388 THE LAND OF THE LION 
blue-black African night. All now is jollity, chatter, and 
song. Someone starts a dance, and soon, tribe not to be 
outdone by tribe, they all join in. In swaying line or bend- 
ing circles, scores of naked black figures dance to their 
own chanting with immense energy and untiring enthusiasm. 
That these simple, lovable folk have been left behind, 
in the great world race, is true; but, if so, it is no less true 
that the divine sources of energy, so needful to all progress, 
are still most surely ebullient within them. They can toil 
without exhaustion and after the severest toil have plenty 
of surplus energy left, for play. In thirteen months’ daily 
marching, among a band that generally numbers over 
one hundred men, I only knew of one serious quarrel. 
Who shall say that of such material good men cannot be 
made? Who shall deny to such a race a future? 
By the shores of the great lake dwell the naked tribe 
of the Kavorondo. ‘They are supposed to be the laziest 
and least enterprising of people. Yet the supercargo of 
the smart lake steamer told me that his trained and organ- 
ized band of Kavorondo longshoremen, could, if he called 
on them, work for sixteen hours at a stretch, without food, — 
handling heavy steam freight on a sun-smitten wharf, in an 
atmosphere as enervating as can be found in East Africa, 
and that after this long stint of work was once done, they 
would race up and down the wooden pier at Kasumo for 
the mere fun of the thing! Then, be it remembered, these 
men were well-fed, kindly and justly treated, and taught 
to take a pride in their work. Vacancies in the band 
could always be filled at once. 
The Kikuyus first met the white man only a few years 
ago. They had held their own against the Massai with 
exceeding difficulty, and owing chiefly to the fact that a 
thick belt of primeval forest defended their rich agricultural 
country. During their past but small opportunity was 
afforded them to accumulate anything. The richer their 
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