152 Village Life in Pongo-land. 
ness. What could that matter, when our Nimrod 
had an excellent weapon in his hand and a strong 
party to back him? Very likely Forteune was 
tired with walking, and five dollars per shot made 
the game not worth the candle. Again, perhaps 
the black diplomatist feared to overstock the mar¬ 
ket with Njinas, or to offend some regular customer 
for the sake of an “ interloper.” In these African 
lands they waste over a monkey’s skin or a bottle 
of rum as much intrigue as is devoted to a con¬ 
tested election in England. 
I then asked the guide if my staying longer 
would be of any use ? He answered with a simple 
negative. Whilst the Utangani remained the 
Mbumji (spell) would still work, but it would at 
once be broken by our departure, and he would 
prove it by sending down the first-fruits. This 
appeared to me to be mere Mpongwe “ blague,” 
but, curious to say, the sequel completely justified 
both assertions. He threw out a hint, however, 
about certain enemies and my “ medicine,” the 
arsenical soap; I need hardly say that it was 
refused. 
When the palaver ended and the tide served, a 
fierce tornado broke upon us, and the sky looked 
grisly in the critical direction, north-east. Having 
no wish to recross the Gaboon River during a 
storm blowing a head wind, I resolved to delay 
my departure till the morrow, and amused myself 
