250 SERVICE AND SPORT IN THE SUDAN 



and who cared if he were bhnd or not. They had 

 not seen him wringing his hands and crying for his 

 sight. One of my escort was his son. When he 

 heard the lad's voice he groped to him, breathless, 

 as the latter rushed forward. The old sheikh then 

 took his son on his lap, and they fondled each other 

 for hours. I see them now, rocking to and fro in the 

 shadow of a tukl (native hut), with the fire between us 

 playing on them. 



Chabindji had time to tell me many stories of old 

 times. I wish I had recorded them — the night 

 alarms, the days of hiding in the jungle, the muster- 

 roll after a raid, and the long wait for those dead or 

 carried into slavery. 



We were now in the Mongaiyat hills, a truly 

 wondrous sight. There are but few trees among 

 them. They rise, solid bare blocks of smooth granite, 

 to a height of several hundred feet from the level. 

 One particularly fine prospect comes to my mind now. 

 Two bare boulders, a hundred feet high at least, cast 

 in the same mould, formed a Titanic gateway through 

 which the path ran. J. Tarago (Surago or Darego) is 

 the highest peak. It is a holy mountain. The god of 

 Tarago has a drum which it is death for a mortal to 

 beat. A votary will make marissa, bring it to the top 

 of the hill, which is sandy, and depart. On reaching 

 the bottom of the hill he hears the drum being beaten. 

 To go up while this is going on is death. When it is 

 over he returns, finds the marissa finished, and many 

 footprints about. The god gives notice of his hunger 

 by sounding a native horn. As will be seen, the 



