The Wrong Road 



which was naturally diametrically in opposition to 

 my intention. 



The beauties of the scenery on either side soon 

 attracted me to wander off the path to find some- 

 thing to shoot. But I only found female water-buck 

 and zebra. I tried my rifle at one of the latter 

 with a view of checking its sighting. As I had 

 anticipated, it was very much over-sighted. Aiming 

 below the beast's stomach, the shot hit it on the 

 top of its back. Finding no other game, I rejoined 

 my party, and was surprised to notice the road had 

 dwindled to a native path. My suspicions were 

 instantly aroused ; I summoned my orderly, corporal, 

 headman, and head-boy. Yes, I was right; they 

 had purposely taken the wrong road, probably 

 knowing it was the shortest, and, what was worse, 

 it was too late to rectify the error, so we moved on 

 to our camp. Once in camp I got out my map, 

 but as only about three names were correct and the 

 whole geography wrong in every particular, it was 

 worse than useless, although the best procurable. I 

 asked a Goanese clerk, whom I providentially met 

 on his way from the Congo to Kampala, but after 

 trying in vain to locate our position, he gave it up, 

 saying the map was all wrong. He, however, put 

 me in the way of discovering that when my head- 

 man took it into his lazy head he did about eight or 

 nine miles instead of fifteen, as I had instructed 

 him. This was very difficult to check, as my watch 

 had stopped, and I had to rely on the sun for time. 

 But I sufficiently frightened him to prevent any 



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