The Four
Askaris, Big Men Too, With Masterful High-Cheekboned
Countenances, Rushed Here And There Seeing That The Orders Were
Carried Out.
Expostulations, laughter, the sound of quarrelling
rose and fell.
Never could the combined volume of it all override
the firecracker stream of M'ganga's eloquence.
We had nothing to do with it all, but stood a little dazed,
staring at the novel scene. Our men were of many tribes, each
with its own cast of features, its own notions of what befitted
man's performance of his duties here below. They stuck together
each in its clan. A fine free individualism of personal adornment
characterized them. Every man dressed for his own satisfaction
solely. They hung all sorts of things in the distended lobes of
their ears. One had succeeded in inserting a fine big glittering
tobacco tin. Others had invented elaborate topiary designs in
their hair, shaving their heads so as to leave strange tufts,
patches, crescents on the most unexpected places. Of the
intricacy of these designs they seemed absurdly proud. Various
sorts of treasure trove hung from them-a bunch of keys to which
there were no locks, discarded hunting knives, tips of antelope
horns, discharged brass cartridges, a hundred and one valueless
trifles plucked proudly from the rubbish heap. They were all
clothed. We had supplied each with a red blanket, a blue jersey,
and a water bottle. The blankets they were twisting most
ingeniously into turbans. Beside these they sported a great
variety of garments.
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