The Kawass (serjeant) on board our vessel, gives me much welcome information on the condition of this people. He is called Màrian, from Mount Habila, and is the son of the murdered Mak, or King of all the mountains of Nuba, a hundred and eighty in number, according to him, and subject formerly to his father, who was slain by the Turks. He was made a slave, and was obliged, as being such, to change his name from Uadassa to that of Marian. He is of middle height, has a regular black countenance, with vertical streaks on the temples; on the forehead he is tattooed, and has ten holes at the edge of each ear, from which the Turks have taken his gold rings. He is a sensible and modest man; has been in the service thirteen years, and understands it, but has not been able to gain promotion, because he is entirely forgotten, and has no one to make the necessary intercession for him: his young son, however, was preserved at the time, and Marian’s uncle, who pays tribute to the Turks, has appointed him his deputy. Marian perceives that his tribe cannot do anything, even with the greatest bravery, against fire-arms, and therefore does not wish to acquire his freedom again by deserting. Besides this man, there are two Dinkas, a Shillkaui, and a Jengäh, on board, though hitherto I have found it impossible to learn the slightest thing from them about the manners and customs of their country, because they consider that such information would be treachery to their countrymen. At one o’clock, we got again under weigh towards S.W., and kept more to the left side of the river. About half-past two o’clock, we saw the first tokuls of the Jengähs, which are far more slovenly built than those of the Shilluks; they stand a quarter of an hour distant from the shore, near a single dhellèb palm: we landed near them. A sürtuk lay there, forty feet long, with vertical sides and pointed ends; the stern of the boat, although made of hard timber, is closed diagonally by a piece of wood: it appeared to be hewn out of the trunk of a dhellèb palm. A beautiful kind of mimosa, with thick foliage and yellowish red flowers, like floss silk, struck me especially. The blue clay soil was full of foot-prints of river buffaloes, several of whom shewed themselves yesterday evening, and blew their sackbuts stoutly.