Part 14 (2/2)
”What?”
”Nothing; go on.”
”Just the sight of that awe-inspiring piece of ordnance took me the length of the Congo without the least difficulty.”
”Tell me about the Congo.”
Apparently, at this direct and comprehensive question, there was nothing to tell about the Congo. But adroitly she drew him on. He told of the great river and its people, and the white men who administered it. The subject of cannibals seemed especially to fascinate her. He had seen living human beings issued as a sort of ration on the hoof to native cannibal troops.
Simba returned with the other three _askaris_.
Kingozi arose from the ground and stretched himself.
”I'm sorry,” said he, ”I'm afraid I shall have to ask you for the chair now.”
She arose, wondering a little. He placed the chair before the waiting line of _askaris_, and planted himself squarely in it as in a judgment seat. He ran his eye over the men deliberately.
”You!” said he suddenly, pointing his forefinger at the man in irons.
”You have disobeyed my orders. You are no longer an _askari_. You are a common porter, and from now on will carry a load. It is not my custom to use _kiboko_ on _askaris_; but a common porter can eat _kiboko_, and Mali-ya-bwana, my headman of safari, will give you twenty-five lashes.
_Ba.s.si!_”
Mali-ya-bwana, well pleased thus early to exercise the authority of his new office, led the man away.
Kingozi dropped his chin in his hand, a movement that pushed out his beard in a terrifying manner. One after another of the eleven men felt the weight of his stare. At last he spoke.
”I have heard tales of you,” said he, ”but I who speak know nothing about you. You are _askaris_, soldiers with guns, and next to gun bearers are the greatest men in the safari. Some have told me that you are not _askaris_, that you are common porters--and not good ones--who carry guns. I do not know. That we shall see. This is what must be done now, and done quickly: the loads of your _memsahib_ must be brought here, and camp made properly, according to the custom. Perhaps your men are no longer tired: perhaps you will get the _shenzis_. That is not my affair. You understand?”
The answer came in an eager chorus.
He ran his eye over them again.
”You,” he indicated, ”stand forward. Of what tribe are you?”
”Monumwezi, _bwana_.”
”Your name?”
The man uttered a mouthful of gutturals.
”Again.”
He repeated.
”That is not a good name for me. From now on you are--Jack.”
”Yes, _bwana_.”
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