Niger

awkward enough, suddenly very near tears at that
unexpected kindness, but already seeking to orient
the act into priggish phrases that would leave him
unmoved.
He ate the nuts, perhaps shared them with the
others who sat hungry and hot on the platform, and
then fortune turned her wheel yet another point.
Kasson, the blacksmith’s native country, lay east¬
ward of Kajaaga, not a Serawoolli but a Man-
dingo land. It was ruled by one Demba Sego Jalla,
and this potentate had despatched his nephew, of
the same name, to attempt to settle the disputes
which were bringing the two countries to the verge
of war. The young African diplomat had met
with no success in his mission. He had turned to
ride home when he heard of the white man at Joag.
And here he now was before the bentang platform,
offering his services to guide Mungo out of un¬
friendly Kajaaga into friendly Kasson.
They set out next morning, December the 27th,
Mungo riding in the midst of a numerous company,
in his second-best blue suit, impoverished, uncertain
of the future, but with at least temporary friends.
Beyond Joag Johnson insisted on sacrificing a white
cock, not to Aesculapius, but to the tree-spirits : he
bound the chicken to a tree and left it there. Mungo
priggishly admired his piety, but £ laughed at his
folly’.
They were passing through the healthiest and
most fertile country that Mungo had yet entered.
The forests towered green and tremendous on the
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