e mother escaped, but the little creature fell to the
ground. In spite of my hunger I felt almost sorry for what I had done,
when, running forward, the dying animal turned up its large languishing
eyes towards me as it stretched out its limbs quite dead. I am afraid
it was but a clumsy shot at best, as I ought to have killed the larger
animal. Natty and I, placing it on my pole between our shoulders, bore
it in triumph to our friends, who received us with shouts of
satisfaction. Stanley also shot a beautiful little squirrel and a
number of birds--indeed, a good sportsman in health, with a supply of
ammunition, need never, in that part of Africa, be without abundance of
animal food; but some of the natives, who have no firearms and are very
improvident, often suffer from famine even in that land of abundance.

The buffalo of Tropical Africa--_Bos brachicheros_--is about the size of
an English ox. His hair is thin and red, and he has sharp and long
hoofs, his ears being fringed with soft silky hair. His chief ornaments
are his horns, which gracefully bend backwards. In shape he is somewhat
between a cow and an antelope. A herd feeding at a distance had very
much the appearance of English cattle grazing in a meadow. They differ
greatly from the Cape buffalo, to be met with further south.

Evening was approaching, when the head man of our bearers spoke to
Senhor Silva, who instantly called a halt. The black's quick ears had
detected sounds in the distance. "He thinks there are elephants out
there," said Senhor Silva, pointing ahead. We were then in a
thinly-wooded country, and a charge from those monsters would have been
dangerous. We saw, however, a clump of trees on one side, behind which
Senhor Silva advised that we should take post till we had ascertained
the state of the case. The blacks were eager for us to attack them,
hoping to enjoy a feast off the huge bodies of any we might kill. As it
might expose the young ladies to danger should we do so, even Stanley
resolved to let them pass by unmolested. I have not yet mentioned the
leader or head man of the bearers. His name, he told Senhor Silva, was
Chickango; but Jack and Timbo called him the Chicken. He was an
enormous fellow, and ugly even for an African; but there was a
good-humoured, contented expression in his countenance, which won our
confidence. His costume was a striped shirt, and a pair of almost
legless trousers; while on the top of his hi