iPassing on to the banks of the Mangue river we came
to the house of a Boer—an old hunter who has permission
from the king to live here. His wife was a victim to fever.
•I had sundry articles from my friend to deliver to him, and
noticed with some interest the careful eye he kept upon
the balance-scales as I weighed out his quantity of dried
peaches * from America, and sugar—veritable luxuries in
this country. The old Boer was a smart man of business in
this particular. He told me that Lo-ben was in a bad
humour, and had been blotting out a few lives lately.
Our animals all looked very well on the night of the
20th of April; but on the following day the yellow horse, as
I termed him, fell very ill, and during the night died. He
was a very good little beast, but had not had the sickness,
in other words was not “ salted.”
I watched the symptoms carefully, but was at a loss to
know what to do for him. This sickness seems to me to
be a regular fever, with quick and violent pulsation. The
nostrils are dilated, and there is evident pain in breathing.
A copious discharge of a very yellow fluid comes from the
nose, and, after death, a large amount of foam—likewise
yellow—is blown from the nostrils and mouth.
By this time the weather had greatly changed. Usually
I wore nothing but a shirt and light corduroy trousers, but
now a coat and waistcoat were not out of place, and far from
being too warm. We were getting high in elevation, the
camp then being 3,850 feet above the sea.
A few mornings after this, according to my usual habit,
I started out on horseback, leaving the waggons trekking
in a north-easterly direction. My intention was to cross
their spoor later in the day, as when I killed game I could
* The water in which the peaches are stewed is considered a valuable
medic ne in fever cases.
LO S T ! 47
Carry a portion of it on horseback to the camp. I had given
chase to some antelope, but after going a long way I looked
at my watch and found that I had been, three hours in
the chase.
Turning abruptly round, I made off in what I thought
was the right direction to come up to the waggons. After
galloping hard for some time I came to the conclusion, not
having discovered the waggons’ spoor, that I must have
inadvertently crossed the track, so I started upon a new
quest in a more southerly direction, keeping up a good
pace, as I knew the waggons would now be far away ahead,
and the boys would be out all over the country after me.
There was no doubt that I was, properly lost. I would
at once have to shoot something for that night’s supper.
Wandering for a time, I saw, about 200 yards off, a very
large pauw, which is a big grey bird, larger than a good-
sized turkey. I immediately jumped off my horse and
tied him to a tree. There was a very bad place to cross
before I could get to the bird, so I fired at 200 yards,
and was fortunate in hitting it fairly on the breast.. The
bullet expanded, and glanced off instead of piercing: so
much for the boasted hollow bullets; although it is right
to say that mine were hollowed too much.
I started after the pauw at my top speed, for in spite of
the shot, it was making good tracks, and I contemplated
making my supper off him. As I advanced I was astounded
to see suddenly a young Matabeli running alongside of me.
It seemed as if he had sprung out of the grass. With his
knobkerry he soon despatched the bird.
The young warrior’s unexpected appearance was a surprise
as pleasant as it was mysterious. I was delighted to see
him. Now I would again find the spoor, and anticipations
of a feast on raw fowl—I had no matches—were dispelled.