emony
being over, the prince and his suite, continued their route in the
direction of the _South East_, which again frightened the poor _Toubabe_;
he thought that the Moors were going to resume their course to the _North_,
and that in the end they would take him to Morocco; then he endeavoured to
impart his uneasiness to Prince Muhammed, who at last comprehended him; but
to make it quite clear, Mr. Kummer drew upon the sand, a part of the map of
Africa; mean time, he heard them continually pronounce the word _Andar_,
which did not at all diminish his alarms; but by the lines which he traced,
he soon understood that the Moors meant the Isle of St. Louis; of which he
was convinced when he had written the name of the European factory, by the
side of that of Andar. The Moors let him know that they had comprehended
him; and shewed great joy that a white could understand their language.

At noon, they stopped on the side of a great pond or lake. Mr. Kummer, who
was extremely fatigued, lay down on the sand, and fell asleep immediately.
During his sleep, the Moors went to look for a fruit, produced by a tree
which generally grows on the sides of these lakes (marigots). They are
bunches of little red berries, and very refreshing: the Moors are very fond
of them, and make great use of them.[34]

During this time, chance ordered it, that Mr. Rogery, who had also been
taken by the Moors, stopped at the same place: he was brought by some of
the natives, who were taking him also to their sovereign Zaide: he soon
perceived Mr. Kummer lying with his face to the earth, and thought he was
dead; at this sight, a mortal chillness pervaded all the limbs of the
unfortunate Rogery; he deplored the loss of a friend, of a companion in
misfortune: he approached him trembling; but his grief was soon changed
into joy, when he perceived that his friend still breathed; he took hold of
him, and embraced him eagerly. These two unfortunate men were transported
with mutual joy, at meeting in the midst of their distress, with a fellow
countryman. Mr. Rogery had lost every thing; they had taken from him about
forty pieces of 20 francs each, his watch, and all his effects: he had
nothing left but his shirt, a very bad pair of pantaloons, and a hat. The
wives of the Moors, and still more the children, had greatly tormented him;
the latter, continually pinched him, and hindered him from taking a
moment's sleep. His character was remarkably soured by this trea