Then Through An Opening In The Great War-Hedge Of
Buea, A Growing Stockade Some Fifteen Feet High, The Lower Part Of
It Wattled.
At the sides of the path here grow banks of bergamot and balsam,
returning good for evil and smiling sweetly as we crush them.
Thank
goodness we are in forest now, and we seem to have done with the
sword-grass. The rocks are covered with moss and ferns, and the
mist curling and wandering about among the stems is very lovely.
In our next ravine there is a succession of pools, part of a
mountain torrent of greater magnitude evidently than those we have
passed, and in these pools there are things swimming. Spend more
time catching them, with the assistance of Bum. I do not value
Kefalla's advice, ample though it is, as being of any real value in
the affair. Bag some water-spiders and two small fish. The heat is
less oppressive than yesterday. All yesterday one was being
alternately smothered in the valley and chilled on the hill-tops.
To-day it is a more level temperature, about 70 degrees, I fancy.
The soil up here, about 2,500 feet above sea-level, though rock-
laden is exceedingly rich, and the higher we go there is more
bergamot, native indigo, with its underleaf dark blue, and lovely
coleuses with red markings on their upper leaves, and crimson
linings. I, as an ichthyologist, am in the wrong paradise. What a
region this would be for a botanist!
The country is gloriously lovely if one could only see it for the
rain and mist; but one only gets dim hints of its beauty when some
cold draughts of wind come down from the great mountains and seem to
push open the mist-veil as with spirit hands, and then in a minute
let it fall together again. I do not expect to reach Buea within
regulation time, but at 11.30 my men say "we close in," and then,
coming along a forested hill and down a ravine, we find ourselves
facing a rushing river, wherein a squad of black soldiers are
washing clothes, with the assistance of a squad of black ladies,
with much uproar and sky-larking. I too think it best to wash here,
standing in the river and swishing the mud out of my skirts; and
then wading across to the other bank, I wring out my skirts. The
ground on the further side of the river is cleared of bush, and only
bears a heavy crop of balsam; a few steps onwards bring me in view
of a corrugated iron-roofed, plank-sided house, in front of which,
towards the great mountain which now towers up into the mist, is a
low clearing with a quadrangle of native huts - the barracks.
I receive a most kindly welcome from a fair, grey-eyed German
gentleman, only unfortunately I see my efforts to appear before him
clean and tidy have been quite unavailing, for he views my
appearance with unmixed horror, and suggests an instant hot bath.
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