drunken Frenchman named Leblanc, whom I had known in my youth and who
had been a friend of Napoleon, or so he said, told me that the great
emperor when he was besieging Acre in the Holy Land, was forced to
retreat. Being unable to carry off his wounded men, he left them in
a monastery on Mount Carmel, each with a dose of poison by his side.
Apparently they did not take the poison, for according to Leblanc, who
said he was present there (not as a wounded man), the Turks came and
butchered them. So Napoleon chose to save his own life and that of his
army at the expense of his wounded. But, after all, I reflected, he
was no shining example to Christian men and I hadn't time to find any
poison. In a few words I explained the situation to Mavovo, leaving out
the story of Napoleon, and asked his advice.

"We must run," he answered. "Although I do not like running, life is
more than stores, and he who lives may one day pay his debts."

"But the wounded, Mavovo; we cannot carry them."

"I will see to them, Macumazana; it is the fortune of war. Or if they
prefer it, we can leave them--to be nursed by the Arabs," which of
course was just Napoleon and his poison over again.

I confess that I was about to assent, not wishing that I and Stephen,
especially Stephen, should be potted in an obscure engagement with some
miserable slave-traders, when something happened.

It will be remembered that shortly after dawn Hans, using a shirt for a
flag, had led the fugitive slaves past the camp up to the hill behind.
There he and they had vanished, and from that moment to this we had seen
nothing of him or them. Now of a sudden he reappeared still waving the
shirt. After him rushed a great mob of naked men, two hundred of them
perhaps, brandishing slave-sticks, stones and the boughs of trees. When
they had almost reached the _boma_ whence we watched them amazed, they
split into two bodies, half of them passing to our left, apparently
under the command of the Mazitu who had accompanied Hans to the
slave-camp, and the other half to the right following the old Hottentot
himself. I stared at Mavovo, for I was too thunderstruck to speak.

"Ah!" said Mavovo, "that Spotted Snake of yours" (he referred to Hans),
"is great in his own way, for he has even been able to put courage into
the hearts of slaves. Do you not understand, my father, that they are
about to attack those Arabs, yes, and to pull them down, as wild dogs do
a buffalo calf?"

I