CHAPTER XIII. 
THE MARCH TO BANZA NKULU. 
UT revelry at night brings morning 
headache, and we did not set out, as 
agreed, at dawn. By slow degrees the 
grumbling, loitering party was mustered. 
The chiefs were Gidi Mavunga, head guide, and 
his son Papagayo, a dull quiet body; Chico 
Mpamba, “ French landlord” of Banza Nokki, and 
my interpreter Nchama Chamvu. Fourteen armed 
moleques carried our hammocks and our little 
viaticum in the shape of four bottles of present- 
gin, two costa-finas, (zz twenty-four yards of fancy 
cotton), and fourteen fathoms of satin-stripe, the 
latter a reserved fund. The boy “ Lendo,” whose 
appropriate name means “ The Go,” bore a burden 
of his own size all day, and acted as little foot- 
page at the halt. The “ gentlemen ” were in full 
travelling costume. Slung by a thong to the chief 
guide’s left shoulder were a tiger-cat skin, carda- 
