At 1 P.M. we resumed our loads and walking staffs, and in a short time were en route for the Ngwhalah Mtoni, distant eight and three-quarter miles from the khambi.  The sun was hot; like a globe of living, seething flame, it flared its heat full on our heads; then as it descended towards the west, scorched the air before it was inhaled by the lungs which craved it.  Gourds of water were emptied speedily to quench the fierce heat that burned the throat and lungs.  One pagazi, stricken heavily with the small-pox, succumbed, and threw himself down on the roadside to die.  We never saw him afterwards, for the progress of a caravan on a terekeza, is something like that of a ship in a hurricane.  The caravan must proceed—­woe befall him who lags behind, for hunger and thirst will overtake him—­so must a ship drive before the fierce gale to escape foundering—­woe befall him who falls overboard!

An abundance of water, good, sweet, and cool, was found in the bed of the mtoni in deep stony reservoirs.  Here also the traces of furious torrents were clearly visible as at Mabunguru.

The Nghwhalah commences in Ubanarama to the north—­a country famous for its fine breed of donkeys—­and after running south, south-south-west, crosses the Unyanyembe road, from which point it has more of a westerly turn.

On the 16th we arrived at Madedita, so called from a village which was, but is now no more.  Madedita is twelve and a half miles from the Nghwhalah Mtoni.  A pool of good water a few hundred yards from the roadside is the only supply caravans can obtain, nearer than Tura in Unyamwezi.  The tsetse or chufwa-fly, as called by the Wasawahili, stung us dreadfully, which is a sign that large game visit the pool sometimes, but must not be mistaken for an indication that there is any in the immediate neighbourhood of the water.  A single pool so often frequented by passing caravans, which must of necessity halt here, could not be often visited by the animals of the forest, who are shy in this part of Africa of the haunts of man.

At dawn the neat day we were on the road striding at a quicker pace than on most days, since we were about to quit Magunda Mali for the more populated and better land of Unyamwezi.  The forest held its own for a wearisomely long time, but at the end of two hours it thinned, then dwarfed into low jungle, and finally vanished altogether, and we had arrived on the soil of Unyamwezi, with a broad plain, swelling, subsiding, and receding in lengthy and grand undulations in our front to one indefinite horizontal line which purpled in the far distance.  The view consisted of fields of grain ripening, which followed the contour of the plain, and which rustled merrily before the morning breeze that came laden with the chills of Usagara.

At 8 A.M. we had arrived at the frontier village of Unyamwezi, Eastern Tura, which we invaded without any regard to the disposition of the few inhabitants who lived there.  Here we found Nondo, a runaway of Speke’s, one of those who had sided with Baraka against Bombay, who, desiring to engage himself with me, was engaging enough to furnish honey and sherbet to his former companions, and lastly to the pagazis.  It was only a short breathing pause we made here, having another hour’s march to reach Central Tura.