I Felt Perfectly Safe And Content,
However, Although Ngouta Suggested The Charming Idea That "P'r'aps
Them M'fetta Fan Done Sell
We." As soon as all my men had come in,
and established themselves in the inner room for the night,
I curled
up among the boxes, with my head on the tobacco sack, and dozed.
After about half an hour I heard a row in the street, and looking
out, - for I recognised his grace's voice taking a solo part followed
by choruses, - I found him in legal difficulties about a murder case.
An alibi was proved for the time being; that is to say the
prosecution could not bring up witnesses because of the elephant
hunt; and I went in for another doze, and the town at last grew
quiet. Waking up again I noticed the smell in the hut was violent,
from being shut up I suppose, and it had an unmistakably organic
origin. Knocking the ash end off the smouldering bush-light that
lay burning on the floor, I investigated, and tracked it to those
bags, so I took down the biggest one, and carefully noted exactly
how the tie-tie had been put round its mouth; for these things are
important and often mean a lot. I then shook its contents out in my
hat, for fear of losing anything of value. They were a human hand,
three big toes, four eyes, two ears, and other portions of the human
frame. The hand was fresh, the others only so so, and shrivelled.
Replacing them I tied the bag up, and hung it up again. I
subsequently learnt that although the Fans will eat their fellow
friendly tribesfolk, yet they like to keep a little something
belonging to them as a memento. This touching trait in their
character I learnt from Wiki; and, though it's to their credit,
under the circumstances, still it's an unpleasant practice when they
hang the remains in the bedroom you occupy, particularly if the
bereavement in your host's family has been recent. I did not
venture to prowl round Efoua; but slid the bark door aside and
looked out to get a breath of fresh air.
It was a perfect night, and no mosquitoes. The town, walled in on
every side by the great cliff of high black forest, looked very wild
as it showed in the starlight, its low, savage-built bark huts, in
two hard rows, closed at either end by a guard-house. In both
guard-houses there was a fire burning, and in their flickering glow
showed the forms of sleeping men. Nothing was moving save the
goats, which are always brought into the special house for them in
the middle of the town, to keep them from the leopards, which roam
from dusk to dawn.
Dawn found us stirring, I getting my tea, and the rest of the party
their chop, and binding up anew the loads with Wiki's fresh supple
bush-ropes. Kiva amused me much; during our march his costume was
exceeding scant, but when we reached the towns he took from his bag
garments, and attired himself so resplendently that I feared the
charm of his appearance would lead me into one of those dreadful
wife palavers which experience had taught me of old to dread; and in
the morning time he always devoted some time to repacking. I gave a
big dash to both chiefs, and they came out with us, most civilly, to
the end of their first plantations; and then we took farewell of
each other, with many expressions of hope on both sides that we
should meet again, and many warnings from them about the dissolute
and depraved character of the other towns we should pass through
before we reached the Rembwe.
Our second day's march was infinitely worse than the first, for it
lay along a series of abruptly shaped hills with deep ravines
between them; each ravine had its swamp and each swamp its river.
This bit of country must be absolutely impassable for any human
being, black or white, except during the dry season. There were
representatives of the three chief forms of the West African bog.
The large deep swamps were best to deal with, because they make a
break in the forest, and the sun can come down on their surface and
bake a crust, over which you can go, if you go quickly. From
experience in Devonian bogs, I knew pace was our best chance, and I
fancy I earned one of my nicknames among the Fans on these. The
Fans went across all right with a rapid striding glide, but the
other men erred from excess of caution, and while hesitating as to
where was the next safe place to plant their feet, the place that
they were standing on went in with a glug. Moreover, they would
keep together, which was more than the crust would stand. The
portly Pagan and the Passenger gave us a fine job in one bog, by
sinking in close together. Some of us slashed off boughs of trees
and tore off handfuls of hard canna leaves, while others threw them
round the sinking victims to form a sort of raft, and then with the
aid of bush-rope, of course, they were hauled out.
The worst sort of swamp, and the most frequent hereabouts, is the
deep narrow one that has no crust on, because it is too much shaded
by the forest. The slopes of the ravines too are usually covered
with an undergrowth of shenja, beautiful beyond description, but
right bad to go through. I soon learnt to dread seeing the man in
front going down hill, or to find myself doing so, for it meant that
within the next half hour we should be battling through a patch of
shenja. I believe there are few effects that can compare with the
beauty of them, with the golden sunlight coming down through the
upper forest's branches on to their exquisitely shaped, hard, dark
green leaves, making them look as if they were sprinkled with golden
sequins.
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