On February 23rd we left Mombasa. A large party of missionaries met at Freretown Church at eight o’clock for united Communion. Then we hurried down to the shore where a boat awaited us to take us across to Port Mombasa. After getting together all handbags and other small baggage we were packed away in a ghari—a tiny truck for four persons, with shade, run on rails along the street. A curious party we looked; three gharis left the town, boxes, bags and rugs heaped up in a pile, a few natives scattered about here and there among us, and boys pushing behind. These vehicles simply fly along when going downhill; one box toppled over in one of these wild escapades, and the whole contents burst out and were scattered about on the road. Then a derailment of one ghari necessitated the passengers dismounting, and the cars that followed in the wake being carried round the obstructing car. The terminus of the railway is at Kilindini, which lies about two miles outside Mombasa. At the station a strange scene confronted us. People from various countries were rushing about in a state of great excitement, all struggling to crowd into the few compartments allotted to fourth class passengers. They were so jammed together that one could only expect to see the carriages burst apart with the pressure from inside. Our compartments were ever so much better than I had expected; two had been reserved for our party of seven. Perhaps some of us were a little disappointed that there was no “roughing it,” but we tried to console each other with the thought that there might be a breakdown on the line. Our feelings can be imagined when the train whizzed away and kept up a most respectable speed, in fact, behaved itself like a civilized being. We had armed ourselves with plenty of provisions, but found that good meals had been prepared for us at various long halting stations on the route. Wanting to lighten our supplies, however, afternoon tea was suggested, and as passengers could walk from one compartment to another by means of an outside foot-board, even though the train was running, we invited all the members of our party in to a social tea. My canteen was produced and efforts were made to boil the water, but the train was shaking so unreasonably that the small kettle needed to be constantly replenished during the boiling. We had to warn our guests to avoid the streams of water that were running down the carriage from the kettle spout, but the last arrival made a dreadful mistake by sitting on the top of the teapot just as the tea was made. This was not discovered until the whole contents were upset and the offender realized a scalding sensation.