and a half days that had elapsed since we first embarked upon the Great
Lake. For constant strain, physical and mental, I recall no such four
days during the whole of my adventurous life. It was indeed wonderful
that we came through them alive.

The last thing I remember was the appearance of Sammy, looking very
smart, in his blue cotton smock, who, now that the fighting was over,
emerged like a butterfly when the sun shines after rain.

"Oh! Mr. Quatermain," he said, "I welcome you home again after arduous
exertions and looking into the eyes of bloody war. All the days of
absence, and a good part of the nights, too, while the mosquitoes hunted
slumber, I prayed for your safety like one o'clock, and perhaps, Mr.
Quatermain, that helped to do the trick, for what says poet? Those who
serve and wait are almost as good as those who cook dinner."

Such were the words which reached and, oddly enough, impressed
themselves upon my darkening brain. Or rather they were part of the
words, excerpts from a long speech that there is no doubt Sammy had
carefully prepared during our absence.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TRUE HOLY FLOWER

When I came to myself again it was to find that I had slept fifteen or
sixteen hours, for the sun of a new day was high in the heavens. I was
lying in a little shelter of boughs at the foot of that mound on which
we flew the flag that guided us back over the waters of the Lake Kirua.
Near by was Hans consuming a gigantic meal of meat which he had cooked
over a neighbouring fire. With him, to my delight, I saw Mavovo, his
head bound up, though otherwise but little the worse. The stone, which
probably would have killed a thin-skulled white man, had done no more
than knock him stupid and break the skin of his scalp, perhaps because
the force of it was lessened by the gum man's-ring which, like most
Zulus of a certain age or dignity, he wore woven in his hair.

The two tents we had brought with us to the lake were pitched not far
away and looked quite pretty and peaceful there in the sunlight.

Hans, who was watching me out of the corner of his eye, ran to me with
a large pannikin of hot coffee which Sammy had made ready against my
awakening; for they knew that my sleep was, or had become of a natural
order. I drank it to the last drop, and in all my life never did I enjoy
anything more. Then while I began upon some pieces of the toasted meat,
I asked him what had happened.