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Updated: May 16, 2025
This done, he barked a tree to mark the spot to which he had followed the trail, and striking out into quite a different direction he hunted by scent. Jem expected to come on the burning wambiloa very soon, but he underrated either the savage's keen scent or the acrid odor of the sacred wood perhaps both.
The savage had followed the man's footsteps about half a mile, and the white man the savage, when suddenly both were diverted from their purpose. Kalingalunga stood still and beckoned Jem. Jem ran to him, and found him standing snuffing the air with his great broad nostrils, like a stag. "What is it?" "White fellow burn wambiloa wood." "How d'ye know? how d'ye know?"
About half way he stopped and reverently scattered the ashes of the wambiloa upon three graves that lay near the edge, then forward silent, downcast, reverential. "Mors omnibus est communis!" The white men, even down to Jem, understood and sympathized with Kalingalunga. In this garden of the dead of all ages they felt their common humanity, and followed their black brother silent and awestruck.
"Wambiloa wood smell a good way off when him burn." "And how do you know it is a white man?" "Black fellow never burn wambiloa wood; not good to burn that. Keep it for milmeridien." The chief now cut off a few of his long hairs and held them up to ascertain the exact direction of the wind.
Kalingalunga bowed assent, but he expressed a wish to take with him some of the ashes of the wambiloa. George helped him. Robinson drew Jem aside. "You shouldn't have mentioned that before George; you have disgusted him properly." "Oh, hang him! he needn't be so squeamish; why, I've had 'em salt " "There, there! drop it, Jem, do!"
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