Stanley, who was equal in stratagem to an American Indian, played them a trick that night which took all their bravado out of them. Waiting till he thought they were asleep, he took the Lady Alice, and Frank Pocoke a canoe, and both with muffled oars, rowed up the river to find their camp. It was a rainy, dark and windy night, and, hence, favorable to the enterprise he had in hand, and his movements were undiscovered. By the light of a fire on the bank he ascertained the location of the camp, and advancing cautiously saw some forty canoes drawn up on shore. Bidding Frank go down stream and lie to, to catch them as they floated down, he quietly cut them all adrift. They were caught by the former, and by midnight were at Stanley's camp. He knew that he now had them in his power, and so in the morning proceeded to their camp and made offers of peace, which they were glad to accept on the condition that their canoes were returned to them. This was agreed to and blood-brotherhood made. Stanley, however, whose great need had been canoes, determined not to let all these slip through his hands, and retained twenty-three, giving back only fifteen. Tipo-tipo now told Stanley that he would proceed no further, his people were dying rapidly, the difficulties of marching were increasing and he must return. The latter saw he was determined to go, although eight marches remained to be made, and released him. In truth, now he had boats enough to carry his entire expedition, Tipo-tipo, cumbered with the sick, would be a burden rather than a help, and at the rate they were moving, eight marches, more or less, would not amount to much. Besides, marching by land, Stanley saw must be given up or they would never get to the sea. Thus far they had scarcely made any westing at all, having gone almost due north, and were nearly as far from the Atlantic Ocean as when they left Nyangwe. The only thing he feared was the effect the departure of the escort would have on his men. In announcing to them that on the sixth day they should start down the river, he made them quite a speech, in which he asked them if he had not always taken good care of them and fulfilled all his promises, and said that if they would trust him implicitly he would surely bring them out to the ocean and see them safe back to Zanzibar. "As a father looks after his children," he said, "so will I look after you." A shout greeted him at the close. One of his chiefs followed in an address to the Arabs, while Uledi, the coxswain, spoke for the boatmen in a very satisfactory strain.