whom we heard at the Tati gold fields as having been
making his way towards the Zambesi.
“ A h !” said Fairbairn, “ we buried poor Whitaker at
Hope Fountain Mission Station a few days ago. He was
very reluctant to take the medicines we offered him.
Fairbairn’s abode was very fu ll; but there seemed to be
always room for one more. Of course in this country beds are
unknown articles of furniture ; cane mats being the familiar
couches for the luxury of repose. Thanks, however, to the
generous warmth of hospitality, we were soon comfortably
housed, although I must admit that it was with regretful
reluctance that I left the waggon, in which I had spent so
many pleasant weeks, even for the better accommodation
afforded by a house.
Fairbairn, Selous, and myself went up to see old King Lo-
bengula. I was very eager to know in what sort of humour
was the old gentleman. A missionary, Mr. S , who had
had a quarter of a century of Christian effort in Matabeli-
land, and was able to know the character of the people, had,
when we met him in full retreat in Bechuanaland, given
a dreadful account of the condition of affairs, saying that it
was impossible to live in Matabeli-land since the difficulty
about the hippo killing. The poor missionary’s beard
had been pulled, and he had to suffer other indignities
which as an apostle of divinity he could not brook. But
what special exemption could he expect ? Many observers
note that after five-and-twenty years of missionary labour
there are no converts to the faith of our fathers. After so
long a period of profitless contention with a people who are
both deaf and blind to persuasion, it could hardly be expected
that Mr. S would find more sympathetic treatment
than other whites.
Fairbairn informed me that with the payment of all the-
“ I T I S V E R Y F A R AW A Y .” 53
fines the troubles about the sea-cow row, to which I have
referred, had vanished, and that now the old man was in a
very good humour.
When we entered the king’s kraal I could see him
seated under his roof porch. A few of his people were
around. All of us shook hands with him, and were
received with more courtesy than might be expected
from a savage king. We sat on the ground beside him,
and his prettiest slave girls brought in beer. Kneeling
before us they would drink first, and then hand the liquor
to us.
Lo-ben seemed very friendly, and evidently had quite
forgotten the troublesome episode of the shooting of the sea-
cow. When Selous asked permission to enter the hunting
veldt, the monarch granted his request with a smile,
remarking, “ Selous is a young lion.
Looking at me, he then asked what I was about to do.
On being told that I was anxious to go through his country,
and subsequently through unexplored Mashona-land, to the
Zambesi, he simply remarked, “ I t is very far away.” ^
A crowd of endunas began to assemble, and as it was
clear that a “ big talk ” was about to ensue, we departed
without making a further attempt to gain the desired permission.
Walking to the back of the house we saw numbers
of hive-shaped huts, the homes of the queens, the housing
of the royal harem.
Here was a novel scene ! Upon grass mats in front of the
huts singly, or in bevies here and there, the queens of the
Matabeli reclined gracefully and with careless ease, basking
their rather embonpoint, but yet symmetrical frames like
glossy seals lolling in the warmth of the sun. A strange but
not unpleasant odour filled the air, for these queens are in
the habit of scenting themselves with a perfume made from