NORTH-WESTERN RHODESIA 35 



solitude, the name of the man who washed " pay 

 dirt " in that one-time region of desolation on 

 which a great city has reared up its stone temples, 

 will be remembered by few. The citizens who 

 feed themselves with golden spoons and clothe 

 themselves in gorgeous raiment, where the 

 pioneer cooked a guinea-fowl over a camp-fire 

 or made himself a shirt out of the remnants of a 

 torn tent, will have forgotten the name of the 

 first man in that land. One can almost imagine 

 the restless spirit rising in a shallow-dug grave, 

 one can almost hear the dream talk of the poor 

 unhonoured prospector in those splendid words 

 of Kipling — 



" Well I know who'll take the credit — 

 All the clever chaps that followed — 

 Came, a dozen men together — 

 Never knew my desert fears, 

 Tracked me by the camps I'd quitted. 

 Used the waterholes I'd hollowed ; 

 They'll go back and do the talking ; 

 They'll be called the pioneers ! " 



