We all kept in splendid health, George and I in particular being burnt almost black by the fierce sun; and we felt that we should be content to remain where we were for an indefinite period. Game was more than plentiful, the climate was glorious, and we were free as the pure air we breathed. Only those who have been placed in similar circumstances can appreciate the full value of that word “free.” We did precisely what seemed good to us in our own eyes. We rose early, bathed in the warm spring, ate our breakfast, and then went shooting, or, if disinclined for that, we sat in a folding-chair in the shade of the trees and read, or mended our clothes, ever and anon raising our eyes to watch the herds of game walking steadily past our camp on their way down to the river to drink. In time we got to know the various herds, and even to recognize individual members of the same herd. The different herds also had their regular times for drinking, which never varied by more than a few minutes. The water-buck were the earliest; they came down just after sunrise. At ten o’clock precisely the graceful grantei would come down in herds, scouted by the young bucks. They were followed at midday by the oryx; and at four in the afternoon the zebra arrived in their turn. The rhinoceros, on the contrary, went down at all times, whenever they felt inclined, though they usually drink at night. It was a perfectly Arcadian existence, which we left with very real regret when the exigences of travel compelled us once more to resume our weary march over the sun-scorched desert country down-river. During our stay my shot-gun was not idle. In the evenings there were numerous doves in the vicinity, which made a welcome change in our menu; and now and again I secured a few grouse. Hares, too, were always obtainable with a little trouble. One night, about eleven o’clock, we were called out of bed by the sentry, who put his head into our tent, and in an awestruck whisper ejaculated, “Kuja kutasamo m’bogo, Bwana” (Come and see the buffalo, master). We went outside, where we were joined by El Hakim, who had also been called. It was a brilliant moonlight night, and the country was almost as clearly visible as in the daytime. On the bank of our little stream, just opposite the camp, a mighty herd of buffalo was marching along, utterly unconscious of our proximity. They showed up wonderfully distinct in the brilliant moonlight, as they stalked majestically past. A passing cloud covered the face of the moon, and the weird sense of power and grandeur was further heightened by the temporary obscurity, as the now dim and ghost-like procession moved past. We gazed at them with a feeling that was half exultation and half awe, as we reflected that to us had been vouchsafed a sight at once so impressive and now, alas! so rare.[13]