“Follow me!” whispered Birnier, when Mungongo was more reassured.
They made a detour. As they drew near they could hear muffled screams and groans beneath the howl of [pg 117] the chorus and song. The mighty son of Banyala and his merry men were so engrossed in the orgy that Birnier could have walked right up to the fire before anyone would have seen him. But he would not take any unnecessary risk. Leaving Mungongo outside he crawled under the back flap of the tent. Crouched there he paused. The tent was empty; for all were engaged in the dance. His two shot-guns and two light rifles were stacked in the corner and the big express which the corporal had appropriated, leaned against the tent door behind the chair. He glanced hurriedly around for ammunition, but he could not see any open, and he had left his belt of cartridges with his clothes. Outside the men and women were circling in contrary directions, each with a spear, a knife or a firebrand in hand, around the fire beside which, trussed like bundles of faggots, were the four servants, their feet singeing on the outside hot ashes.
For a second Birnier hesitated. He could not know whether any of the guns was loaded. The fire was of glowing embers which did not throw much light into the tent. Swiftly Birnier rose and glided into his own chair in the deep shadow of the tent flap. Then summoning all his nerve he uttered a yell and began to shout the first song which he could recollect:
“Hurrah! Hurrahhhhhhh! It is the Jubileeeee!
Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that set you free!”
The native minstrel stopped in the middle of his chant; the whole shuffling, grunting crowd was petrified in as many different poses. Birnier leaped to his feet waving his arms wildly, yelling:
“Thus we sang the chor-uss from Atlanta to the Sea-aa!
As we …[”]
But before he had gotten to “Georgia,” only the prostrate forms around the fire had not fled.