the land of footprints-第6节

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The　men　sprang　into　activity。　A　struggle　heaved　the　varicoloured　multitude…and；　lo！　each　man　stood　upright；　his　load　balanced　on　his　head。　At　the　same　moment　the　syces　led　up　our　horses；　mounted　and　headed　across　the　little　plain　whence　had　come　the　four　ostriches。　Our　African　journey　had　definitely　begun。

Behind　us；　all　abreast　marched　the　four　gunbearers；　then　the　four　syces；　then　the　safari　single　file；　an　askari　at　the　head　bearing　proudly　his　ancient　musket　and　our　banner；　other　askaris　flanking；　M'ganga　bringing　up　the　rear　with　his　mighty　umbrella　and　an　unsuspected　rhinoceros…hide　whip。　The　tent　boys　and　the　cook　scattered　along　the　flank　anywhere；　as　befitted　the　free　and　independent　who　had　nothing　to　do　with　the　serious　business　of　marching。　A　measured　sound　of　drumming　followed　the　beating　of　loads　with　a　hundred　sticks；　a　wild；　weird　chanting　burst　from　the　ranks　and　died　down　again　as　one　or　another　individual　or　group　felt　moved　to　song。　One　lot　had　a　formal　chant　and　response。　Their　leader；　in　a　high　falsetto；　said　something　like

〃Kuna　koma　kuno；〃

and　all　his　tribesmen　would　follow　with　a　single　word　in　a　deep　gruff　tone

〃Za…la…nee！〃

All　of　which　undoubtedly　helped　immensely。

The　country　was　a　bully　country；　but　somehow　it　did　not　look　like　Africa。　That　is　to　say；　it　looked　altogether　too　much　like　any　amount　of　country　at　home。　There　was　nothing　strange　and　exotic　about　it。　We　crossed　a　little　plain；　and　up　over　a　small　hill；　down　into　a　shallow　canyon　that　seemed　to　be　wooded　with　live　oaks；　across　a　grass　valley　or　so；　and　around　a　grass　hill。　Then　we　went　into　camp　at　the　edge　of　another　grass　valley；　by　a　stream　across　which　rose　some　ordinary　low　cliffs。

That　is　the　disconcerting　thing　about　a　whole　lot　of　this　country…it　is　so　much　like　home。　Of　course；　there　are　many　wide　districts　exotic　enough　in　all　conscience…the　jungle　beds　of　the　rivers；　the　bamboo　forests；　the　great　tangled　forests　themselves；　the　banana　groves　down　the　aisles　of　which　dance　savages　with　shields…but　so　very　much　of　it　is　familiar。　One　needs　only　church　spires　and　a　red…roofed　village　or　so　to　imagine　one's　self　in　Surrey。　There　is　any　amount　of　country　like　Arizona；　and　more　like　the　uplands　of　Wyoming；　and　a　lot　of　it　resembling　the　smaller　landscapes　of　New　England。　The　prospects　of　the　whole　world　are　there；　so　that　somewhere　every　wanderer　can　find　the　countryside　of　his　own　home　repeated。　And；　by　the　same　token；　that　is　exactly　what　makes　a　good　deal　of　it　so　startling。　When　a　man　sees　a　file　of　spear…armed　savages；　or　a　pair　of　snorty　old　rhinos；　step　out　into　what　has　seemed　practically　his　own　back　yard　home；　he　is　even　more　startled　than　if　he　had　encountered　them　in　quite　strange　surroundings。

We　rode　into　the　grass　meadow　and　picked　camp　site。　The　men　trailed　in　and　dumped　down　their　loads　in　a　row。

At　a　signal　they　set　to　work。　A　dozen　to　each　tent　got　them　up　in　a　jiffy。　A　long　file　brought　firewood　from　the　stream　bed。　Others　carried　water；　stones　for　the　cook；　a　dozen　other　matters。　The　tent　boys　rescued　our　boxes；　they　put　together　the　cots　and　made　the　beds；　even　before　the　tents　were　raised　from　the　ground。　Within　an　incredibly　short　space　of　time　the　three　green　tents　were　up　and　arranged；　each　with　its　bed　made；　its　mosquito　bar　hung；　its　personal　box　open；　its　folding　washstand　ready　with　towels　and　soap；　the　table　and　chairs　unlimbered。　At　a　discreet　distance　flickered　the　cook　campfire；　and　at　a　still　discreeter　distance　the　little　tents　of　the　men　gleamed　pure　white　against　the　green　of　the　high　grass。



V。　MEMBA　SASA

I　wish　I　could　plunge　you　at　once　into　the　excitements　of　big　game　in　Africa；　but　I　cannot　truthfully　do　so。　To　be　sure；　we　went　hunting　that　afternoon；　up　over　the　low　cliffs；　and　we　saw　several　of　a　very　lively　little　animal　known　as　the　Chandler's　reedbuck。　This　was　not　supposed　to　be　a　game　country；　and　that　was　all　we　did　see。　At　these　we　shot　several　times…disgracefully。　In　fact；　for　several　days　we　could　not　shoot　at　all；　at　any　range；　nor　at　anything。　It　was　very　sad；　and　very　aggravating。　Afterward　we　found　that　this　is　an　invariable　experience　to　the　newcomer。　The　light　is　new；　the　air　is　different；　the　sizes　of　the　game　are　deceiving。　Nobody　can　at　first　hit　anything。　At　the　end　of　five　days　we　suddenly　began　to　shoot　our　normal　gait。　Why；　I　do　not　know。

But　in　this　afternoon　tramp　around　the　low　cliffs　after　the　elusive　reedbuck；　I　for　the　first　time　became　acquainted　with　a　man　who　developed　into　a　real　friend。

His　name　is　Memba　Sasa。　Memba　Sasa　are　two　Swahili　words　meaning　〃now　a　crocodile。〃　Subsequently；　after　I　had　learned　to　talk　Swahili；　I　tried　to　find　out　what　he　was　formerly；　before　he　was　a　crocodile；　but　did　not　succeed。

He　was　of　the　tribe　of　the　Monumwezi；　of　medium　height；　compactly　and　sturdily　built；　carried　himself　very　erect；　and　moved　with　a　concentrated　and　vigorous　purposefulness。　His　countenance　might　be　described　as　pleasing　but　not　handsome；　of　a　dark　chocolate　brown；　with　the　broad　nose　of　the　negro；　but　with　a　firm　mouth；　high　cheekbones；　and　a　frowning　intentness　of　brow　that　was　very　fine。　When　you　talked　to　him　he　looked　you　straight　in　the　eye。　His　own　eyes　were　shaded　by　long；　soft；　curling　lashes　behind　which　they　looked　steadily　and　gravely…sometimes　fiercely…on　the　world。　He　rarely　smiled…never　merely　in　understanding　or　for　politeness'　sake…and　never　laughed　unless　there　was　something　really　amusing。　Then　he　chuckled　from　deep　in　his　chest；　the　most　contagious　laughter　you　can　imagine。　Often　we；　at　the　other　end　of　the　camp；　have　laughed　in　sympathy；　just　at　the　sound　of　that　deep　and　hearty　ho！　ho！　ho！　of　Memba　Sasa。　Even　at　something　genuinely　amusing　he　never　laughed　much；　nor　without　a　very　definite　restraint。　In　fact；　about　him　was　no　slackness；　no　sprawling　abandon　of　the　native　in　relaxation；　but　always　a　taut　efficiency　and　a　never…failing　self…respect。

Naturally；　behind　such　a　fixed　moral　fibre　must　always　be　some　moral　idea。　When　a　man　lives　up　to　a　real；　not　a　pompous；　dignity　some　ideal　must　inform　it。　Memba　Sasa's　ideal　was　that　of　the　Hunter。

He　was　a　gunbearer；　and　he　considered　that　a　good　gunbearer　stood　quite　a　few　notches　above　any　other　human　being；　save　always　the　white　man；　of　course。　And　even　among　the　latter　Memba　Sasa　made　great　differences。　These　differences　he　kept　to　himself；　and　treated　all　with　equal　respect。　Nevertheless；　they　existed；　and　Memba　Sasa　very　well　knew　that　fact。　In　the　white　world　were　two　classes　of　masters：　those　who　hunted　well；　and　those　who　were　considered　by　them　as　their　friends　and　equals。　Why　they　should　be　so　considered　Memba　Sasa　did　not　know；　but　he　trusted　the　Hunter's　judgment。　These　were　the　bwanas；　or　masters。　All　the　rest　were　merely　mazungos；　or；　〃white　men。〃　To　their　faces　he　called　them　bwana；　but　in　his　heart　he　considered　them　not。

Observe；　I　say　those　who　hunted　well。　Memba　Sasa；　in　his　profession　as　gunbearer；　had　to　accompany　those　who　hunted　badly。　In　them　he　took　no　pride；　from　them　he　held　aloof　in　spirit；　but　for　them　he　did　his　conscientious　best；　upheld　by　the　dignity　of　his　profession。

For　to　Mamba　Sasa　that　profession　was　the　proudest　to　which　a　black　man　could　aspire。　He　prided　himself　on　mastering　its　every　detail；　in　accomplishing　its　every　duty　minutely　and　exactly。　The　major　virtues　of　a　gunbearer　are　not　to　be　despised　by　anybody；　for　they　comprise　great　physical　courage；　endurance；　and　loyalty：　the　accomplishments　of　a　gunbearer　are　worthy　of　a　man's　best　faculties；　for　they　include　the　ability　to　see　and　track　game；　to　take　and　prepare　properly　any　sort　of　a　trophy；　field　taxidermy；　butchering　game　meat；　wood　and　plainscraft；　the　knowledge　of　how　properly　to　care　for　firearms　in　all　sorts　of　circumstances；　and　a　half　hundred　other　like　minutiae。　Memba　Sasa　knew　these　things；　and　he　performed　them　with　the　artist's　love　for　details；　and　his　keen　eyes　were　always　spying　for　new　ways。

At　a　certain　time　I　shot　an　egret；　and　prepared　to　take　the　skin。　Memba　Sasa　asked　if　he　might　watch　me　do　it。　Two　months　later；　having　killed　a　really　gaudy　peacocklike　member　of　the　guinea　fowl　tribe；　I　handed　it　over　to　him　with　instructions　to　take　off　the　breast　feathers　before　giving　it　to　the　cook。　In　a　half　hour　he　brought　me　the　complete　skin；　I　examined　it　carefully；　and　found　it　to　be　well　done　in　every　respect。　Now　in　skinning　a　bird　there　are　a　number　of　delicate　and　unusual　operations；　such　as　stripping　the　primary　quills　from　the　bone；　cutting　the　ear　cover；　and　the　like。　I　had　explained　none　of　them；　and　yet　Memba　Sasa；　unassisted；　had　grasped　their　method　from　a　single　demonstration　and　had　remembered　them　all　two　months　later！　C。　had　a　trick　in　making　the　second　skin　incision　of　a　trophy　head　that　had　the　effect　of　giving　a　better　purchase　to　the　knife。　Its　exact　description　would　be　out　of　place　here；　but　it　actually　consisted　merely　in　inserting　the　point　of　the　knife　two　inches　away　from　the　place　it　is　ordinarily　inserted。　One　day　we　noticed　that　Memba　Sasa　was　making　his　incisions　in　that　manner。　I　went　to　Africa　fully　determined　to　care　for　my　own　rifle。　The　modern　high…velocity　gun　needs　rather　especial　treatme