Ants? Very well; what matter? But—but keep off that knee!
And, oh, for one long deep drink of water!
Dives, has that monster Lazarus relented and begged for you a drop of water yet?
* * * *
It is wearisome to write how I felt and what I said and did—more wearisome perhaps than it is to read. But these unpleasant incidents seem to be regarded as the "most prominent features" of the journey; and they are here set out, not because there is any gratification to be got from the operation, but because by pointing out the pitfalls, they may serve to make easier the path of those who shall follow me.
* * * *
The dawn, if it brought no assuagement of the thirst, brought at any rate more hope; and still stiff and sore and aching, I limped, leading Diamond, towards the Wycliffe, which I knew could not be far away. It was an hour's drag through sand and scrub before the turn-off pad was reached; then a mile down the pad, the waterhole itself.
The Wycliffe is a wide watercourse which, after rain, stretches out unrestrained at many places in its course into a series of shallow swamps and clay-banked waterholes. One of these was filled to overflowing with "the nectar of the gods;" and, literally, rushing to its edge, I drank with rapturous delight.
The cravings of an abnormal thirst having been satisfied, I placed the polluted water-bag to soak, made a pot of tea, further refreshed myself with a wash, and had hardly touched the earth when I fell asleep.