attack anything that went by. As wayfarers there could not
have been numerous, I wondered what they had lived on for the last few
thousand years. By the way, I found that paraffin, of which we had a
small supply for our hand-lamps, rubbed over all exposed surfaces, was
to some extent a protection against these blood-sucking worms and the
gnats, although it did make one go about smelling like a dirty oil tin.

During the day, except for the occasional rush of some great iguana
or other reptile, and the sound of the wings of the flocks of wildfowl
passing over us from time to time, the march was deathly silent. But at
night it was different, for then the bull-frogs boomed incessantly, as
did the bitterns, while great swamp owls and other night-flying birds
uttered their weird cries. Also there were mysterious sucking noises
caused, no doubt, by the sinking of areas of swamp, with those of
bursting bubbles of foul, up-rushing gas.

Strange lights, too, played about, will-o'-the-wisps or St. Elmo fires,
as I believe they are called, that frightened the Zulus very much, since
they believed them to be spirits of the dead. Perhaps this superstition
had something to do with their native legend that mankind was "torn out
of the reeds." If so, they may have imagined that the ghosts of men went
back to the reeds, of which there were enough here to accommodate those
of the entire Zulu nation. Any way they were much scared; even the bold
witch-doctor, Goroko, was scared and went through incantations with the
little bag of medicines he carried to secure protection for himself and
his companions. Indeed, I think even the iron Umslopogaas himself was
not as comfortable as he might have been, although he did inform me that
he had come out to fight and did not care whether it were with man, or
wizard, or spirit.

In short, of all the journeys that I have made, with the exception of
the passage of the desert on our way to King Solomon's Mines, I think
that through this enormous swamp was the most miserable. Heartily did I
curse myself for ever having undertaken such a quest in a wild attempt
to allay that sickness, or rather to quench that thirst of the soul
which, I imagine, at times assails most of those who have hearts and
think or dream.

For this was at the bottom of the business: this it was which had
delivered me into the hands of Zikali, Opener-of-Roads, who, as now I
am sure, was merely making use of me for his private occult