FASCICULA 285 



Our first lieadmau was a born leader — and he looked 

 it. When first introduced at Mombasa to that huge 

 swarthy personality, vast of fiame and truculent of 

 visage, a tremor of fear — let me admit it — would scarce 

 be suppressed.^ I trust it was concealed. The idea of 

 spending months in the wilds, in company with that 

 savage Soudanee, did disconcert for a moment ; but no 

 long time elapsed before we came to appreciate the 

 treasure we possessed. Before that iron will (and 

 obvious power to enforce it) difiiculties and troubles 

 melted like butter on hot toast — few, indeed, ever dared 

 to confront it. Discipline, in savage Africa, relies first 

 on the moral power ; but when that fails, in the next 

 resource force becomes the only law. 



Long afterwards when far away " out-by," at a 

 remote up-country station, our friend the official 

 represeutative of King and Empire asked us how this 

 headman behaved ; and on being told that we were 

 thoroughly satisfied — that, in short, the whole routine- 

 work ran like a machine — replied that he was not 

 surprised ; that, in fact, he quite expected it would be 

 so. Naturally we inquired if our friend had ever met 

 this savage chieftain before. "Oh yes ; he served his 

 term of years here on the chain-gang ! " " The chain- 

 ofano- ! What for ? " " Oh, I think it was murder." 



Now to any one holding the ordinary British and 

 altogether admirable respect for the Ten Command- 

 ments, a reply like this, uttered more or less casually, 

 gives pause. But on reflection one realises that moral 

 standards in Central Africa possess a wider basis than 

 obtains at home. Other countries, other manners ; 

 savage countries . . . well, not savage manners, but 

 manners adjusted to environment. The conclusion I 

 reached — and still hold — is that in Equatorial Africa, 

 at the present epoch, you can't have a better headman 

 than a respectable murderer — a murderer on your own 



1 His portrait appears at p. 284, on the extreme right. Behind 

 the author stands Enoch, his tent-boy ; to his left sits Elmi Hassan. 

 The lioness in the foreground unfortunately escaped the camera. 



