14th May, 1866.—­I could not get the carriers on more than an hour and three-quarters:  men tire very soon on empty stomachs.  We had reached the village of Hassane, opposite to a conical hill named Chisulwe, which is on the south side of the river, and evidently of igneous origin.  It is tree-covered, while the granite always shows lumps of naked rock.  All about lie great patches of beautiful dolomite.  It may have been formed by baking of the tufa, which in this country seems always to have been poured out with water after volcanic action.  Hassane’s daughter was just lifting a pot of French beans, boiled in their pods, off the fire when we entered the village, these he presented to me, and when I invited him to partake, he replied that he was at home and would get something, while I was a stranger on a journey.  He, like all the other headmen, is a reputed doctor, and his wife, a stout old lady, a doctoress; he had never married any wife but this one, and he had four children, all of whom lived with their parents.  We employed one of his sons to go to the south side and purchase food, sending at the same time some carriers to buy for themselves.  The siroko and rice bought by Hassane’s son we deposited with him for the party behind, when they should arrive.  The amount of terror the Mazitu inspire cannot be realized by us.  They shake their shields and the people fly like stricken deer.  I observed that a child would not go a few yards for necessary purposes unless grandmother stood in sight.  Matumora, as the Arabs call the chief at Ngomano, gave them a warm reception, and killed several of them:  this probably induced them to retire.

15th and 16th May, 1866.—­Miserably short marches from hunger, and I sympathise with the poor fellows.  Those sent to buy food for themselves on the south bank were misled by a talkative fellow named Chikungu, and went off north, where we knew nothing could be had.  His object was to get paid for three days, while they only loitered here.  I suppose hunger has taken the spirit out of them; but I told them that a day in which no work was done did not count:  they admitted this.  We pay about two feet of calico per day, and a fathom or six feet for three days’ carriage.

17th May, 1866.—­With very empty stomachs they came on a few miles and proposed to cross to the south side; as this involved crossing the Luendi too, I at first objected, but in hopes that we might get food for them we consented, and were taken over in two very small canoes.  I sent Ali and Musa meanwhile to the south to try and get some food.  I got a little green sorghum for them and paid them off.  These are the little troubles of travelling, and scarce worth mentioning.  A granitic peak now appears about 15’ off, to the W.S.W.  It is called Chihoka.

18th May, 1866.—­At our crossing place metamorphic rocks of a chocolate colour stood on edge; and in the country round we have patches of dolomite, sometimes as white as marble.  The country is all dry:  grass and leaves crisp and yellow.  Though so arid now, yet the great abundance of the dried stalks of a water-loving plant, a sort of herbaceous acacia, with green pea-shaped flowers, proves that at other times it is damp enough.  The marks of people’s feet floundering in slush, but now baked, show that the country can be sloppy.