　white　man？〃

〃My　one　white　man　is　enough；〃　replied　Memba　Sasa。

It　is　a　quality　of　courage　that　I　must　confess　would　be　quite　beyond　me…to　depend　entirely　on　the　other　fellow；　and　not　at　all　on　myself。　This　courage　is　always　remarkable　to　me；　even　in　the　case　of　the　gunbearer　who　knows　all　about　the　man　whose　heels　he　follows。　But　consider　that　of　the　gunbearer's　first　experience　with　a　stranger。　The　former　has　no　idea　of　how　the　white　man　will　act；　whether　he　will　get　nervous；　get　actually　panicky；　lose　his　shooting　ability；　and　generally　mess　things　up。　Nevertheless；　he　follows　his　master　in；　and　he　stands　by。　If　the　hunter　fails；　the　gunbearer　will　probably　die。　To　me　it　is　rather　fine：　for　he　does　it；　not　from　the　personal　affection　and　loyalty　which　will　carry　men　far；　but　from　a　sheer　sense　of　duty　and　pride　of　caste。　The　quiet　pride　of　the　really　good　men；　like　Memba　Sasa；　is　easy　to　understand。

And　the　records　are　full　of　stories　of　the　white　man　who　has　not　made　good：　of　the　coward　who　bolts；　leaving　his　black　man　to　take　the　brunt　of　it；　or　who　sticks　but　loses　his　head。　Each　new　employer　must　be　very　closely　and　interestedly　scrutinized。　In　the　light　of　subsequent　experience；　I　can　no　longer　wonder　at　Memba　Sasa's　first　detached　and　impersonal　attitude。

As　time　went　on；　however；　and　we　grew　to　know　each　other　better；　this　attitude　entirely　changed。　At　first　the　change　consisted　merely　in　dropping　the　disinterested　pose　as　respects　game。　For　it　was　a　pose。　Memba　Sasa　was　most　keenly　interested　in　game　whenever　it　was　an　object　of　pursuit。　It　did　not　matter　how　common　the　particular　species　might　be：　if　we　wanted　it；　Memba　Sasa　would　look　upon　it　with　eager　ferocity；　and　if　we　did　not　want　it；　he　paid　no　attention　to　it　at　all。　When　we　started　in　the　morning；　or　in　the　relaxation　of　our　return　at　night；　I　would　mention　casually　a　few　of　the　things　that　might　prove　acceptable。

〃To…morrow　we　want　kongoni　for　boys'　meat；　or　zebra；　and　some　meat　for　masters…Tommy；　impala；　oribi；〃　and　M