At Colossa, a village which Captain Grenfell and I visited in advance of the Column, I asked him to go into a kraal to ask where was the nearest drinking-water. He observed that there was not much chance of ascertaining, as he had no interpreter; but I replied that I thought he would find the mother of some children whom we saw playing could speak English, as I noticed they were playing like English children a “dolls’ dinner party,” with white berries to represent food, on little bits of tin representing plates, and none but the children of a Fingoe, or one who had been about white people, would be so advanced in their amusements. The result proved that my surmise was correct. When we were travelling through Bacaland to the north of Pondoland, I was riding with an interpreter and 2 white soldiers two hours’ march in advance of the Column, and near Tchungwassa, a valley under Mount Frere, came on a native who had the head of another between his knees, and was engaged in curling every separate bit of wool on the man’s thickly covered skull. The Bacas and neighbouring tribes spend hours in order to produce results which seem to us funny. I have seen the wool on a man’s head twisted up to represent the head of a castle in a set of chess men, and a bird’s nest is a favourite device. Sitting down, I asked the hairdresser why he was taking such pains, and he explained because there was a wedding feast in the next village. “How much are you going to charge him for the job?” “Oh, nothing; he is a friend of mine.” “Well, how much would you charge him for what you are doing if it was a matter of business?” “I always charge a shilling when I am doing it as I am now.” “Do you know who I am?” “Yes, you are the General of the Army coming here to-day.” “Well, what will you charge to dress my head?” I fully expected the man would say 5s., but looking at my scanty hair, with a merry twinkle in his eye he exclaimed, “Oh, I will do you for three pence!” I had a visit from Macaula, Chief of the Bacas, when I entered his territory, a fine big savage, 6 feet 3 inches in height, and broad in proportion. He was the happy owner of 22 wives, and informed me that he had 59 children. I said laughingly, “Why not make it 60?” He observed, with great gravity, “I had forgotten one; I heard this morning as I was coming here that I had another, and so it is 60.” He was very anxious to buy my weight-carrying hunter “War-Game,” as, weighing 15 stone, it was difficult to find a pony to carry him, and asked if I would sell the horse. He was startled by my statement that he cost 24 oxen as a four-year-old, a trek ox there being reckoned at £10.