A bundle of straw was laid on the ground for Mrs. Baker and myself, and,
in lieu of other beds, the ground was our resting place. It was bitterly
cold that night, as the guns were packed up in the large blanket, and,
not wishing to expose them, we were contented with a Scotch plaid each.
Ibrahim, Saat, and Richarn watched by turns. On the following morning an
immense crowd of native thronged to see us. There was a very beautiful
tree about a hundred yards from the village, capable of shading upwards
of a thousand men, and I proposed that we should sit beneath this
protection and hold a conference. The headman of the village gave us a
large hut with a grand doorway of about seven feet high, of which my
wife took possession, while I joined the crowd at the tree. There were
about six hundred men seated respectfully on the ground around me, while
I sat with my back to the huge knotty trunk, with Ibrahim and Richarn at
a few paces distant.
The subject of conversation was merely a repetition that of the
preceding night, with the simple addition some questions respecting the
lake. Not a man would give the slightest information; the only reply,
upon my forcing the question, was the pantomime already described, by
passing the forefinger across the throat, and exclaiming "Kamrasi!" The
entire population was tongue-locked.
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