Kindly observe the neat
gradations, the artistic sorites of Mpongwe lies.
At 7.30 A.M. on the next day the loads were placed upon the
crew's heads, and we made for the village, where the boat was
still drawn up. The "monoxyle" was full of green-brown rain
water, the oar-pins were represented by bits of stick, and all
the furniture was wanting. After a time, the owner, duly
summoned, stalked down from his hut, and began remarking that
there was still a "palaver" on the stocks. I replied by paying
him his money, and ordering the craft to be baled and launched.
It was a spectacle to see the bushmen lying upon their bellies,
kicking their heels in the air, and yep-yep-yeping uproariously
when Forteune, their master, begged of them to bear a hand. Dean
Presto might have borrowed from them a hint for his Yahoos. The
threat to empty the Alugu (rum) upon the sand was efficacious.
One by one they rose to work, and in the slowest possible way
were produced five oars, of which one was sprung, a ricketty
rudder, a huge mast, and a sail composed half of matting and half
of holes. At the last moment, the men found that they had no
"chop;" a franc produced two bundles of sweet manioc, good
travelling food, as it can be eaten raw, but about as nutritious
as Norwegian bark.
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