CHAP. XI.] 
THE PICKAXE. 
327 
I was startled by the words, “ Thank God/' faintly 
uttered behind me. Suddenly she had awoke from 
her torpor, and with a heart overflowing I went to her 
bedside. Her eyes were full of madness ! She spoke, 
but the brain was gone ! 
I will not inflict a description of the terrible trial of 
seven days of brain fever, with its attendant horrors. 
The rain poured in torrents, and day after day we were 
forced to travel for want of provisions, not being able 
to remain in one position. Every now and then we 
shot a few guinea-fowl, but rarely; there was no game, 
although the country was most favourable. In the 
forests we procured wild honey, but the deserted vil¬ 
lages contained no supplies, as we were on the frontier 
of Uganda, and M'tese s people had plundered the dis¬ 
trict. For seven nights I had not slept, and although 
as weak as a reed, I had marched by the side of her 
litter. Nature could resist no longer. We reached a 
village one evening; she had been in violent convul¬ 
sions successively—it was all but over. I laid her 
down on her litter within a hut; covered her with a 
Scotch plaid, and I fell upon my mat insensible, worn 
out with sorrow and fatigue. My men put a new 
handle to the pickaxe that evening, and sought for a 
dry spot to dig her grave! 
