THE START—MOMBASA TO TAITA. 
57 
that they would follow on in the cooler hours of the 
day. Now, even, it became with myself a desperate 
rush to reach the water-supply before I should suffer 
painfully from thirst . An examination of my own store 
of the precious liquid had revealed the appalling fact 
that not one drop remained, and the man who had been 
carrying my bottles and calabash confessed to having 
assisted in its disappearance. This was a serious 
matter; thumping the man did nothing towards allaying 
my increasing thirst. All that could be done was to 
journey on patiently but unremittingly in the direction 
of Maungu. There was no time to prepare food in the 
middle of the day : I pulled out a tin of hare soup from 
my provision box, opened it, and drank the undiluted 
liquor. The unfinished bottle of champagne was 
divided and consumed by myself and my patient Tamil 
servant, lending a factitious strength to our tired, over¬ 
heated bodies, and so far buoying up our spirits that 
we strode on past man after man until we were well 
ahead of the caravan. 
Soon, however, I needed to rest more and more 
frequently, stopping at last to pause and pant in 
every patch of thin shade. Then my Tamil boy 
and the head-collector proposed that they should go 
on alone and return to meet me as soon as water 
was found. This I acceded to, and so was left 
completely alone. In this condition, hobbling along 
painfully, resting continually, and with foolish per¬ 
sistency painting, to my thirsting imagination, vivid 
pictures of cooling draughts, I toiled through the sultry 
afternoon, persisting doggedly in my determination not 
to give in till I was within measurable distance from 
water. Sometimes I did give way—-stretched myself 
languidly under the faint patchwork of shade that 
