As a result they exercise a great moral influence, and I should not hesitate to assert that El Mekki alone would be able to put a veto on the favourable or unfavourable resolutions of Madidu with regard to us. From which it will be seen clearly enough how very valuable the friendship of this El Mekki would be. Before the evening mists arose we set sail to go through the pass, which we managed to do without accident, and anchored opposite the village to await the morning. [Illustration: THE KEL ES SUK OF ANSONGO REFUSE TO SUPPLY US WITH GUIDES.] On the 9th we crossed over very early, but, alas! the day began badly. El Mekki did not come, but sent instead two messengers, who—I really don’t know on what stupid pretext—told us it was impossible to supply us with guides. I protested in vain, invoking the name of Madidu. Political reasons imperatively demanded that we should make a friend of El Mekki, but there was yet another more immediate motive for our desire, and that was, we were close to the rapids. As I have already said, they begin at Ansongo. We did not yet know all the difficulties they would cause us; all we had to help us was what Barth had said about them, and we had never known him wrong, which was quite enough to prove how absolutely indispensable pilots would be, for at every turn we should have to choose the most practicable of the many arms of the river. I called up all my powers of patience, and tried to discuss the matter quietly, but it was only labour lost. Indeed some negroes who had come down to the bank to speak to us were ordered back to the village by the Kel es Suk. Now came a second deputation, this time an openly hostile one, of men with determined faces. “What,” they demanded, “were our intentions?” “Peaceful and good,” was our reply. “What is your religion?” they went on. “That of Issa,” we answered; “whom your own prophet names as his forerunner. We are Kitabi, or people of the book. Your own religion enjoins you to treat us as friends, seeing that we entertain amicable feelings for you.” Tierno chimed in, arguing with his fellow marabouts to make them listen to reason, but with very little success. “Anyhow,” I said at last, “your fathers let a Christian pass through their country in peace, and indeed they even helped him. That Christian, my uncle, Abdul Kerim, was the friend and _protégé_ of Sidi Hamet Beckay; do you think you can do better than your fathers, and the chief who was venerated throughout the whole of the Sudan?” Surprise and hurried interrogations now ensued. “What! are you the nephew of Abdul Kerim?” I read Barth’s book every day, so that it is rather difficult to put me out when his adventures are discussed. Now it so happened that just before he reached Ansongo a little episode occurred to him which is well worth relating.