THE ROAD TO KOSHA 313 



ting that they were afraid of it. To tell the truth, the 

 swiftly running stream looked forbidding enough in the 

 darkness. 



After some delay I was ferried across. At Delgo 

 I met a Bahr el Ghazal lieutenant of mine, Ramzi Eff., 

 and in his company, having parted with my escort, 

 went on to Kosha. I will not delay in describing that 

 journey. The road is a well-worn one and as acces- 

 sible as Haifa itself. It is true that the stories of 

 sheikhs of the doings in Dervish times interested me 

 much. So indeed did it to know that my visitors, 

 now gaily clad, had only just swum across the more 

 than half-mile-wide river to see me. An amusing 

 complaint was one against an English tourist whose 

 name resembled that of Jackson Pasha, the governor 

 of Dongola, whose title he, or his servants for him, 

 assumed. He was reported to have demanded, 

 revolver in hand, to be supplied with food and 

 forage at one village. His subsequent explanation 

 that he happened to have his revolver in his hand 

 when he came to argue with the recalcitrant sheikh 

 was weak. 



At Kosha I was given a dinner — my first decent one 

 for days — by the officials engaged in that magnificent 

 work — the survey of the Nile from mouth to source. 

 Their hours of work, from before sunrise to sunset, 

 would astonish most people. 



I left Kosha for Selima accompanied by some Gar- 

 rarish police. Although they had been over the road 

 scores of times they lost their way, and I had to trust 

 as much to my compass as to them. 



