CHAPTER XV—­NEGRO CURIOSITY; A MESSAGE FROM THE KING

Wawra is a small town surrounded with high walls, and inhabited by a mixture of Mandingoes and Foulahs.  The inhabitants employ themselves chiefly in cultivating corn, which they exchange with the Moors for salt.  Here, being in security from the Moors, and very much fatigued, I resolved to rest myself; and meeting with a hearty welcome from the dooty, whose name was Flancharee, I laid myself down upon a bullock’s hide, and slept soundly for about two hours.  The curiosity of the people would not allow me to sleep any longer.  They had seen my saddle and bridle, and were assembled in great numbers to learn who I was and whence I came.  Some were of opinion that I was an Arab; others insisted that I was some Moorish Sultan, and they continued to debate the matter with such warmth that the noise awoke me.  The dooty (who had formerly been at Gambia) at last interposed in my behalf, and assured them that I was certainly a white man; but he was convinced from my appearance that I was a poor one.

July 6.—­It rained very much in the night, and at daylight I departed in company with a negro who was going to a town called Dingyee for corn; but we had not proceeded above a mile before the ass upon which he rode threw him off, and he returned, leaving me to prosecute the journey by myself.

I reached Dingyee about noon, but the dooty and most of the inhabitants had gone into the fields to cultivate corn.  An old Foulah, observing me wandering about the town, desired me to come to his hut, where I was well entertained; and the dooty, when he returned, sent me some victuals for myself and corn for my horse.

July 7.—­In the morning, when I was about to depart, my landlord, with a great deal of diffidence, begged me to give him a lock of my hair.  He had been told, he said, that white men’s hair made a saphie that would give to the possessor all the knowledge of white men.  I had never before heard of so simple a mode of education, but instantly complied with the request.

I reached a small town called Wassiboo, about twelve o’clock, where I was obliged to stop until an opportunity should offer of procuring a guide to Satile, which is distant a very long day’s journey, through woods without any beaten path.  I accordingly took up my residence at the dooty’s house, where I stayed four days, during which time I amused myself by going to the fields with the family to plant corn.  Cultivation is carried on here on a very extensive scale; and, as the natives themselves express it, “Hunger is never known.”  In cultivating the soil the men and women work together.  They use a large sharp hoe, much superior to that used in Gambia, but they are obliged, for fear of the Moors, to carry their arms with them to the field.  The master, with the handle of his spear, marks the field into regular plats, one of which is assigned to every three slaves.