In one of the ambuscades, just as the enemy had been repulsed, Faddul,
the strongest man in the "Forty Thieves", who was close to me, carrying
his knapsack on his back, his rifle slung across his shoulders, and a
box of 500 snider cartridges (64 lbs.) upon his head, walked up to me
during the halt and reported himself as badly wounded.
A spear had struck him obliquely in the posterior, and had taken a
direction towards the groin. The nian was literally bathed in blood,
which ran from him in such a stream that a large pool was formed at his
feet as he stood before me.
The instant that the box of snider ammunition was taken from his head,
he fell apparently lifeless to the ground.
I thought that he had bled to death.
His rifle and knapsack were removed, and I examined his pulse and heart!
I could not feel any movement. All I could do was to pour some brandy
very slowly down his throat, and to leave him on the side of the path as
another good man lost to the expedition.
We marched forward, and in about ten minutes we arrived at an open field
of sweet potatoes. The change from dark jungle and dense grasses of
giant height to the fresh and clear space cannot be understood, unless
by those who experienced the difficulties of the march.
