I can talk Kafir wonderfully—Asapā, “come here”; A Bāmbā, “good-bye”; Ekwee, “yes”. Now that is a great deal to learn in one day, besides crossing a river and getting over a flock of sheep rather than soldiers, pleasing a master, writing nonsense to an “auld wife,” and orders for the camp, blowing up fifty people at least, shaking hands with some fifty Kafirs, and giving them tobacco, and a breakfast to two of them, who were highly delighted. The graceful air and gentlemanlike manner in which they thank you is really astonishing. No French marquis of the ancien régime could exceed their bow and expression of countenance. The knowledge they have, too, of passing events is totally surprising. They are perfect politicians, and talk to me of the general policy of our countries.
4 o’clock, 16 April.
On the road to Butterworth, Hintza’s residence.
Gona Camp, 7 miles over the Kei.
Hallifax, who literally loves me, has made a fort, which he and Bingham—the impudent rascals!—call Fort Harry, just above Fort Willshire; and last night they sent me a copy of a drawing they have made of it, and which I send to you. It is a very useful little work, I assure you, and must be admired by you because its name is Harry.
FORT-HARRY.
Hallifax et Bingham fecit
Old Pato has just arrived with the waggons and one of his chiefs, come, he said, to learn the news. He has sent a message to his cousin Hintza. Old Pato says Hintza is a great chief. We must wait patiently with him, and give him time. He is a great chief. So I told him, great or small, if he or a messenger from him were not in to-morrow, I would be at his people immediately. At this old Pato and his captain laughed fit to kill themselves. They are two monkey-faced rascals, but they are dressed like Dutchmen, and really very well-behaved fellows. Adios por el momento.
17th April, 4 o’clock in the afternoon.