The distant and deep-toned hum of conversation had reached us from where our dusky entertainers were enjoying their feast, and an occasional outburst of laughter. Now, instead, came the regular rhythm of a savage song, drawing nearer and nearer.
“I think we can’t do better than let them perform just in front here,” I went on. “The ground’s open, and the moon almost as bright as day.”
This was agreed to enthusiastically, and soon the singing grew louder and louder, and the whole body in their picturesque gear, came marching up, beating time upon their shields with sticks and assegai hafts. They halted in half moon formation and one man stepping out from the rest, gave the sign for silence. Then having saluted us with much sibongo, he led off, in a sort of chant, loud and clear at first, then rising higher and higher. The others took it up at a given point in response, and although the song did not run to many notes, it was soon thundered aloud in a harmonious wave of sound. When it had attained its highest pitch, at a sign from the choragus it ceased—ceased with such suddenness as to impart an impression that was positively uneasy.
“Dashed effective, by Jove!” pronounced the Major, breaking the spell.
“Why, it is beautiful—positively beautiful,” declared Miss Sewin. “The harmony and the rhythmic waves of sound are perfect. Tell me, Mr Glanton, what was it all about?”
“Oh, it was merely a song of welcome, improvised over yonder while they were scoffing my cows.”
“Really? Do you mean to say it was all impromptu?”
“Of course. That’s the way these people do things.”
“Won’t they go over it again?”
“Oh, there’s plenty more to come. Rather too soon for an encore yet.”