No argument was of any avail. Kabba Rega replied, "You were my father's
friend and brother: your wife was the same. You drove back the
slave-hunters under Wat-el-Mek by hoisting your flag. Since you left us,
the slave-hunters have returned and ruined the country. My father is
dead; but Rionga is still alive. Now you are my father, and your wife is
my mother: will you allow your son's enemy to live?"
It was quite useless to attempt reason with this hardened young fellow,
who had not an idea of mercy in his disposition. As he had murdered his
own relatives by the foulest treachery, so he would of course destroy
any person who stood in his way. I therefore changed the conversation to
Abou Saood.
Kabba Rega and his sheiks all agreed that he had arrived here some time
ago in a very miserable plight, exceedingly dirty, and riding upon a
donkey. He was without baggage of any kind, and he introduced himself by
giving a present to Kabba Rega of an old, battered metal basin and jug,
in which he washed, together with a very old and worn-out small carpet,
upon which he was accustomed to sit.
