on the march, 
by Edmund Heller. 
drivers, as the thirty oxen threw their weight 
into the yokes by which they were attached 
to the long trek tow. The horses were fed. 
We had tea, with bread and cold meat—and 
a most delicious meal it was—and then lay 
dozing or talking beside the bush-fires. At 
half-past eight, the moon having risen, we 
were off again. The safari was still in high 
spirits, and started with the usual chanting 
and drumming. 
We pushed steadily onward across the 
plain, the dust rising in clouds under the 
spectral moonlight. Sometimes we rode, 
sometimes we walked to ease our horses. 
The Southern Cross was directly ahead, not 
far above the horizon. Higher and higher 
rose the moon, and brighter the flood of her 
light. At intervals the barking call of 
zebras was heard on either hand. It was 
after midnight when we again halted. The 
porters were tired, and did not sing as they 
came up; the air was cool, almost nipping, 
and they at once huddled down in their 
blankets, some of them building fires. We, 
the white men, after seeing our horses 
staked out, each lay down in his overcoat or 
jacket and slicker, with his head on his 
saddle, and his rifle beside him, and had a 
little over two hours’ sleep. At three we 
were off again, the shivering porters making 
no sound as they started; but once under 
way the more irrepressible spirits speedily 
began a kind of intermittent chant, and 
most of the rest by degrees joined in the 
occasional grunt or hum that served as 
chorus. 
For four hours we travelled steadily, first 
through the moonlight, and then through 
the reddening dawn. Jackals shrieked, 
and the plains plover wailed and scolded as 
they circled round us. When the sun was 
well up, we halted; the desolate flats 
stretched far and wide on every side and 
rose into lofty hills ahead of us. The por¬ 
ters received their water and food, and lay 
down to sleep, some directly in the open, 
others rigging little sun shelters under the 
scattering thorn-bushes. The horses were 
fed, were given half a pail of water apiece, 
and were turned loose to feed with the oxen; 
this was the last time the oxen would feed 
freely, unless there was rain; and this was 
to be our longest halt. We had an excel¬ 
lent breakfast, like our supper the night be- 
•e, and then slept as well as we could. 
Noon came, and soon afterward we 
The porter-harper and his native harp. 
From a photograph by J. Alden Loring. 
