“Horrible!” said Frank again.
“I’ve read a deal about slavery, sir, and the—what do they call it?—atrocities; but what they put in print isn’t half bad enough.”
“Not half,” assented Frank.
“After what I have seen to-day, not being at all a killing and slaughtering sort of man, I feel as if it’s a sort of duty for our soldiers to come up here with fixed bayonets, and drive the black ruffians right away back into the hot deserts they came from. Did you see inside one of those huts we passed?”
“I saw inside many, Sam,” replied Frank.
“I meant that one where the two miserable-looking women came to the door to see us pass.”
“What, where a man came back to them just before we reached the dying camel?”
“Yes; that was the place.”
“I just caught a glimpse of him as we passed.”
“Was that all, Ben Eddin?”