John sent Coja back with a few men to bring in the loads and secure the gate. Then he lost no time in hunting through the village, and learnt, as he had hoped, that there were very few men left in it; and these for the most part old and negligible as a fighting force. He had given strict orders to his party not to injure any one wantonly. The women, seeing that there was no burning or slaughtering, recovered from their first fright. They recognized the prisoner in whom they had been so much interested, and their curiosity overcoming every other feeling, they drew slowly nearer to the strangers, uttering little shrieks of excitement. John made them understand that the men were hungry, and they ran with alacrity into their huts, not at all averse from preparing a meal for such inoffensive visitors. Meanwhile Said Mohammed had instantly seized his own cooking-pot and other utensils from the men who carried them, and set to work to cook more banana fritters and other dainties to which the white men had been strangers for many a day. Before long the whole party were seated, enjoying a capital breakfast, the men laughing and chattering like light-hearted children. In the midst of the repast they broke into song, one of them chanting a line of solo, the rest chiming in with a boisterous chorus. (Solo) Where did the white men go in the night? (Chorus) They went to the place of the bad men. (Solo) Why did they go to the place of the bad men? (Chorus) To get very much food For themselves and the good men. The white men must eat, The black men must eat, In the place of the bad men is very much food, O, eat all the food of the bad men. John smiled rather wistfully as he translated the song to Ferrier. "Poor devils!" he said. "They don’t think of what they may have to go through before they get home. Just like children.... We thought we’d never see you again, khansaman. What became of you?" "Sir, I will round unvarnished tale deliver. Crossing stream, a thousand horse-leeches take fancy to my nether extremities, and cling like grim death. I make saltatory gyrations to shunt obnoxious hangers-on, when lo! enter crocodile, without introduction, his room better than his company. I was in blue funk, sir, and scooted, with celerity and splash. In agitation of moment I forgot my pals, and when I look round, behold! they are no more. I call: no answer; I call again: silence that can be felt. You could hear a pin drop. In the charming words of the handsome but afflicted Lord Byron-- ’What next befell me then and there I know not well--I never knew:’ but when I came to myself, to quote from same sublime poem-- ’I had not strength to stir, nor strive, But felt that I was still alive,’