A deep murmur of assent followed this speech of Mionvu from his people, and disapprobation, blended with a certain uneasiness; from my men.  When about replying, the words of General Sherman, which I heard him utter to the chiefs of the Arapahoes and Cheyennes at North Platte, in 1867, came to my mind; and something of their spirit I embodied in my reply to Mionvu, Mutware of Kimenyi.

“Mionvu, the great Mutware, asks me if I have come for war.  When did Mionvu ever hear of white men warring against black men?  Mionvu must understand that the white men are different from the black.  White men do not leave their country to fight the black people, neither do they come here to buy ivory or slaves.  They come to make friends with black people; they come to search for rivers; and lakes, and mountains; they come to discover what countries, what peoples, what rivers, what lakes, what forests, what plains, what mountains and hills are in your country; to know the different animals that are in the land of the black people, that, when they go back, they may tell the white kings, and men, and children, what they have seen and heard in the land so far from them.  The white people are different from the Arabs and Wangwana; the white people know everything, and are very strong.  When they fight, the Arabs and the Wangwana run away.  We have great guns which thunder,, and when they shoot the earth trembles; we have guns which carry bullets further than you can see:  even with these little things” (pointing to my revolvers) “I could kill ten men quicker than you could count.  We are stronger than the Wahha.  Mionvu has spoken the truth, yet we do not wish to fight.  I could kill Mionvu now, yet I talk to him as to a friend.  I wish to be a friend to Mionvu, and to all black people.  Will Mionvu say what I can do for him?”

As these words were translated to him—­imperfectly, I suppose, but still, intelligibly—­the face of the Wahha showed how well they appreciated them.  Once or twice I thought I detected something like fear, but my assertions that I desired peace and friendship with them soon obliterated all such feelings.

Mionvu replied: 

“The white man tells me he is friendly.  Why does he not come to our village?  Why does he stop on the road?  The sun is hot.  Mionvu will not speak here any more.  If the white man is a friend he will come to the village.”

“We must stop now.  It is noon.  You have broken our march.  We will go and camp in your village,” I said, at the same time rising and pointing to the men to take up their loads.

We were compelled to camp; there was no help for it; the messengers had not returned from Kawanga.  Having arrived in his village, Mionvu had cast himself at full length under the scanty shade afforded by a few trees within the boma.  About 2 P.M. the messengers returned, saying it was true the chief of Kawanga had taken ten cloths; not, however for the King of Uhha, but for himself!