BLACK MONTPARNASSE ipj

to snatches of argument, until just before sunset, as
the storm gathered and bore down out of the north-
west, shouts and bugle-calls brought everyone to the
fence. A procession was approaching the compound
from the village. A man with an old sporting gun
over his shoulder led the way, then a covered ham-
mock borne by four men, attendants running on
either side and one of them blowing blasts on a bugle.
I thought it must be at least a French Commissioner
and hoped that he would not ask to see my papers, for
I had no visa which would allow us to pass through
a French colony. But it wasn't a French Com-
missioner who stepped out of his hammock and
strutted to the gate with a dog at his heels and a
riding whip hung at his wrist. He was a black with
tight curled ringlets and black side-whiskers. He wore
an old white topee, a Fair Isle jumper, breeches and
braces and a belt, gaiters and little white kid boots.
He stood swinging his whip, watching us as if we
were curious caged animals, with superb arrogance.
Somebody said he was the chief from Djiecke, the
next town on the track to Ganta. He spoke neither
English nor French, but when I asked him through
Mandingo Amah how far it was to Djiecke, and told
him that I intended to reach the town next day, the
answer came, of course, 'too far/ It seemed unlikely,
for it was nearly sunset and he would hardly have
planned to spend the night in the bush. When he
had stared at us for long enough he swaggered back
to his hammock and to the sound of one more
heraldic blast was borne away swaying into the
forest.
A heavy storm broke soon after dark: lightning