get full change out of him before
climbing from his high horse. But he delayed too long; he failed to
make use of the loophole of escape that Fortune showed him.

Rhodes forgot three things, namely, that the Maputa is a tidal river,
that several hours had elapsed since the gun had been heaved overboard,
and that the tide was falling. One of the soldiers, in strolling about,
noticed something unusual just beneath the surface of the water. To
this he called the attention of a noncommissioned officer. The latter
investigated further, and the gun was hauled out. Rhodes now tumbled
incontinently from his high horse and the officer at once mounted it.
The search party marched back in triumph to Lourenco Marques, escorting
Rhodes and his companions as prisoners. The companions were placed at
once on board their ship.

Herbert Rhodes, now in sorry case, was incarcerated in the fortress.
This, in the seventies, was a horrible place in which to be confined.
The cells were small, dark, and verminous; the flagged passages full of
man-traps in the form of unexpected steps. I do not know what part of
the building the prisoner was confined in, but if his cell were
anything like the one from which, in 1874, I helped to carry the dead
body of my poor friend Pat Foote, he was not to be envied. However, the
durance apparently did not last long. The captive probably made himself
disagreeable a thing he could do most effectively. He was, perhaps,
found to be an embarrassment. Possibly that potent solver of
difficulties, palm-oil, may have greased the bolts of his dungeon so
effectively that they slipped back some dark, convenient night. At all
events he got away after a comparatively short imprisonment. Nothing
has been recorded as to what became of the pint of diamonds.

Herbert Rhodes came to a terrible end. A few years after the event just
related, he was living in a hut on the shores of Lake Nyassa. One
night, accompanied by a friend, he returned from a journey. Desiring
refreshment he found none available except some Johanna rum in an
unopened keg. This liquor is extremely strong and highly inflammable.
Rhodes knocked in the bung; some of the spirit spurted out and became
ignited.

The keg burst and the contents wrapped the unhappy man in a sheet of
flame. After this had with difficulty been quenched, a messenger was
dispatched to Blantyre, some forty miles away, to call for medical aid.
I believe it was Dr. Jane Waterston, now of