grass near by; the wind had driven the flames on to the waggon tent,
and there was quickly an end of the matter. As for the driver and
leader, I know not what became of them: probably fearing my anger,
they bolted, taking the oxen with them. I have never seen them from
that hour to this.
"I sat down on the black veldt by the spring, and gazed at the charred
axles and disselboom of my waggon, and I can assure you, ladies and
gentlemen, I felt inclined to weep. As for Mashune and Hans they
cursed away vigorously, one in Zulu and the other in Dutch. Ours was a
pretty position. We were nearly 300 miles away from Bamangwato, the
capital of Khama's country, which was the nearest spot where we could
get any help, and our ammunition, spare guns, clothing, food, and
everything else, were all totally destroyed. I had just what I stood
in, which was a flannel shirt, a pair of 'veldt-schoons,' or shoes of
raw hide, my eight-bore rifle, and a few cartridges. Hans and Mashune
had also each a Martini rifle and some cartridges, not many. And it
was with this equipment that we had to undertake a journey of 300
miles through a desolate and almost uninhabited region. I can assure
you that I have rarely been in a worse position, and I have been in
some queer ones. However, these things are the natural incidents of a
hunter's life, and the only thing to do was to make the best of them.
"Accordingly, after passing a comfortless night by the remains of my
waggon, we started next morning on our long journey towards
civilization. Now if I were to set to work to tell you all the
troubles and incidents of that dreadful journey I should keep you
listening here till midnight; so I will, with your permission, pass on
to the particular adventure of which the pair of buffalo horns
opposite are the melancholy memento.
"We had been travelling for about a month, living and getting along as
best we could, when one evening we camped some forty miles from
Bamangwato. By this time we were indeed in a melancholy plight,
footsore, half starved, and utterly worn out; and, in addition, I was
suffering from a sharp attack of fever, which half blinded me and made
me weak as a babe. Our ammunition, too, was exhausted; I had only one
cartridge left for my eight-bore rifle, and Hans and Mashune, who were
armed with Martini Henrys, had three between them. It was about an
hour from sundown when we halted and lit a fire--for luckily we had
still a few matches. It was a charming spot to camp, I remember. Just
off the game track we were following was a little hollow, fringed
about with flat-crowned mimosa trees, and at the bottom of the hollow,
a spring of clear water welled up out of the earth, and formed a pool,
round the edges of which grew an abundance of watercresses of an
exactly similar kind to those which were handed round the table just
now. Now we had no food of any kind left, having that morning devoured
the last remains of a little oribé antelope, which I had shot two days
previously. Accordingly Hans, who was a better shot than Mashune, took
two of the three remaining Martini cartridges, and started out to see
if he could not kill a buck for supper. I was too weak to go myself.
"Meanwhile Mashune employed himself in dragging together some dead
boughs from the mimosa trees to make a sort of 'skerm,' or shelter for
us to sleep in, about forty yards from the edge of the pool of water.
We had been greatly troubled with lions in the course of our long
tramp, and only on the previous night have very nearly been attacked
by them, which made me nervous, especially in my weak state. Just as