Haviland opened the talk with a few civilities in the current dialect, just to let them see he was no novice at interior travel, then he left the negotiations to Somala. They were peaceful travellers, and desired to quarrel with no man, but were well armed, and feared no man. They would send a present of cloth and brass wire for Mushâd and some of his more distinguished followers, then they would go their different ways in peace and amity.
The ghost of a contemptuous smile flickered across the features of the Arabs at this prospect. Then Mushâd said:
“And my slaves? They will be sent too?”
“Slaves?”
“My slaves. Those who have fled to your camp, O travellers. They must be sent back.”
“But they have taken refuge with us. They have eaten our salt, O chief. We cannot yield them up. Take presents from us instead.”
“You are young, and therefore foolish,” replied Mushâd, staring Haviland in the eye with haughty contempt. “My slaves must be given up. I have said it.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Look yonder. Have you as many fighters as these?”
“Not quite as many. But we are well armed, and, fighting in a good cause, we fear no man.”