wn Robertson joined me
and I made him also eat. His first impulse was to go to the cupboard and
fetch the spirit bottle; indeed, he rose to do so.

"Hans is making coffee," I said warningly.

"Thank you," he answered, "I forgot. Force of habit, you know."

Here I may state that never from that moment did I see him touch another
drop of liquor, not even when I drank my modest tot in front of him.
His triumph over temptation was splendid and complete, especially as the
absence of his accustomed potations made him ill for some time and of
course depressed his spirits, with painful results that were apparent in
due course.

In fact, the man became totally changed. He grew gloomy but resourceful,
also full of patience. Only one idea obsessed him--to rescue his
daughter and avenge the murder of his people; indeed, except his sins,
he thought of and found interest in nothing else. Moreover, his iron
constitution cast off all the effects of his past debauchery and he
grew so strong that although I was pretty tough in those days, he could
out-tire me.

To return; I engaged him in conversation and with his help made a list
of what we should require on our vendetta journey, all of which served
to occupy his mind. Then I sent him to bed, saying that I would call him
before dawn, having first put a little more bromide into his third cup
of coffee. After this I turned in and notwithstanding the sight of those
remains of the cannibal feast and the knowledge of the dead men who lay
outside my window, I slept like a top.

Indeed, it was the Captain who awakened me, not I the Captain, saying
that daylight was on the break and we had better be stirring. So we went
down to the Store, where I was thankful to find that everything had been
tidied up in accordance with my directions.

On our way Robertson asked me what had become of the remains, whereon I
pointed to the smouldering ashes of one of the great fires. He went to
it and kneeling down, said a prayer in broad Scotch, doubtless one that
he had learned at his mother's knee. Then he took some of the ashes from
the edge of the pyre--for such it was--and threw them into the glowing
embers where, as he knew, lay all that was left of those who had sprung
from him. Also he tossed others of them into the air, though what he
meant by this I did not understand and never asked. Probably it was
some rite indicative of expiation or of revenge, or both, which he had
learned from the savages