9th November, 1866.—­The country over which we actually travel is level and elevated, but there are mountains all about, which when put on the map make it appear to be a mountainous region.  We are on the watershed, apparently between the Loangwa of Zumbo on the west, and the Lake on the east.  The Leue or Leuia is said by the people to flow into the Loangwa.  The Chigumokire coming from the north in front, eastward of Irongwe (the same mountains on which Kangene skulks out of sight of Mazitu), flows into the Leue, and north of that we have the Mando, a little stream, flowing into the Bua.  The rivulets on the west flow in deep defiles, and the elevation on which we travel makes it certain that no water can come from the lower lands on the west.  It seems that the Portuguese in travelling to Casembe did not inquire of the people where the streams they crossed went, for they are often wrongly put, and indicate the direction only in which they appeared to be flowing at their crossing places.  The natives have a good idea generally of the rivers into which the streams flow, though they are very deficient in information as to the condition of the people that live on their banks.  Some of the Portuguese questions must have been asked through slaves, who would show no hesitation in answering.  Maxinga, or Machinga, means “mountains” only; once or twice it is put down Saxa de Maxinga, or Machinga, or Mcanga, which translated from the native tongue means “rocks of mountains, or mountains of rocks.”

10th November, 1866.—­We found the people on the Mando to be Chawa or Ajawa, but not of the Waiyau race:  they are Manganja, and this is a village of smiths.  We got five men readily to go back and bring up our loads; and the sound of the hammer is constant, showing a great deal of industry.  They combine agriculture, and hunting with nets, with their handicraft.

A herd of buffaloes came near the village, and I went and shot one, thus procuring a supply of meat for the whole party and villagers too.  The hammer which we hear from dawn till sunset is a large stone, bound with the strong inner bark of a tree, and loops left which form handles.  Two pieces of bark form the tongs, and a big stone sunk into the ground the anvil.  They make several hoes in a day, and the metal is very good; it is all from yellow haematite, which abounds all over this part of the country; the bellows consist of two goatskins with sticks at the open ends, which are opened and shut at every blast.

[Illustration:  Forging Hoes.]

13th November, 1866.—­A lion came last night and gave a growl or two on finding he could not get our meat:  a man had lent us a hunting net to protect it and us from intruders of this sort.  The people kept up a shouting for hours afterwards, in order to keep him away by the human voice.

We might have gone on, but I had a galled heel from new shoes.  Wild figs are rather nice when quite ripe.