She retired to her hut, took it out, and kept her hand before her mouth to hide the hideous hole in the lip while conversing with us.  All the villagers respected her, and even the headmen took a secondary place in her presence.  On inquiring for her now, we found that she was dead.  We never obtained sufficient materials to estimate the relative mortality of the highlands and lowlands; but, from many very old white-headed blacks having been seen on the highlands, we think it probable that even native races are longer lived the higher their dwelling-places are.

We landed below at Mikena’s and took observations for longitude, to verify those taken two years before.  The village was deserted, Mikena and his people having fled to the other side of the river.  A few had come across this morning to work in their old gardens.  After completing the observations we had breakfast; and, as the last of the things were being carried into the boat, a Manganja man came running down to his canoe, crying out, “The Ajawa have just killed my comrade!” We shoved off, and in two minutes the advanced guard of a large marauding party were standing with their muskets on the spot where we had taken breakfast.  They were evidently surprised at seeing us there, and halted; as did also the main body of perhaps a thousand men.  “Kill them,” cried the Manganja; “they are going up to the hills to kill the English,” meaning the missionaries we had left at Magomero.  But having no prospect of friendly communication with them, nor confidence in Manganja’s testimony, we proceeded down the river; leaving the Ajawa sitting under a large baobab, and the Manganja cursing them most energetically across the river.

On our way up, we had seen that the people of Zimika had taken refuge on a long island in the Shire, where they had placed stores of grain to prevent it falling into the hands of the Ajawa; supposing afterwards that the invasion and war were past, they had removed back again to the mainland on the east, and were living in fancied security.  On approaching the chief’s village, which was built in the midst of a beautiful grove of lofty wild-fig and palm trees, sounds of revelry fell upon our ears.  The people were having a merry time—­drumming, dancing, and drinking beer—­while a powerful enemy was close at hand, bringing death or slavery to every one in the village.  One of our men called out to several who came to the bank to look at us, that the Ajawa were coming and were even now at Mikena’s village; but they were dazed with drinking, and took no notice of the warning.