man, who undertook to be my conductor, I travelled up a rocky glen
about two miles, when we came to a small village, and here my
musical fellow-traveller found out that he had brought me the wrong
road. He told me that the horse-road lay on the other side of the
hill, and throwing his drum on his back, mounted up the rocks where,
indeed, no horse could follow him, leaving me to admire his agility,
and trace out a road for myself. As I found it impossible to
proceed, I rode back to the level ground, and directing my course to
the eastward, came about noon to another glen, and discovered a path
on which I observed the marks of horses' feet. Following this path
I came in a short time to some shepherds' huts, where I was informed
that I was in the right road, but that I could not possibly reach
Sibidooloo before night.

A little before sunset I descended on the north-west side of this
ridge of hills, and as I was looking about for a convenient tree
under which to pass the night (for I had no hopes of reaching any
town) I descended into a delightful valley, and soon afterwards
arrived at a romantic village called Kooma. This village is
surrounded by a high wall, and is the sole property of a Mandingo
merchant, who fled hither with his family during a former war. The
adjacent fields yield him plenty of corn, his cattle roam at large
in the valley, and the rocky hills secure him from the depredations
of war. In this obscure retreat he is seldom visited by strangers,
but whenever this happens he makes the weary traveller welcome. I
soon found myself surrounded by a circle of the harmless villagers.
They asked a thousand questions about my country, and, in return for
my information, brought corn and milk for myself, and grass for my
horse, kindled a fire in the hut where I was to sleep, and appeared
very anxious to serve me.