A Thousand Miles in a Machilla 



boiling together. Not being able to understand the 

 sound, we called to Franco, who explained to us 

 that this was John's method of conducting his 

 lamentations. At the risk of being brutal we had 

 to ask him to go a little farther off. Our sympathy 

 with him in his sorrow had been somewhat lessened 

 by hearing from Franco that the brother was old, 

 had been ailing for many years, and that his death 

 had long been expected. 



The day after leaving Fort Jameson we had 

 intended marching to Kanyindula — the usual 

 stage — a distance of about twenty miles; but, as 

 is often the case with a fresh lot of men, we were 

 late in getting under way. After travelling rather 

 less than ten miles we left the high road to collect 

 and rest the caravan in the dry bed of the Sandili 

 river, where water-holes were reported. When we 

 got there we found that there was only one hole 

 which still had water in it, and as the process of 

 drawing it was slow we decided that we had better 

 encamp, although only about half the distance we 

 had hoped to cover. The day was very hot, the 

 sun getting high, the machilla men, new to their 

 work, were tired, and the porters exhausted from 

 heat and want of water. One man had a slight fit. 



We selected an island in the dry bed of the 

 river, and pitched our tent under the shade of a big 

 tree. Among the dried leaves on the ground round 

 about the tree were a number of pods, which the 

 men fortunately recognized as the much dreaded 

 bean of the Macuna creeper.* We had them 



1 See British Central Africa (Sir H. Johnston), p. 220. 



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