Already there were ominous mutterings among the surrounding tribes, begotten of our reverse in Embe, but we could not get Ismail to see the matter in the same light, argue as we would. Jamah’s death seemed to have thoroughly discouraged him. We reasoned, we begged, but to no purpose. George and I went over to his camp in the evening in order to make a final effort to rouse a little spirit in him. George has a wonderful knowledge of Arabic, and he used it then with vigour and fluency. I also possess a rudimentary knowledge of vituperation in that language, and employed it to the utmost; but in vain. We argued, threatened, cajoled, and insulted, but could get no response, beyond the statement from Ismail that he was a man of peace, and wished to go his way and trade. I pointed out to him with some emphasis that it was not because he was a “man of peace” that he did not fall in with our views, as I had had ocular demonstration of the fact that he was the very reverse when he felt inclined. The reason, I told him, that he did not wish to avenge the blood of Jamah, which was crying aloud for vengeance, was a cowardly fear of a few naked savages, who were not even Mohammedans. I called Allah to witness that he was a traitor to his blood and his religion, and that Jamah, from among the “houris” in Paradise would look down and curse him for “an unclean dog without religion.”[5] He smiled a sickly smile, and repeated that he was a peaceful trader, not a man of war. I then spat upon the ground to show my utter contempt for him, and left him.