After many hesitations, the fortunate arrival of some brother officers from the seat of war decided the question. We engaged for ourselves a schooner-yacht called the Arethusa, belonging to a Mr Eade, a London merchant: the only part of the vessel not at our disposal was the necessary space for a sufficient cargo as ballast. Everything being ready for our departure, we were seated in the boat that was to convey us to the tight little ship that had already let go her hold of African ground, and was tacking about in the bay, bending her white wings to the breeze, seemingly as eager as ourselves to wend her way to our island-home. There were many kind adieus waved to us from the shore, which the Arethusa acknowledged by a parting salute from her small miniature guns. Loud cheers, hurrahs, sham demonstrations--the more boisterous the better, to conceal real parting regret--when, above all the din, one clear shrill voice pierced my ear as an arrow. “Come back! come back!” it cried. I looked behind, and there, on the pier, stood Noziah beckoning me to return to the shore. How could I? What could I say to her? Never by word or deed had I wronged her. Often when she looked in a mirror had she told me that she wished herself dead because her skin was not white like mine. Her simple faith, however, shamed mine. When I told her that “God made us all equal,” her colour ever rose like a sable shroud between her life and mine. If ever the dream of making all races one is to be realised, God must do it; man never can. So the boat went on its way, and I left that dusky form standing on the narrow pier like a statue of clay. When the war had come to an end, I had obtained, through the kindness of General Cathcart, an order for a commissariat transport to take Noziah to her brother Sandilli. This conveyance was afterwards sold off and purchased by her. In this she had come to Cape Town. My agent, Mr H----, upon whom she called the next day as she was leaving the town, wrote and informed me that she had gone back to her home. This was the last I heard of that pure-hearted, innocent African maid. Once on board I had plenty of interesting matters to think about. I had brought down from the front several wild animals and birds, which I intended for the Zoological Gardens at home. Amongst others, a springbok, which Mr Mitchell, then director of the Gardens in Regents Park, informed me was the first of that species of antelope that had been seen alive in England. I also had several birds equally rare, and monkeys, besides sacks of roots, bulbs, and herbs, the spoils of African glades, with which I intended to adorn my own little garden at home.