Another halt was fixed at Msuwa, that we and our animals might recuperate. The chief of the village, a white man in everything but colour, sent me and mine the fattest broad-tailed sheep of his flock, with five measures of matama grain. The mutton was excellent, unapproachable. For his timely and needful present I gave him two doti, and amused him with an exhibition of the wonderful mechanism of the Winchester rifle, and my breechloading revolvers.
He and his people were intelligent enough to comprehend the utility of these weapons at an emergency, and illustrated in expressive pantomime the powers they possessed against numbers of people armed only with spears and bows, by extending their arms with an imaginary gun and describing a clear circle. “Verily,” said they, “the Wasungu are far wiser than the Washensi. What heads they have! What wonderful things they make! Look at their tents, their guns, their time-pieces, their clothes, and that little rolling thing (the cart) which carries more than five men,—–que!”
On the 10th, recovered from the excessive strain of the last march, the caravan marched out of Msuwa, accompanied by the hospitable villagers as far as their stake defence, receiving their unanimous “Kwaheris.” Outside the village the march promised to be less arduous than between Imbiki and Msuwa. After crossing a beautiful little plain intersected by a dry gully or mtoni, the route led by a few cultivated fields, where the tillers greeted us with one grand unwinking stare, as if fascinated.