sts, in which were cultivated clearings with small
villages of the ordinary African stamp. I observed from the smaller size
of the trees adjacent to these clearings, that much more land had once
been under cultivation here, probably within the last century, and asked
Komba why this was so.

He answered in an enigmatic sentence which impressed me so much that I
find I entered it verbatim in my notebook.

"When man dies, corn dies. Man is corn, and corn is man."

Under this entry I see that I wrote "Compare the saying, 'Bread is the
staff of life.'"

I could not get any more out of him. Evidently he referred, however, to
a condition of shrinking in the population, a circumstance which he did
not care to discuss.

After the first few miles the bay narrowed sharply, and at its end came
to a point where a stream of no great breadth fell into it. On either
side of this stream that was roughly bridged in many places stood the
town of Rica. It consisted of a great number of large huts roofed with
palm leaves and constructed apparently of whitewashed clay, or rather,
as we discovered afterwards, of lake mud mixed with chopped straw or
grass.

Reaching a kind of wharf which was protected from erosion by piles
formed of small trees driven into the mud, to which were tied a fleet
of canoes, we landed just as the sun was beginning to sink. Our approach
had doubtless been observed, for as we drew near the wharf a horn was
blown by someone on the shore, whereon a considerable number of men
appeared. I suppose out of the huts, and assisted to make the canoe
fast. I noted that these all resembled Komba and his companions in
build and features; they were so like each other that, except for the
difference of their ages, it was difficult to tell them apart. They
might all have been members of one family; indeed, this was practically
the case, owing to constant intermarriage carried on for generations.

There was something in the appearance of these tall, cold,
sharp-featured, white-robed men that chilled my blood, something
unnatural and almost inhuman. Here was nothing of the usual African
jollity. No one shouted, no one laughed or chattered. No one crowded on
us, trying to handle our persons or clothes. No one appeared afraid
or even astonished. Except for a word or two they were silent, merely
contemplating us in a chilling and distant fashion, as though the
arrival of three white men in a country where before no white man had