ON THE MARCH 155 



in a copious stream from the foot. Since then the 

 elephant is afraid of what the cock will do. 



When we crossed the Boru (Lol) under J. Telgona 

 it ran between banks 15 feet high and more than 

 ICG yards across. The water, 18 inches deep, flowed 

 in a narrow channel. Here and there on the banks 

 were small patches of tobacco a few yards square. 

 I succeeded in falling into a pool near the bank, and 

 my mule sank to his girths in a small quicksand in 

 the channel, soaking all my bedding, before we got 

 over to the left bank. The discomfort of the night 

 was perhaps the principal reason for a very early start. 

 At about 3 A.M. we arrived at a group of huts, and as 

 we wanted a guide we beat at a door. The result 

 was amusing. Out of the occupied huts the male 

 inhabitants dashed into the surrounding bush — the 

 old trick in the days of the slave traders : how often 

 had my older Arabs in the Hagana described the raids 

 to me. With great difficulty — for no one is fool 

 enough to venture his head into a dark hut — we 

 induced a woman, unable to contain her curiosity, 

 to come out, and she produced a small boy as guide. 

 His place, shortly after we moved off, was taken by 

 a man. 



We made straight for Kossinga. We halted for a 

 short time at a village of the name of Arcassidei, whose 

 sheikh was an old dervish and most polite. I had a 

 long talk here with a weaver making damur (native 

 cloth). He explained that he worked in solitude, 

 and stopped working when any one came to talk, in 

 order to prevent others learning his job. The anchor 



