Feeling the pull slacken the leaders whipped round on to the wheelers.
There they all stood in a heap, their heads and part of their necks above water, while the cart floated behind them on its side.

Kaatje screamed and Anscombe flogged.

I leapt from my mare and struggled to the leaders, the water up to my chin.
Grasping their bits I managed to keep them from turning further.
But I could do no more and death came very near to us.

Had it not been for some of those brave Swazis on the bank it would have found us, every one.

But they plunged in, eight of them, holding each other's hands, and half-swimming, half-wading, reached us.
They got the horses by the head and straightened them out, while Anscombe plied his whip.