be the slightest doubt that the cursed black snake had
found its way to my party in some surreptitious fashion.
• The misgiving that first flashed through my mind was
a fear lest my chronometer and rifles had been broken.
While shaking his head in a most dismal manner, John
kept on reiterating the doleful tidings that the cart was
in the river, the news being varied by strong declarations
that he was not drunk!
Arriving at the river we found that our conveyance had
become a total wreck. The dissel boom had broken off
short. Fortunately the cart was not actually in the water,
but it stood just tipped on the brink of the high bank.
With the tools I had I at once went to work to repair the
dissel boom. John sat amidst a group of admiring blacks
who had followed in the wake of the cart, and who seemed
beside themselves with delight at the entertaining scene.
His ailment had reached the whimpering stage, and he
tried to show his penitence by intermittent fits of weeping
and swearing, while ever and anon he would send forth a
spasmodic and violent shriek.
The heat was extreme, but I worked as hard as I could,
and in due time finished the repairs. Happily, nothing
important had been broken or lost; the rifle-racks had
proved an immense success. Now, however, I made up my
mind that a decrepit cart of this description was wholly
unfitted for the journey upon which I was only now at the
threshold. A waggon must be had, but where ?
Inspanning the oxen we crossed the river, and after
making camp and giving John instructions to await for my
return, I rode back to my friend Fairbairn’s house. Ever
ready to assist, he at once came to the rescue, offering me
his light waggon. Mr. Stewart, whose waggons were close
beside Mr. Fairbairn’s house, kindly lent me his oxen, so
that before night I was in a position to despatch the
waggon to the place where John was camped. Afterwards
we spent the evening in talking over the country, its people,
their habits and customs. I was up betimes: the sun
had not yet risen, and the leaden mists of dawn were
hanging over the cosy little domicile of the New Yalhalla
when I bade a last farewell to the place and to my friend
Fairbairn, under whose hospitable roof I had spent So many
pleasant days, and whose friendly aid had helped me
onward.
Mounting a very good little horse, I galloped off towards
the Umkhosi river, and reached the waggon-camp just as
the sun peeped up in the eastern horizon.
John had his head tied up in a red pocket-handkerchief.
He was a picture of woe, and no doubt felt very “ coppery.”
His forehead was all torn through his plungings in the
thorn-bush. I could not help thinking, when I looked at
him, of a wooden god, with the paint badly rubbed off,
which I had seen in a Chinese joss-house. But I asked no
questions, neither did I condole with him on his pitiful
appearance, busying myself with the transference of all
the goods from the cart to the waggon, the former being
returned with Mr. Stewart’s oxen to Mr. Fairbairn.
Once we were off I felt relief, even happiness. The feeling
of rolling along over four firm wheels was infinitely better
than sitting haphazard on the front of a small, over-loaded
cart, giving frequent chances of coming abruptly to grief by
being precipitated between the hind legs of an irascible ox.
A difficulty which I had hardly foreseen soon became
apparent. The six very small oxen which had barely been
able to draw the cart, were, of course, far from being equal
to the work of dragging a waggon through the heavy riverbeds
that lay ahead of us. My only chance of procuring