extract the truth. Baraka protested that he had never given,
either by word or deed, the slightest cause of rupture; he only
desired the prosperity of the march, and that peace should reign
throughout the camp; but Bombay was suspicious of him, and
malignantly abused him, for what reason Baraka could not tell.
When I spoke of this to Bombay, like a bird fascinated by the eye
of a viper, he shrank before the slippery tongue of his opponent,
and could only say, "No, Sahib--oh no, that is not it; you had
better turn me off, for his tongue is so long, and mine so short,
you never will believe me." I tried to make them friends, hoping
it was merely a passing ill-wind which would soon blow over; but
before long the two disputants were tonguing it again, and I
distinctly heard Bombay ordering Baraka out of camp as he could
not keep from intermeddling, saying, which was true, he had
invited him to join the expedition, that his knowledge of
Hindustani might be useful to us; he was not wanted for any other
purpose, and unless he was satisfied with doing that alone, we
would get on much better without him. To this provocation Baraka
mildly made the retort, "Pray don't put yourself in a passion,
nobody is hurting you, it is all in your own heart, which is full
of suspicions and jealousy without the slightest cause."

This complicated matters more than ever. I knew Bombay to be a
generous, honest man, entitled by his former services to be in
the position he was now holding as fundi, or supervisor in the
camp. Baraka, who never would have joined the expedition
excepting through his invitation, was indebted to him for the
rank he now enjoyed-- a command over seventy men, a duty in which
he might have distinguished himself as a most useful accessory to
the camp. Again I called the two together, and begged them to act