agined than described. In the
words of a resident, "It would hold the navies of the world," and some
years back it might have been purchased for L12,000. With the war just
over, people were beginning to realize how trade and development would
be facilitated if this great seaport belonged to the British Empire. A
"United Africa" was already looming in the distance, and it required but
little imagination on the part of the traveller, calling to mind the
short rail journey connecting it with the mining centres of the
Transvaal, to determine what a thriving, busy place Lorenzo Marques
would then become. During the day the temperature was tropical, but by
evening the atmosphere freshened, and was almost invigorating as the
fierce sun sank to rest and its place was taken by a full moon. From our
hotel, standing high on the cliff above the bay, the view was then like
fairyland: an ugly old coal-hulk, a somewhat antiquated Portuguese
gunboat, and even the diminutive and unpleasant German steamer which had
brought us from Beira, all were tinged with silver and enveloped in
romance, to which they could certainly lay no claim in reality.

Early in the morning of the next day we left for Johannesburg. The line
proved most interesting, especially after passing the almost historical
British frontier town, Koomati Poort. It winds like a serpent round the
mountains, skirting precipices, and giving one occasional peeps of
lovely fertile valleys. During a greater part of the way the Crocodile
River follows its sinuous course in close proximity to the railway,
while above tower rocky boulders. To describe their height and
character, I can only say that the steepest Scotch mountains we are
familiar with fade into insignificance beside those barren,
awe-inspiring ranges, and one was forced to wonder how the English
soldiers--not to speak of heavy artillery--could have safely negotiated
those narrow and precipitous passes. For the best part of twelve hours
our train slowly traversed this wild and magnificent scenery, and
evening brought us to Waterfall Onder, where, at the station
restaurant, kept by a Frenchman, we had a most excellent dinner, with a
cup of coffee that had a flavour of the Paris boulevards. This
stopping-place was adjacent to Noitgedacht, whose name recalled the
unpleasant association of having been the home, for many weary weeks, of
English prisoners, and traces of high wire palings which had been their
enclosure were stil