Great Merry-Makings Take Place On These
Occasions, And Drinking, Drumming, And Dancing Continue Day And
Night, Till The Beer Is Gone.
In crossing the hills we sometimes
found whole villages enjoying this kind of mirth.
The veteran
traveller of the party remarked, that he had not seen so much
drunkenness during all the sixteen years he had spent in Africa. As
we entered a village one afternoon, not a man was to be seen; but
some women were drinking beer under a tree. In a few moments the
native doctor, one of the innocents, "nobody's enemy but his own,"
staggered out of a hut, with his cupping-horn dangling from his neck,
and began to scold us for a breach of etiquette. "Is this the way to
come into a man's village, without sending him word that you are
coming?" Our men soon pacified the fuddled but good-humoured medico,
who, entering his beer-cellar, called on two of them to help him to
carry out a huge pot of beer, which he generously presented to us.
While the "medical practitioner" was thus hospitably employed, the
chief awoke in a fright, and shouted to the women to run away, or
they would all be killed. The ladies laughed at the idea of their
being able to run away, and remained beside the beer-pots. We
selected a spot for our camp, our men cooked the dinner as usual, and
we were quietly eating it, when scores of armed men, streaming with
perspiration, came pouring into the village.
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