In the afternoon an excessively heavy thunderstorm wetted us all to the skin before any shelter could be made.  Two of our men wandered, and other two remained behind lost, as our track was washed out by the rains.  The country is a succession of enormous waves, all covered with jungle, and no traces of paths; we were in a hollow, and our firing was not heard till this morning, when we ascended a height and were answered.  I am thankful that up one was lost, for a man might wander a long time before reaching a village.  Simon gave me a little more of his meal this morning, and went without himself:  I took my belt up three holes to relieve hunger.  We got some wretched wild fruit like that called “jambos” in India, and at midday reached the village of Chafunga.  Famine here too, but some men had killed an elephant and came to sell the dried meat:  it was high, and so were their prices; but we are obliged to give our best from this craving hunger.

12th January, 1867.—­Sitting down this morning near a tree my head was just one yard off a good-sized cobra, coiled up in the sprouts at its root, but it was benumbed with cold:  a very pretty little puff-adder lay in the path, also benumbed; it is seldom that any harm is done by these reptiles here, although it is different in India.  We bought up all the food we could get; but it did not suffice for the marches we expect to make to get to the Chambeze, where food is said to be abundant, we were therefore again obliged to travel on Sunday.  We had prayers before starting; but I always feel that I am not doing fight, it lessens the sense of obligation in the minds of my companions; but I have no choice.  We went along a rivulet till it ended in a small lake, Mapampa or Chimbwe, about five miles long, and one and a half broad.  It had hippopotami, and the poku fed on its banks.

15th January, 1867.—­We had to cross the Chimbwe at its eastern end, where it is fully a mile wide.  The guide refused to show another and narrower ford up the stream, which emptied into it from the east; and I, being the first to cross, neglected to give orders about the poor little dog, Chitane.  The water was waist deep, the bottom soft peaty stuff with deep holes in it, and the northern side infested by leeches.  The boys were—­like myself—­all too much engaged with preserving their balance to think of the spirited little beast, and he must have swam till he sunk.  He was so useful in keeping all the country curs off our huts; none dare to approach and steal, and he never stole himself.  He shared the staring of the people with his master, then in the march he took charge of the whole party, running to the front, and again to the rear, to see that all was right.  He was becoming yellowish-red in colour; and, poor thing, perished in what the boys all call Chitane’s water.

16th January, 1867.—­March through the mountains, which are of beautiful white and pink dolomite, scantily covered with upland trees and vegetation.  The rain, as usual, made us halt early, and wild fruits helped to induce us to stay.