The answer was always the same.

“Germani mbaia!” (The Germans are bad!)

They were lifeless—­listless—­tamed until neither ambition nor courage was left.  When their cattle had brought forth young and it looked as if there might be some profit at last, the Masai came and raided them, taking away all but the very old ones and the youngest calves.  The Germans, they said, taxed them and took their weapons away, but gave them no protection.

At one place we passed a rifle, lying all rusted by the track.  At the next village we asked about it.  They told us that a German native soldier had deserted six months before and had thrown his rifle away.  Since that day no one had dared touch it, and they begged us to send back and lay it where we found it, lest the Germans come and punish them for touching it.  So we did that, to oblige them, and they were grateful to the extent of offering us one of their only two male sheep.

I forget now for how many days we traveled across that sad and saddening land, Fred always cheerful in spite of everything, Will more angry at each village with its dirt and sores, Brown moaning always about his lovely herd of cows, and I groaning oftener than not.

My leg grew no better, what with jolting and our ignorance of how to treat it.  Sometimes, in efforts to obtain relief, I borrowed a cow at one village and rode it to the next; but a cow is a poor mount and takes as a rule unkindly to the business.  Now and then I tried to walk for a while, on crutches that Fred made for me; but most of the time I was carried in a blanket that grew hotter and more comfortless as day dragged after day.

At last, however, we topped a low rise and saw Muanza lying on the lake-shore, with the great island of Ukereweto the northward in the distance.  From where we first glimpsed it it was a tidy, tree-shaded, pleasant-looking place, with a square fort, and a big house for the commandant on a rise overlooking the town.

“Now we’ll wire Monty at last!” said Fred.

“Now we’ll shave and wash and write letters!” said Will.

“Now at last for a doctor!” said I.

But Brown said nothing, and Kazimoto wore a look of anxious discontent.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE DARKNESS COMPREHENDED IT NOT

        When Kenia’s peak glows gold and rose
                A dawn breeze whispers to the plain
        With breath cooled sweet by mountain snows —
                “The darkness soon shall come again!”
        Stirs then the sleepless, lean Masai
                And stands o’er plain and peak at gaze
        Resentful of the bright’ning sky,
                Impatient of the white man’s days.

Oh dark nights, when the charcoal glowed and falling hammers rang!  When fundis* forged the spear-blades, and the warriors danced and sang!  When the marriageable spearmen gathered, calling each to each Telling over proverbs that the tribal wisemen teach, Brother promising blood-brother partnership in weal and woe — Nightlong stories of the runners come from spying on the foe — Nights of boasting by the thorn-fire of the coming tale of slain — Oh the times before the English!  When will those times come again!