And there were three hundred savages more,
All hungry for murder, and loot, and worse!

Mr. King bore down with an oath and a curse,
Bore down on the chief with the slain man's sword
He saw at a glance the state of the case;
He knew without need of a single word
That the Turk had flown and the Russ was near,
And the Tchircasse held _his_ midday revel;
So he laid himself out to curse and swear,
And he raged like an eloquent devil.

They listen'd, in a mute surprise,
Amaz'd that any single man should dare
Harangue an armed crowd with such an air,
And such commanding anger in his eyes;
Till, thinking him at least an English lord,
The Tchircasse leader lower'd his sword,
Spoke a few words in his own tongue, and bow'd,
And slowly rode away with all his men.
Then Mr. King turn'd to his task again:
Sought a rough araba with bullocks twain;
Haled up the unwilling brutes with might and main,
Laid the poor wounded woman gently down,
And calmly drove her from the rescued town!

And Mr. King, when we heard the story,
Was a little abash'd by the hero's glory;
And, "Look you here, you boys; you may laff
But I ain't the man to start at chaff.