Ali was in command, and was also in a hurry, for various reasons, including prowling enemy patrols and his master’s dire need of help. He accordingly set a good pace and kept the “low niggers” of his party to it by fabulous promises, hideous threats, and even more by the charm of song—part song in fact. Lifting up his powerful voice he delivered in deep diapason a mighty
“Ah-Nah-Nee-Nee! Ah-Nah-Nee-Nee!”
to which all the congregation responded
“Umba Jo-eel! Umba Jo-eel”
as is meet and right to do.
And when, after a few hundred thousand repetitions of this, in strophe and antistrophe, there seemed a possibility that restless and volatile minds desiring change might seek some new thing, Ali sang
“Hay-Ah-Mon-Nee! Hay-Ah-Mon-Nee!”
which is quite different, and the jogging, sweating congregation, with deep earnestness and conviction, took up the response:
“Tunk-Tunk-Tunk-Tunk!”
and all fear of the boredom of monotony was gone—especially as, after a couple of hours of this, you could go back to the former soulful and heartsome Threnody, and begin again. But if they got no forrader with the concert they steadily got forrader with the journey, as their loping jog-trot ate up the miles.