The trial came off three

days later. The Court was composed of myself and two assessors. Mohammed Hassan, the local learned man of the Moslems, not really a Kadi, but a sort of deputy ("Maazoun" they call it), was one of them; the other was Manuyama, the Head Chief, rather a formal old bird: just the sort of man who would have yarned about the separation of judicial and executive functions, if he had known any language in which you can talk that sort of stuff.

My old sergeant did Prosecutor, according to his lights. He had got all the witnesses collected in a bunch outside the Court; so far as I could see, from where I sat, he was trying to teach them to form fours. When I called for one of them, he picked him out of the crowd and sent him in with the warning, "If you tell lies, you'll be sent to prison." It's not really such a bad way of conducting a prosecution, at least among primitive people.

Magindo, 1st witness, said "The white man who is dead used to go every day into the bush. He used to catch insects and put them in boxes. It is not known why he did this. Akso Wad Dok used to go with him. That is all I know."

By the Court. "Were you in the village on the day when the white man was killed?"

Witness. "No. I had gone to Mabinda to buy a cow.' Malolo, 2nd witness, said

"I have been stone-blind from my youth up, and I know nothing of this affair."

Akkousha, 3rd witness, said— "The white man who is dead used to call out for Akso Wad Dok, whose hut is close to mine, every morning on his way to the bush. On the day he died I heard him call, but I do not know whether Akso Wad Dok came out. I did not see either of them."

Manama, 4th witness, said"I saw the white man on the morning he died. He walked through the village alone. He called out several times for Akso Wad Dok. Afterwards I saw him going along the path by the old clearing. He then had a man close behind him with a gun. I think it was Akso Wad Dok, but I am not sure. It was a long way off."

The 5th, 6th, and 7th witnesses gave substantially the same evidence Manama. They were all sure that the man had a gun, but they were not certain that it was Akso. They thought it must have been, because he always went out with the white man.

Kissuru, a sub-chief, 8th witness, said—

"Eight days ago there was a beer-drinking in my house. Akso Wad Dok was there. A man from the Congo was there also. This man said, after drinking beer, that he had once shot a white man. He said he was waiting with a gun by a game path, and a fat white man came along, and

did not see him; so, when this white man had passed, he put his gun close to him and fired, and the white man was killed. He did not know who the white man was, but he shot him because he wanted to see if he could kill him or not. So Akso Wad Dok said that was a fool's trick, because some white men were very good. But, he said, this new white man is like a scolding woman: one of these days I shall shoot him, if he will go on scolding." Other witnesses confirmed this story.

Akso said, "It is true I said that. But the white man stopped scolding, and I did not shoot him."

As usual, the most important evidence came last. Three men, reputable cultivators and heads of households, deponed that they had been returning to the village on that morning, and had met Mackay in the road by the old clearing and Akso Wad Dok close behind him carrying a gun.

Akso became excited for the first time. "This is a lie," he said. "I never carried my gun when I went out with this white man. Does one shoot beetles with a gun?"

"On this day you had a gun," said one of them. "It was for that reason that we noticed you."

The other witnesses said nothing worth recording. This, with the evidence as to finding the body and the gun, and of such post-mortem examination as I had been able to make, formed the case for the prosecution.

Akso Wad Dok, in his own defence, said—

"I never shot this white man. I should often have liked to shoot him, but I never did. On the morning that he died I found that my gun was gone, so I went out to look for it. That is all I know."

By the Court. "Did you mention the loss of your gun to any one?"

Akso. "To no one in the village."

By the Court. "To any one outside the village?"

Akso hesitated. "Come," I said, "you had much better tell the whole truth."

"Well," he said, "this is the truth. I went to Gobindo, the witch-doctor at Enas, to ask him to smell out my gun. I did not say this before, because you are angry with the witchdoctor, and I knew you would be angry with me for going to him."

"What time did you go?" I asked.

"Very soon after daylight," he said.

"Did any one see you, going or coming?" I asked.

"No," he said; "I went through the bush, and I saw

I asked poor Akso if he had anything more to say.

"No," he said; "I never killed the white man. These people are lying. The truth is being hidden from you, my

master.

The Court was cleared, and I asked my assessors for their views. Mohammed Hassan said

"There is no certain know ledge, except in God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. But my thought is that the prisoner is he who killed the white man. The witnesses are all one way. They are only pagans; but why should they lie about it? He slew him because he was angry at his talk."

Manuyama said, "Who had a gun in the village except Akso Wad Dok? Who went out every day with the white man except Akso Wad Dok? His gun was found by the white man's body. His story of where he went that day is proved false. The case is clear."

I couldn't help thinking it was only too clear. The only point in Akso's favour was that he had certainly not been in the village when poor Mackay came through, and that no one had actually seen him leave the village with his gun. On the other hand, Mackay always went out the same way and at about the same time; so that

Akso might quite well have gone off by himself early to try for a shot, and have picked up Mackay later. In that caве Mackay, especially if he had been kept waiting, would pretty certainly have started nagging at him, poor chap. Akso would have stood it for some time, I thought, but, having his gun handy, it was only too likely that he would finally have lost patience and shot him. And, of course, there was the evidence of the three men who had actually met them in the path and could not possibly have made a mistake. Apart from systematic perjury, which there was no reason to suspect, the evidence was clear.

So we opened the Court again, and I sentenced Akso to death, about as unwillingly as ever I did anything in my life.

He heard the sentence with extreme composure.

"As your will is," he said; "but the witnesses told lies. Is the execution for to-day? I have things to give away."

"The case

"No, no," I said. must go to the Governor, who can confirm or pardon. There is plenty of time."

have

"To-morrow would suited me very well," said Akso Wad Dok; and he went off to his prison a good deal more cheerfully than I to my house.

I rather doubt whether people at home quite realise the difficulties of administering justice in uncivilised countries. Take

a murder trial, for instance. Are many people in England aware of the undoubted fact that the task of an English

magistrate, trying a man for his life in Africa, is infinitely more difficult and complicated, and entails a far higher degree of responsibility, than that imposed on a judge trying a man for murder in England? The judge in England presides over a great and most admirable machine for ascertaining the truth; a capable and trustworthy police force has investigated the matter with the utmost thoroughness; the case is put on both sides as well as experienced counsel can put it; the witnesses mostly speak the truth, so far as they know it; and the decision which means life or death does not, after all, rest with the judge himself, but with the jury. Above all, every body concerned is English. Judge and jury alike are dealing with people whose habits, customs, and methods of thought they perfectly well know.

Compare with this our position in the wilds. We are bound, in practice, to conduct all the investigations ourselves, because there is no one else who can do it. We have no barristers to assist us. There is no certainty that any witness, however straightforward he may seem, is telling the truth. The final decision rests with us; assessors may be of some assistance, but their advice in no way diminishes our responsibility. Each of us, when the occasion arises, has to decide, practically without assistance, whether a man is to live or die. And how much do any of us know about the working of the native mind?

We sit through long hot days. We strain every nerve not to let a word of evidence escape us; if we miss a point there is no one else to seize it. The mental strain and fatigue of such a trial is much greater than any other I have ever known. In the end we must come to a decision, one way or another; and, except for the confirming power of the Governor, our decision means life or death.

The chief wonder is, to my mind, that we don't always acquit, or at most find a verdict of manslaughter.

But this case was worse even than the ordinary trial on the capital charge, because Akso Wad Dok was not only my servant, but, in a sense, my friend; among other things, he had saved my life at the risk of his own. I wanted, naturally, to find he was innocent; I was determined, naturally, not to be influenced by my personal liking for the man. I can't tell you how I hated the whole business.

Meanwhile the papers were sent off by special messenger to Headquarters, and Akso Wad Dok was lodged in the lock-up, which stood in the corner of my compound. That is another disadvantage of our position in these matters-you haven't done with your prisoner when you have sentenced him, like an English judge; you are practically his jailor too, and if you don't superintend his execution, it will pretty certainly be muddled. It isn't so easy to hang a man quickly as you might think. So I had the pleasant prospect, if the

sentence was confirmed, of assisting at Akso's hanging.

Meanwhile he couldn't be kept in the stuffy little lockup all day, so I gave orders that he should be allowed out in the compound under guard. About half this compound was supposed to be a garden; it was looked after by an idiotic old gentleman named (approximately) Quatso, who never succeeded in making anything grow. When I upbraided him on the subject, his only suggestion was that something might be done if I would raise his wages and give him a man and a boy to help him. This I naturally refused to think of until he had something to show, and he used to go sadly back to his gardening. His method was to pump up water from a little well in the corner of the compound, and conduct it by channels over his domain; but every green thing died with startling rapidity, and my seeds, which were sent regularly from England, never by any chance

came up.

"Your Excellency never asked," said the sergeant.

"Is it my fault the well is salt?" salt?" asked poor old Quatso. "I bring the water to the land. That is the work of a gardener. How shall I make salt water fresh?" He wept miserably.

"Silence, old fool," said Akso. "Go and sit in the shade and let me be gardener. Is it permitted?"

Well, you know, it seems rather odd for the judge to turn on a man he has just condemned to death to cultivate his garden. vate his garden. But it might be months before I got the confirmation of his sentence, and it would not be good for him to be idle all that time. I didn't believe he would do any good with it, but at least it would keep him occupied. So I told him he might do as he liked about it. I didn't think he would stick to it very long.

It turned out, however, that my old sergeant, who was a Hausa from Katsena, knew all that there was to be known about irrigation and the cultivation of gardens-I believe they all do in those parts; and he took Akso in hand and found him an apt pupil. In a few days they had contrived between them to bring water from a spring just outside the compound, and they began by giving the ground a thorough soaking to get the salt out. I didn't follow all their manœuvres very closely, but I know that in about a month's

and that in two months I