Never accustomed to much paddling in any case, our own men had suffered from hunger and confinement in the reeking hot dhow.

Then, hippo meat needs hours of cooking to be wholesome (our own share of it was still in the pot, waiting to be boiled more thoroughly at the next halting place).
They had merely toasted their tough lumps in the camp-fire embers and gobbled it.

The result was a craving for sleep, noisily seconded by the chief's four men, who had eaten the stuff without cooking at all, and in enormous quantities.
We began with a keen determination to overhaul the dhow, that dwindled as we had time to think the matter over; wondering what we should do with two such women in case we should capture them, and how we should prevent Coutlass in that case from acting like a savage.
"Why don't we leave 'em to make their own explanations ?" I proposed at last.

"We can claim our few belongings at any time if we see fit." But the suggestion took time to recommend itself.
That night until nearly morning we fretted at every rest the paddlers took--drove them unmercifully--ran risks of overturning on the slippery shoulders of partly submerged rocks--took long turns ourselves to relieve the weary men, Coutlass working harder than the rest of us.

It would have been a bad night's work if we had overhauled the dhow and loosed him to do his will.
"Think of the baggage!" he kept shouting to the night at large.