instant have felt sorry. It would have ended the misery of that awful night, and I shuddered at the thought of the long hours I should have to watch and listen in the dark, from moonset to dawn, feverish and deadly sick as I then felt. Could inward curses have blasted, what a fate would have been in store for those four Houssas, not one of whom could be trusted to keep awake for half an hour while the moonlight lasted! How I should have gone for those Arabs had they attacked us then! What a relief it would have been to have emptied my six-shooter into half a dozen Manyema. As it was, there was nothing for it but to suppress my pent-up wrath as best I could; though between sickness and rage my head felt as if it would burst. Salacco, finding no yelling cannibals at his heels, stopped in the deep shadow of the forest verge, and looked back. Seeing no danger, he slowly returned, rubbing his shoulders where the chicot had struck him, and sorely puzzled as to the cause of the pain, not having seen the lash in my hand.
"He rushed off as if Old Nick were after him."
"'O master, I die ———,' he began as he approached.
"'Die, be ———,' I exclaimed. 'That's what make you die,' shaking the chicot at him. 'To-morrow you plenty die if you sleep like Washensi.'[1]
"'Me no sleep; Manyema come, me wake one time."
"'One time to blazes! Manyema come chop you one time, you go for wake inside Manyema belly, you no look for catch Mahommed's houris there!'
"'Master, I make good watch now.'
"Turning towards the launch, I noticed Isaac standing up on the sundeck, his legs apart, and his head resting on his hands over the muzzle of his gun. 'How the deuce can I wake that brute without an accident', I wondered, as I clambered on board. A kind providence solved the problem for me. As I stepped on the gunwale of the launch and grasped the coaming of the sun-deck, she rocked slightly, Isaac's balance was destroyed, stiff as a log he fell over, and dropped head first into the deep water on the off side. I had just time to grab his rifle before he fell. The splash sounded awful. 'Great Scott! if the Arabs are watching us, they will get a pretty good idea of what is going on, and come for us right away!' I thought, and hung on where I was, listening intently, and straining my eyes all round; but nothing could I see, and nothing hear, save the roar of the falls, the humming of insects, and the sputterings and splashings of Isaac as Salacco helped him out of the water. Luckily he had swallowed too much mud to be able to yell when he came to the surface.
- ↑ Bush native or Bushman.
