酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Land of Footprints-Part26_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页


Now observe the stagecraft of all this: entrance of diplomats,

preliminary conversation introducing the idea of the greatness of



N'Zahgi (for that was his name), chorus of villagers, and, as

climax, dramatic entrance of the hero and heroines. It was pretty



well done.

Again we stopped about the middle of the afternoon in an opening



on the rounded top of a hill. While waiting for the safari to

come up, Billy wandered away fifty or sixty yards to sit under a



big tree. She did not stay long. Immediately she was settled, a

dozen women and young girls surrounded her. They were almost



uproariously good-natured, but Billy was probably the first white

woman they had ever seen, and they intended to make the most of



her. Every item of her clothes and equipment they examined

minutely, handled and discussed. When she told them with great



dignity to go away, they laughed consumedly, fairly tumbling into

each other's arms with excess of joy. Billy tried to gather her



effects for a masterly retreat, but found the press of numbers

too great. At last she had to signal for help. One of us wandered



over with a kiboko with which lightly he flicked the legs of such

damsels as he could reach. They scattered like quail, laughing



hilariously. Billy was escorted back to safety.

Shortly after the Chief and his Prime Minister came in. He was a



little old gray-haired gentleman, as spry as a cricket, quite

nervous, and very chatty. We indicated our wants to him, and he



retired after enunciating many words. The safari came in, made

camp. We had tea and a bath. The darkness fell; and still no



Chief, no milk, no firewood, no promises fulfilled. There were

plenty of natives around camp, but when we suggested that they



get out and rustle on our behalf, they merely laughed

good-naturedly. We seriously contemplated turning the whole lot



out of camp.

Finally we gave it up, and sat down to our dinner. It was now



quite dark. The askaris had built a little campfire out in front.

Then, far in the distance of the jungle's depths, we heard a



faint measured chanting as of many people coming nearer. From

another direction this was repeated. The two processions



approached each other; their paths converged; the double chanting

became a chorus that grew moment by moment. We heard beneath the



wild weird minors the rhythmic stamping of feet, and the tapping

of sticks. The procession debouched from the jungle's edge into



the circle of the firelight. Our old chief led, accompanied by a

bodyguard in all the panoply of war: ostrichfeathercirclets



enclosing the head and face, shields of bright heraldry, long

glittering spears. These were followed by a dozen of the



quaintest solemn dolls of beebees dressed in all the white cowry

shells, beads and brass the royal treasury afforded, very



earnest, very much on inspection, every little head uplifted,

singing away just as hard as ever they could. Each carried a



gourd of milk, a bunch of bananas, some sugarcane, yams or the

like. Straight to the fire marched the pageant. Then the warriors



dividing right and left, drew up facing each other in two lines,

struck their spears upright in the ground, and stood at



attention. The quaint brown little women lined up to close the

end of this hollow square, of which our group was, roughly



speaking, the fourth side. Then all came to attention. The song

now rose to a wild and ecstatic minor chanting. The beebees,



still singing, one by one cast their burdens between the files

and at our feet in the middle of the hollow square. Then they



continued their chant, singing away at the tops of their little

lungs, their eyes and teeth showing, their pretty bodies held



rigidly upright. The warriors, very erect and military, stared

straight ahead.



And the chief? Was he the centre of the show, the important

leading man, to the contemplation of whom all these glories led?



Not at all! This particular chief did not have the soul of a

leading man, but rather the soul of a stage manager. Quite



forgetful of himself and his part in the spectacle, his brow

furrowed with anxiety, he was flittering from one to another of



the performers. He listened carefully to each singer in turn,




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号