NORTH-WESTERN RHODESIA 21 



had been bitten off by a wounded lion, and his 

 arm was festered with a great scab — another 

 evidence of the Hon's mauHng abihty. He was 

 going to Broken Hill Hospital with his rifle, his 

 blankets, and his water-bottle, and the sight 

 of his sufferings somewhat damped my pioneer 

 ambitions, which had been steadily rising for 

 days. 



Mwomboshi, a small station which then boasted 

 of a native commissioner, police station, and 

 magistrate, was soon passed, and about half-past 

 five in the evening we were at Broken Hill, at 

 that time the headquarters of the Northern 

 Copper Company, and a busy little mining camp. 



The world is after all extremely narrow, and 

 before I had been in Broken Hill long, I had met 

 an old Truro College boy, against whom I had 

 often played football and cricket when at Probus 

 in Cornwall. 



Colonel Carden, commanding the stalwart 

 Barotseland Police — who, by the way, were largely 

 Angonis — had just come down from Katanga 

 when I arrived in camp. He took a very keen 

 interest in his corps, and was justly proud of his 

 smart boys, who had recently given evidence of a 

 strong musical trait, and formed a fife and drum 

 band, which played outside the officers' mess at 

 Kalomo every night. 



I went on a mile or two past rail-head, and 

 soon realized how utterly hopeless it was to 

 attempt any shooting until the grass was burnt 

 down. 



I well remember my farthest north in South 

 Central Africa on that occasion. Standing on a 

 hillock, I could see over the sea of grass, dotted 

 here and there with splendid trees, to a purple 

 line on the horizon, where the land and the sky 



