Some of the best fisheries appear to be private property.  We found shelter from a storm one morning in a spacious lagoon, which communicated with the lake by a narrow passage.  Across this strait stakes were driven in, leaving only spaces for the basket fish-traps.  A score of men were busily engaged in taking out the fish.  We tried to purchase some, but they refused to sell.  The fish did not belong to them, they would send for the proprietor of the place.  The proprietor arrived in a short time, and readily sold what we wanted.

Some of the burying-grounds are very well arranged, and well cared for; this was noticed at Chitanda, and more particularly at a village on the southern shore of the fine harbour at Cape Maclear.  Wide and neat paths were made in the burying-ground on its eastern and southern sides.  A grand old fig-tree stood at the north-east corner, and its wide-spreading branches threw their kindly shade over the last resting-place of the dead.  Several other magnificent trees grew around the hallowed spot.  Mounds were raised as they are at home, but all lay north and south, the heads apparently north.  The graves of the sexes were distinguished by the various implements which the buried dead had used in their different employments during life; but they were all broken, as if to be employed no more.  A piece of fishing-net and a broken paddle told where a fisherman lay.  The graves of the women had the wooden mortar, and the heavy pestle used in pounding the corn, and the basket in which the meal is sifted, while all had numerous broken calabashes and pots arranged around them.  The idea that the future life is like the present does not appear to prevail; yet a banana-tree had been carefully planted at the head of several of the graves; the fruit might be considered an offering to those who still possess human tastes.  The people of the neighbouring villages were friendly and obliging, and willingly brought us food for sale.

Pursuing our exploration, we found that the northern part of the lake was the abode of lawlessness and bloodshed.  The Mazite, or Mazitu, live on the highlands, and make sudden swoops on the villages of the plains.  They are Zulus who came originally from the south, inland of Sofalla and Inhambane; and are of the same family as those who levy annual tribute from the Portuguese on the Zambesi.  All the villages north of Mankambira’s (lat. 11 degrees 44 minutes south) had been recently destroyed by these terrible marauders, but they were foiled in their attacks upon that chief and Marenga.  The thickets and stockades round their villages enabled the bowmen to pick off the Mazitu in security, while they were afraid to venture near any place where they could not use their shields.  Beyond Mankambira’s we saw burned villages, and the putrid bodies of many who had fallen by Mazitu spears only a few days before.  Our land party were afraid to go further.  This reluctance