Every one shook me by the hand. The gunbearers squatted about
the carcass, skilfully removing the skin to an undertone of
curious crooning that every few moments broke out into one or two
bars of a chant. As the body was uncovered, the men crouched
about to cut off little pieces of fat. These they rubbed on their
foreheads and over their chests, to make them brave, they said,
and cunning, like the lion.
We remounted and took up our interrupted journey to camp. It was
a little after two, and the heat was at its worst. We rode rather
sleepily, for the reaction from the high tension of excitement
had set in. Behind us marched the three gunbearers, all abreast,
very military and proud. Then came the porters in single file,
the one carrying the folded lion skin leading the way; those
bearing the waterbuck trophy and meat bringing up the rear. They
kept up an undertone of humming in a minor key; occasionally
breaking into a short musical phrase in full voice.
We rode an hour. The camp looked very cool and inviting under its
wide high trees, with the river slipping by around the islands of
papyrus. A number of black heads bobbed about in the shallows.
The small fires sent up little wisps of smoke. Around them our
boys sprawled, playing simple games, mending, talking, roasting
meat. Their tiny white tents gleamed pleasantly among the cool
shadows.
I had thought of riding nonchalantly up to our own tents, of
dismounting with a careless word of greeting-
"Oh, yes," I would say, "we did have a good enough day. Pretty
hot. Roy got a fine waterbuck. Yes, I got a lion." (Tableau on
part of Billy.)
But Memba Sasa used up all the nonchalance there was. As we
entered camp he remarked casually to the nearest man.
"Bwana na piga simba-the master has killed a lion."
The man leaped to his feet.
"Simba! simba! simba!" he yelled. "Na piga simba!"
Every one in camp also leaped to his feet, taking up the cry.
>From the water it was echoed as the bathers scrambled ashore. The
camp broke into pandemonium. We were surrounded by a dense
struggling mass of men. They reached up scores of black hands to
grasp my own; they seized from me everything portable and bore it
in triumph before me-my water bottle, my rifle, my camera, my
whip, my field glasses, even my hat, everything that was
detachable. Those on the outside danced and lifted up their
voices in song, improvised for the most part, and in honor of the
day's work. In a vast swirling, laughing, shouting, triumphant
mob we swept through the camp to where Billy-by now not very
much surprised-was waiting to get the official news.
