a Great One in his village. "Bism'illah!" muttered the pious Dongalawi, and spat upon the ground.
Meanwhile Zack felt so jubilant over the prospect of getting back to Vicksburg, that he didn't bother his head about the grumbling of a skinny-legged brown man in a chop-tailed nightshirt. "Huh! Side, you got a grouch," so Zack betook himself to lighter-hearted company.
A hundred yards up the river bank Colonel Spottiswoode and the two British officers observed the loading of a barge which was to transport the Americans with their baggage as far as Khartum. Zack rambled in that direction to help the white folks stand around and do nothing.
Four shanky Shilluks wrestled awkwardly with a bale of cotton, which would not roll straight down the bank, nor across the stage plank of the barge. Zack eyed them with top-loftical disgust and proceeded to give orders, "Here, you sloo-foot nigger! Cut yo' end 'roun'. Grab holt! Dar now!" The bale flopped over, jerked a naked black into the river, and went splashing in behind him. Twenty Shilluks swarmed after it and brought out the cotton.
"We can't afford to lose that bale," laughed McDonald; "that is bale number one of the Wadi Okar crop."
