A Popular Account of Dr. Livingstone's Expedition to the Zambesi and Its Tributaries. David Livingstone

plain forming the tongue of land between the rivers Shiré and Zambesi.  This is a good place for all sorts of game.  The Zambesi canoe-men were afraid to sleep on it from the idea of lions being there; they preferred to pass the night on an island.  Some black men, who accompanied us as volunteer workmen from Shupanga, called out one evening that a lion stood on the bank.  It was very dark, and we could only see two sparkling lights, said to be the lion’s eyes looking at us; for here, as elsewhere, they have a theory that the lion’s eyes always flash fire at night.  Not being fireflies—as they did not move when a shot was fired in their direction—they were probably glowworms.

      Beyond Morambala the Shiré comes winding through an extensive marsh.  For many miles to the north a broad sea of fresh green grass extends, and is so level, that it might be used for taking the meridian altitude of the sun.  Ten or fifteen miles north of Morambala, stands the dome-shaped mountain Makanga, or Chi-kanda; several others with granitic-looking peaks stretch away to the north, and form the eastern boundary of the valley; another range, but of metamorphic rocks, commencing opposite Senna, bounds the valley on the west.  After streaming through a portion of this marsh, we came to a broad belt of palm and other trees, crossing the fine plain on the right bank.  Marks of large game were abundant.  Elephants had been feeding on the palm nuts, which have a pleasant fruity taste, and are used as food by man.  Two pythons were observed coiled together among the branches of a large tree, and were both shot.  The larger of the two, a female, was ten feet long.  They are harmless, and said to be good eating.  The Makololo having set fire to the grass where they were cutting wood, a solitary buffalo rushed out of the conflagration, and made a furious charge at an active young fellow named Mantlanyané.  Never did his fleet limbs serve him better than during the few seconds of his fearful flight before the maddened animal.  When he reached the bank, and sprang into the river, the infuriated beast was scarcely six feet behind him.  Towards evening, after the day’s labour in wood-cutting was over, some of the men went fishing.  They followed the common African custom of agitating the water, by giving it a few sharp strokes with the top of the fishing-rod, immediately after throwing in the line, to attract the attention of the fish to the bait.  Having caught nothing, the reason assigned was the same as would have been given in England under like circumstances, namely, that “the wind made the fish cold, and they would not bite.”  Many gardens of maize, pumpkins, and tobacco, fringed the marshy banks as we went on.  They belong to natives of the hills, who come down in the dry season, and raise a crop on parts at other times flooded.  While the crops are growing, large quantities of fish are caught, chiefly Clarias capensis, and Mugil Africanus; they are dried for sale or future consumption.

      As we ascended, we passed a deep stream about thirty yards wide, flowing in from a body of open water several miles broad.  Numbers of men were busy at different parts of it, filling their canoes with the lotus root, called Nyika, which, when boiled or roasted, resembles our chestnuts, and is extensively used in Africa as food.  Out of this lagoon, and by this stream, the chief part of the duckweed of the Shiré flows.  The lagoon itself is called Nyanja ea Motopé (Lake of Mud).  It is also named Nyanja Pangono (Little Lake), while the elephant marsh goes by the name of Nyanja Mukulu (Great Lake).  It is evident from the shore line still to be observed on the adjacent hills, that in ancient times these were really lakes, and the traditional names thus preserved are only another evidence of the general desiccation which Africa has undergone.

      CHAPTER III

      The Steamer in difficulties—Elephant hunting—Arrival at Chibisa’s—Search for Lake Nyassa—The Manganja country—Weavers and smelters—Lake Pamalombé.

      Late in the afternoon of the first day’s steaming, after we left the wooding-place, we called at the village of Chikanda-Kadzé, a female chief, to purchase rice for our men; but we were now in the blissful region where time is absolutely of no account, and where men may sit down and rest themselves when tired; so they requested us to wait till next day, and they would then sell us some food.  As our forty black men, however, had nothing to cook for supper, we were obliged to steam on to reach a village a few miles above.  When we meet those who care not whether we purchase or let it alone, or who think men ought only to be in a hurry when fleeing from an enemy, our ideas about time being money, and the power of the purse, receives a shock.  The state of eager competition, which in England wears out both mind and body, and makes life bitter, is here happily unknown.  The cultivated spots are mere dots compared to the broad fields of rich soil which is never either grazed or tilled.  Pity that the plenty in store for all, from our Father’s bountiful hands, is not enjoyed by more.

      The wretched little steamer could not carry all the hands we needed; so, to lighten her, we put some into the boats and towed them astern.  In the dark, one of the boats was capsized; but all in it, except one poor fellow who could not swim, were picked up.  His loss threw a gloom over us all, and added to the chagrin we often felt at having been so ill-served in our sorry craft.

      Next day we arrived at the village of Mboma (16 degrees 56 minutes 30 seconds S.), where the people raised large quantities of rice, and were eager traders; the rice was sold at wonderfully low rates, and we could not purchase a tithe of the food brought for sale.

      A native minstrel serenaded us in the evening, playing several quaint tunes on a species of one stringed fiddle, accompanied by wild, but not unmusical songs.  He told the Makololo that he intended to play all night to induce us to give him a present.  The nights being cold, the thermometer falling to 47 degrees, with occasional fogs, he was asked if he was not afraid of perishing from cold; but, with the genuine spirit of an Italian organ-grinder, he replied, “Oh, no; I shall spend the night with my white comrades in the big canoe; I have often heard of the white men, but have never seen them till now, and I must sing and play well to them.”  A small piece of cloth, however, bought him off, and he moved away in good humour.  The water of the river was 70 degrees at sunrise, which was 23 degrees warmer than the air at the same time, and this caused fogs, which rose like steam off the river.  When this is the case cold bathing in the mornings at this time of the year is improper, for, instead of a glow on coming out, one is apt to get a chill; the air being so much colder than the water.

      A range of hills, commencing opposite Senna, comes to within two or three miles of Mboma village, and then runs in a north-westerly direction; the principal hill is named Malawé; a number of villages stand on its tree-covered sides, and coal is found cropping out in the rocks.  The country improves as we ascend, the rich valley becoming less swampy, and adorned with a number of trees.

      Both banks are dotted with hippopotamus traps, over every track which these animals have made in going up out of the water to graze.  The hippopotamus feeds on grass alone, and, where there is any danger, only at night.  Its enormous lips act like a mowing-machine, and form a path of short-cropped grass as it feeds.  We never saw it eat aquatic plants or reeds.  The tusks seem weapons of both offence and defence.  The hippopotamus trap consists of a beam five or six feet long, armed with a spear-head or hard-wood spike, covered with poison, and suspended to a forked pole by a cord, which, coming down to the path, is held by a catch, to be set free when the beast treads on it.  Being wary brutes, they are still very numerous.  One got frightened by the ship, as she was steaming close to the bank.  In its eager hurry to escape it rushed on shore, and ran directly under a trap, when down came the heavy beam on its back, driving the poisoned spear-head a foot deep into its flesh.  In its agony it plunged back into the river, to die in a few hours, and afterwards furnished a feast for the natives.  The poison on the spear-head does not affect the meat, except the part around the wound, and that is thrown away.  In some places the descending beam is weighted with heavy stones, but here the hard heavy wood is sufficient.

      “She is leaking worse than ever forward, sir, and there is a foot of water in the hold,” was our first salutation on the morning of the 20th.  But we have become accustomed to these things now; the cabin-floor is always wet, and one is obliged to mop up the water many times a day, giving some countenance to the native idea that Englishmen live in or on the water, and have no houses but ships.  The cabin is now a favourite breeding-place for mosquitoes, and we have to support both the ship-bred and shore-bred bloodsuckers, of which several species show us their irritating attentions.  A large brown sort, called by the Portuguese mansos (tame), flies straight to its victim,