r was on the trigger, my gun ready to be raised,
my eyes and ears busily engaged in detecting the slightest sounds, that I
might defend a life which I at that moment believed was ebbing with my
blood away; the loveliness of nature was around me, the sun rejoicing in
his cloudless career, the birds were filling the woods with their songs,
and my friends far away and unapprehensive of my condition, whilst I felt
that I was dying there.

And in this way very many explorers yearly die. One poor youth (Mr.
Frederick Smith) my own friend and companion, has thus fallen since the
circumstances above described took place; others have, to my knowledge,
lately perished in a similar way. A strange sun shines upon their lonely
graves; the foot of the wild man yet roams over them: but let us hope
when civilization has spread so far that their graves will be sacred
spots that the future settlers will sometimes shed a tear over the
remains of the first explorer, and tell their children how much they are
indebted to the enthusiasm, perseverance, and courage of him who lies
buried there.

Mr. Walker was by my side within an hour after the time that Coles had
left me; he had come on alone ahead of the others, not knowing but that I
might be in immediate danger, and therefore running a risk on my account
that I can never forget.

He dressed my wound and told me that assistance was at hand to convey me
to the tents. Mr. Lushington soon arrived with a pony. It was now growing
very late in the day. I therefore did not like to remonstrate against
being moved on horseback although, from the position of my wound, I
feared that it was an injudicious mode of conveyance in my state. I was
placed upon the pony and, supported by my comrades, moved onwards to the
tent.

REACH THE CAMP. CONSEQUENCES OF THE WOUND.

I cared but little for the want of comforts I must now be subject to.
Therein I only shared the lot of many a worthy soldier; but one thing
made the night very wretched, for then through the woods came the
piercing shrieks of wailing women and the mournful cries of native men,
sorrowing over him who had that day fallen by my hand. These cries rang
on my ears all night, startling me at every moment from my feverish and
fitful slumbers.

Early next morning the natives moved off in a westerly direction without
having again attempted in any way whatever to molest us. My wound was not
today so painful as I had anticipated. Mr. Walker, at my