M. on April
14th. I and Selim had the dignity of a "dingy" to ourselves: Mr.
Tippet out of a little harem of twenty-five had chosen two wives
and sundry Abigails, his canoe, laden with some fifteen souls,
was nearly flush with the water. The beauties were somewhat
surly, they complained, like the sluggard, of too early waking
and swore that they would do nothing in the way of work, industry
being essentially servile Anne Coombe (Ankombe, daughter of Qua
ben), was a short, stout, good humoured lass, "'Lizer" (Eliza), I
regret to say, would not make the least exertion, and, when
called, always turned her back.
After dropping three miles down the Mbokwe River, we entered the
Londo influent: some three miles further on it fines down from a
width of eighty feet to a mere ditch, barred with trees, which
stop navigation. We landed on the left bank and walked into the
palaver-house of Fakanjok or Pakanjok, the village of a Fan head
man, called by Mr. Tippet "John Matoko." It was old, dirty and
tattered, showing signs of approaching removal. Out of the crowd
of men and women who nearly sat upon us, I had no difficulty in
hiring eight porters, thereby increasing our party to twenty-five
souls.
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