Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

"OWN UP AND PAY UP" 125
like a good-sized village, the loud after-supper hum from
the fires being rather pleasant though a little bit noisy.
The sweep of stockade is fully 150 yards in circumference,
in the centre of which is my big hut, where I sleep with
my personal boys. This palisade is so built that it forms
at the same time the huts of the people, each man having
so many yards of ground to stockade before he joins on
with his neighbour, who comes to meet him half-way.
Only one gateway is allowed, owing to the dangerous
state of the forest, and, with all their instincts up in arms,
the men look out jealously that no one leaves a ga^. It
is now broodingly dark, and most around the fires are
looking with a hungry, glassy stare at the supper-pots,
when a shrill whistle startles all—a shriek-whistle known
too sadly well ; and then ! And then, as a matter of
plain, unpleasant fact, some red toucan feathers appear
over our stockade. Everybody's jaw drops, and, in a
flash, we know that war is in the wind, red war that has
painted the African map from ocean to ocean. Where
then, to be definite, are we ? Into what trap have we
fallen? *'0h no," say the emerging warriors, ''we have
nothing against you^ but to-morrow we begin." In a
word, we have put our foot in it, have arrived just on
the eve of a great inter-tribal battle, a wild Waterloo.
The old tale of the hereditary hatred of the clans and
the Highland Mac's sending round the fiery cross—^fiery
feathers in this case. A long quarrel has been in soak
for years; boundaries have been dishonoured, clansmen
kidnapped, ivory tribute stolen ; and now at last for the