The day's journey was divided as follows: Up before the sun, and dressing by the uncertain light of a candle lantern.

It was cold enough to render no dawdling possible, and one hurried one's toilet in order to get to the already brightly burning fire and steaming hot coffee.

The sun would just then be showing its red head in the far east, and already the camp was in commotion; tents were being struck, bedding rolled up, while a certain amount of scrambling would be going on amongst the cunning blacks, each wishing to possess himself of the lightest load.

To prevent shirking, one or two of the native police who accompanied us watched the proceeding with lynx-like eyes, and, amid much arguing, chattering, and apparent confusion, a long line of carriers would emerge like a black snake from the camping-ground into an orderly string--quaint figures, some of them wrapped in gaudy blankets, and even then shivering in the keen morning air; some with their load on their heads, others carrying it on long sticks, all with the inevitable native vessel, fashioned from a gourd, containing their daily ration of grain.

As a supplement to these carriers, we were also accompanied by the (in Africa) familiar "Scotch cart." In other words, this is a strong cart on two wheels, drawn by bullocks, and its usual pace is about two and a half miles an hour.