"I can gif you good shootings," he said, smiling again. "You English are all good sports, eh? And my friend ze captain also is expert viz ze gun." Tom felt that he had nothing to complain of in the warmth of his reception, and glowed with anticipation of diversifying his business inquiries with sport of a kind new to him. He learnt that the plantation lay at a distance of about twenty miles from the lake-side, on the Tanganyika Plateau, and could only be reached by a rough path over the hills, impassable for wheeled traffic. But he would not be expected to walk. The journey would be done by _machila_, which turned out to be a light canvas litter slung on a pole and borne by two strapping natives. Reinecke had brought three pairs of porters, in addition to a dozen who would convey certain bales of stores which had come by the steamer. It was thus a large party that left early next morning, the three white men in their litters going ahead, the porters following at some distance under the charge of an Arab overseer armed with a long whip. Within half an hour of leaving the port the path entered hilly country, much overgrown with forest vegetation. The air was still, hot and humid, and Tom, though this novel means of locomotion, over rough ground, had its discomforts, reflected that he would have been still more uncomfortable had he walked. Innumerable insects buzzed around, seeking to pierce the protective curtains that enclosed him. Through the meshes of the muslin he saw gigantic ferns, revelling in the moist shade of huge trees, festooned with lianas and rattan. He heard monkeys chattering overhead, the soft notes of doves and the shriller cries of partridges and guinea-fowl; and but for the teeming insects he would have liked to spring from his litter and go afoot, where every yard brought some new beauty, some novel form of life, to view. After three hours the caravan halted, for the purpose of refreshing the Europeans with cool lager beer from bottles carried in ice-packs by one of the natives. It was drawing towards evening when they arrived at a clearing beyond which there was a dense and impenetrable thorn hedge about eight feet high. The path led to a wooden gate set in the midst of the hedge. This Reinecke opened with a key, and he stood back with a smile and a bow as he invited Tom, now on his feet, to enter. "Zis is our estate," he said. "Vunce more I bid you tousand velcomes, and I vish your visit bring us good luck." "Thanks very much," said Tom, noticing at the same time that Reinecke’s eyes were fixed on the peculiarly stolid face of Captain Goltermann. "Yes, viz better luck you shall be rich man in a few years, Mr. Villoughby," said the captain. "Zere is no man zat knows like my friend Reinecke ze--ze----"