Thus, greatly to our ease of mind, Our foreign foes we left behind; But dangers even greater Were menacing our path instead. In every book I ever read Of travels on the Equator, A plague, mysterious and dread, Imperils the narrator; He always very nearly dies, But doesn’t, which is calm and wise. Said Sin, the indolent and vague, “D’you think that we shall get the plague?” It followed tragically soon; In fording an immense lagoon, We let our feet get damp. Next morning I began to sneeze, The awful enemy, Disease, Had fallen on the camp! With Blood the malady would take, An allotropic form Of intermittent stomach ache, While Sin grew over warm; Complained of weakness in the knees, An inability to think, A strong desire to dose and drink, And lie upon his back. For many a long delirious day, Each in his individual way, Succumbed to the attack. [Illustration ** Sin and Blood lounging under a tree being waited upon by two Africans.] XI. Our litters lay upon the ground With heavy curtains shaded round; The Plague had passed away. We could not hear a single sound, And wondered as we lay-- “Perhaps the Forest Belt is passed, And Timbuctoo is reached at last, The while our faithful porters keep So still to let their masters sleep.” Poor Blood and I were far too weak To raise ourselves, or even speak; We lay, content to languish. When Sin, to make the matter certain, Put out his head beyond the curtain, And cried in utter anguish: “This is not Timbuctoo at all, But just a native Kraal or Crawl; And, what is more, our Caravan Has all deserted to a man.” * * * * * At evening they returned to bring Us prisoners to their savage king, Who seemed upon the whole A man urbane and well inclined; He said, “You shall not be confined, But left upon parole.” Blood, when he found us both alone, Lectured in a pedantic tone, And yet with quaint perfection, On “Prison Systems I have known.” He said in this connection:-- “The primal process is to lug A Johnny to the cells--or jug. Dear Henry will not think me rude, If--just in passing--I allude To Quod or Penal Servitude. Of every form, Parole I take To be the easiest to break.” On hearing this we ran To get the guns, and then we laid An admirable ambuscade, In which to catch our man.