Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 26)( Page 4 ) Our Various Ways

They had failed to find the mine; the native who was supposed to know all about it had deserted, with all he could carry off; they were short of food and money, and out of medicines; the delays had been great; they were two hundred miles from any white men; there was no road but their own erratic track through the bush; the rains had begun and the fever season set in; the cattle--they had one waggon and span--were worn-out; the fever had gripped them, and of the six white men, three were dead, one dying, and two only able to crawl; most of their boys had deserted; one umfaan fit for work, and the driver--then delirious with fever-- completed the party. The long journey was almost over; and they were only a few treks from the store and camp for which they were making; but they were so stricken and helpless it seemed as though that little was too much, and they must die within reach of help.  The driver, a big Zulu, was then raving mad; he had twice run off into the bush and been lost for hours.  Precious time and waning strength were spent in the search, and with infinite effort and much good luck they had found him and induced him to return. On the second occasion they had enticed him on to the waggon and, as he lay half unconscious between bursts of delirium, had tied him down flat on his back, with wrists and ankles fastened to the buck-rails.  It was all they could do to save him: they had barely strength to climb up and pour water into his mouth from time to time. It was midday then, and their dying comrade was so far gone that they decided to abandon one trek and wait for evening, to allow him to die in peace.  Later on, when they thought it was all over, they tried to scrape out a grave for him, and began to pull out one old blanket to wrap round him in place of a shroud and coffin.  It was then that the man opened his eyes and faintly shook his head; so they inspanned as best they could and made another trek.  I met the man some years afterwards, and he told me he had heard all they said, but could only remember one thing, and that was Harry's remark, that `two gin-cases were not enough for a coffin, so they would have to take one of the blankets instead.' In the morning they went on again.  It was then at most two treks more to their destination; but they were too weak to work or walk, and the cattle were left to crawl along undriven; but after half an hour's trekking, they reached a bad drift where the waggon stuck; the cattle would not face the pull.  The two tottering trembling white men did their best, but neither had strength to use the whip; the umfaan led the oxen this way and that, but there was no more effort in them.  The water had given out, and the despairing helpless men saw death from thirst awaiting them within a few hours' trek of help; and to add to the horror of it all, the Zulu driver, with thirst aggravating his delirium, was a raving lunatic--struggling and wrenching at his bonds until the waggon rattled, and uttering maniac yells and gabbling incessantly.