Heady, but without this admixture the honey
wine is by no means powerful. In our subsequent journey in
Central Africa, I frequently made the tetch by a mixture of honey
and water, flavoured with wild thyme and powdered ginger;
fermentation was quickly produced by the addition of yeast from
the native beer, and the wine, after six or eight days, became
excellent, but never very strong, as we could not procure the
leaves of the jershooa.
My Arabs and Tokrooris enjoyed themselves amazingly, and until
late at night they were playing rababas (guitars) and howling in
thorough happiness; but on the following morning at sunrise I was
disturbed by Wat Gamma, who complained that during the night some
person had stolen three dollars, that had for some months been
carefully sewn up in his clothes; he exhibited the garment that
bore the unmistakeable impression of the dollars, and the
freshly-cut ends of the thread proved that it had been ripped
open very recently. Of course I was magistrate, and in all cases
I was guided by my own code of laws, being at some thousand miles
from an Act of Parliament.
Wat Gamma had no suspicion of any person in particular, but his
money had evidently been stolen.
"Who was drunk last night?" I inquired. "We were all drunk,"
replied the plaintiff. "Who was very drunk, and who was the least
drunk?" I inquired. This entailed a discussion among the people
who had now assembled. It appeared that most of them had been
"very drunk;" others only a little drunk; and one old
white-headed Arab camel-driver had been perfectly sober, as he
never drank anything but water. This was old Mini, a splendid
specimen of a fine patriarchal Arab; he declared that he had not
even joined the party. Wat Gamma had left his garment rolled up
in the mat upon which he usually slept; this was in the same spot
where the camel-drivers lived, and where old Mini declared he was
fast asleep during the drinking bout.
I had my suspicions, but to express them would have defeated the
chance of discovery. I therefore adopted my usual rule in cases
of theft. I counted my people: nine camel-men, five Tokrooris,
Taher Noor, and Bacheet; in all sixteen, without Wat Gamma. Three
dollars were sixty piastres,--sixty divided by sixteen equalled
three piastres and thirty paras. Thus I condemned the whole party
to make up the loss, by each paying his share of the amount
stolen, unless the thief could be discovered.
This plan was generally successful, as the thief was the only man
contented with the arrangement. Every innocent man became a
detective, as he was determined not to pay a fine for another's
theft.
