it came on to rain in torrents, wetting us to the skin, and even
necessitating the occasional baling of the canoes, and as the

rain beat down the wind we could not use the sails, and had to
get along as best as we could with our paddles.

At eleven o'clock we halted on an open piece of ground on the
left bank of the river, and, the rain abating a little, managed

to make a fire and catch and broil some fish. We did not dare
to wander about to search for game. At two o'clock we got off

again, taking a supply of broiled fish with us, and shortly afterwards
the rain came on harder than ever. Also the river began to get

exceedingly difficult to navigate on account of the numerous
rocks, reaches of shallow water, and the increased force of the

current; so that it soon became clear to us that we should not
reach the Rev. Mackenzie's hospitable roof that night -- a prospect

that did not tend to enliven us. Toil as we would, we could
not make more than an average of a mile an hour, and at five

o'clock in the afternoon (by which time we were all utterly worn
out) we reckoned that we were still quite ten miles below the

station. This being so, we set to work to make the best arrangements
we could for the night. After our recent experience, we simply

did not dare to land, more especially as the banks of the Tana
were clothed with dense bush that would have given cover to five

thousand Masai, and at first I thought that we were going to
have another night of it in the canoes. Fortunately, however,

we espied a little rocky islet, not more than fifteen miles of
so square, situated nearly in the middle of the river. For this

we paddled, and, making fast the canoes, landed and made ourselves
as comfortable as circumstances would permit, which was very

uncomfortable indeed. As for the weather, it continued to be
simply vile, the rain coming down in sheets till we were chilled

to the marrow, and utterly preventing us from lighting a fire.
There was, however, one consoling circumstance about this rain;

our Askari declared that nothing would induce the Masai to make
an attack in it, as they intensely disliked moving about in the

wet, perhaps, as Good suggested, because they hate the idea of
washing. We ate some insipid and sodden cold fish -- that is,

with the exception of Umslopogaas, who, like most Zulus, cannot
bear fish -- and took a pull of brandy, of which we fortunately

had a few bottles left, and then began what, with one exception
-- when we same three white men nearly perished of cold on the

snow of Sheba's Breast in the course of our journey to Kukuanaland
-- was, I think, the most trying night I ever experienced. It

seemed absolutely endless, and once or twice I feared that two
of the Askari would have died of the wet, cold, and exposure.

Indeed, had it not been for timely doses of brandy I am sure
that they would have died, for no African people can stand much

exposure, which first paralyses and then kills them. I could
see that even that iron old warrior Umslopogaas felt it keenly;

though, in strange contrast to the Wakwafis, who groaned and
bemoaned their fate unceasingly, he never uttered a single complaint.

To make matters worse, about one in the morning we again heard
the owl's ominous hooting, and had at once to prepare ourselves

for another attack; though, if it had been attempted, I do not
think that we could have offered a very effective resistance.

But either the owl was a real one this time, or else the Masai
were themselves too miserable to think of offensive operations,

which, indeed, they rarely, if ever, undertake in bush veldt.
At any rate, we saw nothing of them.

At last the dawn came gliding across the water, wrapped in wreaths
of ghostly mist, and, with the daylight, the rain ceased; and

then, out came the glorious sun, sucking up the mists and warming
the chill air. Benumbed, and utterly exhausted, we dragged ourselves

to our feet, and went and stood in the bright rays, and were
thankful for them. I can quite understand how it is that primitive

people become sun worshippers, especially if their conditions
of life render them liable to exposure.

In half an hour more we were once again making fair progress
with the help of a good wind. Our spirits had returned with

the sunshine, and we were ready to laugh at difficulties and
dangers that had been almost crushing on the previous day.

And so we went on cheerily till about eleven o'clock. Just as
we were thinking of halting as usual, to rest and try to shoot

something to eat, a sudden bend in the river brought us in sight
of a substantial-looking European house with a veranda round

it, splendidlysituated upon a hill, and surrounded by a high
stone wall with a ditch on the outer side. Right against and

overshadowing the house was an enormous pine, the tope of which
we had seen through a glass for the last two days, but of course

without knowing that it marked the site of the mission station.
I was the first to see the house, and could not restrain myself

from giving a hearty cheer, in which the others, including the
natives, joined lustily. There was no thought of halting now.

On we laboured, for, unfortunately, though the house seemed
quite near, it was still a long way off by river, until at last,

by one o'clock, we found ourselves at the bottom of the slope
on which the building stood. Running the canoes to the bank,

we disembarked, and were just hauling them up on to the shore,
when we perceived three figures, dressed in ordinary English-looking

clothes, hurrying down through a grove of trees to meet us.
'A gentleman, a lady, and a little girl,' ejaculated Good, after

surveying the trio through his eyeglass, 'walking in a civilized
fashion, through a civilized garden, to meet us in this place.

Hang me, if this isn't the most curious thing we have seen yet!'
Good was right: it certainly did seem odd and out of place --

more like a scene out of a dream or an Italian opera than a real
tangible fact; and the sense of unreality was not lessened when

we heard ourselves addressed in good broad Scotch, which, however,
I cannot reproduce.

'How do you do, sirs,' said Mr Mackenzie, a grey-haired, angular
man, with a kindly face and red cheeks; 'I hope I see you very

well. My natives told me an hour ago they spied two canoes with
white men in them coming up the river; so we have just come down

to meet you.'
'And it is very glad that we are to see a white face again, let

me tell you,' put in the lady -- a charming and refined-looking
person.

We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and proceeded to introduce
ourselves.

'And now,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'you must all be hungry and weary;
so come on, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to see

you. The last white who visited us was Alphonse -- you will
see Alphonse presently -- and that was a year ago.'

Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of the hill, the lower
portion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fences

and sometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just
now full of crops of mealies, pumpkins, potatoes, etc. In the

corners of these gardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped
huts, occupied by Mr Mackenzie's mission natives, whose women

and children came pouring out to meet us as we walked. Through
the centre of the gardens ran the roadway up which we were walking.

It was bordered on each side by a line of orange trees, which,
although they had only been planted ten years, had in the lovely

climate of the uplands below Mt Kenia, the base of which is about
5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown to imposing

proportions, and were positively laden with golden fruit. After
a stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so -- for the hillside

was steep -- we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered
with fruit, which enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of