and the natives themselves. But a sensible fellow like you
must see that that sort of thing isn't going to last a man _all_ his
life; and, indeed, it oughtn't to. It isn't good for any man to become
a confirmed wanderer, a sort of rolling stone. So don't let this trip
unsettle you, or turn your mind from the idea of going in for hard and
regular work. Turn it to the best possible account you can while you're
on it, but make up your mind that it isn't going to last, and that when
you come back your plan is to settle down to regular work. You are made
of far better stuff than to slide into the mere knockabout, harum-scarum
adventurer, as some of these up-country going chaps are only too ready
to do, especially when they begin young. So keep that before your mind
is my advice to you. And now I dare say you're wondering whether you
are ever going to get to bed, or whether a certain prosy old fellow
intends to keep preaching to you quite all night. So, good night, my
lad. I won't say goodbye, for we shall most of us be up before you
start. Good night; I need hardly say I wish you every success."

CHAPTER TEN.

A PIECE OF ZULU JOCKEYING.

After leaving Doorn Draai they trekked on through the Umsinga district,
and, turning off the main road at Helpmakaar on the Biggarsberg Heights,
descended to Rorke's Drift. And it was while making their way down to
that now historical point that Gerard began to realise what a waggon
could do; what an incredible amount of hard knocking about it could
stand; for the track seemed a mere succession of ruts and boulders, and
as the huge vehicles went creaking and grinding over this, they seemed
literally to twist and writhe, until it looked as though each fresh bump
must shatter the whole fabric into a thousand crashing fragments. Once,
but for his promptitude, the waggon of which Gerard was in charge would
infallibly have overturned. However, they reached the drift without
accident, and crossed the next day into the Zulu country.

At first Gerard could hardly realise that he was no longer under the
British flag. This side of the Buffalo river presented no appreciable
difference to the side they had just left. A line of precipitous hills
rose a few miles in front, and to the eastward a great lion-shaped crag,
the now ill-famed Isandhlwana. But few Zulus had come to the waggons,
and they struck him as wearing no different aspect to the natives on the
Natal side, nor, by-the