Dear Lady Charles,
My father asked for me to write to explain the passing of your honoured husband Mr Charles. When we heard that a great white hunter would arriving at our village it was said I must be his help on the river as in all the village I have the most quantity of English.
Mr Charles says he would hunt Katongo so the elders first tried to fill him with discouragement; but your husband is too brave and none could speak to him of fear. Our people say that Katongo has lived in the river for two hundred seasons and has drawn to him the knowledge and deception of all things. Mr Charles (who has the great English knowledge of crocodiles) said, “They only live for forty years my ill-educated friends but this Katongo surely is the largest croc in the Zambezi”.
We found Katongo two days later on the warm sands by the broken pools but he fled to the reedy waters at the sight of the rifle. It is only in this moment I know Mr Charles is a fearless hunter. As he wades in to pursue his prey he whispers, “show no fear boy, the wily bugger is pretending to be a log but I see him”.
The polished English rifle splintered the rotten log into a thousand pieces. I think Mr Charles had time to understand: he looked back at me, confused but not afraid, before he was taken. Mr Charles was the greatest hunter from your village of England, but Katongo is still the greatest hunter in our lands.