Many weary hours, too, were spent in stalking animals, so that the obtaining of each separate bit of film was an adventure in itself. The common jungle grass retarded progress and its pollen getting into their eyes set up an irritation which half-blinded them. They were never without at least one member of the party suffering from swollen eyes. Anticipating this, however, they had come provided with eye wash for the alleviation of distress. It was the dry season, and they wore only the lightest of clothing, consisting of sleeveless shirt and knee length pants, “like Boy Scouts,” Bob remarked. Consequently, they suffered much from the scratches of various other varieties of grass with barbs, of the tall plumed reeds with stiff leaves which cut like a knife and, especially, from the “cow itch.” This latter name they gave a plant having seed pods covered with fine hairs which pierced even through clothing and set up an excruciating itching.
On the whole, however, the hardships were less than they had expected to encounter, and a hot bath in a collapsible tub on the return from a picture-taking expedition went far to make life bearable. Moreover, they had the consolation of piling up thousands of feet of film which they felt assured would be invaluable.
“I can just see the kids sitting in the motion picture house when some of these scenes flash on the screen,” said Bob, one night, after returning from a particularly trying expedition upon which eland, giraffes, buffalo, hyenas and adjutant birds had been filmed. “Only we need some more thrilling stuff.”
“I should think you’d have gotten enough thrills on that runaway raft to last you the rest of your life,” said Niellsen, smoking his pipe on the opposite side of the camp fire. “Just the same, what you say about our films of animal life is true. I wonder,” he added, turning toward Mr. Hampton seated on a camp chair at his shoulder, “whether we couldn’t persuade Chief Ungaba to organize a rhinoceros hunt. I have a hunch we’d get a thrill out of that.”
“Good idea,” approved Jack. “Let’s try it.” After some further discussion, it was agreed that the next morning all should wait on Chief Ungaba and prefer their request. Accordingly, they turned in and slept soundly and at an early hour arose and entered the village which lay not far away across an open meadow. Whenever camp was pitched at an African village, the party was careful to locate some distance away, both because the odors of these villages frequently become offensive and to avoid possible friction arising between the native populace and the hearers from alien tribes.
The village was up and astir, and as the boys passed along the main street toward the central square where Chief Ungaba’s hut was located they found their interest excited by sights which never became stale. Cooking fires were going outside the mud-walled, thatched-roofed huts, and over them the Kavirondo women with their “tails” were busied preparing breakfast for their lords and masters who still lolled on sleeping mats within or else yawned sleepily at door openings, watching the whites. These so-called “tails” worn by the women never failed to amuse, and many a hearty laugh had they given the boys. Made of plaited grass and tied to a string about the waist, they fall down behind, and denote the status of the wearer. Little girls wear little ones, engaged girls slightly larger ones, and married matrons the largest of all. As loin cloths comprise practically the only clothing worn by men, women or children, the tribesmen looked as if, said Bob, “they were all ready for a plunge.” Some, however, considered themselves well dressed, indeed, for their bodies were smeared with red and white clays, producing an effect which they considered decorative in the extreme but which the boys regarded as particularly ghastly.
Chief Ungaba sitting at the door of his hut was not an especially kinglike object as he knuckled his eyes sleepily. He failed to note their approach at first because of the fact that he was leaning sideways as if to hear without being seen while listening to sounds of high shrill voices raised in altercation within the hut.
“What’s going on, I wonder,” asked Bob of his companions.
Mr. Hampton laughed heartily. “The chief’s wives are hard at it,” he said. “They are having their regular morning squabble. Poor man, he has six first wives, and they lead him a dog’s life. He is chief everywhere except in his own house.”
Scarcely had he finished speaking than a piercing shriek cut through the clamor of angry voices, followed by another and another. Then a sobbing young woman ran headlong from the hut, clutching her hair, while behind her three older women crowded each other in the doorway. They stared triumphantly until the younger woman disappeared amidst the adjacent huts and then withdrew.