m their presence, must go through the odd shuffling of feet,
which I have already described.
I t disgusted me immensely to see natives who were
quite as good intellectually, and physically excelling these
creatures, shuffling their feet before their assumed superiors,
who are called white men, although it would defy an anthropological
wizard to guess their origin, and a nineteenth century
Socrates to ferret out the usefulness of their existence.
Sometimes, as the poor people would pass them in the street,
a shuffling of feet took place, and a clapping of hands, after
which salutation the humbler mortals would pass on.
This pitiful servility reminded me of the fawning of the
poor Mexican peone (who in every sense of the word is a
slave), whom I have seen as he cringed before his lord and
master, especially when working for his own countrymen.
How the miserable peone kneels to the ground to beg forgiveness
for every trivial offence! The sight is enough to
make one s hair singe with the heat of the head; it is so
abhorrent to see a man kneel before you, or before any
other mortal. Bending low the knee to mankind, or to
any material form, seems to be the depth of dishonourable
humiliation. How infinitely superior is the man who stands
erect, and speaks freely, knowing that at best he is only
confronting a fellow-being!
On some occasions, by the way, in the valley of the
Zambesi, I have witnessed chastisement by the use of the
jpalmero. This is an instrument of torture infinitely more
effective than our barbarous cat-o’-nine-tails, and an equally
important relic of savagery.
The man receiving punishment is made to hold out his
hands alternately, so that the operator is enabled to give
blows as hard as he can upon the open palms. When the
stroke is given, the flesh is drawn into the small apertures
of the weapon, so that an excruciatingly painful effect is
produced. As soon as the assigned number of strokes has
been delivered the victim rolls on the ground cringing
before this emblem of Christian authority, to show how
thankful he is that his life at least has been spared.
Curiously enough, the first cat-o’-nine-tails I saw in Africa
was among the furnishings of a Mission station.
But to resume my story. Hays passed, and hopes of
Sakanii ever coming were dying away. I felt that more
active steps would have to be taken. There was positively
nothing left even to buy a chicken. Notwithstanding my
promises of payment as soon as the king should arrive, the
people would not give me anything.
One old man brought me beer, doubtless expecting a
great reward in days to come. But we led a wretched life.
Misfortunes, however, had a certain quieting effect upon
the nerves. The old enduna—Kaparam by name—was a
constant visitor, and an irrepressible beggar to boot, although
he was earnest as well as arduous in his endeavours to gain
a reward in this world, by constantly bringing pombe, with
the evident purpose of thawing my heart, so as to draw
forth the beautiful flannel blanket I had not got. He
could not be induced to believe in my absolute want, but
had a firm faith in the fancy that copious supplies of pombe
would bring out the material truth. Latterly he too turned
away his face, probably thinking that I was the closest man
he had ever met.
“ Satan” and Co. by this time had ceased to invite me to
drink beer with them. They also had found out that the
“ bank was broken.”
The Inyota men came and said they were hungry. Forty-
eight hqurs had passed since John had left to hunt, and
just after dark he appeared, and I at once saw by his