Kabula 



"dicky," and evidently did not belong to the 

 district. I questioned him in all the languages I 

 knew, and he promptly fell down. I then realized 

 he was drunk on native beer, so I told him to carry 

 my "bike" back to camp. He was unable to do this, 

 for, by reason of his weakness, he could scarcely 

 stand upright. So I jumped on ; and riding as hard 

 as I could, arrived back at Kabula just as it was 

 dark in time to meet the "safari " as it was coming 

 in. Food was plentiful here, and the camp was 

 spacious and roomy. I had no need to pitch my 

 tent. One fine banda to eat in and another to sleep 

 in — I might have been the Governor himself. 



I felt very stiff, being unaccustomed to cycling, 

 as during my recent expedition I had of course had 

 no opportunity. My meal was most enjoyable, for 

 I was fearfully hungry, only having swallowed a 

 few mouthfuls of cold meat since dining the night 

 before, and having experienced a very hard day's 

 work. After dinner and a glass of port wine I 

 watched the full moon rise. It lit up my camp as if 

 it were day, and enabled me to turn in without 

 troubling to light my lamp. This powerful moon- 

 light creates a most extraordinary eerie effect, tinting 

 everything with a weird green colour, and is most 

 fascinating. In the morning, as a contrast, I awoke 

 to find my entire banda diffused with a rosy light, 

 reflected from the most perfect sunrise. What an 

 incentive to make one get up. Although I was 

 stiff as a log and greatly disinclined to assume the 

 perpendicular position, I soon jumped up when I 



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