136 To Sdnga-Tanga and Back . 
ing forward to the blessed day when a trader, 
especially a white trader, shall come to dwell 
amongst the “ sons of the soil,” and shall fill their 
pockets with “ trust ” money. On every baylet 
and roadstead stands the Casa Grande , a large 
empty bungalow, a factory in embryo awaiting 
the Avatar ; but, instead of attracting their “ mer¬ 
chant ” by collecting wax and honey, rubber and 
ivory, the people will not work till he appears. 
Consequently, here, as in Angola and in the 
lowlands of the Brazil, it is a slight to pass by 
without a visit; and jealousy, a ruling passion 
amongst Africans, suggests that the stranger is 
bound for another and rival village. They wish, 
at any rate, to hear the news, to gossip half the 
night, to drink the Utangani’s rum, and to claim a 
cloth for escorting him, will he, nill he, to the 
next settlement. But what could I do ? To 
indulge native prejudice would have stretched my 
cruize to a fortnight; and I had neither time, 
supplies, nor stomach for the task. So Lango- 
bumo was directed to declare that they had a 
“ wicked white man ” on board who e’en would 
gang his ane gait, who had no goods but 
weapons, and who wanted only to shoot a nji'na, 
and to visit Sanga-Tanga, where his brother 
“ Mpolo ” had been. All this was said in a 
sneaking, deprecating tone, and the crew, though 
compelled to ply their oars, looked their regrets 
