Our men became very nervous, and fidgeted constantly with their guns, looking with strained gaze into the bush without the camp. El Hakim was, as usual, quite undisturbed, and George and I succeeded in keeping up an appearance of impassive calm, and condescended even to make jokes about the noise, an attitude which went a long way towards reassuring our men, who watched us constantly. Any sign of nervousness or anxiety on our part would have been fatal, as the men would have instantly scattered and run for the border, with a result easily foreseen. The morning passed in this manner, the Wa’M’bu continuing their howling, while we went through our ordinary camp routine with as much nonchalance as we could command. We had lately lived largely upon vegetables, and now determined to give ourselves a treat, so we cooked our only ham, and made an excellent lunch on ham and boiled muhindi cobs. During the meal the war-cries of the Wa’M’bu increased in volume, and our men were plainly very much disturbed. They kept looking in our direction as if for orders; while we appeared as if utterly unaware that anything untoward was happening. Presently Jumbi came up with his rifle at the shoulder, and saluting, stood a yard or so away from the table. El Hakim was busily eating, and studiously ignored him for a moment or two. Presently he looked up. “Yes?” he said inquiringly. Jumbi saluted again. “The ‘Washenzi,’ Bwana!” said he. “Well?” interrogated El Hakim again. “They are coming to attack us, Bwana, on this side and on that side,” said Jumbi, indicating with a sweep of his arm the front and rear of the camp. “All right,” said El Hakim, “I will see about it after lunch; I am eating now. You can go.” And Jumbi, saluting once more, went off to where the men were nervously waiting. His account of the interview, we could see, reassured them greatly. They concluded the “Wasungu” must have something good up their sleeve to be able to take matters so calmly. At the conclusion of the meal we instructed our men to shout to the enemy and ask them as insolently as possible if they wanted to fight. There was a sudden silence on the part of the Wa’M’bu when they realized the purport of the words; but in a little time a single voice answered, “Kutire kimandaga” (We do not want to fight). We then invited their chief to come into camp, an invitation he seemed very slow to accept, but after long hesitation he mustered up sufficient courage, and walked slowly into camp, accompanied by one other old man. He was a fine-looking, grey-haired old chap, and carried himself with great dignity. Negotiations were opened with a few strings of beads, which after a moment’s indecision he accepted. We then talked to him gently, but firmly, and asked the reason of the unseemly noise outside. “Do you want to fight?” we asked aggressively. He replied that the _old_ men did not want to fight, but the _young_ men did.