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The Land of Footprints-Part4_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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has hunted in Africa for a few months, it means also "paradise is

opened," "grief is at an end," "joy and thanksgiving are now in



order," and similar affairs. Those two words are never forgotten,

and the veriest beginner in Swahili can recognize them without



the slightest effort.

We followed Mahomet. Somehow, without orders, in all this



confusion, the personal staff had been quietly and efficiently

busy. Drawn a little to one side stood a table with four chairs.



The table was covered with a white cloth, and was set with a

beautiful white enamel service. We took our places. Behind each



chair straight as a ramrod stood a neat khaki-clad boy. They

brought us food, and presented it properly on the left side,



waiting like well-trained butlers. We might have been in a London

restaurant. As three of us were Americans, we felt a trifle



dazed. The porters, having finished the distribution of their

loads, squatted on their heels and watched us respectfully.



And then, not two hundred yards away, four ostriches paced slowly

across the track, paying not the slightest attention to us-our



first real wild ostriches, scornful of oranges, careless of

tourists, and rightful guardians of their own snowy plumes. The



passage of these four solemn birds seemed somehow to lend this

strange open-air meal an exotic flavour. We were indeed in



Africa; and the ostriches helped us to realize it.

We finished breakfast and arose from our chairs. Instantly a half



dozen men sprang forward. Before our amazed eyes the table

service, the chairs and the table itself disappeared into neat



packages. M'ganga arose to his feet.

"Bandika!" he cried.



The askaris rushed here and there actively.

"Bandika! bandika! bandika!" they cried repeatedly.



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 mightyumbrella

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 shallowcanyon 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




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