Such was the scene of Israel's imprisonment, and such were the companions that were to share it.There had been a moment's pause in the clamour of their babel as the door opened and Israel entered.The prisoners knew him, and they were aghast.Every eye looked up and every mouth was agape.Israel stood for a time with the closed door behind him.He looked around, made a step forward, hesitated, seemed to peer vainly through the darkness for bed or mattress, and then sat down helplessly by a pillar on the ground.
A young negro in a coarse jellab went up to him and offered a bit of bread."Hungry, brother? No?" said the youth."Cheer up, Sidi!
No good letting the donkey ride on your head!"This person was the Irishman of the company--a happy, reckless, facetious dog, who had lost little save his liberty and cared nothing for his life, but laughed and cheated and joked and made doggerel songs on every disaster that befell them.He made one song on himself--El Arby was a black man They called him "'Larby Kosk:"He loved the wives of the Kasbah, And stole slippers in the Mosque.
Israel was stunned.Since his arrest he had scarcely spoken.