Niger

At that moment a fishing-boat came paddled down
the Niger close to the shore. Here was a method of
getting rid of this ragged alien. The duti summoned
the fisherman to take Mungo out of his sight.
Here the guide turned back, and the negro fisher¬
man, with considerable reluctance, allowed the
ragged and flushed-faced Mungo on board. At four
o’clock, after some fishing exploits by the way, they
came to Moorzan, a town on the northern bank.
Mungo desired to cross to Silla, a much larger place
on the south bank, and, having attained that haven,
appears to have remained considerably at a loss for
the rest of the day. Probably he was dazed with
fever. He sat down under a large tree.
Silla was delighted. It thronged out in hundreds
to look at him and speculate on him. As a front
line of spectators moved off, another took its place.
But they threw neither insults nor old boots, as at
Benowm. They had the good humour of civilised
humankind inspecting a strange but harmless
animal. Towards the fall of darkness, Mungo made
his way into the town. Rain was coming on. The
duti proved of a surly nature and only after long
entreaty would he allow Mungo shelter. That
shelter proved to be a vilely leaking hut. Here
Mungo laid down his aching bones and an aching
head, and, somewhere in the darkness of that night,
came to a hesitating decision.
He could go no further. Even with the king of
Bambarra’s cowries he was poorly equipped to press
the down-river search. Probably they would not
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