A Buffalo wounded by Lions 
it sprang. I then managed to dig out a large 
root with my hunting-knife, planting it in due 
course in a tin. I eventually brought it safely 
to England, where it flourished exceedingly in a 
moderately warm greenhouse, but I could never 
get it to flower, which was disappointing. 
We left our boys to fix up camp on arrival at 
the lagoon, taking only our gun-bearers with us. 
Shortly we came to a small open oasis that may 
have been one hundred and fifty acres in extent. 
It was completely surrounded with the tall 
reeds so common in this country. In the centre 
of this place was a mound; it could scarcely 
be termed a hillock, for it was of no size. Close 
to this I saw something black on the ground, 
with some small birds alighting upon and around 
this object. I said to Weddell, ‘‘ Isn’t that a 
buffalo?’’?; but he seemed to think not, for he 
said, ‘“‘ No, it is a log.” After a look through my 
glasses I could have sworn I saw an ear move, 
so together we went out to investigate. We soon 
discovered that this was a buffalo lying on his 
side. Thinking that it may have been one we 
_ had shot at some days since, we naturally thought 
the beast was dead, and accordingly did not 
take as much care and circumspection in approach- 
ing what we thought was a carcass as we might 
have done had we judged it to be alive. When 
we had approached within one hundred yards 
we saw that not only was it a buffalo bull, and 
12! 
