You are very lucky if you
happen on a camp jester, one of the sort that sings, shouts, or
jokes while on the march. He is probably not much as a porter,
but he is worth his wages nevertheless. He may or may not aspire
to his giddy eminence. We had one droll-faced little Kavirondo
whose very expression made one laugh, and whose rueful remarks on
the harshness of his lot finally ended by being funny. His name
got to be a catchword in camp.
"Mualo! Mualo!" the men would cry, as they heaved their burdens
to their heads; and all day long their war cry would ring out,
"Mualo!" followed by shrieks of laughter.
Of the other type was Sulimani, a big, one-eyed Monumwezi, who
had a really keen wit coupled with an earnest, solemn manner.
This man was no buffoon, however; and he was a good porter,
always at or near the head of the procession. In the great jungle
south of Kenia we came upon Cuninghame. When the head of our
safari reached the spot Sulimani left the ranks and, his load
still aloft danced solemnly in front of Cuninghame, chanting
something in a loud tone of voice. Then with a final deep
"Jambo!" to his old master he rejoined the safari. When the day
had stretched to weariness and the men had fallen to a sullen
plodding, Sulimani's vigorous song could always set the safari
sticks tapping the sides of the chop boxes.
He carried part of the tent, and the next best men were entrusted
with the cook outfit and our personal effects. It was a point of
honour with these men to be the first in camp. The rear, the very
extreme and straggling rear, was brought up by worthless porters
with loads of cornmeal-and the weary askaris whose duty it was
to keep astern and herd the lot in.
XIV. A DAY ON THE ISIOLA
Early one morning-we were still on the Isiola-we set forth on
our horses to ride across the rolling, brush-grown plain. Our
intention was to proceed at right angles to our own little stream
until we had reached the forest growth of another, which we could
dimly make out eight or ten miles distant. Billy went with us, so
there were four a-horseback. Behind us trudged the gunbearers,
and the syces, and after them straggled a dozen or fifteen
porters.
The sun was just up, and the air was only tepid as yet. From
patches of high grass whirred and rocketed grouse of two sorts.
They were so much like our own ruffed grouse and prairie chicken
that I could with no effort imagine myself once more a boy in the
coverts of the Middle West. Only before us we could see the
stripes of trotting zebra disappearing; and catch the glint of
light on the bayonets of the oryx.
