To perform just this little simple trick of getting the thing started
requires not only a peculiar skill or gift, but also lungs of brass and
a throat of iron. A transport rider without a voice is as a tenor in the
same fix. He may--and does--get so hoarse that it is a pain to hear him;
but as long as he can croak in good volume he is all right. Mere
shouting will not do. He must shriek, until to the sympathetic bystander
it seems that his throat must split wide open. Furthermore, he must
shriek the proper things. It all sounds alike to every one but transport
riders and oxen; but as a matter of fact it is Boer-Dutch, nicely
assorted to suit different occasions. It is incredible that oxen should
distinguish; but, then, it is also incredible that trout should
distinguish the nice differences in artificial flies.

After the start has been made successfully, the craft must be kept under
way. To an unbiassed bystander the whole affair looks insane. The wagon
creaks and sways and groans and cries aloud as it bumps over great
boulders in the way; the leading Kikuyu dances nimbly and shrills
remarks at the nearest cattle; the tail Kikuyu winds energetically back
and forth on his little handle, and tries to keep his feet. And Brown!
he is magnificent! His long lash sends out a volley of rifle reports,
down, up, ahead, back; his cracked voice roars out an unending stream
of apparent gibberish. Back and forth along the line of the team he
skips nimbly, the sweat streaming from his face. And the oxen plod
along, unhasting, unexcited, their eyes dreamy, chewing the cud of
yesterday's philosophic reflections. The situation conveys the general
impression of a peevish little stream breaking against great calm
cliffs. All this frantic excitement and expenditure of energy is so
apparently purposeless and futile, the calm cattle seem so aloof and
superior to it all, so absolutely unaffected by it. They are going