We presented quite an imposing sight while thus
marching on in silence and order, with our flags flying, and the
red blanket robes of the men streaming behind them as the furious
north-easter blew right on our flank.
The men seemed to feel they were worth seeing, for I noticed that
several assumed a more martial tread as they felt their royal Joho
cloth tugging at their necks, as it was swept streaming behind by
the wind. Maganga, a tall Mnyamwezi, stalked along like a very
Goliah about to give battle alone, to Mirambo and his thousand
warriors. Frisky Khamisi paced on under his load, imitating a
lion and there was the rude jester - the incorrigible Ulimengo -
with a stealthy pace like a cat. But their silence could not
last long. Their, vanity was so much gratified, the red cloaks
danced so incessantly before their eyes, that it would have
been a wonder if they could have maintained such serious gravity
or discontent one half hour longer.
Ulimengo was the first who broke it. He had constituted himself
the kirangozi or guide, and was the standard-bearer, bearing the
American flag, which the men thought would certainly strike terror
into the hearts of the enemy. Growing confident first, then
valorous, then exultant, he suddenly faced the army he was
leading, and shouted
"Hoy! Hoy !
Chorus. - Hoy! Hoy!
Hoy! Hoy!
Chorus. - Hoy! Hoy!
Hoy! Hoy!
Chorus. - Hoy! Hoy!
Where are ye going?
Chorus. - Going to war.
Against whom?
Chorus. - Against Mirambo.
Who is your master?
Chorus. - The White Man.
Ough! Ough!
Chorus. - Ough! Ough!
Hyah! Hyah!
Chorus. - Hyah. Hyah!"
This was the ridiculous song they kept up all day without
intermission.
We camped the first day at Bomboma's village, situated a mile to
the south-west of the natural hill fortress of Zimbili. Bombay
was quite recovered from his thrashing, and had banished the sullen
thoughts that had aroused my ire, and the men having behaved
themselves so well, a five-gallon pot of pombe was brought to
further nourish the valour, which they one and all thought they
possessed.
The second day we arrived at Masangi. I was visited soon
afterwards by Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid, who told me the
Arabs were waiting for me; that they would not march from Mfuto
until I had arrived.
Eastern Mfuto, after a six hours' march, was reached on the third
day from Unyanyembe. Shaw gave in, laid down in the road, and
declared he was dying. This news was brought to me about 4 P.M.
by one of the last stragglers. I was bound to despatch men to
carry him to me, into my camp, though every man was well tired
after the long march.
