, especially when
there is no doubt of getting wet through--not like the wretched
drizzling rain of England, that chills you with the fear that perhaps
your great-coat is not waterproof, but a regular douche bath that would
beat in the crown of a cheap hat. How delightful to be really cool in
the centre of Africa! I was charmingly wet--the water was running out of
the heels of my shoes, which were overflowing; the wind howled over the
flood that was pouring through the hitherto dry gullies, and in the
course of ten minutes the whole scene had changed. It was no longer the
tropics; the climate was that of old England restored to me: the chilled
air refreshed me, and I felt at home again. "How delightful!" I
exclaimed, as I turned round to see how my followers were enjoying it.
Dear me! I hardly knew my own people. Of all the miserable individuals I
ever saw, they were superlative--they were not enjoying the change of
climate in the least--with heads tucked down and streams of water
running from their nasal extremities, they endeavoured to avoid the
storm. Perfectly thoughtless of all but self in the extremity of their
misery, they had neglected the precaution of lowering the muzzles of
their guns, and my beautiful No. 10 rifles were full of water. "Charming
day!" I exclaimed to my soaked and shivering followers, who looked like
kittens in a pond.
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