CHAPTER VII 
ANOTHER UNCOMFORTABLE NIGHT 
I see a man’s life is a tedious one. I have tired myself ; and 
for two nights together have made the ground my bed 
Cymbeline 
You can imagine with what joy I looked forward to a 
good night’s rest after the previous twelve hours’ vigil, 
and therefore it is the more amusing to remember that, 
as Fate would have it, I had an even more occupied 
time during the midnight hours than ever. We had 
started to march, after returning to camp with the 
wart-hog, as we had word of splendid khubbar some 
miles off, given to us by a Somali who came in riding 
his unkempt pony. The Somali ponies, by the way, 
are never shod. 
The ground was very bad going, and over one bit of 
sandy waste I thought we never should get. The 
camels sank in up to their knees at every forward 
move, then deeper, and at last so deep — it was almost 
like an American mud-hole — I began to fear conse- 
quences. The absurd creatures made no attempt to 
extricate themselves, but simply, when they found the 
place a perfect quagmire, settled down like squashed 
jellies. 
It was too ridiculous for words, and I laughed and 
laughed. Everybody talked at once, and nobody did 
