Hunting the Lions | Page 7

the wagons were
very large, clumsy, and heavily laden,--one of them, besides other
things, carrying a small boat--and that it occasionally required the
powers of twenty oxen to drag one wagon up some of the bad hills they
encountered on the journey to the Zulu country.
The four sportsmen, who were named respectively Pearson, Ogilvie,
Anson, and Brand, were overjoyed at the addition to the party of Tom
Brown and his companions, the more so that Tom was a doctor, for the
constitutions of two of them, Ogilvie and Anson, had proved to be
scarcely capable of withstanding the evil effects of the climate. Tom
prescribed for them so successfully that they soon regained their
strength; a result which he believed, however, was fully as much due to
the cheering effects of the addition to their social circle as to medicine.
Having rested at the kraal a few days, partly to recruit the travellers,
and partly to give the lions an opportunity of returning and being shot,
the whole band set forth on their journey to the Umveloose river,
having previously rendered the king of the kraal and his subjects happy
by a liberal present of beads, brass wire, blue calico, and blankets.

At the kraal they had procured a large quantity of provisions for the
journey--amobella meal for porridge, mealies, rice, beans, potatoes, and
water-melons; and, while there, they had enjoyed the luxury of as much
milk as they could drink; so that all the party were in pretty good
condition and excellent spirits when they left. But this did not last very
long, for the weather suddenly changed, and rain fell in immense
quantities. The long rank grass of those regions became so saturated
that it was impossible to keep one's-self dry; and, to add to their
discomforts, mosquitoes increased in numbers to such an extent that
some of the European travellers could scarcely obtain a wink of sleep.
"Oh dear!" groaned poor Wilkins, one night as he lay between the
major and Tom Brown on the wet grass under the shelter of a
bullock-wagon covered with a wet blanket; "how I wish that the first
mosquito had never been born!"
"If the world could get on without rain," growled the major, "my
felicity would be complete. There is a particular stream which courses
down the underside of the right shaft of the wagon, and meets with
some obstruction just at the point which causes it to pour continuously
down my neck. I've shifted my position twice, but it appears to follow
me, and I have had sensations for the last quarter of an hour which
induce me to believe that a rivulet is bridged by the small of my back.
Ha! have you killed him this time?"
The latter remark was addressed to Tom Brown, who had for some time
past been vigorously engaged slapping his own face in the vain hope of
slaying his tormentors--vain, not only because they were too quick to
be caught in that way, but also, because, if slain by hundreds at every
blow, there would still have remained thousands more to come on!
"No," replied Tom, with a touch of bitterness in his tone; "he's not dead
yet."
"He?" exclaimed Wilkins; "do you mean to say that you are troubled by
only one of the vile creatures?"
"Oh no!" said Tom; "there are millions of 'em humming viciously

round my head at this moment, but one of them is so big and assiduous
that I have come to recognise his voice--there! d'you hear it?"
"Hear it!" cried Wilkins; "how can you expect me to hear one of yours
when I am engaged with a host of my own? Ah! but I hear that," he
added, laughing, as another tremendous crack resounded from Tom
Brown's cheek; "what a tough skin you must have, to be sure, to stand
such treatment?"
"I am lost in admiration of the amiableness of your temper, Tom,"
remarked the major. "If I were to get such a slap in the face as that,
even from myself, I could not help flying in a passion. Hope the enemy
is defeated at last?"
"I--I--think so," said Tom, in that meditative tone which assures the
listener that the speaker is intensely on the qui vive; "yes, I believe I
have--eh--no--there he--oh!"
Another pistol-shot slap concluded the sentence, and poor Tom's
companions in sorrow burst into a fit of laughter.
"Let 'im bite, sir," growled the deep bass voice of Hardy, who lay under
a neighbouring wagon; "when he's got his beak well shoved into you,
and begins to suck, he can't get away so quick, 'cause of havin' to pull it
out again! hit out hard and quick then, an' you're sure of him. But the
best way's to let 'em bite,