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Updated: May 26, 2025
About sunset we endeavoured to cross the donkeys. "Simba," a fine wild Kinyamwezi donkey, went in first, with a rope attached to his neck. He had arrived at the middle of the stream when we saw him begin to struggle a crocodile had seized him by the throat. The poor animal's struggles were terrific.
They were drinking eagerly from water bottles. Simba, lantern in hand, stood nearby. A number of savages carrying crude torches hovered around the outskirts. Kingozi could not make out the details of their appearance: only their eyeballs shining. He drew Simba to one side. "There are many shenzis?" "Many, like the leaves of the grass, bwana." "The huts are far?" "One hour, bwana, in the hills."
"Ach!" he cried, recognizing Kingozi's two men. "So it is you! What have you done with my safari?" "I led it to my bwana," replied Simba. "Where you may now lead me," said Winkleman resignedly. "By what means have you thought of these things, N'ympara?" "By the magic of this," replied Simba with becoming modesty, producing the precious bone. "Ach the saurian!" cried Winkleman. "I remember.
It had gone from my mind. It is a curious type; I do not quite recognize. Let me see it." But Simba was replacing carefully the talisman in its wrappings. He had no mind to deliver the magic into other hands perhaps to be used against himself! They led Winkleman directly to Kingozi's camp. Winkleman followed, looking always curiously about him. His was the true scientific mind.
"Now, Lord, all we can do is to go forward, for if we stay here Simba and his people will return and kill us at the daylight. One of them said so to me." "Then, 'come on, Macduff," I exclaimed, stepping out briskly, and though he had never read Shakespeare, Marût understood and followed.
Simba appeared leading a downcast askari in irons. Kingozi waved his hand toward those waiting in the sun; and the new captive made the ninth. "Now, Simba, go to the village of these shenzis. Tell the other three askaris to come; and at once. Do not return without them." Simba, whose fierce soul all this delighted beyond expression, started off joyfully, trailed by a posse of his own choosing.
Kingozi called up Simba and began to question him. "You say the water is four hours' march?" "Yes, bwana." "Four hours for you, or four hours for laden men?" "The safari can go in four hours, bwana." "Is there game there?" "No, bwana. It is a guarded water, and there is no game." Kingozi considered. "Very well. I want six men. Before the march we must get meat."
Now return to Simba the King, and say to Simba that if he lifts a spear against us the threefold curse of the Child shall fall upon him and upon you his people: The curse of Heaven by storm or by drought. The curse of famine. The curse of war. I the prophet have spoken. Depart."
Therefore Simba set forth, taking with him, according to African custom, one of the porters as companion. He carried Kingozi's rifle, but left that belonging to Winkleman with Mali-ya-bwana. Winkleman watched Simba go with considerable satisfaction. Mali-ya-bwana was a man much above average African intelligence, but he had not the experience, the initiative, the flaire of Simba.
We looked out at Tsavo with devouring interest. All was still, with the dead silence of a tropical night. Then the train steamed on and we had several hours in a berth to think the matter over. In the early hours of morning, we stopped at Simba, the "Place of Lions," where the station-master has many lion scares even now.
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