The event of January 28, was the appearance of potatoes at table. I had often gazed at this unvarying factor in one’s diet with indifference if not slightingly, and had wondered why the things were served so constantly at European tables. It was not till we missed the daily luxury that we appreciated it. The roast fowl was another bird with this accompaniment. These were the only potatoes that we saw in Abyssinia; they were very small. The cook had discovered them in a remote hamlet. I can offer no explanation of their presence in that place. He purchased a sackful for one salt and an empty lime-juice bottle, and returned to camp in triumph, shouting at the top of his voice that he had found “batatas” at last. Perhaps as he failed to discover any more, the expedition denuded the country of its whole stock. CHAPTER X On January 29 my companions and I started early for the little hill beside the river on which I had set up a “cairn” the day before. This is the first rising ground beyond the outlet of the Blue Nile. (It ought to be named after some kingly, heroic, half-divine figure that looms in the dawn of legend, but—with my modest compliments to future geographers—it has since been called Hayes’s Hill.) At the foot of it, just below the first cataract in the stream, is a ferry. It is a primordial means of transit into Godjam. Two men are in charge of a papyrus boat which they paddle across, using a pole in the manner of a canoe-paddle, as the water is too deep for punting. At this spot Dupuis had some survey work in hand which involved taking a rope to the opposite bank. Our Berthon boat had been brought down to the riverside, and Crawley and I rowed over towing the line astern and made it fast to a tree. Crawley returned, and I remained at leisure in Godjam and used my camera and fishing-rod to wile away the time. I saw some natives using a net like a seine in the shallow water just below the rapids. They had some very fair catches, and among the fishes which they hauled ashore I noticed in particular one of a blue colour which had what appeared to me to be a red sucker on its snout. I have no idea to what species it belonged. My friends finished their mapping about one o’clock, and then we lunched in the shade of a mimosa. While we sat there we had an opportunity of watching the Habashes’ method of getting donkeys across the stream. They were pushed into the water, then four to six men would scramble on to the crazy _tankoa_, which looked as if it must sink under their weight. Each man would now seize a donkey by the ear, and then the boat would start guided by the old ferryman in the stern. Thus the donkeys had to swim alongside the raft—it is no more than that—and as their heads were held above water, they could scarcely come to harm.