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The Land of Footprints-Part43_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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you get run down a bit you'll go. You've got to do yourself well,



down here, rather better than you have to in any other climate.

You need all the comfort you can get; and you want to save



yourself all you can."

This has a reasonable sound and the American does not yet know



the game. Recovering from his first shock, he begins to look

things over. There is a double tent, folding camp chair, folding



easy chair, folding table, wash basin, bath tub, cot, mosquito

curtains, clothes hangers; there are oil lanterns, oil carriers,



two loads of mysterious cooking utensils and cook camp stuff;

there is an open fly, which his friend explains is his dining



tent; and there are from a dozen to twenty boxes standing in a

row, each with its padlock. "I didn't go in for luxury,"



apologizes the English friend. "Of course we can easily add

anything you want but I remember you wrote me that you wanted to



travel light."

"What are those?" our American inquires, pointing to the locked



boxes.

He learns that they are chop boxes, containing food and supplies.



At this he rises on his hind legs and paws the air.

"Food!" he shrieks. "Why, man alive, I'm alone, and I am only



going to be out three months! I can carry all I'll ever eat in

three months in one of those boxes."



But the Englishman patiently explains. You cannot live on "bacon

and beans" in this country, so to speak. You must do yourself



rather well, you know, to keep in condition. And you cannot pack

food in bags, it must be tinned. And then, of course, such things



as your sparklet siphons and lime juice require careful

packing-and your champagne.



"Champagne," breathes the American in awestricken tones.

"Exactly, dear boy, an absolute necessity. After a touch of sun



there's nothing picks you up better than a mouthful of fizz. It's

used as a medicine, not a drink, you understand."



The American reflects again that this is the other fellow's game,

and that the other fellow has been playing it for some time, and



that he ought to know. But he cannot yet see why the one hundred

and fifty men. Again the Englishman explains. There is the



Headman to run the show. Correct: we need him. Then there are

four askaris. What are they? Native soldiers. No, you won't be



fighting anything; but they keep the men going, and act as sort

of sub-foremen in bossing the complicated work. Next is your



cook, and your own valet and that of your horse. Also your two

gunbearers.



"Hold on!" cries our friend. "I have only two guns, and I'm going

to carry one myself."



But this, he learns, is quite impossible. It is never done. It is

absolutely necessary, in this climate, to avoid all work.



That makes how many? Ten already, and there seem to be three tent

loads, one bed load, one chair and table load, one lantern load,



two miscellaneous loads, two cook loads, one personal box, and

fifteen chop boxes-total twenty-six, plus the staff, as above,



thirty-six. Why all the rest of the army?

Very simple: these thirty-six men have, according to regulation,



seven tents, and certain personal effects, and they must have

"potio" or a ration of one and a half pounds per diem. These



things must be carried by more men.

"I see," murmurs the American, crushed, "and these more men have



more tents and more potio, which must also be carried. It's like

the House that Jack Built."



So our American concludes still once again that the other fellow

knows his own game, and starts out. He learns he has what is



called a "modest safari"; and spares a fleeting wonder as to what

a really elaborate safari must be. The procession takes the



field. He soon sees the value of the four askaris-the necessity

of whom he has secretly doubted. Without their vigorous seconding



the headman would have a hard time indeed. Also, when he observes

the labour of tent-making, packing, washing, and general service



performed by his tent boy, he abandons the notion that that

individual could just as well take care of the horse as well,



especially as the horse has to have all his grass cut and brought

to him. At evening our friend has a hot bath, a long cool fizzly



drink of lime juice and soda; he puts on the clean clothes laid

out for him, assumes soft mosquito boots, and sits down to



dinner. This is served to him in courses, and on enamel ware.

Each course has its proper-sized plate and cutlery. He starts



with soup, goes down through tinned whitebait or other fish, an

entree, a roast, perhaps a curry, a sweet, and small coffee. He






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