a sound more resembling a laugh than anything else;
but it is far from mirthful.
While returning from the hippopotamus hunt to
Daitcho, I lost my little fox-terrier, Felix. The day
was hot, and we were marching briskly along the
banks of the Ura River. Fearing he would one day
be caught by a crocodile, I was always careful to keep
my eye upon him when near a stream; but on this
occasion, overcome by heat and thirst, he paid no heed
to my voice, but dashed on ahead, until he reached a
small game path leading to the river. An almost
human cry, a loud splash, and Felix there was no
more Felix. The crocodile was probably lying in wait
at the foot of the game path, hoping to catch some
unwary antelope that should come down to quench
its thirst, and Felix had unwittingly rushed into its
jaws.
Nearly every day of my stay at Daitcho I gave the
men rifle practice, and in a short time, with the exception
of one or two, they became excellent rifle shots at
distances ranging from 100 to 200 yards. As they
became adept in the use of their weapons, their characters
appeared to undergo change, their bearing became
more martial, and they seemed to be imbued
with fresh spirjh.
One day I received a message from Bykender, that
the natives of his village were about to hold a dance,
and he wished me to come and see it; my presence
would not only please the natives, but would enhance
his influence over them. The dance was held at a
spot about thirty minutes’ walk from my camp. The
pleasant sound of male voices in song guided me to a