Hardly had we appeared, however, when mysteriously came forth the
headman--a bearded, solemn, Arab-like person with a phenomenally ugly
face but a most pleasing smile. We told him we wanted porters. He
clapped his hands. To the four young men who answered this summons he
gave a command. From sleepy indolence they sprang into life. To the four
cardinal points of the compass they darted away, running up and down the
side streets, beating on the doors, screaming at the tops of their lungs
the word "Cazi"[10] over and over again.

The village hummed like a wasps' nest. Men poured from the huts in
swarms. The streets were filled; the idle sauntering youths were
swamped, and sunk from view. Clamour and shouting arose where before had
been a droning silence. The mob beat up to where we stood, surrounding
us, shouting at us. From somewhere some one brought an old table and two
decrepit chairs, battered and rickety in themselves, but symbols of
great authority in a community where nobody habitually used either. Two
naked boys proudly took charge of our bicycles.

We seated ourselves.

"Fall in!" we yelled.

About half the crowd fell into rough lines. The rest drew slightly to
one side. Nobody stopped talking for a single instant.

We arose and tackled our job. The first part of it was to segregate the
applicants into their different tribes.

"Monumwezi hapa!" we yelled; and the command was repeated and repeated
again by the headman, by his four personal assistants, by a half-dozen