CHAPTER IV 



I cure my guide of an imaginary complaint — On to Turda — The Nasr — 

 Back by a different route — Hartcbeest — My first lion — An unfortunate 

 accident — More lions — A forest fire — ^J. Deigo — A doubtful welcome 

 — A pow-wow — I visit the Sultan — A farewell present. 



My guide was a fiki (holy man = local Bible-reader) who 

 was anxious to travel south. The poor man will have 

 reason to remember the patrol. The day following 

 our start we covered about seventy miles. The fiki 

 had not ridden for some time, so became very stiff, 

 and finally at a short halt refused to go an inch 

 further. Argument was useless, so I prepared a great 

 " English medicine." The holy man had a twinkle 

 in his eye as he yielded to my persuasions and drank 

 a three-finger tot of whisky, which I flavoured — to 

 prevent his continually feeling a "sinking" — with a 

 teaspoonful of quinine, and diluted with water, tar- 

 flavoured, from a newly tanned water-skin. After 

 mounting his camel, he first of all showed his appre- 

 ciation of my hospitality by eructating loudly and 

 frequently (a sign of Sudanese politeness), but then 

 became very silent. At our next halt, made to water 

 the camels at a pool, though it was past 9 P.M., he came 

 over to me to complain that my language earlier in 

 the day was unsuitable to his dignity as a fiki. My 

 men, wishing they had half his complaint, laughingly 



hustled him on to his camel. 



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