A DAY ON THE GERMAN 

 BOUNDARY 



ONE day at the beginning of February, 

 1906, I found myself in camp on the 

 River Guaso Nyiro, one of the back 

 camps on the line of communications 

 of the Anglo-German Boundary Commission, 

 where I had been sent in charge of the escort. A 

 long chain of camps was the order of the day. 

 Parties used to go out a long way, some fifty 

 miles ahead, to build beacons of wood covered 

 with canvas, for the wielders of the prismatic 

 compasses, theodolites, and the general impedi- 

 menta used for surveying purposes, to work their 

 wicked will with. Thrown out on each side came 

 the actual sketchers of the country, who went 

 over every foot of ground, working on the 

 general data and points that had been fixed 

 definitely by the advance parties. Last, but by 

 no means least, came those who had charge of the 

 food depots and main camps, whose duty it was to 

 send along provisions as they were required, do 

 all the dirty work of shifting camps and clearing 

 off old ones — in a word, the general factotums. 

 As may be imagined, one had a certain amount 



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