Another hour’s marching, and a total of six miles, as shown by the pedometer, brought us to the Makam Sayyid Sulayman, a partially cleared ring in the thorny jungle. It was bounded on one side by a rocky and tree-fringed nullah, where water stagnates in pools during the dry season; and here ensued a comical scene. The whole party went to drink, when suddenly all began to dance and shout like madmen, pulling off their clothes and frantically snatching at their lower limbs. It was our first experience of that formican fiend, the bull-dog ant (Siyáfú or Ch’hungu Fundo),[35] black, and a good half inch long, which invariably reserves its attentions for the tenderest portions of the person attacked. The bite of this wretch, properly called ‘atrox,’ burns like the point of a red-hot needle, and whilst engaged in its cannibal meal, literally beginning to devour man alive, even when its doubled-up body has been torn from the head, the pincers will remain embedded in flesh. Moreover, there are the usual white ants (Ch’hungu Mchwa, Termes fatalis), death upon your property; the ginger-coloured Ch’hungu ya moto, whose name ‘fire-ant’ describes its bite, and the hopper ant, who, like the leopard, takes a flying leap from the nearest branch, and cleverly alighting upon the victim, commences operations. And where the ant is in legions, one of the most troublesome is the smelling ant (Ch’hungu Uvundo), which suggests that carrion is concealed behind every bush. Verily, in Africa, as was said of the Brazil, the ant is king, and he rules like a tyrant. We spent the night in a small Babel of Baloch. It was a savage opera scene. One recited his Koran, another prayed, a third told funny stories, whilst a fourth trolled out in minor key lays of love and war, made familiar to my ear upon the rugged Sindian hills. This was varied by slapping away the lank mosquitoes that flocked to the gleaming camp-fires, by rising occasionally to rid ourselves of the ants, and by challenging the small parties of savages who, armed with bows and arrows, passed amongst us, carrying grain to Panga-ni. The Baloch kept a truly oriental watch. They sang and shouted, and they carefully fed the camp fire during early night, when there is no danger; but all slept like the dead through the ‘small hours,’ the time always chosen by the African freebooters, and indeed by almost all savages, to make their unheroic onslaughts. Similarly, throughout our expedition to the Lake Regions, the ‘soldiers’ never dreamed of any precaution whilst in dangerous regions. As we approached the coast, however, sentinels were carefully set, that all might be well which ends well.