Shortly After, The Effects Of The Poisoned Wound In
His Foot Caused Our Excellent Friend To Breathe His Last.
Maramy
exclaimed, 'Look, look!
Boo Khaloom is dead!' I turned my head, almost as
great an exertion as I was capable of, and saw him drop from the horse
into the arms of his favourite Arab; he never spoke after. They said he
had only swooned; there was no water, however, to revive him, and about
an hour after, when we came to Makkeray, he was past the reach of
restoratives.
"About the time Boo Khaloom dropped, Barca Gana ordered a slave to bring
me a horse, from which he had just dismounted, being the third that had
been wounded under him in the course of the day. His wound was in the
chest. Maramy cried, "_Sidi rais!_ do not mount him, he will die." In a
moment, for only a moment was given me, I decided on remaining with
Maramy. Two Arabs, panting with fatigue, then seized the bridle, mounted,
and pressed their retreat. In less than half an hour he fell to rise no
more, and both the Arabs were butchered before they could recover
themselves. Had we not now arrived at the water, as we did, I do not
think it possible that I could have supported the thirst by which I was
consuming. I tried several times to speak in reply to Maramy's directions
to hold tight, when we came to breaks or inequalities in the ground; but
it was impossible, and a painful straining at the stomach and throat was
the only effect produced by the effort.
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