Chapter Eight.Ceremony of Brotherhood—Ceremony of Blood-Drinking—Selim brought into Ferodia’s presence—Simba to the Rescue—The Warning to Kalulu—Kalulu speaks for Selim—Where is Paradise?—Selim and Abdullah are clothed—Down the Liembra—The Hippopotamus—Overboard—Fighting the Crocodile—How Kalulu fought the Crocodile—Securing the River-horse.On the third day after his discovery in the forest by his friends Simba, Moto, and young Kalulu, Selim was sufficiently strong to begin his journey to the village of Katalambula. Had Kalulu not assured him of his friendship, and that he would be a brother to him, it is doubtful that Selim would have looked upon the idea of meeting Ferodia and his obsequious servant Tifum Byah—to whose tyranny he owed so much misery—again with pleasure. But it was agreed between Kalulu and Selim that the ceremony of brotherhood, of which he had heard much before, should take place the evening before they arrived at Katalambula’s village.The party travelled by easy stages, and on the fifth day of the journey, the day set apart for the ceremony of brotherhood, they found themselves close to the Liemba stream, at a village called Kisari, distant but eight miles from the capital of Katalambula.Here the author may remark, for the benefit of the younger readers, that a close brotherhood among men or boys, unrelated by blood, birth, or marriage, is in no way singular. I need but mention David and Jonathan, Achilles and Patroclus, Damon and Pythias, as examples among men; and what boy of any nation, in any public school, has not some friend who is as dear to him as a born brother? It arises from a similarity of dispositions generally, from the desire to relieve ourselves from little anxieties, and to have some one in whom we have thorough confidence. There were two things singular about this ceremony of brotherhood about, to be enacted between Selim and Kalulu. First, was the ceremony of blood-drinking connected with it; and, secondly, was the fact that a Moslem boy—a true believer—was about to become a brother with a Pagan boy—an unbeliever—and to drink his blood. For it is expressly prohibited by the Küran that blood shall be drunk by the true believer; next, it is expressly prohibited that a true believer shall make any such close friendship with an infidel. But it may be argued for poor Selim that he was yet but a young boy; that he was driven by necessity to this as the best method of assuring his freedom and safety from recapture, and this the Küran, whose laws are not cruel, permits when there is necessity; and it might be said that Selim was, perhaps, not aware of the Küran’s prohibition in this small matter; otherwise, I doubt that a boy so generally pious would have erred against the law of the Prophet consciously.On Kalulu’s side, nothing could be said against the ceremony. It was a common custom with his tribe, when any of them met anybody they liked better than another, to go through the ceremony. Sometimes the chiefs did it with neighbouring chiefs, to strengthen their alliance from motives of policy, for the same reason that European monarchs contract—or rather did, for it has lost long ago its former significance—advantageous alliances among themselves for their sons and daughters. Kalulu wished the ceremony to proceed, because he had a strong liking for Selim, born of gratitude to Moto; because Selim was of his own age; because he had pleasant ways with him, and friendship having grown out of the accidental circumstances under which they met, he desired to assure himself, with the ardour of a boy, that real friendship existed between them. Once his brother by this ceremony, no one of his tribe could injure Selim; and Ferodia and Tifum Byah might storm and fret in vain, for the ceremony of brotherhood with Kalulu could not be disregarded. We shall see, however, what came of it.At sunset, Kalulu was asked to seat himself side by side with Selim on the ground, which he did, taking hold of Selim’s right hand, each with his profile half turned to the other. Simba was the master of the ceremonies on this occasion, who held a knife with all the solemnity of one who was about to offer a sacrifice to some horrid deity who delighted in the blood of youths. Moto stood by as a supernumerary, and to interpret the words of Simba for Kalulu. The people of Kisari had also come to witness the ceremony.Simba advanced as the sun was setting, knife in hand, while the two boys retained each other’s right hands, and said to Kalulu:“Art thou willing to be a brother to Selim, to be more than a friend to him, to share what thou hast with him, to defend him against all enemies to the best of thy power, and to stand by him until death?”Kalulu answered, “I am.”“With what wilt thou seal thy word?”“With the blood of my right arm.”“And what wilt thou give him as a sign?”“I will give him a sheep.”“Art thou willing further to drink his blood, that his blood may pass unto thee, that the bond of eternal brotherhood may be made strong and sure?”“I am.”Then turning to Selim, Simba asked:“Art thou, Selim, willing to accept Kalulu as a brother, to be more than a friend to him, to share what thou hast with him, to defend him to the utmost of thy power against all enemies, and to stand by him to the death?”Selim answered, “I am.”“With what wilt thou seal thy promise?”“With the blood of my right arm.”“And what wilt thou give him as a sign?”“I will give him my gun.”“Art thou willing, further, to drink his blood, that his blood may pass unto thee, that the bond of eternal brotherhood may be made strong and euro?”“I am.”“Then let it be done!” Simba said; and with that he made a small incision in the arm of each, and as the blood began to flow, he shouted, “Drink!” and immediately the youths seized each other’s right arms, and left their right hands free, and putting their lips to the wounds, sucked a small quantity and swallowed it, and the ceremony was concluded by a fraternal embrace. During the exchange of presents which followed, men, women, and children shouted and clapped their hands; and the youngest of them, in the exuberance of their childish hearts, kicked up their heels and danced, as they do upon most great occasions in Africa.The next morning, a little before noon, the party arrived at the capital. Selim’s arrival caused a great sensation; but Kalulu immediately took him and his two friends, Simba and Moto, into his own hut, where Selim, to his great joy, met Abdullah, who was quite recovered from the severe punishment he had received and the fatigues he had undergone. The meeting between the two Arab boys was very affecting, as they could understand each other’s feelings and interpret them faithfully one to the other.After a short time, Simba and Moto left the two boys to themselves and retired to their own hut, while Kalulu, after seeing Selim attended to and supplied with food, started for the King’s house to acquaint the King with the events which we have just detailed.It was not long after the two Arab boys were left alone that a rustling of many feet was heard at the door, not noisy, but hurried, and somewhat alarming; and immediately there stood before the astonished boys the form and malevolent face of Tifum Byah, his former tyrant, accompanied by other warriors, armed with spears and knob-sticks.“Oh, ho! hee, hee!” shouted Tifum, with a wicked leer on his face. “This is my runaway slave. Ha, ha! thou art caught like a sneaking jackal in a trap. Come, my pale-faced slave, you must follow me;” and he advanced and laid a rough hand upon his shoulder.“Why with you?” asked Selim.“Come, no words. Ferodia, the chief, calls.”“But I am now Kalulu’s brother,” said Selim, attempting to release himself from his grasp, “and I am no longer a slave.”“You the brother of Kalulu! Since when came you to be the brother of Kalulu, you son of an ass?”“Since yesterday; and if you do not let me go, Kalulu will punish you for entering his hut.”“We’ll see about that. Warriors, bear him to Ferodia!” said Tifum, turning to his companions.And Selim was borne away, despite his remonstrances, to Ferodia’s presence, who happened to be seated under the tree in the middle of the square.“Here is the runaway,” said Tifum, laying a heavy hand on Selim’s shoulder, to Ferodia.“Ha! pale-faced dog!” shouted Ferodia, angrily. “What made you run away? Did you think to better yourself by doing so? Speak.”“I am not a dog!” retorted Selim in a passion; for he was getting desperate at the prospect of another lease of such cruel bondage as he had experienced. “I am not a dog, but you are a dog.”“Eyah, eyah! hear him! A slave insults Ferodia the chief!” cried the obsequious Tifum. “Fool, do you know what you say?”“Silence, pariah!” thundered Selim, more passionately. “I defy you!—I spit on you! You are dirt. Do your worst, great chief—the Arab boy will not bend to you!”As the boy uttered these words, showing more spirit, and such anger, and bitter contempt as none of the Watutu ever had witnessed before, both Ferodia and Tifum were struck speechless for a moment; but Ferodia broke the silence at last with fiery accents, saying:“Tifum, dost thou hear me? Lay that stubborn ass down on his face and cut his back for me with thy whip. Beat, beat, and spare not.”But Selim waited to hear no more. Ferodia had but begun his cruel order when the latent Bedouin spirit of resistance electrified him. His arm felt surcharged with the impulse to strike, and his hand, weighted with hate, was shot full in the face of Tifum, who reeled as if he had been struck with a knob-stick. Then with a light bound he sprang from the circle, sending a mocking laugh into Ferodia’s ears as he flew towards the King’s house, which had been pointed out to him on his first arrival, shouting “Kalulu! Simba, to me! To me, Simba! Kalulu!”He had reached the threshold of the King’s house when he felt an arm on his shoulder. He turned around; it was Tifum! Rage had given the man a quickened sense and speed to his feet, even superior to the fear which hurried the feet of Selim away. The strong hand crushed the weakened frame of the youth to the ground for the execution of the cruel sentence of Ferodia, and his brain was fast whirling with the terror which possessed him, when he heard a shout—a roar of rage—behind him, and at the same time the force with which he was being compelled to the ground relaxed. Simba was seen bearing down upon the party with irresistible power. He saw for an instant how the gigantic form of his friend and protector dilated, as he had seen it in the battle of Kwikuru; he saw the powerful muscular arms, with their wealth of sinew and muscle, and the eyes glowing with the ferocity of a beast of prey: only an instant, for Simba was before Tifum, face to face with the monster who had striped the son of Amer, and there was no time to think before he saw Tifum’s body in the air, nor time to utter the thought of pardon which he wished to say, before he saw the man dashed with the force of a cannon ball against the body of warriors who had hurried up to lend assistance to Tifum—laying half a dozen of them prostrate on the ground.Ferodia had seen the giant form of Simba hurrying to the rescue of the white slave, and comprehending at a glance that something would happen, he snatched his spear and started after him. But he had never imagined that such a thing as he saw could have been done by living man; and the wonder of it all paralysed his arm, which tingled but a moment before to send his spear through the man’s body. While Ferodia thus stood, lost in wonder at such human power, three new-comers had appeared on the scene—Moto, who had hurried after Ferodia, and stood behind him, seemingly careless and unconcerned; Kalulu and Katalambula, the King, who appeared on the threshold, the former of whom had dragged Selim behind him.Katalambula, though old and on the verge of infirmity, could demean himself royally enough upon occasions; and this was one of them evidently; for he advanced and stood before Simba and Ferodia, spear in hand, with a bearing seldom witnessed.“What means this, Ferodia?” he asked in a cool, quiet tone.“It means, O King, that I sent Tifum to catch that runaway slave who deserted me in the great forest; that the slave ran towards thy house, and Tifum ran after him, only to meet with this man, who caught up Tifum as if he had been a piece of wood, and sent him flying against those warriors of mine, who are now picking themselves up.”“Indeed! Who art thou? Oh, I remember, thou art the friend of the stranger who saved Kalulu in Urori! Thou art very strong.”Then turning toward the group which had been prostrated, he asked if any of them had been hurt. One replied that he felt a pain in the chest, another that he could not breathe; one felt his head swim, another a pain in the abdomen; one felt a lump in his throat, another replied that he had a sore back; while Tifum declared he felt bruised all over, and all looked at Simba with terror.Ferodia now advanced, and made as if he would lay a hand on Selim; but Kalulu interposed his slight form with a drawn bow and fixed arrow in his hand, and a dangerous glitter in his eyes.“Keep away, Ferodia; or, by the grave of Mostana my father, I will send this arrow through thy body.”“What ails thee, boy? Is not one white slave enough for thee, that thou wouldst deprive me of the other? I made him captive with my bow and spear at Olimali’s village. Stand aside.”“Go away, I tell thee! This ‘slave’ of thine is now my brother. The blood ceremony has been made. Who injures him injures me; and I am Kalulu, adopted son of Katalambula.”“Well, if he is thy brother, keep him; but give me the other white slave in his place,” replied Ferodia.“Thou hast given him to my father. My father has given him to me. I am too poor in white slaves to be able to give thee any. I have but one slave, for the other is my brother.”“Katalambula,” said Ferodia, “this is injustice. White slaves are not caught every day. I must have one of them.”“We may not disregard the laws of brotherhood, Ferodia,” said the King, mildly. “When Kalulu made the white boy his brother he made him a Mtuta, and all the Watuta are free men. Thou gavest me the other, and I gave him to Kalulu. It is not our custom to return gifts, thou knowest, Ferodia. But take thou three Wabena men at my hand instead, and be friends with Kalulu.”“No, no, no!” said Ferodia, in a burst of anger. “Thou art unjust, Katalambula, to one who fought for thee with such success, and brought thee so much wealth. I depart at once; and thou,” said he warningly to Kalulu, “do thou beware of me; eagle’s wings have been clipped ere now, and young lions tamed. Ferodia is king over his own tribe.”“Ferodia,” said Kalulu with a sneer, “I fear thee not. I know thee for a bad man; and were it not for my father thou shouldst not leave this village, for I should garnish the gate with thy skull.”“Peace, boy!” cried Katalambula, “and do not make bad worse with thy saucy tongue. And thou, Ferodia, heed him not; remember, he is but a young boy. But it is thou who art unjust, not I. Hast thou not received a fourth of all thou didst bring me? Hast thou forgotten the slaves, the cloth, the powder, and guns I gave thee? Whose were the warriors with whom the battle was won at Kwikuru? Who sent thee there but I? Go home if thou must, and peace be with thee.”Ferodia left the party, but not before he had again menaced Kalulu, which menace that young chief returned with interest. Within an hour he had departed from the village with his warriors, slaves, and property, breathing revenge and hatred, fuming and storming at the slaves, and sarcastically bitter to the bruised and discomfited Tifum Byah.Katalambula was angry also with Kalulu; but the latter, though forward enough when Ferodia, of whom he was intensely jealous, was concerned, knew the ways of the old man well; and, unmindful of his frowns, he went up and embraced him, and accompanied him towards his house.“Oh, my uncle, and father!” cried Kalulu, “why dost thou not say a kind word to my white brother? Is he not a handsome brother? Look at his eyes; they are like the young kalulu when it looks at the hunter in fear. Speak to him, ah, do. Think of that horrid Tifum Byah beating him! I am so sorry I did not drive an arrow through him. He is a wicked man, verily, and is properly named Byah. He would cut my head off readily if Ferodia commanded him.”“And thou art the new brother of my boy Kalulu, art thou, pale-faced boy?” asked Katalambula, stopping in front of Selim.“Kalulu has been very good to me,” said Selim, looking up gratefully towards that youth. “He has been pleased to call me his brother.”“Yes,” said Katalambula. “Kalulu is a good boy—a good boy—he loves the old King, too. I believe he has a kind heart for those he loves, but he is hot, hot as fire, when anybody crosses him. Take care he does not kill and eat you,” he added, smiling, and passing on towards his house.“But, father,” said Kalulu in a whisper, “thou seest he is naked, except that rag. He is the son of an Arab chief, and is not accustomed to our ways. Thou art rich in cloth. Canst thou not give him something to cover his nakedness?”“What need he cover his nakedness, boy? He looks fair and clean enough without anything. He is not a girl. I am sure if I had a white skin I would rather be naked to show it,” chuckled the old man, looking at Selim.“But, father, he has told me himself that he feels ashamed of being without cloth. His people never go out unless they are covered from head to foot. It is against their custom, and there is a book written by the Sky-spirit, which tells them not to be without clothes.”“Well, well, do as thou wilt. Give him four doti (sixteen yards), and let him cover himself from head to foot if he wants to, though I think it all folly, all nonsense.”“Thou art good, very good, father,” cried the delighted Kalulu, leaping about the old man.“Ah, yes, I know I am good,” replied Katalambula, “especially when I let thee have thy own way. There, go now. I am sleepy and tired.”Kalulu left the old man, and, proceeding to the store-room, extracted the four doti he was permitted to take; one of blue cotton, one of white, one coloured barsati, and one fine sohari, which he rolled into a bundle, and covered with a goatskin, and conveyed to his hut, where he found Simba, Moto, Abdullah, and Selim.When he had seated himself, he asked Selim:“What book is that thou wert talking of to me yesterday?”“It is the Küran,” replied Selim, “written by a holy man, sent by the Sky-spirit to tell men how to conduct themselves on earth, so they may enter the good place called Paradise.”“What is the Sky-spirit like?”“No man, since that great man, has seen him; he is a spirit, and cannot be seen,” replied Selim.“Why do the pale-faces obey a thing that cannot be seen?”“Because the holy man, Mohammed, who wrote his words down, has given us all we want to know. The holy man saw him, and wrote his words faithfully down.”“Is Mommed alive now?” asked Kalulu.“Oh no! He has been dead ever so long, many, many years. So many as one hundred sultans of Ututa have lived and died since Mohammed—not Mommed—died,” answered Selim.“Where is this Paradise to which the good men go? I am good. Shall I go to Paradise?” asked Kalulu, with a smile.“Paradise is away, up, far, far above the clouds. No man is permitted to go there except he is a true believer, who believes in God, Mohammed, and the Küran.”“And where shall I go when I die?”“If thou diest without believing, thou shalt go to the place which is reserved for such as were ignorant, and were not taught the true word. It is far from Paradise.”“Hum! it is not as good as Paradise, then?” asked Kalulu. “No.”“The Sky-spirit is wicked,” said Kalulu. “He sends a holy man called Mommed to tell good words to the white peoples, and prepares a nice place for them. For it is easy to believe, when people are taught what to believe. But the black peoples, they see no holy man. Nobody comes to tell them anything; but because they are ignorant they are sent to a bad place. Bah! the Sky-spirit is very wicked; he is unjust; I don’t want to see him, because I shall not die; I won’t die.”Selim had here a fine chance to deliver a sermon, and make a proselyte, but he was too young to take advantage of the opportunity; besides, he did not want to make his new brother angry or more rebellious than sheer ignorance made him already.“But, Selim, tell me; why do thy people wear clothes? Why do you not go about without clothes, as we do?”“Because it is wrong; it is not decent. The good book says ‘Thou shalt restrain thine eyes, and do no immodest action.’ It is immodest to expose the person. Beasts are clothed with fur and hair, fowls with feathers; men cover themselves with clothes. Is man so poor that when he sees all things clothed—the rocks with earth, the earth with trees, the trees with foliage, the beasts of the forest with hair and fur, the birds with feathers, the fish with scales, that he himself who owns all these things shall have nothing?”“Well, Selim, thou shall; not be immodest any more while thou art with me. I have brought thee and Abdullah cloth. Am I not good now, and shall I not go to Paradise?”“Thou shalt have all things, Kalulu, when thou wilt become a true believer,” answered Selim, clapping his hands with joy and gratitude at Kalulu’s delicate kindness. “What dost thou say, Simba? and thou, Moto? Abdullah? We shall be sons of Arabs, and true believers now, eh?”“I shall be so proud of these clothes, I will not know myself,” said Abdullah, as he folded around his body a brand new shukkah (two yards) with the skill of one who knew the art of wearing shukkahs. Another shukkah was thrown over his shoulders, while a piece of snowy cloth, a foot wide and a yard long, was folded around his head, and he stood up to be admired, his pleased and sparkling black eyes mutely inviting his friends to express their pleasure at the transformation.“Why, Abdullah!” exclaimed Simba. “Wallahi! but thou lookest better in the negro costume of Zanzibar than thou didst in the braided gold jacket and embroidered shirt of Sheikh Mohammed’s son; and thou too, Selim. I think I see my young master once more himself. Fine sohari and fine barsati in Ututa! Who would believe it?”“Ay,” said Moto, “my young master and Abdullah, having covered themselves, will forget their misery and vexation, and grow fat and happy. After this I shall always look out for young chiefs in danger, to help them, hoping they will all turn out to be as good as Kalulu has been.”“Now that we are all so happy and good, I propose to my new brother Selim and my white slave Abdullah, who is now no more a slave than I am, that we take a canoe to-morrow, and go down the Liemba to spear hippopotamus and crocodiles; for you must see the Watuta at home in their sports, and we must, by-and-bye, go to the great forest several days south of where thou wert found, Selim, to have a grand elephant hunt. What do ye say, Selim—Abdullah?”“I shall be delighted,” answered Selim.“And I too,” responded Abdullah.“Then it is settled; eh, Simba and Moto?”“Yes,” those faithfuls replied.At dawn, the time prescribed, the party set out for the river, two warriors accompanying them, bearing the paddles for the canoe. Simba and Moto carried their guns, Kalulu carried the one given him by Selim at the brotherhood ceremony, besides his spear, while Selim and Abdullah carried guns which Kalulu had procured them from the King’s store-room, with the King’s permission.Arriving at the river, the party found a large number of idlers there already, who had collected to see their young chief and his white slaves, as Selim and Abdullah were called, set off. Some of them wondered that Kalulu should so soon take his slaves away on a pleasure excursion, but they said nothing, the majority of them thinking that he took them with him as gun-bearers. Several of the Watuta offered to accompany Kalulu in his canoe, but he waived them off peremptorily, saying he had enough with him.Soon after Kalulu had taken his seat in the stern with Selim and Abdullah, Simba, Moto, and the two warriors, taking each a paddle, shot the canoe into mid-river; then with dexterous strokes they pointed her head down stream, to the music of a boatman’s song. Each man industriously plied his paddle, and Katalambula’s village receded from view.This mode of journeying the two Arab boys, having nothing to do but to sit down and enjoy the scenery, thought much preferable to the continual march of the caravan; and the contrast was certainly great to that bitter experience they had endured on the journey from Kwikuru in Urori to Katalambula with the heavy-handed and callous-souled Tifum. They looked on with delight at the brown river and the tiny billows of brown foam which the stout canoe made with her broad bow; at the dense sedge and brake of cane which lined the river’s banks, wherein, now and then, was heard a heavy splash, as the drowsy crocodile, alarmed by the approaching crew, leaped into his liquid home; at the great tall trees which now and then were passed, out of which the canoes of the Watuta are made; at the enormous sycamore, with its vast globe of branch and leaf, affording grateful shade to beast and bird; at the brown cones, the habitations of men, encircled by their strong palisades; at the grain-fields, which shimmered and waved gaily before the tepid southern wind; and at lengthy, straight, far-reaching vistas of river and wooded banks which were revealed to them as they glided down the Liemba.“Happy hour!” thought Selim. “Would it might last ever, or at least until I reached my own home and mother at Zanzibar!”“Hail, joyous day!” thought Abdullah. “Give joy to all men, as I have joy. Be still joyous, to-morrow and the day after, until mine eyes shall once more rest on the blue wares of the Indian Sea.”The two boys looked into each other’s eyes; the look was interpreted aright by each, and tears crept into the corners of their eyes, and rolled down their faces in still drops—still as the joy which caused them.About two hours before noon the canoe touched an island; and, disembarking, the party proceeded to select a nice place to rest for an hour, and to refresh themselves with the lunch, consisting of dried meat, smoked fish, and, a potful of cold porridge they had brought with them.Just as the hour had transpired, a hoarse, deep bellow woe heard close by, which caused the entire party to start to their feet and glide to the edge of the island, whence they saw a herd of hippopotami quietly enjoying the cool deep waters near a place where the river began a sharp curve at the other end of the island.“Good!” cried Kalulu; “one—three—fire hippopotami! Now for sport. My white brother, canst thou swim?” he asked Selim.“Yes; why?”“Because, if thou cannot, ’twere better that thou shouldst stay here. Can Abdullah swim?”“Very well,” replied Abdullah for himself.“Then come on to the canoe at once. But stop; ye both had better doff your shoulder-cloths, and roll the lower clothe far up the hip; ye may have to swim, for a hippopotamus sometimes charges on the canoe, or kicks it viciously, and then down ye go to the bottom. If it should happen this time, dive down to the bottom of the river at once, and make off under the water towards the island. The hippopotamus is very apt to cut a man in two if he catches him. The animals are now coming up the river; we will wait for them, and when they have gone above us a little way we can sally out from our hiding-place, and give it to them. Do ye understand?”“Perfectly,” both answered; while Simba and Moto, rolling their cloths tight around their hips and loins, nodded their approval of what Kalulu had said.Having done what the sage young chief had advised, Selim and Abdullah accompaniedhimto the canoe; Simba and Moto took their paddles in their hands, while the two warriors, who were famous for their harpooning, prepared the instrument which they intended to drive into the first animal nearest to them.This instrument was similar in shape to the harpoons which whalers use for destroying the whales, except that it was not half as neat or sharp. It had a long, heavy staff, and had once been used to pound corn into flour by some woman, as was evident by its close grain and polish, showing that it was hard and heavy, and had been of frequent use. To its pointed end was a broad, heavy, and barbed spear, well sharpened and polished, around the handle of which was fastened the end of a long rope, of native manufacture, made of the bark of the baobab tree.While the harpooneers were quietly preparing themselves, Kalulu pointed the two Arab boys through a thin edge of cane which hid the boat from the approaching animals, as they came up slowly and unsuspectingly abreast of the place where they lay.What magnificent beasts they were! What splendid and powerful necks they had! The best prize-bull ever fattened on English grass might have been ashamed of his breadth of neck had such as these been exhibited side by side with him. Unaware of the danger that lay in wait for them, they came up to breathe quickly and boldly, and by so doing exposed nearly all their heads and necks. On the backs of their powerful necks the colour was that of a bright reddish yellow, which also tinged their heads over the eyes and the ears, and broad patches of this colour were also seen on the cheeks. In appearance the head bore a striking similarity to the head of a large and powerful horse; especially did the bold and prominent eyes, the short pointed ears, and noble curve of neck aid the comparison; but at the nose it was more like that of an ox.The name of this enormous and apparently unwieldy animal, by which he is known to us, is hippopotamus, from the Greek words—hippos, a horse; potamos, a river. Had the Greek travellers been better acquainted with the appearance of this animal they might have called it river-cow, or river-hog. It is only when his head is half-submerged that we can correctly designate him as a river-horse. Once we see his nose and mouth, we are apt to call him a river-cow; but when he is once well out of the water, and we see his heavy body and short legs, we would say immediately that he was more like an over-fat hog than either cow or horse. The hippopotamus has four equal toes on each foot, inclosed in hoofs.The unwary beasts rose and sank not many feet from the canoe for the last time while they were abreast of the canoe; and, at the word given by Kalulu, Simba and Moto dipped their paddles, and sent the boat into the stream bow forward, the harpooneer entrusted with the duty of striking standing rigid with uplifted weapon, ready for the blow.A minute thus he stood, and all eyes were fixed expectant, when at the bow rose the monstrous head and neck of a bull hippopotamus, and at the same moment the harpoon was shot straight and deep into his neck, while the bright blood gushed upward in streams. The stricken animal sounded immediately, while the water was lashed into foam by his struggles, and soon the canoe was moving up the river at terrific speed, while the water rose in high, brown waves at the bow. Presently the speed slackened, and the canoe began to float down the stream.“Pull back! pull back!” shouted the harpooneer, and at the same time he tossed the buoyant gourd, to which he had fastened the end of the rope hitherto attached to the boat by a round turn around a cleat, into the water. Responsive to the cry, Simba and Moto dashed their paddles into the water; but they were too late, for they felt the boat lifted up bodily out of the water, and the crew, losing their equilibrium, staggered on one side, which completely turned the canoe over, and precipitated them into the water.The three boys, Kalulu, Selim, and Abdullah, instinctively, as they felt the canoe lifted out of the water, rose to their feet with their guns in their hands, and when it was assumed beyond doubt that it would turn over, sprang into the water in different directions, and dived to the bottom, dragging themselves toward their island beneath, by clutching the tenacious mud. For some time the wounded hippopotamus remained master of the field, and no enemy appearing in sight, he sank, uttering a horrible bellow as he disappeared out of sight.Immediately after, Selim appeared above the surface, more than twenty yards from the scene of the disaster, and swimming vigorously towards the island, which he soon gained in safety. Then appeared Abdullah, about ten yards from the bank; Kalulu close to the shore, with Simba, and Moto, and the two warriors close to him. In a second they stood on the shore, Kalulu minus his gun, but having his sharp spear in his hand; the two warriors had also retained their spears, while Simba and Moto had their guns in their hands, and their long broad knives in their waists.As soon as they had regained the shore, and stood on dry land, the party began to cheer the youthful straggler, Abdullah, and to encourage him to greater exertions. He was within five yards of the bank, and Simba and Moto were already stretching their guns to him to grasp, when suddenly Abdullah’s smiling face assumed a look of terror, and a wild, thrilling shriek was uttered by him, which was silenced instantly by the brown waters closing over his head; and the calm, placid river flowed on, and no swimmer was seen disturbing its surface.For the shortest possible instant, all hands seemed turned into stone; not a sound nor a breath was heard, until Kalulu was heard uttering the terrible and awful word, “mamba!”—crocodile.Simba and Moto then breathed, and confused murmurs were heard from all. “Save him!” cried Selim; “oh, save poor Abdullah!”There was no need to utter the prayer; for young Kalulu had divested himself of his wet loin-cloth, had broken the staff of the spear he held short off, close to the sharp head, and with the latter grasped firmly in his hand, had plunged head-foremost, unconscious, as it were, of the imminent danger of the hazardous undertaking, into the water, where Abdullah was last seen.Kalulu’s feet had but disappeared beneath the water, when Simba and Moto, dropping their guns, divested themselves of their loin-cloths, and, grasping their long heavy knives, sprang in likewise, and the river, disturbed for but a short second, flowed on as before, with its silent, still flow.It seemed an age to Selim, who stood on the bank with clasped hands, and cowering form, a prey to the keenest anxiety for the fate of all his friends, who had disappeared beneath the treacherous face of the river.Yet thirty seconds could not have passed before the deep, brown water was again disturbed, this time in a violent manner, while it began to be slightly discoloured with, blood, and the crocodile’s tail shot suddenly above the surface, lashing the water into foam, and immediately after, Abdullah’s head; then Kalulu, Simba, and Moto simultaneously appeared above, making for the shore with all haste. As they reached the shore, Kalulu was seen supporting, with his hand beneath the hip, the body of Abdullah, who seemed to have lost consciousness. The ready hands of the two warriors dragged the almost lifeless body, as it reached the bank, and laid it carefully a few feet from the river, on the ground, while Kalulu, wringing his long braids clear of water, and drawing the draggled ostrich feathers from his head, uttered a ringing peal of laughter, and then said in a triumphant tone to Selim:“We were too much for the mamba, Selim. He did not get my slave Abdullah this time!”“Ah, thou art so brave, so good, Kalulu!” while grateful tears ran down his cheeks, as he sprang forward to embrace the young hero. “I shall never, never forget thee! I would not miss thy friendship for the world! Thou hast twice saved me—once from death, and another time from the hands of the cruel Tifum. Thou hast still more increased my love for thee, my brave brother, by rescuing Abdullah from the jaws of that horrid mamba. How shall I thank thee, my Kalulu? How shall I praise thee? Thou art swifter than an eagle, braver than a lion, comelier than any of the sons of men! Thine eyes are more tender than a gazelle’s to thy friends, fiercer than the greedy leopard’s, when it scents the blood of its prey, to thy enemies. Thou art tall as a palm-tree, straight as the hardened shaft of a spear, grace breathes in every movement of thy limbs. Thou hast saved the life of my playmate—even the life of Abdullah, the Arab boy. The dark grey waters had closed over his young head, his voice had been silenced in the deep, when thou, O Kalulu, didst leap in—a true hero!—to do battle with the scaly monster in behalf of Abdullah, my friend, and playmate of my happy childhood. I saw the waters hiss and foam, as the monster battled with thee for his prey. The victory was given to thee; Allah made thine arm strong, thine heart brave; for Abdullah, my friend, was brought back from death to life, from the dark waters to the sunlight, from the grave to the light of day. O Kalulu! if a fatherless boy is beloved by Allah, my prayer shall go up to God night and day for thee; if a true believer may intercede with Heaven, then wilt thou be blessed, and the soul of Abdullah’s dead father shall cry for thee before the holy footstool of Allah!”“Ah, Selim!” replied Kalulu, embracing him in return, “has Kalulu, the son of Mostana, pleased thee? then is Kalulu rewarded. Kalulu is thy brother, and his heart is soft towards Selim, and to the Arab boy, for thy sake. Thou art good—there is no guile in thee. Kalulu is also good, but he has seen wicked men; and when a wicked man draws nigh to him, Kalulu’s heart is black, and bitter, and his spear comes quickly to his hand. His eyes search out the good; they found the good in thee, and Kalulu’s heart went to thee as thou didst lie like an antelope stricken to death in the forest. I shall love all Arabs for thy sake for ever. There shall be bad blood no more between us. For as good as thou art am I good, and as I am good, so art thou. Where I shall he, there shalt thou be, and where thou wilt be, there shall I be, until thou canst return in safety to thine own land. And when thou goest, do thou but remember thy brother Kalulu, and but whisper his name, then our Sky-spirit shall send the wind to bear thy whisper to me. Come, let us see how poor Abdullah fares.”Proceeding to the spot where the still unconscious form of Abdullah lay, they found that the crocodile had snatched the young swimmer by the right leg, just below the knee, where his cruel sharp teeth had pierced to the bone, leaving ugly marks behind him.“How didst thou find the crocodile, Kalulu?”“Oh, I sprang to the place where I saw thy friend sink, and by good luck I came upon the crocodile’s back. The crocodile having dragged the boy down, let go of his leg, and laid on top of him. When the crocodile felt me on his back, he turned round savagely, but without leaving his prey. I had no time to stop talking with him, or to ask him to give me Abdullah back, because I knew he wouldn’t; and besides, I didn’t go to ask him, for it is very close down there, and there is no air. So I felt for his foreleg, and while I stabbed him behind, I felt my two friends, Moto and Simba, who perhaps thought that I was the crocodile, though my hide is not quite so rough as the hide of him. When the fellow felt the keen point of my spear in his heart, he rolled off Abdullah, and began to kick and lash with his tail in a dreadful way, and losing my spear, I caught hold of Abdullah by the leg, and came up. That’s how it was.”“And what didst thou, too, Simba?” asked Selim, turning to his friend.“When I went down, I caught hold of Moto’s hand, and diving, I touched Kalulu, but I knew at once that he was not the crocodile, for his skin is as soft as a child’s; the next minute I got hold of the crocodile’s leg, though he was kicking and laying about him furiously, and I let go Moto’s hand, who got hold of another leg. I buried my knife in the crocodile’s belly several times, and he swam away, leaving his inside dragging after him, while I came up to find Kalulu, Abdullah, and Moto right close to me. I think the crocodile has got more than he thought he would get, and that he will leave Abdullah alone in future.”“Do you think Abdullah will come to soon?”“Oh yes,” replied Simba; “he has swallowed a little too much water, or he has fainted from the pain. See now, Master Selim, he breathes! There, his eyes are open!”Abdullah had only fainted, as Simba said, and this was the reason why the crocodile had so soon released his hold of his leg, and had lain on him. When he opened his eyes, Abdullah gave a long sigh, and asked where he was, to which a cheery answer was returned; and presently he talked, and discussed the event calmly, but not before he had endeavoured to kiss the feet of his saviour, which Kalulu had too much manliness to accept; but he knelt down by him and embraced him, while Abdullah availed himself of the opportunity, and kissed his forehead.Abdullah having in a measure recovered, the two warriors were sent to hunt after the canoe, which fortunately was found, stayed in its progress by the reeds, at a point of the island projecting into the current; and, to their great joy, close to the canoe was the gourd to which was fastened the harpoon rope. Giving vent to a loud halloo, Simba, Moto, and Kalulu rushed towards them, and by their united aid they dragged the body of the dead hippopotamus to shallow water, and setting vigorously to work, they soon loaded their canoe with the luscious flesh, it being a food highly prized by the tribes of Central Africa.By the time this work was despatched, it was night, and the hunters, lifting the wounded Abdullah into the canoe, and having a clear course up the river towards home, they started on their return journey, feeling as proud as men who have been successful in a dangerous exploit only can feel. They sang over and over again exciting hunting and boat songs with vociferous chorus, until midnight, when the fishermen’s fires, near Katalambula’s village, gladdened their eyes and made them rejoice as home-returned wanderers generally do.
On the third day after his discovery in the forest by his friends Simba, Moto, and young Kalulu, Selim was sufficiently strong to begin his journey to the village of Katalambula. Had Kalulu not assured him of his friendship, and that he would be a brother to him, it is doubtful that Selim would have looked upon the idea of meeting Ferodia and his obsequious servant Tifum Byah—to whose tyranny he owed so much misery—again with pleasure. But it was agreed between Kalulu and Selim that the ceremony of brotherhood, of which he had heard much before, should take place the evening before they arrived at Katalambula’s village.
The party travelled by easy stages, and on the fifth day of the journey, the day set apart for the ceremony of brotherhood, they found themselves close to the Liemba stream, at a village called Kisari, distant but eight miles from the capital of Katalambula.
Here the author may remark, for the benefit of the younger readers, that a close brotherhood among men or boys, unrelated by blood, birth, or marriage, is in no way singular. I need but mention David and Jonathan, Achilles and Patroclus, Damon and Pythias, as examples among men; and what boy of any nation, in any public school, has not some friend who is as dear to him as a born brother? It arises from a similarity of dispositions generally, from the desire to relieve ourselves from little anxieties, and to have some one in whom we have thorough confidence. There were two things singular about this ceremony of brotherhood about, to be enacted between Selim and Kalulu. First, was the ceremony of blood-drinking connected with it; and, secondly, was the fact that a Moslem boy—a true believer—was about to become a brother with a Pagan boy—an unbeliever—and to drink his blood. For it is expressly prohibited by the Küran that blood shall be drunk by the true believer; next, it is expressly prohibited that a true believer shall make any such close friendship with an infidel. But it may be argued for poor Selim that he was yet but a young boy; that he was driven by necessity to this as the best method of assuring his freedom and safety from recapture, and this the Küran, whose laws are not cruel, permits when there is necessity; and it might be said that Selim was, perhaps, not aware of the Küran’s prohibition in this small matter; otherwise, I doubt that a boy so generally pious would have erred against the law of the Prophet consciously.
On Kalulu’s side, nothing could be said against the ceremony. It was a common custom with his tribe, when any of them met anybody they liked better than another, to go through the ceremony. Sometimes the chiefs did it with neighbouring chiefs, to strengthen their alliance from motives of policy, for the same reason that European monarchs contract—or rather did, for it has lost long ago its former significance—advantageous alliances among themselves for their sons and daughters. Kalulu wished the ceremony to proceed, because he had a strong liking for Selim, born of gratitude to Moto; because Selim was of his own age; because he had pleasant ways with him, and friendship having grown out of the accidental circumstances under which they met, he desired to assure himself, with the ardour of a boy, that real friendship existed between them. Once his brother by this ceremony, no one of his tribe could injure Selim; and Ferodia and Tifum Byah might storm and fret in vain, for the ceremony of brotherhood with Kalulu could not be disregarded. We shall see, however, what came of it.
At sunset, Kalulu was asked to seat himself side by side with Selim on the ground, which he did, taking hold of Selim’s right hand, each with his profile half turned to the other. Simba was the master of the ceremonies on this occasion, who held a knife with all the solemnity of one who was about to offer a sacrifice to some horrid deity who delighted in the blood of youths. Moto stood by as a supernumerary, and to interpret the words of Simba for Kalulu. The people of Kisari had also come to witness the ceremony.
Simba advanced as the sun was setting, knife in hand, while the two boys retained each other’s right hands, and said to Kalulu:
“Art thou willing to be a brother to Selim, to be more than a friend to him, to share what thou hast with him, to defend him against all enemies to the best of thy power, and to stand by him until death?”
Kalulu answered, “I am.”
“With what wilt thou seal thy word?”
“With the blood of my right arm.”
“And what wilt thou give him as a sign?”
“I will give him a sheep.”
“Art thou willing further to drink his blood, that his blood may pass unto thee, that the bond of eternal brotherhood may be made strong and sure?”
“I am.”
Then turning to Selim, Simba asked:
“Art thou, Selim, willing to accept Kalulu as a brother, to be more than a friend to him, to share what thou hast with him, to defend him to the utmost of thy power against all enemies, and to stand by him to the death?”
Selim answered, “I am.”
“With what wilt thou seal thy promise?”
“With the blood of my right arm.”
“And what wilt thou give him as a sign?”
“I will give him my gun.”
“Art thou willing, further, to drink his blood, that his blood may pass unto thee, that the bond of eternal brotherhood may be made strong and euro?”
“I am.”
“Then let it be done!” Simba said; and with that he made a small incision in the arm of each, and as the blood began to flow, he shouted, “Drink!” and immediately the youths seized each other’s right arms, and left their right hands free, and putting their lips to the wounds, sucked a small quantity and swallowed it, and the ceremony was concluded by a fraternal embrace. During the exchange of presents which followed, men, women, and children shouted and clapped their hands; and the youngest of them, in the exuberance of their childish hearts, kicked up their heels and danced, as they do upon most great occasions in Africa.
The next morning, a little before noon, the party arrived at the capital. Selim’s arrival caused a great sensation; but Kalulu immediately took him and his two friends, Simba and Moto, into his own hut, where Selim, to his great joy, met Abdullah, who was quite recovered from the severe punishment he had received and the fatigues he had undergone. The meeting between the two Arab boys was very affecting, as they could understand each other’s feelings and interpret them faithfully one to the other.
After a short time, Simba and Moto left the two boys to themselves and retired to their own hut, while Kalulu, after seeing Selim attended to and supplied with food, started for the King’s house to acquaint the King with the events which we have just detailed.
It was not long after the two Arab boys were left alone that a rustling of many feet was heard at the door, not noisy, but hurried, and somewhat alarming; and immediately there stood before the astonished boys the form and malevolent face of Tifum Byah, his former tyrant, accompanied by other warriors, armed with spears and knob-sticks.
“Oh, ho! hee, hee!” shouted Tifum, with a wicked leer on his face. “This is my runaway slave. Ha, ha! thou art caught like a sneaking jackal in a trap. Come, my pale-faced slave, you must follow me;” and he advanced and laid a rough hand upon his shoulder.
“Why with you?” asked Selim.
“Come, no words. Ferodia, the chief, calls.”
“But I am now Kalulu’s brother,” said Selim, attempting to release himself from his grasp, “and I am no longer a slave.”
“You the brother of Kalulu! Since when came you to be the brother of Kalulu, you son of an ass?”
“Since yesterday; and if you do not let me go, Kalulu will punish you for entering his hut.”
“We’ll see about that. Warriors, bear him to Ferodia!” said Tifum, turning to his companions.
And Selim was borne away, despite his remonstrances, to Ferodia’s presence, who happened to be seated under the tree in the middle of the square.
“Here is the runaway,” said Tifum, laying a heavy hand on Selim’s shoulder, to Ferodia.
“Ha! pale-faced dog!” shouted Ferodia, angrily. “What made you run away? Did you think to better yourself by doing so? Speak.”
“I am not a dog!” retorted Selim in a passion; for he was getting desperate at the prospect of another lease of such cruel bondage as he had experienced. “I am not a dog, but you are a dog.”
“Eyah, eyah! hear him! A slave insults Ferodia the chief!” cried the obsequious Tifum. “Fool, do you know what you say?”
“Silence, pariah!” thundered Selim, more passionately. “I defy you!—I spit on you! You are dirt. Do your worst, great chief—the Arab boy will not bend to you!”
As the boy uttered these words, showing more spirit, and such anger, and bitter contempt as none of the Watutu ever had witnessed before, both Ferodia and Tifum were struck speechless for a moment; but Ferodia broke the silence at last with fiery accents, saying:
“Tifum, dost thou hear me? Lay that stubborn ass down on his face and cut his back for me with thy whip. Beat, beat, and spare not.”
But Selim waited to hear no more. Ferodia had but begun his cruel order when the latent Bedouin spirit of resistance electrified him. His arm felt surcharged with the impulse to strike, and his hand, weighted with hate, was shot full in the face of Tifum, who reeled as if he had been struck with a knob-stick. Then with a light bound he sprang from the circle, sending a mocking laugh into Ferodia’s ears as he flew towards the King’s house, which had been pointed out to him on his first arrival, shouting “Kalulu! Simba, to me! To me, Simba! Kalulu!”
He had reached the threshold of the King’s house when he felt an arm on his shoulder. He turned around; it was Tifum! Rage had given the man a quickened sense and speed to his feet, even superior to the fear which hurried the feet of Selim away. The strong hand crushed the weakened frame of the youth to the ground for the execution of the cruel sentence of Ferodia, and his brain was fast whirling with the terror which possessed him, when he heard a shout—a roar of rage—behind him, and at the same time the force with which he was being compelled to the ground relaxed. Simba was seen bearing down upon the party with irresistible power. He saw for an instant how the gigantic form of his friend and protector dilated, as he had seen it in the battle of Kwikuru; he saw the powerful muscular arms, with their wealth of sinew and muscle, and the eyes glowing with the ferocity of a beast of prey: only an instant, for Simba was before Tifum, face to face with the monster who had striped the son of Amer, and there was no time to think before he saw Tifum’s body in the air, nor time to utter the thought of pardon which he wished to say, before he saw the man dashed with the force of a cannon ball against the body of warriors who had hurried up to lend assistance to Tifum—laying half a dozen of them prostrate on the ground.
Ferodia had seen the giant form of Simba hurrying to the rescue of the white slave, and comprehending at a glance that something would happen, he snatched his spear and started after him. But he had never imagined that such a thing as he saw could have been done by living man; and the wonder of it all paralysed his arm, which tingled but a moment before to send his spear through the man’s body. While Ferodia thus stood, lost in wonder at such human power, three new-comers had appeared on the scene—Moto, who had hurried after Ferodia, and stood behind him, seemingly careless and unconcerned; Kalulu and Katalambula, the King, who appeared on the threshold, the former of whom had dragged Selim behind him.
Katalambula, though old and on the verge of infirmity, could demean himself royally enough upon occasions; and this was one of them evidently; for he advanced and stood before Simba and Ferodia, spear in hand, with a bearing seldom witnessed.
“What means this, Ferodia?” he asked in a cool, quiet tone.
“It means, O King, that I sent Tifum to catch that runaway slave who deserted me in the great forest; that the slave ran towards thy house, and Tifum ran after him, only to meet with this man, who caught up Tifum as if he had been a piece of wood, and sent him flying against those warriors of mine, who are now picking themselves up.”
“Indeed! Who art thou? Oh, I remember, thou art the friend of the stranger who saved Kalulu in Urori! Thou art very strong.”
Then turning toward the group which had been prostrated, he asked if any of them had been hurt. One replied that he felt a pain in the chest, another that he could not breathe; one felt his head swim, another a pain in the abdomen; one felt a lump in his throat, another replied that he had a sore back; while Tifum declared he felt bruised all over, and all looked at Simba with terror.
Ferodia now advanced, and made as if he would lay a hand on Selim; but Kalulu interposed his slight form with a drawn bow and fixed arrow in his hand, and a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
“Keep away, Ferodia; or, by the grave of Mostana my father, I will send this arrow through thy body.”
“What ails thee, boy? Is not one white slave enough for thee, that thou wouldst deprive me of the other? I made him captive with my bow and spear at Olimali’s village. Stand aside.”
“Go away, I tell thee! This ‘slave’ of thine is now my brother. The blood ceremony has been made. Who injures him injures me; and I am Kalulu, adopted son of Katalambula.”
“Well, if he is thy brother, keep him; but give me the other white slave in his place,” replied Ferodia.
“Thou hast given him to my father. My father has given him to me. I am too poor in white slaves to be able to give thee any. I have but one slave, for the other is my brother.”
“Katalambula,” said Ferodia, “this is injustice. White slaves are not caught every day. I must have one of them.”
“We may not disregard the laws of brotherhood, Ferodia,” said the King, mildly. “When Kalulu made the white boy his brother he made him a Mtuta, and all the Watuta are free men. Thou gavest me the other, and I gave him to Kalulu. It is not our custom to return gifts, thou knowest, Ferodia. But take thou three Wabena men at my hand instead, and be friends with Kalulu.”
“No, no, no!” said Ferodia, in a burst of anger. “Thou art unjust, Katalambula, to one who fought for thee with such success, and brought thee so much wealth. I depart at once; and thou,” said he warningly to Kalulu, “do thou beware of me; eagle’s wings have been clipped ere now, and young lions tamed. Ferodia is king over his own tribe.”
“Ferodia,” said Kalulu with a sneer, “I fear thee not. I know thee for a bad man; and were it not for my father thou shouldst not leave this village, for I should garnish the gate with thy skull.”
“Peace, boy!” cried Katalambula, “and do not make bad worse with thy saucy tongue. And thou, Ferodia, heed him not; remember, he is but a young boy. But it is thou who art unjust, not I. Hast thou not received a fourth of all thou didst bring me? Hast thou forgotten the slaves, the cloth, the powder, and guns I gave thee? Whose were the warriors with whom the battle was won at Kwikuru? Who sent thee there but I? Go home if thou must, and peace be with thee.”
Ferodia left the party, but not before he had again menaced Kalulu, which menace that young chief returned with interest. Within an hour he had departed from the village with his warriors, slaves, and property, breathing revenge and hatred, fuming and storming at the slaves, and sarcastically bitter to the bruised and discomfited Tifum Byah.
Katalambula was angry also with Kalulu; but the latter, though forward enough when Ferodia, of whom he was intensely jealous, was concerned, knew the ways of the old man well; and, unmindful of his frowns, he went up and embraced him, and accompanied him towards his house.
“Oh, my uncle, and father!” cried Kalulu, “why dost thou not say a kind word to my white brother? Is he not a handsome brother? Look at his eyes; they are like the young kalulu when it looks at the hunter in fear. Speak to him, ah, do. Think of that horrid Tifum Byah beating him! I am so sorry I did not drive an arrow through him. He is a wicked man, verily, and is properly named Byah. He would cut my head off readily if Ferodia commanded him.”
“And thou art the new brother of my boy Kalulu, art thou, pale-faced boy?” asked Katalambula, stopping in front of Selim.
“Kalulu has been very good to me,” said Selim, looking up gratefully towards that youth. “He has been pleased to call me his brother.”
“Yes,” said Katalambula. “Kalulu is a good boy—a good boy—he loves the old King, too. I believe he has a kind heart for those he loves, but he is hot, hot as fire, when anybody crosses him. Take care he does not kill and eat you,” he added, smiling, and passing on towards his house.
“But, father,” said Kalulu in a whisper, “thou seest he is naked, except that rag. He is the son of an Arab chief, and is not accustomed to our ways. Thou art rich in cloth. Canst thou not give him something to cover his nakedness?”
“What need he cover his nakedness, boy? He looks fair and clean enough without anything. He is not a girl. I am sure if I had a white skin I would rather be naked to show it,” chuckled the old man, looking at Selim.
“But, father, he has told me himself that he feels ashamed of being without cloth. His people never go out unless they are covered from head to foot. It is against their custom, and there is a book written by the Sky-spirit, which tells them not to be without clothes.”
“Well, well, do as thou wilt. Give him four doti (sixteen yards), and let him cover himself from head to foot if he wants to, though I think it all folly, all nonsense.”
“Thou art good, very good, father,” cried the delighted Kalulu, leaping about the old man.
“Ah, yes, I know I am good,” replied Katalambula, “especially when I let thee have thy own way. There, go now. I am sleepy and tired.”
Kalulu left the old man, and, proceeding to the store-room, extracted the four doti he was permitted to take; one of blue cotton, one of white, one coloured barsati, and one fine sohari, which he rolled into a bundle, and covered with a goatskin, and conveyed to his hut, where he found Simba, Moto, Abdullah, and Selim.
When he had seated himself, he asked Selim:
“What book is that thou wert talking of to me yesterday?”
“It is the Küran,” replied Selim, “written by a holy man, sent by the Sky-spirit to tell men how to conduct themselves on earth, so they may enter the good place called Paradise.”
“What is the Sky-spirit like?”
“No man, since that great man, has seen him; he is a spirit, and cannot be seen,” replied Selim.
“Why do the pale-faces obey a thing that cannot be seen?”
“Because the holy man, Mohammed, who wrote his words down, has given us all we want to know. The holy man saw him, and wrote his words faithfully down.”
“Is Mommed alive now?” asked Kalulu.
“Oh no! He has been dead ever so long, many, many years. So many as one hundred sultans of Ututa have lived and died since Mohammed—not Mommed—died,” answered Selim.
“Where is this Paradise to which the good men go? I am good. Shall I go to Paradise?” asked Kalulu, with a smile.
“Paradise is away, up, far, far above the clouds. No man is permitted to go there except he is a true believer, who believes in God, Mohammed, and the Küran.”
“And where shall I go when I die?”
“If thou diest without believing, thou shalt go to the place which is reserved for such as were ignorant, and were not taught the true word. It is far from Paradise.”
“Hum! it is not as good as Paradise, then?” asked Kalulu. “No.”
“The Sky-spirit is wicked,” said Kalulu. “He sends a holy man called Mommed to tell good words to the white peoples, and prepares a nice place for them. For it is easy to believe, when people are taught what to believe. But the black peoples, they see no holy man. Nobody comes to tell them anything; but because they are ignorant they are sent to a bad place. Bah! the Sky-spirit is very wicked; he is unjust; I don’t want to see him, because I shall not die; I won’t die.”
Selim had here a fine chance to deliver a sermon, and make a proselyte, but he was too young to take advantage of the opportunity; besides, he did not want to make his new brother angry or more rebellious than sheer ignorance made him already.
“But, Selim, tell me; why do thy people wear clothes? Why do you not go about without clothes, as we do?”
“Because it is wrong; it is not decent. The good book says ‘Thou shalt restrain thine eyes, and do no immodest action.’ It is immodest to expose the person. Beasts are clothed with fur and hair, fowls with feathers; men cover themselves with clothes. Is man so poor that when he sees all things clothed—the rocks with earth, the earth with trees, the trees with foliage, the beasts of the forest with hair and fur, the birds with feathers, the fish with scales, that he himself who owns all these things shall have nothing?”
“Well, Selim, thou shall; not be immodest any more while thou art with me. I have brought thee and Abdullah cloth. Am I not good now, and shall I not go to Paradise?”
“Thou shalt have all things, Kalulu, when thou wilt become a true believer,” answered Selim, clapping his hands with joy and gratitude at Kalulu’s delicate kindness. “What dost thou say, Simba? and thou, Moto? Abdullah? We shall be sons of Arabs, and true believers now, eh?”
“I shall be so proud of these clothes, I will not know myself,” said Abdullah, as he folded around his body a brand new shukkah (two yards) with the skill of one who knew the art of wearing shukkahs. Another shukkah was thrown over his shoulders, while a piece of snowy cloth, a foot wide and a yard long, was folded around his head, and he stood up to be admired, his pleased and sparkling black eyes mutely inviting his friends to express their pleasure at the transformation.
“Why, Abdullah!” exclaimed Simba. “Wallahi! but thou lookest better in the negro costume of Zanzibar than thou didst in the braided gold jacket and embroidered shirt of Sheikh Mohammed’s son; and thou too, Selim. I think I see my young master once more himself. Fine sohari and fine barsati in Ututa! Who would believe it?”
“Ay,” said Moto, “my young master and Abdullah, having covered themselves, will forget their misery and vexation, and grow fat and happy. After this I shall always look out for young chiefs in danger, to help them, hoping they will all turn out to be as good as Kalulu has been.”
“Now that we are all so happy and good, I propose to my new brother Selim and my white slave Abdullah, who is now no more a slave than I am, that we take a canoe to-morrow, and go down the Liemba to spear hippopotamus and crocodiles; for you must see the Watuta at home in their sports, and we must, by-and-bye, go to the great forest several days south of where thou wert found, Selim, to have a grand elephant hunt. What do ye say, Selim—Abdullah?”
“I shall be delighted,” answered Selim.
“And I too,” responded Abdullah.
“Then it is settled; eh, Simba and Moto?”
“Yes,” those faithfuls replied.
At dawn, the time prescribed, the party set out for the river, two warriors accompanying them, bearing the paddles for the canoe. Simba and Moto carried their guns, Kalulu carried the one given him by Selim at the brotherhood ceremony, besides his spear, while Selim and Abdullah carried guns which Kalulu had procured them from the King’s store-room, with the King’s permission.
Arriving at the river, the party found a large number of idlers there already, who had collected to see their young chief and his white slaves, as Selim and Abdullah were called, set off. Some of them wondered that Kalulu should so soon take his slaves away on a pleasure excursion, but they said nothing, the majority of them thinking that he took them with him as gun-bearers. Several of the Watuta offered to accompany Kalulu in his canoe, but he waived them off peremptorily, saying he had enough with him.
Soon after Kalulu had taken his seat in the stern with Selim and Abdullah, Simba, Moto, and the two warriors, taking each a paddle, shot the canoe into mid-river; then with dexterous strokes they pointed her head down stream, to the music of a boatman’s song. Each man industriously plied his paddle, and Katalambula’s village receded from view.
This mode of journeying the two Arab boys, having nothing to do but to sit down and enjoy the scenery, thought much preferable to the continual march of the caravan; and the contrast was certainly great to that bitter experience they had endured on the journey from Kwikuru in Urori to Katalambula with the heavy-handed and callous-souled Tifum. They looked on with delight at the brown river and the tiny billows of brown foam which the stout canoe made with her broad bow; at the dense sedge and brake of cane which lined the river’s banks, wherein, now and then, was heard a heavy splash, as the drowsy crocodile, alarmed by the approaching crew, leaped into his liquid home; at the great tall trees which now and then were passed, out of which the canoes of the Watuta are made; at the enormous sycamore, with its vast globe of branch and leaf, affording grateful shade to beast and bird; at the brown cones, the habitations of men, encircled by their strong palisades; at the grain-fields, which shimmered and waved gaily before the tepid southern wind; and at lengthy, straight, far-reaching vistas of river and wooded banks which were revealed to them as they glided down the Liemba.
“Happy hour!” thought Selim. “Would it might last ever, or at least until I reached my own home and mother at Zanzibar!”
“Hail, joyous day!” thought Abdullah. “Give joy to all men, as I have joy. Be still joyous, to-morrow and the day after, until mine eyes shall once more rest on the blue wares of the Indian Sea.”
The two boys looked into each other’s eyes; the look was interpreted aright by each, and tears crept into the corners of their eyes, and rolled down their faces in still drops—still as the joy which caused them.
About two hours before noon the canoe touched an island; and, disembarking, the party proceeded to select a nice place to rest for an hour, and to refresh themselves with the lunch, consisting of dried meat, smoked fish, and, a potful of cold porridge they had brought with them.
Just as the hour had transpired, a hoarse, deep bellow woe heard close by, which caused the entire party to start to their feet and glide to the edge of the island, whence they saw a herd of hippopotami quietly enjoying the cool deep waters near a place where the river began a sharp curve at the other end of the island.
“Good!” cried Kalulu; “one—three—fire hippopotami! Now for sport. My white brother, canst thou swim?” he asked Selim.
“Yes; why?”
“Because, if thou cannot, ’twere better that thou shouldst stay here. Can Abdullah swim?”
“Very well,” replied Abdullah for himself.
“Then come on to the canoe at once. But stop; ye both had better doff your shoulder-cloths, and roll the lower clothe far up the hip; ye may have to swim, for a hippopotamus sometimes charges on the canoe, or kicks it viciously, and then down ye go to the bottom. If it should happen this time, dive down to the bottom of the river at once, and make off under the water towards the island. The hippopotamus is very apt to cut a man in two if he catches him. The animals are now coming up the river; we will wait for them, and when they have gone above us a little way we can sally out from our hiding-place, and give it to them. Do ye understand?”
“Perfectly,” both answered; while Simba and Moto, rolling their cloths tight around their hips and loins, nodded their approval of what Kalulu had said.
Having done what the sage young chief had advised, Selim and Abdullah accompaniedhimto the canoe; Simba and Moto took their paddles in their hands, while the two warriors, who were famous for their harpooning, prepared the instrument which they intended to drive into the first animal nearest to them.
This instrument was similar in shape to the harpoons which whalers use for destroying the whales, except that it was not half as neat or sharp. It had a long, heavy staff, and had once been used to pound corn into flour by some woman, as was evident by its close grain and polish, showing that it was hard and heavy, and had been of frequent use. To its pointed end was a broad, heavy, and barbed spear, well sharpened and polished, around the handle of which was fastened the end of a long rope, of native manufacture, made of the bark of the baobab tree.
While the harpooneers were quietly preparing themselves, Kalulu pointed the two Arab boys through a thin edge of cane which hid the boat from the approaching animals, as they came up slowly and unsuspectingly abreast of the place where they lay.
What magnificent beasts they were! What splendid and powerful necks they had! The best prize-bull ever fattened on English grass might have been ashamed of his breadth of neck had such as these been exhibited side by side with him. Unaware of the danger that lay in wait for them, they came up to breathe quickly and boldly, and by so doing exposed nearly all their heads and necks. On the backs of their powerful necks the colour was that of a bright reddish yellow, which also tinged their heads over the eyes and the ears, and broad patches of this colour were also seen on the cheeks. In appearance the head bore a striking similarity to the head of a large and powerful horse; especially did the bold and prominent eyes, the short pointed ears, and noble curve of neck aid the comparison; but at the nose it was more like that of an ox.
The name of this enormous and apparently unwieldy animal, by which he is known to us, is hippopotamus, from the Greek words—hippos, a horse; potamos, a river. Had the Greek travellers been better acquainted with the appearance of this animal they might have called it river-cow, or river-hog. It is only when his head is half-submerged that we can correctly designate him as a river-horse. Once we see his nose and mouth, we are apt to call him a river-cow; but when he is once well out of the water, and we see his heavy body and short legs, we would say immediately that he was more like an over-fat hog than either cow or horse. The hippopotamus has four equal toes on each foot, inclosed in hoofs.
The unwary beasts rose and sank not many feet from the canoe for the last time while they were abreast of the canoe; and, at the word given by Kalulu, Simba and Moto dipped their paddles, and sent the boat into the stream bow forward, the harpooneer entrusted with the duty of striking standing rigid with uplifted weapon, ready for the blow.
A minute thus he stood, and all eyes were fixed expectant, when at the bow rose the monstrous head and neck of a bull hippopotamus, and at the same moment the harpoon was shot straight and deep into his neck, while the bright blood gushed upward in streams. The stricken animal sounded immediately, while the water was lashed into foam by his struggles, and soon the canoe was moving up the river at terrific speed, while the water rose in high, brown waves at the bow. Presently the speed slackened, and the canoe began to float down the stream.
“Pull back! pull back!” shouted the harpooneer, and at the same time he tossed the buoyant gourd, to which he had fastened the end of the rope hitherto attached to the boat by a round turn around a cleat, into the water. Responsive to the cry, Simba and Moto dashed their paddles into the water; but they were too late, for they felt the boat lifted up bodily out of the water, and the crew, losing their equilibrium, staggered on one side, which completely turned the canoe over, and precipitated them into the water.
The three boys, Kalulu, Selim, and Abdullah, instinctively, as they felt the canoe lifted out of the water, rose to their feet with their guns in their hands, and when it was assumed beyond doubt that it would turn over, sprang into the water in different directions, and dived to the bottom, dragging themselves toward their island beneath, by clutching the tenacious mud. For some time the wounded hippopotamus remained master of the field, and no enemy appearing in sight, he sank, uttering a horrible bellow as he disappeared out of sight.
Immediately after, Selim appeared above the surface, more than twenty yards from the scene of the disaster, and swimming vigorously towards the island, which he soon gained in safety. Then appeared Abdullah, about ten yards from the bank; Kalulu close to the shore, with Simba, and Moto, and the two warriors close to him. In a second they stood on the shore, Kalulu minus his gun, but having his sharp spear in his hand; the two warriors had also retained their spears, while Simba and Moto had their guns in their hands, and their long broad knives in their waists.
As soon as they had regained the shore, and stood on dry land, the party began to cheer the youthful straggler, Abdullah, and to encourage him to greater exertions. He was within five yards of the bank, and Simba and Moto were already stretching their guns to him to grasp, when suddenly Abdullah’s smiling face assumed a look of terror, and a wild, thrilling shriek was uttered by him, which was silenced instantly by the brown waters closing over his head; and the calm, placid river flowed on, and no swimmer was seen disturbing its surface.
For the shortest possible instant, all hands seemed turned into stone; not a sound nor a breath was heard, until Kalulu was heard uttering the terrible and awful word, “mamba!”—crocodile.
Simba and Moto then breathed, and confused murmurs were heard from all. “Save him!” cried Selim; “oh, save poor Abdullah!”
There was no need to utter the prayer; for young Kalulu had divested himself of his wet loin-cloth, had broken the staff of the spear he held short off, close to the sharp head, and with the latter grasped firmly in his hand, had plunged head-foremost, unconscious, as it were, of the imminent danger of the hazardous undertaking, into the water, where Abdullah was last seen.
Kalulu’s feet had but disappeared beneath the water, when Simba and Moto, dropping their guns, divested themselves of their loin-cloths, and, grasping their long heavy knives, sprang in likewise, and the river, disturbed for but a short second, flowed on as before, with its silent, still flow.
It seemed an age to Selim, who stood on the bank with clasped hands, and cowering form, a prey to the keenest anxiety for the fate of all his friends, who had disappeared beneath the treacherous face of the river.
Yet thirty seconds could not have passed before the deep, brown water was again disturbed, this time in a violent manner, while it began to be slightly discoloured with, blood, and the crocodile’s tail shot suddenly above the surface, lashing the water into foam, and immediately after, Abdullah’s head; then Kalulu, Simba, and Moto simultaneously appeared above, making for the shore with all haste. As they reached the shore, Kalulu was seen supporting, with his hand beneath the hip, the body of Abdullah, who seemed to have lost consciousness. The ready hands of the two warriors dragged the almost lifeless body, as it reached the bank, and laid it carefully a few feet from the river, on the ground, while Kalulu, wringing his long braids clear of water, and drawing the draggled ostrich feathers from his head, uttered a ringing peal of laughter, and then said in a triumphant tone to Selim:
“We were too much for the mamba, Selim. He did not get my slave Abdullah this time!”
“Ah, thou art so brave, so good, Kalulu!” while grateful tears ran down his cheeks, as he sprang forward to embrace the young hero. “I shall never, never forget thee! I would not miss thy friendship for the world! Thou hast twice saved me—once from death, and another time from the hands of the cruel Tifum. Thou hast still more increased my love for thee, my brave brother, by rescuing Abdullah from the jaws of that horrid mamba. How shall I thank thee, my Kalulu? How shall I praise thee? Thou art swifter than an eagle, braver than a lion, comelier than any of the sons of men! Thine eyes are more tender than a gazelle’s to thy friends, fiercer than the greedy leopard’s, when it scents the blood of its prey, to thy enemies. Thou art tall as a palm-tree, straight as the hardened shaft of a spear, grace breathes in every movement of thy limbs. Thou hast saved the life of my playmate—even the life of Abdullah, the Arab boy. The dark grey waters had closed over his young head, his voice had been silenced in the deep, when thou, O Kalulu, didst leap in—a true hero!—to do battle with the scaly monster in behalf of Abdullah, my friend, and playmate of my happy childhood. I saw the waters hiss and foam, as the monster battled with thee for his prey. The victory was given to thee; Allah made thine arm strong, thine heart brave; for Abdullah, my friend, was brought back from death to life, from the dark waters to the sunlight, from the grave to the light of day. O Kalulu! if a fatherless boy is beloved by Allah, my prayer shall go up to God night and day for thee; if a true believer may intercede with Heaven, then wilt thou be blessed, and the soul of Abdullah’s dead father shall cry for thee before the holy footstool of Allah!”
“Ah, Selim!” replied Kalulu, embracing him in return, “has Kalulu, the son of Mostana, pleased thee? then is Kalulu rewarded. Kalulu is thy brother, and his heart is soft towards Selim, and to the Arab boy, for thy sake. Thou art good—there is no guile in thee. Kalulu is also good, but he has seen wicked men; and when a wicked man draws nigh to him, Kalulu’s heart is black, and bitter, and his spear comes quickly to his hand. His eyes search out the good; they found the good in thee, and Kalulu’s heart went to thee as thou didst lie like an antelope stricken to death in the forest. I shall love all Arabs for thy sake for ever. There shall be bad blood no more between us. For as good as thou art am I good, and as I am good, so art thou. Where I shall he, there shalt thou be, and where thou wilt be, there shall I be, until thou canst return in safety to thine own land. And when thou goest, do thou but remember thy brother Kalulu, and but whisper his name, then our Sky-spirit shall send the wind to bear thy whisper to me. Come, let us see how poor Abdullah fares.”
Proceeding to the spot where the still unconscious form of Abdullah lay, they found that the crocodile had snatched the young swimmer by the right leg, just below the knee, where his cruel sharp teeth had pierced to the bone, leaving ugly marks behind him.
“How didst thou find the crocodile, Kalulu?”
“Oh, I sprang to the place where I saw thy friend sink, and by good luck I came upon the crocodile’s back. The crocodile having dragged the boy down, let go of his leg, and laid on top of him. When the crocodile felt me on his back, he turned round savagely, but without leaving his prey. I had no time to stop talking with him, or to ask him to give me Abdullah back, because I knew he wouldn’t; and besides, I didn’t go to ask him, for it is very close down there, and there is no air. So I felt for his foreleg, and while I stabbed him behind, I felt my two friends, Moto and Simba, who perhaps thought that I was the crocodile, though my hide is not quite so rough as the hide of him. When the fellow felt the keen point of my spear in his heart, he rolled off Abdullah, and began to kick and lash with his tail in a dreadful way, and losing my spear, I caught hold of Abdullah by the leg, and came up. That’s how it was.”
“And what didst thou, too, Simba?” asked Selim, turning to his friend.
“When I went down, I caught hold of Moto’s hand, and diving, I touched Kalulu, but I knew at once that he was not the crocodile, for his skin is as soft as a child’s; the next minute I got hold of the crocodile’s leg, though he was kicking and laying about him furiously, and I let go Moto’s hand, who got hold of another leg. I buried my knife in the crocodile’s belly several times, and he swam away, leaving his inside dragging after him, while I came up to find Kalulu, Abdullah, and Moto right close to me. I think the crocodile has got more than he thought he would get, and that he will leave Abdullah alone in future.”
“Do you think Abdullah will come to soon?”
“Oh yes,” replied Simba; “he has swallowed a little too much water, or he has fainted from the pain. See now, Master Selim, he breathes! There, his eyes are open!”
Abdullah had only fainted, as Simba said, and this was the reason why the crocodile had so soon released his hold of his leg, and had lain on him. When he opened his eyes, Abdullah gave a long sigh, and asked where he was, to which a cheery answer was returned; and presently he talked, and discussed the event calmly, but not before he had endeavoured to kiss the feet of his saviour, which Kalulu had too much manliness to accept; but he knelt down by him and embraced him, while Abdullah availed himself of the opportunity, and kissed his forehead.
Abdullah having in a measure recovered, the two warriors were sent to hunt after the canoe, which fortunately was found, stayed in its progress by the reeds, at a point of the island projecting into the current; and, to their great joy, close to the canoe was the gourd to which was fastened the harpoon rope. Giving vent to a loud halloo, Simba, Moto, and Kalulu rushed towards them, and by their united aid they dragged the body of the dead hippopotamus to shallow water, and setting vigorously to work, they soon loaded their canoe with the luscious flesh, it being a food highly prized by the tribes of Central Africa.
By the time this work was despatched, it was night, and the hunters, lifting the wounded Abdullah into the canoe, and having a clear course up the river towards home, they started on their return journey, feeling as proud as men who have been successful in a dangerous exploit only can feel. They sang over and over again exciting hunting and boat songs with vociferous chorus, until midnight, when the fishermen’s fires, near Katalambula’s village, gladdened their eyes and made them rejoice as home-returned wanderers generally do.
Chapter Nine.Selim—Happy Days—The Lover’s Song—The Magic Doctor Soltali—Kalulu proposes to hunt Elephants—Preparations for a Dance—The Hunting-Song—The Elephant Hunters set out—The Scenes on the March—The Hunters’ damp—Ten Elephants!—Kalulu addresses the King Elephant—The King Elephant dies—Selim’s Conduct in the Field—Kalulu is astonished at Selim’s Prowess.Selim was now happy; and next to being able to reach his own Zanjian Isle, and revisit the scenes of his childhood, and romp, as of yore, with the playmates of his youth, and enjoy walks through the orange-groves with young Abdullah, he could not have chosen for himself a more tranquil life than that which he now enjoyed with his friend and new brother, Kalulu.For the bright Liemba River was beautiful, though brown; its crisp little wavelets, where they washed over stone and pebble in the shallower parts, had music for him, though he never forgot that horrible scene near the island, when the smiling face of Abdullah changed into one of horror and sank down into the depths, with his shriek echoing through the woods.The banks of the Liemba became for him a frequent resort, for Kalulu had made it generally known to all that he was his brother, and no Mtuta under the King Katalambula might molest him. Hence, he wandered where he pleased, finding charms in the wild woods, and in the depths of waving grain, in the peaceful, still life that reigned around, in the music of the birds, and even in the harsh cries of paroquets.The Selim, the brother of Kalulu, was not the Selim of Zanzibar, but was the product of him, refined and pure from the fiery crucible of the unusual hardships he had endured. It was the same boy, but not the same heart. He, whom we knew at Zanzibar, the gay, light-hearted, sunny youth, playing with the females in the harem and his playmates on the beach, but ever listening in wonder to the great, wise words and sayings of white men, was changed for the dreamy boy with the poet’s heart, who chose solitudes, forests, and the depths of tall corn-stalks to indulge in reverie, which we are too apt to ascribe to melancholy. Perhaps it was melancholy, a tender, soft melancholy, engendered by many reminiscences of a mournful nature, crowding together in the mind of a boy who had suffered much, but who had seen but few years. There was the death of a loving father and loving kinsmen, the tragic fate of Isa and Mussoud, the most narrow escape he had himself from death, and poor Abdullah’s narrow escape from a horrible fate. These were not the best kind of subjects to dwell in the mind of a boy of Selim’s years; but what aided to soften all these, and did much to lighten his burden, was his present position, the tender friendship of Kalulu, the company of the gentle Abdullah, the calm tranquillity of the life he was now enjoying, and the consciousness—which his perfect trust in the goodness of God created—that there was a God above, who was both good and great, and who would bring him in his own good time out of all trouble.For many days Abdullah suffered from the wounds which the crocodile’s sharp teeth had made in his leg. High fever set in, during which time he was attended by Simba, and Moto, Kalulu, and Selim.All sport was at an end for Selim and Kalulu while their friend Abdullah was thus suffering. Nothing of enjoyment was thought of, nothing could be thought of but their poor young patient, whose constitution was battling vigorously against the fever which threatened often to terminate his life.And what a time poor Abdullah had! Instead of the soft, silken counterpane and feathered bolsters, and the fragrance of lime and orange of his own comfortable home at Zanzibar, here were a mud-hut, low roof of straw and mud, a goatskin for his bed, a low door of cane-stalks, through which the white sunlight streamed hot and glaring, voices of a thousand rats for music, and the bad smells caused by the indecent habits of savages, for the perfume of ripe orange and cinnamon. All these aggravated the fever and created hideous dreams at night. For food he had a thin gruel, which Simba made for him to the best of his ability; for drink, the muddy water of the Liemba or some pombe-beer. Despite these, however, his constitution triumphed; the fever left him, and the wounded leg, carefully bathed each morning by Simba, began to heal.When convalescent, Abdullah would leave his hut at evening, pale and thin as a ghost, leaning on the arm of his true friends, Kalulu and Selim, to enjoy the mild air, and to listen to the songs of the Watuta, and the sonorous music of the drums. The sight of the pale and thin Arab boy touched the heart of many a maternal bosom, and many were the expressions of condolence which he received from them. He often heard these dark-faced women utter expressions which he had never thought at Zanzibar could ever be uttered by black women; and he was rapidly beginning to learn that women are the same all over the world, whether they are white or black, and that human love and kindness belong as much to the black as to the white, and are as often practised. And the outcast, despised negro race were rising daily in his estimation. Neither was Selim indifferent to the tones of sympathy he heard from them; not only did Kalulu win his friendship more and more each day, but the whole negro race was being admitted into his brotherhood.These were really happy days. Abdullah was improving each day, and Selim was fast becoming as joyous a companion as Kalulu could desire. Inspired by the invigorating sound of the drums, and the lively chorus, he was compelled to leave the side of Abdullah and join in the dance. A favourite song of the Watuta was the boatmen’s song, which seemed interminable; but the chorus was so pretty, and had such a sweet, pathetic melody, that Selim joined with pleasure in it for its pathos.The first and second verses ran somewhat in this strain:—Down the brown Liemba,The home of fierce Mamba (crocodiles),We are gliding.With sudden stroke and songThe boat is sent along,Swiftly gliding.We fear no fierce mambaIn the deep LiembaWhile we are gliding;Nor bush nor thickest brake,Nor foe that would us take—Swiftly gliding.The fifth, seventh, and eighth verses are descriptive of the scenery on the Liemba:—By waving fields of grain.With song and loud refrain,We are gliding;While women hoe the cornTill eve from dewy morn—Swiftly gliding.Lo! Isle of Ihata,Blest Isle of Liemba,By which we are gliding.The isle was long agoBlest by great Moshono—Softly gliding.Near that tree on yon plainDied Moshono in pain—We are gliding—Burnt by dread Warungu,Who fear no Malungu—Softly gliding.The ninth verse is somewhat superstitious:—Sole on that lofty rockLives Moshono’s sacred cock.We are gliding.Now, boatmen, here cease to row,Bad luck, to hear no crow!—Softly gliding.As I have said, the boat song is almost interminable; it describes every view on that beautiful river, each tradition that surrounds the hills, and memorable sites of battles fought and victories won; for it is thus that our history was kept before writing was known to us.Another song, which was a favourite with the young men and maidens of Katalambula’s village, describes what love-making is known to the Watuta. For this reason only is it valuable, as illustrative of the mode of marriage. The following verses are sufficient as an example:—Canst thou love me as I love thee?Wilt thou not come and live with me?My father talked with thine to-day,Thy father did not tell him “Nay.”Said he, “Bring me two score of sheep;Bring me pombe in pots thus deep;Bring me ten goats of the best class,Thy son may take my pretty lass.”I’ve built my hut of sedgy cane,The well-thatched roof keeps out the rain,The floor is spread with river sand,The latch waits lifting by thy hand.Thy husband calls, do not delay:Come to his house ere end of day;Put now thy hand in mine and come,Come to Kiranga’s heart and home.Selim and Abdullah heard numbers of these during the period of the latter’s convalescence, and were constantly amused by them. To sit under the great tree in the centre of the square, to hear the music of the drums, to hear the songs sung, and to see the people dance, was like going to a theatrical entertainment with us. Kalulu often sat with them, but not for long; the exhilarating influence of the music produced such an effect on his feet and legs, that while listening to it he found himself unable to restrain them.As Abdullah got better and became able to move about during the day, Kalulu used to take him and Selim to the great Maganga, or magic doctor, to enjoy the conversation of the wise man of the tribe.This doctor must have been at least eighty years old, for he remembered Katalambula as a child, and knew Mostana, Kalulu’s father, and remembered the “great, great” King Loralamba, father of Katalambula and Mostana. This was very old history to Kalulu, who could not conceive the number of years that had elapsed since Loralamba’s death, though the time could only have been between forty and fifty years. The doctor, whose name was Soltali, knew any amount of things that no other man knew. He remembered the time when the Northern Watuta, who now live north of the Malagarazi River, separated from the Southern Watuta, over whom Katalambula was chief ruler, for some pique that the younger brother had against Loralamba. He remembered many wars that had taken place between the Watuta and Wabena, and remembered well the incident of which the boatmen sang as they travelled down the Liemba, viz., the burning of Moshono, a great doctor, who lived on the island of Ihata. The Warungu came in great numbers, and were conquering wherever they went, until they came opposite Ihata. Then their cattle died, and their warriors died of a horrible disease which Moshono punished them with. Finally, however, they got across the river and landed on the island; the village was taken, and Moshono was carried to the plain opposite the island, and burnt alive near a great tree. But it seemed as if the Sky-spirit heard the words of Moshono, and stirred up the Watuta—all; every man who could bear a sword and spear—against the Warungu, and a few days after, the Watuta, under Loralamba, rushed on their camp at night, and there was an exceeding great slaughter. Only a few Warungu escaped, and since then they had settled quietly in their own country, south of the Lake Liemba, many days’ march from Katalambula’s.Soltali was rich in this history, which, alas! is never destined to see the light; a history that were a man disposed to write it for the mere love of giving it to the world, and instructing it in the past life of this obscure corner of the world, might enlighten the learned of all countries in much that concerns the great races of Central Africa.Soltali’s hut was a veritable museum; but it bore a striking resemblance to the rich men’s houses in England and America in this respect. What ducal castle or baronial hall is there, in England, but has its collection of deer, antelope, and buffalo horns; its stuffed lions; its tigers, etc. etc.? What rich man’s house is there in America which has not some trophy of its master’s hunting prowess? Soltali had his trophies, though, owing to his pitiable ignorance of taste, book knowledge, etc, etc, his trophies were not arranged as a Schwartzenberg of Austria or a Duke of Sutherland arrange theirs. There were horns upon horns of antelope, kudu, hartebeest, black buck, springbok, gemsbok, gnu, buffalo, and rhinoceros, and tusks upon tusks of polished ivory. But the great store of curiosities that he set the greatest value upon consisted of tails of elephants, horns of giraffes, eyelids of zebras, tusks of boars, paws of lions, nose-hairs and whiskers of leopards, claws of eagles, beaks of bustards and kites, wings of ostriches, scales of fish, dried eyes of ibis; all wrapped up in pieces of goatskin, each separate the one from the other. He had a great number of little gourds, filled with the calcined heads of the various animals he had ever killed, and smaller gourds, like phials, filled with the burnt brains of men whom he had killed in war. There were so many brains of Warungu, Wabena, Wasowa, Wakawendi, Wawemba, Warori, Wanyamwezi, Wamwite, Wakanyara, Wakokoro, and a number of other smaller tribes; for in his prime, when he fought side by side with Loralamba, the “great, great” King, Soltali’s spear was heavy, sharp, and sure.Poor, ancient Soltali! who shall sing thy praises? Who shall tell the wide, wide world all the deeds done by thy mighty hands? Where is the Homer who shall arise and sing of thy prowess? Homer, and Virgil, and Tasso, De Ercilla, and Camoens are dead, and we have none left capable of conveying thy name to future generations. But be content, old man; this page, at least, of this little book will tell a few of the growing generation of true-hearted American and British youths, that such a man did once live as thee, oh, Soltali! and, perhaps, in an obscure corner of the British Museum, thyself and wondrous museum of monstrosities shall, embodied as it were in this page, rest a few years until they become a heap of dead, unintelligible dust!At the end of about two months, Abdullah was so far recovered as to be able to go about alone, without the aid of any of his friends; but he had an unconquerable antipathy to the banks of the Liemba. The brown waters of this river, in which he was so very near being engulphed, inspired him with a nauseous aversion, having something of the effect of tartar emetic on his stomach, and he never dared, as Selim often did, to wander along its banks alone. When he became tired of the village he walked to the fields, or the gardens, where the pot-herbs, the lentils, the pig-nuts, and the beans grew. Neither forest nor solitude charmed Abdullah; the company of the nursing women, or the workers in the field, was far preferable.One day, Kalulu proposed to Selim, and Simba, and Moto, that they should get up a party to make a grand elephant hunt, and, as an apology, said to Selim:“I should have asked thee long ago, were it not that I knew thou wouldst not come; but Abdullah is so much better that he travels about the village as if he had never been bitten by a crocodile.”“To hunt elephants I will surely come with thee. I have got my gun, which I saved from the Liemba, and I should like to try a shot at an elephant. Moto is a great hunter, and he shall teach me how to tickle the tail and hams of one; thou hast never heard him tell the story. Oh, it is such an incredible one! but he never tells a lie to me.”“Does Moto say he tickled the tail of an elephant? if it is true, he has done more than old Soltali himself. Soltali has done some wonderful things with elephants too, but he never did anything like this. However, we shall see how he acts before a real wild elephant. We shall watch him—eh, Selim?”“Oh, I shall have my eyes on him, depend on it; but when shall we go, Kalulu?”“At daybreak to-morrow. To-night Soltali must sing the elephant hunting-song of the hunters, and must give each of the hunters a charm, since he is too old to accompany us. I shall take fifty men with me, so that we can make a strong party. If Ferodia catches us in the woods he would make short work of us, and my head would not remain long on my shoulders if he caught me; for then he knows he would be king.”“Why, thou art not going near his country, surely! because I would rather stop here, if thou art. I want to see no more of Ferodia,” said Selim in alarm.“Be at ease, my brother. I go not near him with the best fifty men that the Watuta can count. I go in a different direction, south-east; he lives south-west, south of the Liemba Lake.”“All right; but really thou didst frighten me. My back fairly tingles at the thought of Tifum, and Tifum is with Ferodia.”“Yet, my brother, thou didst hit him a blow in the face, and Moto—cunning man—said he saw it, and said it was well done.”“I wish the blow had gone through his head, then my mind would be at ease, for that man is my bane—my Afrit. (Afrit is a bad spirit with the Moslems.) Even when I am at Zanzibar I shall think of that man.”“There, enough, my brother; I will put one of my barbed arrows through his throat the first time I see him, for thy sake. Go and prepare thy gun, and bullets, and medicine powder, and to-night thou must attend to the song of the doctor, or thou shalt have bad luck with us in the hunt.” And Kalulu turned away with light hounding steps, which soon carried him away from his Arab brother.At night—probably at the hour of nine with us, the moon being up—a long, low, rumbling roll of the largest goma brought the destined hunters, together with Kalulu, Selim, Simba, and Moto, running and chasing each other towards the drum stand. There were ten drums, and a boy for each, ascending in height from the smallest to the biggest drum; so that the boy who beat the smallest drum must have been about ten years old, and the boy who beat the largest drum was a sturdy youth of twenty, or thereabouts.Pots full of pombe and plantain-wine were ranged a little distance off, from which the dancers and the singers could regale themselves when they felt disposed. For the eve of a hunting party’s march is considered a great event, second only to the return of a successful party with plenty of ivory.The hunters formed a select circle round the drummers and the pombe pots; a larger circle, made by about three hundred people—men, women, boys, and girls—surrounded the hunters.Each hunter had on a capricious head-dress. One tall fellow was very conspicuous by wearing a pair of buffalo horns; another had a rhinoceros horn on the top of his head; another had his head draped with a piece of zebra skin, which gave him quite a remarkable appearance by moonlight; one had a zebra crest, which made him appear as if he wore a Greek helmet; another had a goatskin over his head. Kalulu wore three magnificent snowy ostrich plumes on his head. Selim wore a turban. Simba and Moto also wore turbans. One fellow, next to Moto, wore an enormous black earthen pot on his head; another had a broad, wooden dish; but it would be wearying to enumerate all the strange things they wore.The drummer boys struck up an interlude, which was a verse from the boatmen’s song—the chorus,We are gliding,Softly gliding,seemingly giving them immeasurable enjoyment as they lingered over the word “gliding.” While they were busy with feet and lungs, moving about in a circle, a sudden silence prevailed;—the great Soltali, the greatest elephant hunter and doctor of magic of the age, arrived upon the scene.A loud murmur of approbation greeted the extraordinary old man. The most remarkable of all head-dresses was on the head of Soltali, for he had the skin of an elephant’s trunk, the base of the trunk fitting his head, as if it had grown there, while the trunk, filled with grass, was stiff enough to stand perfectly erect, though perhaps it was stiff enough without. The weight of this must have been considerable; but the ridiculous vanity of men causes them to do strange things sometimes, and this act could have been nothing else than absurdest vanity. Hanging around the old man’s neck was a string of giraffe tails, whose hairs were blacker than ink. On his arms he wore wristlets and armlets of pure white ivory. In each hand he carried a gourd half full of pebbles, which he rattled every now and then with a horrible noise.He first, after he entered the inner circle, walked around three times, staring at each man, rattling his gourds alternately, as he passed round; then walking to the centre, while the bass drum began to hum and murmur its deep sounds, he began to move his body to the right and left, each hunter sighing deeply in sympathy with the now fast rising murmur of all the drums in concert. Loud and louder beat the drums, until the noise was deafening, and the voices of the singers became a demoniac din; then lower and lower descended the voices and the drum-sounds, until nothing was heard but the pacific and low murmur of the bass drum and the low sighs of the dancers.Then Soltali opened his mouth and sang, in the heroic vein, of his doings in the elephant hunt in the far southern lands, the streamy land of the Wa-marungu, in the hot swampy lands of the Wawemba, and on the broad plains of Ututa; of his mishaps and fortunes, his narrow, hair-breadth escapes, and his wonderful adventures, out of which the author of the present history might make his fame and fortune were he gifted with the power to translate into some kind of verse what Soltali said.Though demurring somewhat at the necessity of translating at all what the old man said, the author feels compelled to give the gist of the charge he gave the hunters concerning their conduct when they should meet an elephant. He spoke authoritatively and well, and it is a pity that a better translator is not at my side to assist me in the translation of some of the Kituta polysyllables.“Let the warrior Watuta, and the hunters boldHeed and mark well the words of the Mganga old;Let them behold these charms, these trophies of my mightEach of them reminds me of many a hard fight.Should ye meet the elephant alone in a plain,Seek not too hastily to give him the death pain.Singly let none attack him - ’tis an unequal fight;For the elephant is strong, the embodiment of might;But surround him coolly, and carefully all,Be ready to obey your leader’s slightest call;Then charge on him, all shouting, and charge with your spears;Let the stoutest and best of you aim behind his ears.Watch well the unfortunate on whom he turns round!He must run this and that way, and oft change his ground;Ye others must tease him, and invite him your way,Hamstring him, and spear him, and do what ye may.Beware of his front! range on his sides and his rear,Go all together, and let each man heave a sure spear.Fast as he veers round, hasten at right angles awayTo ’scape the elephant’s first charge is no child’s play,For his stride is so long he swallows the ground:One stride of his is as long as a hunter’s bound.After a while he will get tired - heed well what I say,He is never so dangerous as when standing at bay;For the hunter too often thinks he is dead game,And advances too near him, too eager for fame;But be ye guided by me, and stand off afar,And your good hunt so well done, ye will not mar.Let the elephant bleed, let him fall to the ground,Let him gladden your ears with his fall’s heavy sound!Then think of the Mganga, the words he has said;Be sure that his services to you are well paid!Then will ye succeed in your hunt on the plain,Succeed without loss, and succeed without pain!”The author may not attempt further translations from the speech, or song rather, of this old Mganga or magic doctor, the Kituta polysyllables having tasked his powers to the utmost; but from his knowledge of hunting in Africa, he feels bound to admit that the old man had a sound head on his shoulders; and the band of hunters having heard his lengthy chant to the end, declared that they felt eternally grateful to him. On the conclusion of his chant, he delivered to each hunter a small portion of whitish powder, which we, who have been in his museum, feel confident consisted of burnt brain, mixed with wood ashes. But this charm, consecrated by the magic doctor, could not fail to render each hunter highly successful in his enterprise.The pombe, or beer, next attracts the attention of the singers, and each singer incontinently sets to the agreeable task of guzzling, where the author leaves them until the morrow—the Kituta polysyllables and the pombe having fairly upset him for the time.In the morning, at daybreak, without any of the formalities of muster or calling the roll, Kalulu, Selim, Simba, and Moto, left the village by the principal gate, followed by about fifty strong active young warriors, not one of whom could have been over thirty years old. The horn of the leading hunter sounded merrily as he blew his ringing blasts of adieux, while the party dived into the depths of the gigantic corn-stalks, and their friends at the village listened long and attentively, until the horn could be no longer heard.Kalulu had a couple of broad-bladed spears, and half-a-dozen assegais, much lighter than spears, with long flexible shafts, besides a bow and a quiver pack-full of arrows, which was slung over his shoulders.Selim, radiantly happy, walked next to Kalulu, as the path was so narrow that but one could walk at a time on the smooth, hard road, and carried his own gun—the “gun from London,” which Kalulu had found among the plunder, with its own special ammunition. It was probably a fine “Joe Manton” as the barrels were of fine steel, short, of large bore, and a heavy price had been paid for it by Amer bin Osman through his Bombay agent. It was one of those fortunate accidents that occur sometimes. Olimali might have had the gun, had not Ferodia, seeing its great beauty and superiority, specially reserved it for a present to Katalambula; and the king not caring, or not having any use, for it, had placed it among his treasures in his store-room; and Selim, accompanying Kalulu to the store-room, as a privileged brother, to pick out a gun, suddenly saw the beautiful little masterpiece of the English gunmaker, which his father had presented him with, and with which he had shot the greedy crocodile on the Lofu, while his sharp teeth were lacerating his slave Mombo’s leg. Could anything have been more fortunate? “Impossible!” thought Selim, as he had hastened to secure it, with the ammunition and the percussion caps. “Impossible!” thought he now, as he strode on after Kalulu, laughing and chatting gaily, and sometimes turning round to Simba and Moto with a gay remark, which permitted them to see his bright, happy face and sparkling eyes.Simba had his own bright-barrelled gun, which he had as yet never parted with, besides a ponderous spear, which might have made Goliath of Gath faint with the carrying of it.Behind Simba strode nimble-footed Moto, who also had his own gun, besides a couple of long keen-pointed spears.Behind Moto strode the Watuta hunters, one after another, some of them armed with shields, besides their handfuls of spears and quivers fall of arrows.Merriness is what distinguishes the conduct of all hunting parties, whether white or black, while on the way to the chase or the hunt. Pleasures unlimited are anticipated, and happy sport is expected, and this anticipation and expectation are what produce so many good jokes, and wit, and fun, and raillery, or, as the English call it, “chaff,” when the hunting-field has not yet been reached and all feel bright and fresh. The hours that precede the chase or the hunt form the flower-time which men’s minds love to remember and dwell upon for the unalloyed happiness which it furnished.It is needless to describe in detail the ground the party traversed. Once out of the corn-fields, the pastoral plains spread before them, where young Watuta boys were seen indulging in the excitement of a mimic battle or hunt while they tended their fathers’ flocks. Here and there were little tracts of cultivation where women were at work hoeing the corn; and as they passed some isolated village, near the gate, under the trees, sat the nursing mothers, lullabying their babes to sleep, or the snowy crisp-haired elders sat on short three-legged stools retailing to each other the experiences of their lives, dwelling with fondness on some particular episode of their generally uneventful lives; while chubby, abdominous little children listened in wonder at what they heard, as chubby, abdominous little boys of white men’s lands do when a particularly interesting tale is told.Beyond the plains and corn-fields, the cultivated tracts and villages, heaved into view the dark-blue line of forest—that forest which Selim knew, where he suffered, where he fainted, and laid unconscious. Finally, the party entered it, and they were involved in its twilight gloom.A week’s, marching through the forest brought the party to the elephant hunting-grounds of the Watutu. The broad tracks, pounded and pressed, trodden compact and smooth as an asphalte pavement by the elephants’ broad, heavy feet, indicated too clearly that this was a common resort for the ponderous beasts.Lengthy sinuous hollows, overgrown with thicket and shrub, tufted grass, and tall cane, spoke of clear but stagnant water being plentiful here, their ridges, clad with dense brush, ran in serpentine directions, and separated these swampy hollows from each other. Overhead were the leafy crowns of gigantic columnar trees, forming as they met close together a thorough shade for the locality, under which, undisturbed by any enemy, the elephant might cool himself during the fervid noon.Pressing further on out of this swampy region, they came, about sunset, to a thin jungle, where here and there rose a giant baobab, the monarch of all woods. Choosing one of these great trees, whose foliage was denser than ordinary, the party proceeded to cut down the smaller trees and brush, to form a brush fence around their camp, for the centre of which they chose this great baobab. They built the fence solid, secure, and high, as an efficient protection against wild beasts and nomadic freebooters. They then erected their huts—placing four short pronged poles in the ground, one at each corner of a square of six feet; then two taller poles dividing the square into halves; over these two taller poles and the two shorter poles on each side they laid transverse poles, which rested in the forks; and over these again they laid laterally light sticks, sloping down each side, which they covered over with long grass, and in a short time they had a perfect miniature house. There were other kinds of houses or huts being constructed; but the following illustration will best describe the architectural knowledge of the Watutu.After constructing their huts, some roamed into the woods to hunt for wild fruit, others to look for flat stones to grind their corn upon, others to procure sticks to make their fires with, others to get water; while others, again, scoured and prepared their pots to boil their porridge in. There were about fifteen huts in the encampment, some huts having as many as five for a mess, others only three, while others had but two. It is a noteworthy fact in African camps that, where the mess is large, the more important of the party are together; or that the most popular are those who prefer each other’s society to that of any of the rest; though in each large mess one may be sure that one of the members has been admitted only for the sake of utilising his services; and his folly and ignorance, or cowardice and unworthiness, are forgiven and borne with, so long as he is industrious and not idle.Thus in Kalulu’s mess were Selim, Simba, Moto, and an ignorant and timid fellow, who was only too glad to be near the great, and who industriously strove to please them for the sake of the patronage which he received for his labour. Kalulu, of course, as chief, could command the services of all if he chose to do so, but none would have worked as well as the timid fellow who voluntarily offered to cook for him.After the suppers were cooked and eaten, and their limbs were somewhat rested, and earth had drawn its sable mantle, chequered with the diamonds of heaven, over its head, and the dark foliage of the baobab began to be peopled with formless shapes and shadows, and the fires burned bright, and cast their tongued flames with splutter, and hissing, and crackling, the dispositions of each began to be exhibited. They squatted around a blazing pile, listening to an exciting tale of adventure, or a funny story, which makes men’s sides almost explode with laughter. What can be more enjoyable? Nothing. People, for the time, forget everything but the interesting present. Not one in such a position can be left to himself; for his little world is before him, and he must be drawn into its vortex of pleasantry and enjoyment, and forget what he selfishly thinks belongs to himself.The desire of slumber came on by-and-bye, and each man crept into his hut, and on his own little pile of straw or leaves, drowned in kindly, healthy sleep, forgot not only himself, but his neighbours, his friends, and his tribe.At dawn, five of the likeliest fellows were sent by Kalulu to reconnoitre the vicinity and the open, swampy ground near which they had camped, and where they had obtained their water for cooking the night before.They had not been gone fifteen minutes before one of them returned, who, with a warning finger, imposed silence, and whispered the words “Kümi tembo”—ten elephants!You might have seen then how quickly the looks of indifference were changed into one of exciting interest, how eyes danced gladly, and sparkled at the joyful news; how Kalulu’s hunter-soul kindled into raptures, and how Moto and Simba looked significantly at one another, and how Selim even felt a throb and a warm glow stealing over him.Moto advanced to Kalulu, and reminded him of the advice given by Soltali to hunt one at a time, and said that while he and his warriors should single out one, it would be better that those armed with guns, viz., he and Simba, and Selim, should engage another, and so kill two. Kalulu at once acceded to the proposal.The hunters, as soon as they got outside of the boma or camp, deployed in a long line, while Selim, Moto, and Simba stole quietly and quickly away on their own venture, in a direction considerably to the left of the Watuta hunters. All the natives had denuded themselves entirely; Selim and his two friends had but girded their cloths about their loins.The natives thus deployed, and ready at a signal, moved forward silently, and soon they were joined by the four remaining scouts, who, ensconced behind the bushes, had continued to watch the elephants, who were seen slaking their thirst at a pool, and playfully tossing the water over their backs.As the hunters emerged from this jungle into the cleared space near the pool, the elephants turned short round to look at the strange intruders, who were thus boldly appearing in their presence.The hunters stopped also with one accord to survey the ponderous animals they had come to kill. What a sight this was! Ten such noble beasts, clothed with bluish-grey hides, with uplifted trunks, and great ears standing out straight in array before those fifty naked pigmies, who, had they not their sharp spears and their barbed arrows, would no more have dared to approach these magnificent creatures than they would have climbed up to the highest tree and jumped off, expecting to be able to fly.They stood thus a minute opposed to each other; then Kalulu advanced to the front in the absence of the magic doctor, as the chief hunter, and with uplifted spear in hand, chanted the death-song of the elephant he chose should be killed. This was a picture also worthy of a great artist—the warriors in the foreground, the slight and nude form of the young chief in the centre, with his ostrich plumes waving above his head, as his body oscillated from side to side while he sang; and fronting him, about thirty feet off, a monster elephant, with his herd behind him, all looking astonished at the scene.The words ran after this fashion:—“Thou monarch of beasts, thou king of the woods,Thou dangerous beast in thy angry moods,Thou elephant strong, thou form of great might,Behold Kalulu before thee for fight!I’ve come from the green groves of Liemba,From the country of old Loralamba,With magic from Soltali Mganga (Magic Doctor),The surest and best of his Uganga (Magic Medicine).Then look at that sun, look at the poolIn which thou didst revel, and think so cool;Look on that forest, and look on this grass.The sweetest and best of this wide morass;No more shalt thou see the sun or the pool,No more shalt thou revel in waters cool,No more shalt thou walk in the forest’s shade,No more shalt thou delight in forest glade,No more shalt thou daintily feed on the grassOf the plain, or jungle, or this morass!Soltali the Mganga cannot lie:Young Kalulu is here! prepare to die!”As he finished his song his head was violently thrown back, the right arm was drawn to its length, and the bright spear-head, flashing once, twice, white sun-glints, was buried deep in the elephant’s chest. A loud shout greeted the brave effort; and at the instant the elephant felt the keen sharp iron in him, he uttered a loud trumpet-note of rage, and charged, clearing at one bound several strides of a man.“Be off, Kalulu, thou brave prince of the Watuta! Hie away young hero! Stay not to count thy steps, thou dusky chief! Spring out, my boy; run as thou didst never run before! Impel thy haunches on—lift thy feet clear from the ground; out with thy chest—set thy head far back! Let thy lungs inhale free the rushing air! Beware of a stumble, else the tale is ended! Ha! well done—at right angles now! So; see the elephant charges the empty air, and runs headlong after vacancy! Now, warriors, is our time, with a whoop, and the shrill cry of the Watuta!”Such were the words that could be distinguished from the noise and tumult produced by the charge. Twenty spears had been launched into the elephant’s body to distract his attention, and had it not been for Soltali’s good advice to “turn at right angles away,” the elephant would soon have overtaken the daring young chief; but, by his dexterous and easy movement to the right, the monster had charged on far ahead before he became aware that his enemy had escaped him.When he turned round he found the hunters like a cloud about him; he found himself isolated from his herd; the other elephants having charged in another direction in fury and fright to meet an enemy in another guise, and with different weapons. While the elephant seemed to take this all at a glance, a loud report was heard, which sounded like a volley of fire-arms; but he, unheeding the sound, charged again, with irresistible power, at his nearest foe, only to be foiled once more by the ever-evading, ever-shifting figures of his remorseless enemies. Again and again he charged, only to receive new wounds, an additional shower of spears and barbed arrows, which tormented him cruelly; until, fatigued with the unusual speed, faint from loss of blood, he stood stock still, confronting his enemies, defiant and still dreadful, though the spears and arrows in his body might have been counted by hundreds. Heedful of the prudent counsel of old Soltali, the Watuta drew back, but still surrounding him, awaiting his fall. They had not to wait long, before they saw his body oscillate from side to side, and the left knee bend, as if he were getting weak; then he staggered forward, rose up again, and finally rolled on his side—dead, crushing the spears in his side like straws in his fall.Leaving the Watuta to indulge in their self-glorification, let us proceed to see how the other three, Selim, Simba, and Moto, fared.Moto, as the three left the Watuta, drew alongside of Selim, and whispered some words in his ears, how to conduct himself, to reserve his fire, and to fire at the last elephant which would pass him, aiming behind his ears, which, of course, would be standing straight out, giving him an ample opportunity and a good target to fire at. Selim, faithfully promising, was placed behind a tree at the furthest end of the cleared ground in the neighbourhood of the pool. Simba chose one a few yards off, further still to the left, and Moto another tree twenty yards to the left of Simba; and in this position they waited the dénouement.Selim could see the swaying form and nodding plumes of Kalulu, could hear the death-song, and with his finger on the two triggers of his gun, which was heavily loaded specially for this purpose, stood behind his tree waiting. Soon he saw Kalulu launch his spear, saw the charge and flight, heard the deafening noise, and while his heart palpitated fast, and his pulses throbbed, and his ears tingled, came the affrighted animals of the herd, charging in fear and fury by him. Obediently he waited, according to orders, until the last elephant was passing his position, then, stilling the heart’s palpitation and the wildly beating pulse, full of trust and confidence in the powers of his English gun, he deliberately aimed behind the elephant’s ears, and fired both barrels at once. The concussion knocked him down; but, while falling, he saw his elephant stumble and fall on his head in a motionless heap, stone dead.Picking himself hastily up, and snatching his gun, he stayed a moment to take in how matters stood; and finding the elephants in full flight, two limping laggards behind, and Simba and Moto following, he began to load his gun again with equally heavy charges as those he had in it previously; and having placed the caps carefully on, and taking a glance of pride at the game he had “bagged,” he ran after Simba and Moto. His two friends he found firing, running, and loading as fast as they could; not a very hard task when the animals were so badly wounded. His nimble feet soon carried him nearer them, and after dodging and running as he had been directed to, as he was pursued by one or the other of the elephants, he had the satisfaction at last of seeing both stand still. Retreating a little distance from view, he took a circuit round, and then returned, taking advantage of every tree, and by great caution succeeded in coming behind a large tree at the distance of twelve paces from one of them. Lifting his gun, already cocked, to his shoulders, he took aim again behind the ears, and fired the two barrels once more, which was met with the same fatal result, for the elephant, after beating the air with his forelegs for a short time, swayed pitifully, and fell over, dead.But Selim had no time to make these observations, for the other elephant turned short round and charged at the tree. Selim stood his ground until the tree had almost been reached, when, dropping the gun on the ground, he started off for another tree, the elephant in hot pursuit after him. To the right, to the left, forwards and backwards, from tree to tree, Selim ran, until the elephant, to his astonishment, suddenly stopped, the hind-legs doubled under him, the forelegs bent, and his head came to the ground heavily, and in this kneeling position the poor elephant breathed his last.Selim had his gun brought to him by Simba, who lavished praises, almost fulsome, on his bravery and accuracy of shooting, in which Moto, who now came up, joined with heart and spirit. Simba, while he embraced his young master, would have it that Selim was the best elephant hunter known; there never was such an Arab boy before, who shot two elephants dead one after another. “And thou must consider, Moto,” said he, apologetically, “Selim is but sixteen; if he shoots two elephants, one after another, when he is sixteen, what will he do when he is a grown man?”“True,” answered Moto, “when he is double his age he will shoot four one after another. Selim is a great hunter truly. I wonder what the Watuta have done. Whisht! hear their cries! Their elephant is dead. We must go to see them. Or do thou stop with Selim to watch these whilst I go to tell them what our young master has done. Say, Simba, how much money would the ivory of these three elephants bring at Zanzibar, dost thou think?”“I know not. How many frasilah dost thou think there are in the three?” asked Simba.“Somewhere about twelve, I should say? Twelve frasilah of ivory at 50 dollars the frasilah (35 pounds) would make how much?” asked Moto.“I don’t know—plenty, I suppose,” said Simba; “but Selim knows.”“Twelve fifties will make 600—six hundred dollars,” answered Selim.“Six hundred dollars! What a pity we cannot carry it to Zanzibar!” said Moto. “I shall be back directly.”Moto bounded away lightly towards the pool, and in a short time in the middle of the plain beyond he saw the Watuta in a group cutting and slashing at the dead elephant, with noise and excitement enough to frighten every elephant for miles around.When he approached, the Watuta gathered about him, and Kalulu pointed exultantly at the dead beast into which he had driven the first spear, and Kalulu then asked what luck they had had.Moto answered: “Selim has killed two, and I have killed one.”“Selim killed two!” echoed Kalulu, with surprise. “What! little Selim my brother?”“The same,” answered Moto.“Eyah, eyah!” murmured the group, while Kalulu seemed lost in astonishment, and could not utter a word more.“Selim stands waiting to shew them to his brother, Kalulu,” said Moto.“Oh, I shall come. Why Selim is a hero, a lion, an elephant! Is he not, Moto?”“He is a brave young Arab, and the son of an Arab chief,” answered Moto.When the young chief started off, all but a few Watuta, who remained to extract the tusks, followed him to see the wonderful three dead elephants.In the same position in which he had first fallen lay Selim’s first prize, with his tusks half buried in the ground. Kalulu gazed at the wide wound in his head, put his fist into it until it was buried up to the wrist, and then turned to Moto with wondering eyes, and said:“Kalulu has seen dead men in his father’s village, pierced to the heart with the leaden balls which the rifles of Kisesa threw, but what gun is this that makes such big holes in the elephant’s head?”Then Moto told him that Selim had fired the two barrels of the gun at once, at such a short distance from the elephant, that the two big bullets went into the head as one, and that this was the reason there was such a big hole, which quite satisfied the young chief.Leaving ten men to extract the tusks, Kalulu proceeded to where Selim and Simba stood, close to the former’s second prize; and here, again, Kalulu saw the wide rent and savage wound in the same spot as that found in the first elephant.Kalulu sprang on Selim’s neck, and embraced him warmly, while the Watuta gazed at Selim as on one they had never seen before, with surprise and unlimited admiration.By evening the tusks had all been extracted from the elephants, and great portions of the meat were carried to camp, especially the feet, the hearts, and livers, and ribs, where, before blazing fire-piles, the meat was set to roasting, while the adventures of the day were rehearsed over and over, with new additions each time, until midnight of that eventful day came and sealed all eyes in deep slumber.They moved further south, and in less than two weeks the party had killed twenty elephants, which so loaded them with ivory, that they were obliged to return towards home, unable to carry more.
Selim was now happy; and next to being able to reach his own Zanjian Isle, and revisit the scenes of his childhood, and romp, as of yore, with the playmates of his youth, and enjoy walks through the orange-groves with young Abdullah, he could not have chosen for himself a more tranquil life than that which he now enjoyed with his friend and new brother, Kalulu.
For the bright Liemba River was beautiful, though brown; its crisp little wavelets, where they washed over stone and pebble in the shallower parts, had music for him, though he never forgot that horrible scene near the island, when the smiling face of Abdullah changed into one of horror and sank down into the depths, with his shriek echoing through the woods.
The banks of the Liemba became for him a frequent resort, for Kalulu had made it generally known to all that he was his brother, and no Mtuta under the King Katalambula might molest him. Hence, he wandered where he pleased, finding charms in the wild woods, and in the depths of waving grain, in the peaceful, still life that reigned around, in the music of the birds, and even in the harsh cries of paroquets.
The Selim, the brother of Kalulu, was not the Selim of Zanzibar, but was the product of him, refined and pure from the fiery crucible of the unusual hardships he had endured. It was the same boy, but not the same heart. He, whom we knew at Zanzibar, the gay, light-hearted, sunny youth, playing with the females in the harem and his playmates on the beach, but ever listening in wonder to the great, wise words and sayings of white men, was changed for the dreamy boy with the poet’s heart, who chose solitudes, forests, and the depths of tall corn-stalks to indulge in reverie, which we are too apt to ascribe to melancholy. Perhaps it was melancholy, a tender, soft melancholy, engendered by many reminiscences of a mournful nature, crowding together in the mind of a boy who had suffered much, but who had seen but few years. There was the death of a loving father and loving kinsmen, the tragic fate of Isa and Mussoud, the most narrow escape he had himself from death, and poor Abdullah’s narrow escape from a horrible fate. These were not the best kind of subjects to dwell in the mind of a boy of Selim’s years; but what aided to soften all these, and did much to lighten his burden, was his present position, the tender friendship of Kalulu, the company of the gentle Abdullah, the calm tranquillity of the life he was now enjoying, and the consciousness—which his perfect trust in the goodness of God created—that there was a God above, who was both good and great, and who would bring him in his own good time out of all trouble.
For many days Abdullah suffered from the wounds which the crocodile’s sharp teeth had made in his leg. High fever set in, during which time he was attended by Simba, and Moto, Kalulu, and Selim.
All sport was at an end for Selim and Kalulu while their friend Abdullah was thus suffering. Nothing of enjoyment was thought of, nothing could be thought of but their poor young patient, whose constitution was battling vigorously against the fever which threatened often to terminate his life.
And what a time poor Abdullah had! Instead of the soft, silken counterpane and feathered bolsters, and the fragrance of lime and orange of his own comfortable home at Zanzibar, here were a mud-hut, low roof of straw and mud, a goatskin for his bed, a low door of cane-stalks, through which the white sunlight streamed hot and glaring, voices of a thousand rats for music, and the bad smells caused by the indecent habits of savages, for the perfume of ripe orange and cinnamon. All these aggravated the fever and created hideous dreams at night. For food he had a thin gruel, which Simba made for him to the best of his ability; for drink, the muddy water of the Liemba or some pombe-beer. Despite these, however, his constitution triumphed; the fever left him, and the wounded leg, carefully bathed each morning by Simba, began to heal.
When convalescent, Abdullah would leave his hut at evening, pale and thin as a ghost, leaning on the arm of his true friends, Kalulu and Selim, to enjoy the mild air, and to listen to the songs of the Watuta, and the sonorous music of the drums. The sight of the pale and thin Arab boy touched the heart of many a maternal bosom, and many were the expressions of condolence which he received from them. He often heard these dark-faced women utter expressions which he had never thought at Zanzibar could ever be uttered by black women; and he was rapidly beginning to learn that women are the same all over the world, whether they are white or black, and that human love and kindness belong as much to the black as to the white, and are as often practised. And the outcast, despised negro race were rising daily in his estimation. Neither was Selim indifferent to the tones of sympathy he heard from them; not only did Kalulu win his friendship more and more each day, but the whole negro race was being admitted into his brotherhood.
These were really happy days. Abdullah was improving each day, and Selim was fast becoming as joyous a companion as Kalulu could desire. Inspired by the invigorating sound of the drums, and the lively chorus, he was compelled to leave the side of Abdullah and join in the dance. A favourite song of the Watuta was the boatmen’s song, which seemed interminable; but the chorus was so pretty, and had such a sweet, pathetic melody, that Selim joined with pleasure in it for its pathos.
The first and second verses ran somewhat in this strain:—
Down the brown Liemba,The home of fierce Mamba (crocodiles),We are gliding.With sudden stroke and songThe boat is sent along,Swiftly gliding.We fear no fierce mambaIn the deep LiembaWhile we are gliding;Nor bush nor thickest brake,Nor foe that would us take—Swiftly gliding.
Down the brown Liemba,The home of fierce Mamba (crocodiles),We are gliding.With sudden stroke and songThe boat is sent along,Swiftly gliding.We fear no fierce mambaIn the deep LiembaWhile we are gliding;Nor bush nor thickest brake,Nor foe that would us take—Swiftly gliding.
The fifth, seventh, and eighth verses are descriptive of the scenery on the Liemba:—
By waving fields of grain.With song and loud refrain,We are gliding;While women hoe the cornTill eve from dewy morn—Swiftly gliding.Lo! Isle of Ihata,Blest Isle of Liemba,By which we are gliding.The isle was long agoBlest by great Moshono—Softly gliding.Near that tree on yon plainDied Moshono in pain—We are gliding—Burnt by dread Warungu,Who fear no Malungu—Softly gliding.
By waving fields of grain.With song and loud refrain,We are gliding;While women hoe the cornTill eve from dewy morn—Swiftly gliding.Lo! Isle of Ihata,Blest Isle of Liemba,By which we are gliding.The isle was long agoBlest by great Moshono—Softly gliding.Near that tree on yon plainDied Moshono in pain—We are gliding—Burnt by dread Warungu,Who fear no Malungu—Softly gliding.
The ninth verse is somewhat superstitious:—
Sole on that lofty rockLives Moshono’s sacred cock.We are gliding.Now, boatmen, here cease to row,Bad luck, to hear no crow!—Softly gliding.
Sole on that lofty rockLives Moshono’s sacred cock.We are gliding.Now, boatmen, here cease to row,Bad luck, to hear no crow!—Softly gliding.
As I have said, the boat song is almost interminable; it describes every view on that beautiful river, each tradition that surrounds the hills, and memorable sites of battles fought and victories won; for it is thus that our history was kept before writing was known to us.
Another song, which was a favourite with the young men and maidens of Katalambula’s village, describes what love-making is known to the Watuta. For this reason only is it valuable, as illustrative of the mode of marriage. The following verses are sufficient as an example:—
Canst thou love me as I love thee?Wilt thou not come and live with me?My father talked with thine to-day,Thy father did not tell him “Nay.”Said he, “Bring me two score of sheep;Bring me pombe in pots thus deep;Bring me ten goats of the best class,Thy son may take my pretty lass.”I’ve built my hut of sedgy cane,The well-thatched roof keeps out the rain,The floor is spread with river sand,The latch waits lifting by thy hand.Thy husband calls, do not delay:Come to his house ere end of day;Put now thy hand in mine and come,Come to Kiranga’s heart and home.
Canst thou love me as I love thee?Wilt thou not come and live with me?My father talked with thine to-day,Thy father did not tell him “Nay.”Said he, “Bring me two score of sheep;Bring me pombe in pots thus deep;Bring me ten goats of the best class,Thy son may take my pretty lass.”I’ve built my hut of sedgy cane,The well-thatched roof keeps out the rain,The floor is spread with river sand,The latch waits lifting by thy hand.Thy husband calls, do not delay:Come to his house ere end of day;Put now thy hand in mine and come,Come to Kiranga’s heart and home.
Selim and Abdullah heard numbers of these during the period of the latter’s convalescence, and were constantly amused by them. To sit under the great tree in the centre of the square, to hear the music of the drums, to hear the songs sung, and to see the people dance, was like going to a theatrical entertainment with us. Kalulu often sat with them, but not for long; the exhilarating influence of the music produced such an effect on his feet and legs, that while listening to it he found himself unable to restrain them.
As Abdullah got better and became able to move about during the day, Kalulu used to take him and Selim to the great Maganga, or magic doctor, to enjoy the conversation of the wise man of the tribe.
This doctor must have been at least eighty years old, for he remembered Katalambula as a child, and knew Mostana, Kalulu’s father, and remembered the “great, great” King Loralamba, father of Katalambula and Mostana. This was very old history to Kalulu, who could not conceive the number of years that had elapsed since Loralamba’s death, though the time could only have been between forty and fifty years. The doctor, whose name was Soltali, knew any amount of things that no other man knew. He remembered the time when the Northern Watuta, who now live north of the Malagarazi River, separated from the Southern Watuta, over whom Katalambula was chief ruler, for some pique that the younger brother had against Loralamba. He remembered many wars that had taken place between the Watuta and Wabena, and remembered well the incident of which the boatmen sang as they travelled down the Liemba, viz., the burning of Moshono, a great doctor, who lived on the island of Ihata. The Warungu came in great numbers, and were conquering wherever they went, until they came opposite Ihata. Then their cattle died, and their warriors died of a horrible disease which Moshono punished them with. Finally, however, they got across the river and landed on the island; the village was taken, and Moshono was carried to the plain opposite the island, and burnt alive near a great tree. But it seemed as if the Sky-spirit heard the words of Moshono, and stirred up the Watuta—all; every man who could bear a sword and spear—against the Warungu, and a few days after, the Watuta, under Loralamba, rushed on their camp at night, and there was an exceeding great slaughter. Only a few Warungu escaped, and since then they had settled quietly in their own country, south of the Lake Liemba, many days’ march from Katalambula’s.
Soltali was rich in this history, which, alas! is never destined to see the light; a history that were a man disposed to write it for the mere love of giving it to the world, and instructing it in the past life of this obscure corner of the world, might enlighten the learned of all countries in much that concerns the great races of Central Africa.
Soltali’s hut was a veritable museum; but it bore a striking resemblance to the rich men’s houses in England and America in this respect. What ducal castle or baronial hall is there, in England, but has its collection of deer, antelope, and buffalo horns; its stuffed lions; its tigers, etc. etc.? What rich man’s house is there in America which has not some trophy of its master’s hunting prowess? Soltali had his trophies, though, owing to his pitiable ignorance of taste, book knowledge, etc, etc, his trophies were not arranged as a Schwartzenberg of Austria or a Duke of Sutherland arrange theirs. There were horns upon horns of antelope, kudu, hartebeest, black buck, springbok, gemsbok, gnu, buffalo, and rhinoceros, and tusks upon tusks of polished ivory. But the great store of curiosities that he set the greatest value upon consisted of tails of elephants, horns of giraffes, eyelids of zebras, tusks of boars, paws of lions, nose-hairs and whiskers of leopards, claws of eagles, beaks of bustards and kites, wings of ostriches, scales of fish, dried eyes of ibis; all wrapped up in pieces of goatskin, each separate the one from the other. He had a great number of little gourds, filled with the calcined heads of the various animals he had ever killed, and smaller gourds, like phials, filled with the burnt brains of men whom he had killed in war. There were so many brains of Warungu, Wabena, Wasowa, Wakawendi, Wawemba, Warori, Wanyamwezi, Wamwite, Wakanyara, Wakokoro, and a number of other smaller tribes; for in his prime, when he fought side by side with Loralamba, the “great, great” King, Soltali’s spear was heavy, sharp, and sure.
Poor, ancient Soltali! who shall sing thy praises? Who shall tell the wide, wide world all the deeds done by thy mighty hands? Where is the Homer who shall arise and sing of thy prowess? Homer, and Virgil, and Tasso, De Ercilla, and Camoens are dead, and we have none left capable of conveying thy name to future generations. But be content, old man; this page, at least, of this little book will tell a few of the growing generation of true-hearted American and British youths, that such a man did once live as thee, oh, Soltali! and, perhaps, in an obscure corner of the British Museum, thyself and wondrous museum of monstrosities shall, embodied as it were in this page, rest a few years until they become a heap of dead, unintelligible dust!
At the end of about two months, Abdullah was so far recovered as to be able to go about alone, without the aid of any of his friends; but he had an unconquerable antipathy to the banks of the Liemba. The brown waters of this river, in which he was so very near being engulphed, inspired him with a nauseous aversion, having something of the effect of tartar emetic on his stomach, and he never dared, as Selim often did, to wander along its banks alone. When he became tired of the village he walked to the fields, or the gardens, where the pot-herbs, the lentils, the pig-nuts, and the beans grew. Neither forest nor solitude charmed Abdullah; the company of the nursing women, or the workers in the field, was far preferable.
One day, Kalulu proposed to Selim, and Simba, and Moto, that they should get up a party to make a grand elephant hunt, and, as an apology, said to Selim:
“I should have asked thee long ago, were it not that I knew thou wouldst not come; but Abdullah is so much better that he travels about the village as if he had never been bitten by a crocodile.”
“To hunt elephants I will surely come with thee. I have got my gun, which I saved from the Liemba, and I should like to try a shot at an elephant. Moto is a great hunter, and he shall teach me how to tickle the tail and hams of one; thou hast never heard him tell the story. Oh, it is such an incredible one! but he never tells a lie to me.”
“Does Moto say he tickled the tail of an elephant? if it is true, he has done more than old Soltali himself. Soltali has done some wonderful things with elephants too, but he never did anything like this. However, we shall see how he acts before a real wild elephant. We shall watch him—eh, Selim?”
“Oh, I shall have my eyes on him, depend on it; but when shall we go, Kalulu?”
“At daybreak to-morrow. To-night Soltali must sing the elephant hunting-song of the hunters, and must give each of the hunters a charm, since he is too old to accompany us. I shall take fifty men with me, so that we can make a strong party. If Ferodia catches us in the woods he would make short work of us, and my head would not remain long on my shoulders if he caught me; for then he knows he would be king.”
“Why, thou art not going near his country, surely! because I would rather stop here, if thou art. I want to see no more of Ferodia,” said Selim in alarm.
“Be at ease, my brother. I go not near him with the best fifty men that the Watuta can count. I go in a different direction, south-east; he lives south-west, south of the Liemba Lake.”
“All right; but really thou didst frighten me. My back fairly tingles at the thought of Tifum, and Tifum is with Ferodia.”
“Yet, my brother, thou didst hit him a blow in the face, and Moto—cunning man—said he saw it, and said it was well done.”
“I wish the blow had gone through his head, then my mind would be at ease, for that man is my bane—my Afrit. (Afrit is a bad spirit with the Moslems.) Even when I am at Zanzibar I shall think of that man.”
“There, enough, my brother; I will put one of my barbed arrows through his throat the first time I see him, for thy sake. Go and prepare thy gun, and bullets, and medicine powder, and to-night thou must attend to the song of the doctor, or thou shalt have bad luck with us in the hunt.” And Kalulu turned away with light hounding steps, which soon carried him away from his Arab brother.
At night—probably at the hour of nine with us, the moon being up—a long, low, rumbling roll of the largest goma brought the destined hunters, together with Kalulu, Selim, Simba, and Moto, running and chasing each other towards the drum stand. There were ten drums, and a boy for each, ascending in height from the smallest to the biggest drum; so that the boy who beat the smallest drum must have been about ten years old, and the boy who beat the largest drum was a sturdy youth of twenty, or thereabouts.
Pots full of pombe and plantain-wine were ranged a little distance off, from which the dancers and the singers could regale themselves when they felt disposed. For the eve of a hunting party’s march is considered a great event, second only to the return of a successful party with plenty of ivory.
The hunters formed a select circle round the drummers and the pombe pots; a larger circle, made by about three hundred people—men, women, boys, and girls—surrounded the hunters.
Each hunter had on a capricious head-dress. One tall fellow was very conspicuous by wearing a pair of buffalo horns; another had a rhinoceros horn on the top of his head; another had his head draped with a piece of zebra skin, which gave him quite a remarkable appearance by moonlight; one had a zebra crest, which made him appear as if he wore a Greek helmet; another had a goatskin over his head. Kalulu wore three magnificent snowy ostrich plumes on his head. Selim wore a turban. Simba and Moto also wore turbans. One fellow, next to Moto, wore an enormous black earthen pot on his head; another had a broad, wooden dish; but it would be wearying to enumerate all the strange things they wore.
The drummer boys struck up an interlude, which was a verse from the boatmen’s song—the chorus,
We are gliding,Softly gliding,
We are gliding,Softly gliding,
seemingly giving them immeasurable enjoyment as they lingered over the word “gliding.” While they were busy with feet and lungs, moving about in a circle, a sudden silence prevailed;—the great Soltali, the greatest elephant hunter and doctor of magic of the age, arrived upon the scene.
A loud murmur of approbation greeted the extraordinary old man. The most remarkable of all head-dresses was on the head of Soltali, for he had the skin of an elephant’s trunk, the base of the trunk fitting his head, as if it had grown there, while the trunk, filled with grass, was stiff enough to stand perfectly erect, though perhaps it was stiff enough without. The weight of this must have been considerable; but the ridiculous vanity of men causes them to do strange things sometimes, and this act could have been nothing else than absurdest vanity. Hanging around the old man’s neck was a string of giraffe tails, whose hairs were blacker than ink. On his arms he wore wristlets and armlets of pure white ivory. In each hand he carried a gourd half full of pebbles, which he rattled every now and then with a horrible noise.
He first, after he entered the inner circle, walked around three times, staring at each man, rattling his gourds alternately, as he passed round; then walking to the centre, while the bass drum began to hum and murmur its deep sounds, he began to move his body to the right and left, each hunter sighing deeply in sympathy with the now fast rising murmur of all the drums in concert. Loud and louder beat the drums, until the noise was deafening, and the voices of the singers became a demoniac din; then lower and lower descended the voices and the drum-sounds, until nothing was heard but the pacific and low murmur of the bass drum and the low sighs of the dancers.
Then Soltali opened his mouth and sang, in the heroic vein, of his doings in the elephant hunt in the far southern lands, the streamy land of the Wa-marungu, in the hot swampy lands of the Wawemba, and on the broad plains of Ututa; of his mishaps and fortunes, his narrow, hair-breadth escapes, and his wonderful adventures, out of which the author of the present history might make his fame and fortune were he gifted with the power to translate into some kind of verse what Soltali said.
Though demurring somewhat at the necessity of translating at all what the old man said, the author feels compelled to give the gist of the charge he gave the hunters concerning their conduct when they should meet an elephant. He spoke authoritatively and well, and it is a pity that a better translator is not at my side to assist me in the translation of some of the Kituta polysyllables.
“Let the warrior Watuta, and the hunters boldHeed and mark well the words of the Mganga old;Let them behold these charms, these trophies of my mightEach of them reminds me of many a hard fight.Should ye meet the elephant alone in a plain,Seek not too hastily to give him the death pain.Singly let none attack him - ’tis an unequal fight;For the elephant is strong, the embodiment of might;But surround him coolly, and carefully all,Be ready to obey your leader’s slightest call;Then charge on him, all shouting, and charge with your spears;Let the stoutest and best of you aim behind his ears.Watch well the unfortunate on whom he turns round!He must run this and that way, and oft change his ground;Ye others must tease him, and invite him your way,Hamstring him, and spear him, and do what ye may.Beware of his front! range on his sides and his rear,Go all together, and let each man heave a sure spear.Fast as he veers round, hasten at right angles awayTo ’scape the elephant’s first charge is no child’s play,For his stride is so long he swallows the ground:One stride of his is as long as a hunter’s bound.After a while he will get tired - heed well what I say,He is never so dangerous as when standing at bay;For the hunter too often thinks he is dead game,And advances too near him, too eager for fame;But be ye guided by me, and stand off afar,And your good hunt so well done, ye will not mar.Let the elephant bleed, let him fall to the ground,Let him gladden your ears with his fall’s heavy sound!Then think of the Mganga, the words he has said;Be sure that his services to you are well paid!Then will ye succeed in your hunt on the plain,Succeed without loss, and succeed without pain!”
“Let the warrior Watuta, and the hunters boldHeed and mark well the words of the Mganga old;Let them behold these charms, these trophies of my mightEach of them reminds me of many a hard fight.Should ye meet the elephant alone in a plain,Seek not too hastily to give him the death pain.Singly let none attack him - ’tis an unequal fight;For the elephant is strong, the embodiment of might;But surround him coolly, and carefully all,Be ready to obey your leader’s slightest call;Then charge on him, all shouting, and charge with your spears;Let the stoutest and best of you aim behind his ears.Watch well the unfortunate on whom he turns round!He must run this and that way, and oft change his ground;Ye others must tease him, and invite him your way,Hamstring him, and spear him, and do what ye may.Beware of his front! range on his sides and his rear,Go all together, and let each man heave a sure spear.Fast as he veers round, hasten at right angles awayTo ’scape the elephant’s first charge is no child’s play,For his stride is so long he swallows the ground:One stride of his is as long as a hunter’s bound.After a while he will get tired - heed well what I say,He is never so dangerous as when standing at bay;For the hunter too often thinks he is dead game,And advances too near him, too eager for fame;But be ye guided by me, and stand off afar,And your good hunt so well done, ye will not mar.Let the elephant bleed, let him fall to the ground,Let him gladden your ears with his fall’s heavy sound!Then think of the Mganga, the words he has said;Be sure that his services to you are well paid!Then will ye succeed in your hunt on the plain,Succeed without loss, and succeed without pain!”
The author may not attempt further translations from the speech, or song rather, of this old Mganga or magic doctor, the Kituta polysyllables having tasked his powers to the utmost; but from his knowledge of hunting in Africa, he feels bound to admit that the old man had a sound head on his shoulders; and the band of hunters having heard his lengthy chant to the end, declared that they felt eternally grateful to him. On the conclusion of his chant, he delivered to each hunter a small portion of whitish powder, which we, who have been in his museum, feel confident consisted of burnt brain, mixed with wood ashes. But this charm, consecrated by the magic doctor, could not fail to render each hunter highly successful in his enterprise.
The pombe, or beer, next attracts the attention of the singers, and each singer incontinently sets to the agreeable task of guzzling, where the author leaves them until the morrow—the Kituta polysyllables and the pombe having fairly upset him for the time.
In the morning, at daybreak, without any of the formalities of muster or calling the roll, Kalulu, Selim, Simba, and Moto, left the village by the principal gate, followed by about fifty strong active young warriors, not one of whom could have been over thirty years old. The horn of the leading hunter sounded merrily as he blew his ringing blasts of adieux, while the party dived into the depths of the gigantic corn-stalks, and their friends at the village listened long and attentively, until the horn could be no longer heard.
Kalulu had a couple of broad-bladed spears, and half-a-dozen assegais, much lighter than spears, with long flexible shafts, besides a bow and a quiver pack-full of arrows, which was slung over his shoulders.
Selim, radiantly happy, walked next to Kalulu, as the path was so narrow that but one could walk at a time on the smooth, hard road, and carried his own gun—the “gun from London,” which Kalulu had found among the plunder, with its own special ammunition. It was probably a fine “Joe Manton” as the barrels were of fine steel, short, of large bore, and a heavy price had been paid for it by Amer bin Osman through his Bombay agent. It was one of those fortunate accidents that occur sometimes. Olimali might have had the gun, had not Ferodia, seeing its great beauty and superiority, specially reserved it for a present to Katalambula; and the king not caring, or not having any use, for it, had placed it among his treasures in his store-room; and Selim, accompanying Kalulu to the store-room, as a privileged brother, to pick out a gun, suddenly saw the beautiful little masterpiece of the English gunmaker, which his father had presented him with, and with which he had shot the greedy crocodile on the Lofu, while his sharp teeth were lacerating his slave Mombo’s leg. Could anything have been more fortunate? “Impossible!” thought Selim, as he had hastened to secure it, with the ammunition and the percussion caps. “Impossible!” thought he now, as he strode on after Kalulu, laughing and chatting gaily, and sometimes turning round to Simba and Moto with a gay remark, which permitted them to see his bright, happy face and sparkling eyes.
Simba had his own bright-barrelled gun, which he had as yet never parted with, besides a ponderous spear, which might have made Goliath of Gath faint with the carrying of it.
Behind Simba strode nimble-footed Moto, who also had his own gun, besides a couple of long keen-pointed spears.
Behind Moto strode the Watuta hunters, one after another, some of them armed with shields, besides their handfuls of spears and quivers fall of arrows.
Merriness is what distinguishes the conduct of all hunting parties, whether white or black, while on the way to the chase or the hunt. Pleasures unlimited are anticipated, and happy sport is expected, and this anticipation and expectation are what produce so many good jokes, and wit, and fun, and raillery, or, as the English call it, “chaff,” when the hunting-field has not yet been reached and all feel bright and fresh. The hours that precede the chase or the hunt form the flower-time which men’s minds love to remember and dwell upon for the unalloyed happiness which it furnished.
It is needless to describe in detail the ground the party traversed. Once out of the corn-fields, the pastoral plains spread before them, where young Watuta boys were seen indulging in the excitement of a mimic battle or hunt while they tended their fathers’ flocks. Here and there were little tracts of cultivation where women were at work hoeing the corn; and as they passed some isolated village, near the gate, under the trees, sat the nursing mothers, lullabying their babes to sleep, or the snowy crisp-haired elders sat on short three-legged stools retailing to each other the experiences of their lives, dwelling with fondness on some particular episode of their generally uneventful lives; while chubby, abdominous little children listened in wonder at what they heard, as chubby, abdominous little boys of white men’s lands do when a particularly interesting tale is told.
Beyond the plains and corn-fields, the cultivated tracts and villages, heaved into view the dark-blue line of forest—that forest which Selim knew, where he suffered, where he fainted, and laid unconscious. Finally, the party entered it, and they were involved in its twilight gloom.
A week’s, marching through the forest brought the party to the elephant hunting-grounds of the Watutu. The broad tracks, pounded and pressed, trodden compact and smooth as an asphalte pavement by the elephants’ broad, heavy feet, indicated too clearly that this was a common resort for the ponderous beasts.
Lengthy sinuous hollows, overgrown with thicket and shrub, tufted grass, and tall cane, spoke of clear but stagnant water being plentiful here, their ridges, clad with dense brush, ran in serpentine directions, and separated these swampy hollows from each other. Overhead were the leafy crowns of gigantic columnar trees, forming as they met close together a thorough shade for the locality, under which, undisturbed by any enemy, the elephant might cool himself during the fervid noon.
Pressing further on out of this swampy region, they came, about sunset, to a thin jungle, where here and there rose a giant baobab, the monarch of all woods. Choosing one of these great trees, whose foliage was denser than ordinary, the party proceeded to cut down the smaller trees and brush, to form a brush fence around their camp, for the centre of which they chose this great baobab. They built the fence solid, secure, and high, as an efficient protection against wild beasts and nomadic freebooters. They then erected their huts—placing four short pronged poles in the ground, one at each corner of a square of six feet; then two taller poles dividing the square into halves; over these two taller poles and the two shorter poles on each side they laid transverse poles, which rested in the forks; and over these again they laid laterally light sticks, sloping down each side, which they covered over with long grass, and in a short time they had a perfect miniature house. There were other kinds of houses or huts being constructed; but the following illustration will best describe the architectural knowledge of the Watutu.
After constructing their huts, some roamed into the woods to hunt for wild fruit, others to look for flat stones to grind their corn upon, others to procure sticks to make their fires with, others to get water; while others, again, scoured and prepared their pots to boil their porridge in. There were about fifteen huts in the encampment, some huts having as many as five for a mess, others only three, while others had but two. It is a noteworthy fact in African camps that, where the mess is large, the more important of the party are together; or that the most popular are those who prefer each other’s society to that of any of the rest; though in each large mess one may be sure that one of the members has been admitted only for the sake of utilising his services; and his folly and ignorance, or cowardice and unworthiness, are forgiven and borne with, so long as he is industrious and not idle.
Thus in Kalulu’s mess were Selim, Simba, Moto, and an ignorant and timid fellow, who was only too glad to be near the great, and who industriously strove to please them for the sake of the patronage which he received for his labour. Kalulu, of course, as chief, could command the services of all if he chose to do so, but none would have worked as well as the timid fellow who voluntarily offered to cook for him.
After the suppers were cooked and eaten, and their limbs were somewhat rested, and earth had drawn its sable mantle, chequered with the diamonds of heaven, over its head, and the dark foliage of the baobab began to be peopled with formless shapes and shadows, and the fires burned bright, and cast their tongued flames with splutter, and hissing, and crackling, the dispositions of each began to be exhibited. They squatted around a blazing pile, listening to an exciting tale of adventure, or a funny story, which makes men’s sides almost explode with laughter. What can be more enjoyable? Nothing. People, for the time, forget everything but the interesting present. Not one in such a position can be left to himself; for his little world is before him, and he must be drawn into its vortex of pleasantry and enjoyment, and forget what he selfishly thinks belongs to himself.
The desire of slumber came on by-and-bye, and each man crept into his hut, and on his own little pile of straw or leaves, drowned in kindly, healthy sleep, forgot not only himself, but his neighbours, his friends, and his tribe.
At dawn, five of the likeliest fellows were sent by Kalulu to reconnoitre the vicinity and the open, swampy ground near which they had camped, and where they had obtained their water for cooking the night before.
They had not been gone fifteen minutes before one of them returned, who, with a warning finger, imposed silence, and whispered the words “Kümi tembo”—ten elephants!
You might have seen then how quickly the looks of indifference were changed into one of exciting interest, how eyes danced gladly, and sparkled at the joyful news; how Kalulu’s hunter-soul kindled into raptures, and how Moto and Simba looked significantly at one another, and how Selim even felt a throb and a warm glow stealing over him.
Moto advanced to Kalulu, and reminded him of the advice given by Soltali to hunt one at a time, and said that while he and his warriors should single out one, it would be better that those armed with guns, viz., he and Simba, and Selim, should engage another, and so kill two. Kalulu at once acceded to the proposal.
The hunters, as soon as they got outside of the boma or camp, deployed in a long line, while Selim, Moto, and Simba stole quietly and quickly away on their own venture, in a direction considerably to the left of the Watuta hunters. All the natives had denuded themselves entirely; Selim and his two friends had but girded their cloths about their loins.
The natives thus deployed, and ready at a signal, moved forward silently, and soon they were joined by the four remaining scouts, who, ensconced behind the bushes, had continued to watch the elephants, who were seen slaking their thirst at a pool, and playfully tossing the water over their backs.
As the hunters emerged from this jungle into the cleared space near the pool, the elephants turned short round to look at the strange intruders, who were thus boldly appearing in their presence.
The hunters stopped also with one accord to survey the ponderous animals they had come to kill. What a sight this was! Ten such noble beasts, clothed with bluish-grey hides, with uplifted trunks, and great ears standing out straight in array before those fifty naked pigmies, who, had they not their sharp spears and their barbed arrows, would no more have dared to approach these magnificent creatures than they would have climbed up to the highest tree and jumped off, expecting to be able to fly.
They stood thus a minute opposed to each other; then Kalulu advanced to the front in the absence of the magic doctor, as the chief hunter, and with uplifted spear in hand, chanted the death-song of the elephant he chose should be killed. This was a picture also worthy of a great artist—the warriors in the foreground, the slight and nude form of the young chief in the centre, with his ostrich plumes waving above his head, as his body oscillated from side to side while he sang; and fronting him, about thirty feet off, a monster elephant, with his herd behind him, all looking astonished at the scene.
The words ran after this fashion:—
“Thou monarch of beasts, thou king of the woods,Thou dangerous beast in thy angry moods,Thou elephant strong, thou form of great might,Behold Kalulu before thee for fight!I’ve come from the green groves of Liemba,From the country of old Loralamba,With magic from Soltali Mganga (Magic Doctor),The surest and best of his Uganga (Magic Medicine).Then look at that sun, look at the poolIn which thou didst revel, and think so cool;Look on that forest, and look on this grass.The sweetest and best of this wide morass;No more shalt thou see the sun or the pool,No more shalt thou revel in waters cool,No more shalt thou walk in the forest’s shade,No more shalt thou delight in forest glade,No more shalt thou daintily feed on the grassOf the plain, or jungle, or this morass!Soltali the Mganga cannot lie:Young Kalulu is here! prepare to die!”
“Thou monarch of beasts, thou king of the woods,Thou dangerous beast in thy angry moods,Thou elephant strong, thou form of great might,Behold Kalulu before thee for fight!I’ve come from the green groves of Liemba,From the country of old Loralamba,With magic from Soltali Mganga (Magic Doctor),The surest and best of his Uganga (Magic Medicine).Then look at that sun, look at the poolIn which thou didst revel, and think so cool;Look on that forest, and look on this grass.The sweetest and best of this wide morass;No more shalt thou see the sun or the pool,No more shalt thou revel in waters cool,No more shalt thou walk in the forest’s shade,No more shalt thou delight in forest glade,No more shalt thou daintily feed on the grassOf the plain, or jungle, or this morass!Soltali the Mganga cannot lie:Young Kalulu is here! prepare to die!”
As he finished his song his head was violently thrown back, the right arm was drawn to its length, and the bright spear-head, flashing once, twice, white sun-glints, was buried deep in the elephant’s chest. A loud shout greeted the brave effort; and at the instant the elephant felt the keen sharp iron in him, he uttered a loud trumpet-note of rage, and charged, clearing at one bound several strides of a man.
“Be off, Kalulu, thou brave prince of the Watuta! Hie away young hero! Stay not to count thy steps, thou dusky chief! Spring out, my boy; run as thou didst never run before! Impel thy haunches on—lift thy feet clear from the ground; out with thy chest—set thy head far back! Let thy lungs inhale free the rushing air! Beware of a stumble, else the tale is ended! Ha! well done—at right angles now! So; see the elephant charges the empty air, and runs headlong after vacancy! Now, warriors, is our time, with a whoop, and the shrill cry of the Watuta!”
Such were the words that could be distinguished from the noise and tumult produced by the charge. Twenty spears had been launched into the elephant’s body to distract his attention, and had it not been for Soltali’s good advice to “turn at right angles away,” the elephant would soon have overtaken the daring young chief; but, by his dexterous and easy movement to the right, the monster had charged on far ahead before he became aware that his enemy had escaped him.
When he turned round he found the hunters like a cloud about him; he found himself isolated from his herd; the other elephants having charged in another direction in fury and fright to meet an enemy in another guise, and with different weapons. While the elephant seemed to take this all at a glance, a loud report was heard, which sounded like a volley of fire-arms; but he, unheeding the sound, charged again, with irresistible power, at his nearest foe, only to be foiled once more by the ever-evading, ever-shifting figures of his remorseless enemies. Again and again he charged, only to receive new wounds, an additional shower of spears and barbed arrows, which tormented him cruelly; until, fatigued with the unusual speed, faint from loss of blood, he stood stock still, confronting his enemies, defiant and still dreadful, though the spears and arrows in his body might have been counted by hundreds. Heedful of the prudent counsel of old Soltali, the Watuta drew back, but still surrounding him, awaiting his fall. They had not to wait long, before they saw his body oscillate from side to side, and the left knee bend, as if he were getting weak; then he staggered forward, rose up again, and finally rolled on his side—dead, crushing the spears in his side like straws in his fall.
Leaving the Watuta to indulge in their self-glorification, let us proceed to see how the other three, Selim, Simba, and Moto, fared.
Moto, as the three left the Watuta, drew alongside of Selim, and whispered some words in his ears, how to conduct himself, to reserve his fire, and to fire at the last elephant which would pass him, aiming behind his ears, which, of course, would be standing straight out, giving him an ample opportunity and a good target to fire at. Selim, faithfully promising, was placed behind a tree at the furthest end of the cleared ground in the neighbourhood of the pool. Simba chose one a few yards off, further still to the left, and Moto another tree twenty yards to the left of Simba; and in this position they waited the dénouement.
Selim could see the swaying form and nodding plumes of Kalulu, could hear the death-song, and with his finger on the two triggers of his gun, which was heavily loaded specially for this purpose, stood behind his tree waiting. Soon he saw Kalulu launch his spear, saw the charge and flight, heard the deafening noise, and while his heart palpitated fast, and his pulses throbbed, and his ears tingled, came the affrighted animals of the herd, charging in fear and fury by him. Obediently he waited, according to orders, until the last elephant was passing his position, then, stilling the heart’s palpitation and the wildly beating pulse, full of trust and confidence in the powers of his English gun, he deliberately aimed behind the elephant’s ears, and fired both barrels at once. The concussion knocked him down; but, while falling, he saw his elephant stumble and fall on his head in a motionless heap, stone dead.
Picking himself hastily up, and snatching his gun, he stayed a moment to take in how matters stood; and finding the elephants in full flight, two limping laggards behind, and Simba and Moto following, he began to load his gun again with equally heavy charges as those he had in it previously; and having placed the caps carefully on, and taking a glance of pride at the game he had “bagged,” he ran after Simba and Moto. His two friends he found firing, running, and loading as fast as they could; not a very hard task when the animals were so badly wounded. His nimble feet soon carried him nearer them, and after dodging and running as he had been directed to, as he was pursued by one or the other of the elephants, he had the satisfaction at last of seeing both stand still. Retreating a little distance from view, he took a circuit round, and then returned, taking advantage of every tree, and by great caution succeeded in coming behind a large tree at the distance of twelve paces from one of them. Lifting his gun, already cocked, to his shoulders, he took aim again behind the ears, and fired the two barrels once more, which was met with the same fatal result, for the elephant, after beating the air with his forelegs for a short time, swayed pitifully, and fell over, dead.
But Selim had no time to make these observations, for the other elephant turned short round and charged at the tree. Selim stood his ground until the tree had almost been reached, when, dropping the gun on the ground, he started off for another tree, the elephant in hot pursuit after him. To the right, to the left, forwards and backwards, from tree to tree, Selim ran, until the elephant, to his astonishment, suddenly stopped, the hind-legs doubled under him, the forelegs bent, and his head came to the ground heavily, and in this kneeling position the poor elephant breathed his last.
Selim had his gun brought to him by Simba, who lavished praises, almost fulsome, on his bravery and accuracy of shooting, in which Moto, who now came up, joined with heart and spirit. Simba, while he embraced his young master, would have it that Selim was the best elephant hunter known; there never was such an Arab boy before, who shot two elephants dead one after another. “And thou must consider, Moto,” said he, apologetically, “Selim is but sixteen; if he shoots two elephants, one after another, when he is sixteen, what will he do when he is a grown man?”
“True,” answered Moto, “when he is double his age he will shoot four one after another. Selim is a great hunter truly. I wonder what the Watuta have done. Whisht! hear their cries! Their elephant is dead. We must go to see them. Or do thou stop with Selim to watch these whilst I go to tell them what our young master has done. Say, Simba, how much money would the ivory of these three elephants bring at Zanzibar, dost thou think?”
“I know not. How many frasilah dost thou think there are in the three?” asked Simba.
“Somewhere about twelve, I should say? Twelve frasilah of ivory at 50 dollars the frasilah (35 pounds) would make how much?” asked Moto.
“I don’t know—plenty, I suppose,” said Simba; “but Selim knows.”
“Twelve fifties will make 600—six hundred dollars,” answered Selim.
“Six hundred dollars! What a pity we cannot carry it to Zanzibar!” said Moto. “I shall be back directly.”
Moto bounded away lightly towards the pool, and in a short time in the middle of the plain beyond he saw the Watuta in a group cutting and slashing at the dead elephant, with noise and excitement enough to frighten every elephant for miles around.
When he approached, the Watuta gathered about him, and Kalulu pointed exultantly at the dead beast into which he had driven the first spear, and Kalulu then asked what luck they had had.
Moto answered: “Selim has killed two, and I have killed one.”
“Selim killed two!” echoed Kalulu, with surprise. “What! little Selim my brother?”
“The same,” answered Moto.
“Eyah, eyah!” murmured the group, while Kalulu seemed lost in astonishment, and could not utter a word more.
“Selim stands waiting to shew them to his brother, Kalulu,” said Moto.
“Oh, I shall come. Why Selim is a hero, a lion, an elephant! Is he not, Moto?”
“He is a brave young Arab, and the son of an Arab chief,” answered Moto.
When the young chief started off, all but a few Watuta, who remained to extract the tusks, followed him to see the wonderful three dead elephants.
In the same position in which he had first fallen lay Selim’s first prize, with his tusks half buried in the ground. Kalulu gazed at the wide wound in his head, put his fist into it until it was buried up to the wrist, and then turned to Moto with wondering eyes, and said:
“Kalulu has seen dead men in his father’s village, pierced to the heart with the leaden balls which the rifles of Kisesa threw, but what gun is this that makes such big holes in the elephant’s head?”
Then Moto told him that Selim had fired the two barrels of the gun at once, at such a short distance from the elephant, that the two big bullets went into the head as one, and that this was the reason there was such a big hole, which quite satisfied the young chief.
Leaving ten men to extract the tusks, Kalulu proceeded to where Selim and Simba stood, close to the former’s second prize; and here, again, Kalulu saw the wide rent and savage wound in the same spot as that found in the first elephant.
Kalulu sprang on Selim’s neck, and embraced him warmly, while the Watuta gazed at Selim as on one they had never seen before, with surprise and unlimited admiration.
By evening the tusks had all been extracted from the elephants, and great portions of the meat were carried to camp, especially the feet, the hearts, and livers, and ribs, where, before blazing fire-piles, the meat was set to roasting, while the adventures of the day were rehearsed over and over, with new additions each time, until midnight of that eventful day came and sealed all eyes in deep slumber.
They moved further south, and in less than two weeks the party had killed twenty elephants, which so loaded them with ivory, that they were obliged to return towards home, unable to carry more.