Without food, without comrades, without help or means to cross the swollen rivers! The perspiration burst in beads upon his temples; his pulsation caused the aching of his contused wound to become agony; his muscles grew rigid, he set his teeth, and began to surmise how long he would last--how long he could endure all that must be before him now, while muttering again, 'Alone in the bush to die--God help me!' He had in his haversack rations for three days; even if he could make them last for seven, his resource would end then; and, even while sheltered by the giant leaves which abounded there, the baleful night dews might induce fever and ague, while the waters that barred his progress were more likely to rise than to fall, as the rainy season, which had made Sir Garnet Wolseley begin his sudden retreat, had now commenced. Tidings that he had perished would soon be telegraphed to England; many there, he knew, would regret him; with something of a bitter smile he remembered the farewell parting with his cold, aristocratic mother, and then the thought of Bella perhaps becoming--for she was known to be rich--the bride of the horsey Lord Twesildown. The thought of that nerved him to exertion; the sun was verging westward now, and once more, with feeble steps and slow he took to the track again, half blinded at times by the crimson glare of light that poured between the stems of the trees, for the track he had to pursue was then straight in the wake of the setting sun. He could form no idea of the distance he had gone, but the odour of burned wood which reached him from time to time warned him that he was still unpleasantly near Coomassie, and more than once sounds that came upon the wind like a savage shout and the distant beating of a war-drum, made him creep into the jungle for concealment, and thus lose time, when, if he would hope to overtake the army, now many miles on their homeward way, every moment was most precious. At last, when night, with tropical swiftness, had descended he found his progress hopelessly barred by that great sheet of water which we have already referred to--a reach of five hundred yards in breadth that rolled now at a place through which in advancing the army had passed dry-shod. 'Out of the running!' exclaimed poor Jerry, using his home phraseology; 'oh, heavens! how to bridge this sea that lies between me and the troops? Oh, for a horse with wings!' he added, unconsciously quoting the exclamation of Cymbeline. When night fell no resource was left him but to remain there and gaze with haggard eyes and a desponding heart at the cruel sheet of water that lay between him and probable safety.