The messengers departed; but, in the meantime, the handsome youth, who turned out to be the nephew of the King, whispered some order to a lad, who immediately hastened away, with the speed of an antelope, to the cluster of villages which we had just passed.  The result of this errand, as we saw in a short time, was the approach of a body of warriors, about fifty in number, headed by a tall, fine-looking man, who was dressed in a crimson robe called Joho, two ends of which were tied in a knot over the left shoulder; a new piece of American sheeting was folded like a turban around his head, and a large curved piece of polished ivory was suspended to his neck.  He and his people were all armed with spears, and bows and arrows, and their advance was marked with a deliberation that showed they felt confidence in any issue that might transpire.

We were halted on the eastern side of the Pombwe stream, near the village of Lukomo, in Kimenyi, Uhha.  The gorgeously-dressed chief was a remarkable man in appearance.  His face was oval in form, high cheek-bones, eyes deeply sunk, a prominent and bold forehead, a fine nose, and a well-cut mouth; he was tall in figure, and perfectly symmetrical.

When near to us, he hailed me with the words,

“Yambo, bana?—­How do you do, master?” in quite a cordial tone.

I replied cordially also, “Yambo, mutware?—­How do you do, chief?”

We, myself and men, interchanged “Yambos” with his warriors; and there was nothing in our first introduction to indicate that the meeting was of a hostile character.

The chief seated himself, his haunches resting on his heels, laying down his bow and arrows by his side; his men did likewise.

I seated myself on a bale, and each of my men sat down on their loads, forming quite a semicircle.  The Wahha slightly outnumbered my party; but, while they were only armed with bows and arrows, spears, and knob-sticks, we were armed with rifles, muskets, revolvers, pistols, and hatchets.

All were seated, and deep silence was maintained by the assembly.  The great plains around us were as still in this bright noon as if they were deserted of all living creatures.  Then the chief spoke: 

“I am Mionvu, the great Mutware of Kimenyi, and am next to the King, who lives yonder,” pointing to a large village near some naked hills about ten miles to the north.  “I have come to talk with the white man.  It has always been the custom of the Arabs and the Wangwana to make a present to the King when they pass through his country.  Does not the white man mean to pay the King’s dues?  Why does the white man halt in the road?  Why will he not enter the village of Lukomo, where there is food and shade—­where we can discuss this thing quietly?  Does the white man mean to fight?  I know well he is stronger than we are.  His men have guns, and the Wahha have but bows and arrows, and spears; but Uhha is large, and our villages are many.  Let him look about him everywhere—­all is Uhha, and our country extends much further than he can see or walk in a day.  The King of Uhha is strong; yet he wishes friendship only with the white man.  Will the white man have war or peace?”