The column had halted at the end of the villages or rather the road that Nelson the other day had commenced.
"Which is the way, guide?" I asked to probably the proudest soul in the column—for it is a most exalted position to be at the head of the line. He was in a Greekish costume with a Greekish helmet à la Achilles.
THE KIRANGOZI, OR FOREMOST MAN.
"This, running towards the sunrise," he replied.
"How many hours to the next village?"
"God alone knows," he answered.
"Know ye not one village or country beyond here?"
"Not one; how should I?" he asked.
This amounted to what the wisest of us knew.