THE FIRST CAMP 



One had succeeded in inserting a fine big glittering 

 tobacco tin. Others had invented elaborate topiary 

 designs in their hair, shaving their heads so as to 

 leave strange tufts, patches, crescents on the most 

 unexpected places. Of the intricacy of these de- 

 signs they seemed absurdly proud. Various sorts of 

 treasure trove hung from them — a bunch of keys 

 to which there were no locks, discarded hunting 

 knives, tips of antelope horns, discharged brass car- 

 tridges, a hundred and one valueless trifles plucked 

 proudly from the rubbish heap. They were all 

 clothed. We had supplied each with a red blanket, 

 a blue jersey, and a water bottle. The blankets 

 they were twisting most ingeniously into turbans. 

 Beside these they sported a great variety of gar- 

 ments. Shooting coats that had seen better days, 

 a dozen shabby overcoats — worn proudly through 

 the hottest noons — raggety breeches and trousers 

 made by some London tailor, queer baggy home- 

 mades of the same persuasion, or quite simply the 

 square of cotton cloth arranged somewhat like a short 

 tight skirt, or nothing at all as the man's taste ran. 

 They were many of them amusing enough; but some- 

 how they did not look entirely farcical and ridiculous, 

 like our negroes putting on airs. All these things 

 were worn with a simplicity of quiet confidence 

 in their entire fitness. And beneath the red 



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