M’Shaka, and I was glad to halt for breakfast at the same
delectable water-hole that I described on my journey down to
Zanzibar. The water was as black and thick as ever, and the
tea made from it was like ink! I drank it, however which
was more than I was able to do at the water-hole further on.
This was on the outskirts of the Melindi shambas, the porters
discovering it close to the path; they brought some to me,
declaring it to be “ sweet ” and “ beautiful,” but it smelt so
horribly that, thirsty as I was, 1 had to decline it with thanks
the first time I had,not been able to drink African water, so
the reader can imagine what it was like 1
That evening I camped at Matagi. I had about three
men to a load, but even so they quite knocked up with the
heat, and it was not till long after dark that the last man
straggled in. .
Next day we got back to the shambas and made quite an
imposing entry. One man had a drum, and another blew
vigorously on a penny trumpet he had bought in Mombasa,
and with the flag waving in front we marched in triumphant y.
All the women in the shambas who knew of the returning
Uganda porters raised a shrill cry of welcome as they
passed by, and I was not sorry to see my humble shed once
more.