418 
AFRICAN HUNTING. 
the air is as close as a draw-well. I can hardly en¬ 
dure a rag over me, and I lie on my back slapping 
right and left, here, there, and everywhere, taking 
hundreds of lives without diminishing the buzz, and 
praying for morning or a breeze of wind, and getting 
up occasionally to look at the stars, and see how far 
the night has advanced. Even if I can, at times, 
bear a blanket over me, it is not much protec¬ 
tion, unless I can manage to raise it an inch or so 
with my knees and elbows, as the mosquitoes bite 
through it. I dread a still night above everything, 
and would give, at times, all I possess for a wind, 
when the mosquitoes vanish. 
‘ Sar, here come a folstrens on,’ was January’s 
intimation to me about an hour and a half ago, and 
I abandoned my pen for my rifle, and have been 
creeping under the river-banks in the hopes he would 
come to drink, keeping parallel with him for about 
three miles ; but he had drunk, I suppose, as he never 
came nearer than 600 yards. 
24 th .—No news yet of the wagon. I have been 
waiting more than three weeks, and can now neither 
eat, drink, nor sleep, as there is neither food nor 
drink to be got, and the mosquitoes and midges take 
care I shall not sleep. I have become wrinkled and 
haggard; and, if my telescope, which I use as a 
looking-glass, does not belie my appearance, prema¬ 
turely aged. My tea and coffee are all but finished, 
and I must reserve a little of the latter for night- 
work, to keep us awake when going out, as it is 
