My men were almost green with awe when I asked them solemnly, “Where are the men who deserted from me?” Without answering a word they brought two of my guns and laid them at my feet. They were covered with clotted blood mixed with sand, which had hardened like cement over the locks and various portions of the barrels. My guns were all marked. As I looked at the numbers upon the stocks, I repeated aloud the names of the owners. “Are they all dead?” I asked. “All dead,” the men replied. “FOOD FOR THE VULTURES?” I asked. “None of the bodies can be recovered,” faltered my vakeel. “The two guns were brought from the spot by some natives who escaped, and who saw the men fall. They are all killed.” “Better for them had they remained with me and done their duty. The hand of God is heavy,” I replied. My men slunk away abashed, leaving the gory witnesses of defeat and death upon the ground. I called Saat and ordered him to give the two guns to Richarn to clean.
Not only my own men but the whole of Ibrahim’s party were of opinion that I had some mysterious connection with the disaster that had befallen my mutineers. All remembered the bitterness of my prophecy, “The vultures will pick their bones”, and this terrible mishap having occurred so immediately afterward took a strong hold upon their superstitious minds. As I passed through the camp the men would quietly exclaim, “Wah Illahi Hawaga!” (My God, Master!) To which I simply replied, “Robine fe!” (There is a God.) From that moment I observed an extraordinary change in the manner of both my people and those of Ibrahim, all of whom now paid us the greatest respect.