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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



WHERE THE REAL WORK BEGAN 



At Fungurume, the end of the railway and valley gateway to the central African bush, 

 the expedition's boats were unloaded, still in their traveling cradles, and mounted on rubber- 

 tired carriages. Then began an incredibly laborious trek under a blazing sun. Supplies were 

 forwarded in advance by an army of native carriers. 



all we wanted for both the members of 

 the expedition and our hordes of native 

 carriers from enormous herds of buck 

 met with from time to time. Wild pig 

 and guinea-fowl were also plentiful and 

 provided satisfactory rations. 



In a sense, the native chiefs were rather 

 disappointing to the eye. Generally, one 

 looked in vain for the flowing head-dress 

 of gorgeous feathers and the leopard skin 

 slung from brawny shoulders. They were 

 for the most part attired in — well, noth- 

 ing to speak of, except in the case of 

 native personages. 



SPATS, OPERA HAT, AND PINK SUNSHADE 

 PART OE NATIVE CHIEF'S UNIEORM 



The prevailing mode among these petty 

 potentates seemed to be obsolete uniforms 

 of all armies. One old chief, I remem- 

 ber, was attired in an old British militia 

 tunic and a pair of spats, his crowning 

 glories being an opera hat and a pink 

 sunshade. I was aware that a big busi- 

 ness in out-of-date uniforms is carried 

 on between traders and these tribes, but 



the origin of the spats and pink sunshade 

 puzzled me somewhat until 1 remembered 

 we were in the land of reputed cannibals. 



After leaving Wendi Macosi we struck 

 some bad spots, but all members of the 

 expedition put their backs into the work, 

 hauling on ropes, bringing in wood, and 

 patching up holes in the road. In fact, 

 they did their best on all occasions, and 

 nothing went amiss. 



A fine example was set by the com- 

 mander. He went around encouraging 

 his officers and men with a kindly word 

 (and sometimes a curse), and so got 

 things done. Thus, under the pitiless 

 glare of a tropical sun, the race against 

 the coming rains went on. 



One of our greatest handicaps was lack 

 of water, both for drinking purposes and 

 for the engines. Often for days at a time 

 we went without a wash in order that the 

 engines might have their fill. This may 

 appear to have been no great hardship, 

 but in the tropics a bath is a tonic and 

 means a great deal. On some occasions, 

 too, the water was so muddy that it had 



