258 The March to Banza Nkulu . 
are cousins and one must not monopolize the 
plunder. A great man takes an hour to dress, and 
Nelongo was evidently soothing the toils of the 
toilette with a musical bellows called an accordeon. 
He sent us some poor, well-watered Msambd 
(palm toddy), and presently he appeared, a fat/ 
good-natured man, as usual, ridiculously habited. 
He took the first opportunity of curtly saying in 
better Portuguese than usual, “ There is no more 
march to-day! ” This was rather too much for a 
somewhat testy traveller, when he changed his 
tone, begged me not to embroil him with a power¬ 
ful neighbour, and promised that we should set out 
that evening. He at once sent for provisions, 
fowls, and a small river-fish, sugar-cane, and a fine 
bunch of S. Thome bananas. 
About noon appeared Chico Furano, son of the 
late Chico de Ouro, in his quality of “ English 
linguister; ” a low position to which want of 
“savvy” has reduced him. His studies of our 
tongue are represented by an eternal “ Yes !” his 
wits by the negative ; he boasts of knowing how 
to “ tratar com o branco ” and, declining to bar¬ 
gain, he robs double. He is a short, small, dark 
man with mountaineer legs, a frightful psora, and 
an inveterate habit of drink. He saluted his 
superior, Nelongo, with immense ceremony, dating 
probably from the palmy times of the Mwani- 
Congo. Equals squat before one another, and 
