It's wonderful, in spite of the holy war that's being preached, and all the lies about him sprinkled over this part of Africa, how they all fear him, and find it hard to be out on the war-path against him.

We should be gorging the vultures if he wasn't the wonder he is.

We need boats.

Does he sit down and wring his hands?
No, he organises, and builds them--out of scraps.
Hasn't he enough food for a long siege?
He goes himself to the tribes that have stored food in their cities, and haven't yet declared against him, and he puts a hand on their hard hearts, and takes the sulkiness out of their eyes, and a fleet of ghiassas comes down to us loaded with dourha.

The defences of this place are nothing.