The American reflects again that this is the other fellow's game,
and that the other fellow has been playing it for some time, and
that he ought to know. But he cannot yet see why the one hundred
and fifty men. Again the Englishman explains. There is the
Headman to run the show. Correct: we need him. Then there are
four askaris. What are they? Native soldiers. No, you won't be
fighting anything; but they keep the men going, and act as sort
of sub-foremen in bossing the complicated work. Next is your
cook, and your own valet and that of your horse. Also your two
gunbearers.
"Hold on!" cries our friend. "I have only two guns, and I'm going
to carry one myself."
But this, he learns, is quite impossible. It is never done. It is
absolutely necessary, in this climate, to avoid all work.
That makes how many? Ten already, and there seem to be three tent
loads, one bed load, one chair and table load, one lantern load,
two miscellaneous loads, two cook loads, one personal box, and
fifteen chop boxes-total twenty-six, plus the staff, as above,
thirty-six. Why all the rest of the army?
Very simple: these thirty-six men have, according to regulation,
seven tents, and certain personal effects, and they must have
"potio" or a ration of one and a half pounds per diem. These
things must be carried by more men.
"I see," murmurs the American, crushed, "and these more men have
more tents and more potio, which must also be carried. It's like
the House that Jack Built."
So our American concludes still once again that the other fellow
knows his own game, and starts out. He learns he has what is
called a "modest safari"; and spares a fleeting wonder as to what
a really elaborate safari must be. The procession takes the
field. He soon sees the value of the four askaris-the necessity
of whom he has secretly doubted. Without their vigorous seconding
the headman would have a hard time indeed. Also, when he observes
the labour of tent-making, packing, washing, and general service
performed by his tent boy, he abandons the notion that that
individual could just as well take care of the horse as well,
especially as the horse has to have all his grass cut and brought
to him. At evening our friend has a hot bath, a long cool fizzly
drink of lime juice and soda; he puts on the clean clothes laid
out for him, assumes soft mosquito boots, and sits down to
dinner. This is served to him in courses, and on enamel ware.
Each course has its proper-sized plate and cutlery. He starts
with soup, goes down through tinned whitebait or other fish, an
entree, a roast, perhaps a curry, a sweet, and small coffee.
