“At daybreak to-morrow. To-night Soltali must sing the elephant hunting-song of the hunters, and must give each of the hunters a charm, since he is too old to accompany us. I shall take fifty men with me, so that we can make a strong party. If Ferodia catches us in the woods he would make short work of us, and my head would not remain long on my shoulders if he caught me; for then he knows he would be king.”
“Why, thou art not going near his country, surely! because I would rather stop here, if thou art. I want to see no more of Ferodia,” said Selim in alarm.
“Be at ease, my brother. I go not near him with the best fifty men that the Watuta can count. I go in a different direction, south-east; he lives south-west, south of the Liemba Lake.”
“All right; but really thou didst frighten me. My back fairly tingles at the thought of Tifum, and Tifum is with Ferodia.”
“Yet, my brother, thou didst hit him a blow in the face, and Moto—cunning man—said he saw it, and said it was well done.”
“I wish the blow had gone through his head, then my mind would be at ease, for that man is my bane—my Afrit. (Afrit is a bad spirit with the Moslems.) Even when I am at Zanzibar I shall think of that man.”
“There, enough, my brother; I will put one of my barbed arrows through his throat the first time I see him, for thy sake. Go and prepare thy gun, and bullets, and medicine powder, and to-night thou must attend to the song of the doctor, or thou shalt have bad luck with us in the hunt.” And Kalulu turned away with light hounding steps, which soon carried him away from his Arab brother.
At night—probably at the hour of nine with us, the moon being up—a long, low, rumbling roll of the largest goma brought the destined hunters, together with Kalulu, Selim, Simba, and Moto, running and chasing each other towards the drum stand. There were ten drums, and a boy for each, ascending in height from the smallest to the biggest drum; so that the boy who beat the smallest drum must have been about ten years old, and the boy who beat the largest drum was a sturdy youth of twenty, or thereabouts.
Pots full of pombe and plantain-wine were ranged a little distance off, from which the dancers and the singers could regale themselves when they felt disposed. For the eve of a hunting party’s march is considered a great event, second only to the return of a successful party with plenty of ivory.
The hunters formed a select circle round the drummers and the pombe pots; a larger circle, made by about three hundred people—men, women, boys, and girls—surrounded the hunters.