“On his head was a pith helmet that had once been white, round which was wound a yard or more of bright-red calico. A dozen strings of gaudy beads bound his throat and half covered his bare chest. After that there was nothing but his naked skin—back and front, as far down as his waist, from which hung a frock of blue denim falling to his knees—then more bare skin, and then his feet wrapped in goat-skins. In his hand he carried a staff which he swung from side to side as he walked with lordly stride.
“His harem followed: thirty girls in single file, dressed in the prevailing fashion of the day—a petticoat of plantain leaves and a string of beads. Each of them carried a gaudy paper umbrella like those sold at home for sixpence. Some of the girls were slim and tall, some fat; but all were young and all bore themselves with an air of calm distinction, as if conscious of their alliance with a superior race. Bringing up the rear was a long line of carriers loaded down with tents, provisions, and other camp equipage.
“When it had all passed I stepped quickly through the forest, got abreast of my lord the white man, and shouted:
“‘Goringe!’
“He turned suddenly, lifted the edge of his helmet, threw his staff to one of his men, and came quickly toward me.
“‘By the Eternal, but I’m glad to see you! I was afraid you were going back on me! It was awfully decent in you to come. You didn’t mind my sending for you, did you? I’ve got to make the next village by sundown, and then I’m going up into the Hill Country, and may not be this way again for months—perhaps never. How well you look! What do you think of my turnout?’
“I told him in reply, that it was rather remarkable—about as uncivilized as anything I had ever seen—and was on the point of asking some uncomfortable questions when, noting my disapproval, he switched off by explaining that it was the only way he could make a penny, and again turned the conversation by exclaiming abruptly:
“‘Saw my wives, didn’t you?-every one of them the daughter of a chief. You see, I buy the girl, and so get even with her father, am made High Pan-Jam with the red button and feather, or next of kin to the chief by blood-letting—anything they want. I’m scarred all up now mixing my precious ancestral fluid with that of these blacklegs, and am first cousin to half the cutthroats on the river. Next I start on the carriers, pick ’em out myself, and send ’em down to the agent. The home company is getting ugly, so I hear, and wonder why they owe me so much for the carriers I’ve sent them—pretty near six hundred pounds sterling, now. They think there is something crooked about it, but I’m keeping it up. I’m going down when the row is over and present my bill, and they’ve got to pay it or I’ll know the reason why. Now we’ll have tiffin.’
“I watched his women crowd about him. One spread a blanket for his royal highness to sit on; two or more busied themselves getting the food together; one, parasol in hand, planted herself behind him to shield his precious head from the few sunbeams that filtered through the overhanging leaves, fanning him vigorously all the while.
“With the serving of the meal and the uncorking of a bottle in which he kept what he called his ‘private stock,’ he gave me further details of his methods with the natives. When a chief was at war with another tribe, for instance, he would move into the first village he came to, spread his own tent and those of his wives, post his retainers, and then despatch one of his men to the other combatant, commanding a powwow the next morning. Everybody would come—everybody would talk, including himself, for he spoke Kinkongo and Bangala perfectly. Then when he had patched up their difficulties, he would distribute presents, get everybody drunk on palm wine, and would move on next day with a contribution of carriers from both tribes, adding with a wink, ‘And the trick works every time.’”