Though at first our marching columns were too long and straggling, here again practice made perfect. Bearers, boys, women and children, soon learned to keep pace and distance as exactly as the Askari. Regularly and in good order, the expedition wound along the narrow native paths, and even through the thick bush, into the unknown land. Half an hour’s halt was called after every two hours’ march; the rule was six hours’ march a day, _i.e._, about fifteen to twenty miles, and this was often exceeded. The force was for the most part divided into detachments of three companies, each with one supply train and one field hospital. The advance detachment was a day’s march ahead of the main body, the last a day’s march behind. At the head of each detachment marched the fighting companies with their machine guns; they had with them only the necessary ammunition and medical stores, and each European was allowed one load of necessities. The Askari marched gaily forward, straight as lances, and with their guns reversed over their shoulders, as has always been the custom in the rifle regiments. Lively conversation was kept up, and after the plundering of an enemy camp, which often yielded rich booty, cigarette smoke rose on all sides. The little signal recruits strode bravely forward, half-grown youths in Askari uniform for the most part, carrying all their worldly goods in a bundle on their heads. The Askari would call out their friendly, “Jambo Bwana Obao,” or “Jambo Bwana Generals” (“Good-day, Colonel”), or a little signalman would express his hope of coming some day to Uleia (Europe) and Berlin. “Then the Kaiser will say to me, ‘Good-day, my son,’ and I shall give him an exhibition of signalling. Then he will give me roast meat and present me to the Empress. The Empress will say, ‘Good-day, my child,’ and will give me cakes and show me the shop-windows.” During all their talk the Askari kept a sharp look-out, and no movement in the thick bush escaped their lynx eyes.