At this the kirangosi looked annoyed, and said, “Turn back upon our steps! No. The ivory may remain here, and you may go, but I and my men are going to the country of our brothers. We will not turn back.”
Another long silence followed, and then the kirangosi said: “Listen, masters. There is a road where the Watuta do not come, but it is long, and for many days we shall be in the forest and in the wild, and see no villages; but if my masters say the word, I and my men will take that road, and we will arrive in Unyanyembe in safety.”
This was what Hatibu had been waiting for, but he would not appear too eager to assent, and made it appear as if he were persuaded by the kirangosi to follow this other road. At last he said he would do as the kirangosi wished, and the latter springing to his feet said, “Let us be going. It is now night, and the Watuta sleep. By the morning we shall be far from them, and to-morrow night we shall be in the mountains of Kawendi, where they cannot follow us.”
In a moment all was bustle and preparation. Sleeping men were roused, loads were lashed up and shouldered, and the mutwale being persuaded by a handsome present to open the entrance of his village, we set forth on our march.
All night long we made our way along a narrow path, and in the morning found ourselves on the summit of a range of hills. To the north we could see wide plains mostly covered by forest, but with numerous villages and clearings scattered about, from some of which the rising of columns of smoke told us the Watuta were even then pursuing their work of destruction. To the south rose ranges of mountains, table-topped, with precipitous sides rising out of a sea of jungle. These were the mountains of Kawendi, and through them our path lay.
After a short halt for the purpose of cooking some food and resting, the iron-muscled Wanyamwesi shouted out that it was time to be on the march again, and though I know I felt tired and weary, there was no lagging. Soon we were rapidly descending the hillslopes towards a largish river which we saw lying below us. I asked how we were to cross this, as it seemed too broad to bridge; and as there were no signs of habitations near, we could not hope to find canoes like those in which we had been ferried across the Malagarazi.
Hatibu said, “That’s all right; the kirangosi says we shall cross on sindi.”
“Sindi! what is that?” I asked.
“Wait, Franki, and you will see,” answered Hatibu.
I followed the long line of men, wondering what this sindi could be. Before reaching the river-bank I saw to my astonishment that some of the men were already across, and that others apparently, as far as I could see through trees and grass, were walking on the surface of the river. When I came to the bank I found that though there was open water to the right and left of us, the surface of the stream was covered with a matted growth of papyrus and other water-plants, sufficiently thick and buoyant to support our weight in crossing, and that all our men were without hesitation trusting themselves to its seemingly treacherous surface.