A Thousand Miles in a Machilla 



quite realizing that the wet season was really upon 

 us, we stayed in bed in the hope that matters would 

 mend. 



At first the rest was pleasant enough, and a hot 

 breakfast at a table quite a novelty ; but by degrees, 

 a wet tent and the absence of anything to do palled, 

 and we were not sorry when about lo a.m. the 

 clouds lifted, and we were able to make a move. 

 We first took a bee-line by compass through the 

 forest to cut off the corner which separated us from 

 the Luambwa, and so soon as we reached the river, 

 skirted its right bank. There was no track, but the 

 men managed perfectly, nevertheless, the forest 

 being rarely so thick as to oblige us to alight from 

 the machillas. The river was of varying breadth 

 — sixty or seventy yards — and in places deep, 

 sometimes running between high wooded banks, 

 and in others opening out with low banks bordered 

 by marshes, then dry, and looking almost like 

 water meadows. Of game we saw but little — only 

 a few waterbuck and some puku. 



The day proved fine and warm, and after four 

 hours' travel we halted on the edge of a large 

 dambo and camped in the forest. It was a nice 

 spot, with plenty of flowering plants about. Maso 

 helped me dig up some bulbs {Kamferia), but 

 we found they grew so deep in hard ground it was 

 almost impossible not to break the stems. 



A disagreeable experience occurred to me on 

 this day's march. I had been feeling rather out of 

 sorts, probably owing to the damp and change of 

 temperature, and had taken a doze of ipecacuanha 



214 



