The second day of our arrival at Urimba I struck off into the interior with my gun-bearer, Kalulu, carrying the Doctor's splendid double-barreled rifle (a Reilly, No. 12), on the search for venison. After walking about a mile I came to a herd of zebras. By creeping on all-fours I managed to come within one hundred yards of them; but I was in a bad spot--low prickly shrubs; and tsetse flies alighting on the rifle-sight, biting my nose, and dashing into my eyes, completely disconcerted me; and, to add to my discontent, my efforts to disengage myself from the thorns, alarmed the zebras, which all stood facing the suspicious object in the bush. I fired at the breast of one, but, as might be expected, missed. The zebras galloped away to about three hundred yards off, and I dashed into the open, and, hastily cocking the left-hand trigger, aimed at a proud fellow trotting royally before his fellows, and by good chance sent a bullet through his heart. A fortunate shot also brought down a huge goose, which had a sharp horny spur on the fore part of each wing. This supply of meat materially contributed towards the provisioning of the party for the transit of the unknown land that lay between us and Mrera, in Rusawa, Kawendi. It was not until the third day of our arrival at our camp at Urimba that our shore party arrived. They had perceived our immense flag hoisted on a twenty-feet long bamboo above the tallest tree near our camp as they surmounted the sharp lofty ridge behind Nerembe, fifteen miles off, and had at first taken it for a huge bird; but there were sharp eyes in the crowd, and, guided by it, they came to camp, greeted as only lost and found men are greeted. I suffered from another attack of fever at this camp, brought on by the neighbourhood of the vile delta, the look of which sickened the very heart in me. On the 7th of January we struck camp, and turned our faces eastward, and for me, home! Yet regretfully! There had been enough happiness and pleasure, and pleasantest of social companionship found on the shores of the lake for me. I had seen enough lovely scenes which, siren-like, invited one to quiet rest; gentle scenes, where there was neither jar nor tumult, neither strife nor defeat, neither hope nor disappointment, but rest-a drowsy, indolent, yet pleasant rest. And only a few drawbacks to these. There was fever; there were no books, no newspapers, no wife of my own race and blood, no theatres, no hotels, no restaurants, no East River oysters, no mince-pies, neither buckwheat cakes, nor anything much that was good for a cultivated palate to love. So, in turning to say farewell to the then placid lake and the great blue mountains, that grew bluer as they receded on either hand, I had the courage to utter that awful word tearlessly, and without one sigh.