Emil Holub,
Seven Years in South Africa
(1881)
“ I threw my gun upon the ground and managed to alight, and finally to drag the excited animal clear away; but my face, my arms, my neck, even my legs, were all smarting violently; and when I made my way back to the waggon, I was only to be compared to the triumphant hero of a cat-fight. I am not likely to forget my experience of that mimosa-tree. Nature, like a cruel step-mother, seems to have banished some of the offspring of Flora, unendowed with fragrancy or honey, to the desert wilds of Africa, where they take their revenge on any unoffending mortals that come within their reach. ”
