To change the
current of feeling, I told the boy Saat to fetch a large gourd-shell of
merissa (native beer), of which I had received a good supply from
Kalloe. This soon arrived, and was by far the most acceptable welcome to
Richarn, who drank like a whale. So large was the gourd, that even after
the mighty draught enough remained for the rest of the party to sip.
Refreshed by the much-loved drink, Richarn now told us his story. When
separated from Mahommed at the village he had found a great number of
people, some of whom were our runaway porters; on his attempting to
persuade them to return, a quarrel had taken place, and the chief of the
village heading his men had advanced on Richarn and seized his gun;--at
the same time the chief called to his men to kill him. Richarn drew his
knife to release his gun; seeing which, the chief relaxed his hold, and
stepping a pace back he raised his lance to strike;--at the same moment
Richarn pulled the trigger and shot him dead. The natives,
panic-stricken at the sudden effect of the shot, rushed away, and
Richarn, profiting by the opportunity, disappeared in the high grass,
and fled. Once in the interminable sea of grass that was almost
impenetrable, he wandered for two days without water: hearing the
distant roar of the Nile, he at length reached it when nearly exhausted
with thirst and fatigue;--he then followed up the stream to Karuma,
avoided the M'was,--and knowing the road thence to M'rooli that we had
formerly travelled, he arrived at Foweera.
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