"They're as pleased as Punch at having outwitted him, anyhow," said Tom. "Tell them I'll give them some beads for doing so well. Now, Mbutu, you go in the bow, I'll take the stern, and we'll see how these fellows paddle."
The men struck their paddles into the water, and, keeping perfect time, sent the canoe along at a swinging pace. They accompanied their strokes with a crooning chant, the words sounding something like this--
Nsologumba kanpitepite kunyanja
Nsologumba oluilaita kunyanja
Nsologumba lekanpitepite kunyanja.
Tom knew his elements of music, and could take his part in "Willow the King"; but the notes of this tune fitted no scale he had ever heard of. The same words were repeated again and again for half an hour at a stretch, until he felt rather tired of them.
"I wish they'd turn on another tap," he said to himself, "but I suppose their feelings would be hurt if I told them so. Mbutu, my boy, what's their song about?"
Mbutu turned up the whites of his eyes in the effort to translate, then chanted solemnly:
"Man all alone row up de ribber, man all alone row up de ribber, man all alone row up de ribber; alone de man row up ribber, alone de man row up--"
"Thanks! I know it by heart now. D'you think you could tell them a story, Mbutu? Anything to keep them quiet. The man all alone wants to think, tell them."
"All right, sah! berrah well, sah! Me tell story about uncle and croc'dile--berrah nice story, sah!"
"Very well; make it as long as you like."