Meanwhile the food he had brought from the plantation had long been consumed, and he spent part of every day in snaring birds or small animals for the subsistence of himself and his master. It appeared that vegetable food was not to be obtained in this part of the country, and Tom grew somewhat uneasy as to the effect of an uninterrupted diet of flesh. He was uneasy, too, about his injuries. The wound caused by the spike was healing well, but the swelling of his ankle was but little reduced, and it gave him great pain to hobble even a few yards. It was clear that without the ministrations of his faithful and indefatigable boy he would starve. Often as he lay at night, on rushes strewn upon the bench, listening to the cries of night-birds, the bark of distant hyaenas, the coughs of the crocodiles in the lake, the grunts and snarls of beasts that came prowling around the zariba, but never attempted to penetrate it, scared by the fire kept constantly burning within the enclosure--as he lay listening to these eerie sounds he pondered plans for the future. His dearest wish was to make his way to the frontier as soon as he was fit to travel, and to join the British forces which, he supposed, were gathering to resist the German invasion. The news that Germany and Britain were at war had scarcely surprised him. Recollections of what he had heard and seen during his year in Germany seemed to give corroboration enough. He remembered in particular one young German baroness, who had been to school at Cheltenham, and was continually boasting of what the Germans would do when "the Day" came. He remembered, too, how his father scoffed at the warnings of those who foretold that Germany was only awaiting an opportunity for making her tiger-spring, and how he and his brother had been rebuked for heeding the "alarmists." And now the Day had come at last. He wondered what spark had exploded the European powder-barrel, what pretext Germany had alleged for the attack which, he believed, she had long been secretly cherishing and preparing for. In the only letter he had received from England since his arrival, Bob had said nothing of trouble brewing. Whatever the ostensible reason was, he had no doubt the war had sprung from Germany’s lust for world-power, and with the easy confidence which too many Englishmen felt in those early days, he believed that the British Navy would square accounts with the Germans before many months had passed. He did not know that Germany had cast her gauntlet in the face of half the world, did not suspect that she had already set the bases of civilisation staggering. As for Africa, he took it for granted that German possessions would soon be wiped off the map. It would have been difficult for a true-born Englishman to think otherwise. All that he wished and hoped for was that he might reach Rhodesia before the last act was played.