The camp stove was promptly put into commission, and the odours of the flesh-pots of Camacho the Rich were as nothing compared with the aroma of bacon and other homely American things that floated over the Ethiopian desert. A ring of tents, upon the poles of which appeared the historic words, ‘ Santiago, Cuba,’ was formed around the stove. Within the circle the camels were brought after they had eaten their full of mimosa twigs and among them the Arabs and Danakils constructed huts of our boxed effects, thatching them with their straw pack-saddle mats. They, too, were soon at work, encouraging diminutive fires, each between three round stones, to cook their porridge of sorgho. A long rope, staked to the ground by Private Vernon, our trusty Master of the Mules, was just beyond the line of tents, and to it our live- stock was tethered.


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