"So they do, but not everywhere. In the north we have cut the Uganda Railway, captured Mombasa and Nairobi, and are sweeping the English into the sea." "Well, they’ll be quite at home there! It’s our native element, you know. These successes must console you for your failure at Abercorn: they’ll lighten your captivity, Sergeant." "That is true," said the German, blind to irony. "And I shall not be your prisoner long." "I hope not, I’m sure." "It was a trick. You would never have beaten me in fair fight; and the English, when they win at all, only win by trickery. Everybody knows that." "Trickery, and superior numbers, as at Abercorn! Don’t you think the Kaiser had better throw up the sponge, then? It would save trouble." The sergeant was so much horrified by the suggestion that he launched out into a violent denunciation of England and all things English, and painted a dismal picture of the dismembered British Empire. Tom let him run on: he had heard something like it in Germany, and had taken it then, as he took it now, as the raving of impotent envy. He would probably have listened to the German with less serenity had he known to what lengths the pitiless logic of militarism had carried the Kaiser’s helots on the stricken fields of Europe. They were welcomed at the nullah with shouts of joy by the people, who had thronged behind the barricade and on the slopes. Astonishment sat on the faces of the Germans when they were admitted by the single gateway and marched up the nullah, past the trench, to the village growing by the lake. "You keep us here, with niggers?" said the sergeant. "Yes: until I have the pleasure of escorting you to Abercorn," replied Tom. "You are white men: I don’t want to have to tie you up: but I shall do so unless you give me your word not to attempt to escape." To avoid the ignominy of being kept in bonds the Germans gave their parole readily enough. Tom arranged with Moses for their rations, then returned to the rescued negroes whom he had left under guard lower down. They, meanwhile, had been regaled with stories, freely embroidered, of what the m’sungu had done, and when he appeared among them their downcast expression had been replaced by looks of hope. He learnt from Mwesa that they had been collected from several villages to the eastward, near Lake Rukwa, some fifteen miles away. Mwesa brought to him a young negro whom he introduced as the son of M’setu, the chief of the largest of these villages. "Tell them they can all go home," said Tom. "This young man may take his father a message from me. The Germans will no doubt raid the villages again for men. It is not likely I shall be able to help them a second time. M’setu, then, had better march away with all his people into British territory and remain there until the war is over."