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matolas. Here the wretched prisoner's appearance was hailed with loud shouts of exultation by the few men and the numerous women and children who inhabited the kraal; and after he had been well beaten and loaded with abuse the thongs that bound his arms were cut, he was stripped of the greater portion of his clothing, and then ignominiously kicked into a hut, where his enemies left him to pass the night as best he might, without a drop of water or the smallest morsel of food.
That Tom Flinders' reflections as he lay, almost in a state of nudity, on the mud floor of the miserable hut--the interior of which swarmed with noxious insects and vermin--were not of an agreeable nature may be readily imagined. A dull feeling of pain racked his weary limbs, his temples throbbed violently, and a burning thirst consumed him, added to which his mental anguish bade fair to drive him mad.
But Tom was not one to willingly give way to gloomy forebodings, and he strove hard to change his thoughts; so that presently he found himself thinking of his parents, especially of his mother, and of their grief at his sad fate; and next he began to wonder what had become of Captain Jamieson and faithful Patrick Keown , and of the rest of his comrades--whether any of them had escaped, and if so whether they would make any search for him.
"They might as well look for a needle in a bundle of forage," said he half aloud.
But thinking of his absent friends was good for poor Tom, for it made him remember that he had One Friend who was never absent; and, reproaching himself for his rebellious and ungrateful feelings and his want of trust, he rose to his knees and offered up an earnest prayer for pardon, and for deliverance from his savage enemies.
After which he stretched himself on the floor of his foul prison, and he at length fell into a heavy sleep.
Tom remained in a heavy drowsy slumber--half sleep, half stupor--for eight or nine hours, and when at length he opened his eyes it was broad daylight. On attempting to get up he discovered that his ankles were secured by a stout cord, though his arms were still free.
"So the beggars have been paying me a visit during the night," said he, assuming a sitting posture and taking a look round the hut. "I must have slept uncommonly sound, for them to have lashed my feet together without rousing me! Halloa! what's this?" he went on as his eye lighted upon a gourd and a few green mealies placed just within his reach. "Come, they don't intend that I should die of thirst, after all!" And eagerly seizing the gourd, which contained about a pint and a half of sour milk, he drained it to the dregs.
"I don't remember ever having enjoyed a drink so much!" exclaimed the poor fellow as he threw down the empty vessel with a sigh. "But oh, don't I wish there had been three times the quantity!"
The day passed without a soul visiting the prison except one repulsive old woman, who brought Tom another and larger vessel of milk and some more mealies during the afternoon, and who, after regarding him with looks of fiendish malignity, deliberately spat in his face as she left the hut.
"Beastly old crone!" growled Tom as he raised the milk to his lips and took a long draught. "What on earth did she want to do that for?" he added, putting down the half-emptied vessel.
Next day our captive hero was left entirely alone, receiving neither food nor drink; driven almost to despair he had serious thoughts of freeing himself from his bonds and rushing out upon his foes, regardless of consequences, but he found he was too weak to make the attempt. Then he became quite light-headed, and jabbered and sang to himself, until at last he fell into a regular stupor; and when he once more awoke to consciousness he found that there was another prisoner in the hut, and that prisoner was--Frank Jamieson!
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