AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



In the meantime the fire itself was roaring away. 

 The old graybeard suddenly ceased crying maji, 

 and darted forward to where I stood on the bale of 

 cotton. With great but somewhat flurried respect 

 he begged me to descend. I did so, somewhat 

 curious as to what he might be up to, for the cotton 

 was at least two hundred feet from the fire. Im- 

 mediately he began to tug and heave; the bale was 

 almost beyond his strength; but after incredible 

 exertions he lifted one side of it, poised it for a 

 moment, got his shoulder under it, and rolled it 

 over once. Then he darted away and resumed his 

 raucous crying for water. I climbed back again. 

 Thrice more, at intervals, he repeated this per- 

 formance. The only result was to daub with mud 

 every possible side of that bale. I hope it was his 

 property. 



You must remember that I was observing the 

 heavy artillery of the attack on the conflagration. 

 Individual campaigns were everywhere in progress. 

 I saw one man standing on the roof of a threatened 

 building. He lowered slowly, hand over hand, a 

 small tea kettle at the end of a string. This was 

 filled by a friend in the street, whereupon the man 

 hauled it up again, slowly, hand over hand, and 

 solemnly dashed its contents into the mouth of the 

 furnace. Thousands of other men on roofs, in 



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