I halted and allowed them to draw near.

When they did so, a very black man, named Mahamed, in full Egyptian regimentals, with a curved sword, ordered his regiment to halt, and threw himself into my arms, endeavouring to hug and kiss me.

Rather staggered at this unexpected manifestation of affection, which was like a conjunction of the two hemispheres, I gave him a squeeze in return for his hug, but raised my head above the reach of his lips, and asked who was his master?
"Petrik," was the reply.

"And where is Petherick now ?" "Oh, he is coming." "How is it you have not got English colours, then ?" "The colours are Debono's." "Who is Debono ?" "The same as Petrik; but come along into my camp, and let us talk it out there;" saying which, Mahamed ordered his regiment (a ragamuffin mixture of Nubians, Egyptians, and slaves of all sorts, about two hundred in number) to rightabout, and we were guided by him, whilst his men kept up an incessant drumming and fifing, presenting arms and firing, until we reached his huts, situated in a village kept exactly in the same order as that of the natives.

Mahamed then gave us two beds to sit upon, and ordered his wives to advance on their knees and give us coffee, whilst other men brought pombe, and prepared us a dinner of bread and honey and mutton.
A large shed was cleared for Grant and myself, and all my men were ordered to disperse, and chum in ones and twos with Mahamed's men; for Mahamed said, now we had come there, his work was finished.