The Women Wear A Little Clothing,
But The Men Disdain Even The Paradisiacal Fig-Leaf, And Go About
In A State Of Absolute Nudity.
Livingstone told them that he should
come back some day with his family, when none of them must come near
without at least putting on a bunch of grass.
They thought it a capital joke.
Their mode of salutation is to fling themselves flat on their backs,
and roll from side to side, slapping the outside of their naked thighs.
The country abounds with game. Buffaloes and zebras by the hundred
grazed on the open spaces. At one time their procession was interrupted
by three buffaloes who came dashing through their ranks. Livingstone's ox
set off at a furious gallop. Looking back, he saw one of his men
flung up into the air by a toss from one of the beasts, who had carried him
on his horns for twenty yards before giving the final pitch.
The fellow came down flat on his face, but the skin was not pierced,
and no bone was broken. His comrades gave him a brisk shampooing,
and in a week he was as well as ever.
The border country passed, the natives grew more friendly, and gladly supplied
all the wants of the travelers. About the middle of December,
when their journey was half over, they came upon the first traces of Europeans
- a deserted town, a ruined church, and a broken bell
inscribed with a cross and the letters I. H. S., but bearing no date.
A few days after they met a man wearing a hat and jacket.
He had come from the Portuguese settlement of Tete, far down the river.
From him they learned that a war was going on below,
between the Portuguese and the natives. A chief, named Mpende,
showed signs of hostility. Livingstone's men, who had become worn and ragged
by their long journey, rejoiced at the prospect of a fight.
"Now," said they, "we shall get corn and clothes in plenty.
You have seen us with elephants, but you don't know what we can do with men."
After a while two old men made their appearance, to find out
who the strangers were. "I am a Lekoa (Englishman)," said Livingstone.
"We don't know that tribe," they replied; "we suppose you are
a Mozunga (Portuguese)." Upon Livingstone's showing them
his long hair and the white skin of his bosom they exclaimed,
"We never saw so white a skin as that. You must be one of that tribe
that loves the black men." Livingstone eagerly assured him
that such was the case. Sekwebu, the leader of his men, put in a word:
"Ah, if you only knew him as well as we do, who have lived with him,
you would know how highly he values your friendship; and as he is a stranger
he trusts in you to direct him." The chief, convinced that
he was an Englishman, received the party hospitably and forwarded them
on their way.
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