June 1.—Then a nephew of Manwana offered to show his friend Kachéché something else which would be much better. Accordingly, the next morning, at 10 A.M. of the 1st of June, Kachéché and the native brought about thirty pounds of bees-wax, a very dark substance, which, had it not been for the diminutive bees which clung to it, might have been mistaken for pitch. Subsequently I proceeded myself to the source of the supply, and discovered about a hundredweight of bees-wax attached to a lofty fragment of rock near Massassa Falls. These bees are of a dark brown colour, short and dumpy, about one-half the length of the ordinary honey-bee. At several places between Massassa and Mowa there were similar large secretions of wax on the cliffy rocks.

Another valuable article of commerce besides the bees-wax and india-rubber found here was the gum copal—not, however, amongst the possessions of the natives. We were first attracted to it at Kalulu Falls by the great quantities discovered between the rocks. One man collected about fifty pounds of it, under the impression that he would be able, on reaching the coast, to sell it for a few pice. Poor fellow! He had but little idea of what was in store for him and all of us, before we should arrive at the sea. The appearance of the substance proved that it had been long immersed in water. My own opinion is that it is fossilized gum carried down by the Livingstone river. On Cheandoah Island, a cake 15 lbs. in weight was discovered, besides many small pieces of two or three pounds’ weight, of the mellow red and pale white variety.

The Babwendé are too rich in palm-oil to employ the gum, frankincense, and myrrh, and the other resins of the Burseraceæ, as the Waregga and natives of Karuru do, for lights. Of india-rubber the Mowa possess large quantities, as their wooded ravines and the right slopes of the great river furnish them with inexhaustible supplies. One enterprising fellow carried one load of it to sell to the Ba-Zombo, but he received so little cloth for it that he repented of the speculation.

The commercial enterprise of the Babwendé has never recovered from the effects of the melancholy termination to a great caravan which they despatched some years ago. A disease which they say attacked the bowels broke out among them, and but few returned to their native land. The Basundi, who live to the west-north-west of Mowa, seldom venture near the verge of the Livingstone’s chasm, from which the loud waters send up sometimes an appalling volume of sound. Should the wind bear the noise of the falls to their ears while at the zandu, or market, they place their hands over their ears and immediately withdraw, or should they by accident wander near the river, and from some point observe it, they instantly veil their eyes and hurry away.

One of the first customs obtaining among this tribe which first attracts the traveller’s attention is that of mourning. The heavily loaded muskets are announcing their grief at all hours, and a statistician would find it an easy matter to ascertain the death-rate of any of these districts, as well as the sex and age of the deceased, by reckoning the number of shots fired. Six announce a child’s death, ten that of a woman, and fifteen that of a man, the fire being directed at the bananas and palms, in the belief that the death was either caused by bad bananas or through some fault in the palm-juice.

In Mowa Cove are kept about a dozen small fishing canoes, which are cut out of the soft and light Rubiaceæ. For besides the cane-nets which are towing at the mouth of the several narrow falls over the Mowa rock-ledge, each night the Mowa fishermen enter their canoes with cord nets, and ply about the little cove to catch the whitebait, which they attract by torch-lights. Also, like sailing skippers whistling for a breeze, the natives appear to think that whistling charms the minnows, and all night long may be heard the peculiar sounds.

A traveller in these regions, where the people are so superstitious, is liable at any moment to be the object of popular fury. Aneurism might strike down a person while trading in his camp, or while standing carelessly upon a rock he might fall and meet an instantaneous death; a disease like cholera or typhus might attack a settlement, a fatal accident with a gun cause loss of life, or apoplexy overtake a gormandizing chief, but everything would be charged to the malevolent influence of the traveller. Indeed, they are rather partial to “wars,” it appears to me. An accident happened to a Mowa man at the Zinga Falls, and the Zinga district had at once to muster its warriors to resist an invasion from Mowa. A Zinga chief named Ndala owed a Mowa elder twenty-five cloths, but the credit he had received for one moon he extended to two, and at the end of two moons, being still unable to pay, he was fiercely attacked by the natives of Mowa.

June 2.—An exploration of the river as far as the Zinga Falls—which is two miles below Mowa—made by Manwa Sera, comforted us, for he reported that the river between Mowa and Zinga was not so difficult as many parts we had successfully passed, and that with a little caution no great danger was to be apprehended. On the 2nd of June I proceeded with him as far as Massassa Falls, along the summit of the lofty precipices. At Massassa terminates the comparatively narrow-walled channel, through which the river tumbles uneasily from the Mowa Falls and the lower basin down (by the Massassa Falls) into the Bolo-bolo—“quiet-quiet”—basin. On account of the great width of the Mowa basin, 1800 yards, the river rolls from above through its 500-yards-wide cleft in the ledge, streams along in a furious billowy course for a mile, and at Massessé seems to slack its current. Here the river, heaving upward, discharges a portion of its volume backward along its flanks, which, sweeping along the base of the Mowa cliffs, flows upstream until it enters the Mowa Cove. Then, after darting into the tongue-like cove like a tidal flow, it quickly subsides, and retreating along the base of the Mowa ledge, after a circuit of two miles, meets with the great falls and billowy rapids, where there is a wild contention between the two opposing currents. From Massessé the river resumes its rapid flow downwards, ruffled at projections into waves, but generally with an apparently calm face, though curling and gurgling ominously, until, approaching Massassa Point, one mile below Massessé, it drives against outstanding boulders, rises into curling waves on either side, which meet in mid-river 200 yards below: crest strikes crest, wave meets wave, and mutually overlap and wrestle, then subside, then heave aloft again in deep-brown surge and sounding tops. A half-mile length of wild waters rolls thus to Bolo-bolo basin, where they are finally gathered into a tranquil pool—hence the name.

While standing upon the summit of the high cliff-walls which encircle the crater-like pool, the frantic Massassa appears tame. Even wilder Zinga, one and a half miles below, and Ingulufi below that, are reduced to mere whitey flakes of water. If we step down, however, close to them, they become terrible enough to those purposing to try their terrors in a canoe.

Half-way to the Zinga Falls from Massassa, in the middle of the concave cliffs, falls the Edwin Arnold River, in a long cascade-like descent from the height of the table-land, with a sheer drop of 300 feet. While it rolls calmly above, this river has a width of 50 yards, and an average depth of 3 feet.

As usual, Frank Pocock and I spent our evening together in my tent. The ulcers by which he was afflicted had by this time become most virulent. Though he doctored them assiduously, he was unable to travel about in active superintendence of the men; yet he was seldom idle. Bead-bags required sewing, tents patching, and clothes becoming tattered needed repairing, and while he was at work his fine voice broke out into song, or some hymn such as he was accustomed to sing in Rochester Church. Joyous and light-hearted as a linnet, Frank indulged for ever in song, and this night the crippled man sang his best, raising his sweet voice in melody, lightening my heart, and for the time dispelling my anxieties. In my troubles his face was my cheer; his English voice recalled me to my aims, and out of his brave bold heart he uttered, in my own language, words of comfort to my thirsty ears. Thirty-four months had we lived together, and hearty throughout had been his assistance, and true had been his service. The servant had long ago merged into the companion; the companion had soon become a friend. At these nightly chats, when face looked into face, and the true eyes beamed with friendly warmth, and the kindly voice replied with animation, many were the airy castles we built together, and many were the brilliant prospects we hopefully sketched. Alas! alas!