We commenced, for a certain number of days, with short marches, walking gently until broken in to travel.  This is of so much importance, that it occurs to us that more might be made out of soldiers if the first few days’ marches were easy, and gradually increased in length and quickness.  The nights were cold, with heavy dews and occasional showers, and we had several cases of fever.  Some of the men deserted every night, and we fully expected that all who had children would prefer to return to Tette, for little ones are well known to prove the strongest ties, even to slaves.  It was useless informing them, that if they wanted to return they had only to come and tell us so; we should not be angry with them for preferring Tette to their own country.  Contact with slaves had destroyed their sense of honour; they would not go in daylight, but decamped in the night, only in one instance, however, taking our goods, though, in two more, they carried off their comrades’ property.  By the time we had got well into the Kebrabasa hills thirty men, nearly a third of the party, had turned back, and it became evident that, if many more left us, Sekeletu’s goods could not be carried up.  At last, when the refuse had fallen away, no more desertions took place.

Stopping one afternoon at a Kebrabasa village, a man, who pretended to be able to change himself into a lion, came to salute us.  Smelling the gunpowder from a gun which had been discharged, he went on one side to get out of the wind of the piece, trembling in a most artistic manner, but quite overacting his part.  The Makololo explained to us that he was a Pondoro, or a man who can change his form at will, and added that he trembles when he smells gunpowder.  “Do you not see how he is trembling now?” We told them to ask him to change himself at once into a lion, and we would give him a cloth for the performance.  “Oh no,” replied they; “if we tell him so, he may change himself and come when we are asleep and kill us.”  Having similar superstitions at home, they readily became as firm believers in the Pondoro as the natives of the village.  We were told that he assumes the form of a lion and remains in the woods for days, and is sometimes absent for a whole month.  His considerate wife had built him a hut or den, in which she places food and beer for her transformed lord, whose metamorphosis does not impair his human appetite.  No one ever enters this hut except the Pondoro and his wife, and no stranger is allowed even to rest his gun against the baobab-tree beside it:  the Mfumo, or petty chief, of another small village wished to fine our men for placing their muskets against an old tumble-down hut, it being that of the Pondoro.  At times the Pondoro employs his acquired powers in hunting for the benefit of the village; and after an absence of a day or two, his wife smells the lion, takes a certain medicine, places it in the forest, and there quickly leaves it, lest the lion should kill