King Olenga-Yombi was one of the ugliest fellows I ever met with. He always carried with him a long stick; and when drunk he struck at his people right and left, and shouted, "I am a big king!" Happily, they managed to keep out of his way.
At nightfall I got a guide, and went out to see if I could get a shot at something larger than a bird. We had gone but a little way, when my guide pointed out to me a couple of bright glowing spots, visible through a piece of thick brush. The fellow trembled, as he whispered "Leopard!" But I saw at once that it was only the light of a couple of fireflies which had got in proper position to make a tolerable resemblance to the glowing eyes of the dreaded leopard.
I did not think much of the bravery of my guide. What a difference between him and Aboko, Niamkala, or Fasiko! I wished that I had them with me.
At two o'clock in the morning we at last heard a grunting, which announced the approach of a herd of wild hogs. I lay in wait for them, and I was fortunate enough to kill the big boar of the pack. The rest of the herd made off without showing a desire for fight.
The next day, King Olenga-Yombi held a grand dance in my honour. All the king's wives, to the number of forty, and all the women in the town and neighbourhood were present.
Fortunately, the dance was held out in the street, and not in a room, as at Cape Lopez. The women were ranged on one side, the men opposite. At the end of the line sat the drummers, beating their huge tom-toms, which make an infernal din, enough to make one deaf; and, as if for this occasion the tom-toms were not entirely adequate, there was a series of old brass kettles, which also were furiously beaten. In addition, as if the noise was not yet enough, a number of boys sat near the drummers, and beat on hollow pieces of wood. What beauty they found in such music I cannot tell. There was of course singing and shouting; and the more loudly and energetically the horrid drums were beaten, and the worse the noise on the brass kettles, the wilder were the jumps of the male Africans, and the more disgusting the contortions of the women.
As may be imagined, to beat the tom-tom is not a labour of love; the stoutest negro is worn out in an hour; and for such a night's entertainment as this, a series of drummers was required.