It was difficult to
carry the angarebs, as the leas caught in the high grass. I spoke a few
words to my men, who declared that they were not afraid of the natives
if they were not so heavily laden.
We collected wood and made a fire, upon which I ordered everything to be
burnt that was really cumbersome. The bedsteads were broken up; a case
of good French cognac was committed to the flames; Lieutenant Baker's
naval uniform, with box, &e.; the cocked hat frizzled up on the top of
the bonfire.
The men were provided with raw hides, upon which they slept at night;
these were now wet through and cumbersome: I therefore ordered them to
be thrown into the high grass and abandoned.
The brandy bottles burst upon the fire. A sergeant of the "Forty
Thieves," named Fadlullah, had been attending to the heap of burning
materials, and I saw him stoop over the flames, as though intending to
save one of the liquor bottles for himself. At this moment several burst
and saturated his loose cotton trousers with blazing spirit. The man
vainly endeavoured to extinguish the fire, and he danced wildly about,
until I seized and threw him down in the swamp, and quickly drew the wet
green grass over him and subdued the flames. He was severely burnt about
the legs, from which the skin slipped off in large flakes.
I now had to doctor him, when every man's legs ought to have been in the
best order. Fortunately I had a little oil (for the lamp), and the
wounds were quickly dressed and bandaged with cotton wool and lint.
The force was now much relieved, as the loads had been lightened.
During the operation of burning the supplies, the best shots of the
"Forty Thieves" had been stationed to pick off any natives who attempted
to spy our movements by ascending the lofty trees.
I now gave the order for the advance, and the march recommenced. In a
few minutes we were once more buried in the gigantic grass jungle.
We had hardly entered the covert when the shouts and blowing of horns
and beating of drums once more commenced. This was the signal to
ambuscades in front that we were moving forward.
In the course of an hour's march, the rear bugle had sounded "halt" at
least half a dozen times, as two of the donkeys were weakly, and could
not be driven on without difficulty.
Again the rear bugle sounded "halt!" I immediately sent the sergeant of
the bodyguard, Mohammed-el-Feel, to shoot the donkeys, and to throw
their loads into the high grass. Two shots announced their end.
The bugle sounded "advance", and we at length travelled comfortably.
The weather was fine:
