I had been murderously struck from behind.

That I was found, lying to all appearance dead, with a hideous zig-zag wound upon the scalp; that my pockets had been to all appearance rifled (whether by the assassin or the natives that found me is uncertain); that I was finally claimed and carried home by Mr.
Sanderson, who, growing uneasy at my absence, had set out to look for me; that for more than a month, and then again for almost two months, my life hung in the balance; and that I owe my recovery to Mr.
Sanderson's unceasing kindness--all this I have learnt but lately.
I can write no more at present.
"Oct.

3rd .-- I am slightly better.

My mental powers are slowly coming back after the fever that followed the wound.

I pass my days mostly in speculating on the reason of this murderous attack, but am still unable to account for it.