Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

A PAGE OF HISTORY 413
of my appeal. Said the song :
'* Lombe, you remember,
introduced potatoes, and what was reckoned poison is now
staple diet." This is their way of expressing my desire.
Yes, they treat the Gospel as though it would poison
tthem 1 But who would have guessed that a man singing
bbout potatoes was really pleading for an acceptance of
}he Gospel? By the by, this mention of diet reminds
fme of the curious tendency in Africa to enter a long spell
of monotony in one kind of food. In the mountains you
are dosed with honey, and in the plains the everlasting
fowl is your fare right round the clock— ^just a little too
much of toujours perdrix. So, too, on the Lake here, it
is fish, and fish, and more fish :
"A paddle, a row or sail,
With always a fish for a midday meal,
And plenty of Adam's ale."
Finally, on the North-West shore, near Luanza, we
made a find of a charming slice of English-looking
territory, the Chief coming up with a red fez stuck
impudently on his head, and claiming proprietary rights
to the soil. He might have been a Duke of twenty
descents, so tall his talk, so short his stature. Well,
after long hours of the old parrot cry of "property in
danger," we finally settled the meum and tuum of the
thing, and next day was appointed for the delivery of the
titles. This curious ceremony opened with the angry
roar of the Chiefs drums that lent themselves to anything
but dulcet harmonies ; then we all crossed the boundary
brook and climbed the bluff, a great ring of roaring