ing the last, was treated like a dog, and made the slave of
slaves.

The geographer is not able to follow Captain Smith to Nalbrits. Perhaps
Smith himself would have been puzzled to make a map of his own career
after he left Varna and passed the Black Sea and came through the
straits of Niger into the Sea Disbacca, by some called the Lake Moetis,
and then sailed some days up the River Bruapo to Cambria, and two days
more to Nalbrits, where the Tyrnor resided.

Smith wrote his travels in London nearly thirty years after, and it is
difficult to say how much is the result of his own observation and how
much he appropriated from preceding romances. The Cambrians may have
been the Cossacks, but his description of their habits and also those
of the "Crym-Tartars" belongs to the marvels of Mandeville and other
wide-eyed travelers. Smith fared very badly with the Tymor. The Tymor
and his friends ate pillaw; they esteemed "samboyses" and "musselbits"
"great dainties, and yet," exclaims Smith, "but round pies, full of all
sorts of flesh they can get, chopped with variety of herbs." Their best
drink was "coffa" and sherbet, which is only honey and water. The common
victual of the others was the entrails of horses and "ulgries" (goats?)
cut up and boiled in a caldron with "cuskus," a preparation made from
grain. This was served in great bowls set in the ground, and when
the other prisoners had raked it thoroughly with their foul fists the
remainder was given to the Christians. The same dish of entrails used to
be served not many years ago in Upper Egypt as a royal dish to entertain
a distinguished guest.

It might entertain but it would too long detain us to repeat Smith's
information, probably all secondhand, about this barbarous region. We
must confine ourselves to the fortunes of our hero. All his hope of
deliverance from thraldom was in the love of Tragabigzanda, whom he
firmly believed was ignorant of his bad usage. But she made no sign.
Providence at length opened a way for his escape. He was employed in
thrashing in a field more than a league from the Tymor's home. The
Bashaw used to come to visit his slave there, and beat, spurn, and
revile him. One day Smith, unable to control himself under these
insults, rushed upon the Tymor, and beat out his brains with a thrashing
bat--"for they had no flails," he explains--put on the dead man's
clothes, hid the body in the straw, filled a knapsack with corn, mounted
his horse and r