490 
THE TROPICAL AGRICULTURIST. 
[Jan. i, 1895. 
MY FIRST MARCH IN AFRICA. 
(By a Ceylon Planter.) 
Chapter 1. 
If you don't want the trouble of looking through 
the following relation and yet would like to 
know what occurred and how the march was 
effected, all you have to do is to turn over the 
leaves and pictures of any of Stanley's works, 
or say the latest hook by Lugard — knock oil' 
75 per cent for exaggeration of height, depth, 
length and intensity, and you'll about hit upon 
something resembling reality. To my friends 
who care to know how the peripatetic planter 
fared in his first 50-mile inarch from Tunga to 
the Usambara range, I commend 
CHAPTER II AND FOLLOWING. 
" Well," says he, " since you are travelling 
light and have no tent, 4 porters ought to do 
you, and they 'll he ready by <> a.m. sharp. So 
hurry up with the tea and finish your packing.'' 
"Rivers to cross?" "Only two— one bridged 
long ago, and the other being so now." "Swamps?' 
•' Well of course you '11 find some muddy places 
since the little rains are on ; but nothing to 
hinder you in the least." "Several resting place--, 
needn't trouble your head — the porters know ali 
about it, and make straight for the stations. '' \nv 
how I 'd better take a good feed before starting 
you never know what may eventuate and "Feed 
when you can," is a traveller's motto all the 
world over. 6 o'clock — no sign of porters. 
7 o'clock do., 8 o'clock do., bless their souls '. 
does n't look like getting away today after all, 
and we are losing the fine morning witli almost 
a dead certainty of its pouring witli rain in the 
afternoon. But a little before ten we make 
A START FOR THE HILLS. 
After the heavy rain of the previous night, the 
weather holds to fair and light rain — a Hat 
country to get over, with a swamp or two to be 
carried over lief ore we reach the railway, about 
which more in another place. The fates are 
propitious and we jog along steadily 
through the sticky mud and slush of 
the line for ten or eleven miles to 
Pun<nve station. The flowers and shrubs that 
caught the eve will be noticed later on. One 
or two Europeans with gangs of men came 
in sight at intervals. and behold two 
Germans and E. W. squatting under a thatched 
roof with open sides having a nip of "Andrew 
Usher." One, however, would have none of it 
after the first taste. The water (brought in a 
kerosene tin) was much of a muchness in colour 
with the whisky— or perhaps a little darker. 
Adieu ! and on we go, till we reach the Pungwe 
station where two Germans and a Greek are 
enioyino- their tiffin, and greet the traveller with 
the utmost hospitality. English is rather at a 
discount amongst the railway employees, but if 
they were as satisfied with the result of oui 
conversation as was the visitor, they haven't much 
to complain of on this occasion. 
BATHING. 
By-and-bye the legitimate occupants of Pungwe 
departed on a trolly, having courteously ordered 
a bucket of warm water for the eccentric Bri- 
tisher who wanted to bathe. Bathroom there 
was none, nor any sanitary convenience of any 
ki nc i_ S o that the conjunction of decency with 
cleanliness formed a bit of a puzzle. " Horn soit 
oui <rml V pense" as Mr. Tupper writes when 
relating how he found himself in the warm spring- 
in New Zealand with three Maori maidens, emu- 
lating in their attire Lady Godiva on her ride 
through Coventry. The bucket was placed out- 
side the verandah of the station — "there's no 
need to look if you don't like it," — and the 
little crowd who apparently did like it kept at 
a respectable distance, so as not to inconvenience 
the white man. The whole affair reminded me 
of the remark of the doctor on the Austrian- 
Lloyd's " Niobe"' when the w ant oi bathing ac- 
commodation for the 2nd class passengers was 
brought to his notice by an irate passenger. 
"Sir," said he, "this boat was built for the 
Levant where they do not much wash." Clean 
and comfortable, lying on a stretcher in the 
open air, gazing on the (German Hags which 
floated from the station and buildings (said 
station consisting of 2 rooms 12 feet sijuare with 
a 6-foot verandah) plenty of time to "muse o'er 
days more blest." Here I am, the only living 
thing save a mangy dog ami attendant fleas in 
charge of the Government railway station of 
Pungwe in German East Africa. However, there 
is not much harm to be done, as there are no 
trains, no signals, and a telegraph line (I sup- 
pose) going to some indefinite spot in the imme- 
diate neighbourhood, might be to the coast at 
Tunga and from which the wind evolved the 
monotonous hum of a one-stringed -Lolian harp: — 
" 'Twas musical and 6adly 6weet 
Such as when winds and harp-strings meet 
And take a loug and unmeasured tone 
To mortal minstrelsy unknown." 
THE PORTERS. 
How had the porters been getting on? "Well, 
my dear sir, you see they had been having an 
easy time of it. The loads were light, and the 
journey short for men, who had been getting soft 
and mouldy in a Colombo office for some years, 
and at the last halting place thev had been 
promised a rupee when the days work was done, 
which must have been an unlooked-for stroke 
of luck judging from the discussion which even- 
tuated, and the number of times "one rupee 
at Punda" (as they called Pungwe) was heard. 
"JPunda" by the way, means a donkey in the 
Swahili language. The traveller was evidently 
a " Bhana biiowar" a " darman dorre," and 
good-humour reigned supreme. The sun shone 
brightly, the flags waved gaily, the clothes aud 
boots dried in the sun, whilst in the distance 
the blue Usambara hills were plainly visible. 
NIGHT. 
In due course, the evening faded into night, 
and the stars came out one by one. The rail- 
way men turned up for dinner, but two returned 
to sleep in the van about a mile away. The 
third had the only bed, whilst E. W. curled himself 
up on the floor on a sack and an old shawl of his 
sister's which had accompanied him many thousand 
miles by land and sea. Everything promised well 
for a comfortable night and a fine morning. Such 
promises however were not fulfilled, far from it. 
The floor of Pungwe station turned out no 
whit less soft than other floors in, or out, of 
Africa, and in half an hour or so I had altered 
my mind about having become too stout lately, 
indeed a little more cushion to save my poor 
bones would have been a decided improvement 
—and there — well, we'll leave that to 
CHAPTER III. 
It was a beautiful night when we turned in, 
but somewhere in the small hours of the morn- 
ing the rain came rattling down on the iron 
roof and walls, and not content to be outside, 
came through and roused us all up to search for 
a dry spot. The only dry place on the floor 
long enough for me to lie on was occupied by 
