Seizing Verney's rifle that was close
by, I fired it and dispersed the foe. All the party were lying fast
asleep on the tarpaulin, but my two shots quickly awoke them. I made
them watch in turns till morning, with orders to fire two rifle
cartridges every half hour, and the agony of suspense in waiting to
hear these go off, kept me awake the whole night, like Carlyle and his
neighbours' fowls.
Our foes did not again appear. At the first dawn of light, over at
some rocky hills south-westward, where, during the night, we saw their
camp fires, a direful moaning chant arose. It was wafted on the hot
morning air across the valley, echoed again by the rocks and hills
above us, and was the most dreadful sound I think I ever heard; it was
no doubt a death-wail. From their camp up in the rocks, the chanters
descended to the lower ground, and seemed to be performing a funereal
march all round the central mass, as the last tones we heard were from
behind the hills, where it first arose.
To resume: we left the almost exhausted channel of the Ferdinand, and
pushed on for the Telegraph Line. In the sandhills and scrub we came
upon an open bit of country, in latitude 27 degrees 35' 34", and found
a shallow well, at which we encamped on the evening of August 11th.
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