"[FN#17]
In the afternoon Selim went to fetch my arsenical soap from
Mbata, where I had left it en Fitiche: as long as that "bad
medicine" was within Hotaloya's "ben," no one would dare to
meddle with my goods. Forteune walked in very tired about sunset.
He had now added streaks of red to the white chalk upon his face,
arms, and breast, for he suspected, we were assured, witchcraft.
I told him to get ready for a march on the morrow to the Shekyani
country, lying south-east, but he begged so hard, and he seemed
so assured of showing sport, that the design was deferred, and
again "perdidi diem."
Monday the 24th was a Black Monday, sultry and thundery. We went
to the bush, and once more we returned, disgusted by the
chattering of the wild men. As we discussed our plans for moving,
Forteune threw cold water upon every proposal. This puzzled me,
and the difficulty was to draw his secret. At last Kanga, a black
youth, who, being one of the family, had attached himself
uninvited to the party, blurted out in bad French that the
Shekyani chief, to whose settlement we were bound, had left for
the interior, and that the village women would not, or rather
could not, give us "chop.
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