I decided to take the gin back with us, as it had been clear to me for
some time past that without the aid of natives we could not hope to find
water. With our small caravan it was impossible to push on and trust to
chance, or hope to reach the settled country still nearly five hundred
miles ahead in a bee-line. Even supposing the camels could do this
enormous stage, it was beyond our power to carry sufficient water for
ourselves. The country might improve or might get worse; in such weather
as we now experienced no camel could go for more than a few days without
water. I felt myself justified, therefore, in unceremoniously making
captives from what wandering tribes we might fall in with. And in light
of after events I say unhesitatingly that, without having done so, and
without having to a small extent used rough treatment to some natives so
caught, we could not by any possibility have succeeded in crossing the
desert, and should not only have lost our own lives, but possibly those
of others who would have made search for us after. "A man arms himself
where his armour is weakest," so I have read; that, however, is not my
case. I am not justifying myself to myself, or defending a line of action
not yet assailed. I write this in answer to some who have unfavourably
criticised my methods, and to those I would say, "Put yourselves in our
position, and when sitting in a comfortable armchair at home, in the
centre of civilisation, do not, you who have never known want or suffered
hardship, be so ready to judge others who, hundreds of miles from their
fellow-men, threatened every day with possible death from thirst, were
doing their best to lay bare the hidden secrets of an unknown region, as
arid and desolate as any the world can show."

On starting back for camp the gin refused to walk or move in any way, so
we had to pack her on Czar, making her as comfortable as possible on
Warri's blankets, with disastrous results thereto. Arrived at camp, I