I immediately walked forward, and found that Lieutenant Mohammed Mustapha had been wounded. The spear had struck him just behind the shoulderjoint of the left arm, and had passed over the blade-bone and spine previous to making its exit by the right arm. This was a very nasty wound, and he was bleeding profusely. I made a couple of pads, and, placing one upon each hole, we bandaged him tightly.
I now went up to my poor old horse, "Zafteer". The unfortunate animal was carrying a heavy load, and a large hunting spear had struck him just behind the saddle. The weapon was so sharp and heavy, and had been thrown with such force, that it had penetrated a double blanket, and had not only passed clean through the horse's body, but had also cut through a blanket-fold upon the other side.
A large portion of the bowels protruded, and were hanging a foot below the horse's belly. The intestines were divided, thus death was certain.
As the old horse could still walk, and did not know its own danger, I ordered the advance. I intended to halt at the first convenient point.
In about a quarter of an hour we saw increased light in the distance, and we presently emerged upon a large open vale surrounded by forest. This cheerful space extended over about ten acres, in the centre of which was a well of good water, about fourteen feet deep, and so wide that a man could descend by steps hewn out of the gravel. This was a grand place for the halt.
My first duty was to remove the load, together with the saddle, from my good old horse. I returned the bowels, and having placed a strong pad over the wounds, I passed the roller round his body, and buckled it tight over the pads.
This operation was hardly completed, when a severe shivering fit seized the poor animal, and he fell to the ground to die.
With great sorrow I placed my pistol to the forehead of the faithful old Zafteer, and he died, having carried and laid down his load, together with his life, at the end of the day's march.
I was much distressed at this loss. It seemed that I was to lose all my best and most faithful followers—the good Monsoor, whom to this hour I regret as a brother; the ever-ready and true Howarti; Ferritch Baggara; the unfortunate Ramadan, besides others who were very valuable; and now my old horse was gone.
We slept that night by his body, and warmed ourselves by a fire that consumed his load—for there was no one to carry it. My despatch-box helped to cook our scanty dinner. We had marched sixteen miles.