The Kilima-Njaro Expedition by Harry Johnston

About a month was spent in the calm and contemplative occupations described in the last chapter.

This period seemed in one way to pass all too quickly, for the days slipped by one after the other, and no date stood marked out prominently by extraordinary events; and yet for the amount of work performed and for the changes in our environment, that first short term of our residence on Kilima-njaro was an age, a cycle of history, especially for the natives. While two-thirds of my men were tramping to Taita and back to fetch the rest of my goods, I, with the remaining third, was hard at work during every twelve hours of daylight. Not only did we build the temporary houses and plant the kitchen-gardens I have already described, but we installed our cows and goats in a spacious stable, constructed with sufficient strength to resist a night attack from leopards; we set going a poultry-run of eighty fowls; and we established a primitive dairy, wherein the milk from our animals was laid out in large flat wooden dishes (bought from the natives), and produced such a liberal quantity of cream that when enough had been taken to churn into butter (this operation was really performed by shaking in a large bottle), the remainder served to enrich my afternoon tea or early breakfast. One morning towards the close of this most tranquil period my heart really swelled with proprietary pride, when I saw on my neatly-laid breakfast-table the first new-laid eggs of my poultry-yard, the first radishes from my garden, the first loaf from our home-made oven, together with the adjuncts of our dairy, a pat of butter and a jug of cream. With opulence came refinement and the renaissance of art. I was now no longer content to lodge in a hut, however dry and snug. I wanted a spacious house. The ground being cleared and levelled, I planned out with pegs and twine a residence of ample size and regular proportions-26 feet long and 18 feet wide, with two "wings" of 9 feet square at the sides. The roof was to rise to a height of 12 feet at the apex, in the centre, and slope down to 7 feet at the sides. The interior of the main building was to be again divided lengthways by inside partitions into two equal portions, one-half to furnish a long salon and reception-room, and the other to be subdivided again into three compartments, which would be respectively used as bed-room, bath-room, and store-room. Of the two wings, one would become my servant's room, and the other a pantry where the crockery and table-gear should be kept. It was altogether a grand scheme, a majestic design, and when my six or seven builders were initiated into the plans they tapped their open mouths with their hands to express their admiration for such a bold flight in architecture. But the fact was that, like many ambitious projectors, my plans were too vast for the means at hand for carrying them into operation. During three months this great edifice was constructing, and a few days after the last touches were put to its embellishments I had, alas! to leave Moši for good, and my deserted palace doubtless remains behind (white ants and natives permitting) to testify to future explorers, by its (relatively) Cyclopean proportions and harmonious design, that an ambitious white man once sojourned in that spot.