142 



The National Geographic Magazine 



our hands were roughly twisted and 

 bound behind our backs with stout pal- 

 metto cords that cut like knives. 



Varley, who made a fierce resistance, 

 was handled with more violence. Indeed 

 I thought the rifle blows would split his 

 head, while his hand was cut to make him 



Once outside, our assailants endeav- 

 ored to drive us down to the stables, 

 but we managed to make our way toward 

 a guard-house, where a couple of govern- 

 ment soldiers were stationed rather as 

 gatekeepers to attend visitors than for 

 any purpose of defense. 



A Group of Camels Passed on the Way to Tsarradan. The Site of Our Captivity 



let go his hold upon one of the gang, 

 whom he had liked to have strangled. 



At this moment the housekeeper, hear- 

 ing our voices, rushed across the hall 

 from her dining-room, where she had 

 locked herself in, and, just as we were 

 driven out of doors, we saw a blow aimed 

 at her head and she fell to the floor. This 

 was the last we saw, then, of any one in 

 the house where I have never since set 

 foot. 



RAISUIvI 



By a lamp in front of this building we 

 saw our guards, our gardeners, and other 

 native servants under cover of the rifles 

 of another party of mountaineers, while 

 a little apart stood their leader, a man of 

 fine presence, attired in the handsome 

 dress worn by the native gentry. One of 

 my men was reproaching this personage 

 bitterly for this unprovoked aggression. 



