apart from the others with their heads toward the river, as soon as they rose on their legs, were pierced with several assaguays by the concealed Caffres, and plunged into the water with the spears remaining in their bodies.  These also rose, and floundered like the others; and as their heads appeared above, they were met with the unerring rifle of the Major and whole volleys from Wilmot and the Hottentots, till, exhausted from loss of blood, they floated dead upon the surface.

The Caffres waited till the bodies had been borne some hundred yards down the stream, that they might not be attacked when in the water by the remainder of the herd, and then swam off, and pushed the bodies on shore.  This was a very seasonable supply of provisions for so large a band of people; but those who belonged to the caravan were not the only parties who benefited:  all the Caffres of the surrounding hamlets hastened to the river, and carried off large quantities of the flesh of the animals; there was, however, more than enough for all, and for the wolves and hyenas after they had taken what they chose.  It was so late before the animals were cut up, that they decided upon remaining where they were that night; for now that they had the Caffre warriors with them, they had no fear as to losing their oxen, the king having stated that his men should be responsible for them.

Large fires were lighted, and the Caffres and Hottentots, all mingled together, were busy roasting, boiling, and frying the flesh of the hippopotamus, and eating it as fast as it was cooked, so that they were completely gorged before they lay down to sleep; Wilmot had also given them a ration of tobacco each, which had added considerably to the delight of the feast.

“It is not bad eating by any means,” said the Major, as they were at supper.

“No; it is something like old veal,” replied Swinton.  “Now, what is Omrah about?  He is after some mischief, by the way he creeps along.”

“A monkey is a fool to that boy,” observed the Major, “and he appears to know how to imitate every animal he has ever heard.”

“Did you hear the dance he led some of the Hottentots on Sunday evening, when we were at the Mission?”

“No; what was that?”

“Bremen told me of it; I thought he would have died with laughing.  You are aware that there is a species of bird here which they call the honey-bird,—­by naturalists, the Cuculus indicator; do you not remember I showed you a specimen which I was preserving?”

“You have showed us so many specimens, that I really forget.”

“Well, I should have given you at the same time the natural history of the bird.  It is very partial to honey, upon which it lives as much as it can; but as the bees make their hives in the trunks of old decayed trees, and the hole they enter by is very small, the bird can not obtain it without assistance.  Its instinct induces it to call in the aid of man, which it does by a peculiar note, like cher-cher-cher, by which it gives notice that it has found out a beehive.  The natives of Africa well know this, and as soon as the bird flies close to them, giving out this sound, they follow it; the bird leads them on, perching every now and then, to enable them to keep up with it, until it arrives at the tree, over which it flutters without making any more noise.”