On the fourth afternoon after leaving the forest, the katikiro informed Mbutu that they were approaching the village. The ground began to rise gently, and was less thickly covered with scrub. By and by a large banana-plantation came into view, a welcome sight to Mbutu's eyes, and beyond it wide fields of maize, beans, sweet-potatoes, sorghum, and tobacco, in some of which negro women were at work. They looked curiously at the closed litter as it passed, and then with one consent flung down their clumsy implements and followed at the end of the line, behind the spearmen.
Passing through these extensive plantations, the procession arrived at a wide open space on which a herd of splendid long-horned oxen were tethered. The katikiro explained that these were the chief's own cattle, the animals belonging to the rest of the community being kept beyond the southern extremity of the village. Then they came to a number of huts made of grass and wattles, with untidy haycock roofs coming nearly down to the ground, and low doorways. The population had so largely increased that these huts had been built outside the village stockade, which at last came into sight, surmounting a steep acclivity. The ascent was by a narrow path, running straight up the incline, with a deep depression of rough land on the left, and on the right a banana-plantation. There was a gate in the stockade, and at this Mbutu saw a large crowd gathered. In front, was a group of young boys, their graceful forms almost bare of clothing, the foremost of them being Mwonga, the chief's young brother. Behind this group stood Barega himself among his principal men, all dressed in their ceremonial array for the occasion. Tom was quite unconscious of the gorgeousness of the finery there displayed in his honour, for during the day he had patently become worse, and Mbutu feared that he had reached the village only to find a grave. As the procession reached the gates formal greetings were exchanged between Mwonga the mutuma and the first spearman.
"Is it well?"
"It is well."
"Ah!"
"Ah!"
"Um!"
"Um!"
Such was the dialogue, a conversation in those regions never ending without a number of sighs and grunts. Then the group of boys parted, and the chief came forward. Over his woolly tufts of hair he wore a cap of antelope-skin, adorned with a mighty crest of cock's feathers, and across his breast was slung a broad shoulder-belt of leopard-skin, from which depended a miscellaneous assortment of the tags and tassels of fetish mysteries. He stepped forward with a splendid air of dignity. The katikiro then advanced to the head of the procession, and removed the fillets from his hair as a sign of respect. Then ensued another brief dialogue.
"Hast thou slept well?"