was a grievous and fineable fault.  Affecting great indignation at the unpardonable omission, he, Kingaru, concluded to send to the Musungu four of his young men to say to him that “since you have buried your horse in my ground, it is well; let him remain there; but you must pay me two doti of Merikani.”  For reply the messengers were told to say to the chief that I would prefer talking the matter over with himself face to face, if he would condescend to visit me in my tent once again.  As the village was but a stone’s throw from our encampment, before many minutes had elapsed the wrinkled elder made his appearance at the door of my tent with about half the village behind him.

The following dialogue which took place will serve to illustrate the tempers of the people with whom I was about to have a year’s trading intercourse: 

White Man.—­“Are you the great chief of Kingaru?”

Kingaru.—­“Huh-uh.  Yes.”

W. M.—­“The great, great chief?”

Kingaru.—­“Huh-uh.  Yes.”

W. M.—­” How many soldiers have you?”

Kingaru.—­” Why?”

W. M.—­“How many fighting men have you?”

Kingaru.—­“None.”

W. M.—­“Oh!  I thought you might have a thousand men with you, by your going to fine a strong white man, who has plenty of guns and soldiers, two doti for burying a dead horse.”

Kingaru (rather perplexed).—­” No; I have no soldiers.  I have only a few young men,”

W. M.—­“Why do you come and make trouble, then?”

Kingaru.—­“It was not I; it was my brothers who said to me, `Come here, come here, Kingaru, see what the white man has done!  Has he not taken possession of your soil, in that he has put his horse into your ground without your permission?  Come, go to him and see by what right.’  Therefore have I come to ask you, who gave you permission to use my soil for a burying-ground?”

W. M.  “I want no man’s permission to do what is right.  My horse died; had I left him to fester and stink in your valley, sickness would visit your village, your water would become unwholesome, and caravans would not stop here for trade; for they would say, `This is an unlucky spot, let us go away.’  But enough said:  I understand you to say that you do not want him buried in your ground; the error I have fallen into is easily put right.  This minute my soldiers shall dig him out again, and cover up the soil as it was before; and the horse shall be left where he died.” (Then shouting to Bombay.) “Ho!  Bombay, take soldiers with jembes to dig my horse out of the ground, drag him to where he died, and make everything ready for a march to-morrow morning.”

Kingaru, his voice considerably higher, and his head moving to and fro with emotion, cries out, “Akuna, akuna, bana!”—­“No, no, master!  Let not the white man get angry.  The horse is dead, and now lies buried; let him remain so, since he is already there, and let us be friends again.”