The name of our last camping-place, “Ziwani,” had a pleasant sound to the thirsty traveller, for translated into English it means “By the pool,” and would consequently suggest the close proximity of water. But, except under favourable conditions, this is not the case at the spot in question, and, as it happened, Taru, a day’s journey from Ziwani, was the last place where we had been able to replenish our gourds and bottles. In consequence of such dearth of water it was necessary that the distance between Ziwani and Maungu (the next watering-place) should be covered in a day, and as this was thirty-two miles it meant a forced march of thirteen hours. My men had willingly allowed me to ignore the disagreeable necessity, fearing that I might, as I certainly should have done, force them to break the distance between Ziwani and Maungu by a night march—a thing they much detested, even when performed by the light of a full moon, having, like most Africans, a superstitious fear of night. But being themselves conscious of the long stretch of waterless country they had to traverse before reaching the mountains of Maungu, they, for once, were eager and ready to start before their leader’s call, and consequently when I awoke from that delicious dreamless sleep caused by the timely draught of champagne, I found myself almost alone, while a strange and unwonted silence pervaded the camp. The head-man of the caravan was squatted outside the tent patiently awaiting my awakening. The Indian servant and the senior cook were busily preparing breakfast, while just sufficient men remained behind to carry my tent, bed, and cooking apparatus. Learning the cause of my porters’ disappearance, and far from disapproving such unaccustomed and unprompted activity, I hastily dressed, swallowed my breakfast, and also prepared myself for the long journey that lay before us. The bright slanting beams of an hour-old sun lit up the landscape so cheerfully that the purpose of covering thirty-two miles by nightfall seemed both feasible and easy of accomplishment. The air was fresh and buoyant, and either my potion of the night before or the change from the hothouse atmosphere of the coast to a more bracing climate had brought back strength to my limbs and courage to my heart, for I stepped out along the red path at three miles an hour and enjoyed the exercise. This rate of progress soon brought me up to the rearguard of those who had started with the earliest dawn, but whose energy had waned after two or three hours’ hard tramp. Already, with stupid resignation, many were stretching themselves by the wayside, having first, to satisfy a moderate thirst, consumed in several gulps the remainder of the drinking-water which was to carry them through the day; and, this finished, they were prepared to lie down in utter hopelessness, feeling themselves unequal to the task of walking twenty-five miles to the next water-supply or twenty-five miles back to the last.