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. I
decline. Men can be trying! How in the world is any one going to
take a bath in a house with no doors, and only very sketchy wooden
window-shutters?
The German officer is building the house quickly, as Ollendorff
would say, but he has not yet got to such luxuries as doors, and so
uses army blankets strung across the doorway; and he has got up
temporary wooden shutters to keep the worst of the rain out, and
across his own room's window he has a frame covered with greased
paper.
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