CHAPTER XV.

SEVENTH HALF.

On July 1st we left Blantyre about 6·30 A.M. This was an unusually early hour. It generally happens that people wishing to start at six in the morning are detained till nine. The carriers may come about seven o’clock, but they say that they must go back to their homes for food. Some of our carriers, although they had been warned beforehand, neglected to bring provisions with them, but so many natives had come that we had no difficulty in filling their places.

Once fairly started, the carriers proceeded at a rattling pace. The road for a long way was filled with the school children and other acquaintances who wished again to say farewell. Among others Kumlomba made his way through the crowd a little above his village, and placed a knife in my hand as a keepsake. Great numbers of the school children came running along for nearly two miles. One of the last to leave was Kanjira, who had been the first to meet us on our arrival in 1878, and had since then been a very regular attendant at school. He was now regretting the departure of his ‘teacher’ in very touching words, and expressing his intention to go with me. I had to impress upon him that this idea could not be entertained, but the little fellow did not go back till we were near the Nampele, a stream four miles from Blantyre. Another lad was more determined still, and resisted every argument. As a last resource I filled both his hands with beads to see if this would not make him fall behind, but notwithstanding our rapid pace he persisted in following. Farther on we met a company of men going to Blantyre, but he could not be induced to return with them. He answered me much in the words of Ruth to Naomi, “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee”. Now he was so far on that it would have been unsafe for him to go back alone. But as we were approaching Mbami we met more men going to Blantyre, and as we now insisted on his return, he sorrowfully obeyed. The little fellow must have been tired, having come about twelve miles.

We reached Mbami about ten o’clock, here the carriers rested a short time, while I talked with the headman and his people.

Soon we started again; to see that no one fell behind I went last. The carriers marched in single file—often forming a line which might extend for a mile or more, as they did not keep close together. Scarcely was I out of sight of the village when I heard a great commotion—people were running and shouting. All the inhabitants of Mbami seemed to be in pursuit of a girl who was running as if in desperation. When within a few yards of me, she was caught by a young man, but she struggled most violently. I asked what was the matter, when the girl whose face was wet with tears, cried out, “I wish to go with you”. She laid hold of me with the greatest earnestness just as the other pursuers were coming near. The girl’s mother was there reproving her with “Will you leave your own mother?” I tried to calm the girl and told her to stay contentedly at her home. All the people said, “Do you hear that now? he tells you to stay at your home,” but by this time her little fingers had clutched my coat. I put beads into her hands, as this is usually an infallible way of getting the hands of a native diverted—so great is the desire for the money of the land. But this creature held on and let the beads fall. It was the mother that let go her hold of the girl in order to pick them up. Again I tried to soothe the child while her mother and all the women coaxed her by saying she would get to Blantyre to school and the Msungu (white man) would come back again and teach her, but after all she went away weeping most bitterly. I was myself deeply affected. Perhaps the girl was a poor slave who had been stolen away from her true mother. One may know natives a long time without making out their true relationships (59.)

Mbami is a pretty spot, and has a good supply of water. It may one day form a small Mission station. A little beyond it we could hear the sound of a waterfall. The headman lived once with the Magololo, but he disliked their laws, and now he is practically a chief himself. But if a war broke out between the Yao and the Anyasa he would have to join either the one party or the other, else he would be liable to the attacks of both.

The next places we pass are Mazibango (water-reeds), Makoka, and Chipindu, which are of great interest to the traveller, as being the only places where water can be found to quench his thirst. After Chipindu the road, which is hitherto level, descends rapidly to the plain of the Chiri. Just as we entered on the plain we were agreeably surprised to meet Katunga’s sons, and, after advancing a little, we found the chief himself with about sixty men engaged in making a canoe, beside a stream called the Namyala. Having now walked about twenty-five miles, I was very thirsty, not to say hungry. Katunga was sitting on a box, which he gave up for me. I pressed him to share it, but he sat down beside me on the ground. We had now some refreshment. The Chief explained that he was not able to walk, as he had been for some time suffering from bad legs, but he said his men would carry him to the village, to say good-bye. A march of another hour brought us to Katunga’s capital. All his sons had accompanied us, and I told them to write out a few lines of their books, that I might shew my friends in England how they could write. They soon finished this little task.

Now came another of those sad farewells. When the carriers had finished their work they came to us for the last time. We knew most of these men so well—men of Kapeni’s, men of Matache’s, and men of Blantyre were there. There, too, were Ndiagani’s mother and little sister,—the latter a small child, whom I had often carried along the road during the day. I wished to give her all the beads I had, but though I turned out my pocket, I could not find as many as would fill her tiny hand. We were now left among the Anyasa, all of whom, except the chief and his family, were strangers to us. Just as it was getting dark, the chief came in, as he had promised. He gave me a present of two goats and a bag of rice. I pointed out that one goat would be enough, but he said, thoughtfully, that we had better take them both ‘for the journey’. On going down to the boat, I found Mrs. Macdonald and the children preparing for the night. Much was yet to be done in arranging the boxes, so as to make a level place for our beds. The Anyasa, whether from want of acquaintance with us or from the more enervating nature of their climate, were not so ready to render help as the Yao. We had to do all this work ourselves; the natives merely looking on, with the exception of the chief’s sons, who soon found their way down to the boat.

What a magnificent river glided past! How glorious it seemed to us, who, for three years, had seen nothing bigger than a mountain-stream. The native girl, Ndiagani, was in ecstasy at the sight, while our little boy lay over the boat, apparently lost in contemplation. The great silent river was smooth as a vast mirror: and yet on its surface we could see thousands of little ripples passing down in quiet succession, and speaking of the individual men and women that pass down the great stream of time. How insignificant is each ripple in itself, yet none is small enough to be overlooked: all are carried silently on and on—to the eternal shore!

After the boat was ready for the night, I went up to the chief’s again. He was sitting outside in his courtyard, all alone, beside a bright fire, expecting my return. The shades of night were now gathering round us, and his thoughts reverted to days gone by. He talked of Dr. Livingstone, and Mr. Waller, and others that had long-lived in his memory. Before we separated he wished me to remember him to Dr. Kirk (the British Consul at Zanzibar), and to report to him that Katunga’s gun was broken! Then he found a boy to conduct me through his village to the boat. Just outside the village, we passed a herd of pigs. These animals seemed quite wild: they run at large all day, and come in to the villages at night.

Our bedroom was the small open boat. Mosquitoes were numerous and vicious, and the children were bitten severely. Next morning as soon as it was dawn, I went up to the chief to get boatmen as quickly as possible. He was sitting where I had left him last night, and a little boy was by him cooking a fowl for his breakfast. The natives cook fowls in a very primitive method, which, however, we have often adopted with satisfaction. The legs and wings are turned backwards and joined together, so as to hold a small stick which goes along the back of the fowl. The stick is fixed in the ground, and the fowl at the end of it is so placed as to get the full benefit of the fire.

The Chief promised to send men soon, and to come down himself to see us off, but he wished to find something to give us as a keepsake. In a short time he came and had a second breakfast with us (two breakfasts are nothing to an African!) Then he produced a small tusk of ivory. This present we could not fail to regard as a token of sincere friendship, and the only return we could then make was to write out an order for tea, sugar, and such food as the Chief could not readily procure for himself.

Soon the boat was off, and we were afloat on the beautiful river. What a pity that such a spot should be the chosen abode of malaria; only a few yards up the stream were the graves of certain martyrs of the Magomero Mission. As we passed out of sight there was a waving of hats and hands, which continued till we could see our friends no longer.

The Chiri here is about 150 yards broad, sometimes more, but it is not very deep. In many places the boat would touch the bottom and unskilful boatmen often run aground on sandbanks; but as our men were well acquainted with this part of the river and kept in the middle of the strongest currents we went at a delightful speed, the current doing the greater part of the work. A favourable sail brought us to Maseo’s about mid-day. I went up to the Chiefs residence and soon found myself surrounded by all his boys who conducted me to the Chief himself. He is one of the kindest of the Magololo, and yet the sight of a man lying in the slave-stick reminded us that even he needs to exercise stringent jurisdiction. He went back with me to the boat carrying with him a gazelle’s skin which he asked us to accept that we might remember him in the distant land of our “home”. (There is a striking pathos and poetry about many of the expressions of the native.) In return Mrs. Macdonald gave his children some books and the chief was much interested in hearing them read. They also wrote out something for us, but this performance on board an unsteady boat scarcely did justice to the little fellows’ handwriting.

Maseo warned us as we left that if Chiputula had gone to war with Matekenya we should not try to pass on. Katunga had also touched on this subject, and now we thought that we had heard the last of it. We reached Kumbewe, Chiputula’s upper village, in the middle of the afternoon. The lower village is within sight of this on the opposite side of the river. We were now told that Chiputula had gone away four days ago to hunt. This Chief’s large house is an object of interest. It is of fabulous dimensions. Palm trees enter largely into its construction, and the rooms are of their height! Chiputula’s sons and wives were very active in finding fowls and a goat for us: we accepted these presents as we did not wish to call at more villages for some time. That evening we reached a spot where we had spent a night on our journey up to Blantyre. A little incident brought the place to our recollection. One of our party had been for a long time greatly puzzled at the brightness of the night. He looked everywhere but could see no trace of the moon. Having been familiar with the position of the moon in Scotland, he had not thought of looking directly overhead.

Next day was Sunday but we went on. The African traveller, must sometimes find a difficulty in deciding how to act on the Lord’s day. With regard to the Jewish Sabbath the doubts would be fewer perhaps. Now we were far from any human dwelling, and to remain for a single day on the banks of the Elephant marsh with the thermometer above 100° would be to invite an attack of fever. We _might_ be none the worse, it is true, just as the ox that falls into the pit might sometimes be none the worse of being left in the pit till Monday morning. Hence although we claimed a fair share of the Scottish idea as to the strict observance of the Sabbath day, it seemed to dawn upon us without the severe sanctity that surrounds it in our native land. As we were quietly moving along, one of our natives startled us by firing his gun; and very soon it became my turn to break the sacred stillness of the day by following his example. At this spot the Chiri is full of islands. We took one side of an island while the canoe that accompanied us took the other, and had not proceeded far, before it had the misfortune to disturb some hippopotami. To clear a passage one of the canoe men fired upon them. Just at this moment we came down the other channel to find the huge beasts rounding the corner in their retreat. After the shot they had kept under the water so that we hardly thought of them. I was standing at the bow of the boat looking back on the beautiful hills we were leaving, when all of a sudden we received a shock which made us feel as if our little craft were going from under us. A hippopotamus had struck it and not satisfied with that, it seemed determined to come on board. One of our rowers received a severe wound from its tusks whereupon all the men at that side rushed over to the other with a violence which threatened to upset us. Again and again the enraged animal charged, till, finding my gun I fired upon it, when it ultimately withdrew after making two deep dents on the steel side of the boat, and leaving the point of one of its tusks beside me. The men were all much excited, but they were thankful that we were in deep water else, they said, the hippopotamus would have undoubtedly come in. They told us that one of the Mazaro men that had come up with us three years ago had been “cut in two and devoured by a hippopotamus”. “But,” I remarked, “the hippopotamus does not eat flesh!” “Oh yes,” said one, “it will devour a man very fast.” “But then,” replied another, “it has always its companion the crocodile (ngwena) with it.” That day we were beset with hippopotami at every other turning. In some herds we counted over 20. They detained us a long time; we had expected to sleep at the Ruo, but sunset found us considerably short of this, so that we had to spend another night in the Elephant Marsh.

[Illustration: A VILLAGE OF THE ANYASA ON THE LOWER CHIRI.]

_Monday, July 4._—We started early without waiting to cook any food, as we intended to breakfast at the Ruo, at Chiputula’s lowest settlement (Ku Chilomo). On reaching this village we landed, and soon met one of our Blantyre pupils who paid us special attention. In passing through the village we saw many signs of mourning, and heard the “wails” rendered in the same pathetic way as at Blantyre. On returning for breakfast in order that we might resume our journey without delay, great was our surprise, on reaching the boat, to find nothing but a scene of confusion. No cooking had been attempted, and our boatmen were removing all their goods as if they meant to desert us. What could be the matter?

“We cannot go any farther,” they said. “There is war! Matekenya will kill us all without any reason!”

I expostulated with them for a long time. At first I could not even entertain the idea of turning back. Katunga’s men agreed with me, but Maseo’s strongly opposed, and pointed out that their chief had told them not to proceed if Chiputula had gone to fight with Matekenya. I now learned that Chiputula had gone away not for hunting but for war. Still I did everything in my power to prevail upon the boatmen to proceed. I went to hurry them with their cooking, and to divert their minds as much as possible. Still, after talking with them a good while, I began to be less confident. They had much to say. “Why,” I asked, “should you be afraid to go down with an Englishman?” “They replied that they were specially afraid to go with an Englishman. Matekenya’s headmen blamed the English for giving the Magololo guns and powder.

“But not the Mission people?” “Yes, the Mission people.” Unfortunately, though all the people more intimately associated with Blantyre were innocent in this matter, there was too good foundation for the charge. The deputation that visited us had thoughtlessly begun to present guns. The natives said, “Had not a stout man seen at Blantyre given Makukani a gun?” I also found that the inhabitants of this village were trying to dissuade the men from proceeding. When I was present with the boatmen those villagers protested that there was “nothing—nothing to fear”. But when I was not by, they said there was everything to fear. Indeed, they had terrified the boatmen so much that at one time I was on the verge of despair. I feared that none of the rowers would enter the boat again. They had got the idea that Matekenya’s men would make an attack on the boat even if we went back the way we came. Their plan was to run away and leave us to our fate, while they escaped to their homes by land. This would have been a terrible calamity for such a party as we were, for some of us must have perished through the hardships that would have ensued. But the over-ruling Providence which had shielded us hitherto did not now forsake us. After a long time of intense suspense we were relieved to see the men enter the boat again, and turn her bow up the river. On considering all the particulars we saw they had some cause for alarm. Chiputula had destroyed several villages of the enemy, and had a number of prisoners here, while several men of this very village were already known to have fallen in battle.

But the idea of a return journey was dismal enough. Our boat, being laden for going down the stream, would give much trouble. We had descended in two days, but we should require six or eight days to go up. Mr. Rowley tells how Dr. Livingstone and the Magomero party took twenty-four days to accomplish the journey that we had now before us. We had been able to buy several fowls. Fortunately, we did not now know that our supply was rather scanty, else we might have had more anxiety. That night we stayed in the place where we had slept the previous night. Rain came on and drenched us thoroughly.

_Tuesday, July 5_, was a wet day, and we made but slow progress. At night there was again a very heavy shower, of which we had the full benefit. Wednesday was a repetition of Tuesday in every particular. This morning I was quite ill. A traveller often finds it very trying to watch the native boatmen lazily doing their work. They make such a mess of it that one cannot look on without disappointment and irritation. The best preventive of such feelings is to lay hold of a pole or a paddle and engage in assisting the men. This I was quite unable to do to-day. A soaking in bed does not fit one for physical exertion under a tropical sun. But one refuge was open still. We had brought some newspapers with us, and these were all acceptable now, no matter what their date might be. When, however, I could not read, I was obliged to be a spectator of the boatmen, but I tried to observe their work as a piece of mere curiosity and to forget that we had any interest in it. The defect in this Anyasa crew was that they had not learned to concentrate their energy in an emergency. The poor fellows expended much more force than would have been necessary had they employed it well. The Mazaro lads are much better boatmen, but since the arrival of the Missions many of the Anyasa have made trips to Mazaro, and now know all about the journey.

On his engagement each man gets a fathom of cloth (value 5d. in Scotland, and 9d. here) to buy food, and meet the ordinary expenses of the voyage. The first thing he does with this money is to buy a bed, which is just a bag made of strips of mlasa woven together like a straw hat. At night the owner, and one or more friends crawl into this bag, which is placed near a fire on the bank. Once in they are very comfortable, the mosquitoes cannot touch them, and in this climate they cannot suffer from cold. As soon as morning dawns the boatmen may be seen emerging one by one from their sacks. But they are in no hurry to make a start. There are generally a few logs smouldering in what had been the fire-place last night. Round these they gather, and put on a few handfuls of grass, and seem preparing to—watch the course of events. Happy for the traveller if he has decided that the boat must start at once, for the slightest semblance of cooking risks at least an hour’s detention. But many travellers believe that a hot cup of coffee keeps off fever, and stay a few minutes to boil water. The natives themselves in ordinary circumstances do not eat at this hour; all they do is to pass round a large pipe, of which each man takes a whiff, and desires nothing more. But when water has to be boiled, everyone takes advantage of the occasion. The traveller’s captain or interpreter, or whatever he may be termed, will be the first to entertain the idea of prolonging “the boiling of the water” till a great deal of other cooking can be done. The traveller, if a stranger, must depend much on his “captain”; and the latter distinguishes himself by shouting to the others to “make haste”. But although he bawls at the top of his voice, they sit quite unmoved by the terrible earnestness of this functionary. The traveller is much puzzled! On such occasions he finds it instructive to watch the position of affairs on the bank. It then appears that all the delay arises from the gallant captain himself, who is quietly cooking some dainty for his own personal use, while the rest of the crew listen calmly to his terrible threatenings, knowing that they are all “kindly meant”.

After the “water has been boiled” to the satisfaction of everybody, the captain’s awful voice is again heard, and now words of mutual exhortation pass round. One man lays hold of the anchor, while the rest stand in an attitude of respectful attention! Only after the anchor has been put into the boat does it occur to the others to pick up their beds, and, one by one, each carries his own property with his own hands, and with his own hands deposits it in the boat! Occasionally one man that happens to be in the boat already, will receive a companion’s consignment, but oftener this companion is allowed to enter and deposit his goods without any help, while the man who is already in the boat goes to the bank to fetch his own property. This is not because they wish to disoblige each other. But they see no reason why anything should be done quickly, and consequently they undervalue every method that savours of haste. Livingstone well speaks of this country as “that blissful land where time is of no importance”. The language of a great part of their actions is, “Why should we do to-day what may as well be done tomorrow?”

After all are in the boat one man pushes it off with his pole—the others meanwhile watching the operation. As soon as the boat is clear of the bank, the current begins to carry it back over last day’s track; when it occurs to them to get their paddles. One man who had left his paddle at the other side of the boat calls for it; another begins to search; while the rest await the result with the most exemplary patience. By and by, another boatman finds that the paddle he has is not the one that he used last day, and a great search is instituted by his companions, who are duly waited for. The poor traveller will now ask whether the captain is going down to Mazaro, and this question produces the desired effect, for the captain begins to charge all and sundry in accents of thunder. But though the paddles are all plied with the utmost strength, little progress is made against the rapid current. The great hope of the boatmen is to keep close to the bank; if reeds grow there, they can pull the boat along by laying hold of them; or, if the bank is clear, they can land and draw the boat by means of a long rope. Another thing that helps them is the shallow water. There they make wonderful speed. They have long poles which reach the bottom of the river, and propel the boat very effectively; the boat becomes a kind of land animal and may be described as walking along on these legs. Such walks along the sandbanks are by far our happiest times. The only drawback is that they will come to an end; and what will the end be? Sometimes we find ourselves in places so shallow that the boat touches the bottom. While we were coming down stream this was the cause of much delay, the force of the current having often carried the boat far along the sandbank before we could stop; and then we stuck fast for a long time. But now that the current is against us, we never get so much involved. Yet we become fixed again and again, and the boatmen all get out (notwithstanding the risk of crocodiles) to drag and push till we find deeper water. By and by, the water is too deep for the poles to touch the bottom, and the men debate which bank to make for. Much time is wasted in the discussion. But after their resolution is formed, something like determination is seen in their faces as they make for the bank of their choice. They ply their little paddles with all their might. On our first journey up, the crew were equipped with oars, but these had been taken away during the war between the Natives and the Portuguese, and the paddles which have taken their place are not nearly so powerful implements. Still the men now use them with a will—there is no doubt as to their earnestness now. They advance very well, and soon reach the very centre of the current. “Now pull, pull, pull with all your might, pull as for your very lives! there!” The man who was wounded by the hippopotamus is at the helm, because he is too ill to be anywhere else. Of course he has never been at a helm before. The critical moment has come, “Oh, turn the head of the boat right against the stream! Quick! Quick!” The poor fellow has to consider which movement of the rudder will do this; but in the midst of the terrible crisis, his presence of mind is gone, he turns the wrong way, the boat wheels right round and shoots down the stream swift as an arrow. A sad disappointment this, but we must try again. Fortunately the sandbank that we had left intercepts our downward course. If the disappointment affected the traveller only, very likely no great effort would be made, but it is getting towards sunset, and the men must reach the bank to cook their supper. “Try again, my boys!” The little paddles are set in motion with a terrible swiftness. The great captain himself has come to the rescue. Once more they approach the same critical spot. “Now, then, all your might!” but their previous exertions have weakened them—just as they feel the full force of the opposing current, their energies flag. The captain flies to his snuff box for a stimulant, all the others press round him to share it. But, alas! the stimulant is a few seconds too late, the height of the contest had come, and has now gone. The boat is completely beaten, and makes her way, stern first, down the river.

This last trial illustrates what we often see among the natives. A vast attempt is made, much strength is expended, and just at the nick of time the whole result is nullified through utter childishness.[12]

Now for a third attempt. Meanwhile the sail had been dangling about. It was believed to be unlucky, and as it did no good, it was taken down. A third effort is now to be made. Our second trial had given us a little hope, for after our defeat the current had brought us very near the bank at one point in our downward journey. The method to be followed now is to go up a little farther, and then trust that the current will bring us a few yards nearer that spot. A drizzling rain and the approach of darkness make our position more unpleasant. Another hard pull brings us once more to the point where we had been twice before. Now they feel that it is quite hopeless to work against the current, but they expect to keep so near the bank as to be able to lay hold of the reeds while the current carries us down. It is a moment of great suspense. The current is stronger than the men, and is decidedly carrying us down again, but they have come much nearer the bank and are quite confident that at yonder point where the bank juts out they will catch hold of the reeds, or will be able at the very least to reach something with their poles.

If the traveller be able to stand, he is certain to be standing now and watching with the greatest anxiety, but see! the men are already able to touch the bank with their poles! One has done so, but alas! his thrust is ill timed, and the boat swings right round till its head is again looking towards Mazaro. Oh! this is dreadful, is that foolish poke at the bank to undo all our efforts? It looks as if it would, and the boat is going at a terrible speed; but in a few minutes the doubt is solved, and the prow of the boat runs full tilt against the bank just at the little promontory that we are trusting to. The effect is quite magical. Everyone knows what happens if, while he is riding at full speed, his horse stops without giving the slightest warning. So it was here. The boat was brought to a dead stand before the passengers had time to acquiesce in the arrangement. The crew were jostled against each other at a terrible rate: some spread themselves out at full length along the sides of the boat while others narrowly escaped a ducking in the river. But the great study was the white man. All the natives like to see how the Englishman behaves in an emergency. This personage is standing on a narrow platform a few inches higher than the rest, and just at the most interesting point in the collision, he is observed, apparently quite regardless of consequences, to make a desperate dive headforemost into the bottom of the boat, his head coming into contact with a pile of plates and pots that had been stowed away there. From this adventure he returns with his face cut and bleeding, but he ought to have remembered his “mechanics” more promptly. Still the situation was much better than being carried down the stream again. The boatmen after their success held on by the reeds and pulled the boat along the side of the bank with all their might, and in a short time we were above the dreaded current.

Poor fellows, how much work they might have spared themselves by a little method! I began to speculate on how different our situation would have been if our boat had been manned by Scotch fishermen: but I remembered that the sun which shone so pleasantly all day on these negroes might have been too much for my countrymen.

At last we are to stay for the night. We must try to find a clear space where the natives will have room to light a fire and arrange their beds. Besides, the clearer a place is, the fewer are the mosquitoes. There is difficulty in finding a spot in the Elephant marsh even with these slender qualifications. To-night, moreover, everything is wet. But the natives, in cases where cooking is required, can soon work wonders. One of them lands, exclaiming, “I am like a monkey—without a knife, without a fire”. In his story of the Magomero Mission, Mr. Rowley tells us that this place was destitute of firewood, and we find it so still. But the native gets hold of a knife with which he cuts down a few of the tall reeds, and in a short time there is a blazing fire, and the cooking goes on in excellent style. The party then dry their beds and their clothes, and keep talking till midnight.

The roar of the lion is occasionally heard, and the hippopotami are quite close—snorting and splashing. Since our adventure on Sunday their presence has always caused some remark, and now we are specially warned that it is dangerous to keep a light burning in the boat in case they should charge us again.

On _Thursday_ the rains have cleared off, and a special effort is to be made to reach the palm trees. We saw them before us yesterday, and had hoped to reach them. The Missionaries of Magomero had this “immense grove before them for several days”. On reaching them we shall have firewood, but for the present the men pick up any stray piece of wood that they see and carefully put it in the boat. We stop at noon, and then the crew have breakfast. This consists of porridge and a “relish,” which may be ground nuts, beans or a piece of flesh or fish. Their method of eating would strike a new comer as being very unrefined, but when we remember that the use of knives and forks (especially of the latter) is quite an innovation, we can easily excuse the manners of the native. Besides, he does not at once acknowledge the superiority of the European methods. As soon as the porridge is produced, all the boatmen wash their hands very slightly, and then fall upon the “mess” with their fingers. Each man helps himself to a large handful of porridge. This he gives an affectionate squeeze for the purpose of adapting part of it to the size of his mouth, and then the business proceeds. One hand is occupied with the relish, while the other supplies the porridge and makes it into proper morsels. When the large dish is emptied they all lick their hands, and one man whirls his finger round the inside of the plate and takes off all the porridge that remains. They next wipe their hands on their loin cloth (their only garment) or on the grass; and then these simple children of nature have finished their repast.

On coming to islands we sometimes have great difficulty in deciding which channel to take. We often try one where the heavy boat will not pass at all, and to our great disappointment we have to go back. Our boatmen bathe very frequently, using a charred stick as a flesh brush. They have no tooth brush, but they rub their teeth very carefully with their fingers.

The appearance of herds of hippopotami[13] always causes much excitement. The Mission boat has done good service for five years, but it is hardly seaworthy now, and a well directed knock would at once admit the water. Accordingly, we pass these animals in great suspense. Towards sunset we are just approaching the palm trees (mivumu), and our hearts are full of thankfulness; only I have to record a report that I heard yesterday forenoon. It was so painful that I did not set it down at the time, and I have been reasoning ever since that it is likely false. It is to the effect that a white man has been killed by men of Matekenya’s. This young man reached the Ruo on Saturday night, being just a day’s journey before ourselves. He was told that Chiputula had gone to make war, and was advised to proceed with the greatest haste so as to pass Matekenya’s country before hostilities had actually commenced. He went on during night, but on Sunday afternoon, they say, he was attacked and massacred along with all his crew. The report was brought by Chiputula’s fighting men, who passed along the bank. They said they had been told this by prisoners. Our crew profess to believe it as it somewhat excuses them for turning back.

_Friday 8._—We start from the palm trees. A dense vapour rises off the river, as if its waters were beginning to boil. The sun is up for some time before we can see it on account of the fog. To-night we reach a village. Here there is great mourning for people slain in war. The headman tells us that many of Chiputula’s men are dead. He points out some of the neighbouring villages, and enumerates how many inhabitants are mourned for in each.

Here nothing can be bought, which is unfortunate, as our provisions are now nearly exhausted, and we may take three days to reach another hamlet. Our men seem to take pleasure in teasing the villagers about their poverty. They ask “Have you fowls”?—“_Pabe_,” “Have you maize”?—“_Pabe_,” &c., &c. To dozens of such questions the answer was Pabe (There is not). This made us all laugh, and I asked one of the boatmen why the villagers would sell nothing. He explained that they had not very much after all, as they lived by fishing. Down here fish are found in abundance, but higher up the river they become less plentiful, and at Katunga’s there are hardly any.

_Saturday 9._—The men are in good spirits. We expect to reach Chiputula’s upper village, Kumbewe, at noon. In this we are disappointed. We meet a strong current which baffles all our efforts, and carries us back a long distance. Late in the afternoon Kumbewe is reached. We land and look at the pleasant village. Meeting with Mrs. Chiputula, or rather Mrs. Chiputula number one, we are taken round the harem where the chiefs other wives are sitting in scores. We are shown his garden which is full of pine apples. The boys’ house is a large circular building without any walls, and supported by wooden pillars. Towards the outside the boys’ beds are suspended all round. In the centre there is a fireplace near which are scattered cooking utensils of various sorts. More than forty of the chief’s wives tell us that they are going to visit the boat with a present for “little Kapeni”—as they called one of the white children. This was a formidable matter. When the last party passed down an English lady was reported to have been terribly frightened by a visit from Mrs. Chiputula. On the present occasion about forty volumes of Mrs. Chiputula contended for the privilege of entering our boat: but their kindness and good feeling was unmistakeable. The natives are fond of bringing us honey, but as the bees feed on the eucalyptus, much of the honey is believed to be poisonous.

_Sunday[14] 10._—We again much missed the quietness of the Scottish Sabbath. In the forenoon we reached Katunga’s lower villages. All these chiefs have their important villages near islands to which they can flee in case of danger. We had to ask Katunga for men to take us up to Blantyre. We also saw Maseo, who promised to send us carriers. We learned that we had been all mourned for as dead. To-night we reached our destination. This day three years before, we had also come to the end of our river journey, and it was the same day—the 10th of July—twenty years ago, that the Magomero Missionaries had reached the same spot.

_Monday 11._—We have much anxiety about getting carriers. It seems impossible to get as many as we want. Some are enrolled and sent away with such loads as must go up with us again, but what gives us most concern is to find no men for palanquins. The danger from fever makes us anxious. What a relief we experience when we see Maseo himself coming up with twenty carriers! In a little after, about as many of Katunga’s men come direct from the chief himself, who has thoughtfully sent his palanquin with them. Maseo with his own hands makes another palanquin of one of our blankets, and we are soon able to start off. Our thoughts revert to the 11th of July three years ago. We marvelled at the great contrast! How much we felt at home among the natives now!

In the afternoon we reached Mbami. The first to come to salute us was the little girl that had wished to accompany me. Our men were lazy, and wanted to stay here for the night. I have always found the Anyasa carriers from the Lower river inferior to the Yao. Perhaps it is because the Magololo rule them as slaves.

We reached Blantyre at eight o’clock. The beautiful moon had lighted up our way for us with as kindly an eye as it had done three years ago, and we found the children had got out of bed and were meeting us before we had well passed the stream. We were very glad after our hardships to sleep for the night on the floor of our old dining room.