I would not have believed that my "Forty Thieves", whom I had considered
to be nearly civilized, could have committed such a barbarity. The truth
was, that in the high grass they could not see the effect of their
shots; therefore they imagined that the horrid rite of eating an enemy's
liver would give a fatal direction to a random bullet.
We marched, and having had several encounters with the enemy in jungle,
if possible worse than before, we halted at Kaseega.
One of my best men, Serroor, had a narrow escape; a lance went through
his neck, almost grazing the jugular vein.
On 19th June, we marched at 6.5 A.M. This was one of the worst journeys,
as the ravines were numerous, and the forest dark and tangled. It was
difficult for our solitary horse (Jamoos) to carry his load, as it
became continually hooked in the hanging loops of the wild vines. We
were quickly attacked by various ambuscades, in one of which my wife
suffered the loss of a great favourite. This was poor little Jarvah, who
went by the name of the "fat boy." Two spears struck the unhappy lad at
the same moment one of which pinned both his legs as though upon a spit;
the other went through his body.
