All this has happened within the lifetime, and largely owing
to the persuasive influence, of a single man. When in 1890 young Captain Lugard and his askaris entrenched themselves behind the stockade of their zareba and hoisted the flag over Kampala, they, were answered from the dim woods around them by the throb of sinister drums. The site of Fort Lugard has been preserved and upon the summit a neat little museum has been erected containing innumerable stuffed birds. The view from this platform has, however, altered considerably in the last fifty years. Upon the hill to the left rises the Roman Catholic Cathedral, upon the hill to the right the Protestant Cathedral, whereas upon the third hill are jumbled the buildings of Makerere and of the Medical School. Between these outposts of Empire, in and out of the valleys, up and down the slopes, thrives and clusters the town of Kampala—the courthouse, the hotel, the Indian stores where one buys camera-films and sun-glasses, the golf club, the bungalows of the administrators, the palace of His Highness the Kabaka. The lovely roads of Uganda (red as the cliffs at Dawlish) curve round or over these gentle hills, and where war-drums throbbed in 1890 the klaxon screams today. * * * *
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