Having been delayed one morning by some negotiation about guides, who were used chiefly to introduce us to other villages, we two whites walked a little way ahead, taking the direction of the stream.  The men having been always able to find out our route by the prints of our shoes, we went on for a number of miles.  This time, however, they lost our track, and failed to follow us.  The path was well marked by elephants, hyenas, pallahs, and zebras, but for many a day no human foot had trod it.  When the sun went down a deserted hamlet was reached, where we made comfortable beds for ourselves of grass.  Firing muskets to attract the attention of those who have strayed is the usual resource in these cases.  On this occasion the sound of firearms tended to mislead us; for, hearing shots next morning, a long weary march led us only to some native hunters, who had been shooting buffaloes.  Returning to a small village, we met with some people who remembered our passing up to the Lake in the boat; they were as kind as they could be.  The only food they possessed was tamarinds, prepared with ashes, and a little cowitch meal.  The cowitch, as mentioned before, has a velvety brown covering of minute prickles, which, if touched, enter the pores of the skin and cause a painful tingling.  The women in times of scarcity collect the pods, kindle a fire of grass over them to destroy the prickles, then steep the beans till they begin to sprout, wash them in pure water, and either boil them or pound them into meal, which resembles our bean-meal.  This plant climbs up the long grass, and abounds in all reedy parts, and, though a plague to the traveller who touches its pods, it performs good service in times of famine by saving many a life from starvation.  Its name here is Kitedzi.

Having travelled at least twenty miles in search of our party that day, our rest on a mat in the best hut of the village was very sweet.  We had dined the evening before on a pigeon each, and had eaten only a handful of kitedzi porridge this afternoon.  The good wife of the village took a little corn which she had kept for seed, ground it after dark, and made it into porridge.  This, and a cup of wild vegetables of a sweetish taste for a relish, a little boy brought in and put down, with several vigorous claps of his hands, in the manner which is esteemed polite, and which is strictly enjoined on all children.

On the third day of separation, Akosanjere, the headman of this village, conducted us forward to our party who had gone on to Nseze, a district to the westward.  This incident is mentioned, not for any interest it possesses, apart from the idea of the people it conveys.  We were completely separated from our men for nearly three days, and had nothing wherewith to purchase food.  The people were sorely pressed by famine and war, and their hospitality, poor as it was, did them great credit, and was most grateful to us.  Our own men had become confused and wandered, but had done their utmost to find us; on our rejoining them, the ox was slain, and all, having been on short commons, rejoiced in this “day of slaughter.”  Akosanjere was, of course, rewarded to his heart’s content.