278 AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 



Arab blood; in fact, the dividing line between Swahili 

 and Arab becomes impracticable for an outsider to draw 

 where, as is generally the case, it is patent that the blood of 

 both races is mixed to a degree at which it is only possible 

 to guess. Ali spoke some English; and he and Shem- 

 lani were devoted and efficient servitors. Bakhari the gun- 

 bearer was a Swahili, quite fearless with dangerous game, 

 rather sullen, and unmoved by any emotion that I could 

 ever discover. He spoke a little English, but it could not be 

 called idiomatic. One day we saw two ostriches, a cock 

 and a hen, with their chicks, and Bakhari with some ex- 

 citement said, "Look, sah! ostrich! bull, cow, and pups!" 

 The other gun-bearer, Gouvimali, in some ways an even 

 better hunter, and always good-tempered, knew but one 

 English phrase; regularly every afternoon or evening, after 

 cleaning the rifle he had carried, he would say, as he left 

 the tent, his face wreathed in smiles, " G-o-o-d-e-bye ! " 

 Gouvimali was a Wakamba, as were Simba and my other 

 sais, M'nyassa, who had taken the place of Hamisi (Hamisi 

 had broken down in health, his legs, as he assured me, 

 becoming "very sick"). The cook, Roberti, was a mission 

 boy, a Christian ; we had several Christians with the safari, 

 one being a headman, and all did excellently. I mention 

 this because one so often hears it said that mission boys turn 

 out worthless. Most of our men were heathens; and of 

 course many, both of the Christians and the Moham- 

 medans, were rather thinly veneered with the religions they 

 respectively professed. 



When in the morning we started on our hunt my gun- 

 bearers and sais, and the skinners, if any were along, 

 walked silently behind me, on the lookout for game. Re- 



