It was a gallant sight to see the Baloch, as with trailed matchlocks, and in bravery of shield, sword, and dagger, they hurried in Indian file out of the Kaole cantonments, following their blood-red flag and their high-featured, snowy-bearded chief, the “Shaib Mohammed,”--old Mohammed. The band, “like worms,” as they expressed its numbers, which amounted to nearly a hundred, about one-third of the venerable Jemadar’s command, was marching forth to bid us farewell, in token of respect, at Mgude or Kuingani, “the cocoa-plantation near the sea.” It is a little settlement, distant an hour and a half’s walk from Kaole: hither my companion had preceded me, and hence we were to make our second departure. Accompanied by Said bin Salim, Valentine my Goanese servant, three Baloch, and two slaves, I followed in the wake of the main body, bringing up the rear of the baggage on three Unyamwezi asses bought that morning at the custom-house. The animals had been laden with difficulty: their kicking and plunging, rearing and pawing, had prevented the nice adjustment of their packs, and the wretched pads, which want of time had compelled me to take, instead of panels or pack-saddles, loosely girthed with rotten coir rope, could not support a heap of luggage weighing at least 200 lbs. per load. On the road they rushed against one another; they bolted, they shied, and they threw their impediments with such persistence, that my servant could not help exclaiming, “Unká nám gadha”--“Their name _is_ jackass.” At last, as the sun neared the salt sea, one of these half-wild brutes suddenly sank, girth-deep, in a patch of boggy mire, and the three Baloch, my companions, at once ran away, leaving us to extricate it as best we could. This little event had a peculiar significancy to one about to command a party composed principally of asses and Baloch. The excitement of finding myself on new ground, and the peculiarities of the scenery, somewhat diverted melancholy forebodings. Issuing from the little palisade of Kaole, the path winds in a south-westerly direction over a sandy soil, thick with thorns and bush, which in places project across the way. Thence ascending a wave of ground where cocoas and the wild arrow-root flourish, it looks down upon park land like that described by travellers in Kaffraria, a fair expanse of sand veiled with humus, here and there growing rice, with mangoes and other tall trees, regularly disposed as if by the hand of man. Finally, after crossing a muddy grass-grown swamp, and a sandy bottom full of water when rain has been heavy, the path, passing through luxuriant cultivation, enters Kuingani. Such is the “nakl,” or preparatory-stage of Arab travellers, an invariable first departure, where porters who find their load too heavy, or travellers who suspect that they are too light, can return to Kaole and re-form.