There were two fox-terriers tied together with five or six feet of small rope between them. As their health improved these two terriers became animated beyond all control. They amused themselves by pulling down cages full of parrots for the delight of hearing them remonstrate in a prolonged concert of harsh squawking. But their chief exercise was straight running at breakneck speed from one end of the promenade deck to the other, with six feet of rope stretched taut between them, to the terror of the passengers, who were so few in number that they were regarded as a negligible quantity. There was a lady on board with whom I occasionally walked until the terriers made it impossible to do so without sacrificing either comfort or gallantry. At the sight of them coming towards her, like a whirlwind sweeping down the deck and the rope threatening to trip her up, the lady’s energy all went to her hands instead of her feet; for she invariably lost her presence of mind and stood still wringing her hands instead of hastily retreating into some safe corner. But I could not understand why she should think that I also ought to lose my presence of mind and stand still and be tripped when I had youth and fleetness of limb to accomplish an escape. We were three days at Benguela during which we witnessed the Mardi Gras celebration. Men, women, and children filled the streets with merrymaking and presented a spectacle of fantastic colours, grotesque costumes, and uncouth masks, such as I had never before seen. Our errand to Benguela was the delivery of a large consignment of supplies for the newly projected railway which, it is expected, shall ultimately extend far inland to the region of Lake Tanganyika, thus connecting with the traffic of the east coast. The bit of this railway already built represents what Portugal has done towards the development of Africa in the course of several centuries. The trading-houses of Benguela are surrounded by walled enclosures, or compounds, in former days used for the confinement of slaves awaiting shipment. This is not like the bush country further north, but is more open and its main slave-trail extends a thousand miles into the interior. This is the end of the trail that Livingstone followed in his first tragic journey across Africa.