The Beebees,
Still Singing, One By One Cast Their Burdens Between The Files
And At Our Feet In The Middle Of The Hollow Square.
Then they
continued their chant, singing away at the tops of their little
lungs, their eyes and teeth showing, their pretty bodies held
rigidly upright.
The warriors, very erect and military, stared
straight ahead.
And the chief? Was he the centre of the show, the important
leading man, to the contemplation of whom all these glories led?
Not at all! This particular chief did not have the soul of a
leading man, but rather the soul of a stage manager. Quite
forgetful of himself and his part in the spectacle, his brow
furrowed with anxiety, he was flittering from one to another of
the performers. He listened carefully to each singer in turn,
holding his hand behind his ear to catch the individual note,
striking one on the shoulder in admonition, nodding approval at
another. He darted unexpectedly across to scrutinize a warrior,
in the chance of catching a flicker of the eyelid even. Nary a
flicker! They did their stage manager credit, and stood like
magnificent bronzes. He even ran across to peer into our own
faces to see how we liked it.
With a sudden crescendo the music stopped. Involuntarily we broke
into handclapping. The old boy looked a bit startled at this, but
we explained to him, and he seemed very pleased. We then accepted
formally the heap of presents, by touching them-and in turn
passed over a blanket, a box of matches, and two needles,
together with beads for the beebees. Then F., on an inspiration,
produced his flashlight. This made a tremendous sensation. The
women tittered and giggled and blinked as its beams were thrown
directly into their eyes; the chief's sons grinned and guffawed;
the chief himself laughed like a pleased schoolboy, and seemed
never to weary of the sudden shutting on and off of the switch.
But the trusty Spartan warriors, standing still in their
formation behind their planted spears, were not to be shaken.
They glared straight in front of them, even when we held the
light within a few inches of their eyes, and not a muscle
quivered!
"It is wonderful! wonderful!" the old man repeated. "Many
Government men have come here, but none have had anything like
that! The bwanas must be very great sultans!"
After the departure of our friends, we went rather grandly to
bed. We always did after any one had called us sultans.
But our prize chief was an individual named M'booley.* Our camp
here also was on a fine cleared hilltop between two streams.
After we had traded for a while with very friendly and prosperous
people M'booley came in. He was young, tall, straight, with a
beautiful smooth lithe form, and his face was hawklike and
cleverly intelligent. He carried himself with the greatest
dignity and simplicity, meeting us on an easy plane of
familiarity. I do not know how I can better describe his manner
toward us than to compare it to the manner the member of an
exclusive golf club would use to one who is a stranger, but
evidently a guest.
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