We round a corner. A small village is seen below, Torbali is reached, and a Bey, the great man of the place, invites us to share his dwelling.
A little later, a black slave brought me as a present from his master, some small trout and fresh eggs. The slave could talk Arabic. He had been born near Gondokoro, and had been kidnapped from that part of the world by a party of Arabs under Sir Samuel Baker's bête noir, Abou Saood. I asked him if he would like to return to his own country.
"Yes," he said, "if the Effendi is going there with Abou Saood. We could then catch plenty of slaves."
"I know where to find them," he added, "we should soon become rich."
There is an old proverb, "Set a thief to catch a thief," but here it seemed equally applicable to slaves. I was struck by the extreme eagerness to kidnap his countrymen which was evinced by this negro gentleman.
"Well," I said, "how are you treated by your master?"
"He is a good man," was the reply, "there is plenty to eat, and not much to do."
"One thing is bad here," he added, "the master does not drink sharab (wine). I like sharab—lots of sharab, it makes one gay. Will the Effendi give me a little sharab?"
"I have not any. I do not drink myself."
"And yet you are rich," said the slave. "You have money to buy it, happy man that you are. If I were like you I would drink, drink, drink, all day and all night!"