280 
The March to Banza Nkulu. 
The head linguister, who, like “ Persian inter¬ 
preters” to commanders in chief of India during 
my day, could not speak a word of any language 
but his own, after clapping hands, congratulated us 
in the name of the great king Nekulu; he lives, 
it appears, in a Banza at some distance to the 
north or north-east, out of sight of the river, and 
he cannot be visited without great outlay of gun¬ 
powder and strong waters. We returned compli¬ 
ments, and after the usual complications we came 
to the main point, the “dash.” I had privily kept 
a piece of satin-stripe, and this was produced as 
the very last of our viaticum. The interpreter, 
having been assured that we had nothing else to 
give, retired with his posse to debate ; whilst we 
derided the wild manners of these “ bush-folk,” 
who feared to shake hands with us. After an 
hour or so the council returned, clapped palms, 
sat down, grumbled at the gift and gave formal 
leave to see the Yellala—how the word now 
jarred in my ears after its abominable repetition ! 
Had these men been told a month before that a 
white would have paid for permission to visit what 
they considered common property, they would 
have refused belief: with characteristic readiness, 
however, the moment they saw an opportunity of 
“ making money,” they treated the novelty as a 
matter of course. 
This palaver settled, the chiefs danced within a 
