On the 9th, soon after leaving camp, we left the travelled path, and made for a gap in the are of hills before us, as Pumburu was at war with the people of Manya Msenge, a district of northern Kawendi.  The country teemed with game, the buffaloes and zebras were plentiful.  Among the conspicuous trees were the hyphene and borassus palm trees, and a tree bearing a fruit about the size of a 600-pounder cannon-ball, called by some natives “mabyah,"* according to the Doctor, the seeds of which are roasted and eaten.  They are not to be recommended as food to Europeans. _________________ * In the Kisawahili tongue, “mabyah,” “mbyah, “byah,” mean bad, unpleasant. _________________

On the 10th, putting myself at the head of my men, with my compass in hand, I led the way east for three hours.  A beautiful park-land was revealed to us; but the grass was very tall, and the rainy season, which had commenced in earnest, made my work excessively disagreeable.  Through this tall grass, which was as high as my throat, I had to force my way, compass in hand, to lead the Expedition, as there was not the least sign of a road, and we were now in an untravelled country.  We made our camp on a beautiful little stream flowing north; one of the feeders of the Rugufu River.

The 11th still saw me plunging through the grass, which showered drops of rain on me every time I made a step forward.  In two hours we crossed a small stream, with slippery syenitic rocks in its bed, showing the action of furious torrents.  Mushrooms were in abundance, and very large.  In crossing, an old pagazi of Unyamwezi, weather-beaten, uttered, in a deplorable tone, “My kibuyu is dead;” by which he meant that he had slipped, and in falling had broken his gourd, which in Kisawahili is “kibuyu.”

On the eastern bank we halted for lunch, and, after an hour and a half’s march, arrived at another stream, which I took to be the Mtambu, at first from the similarity of the land, though my map informed me that it was impossible.  The scenery around was very similar, and to the north we had cited a similar tabular hill to the “Magdala” Mount I had discovered north of Imrera, while going to the Malagarazi.  Though we had only travelled three and a half hours the Doctor was very tired as the country was exceedingly rough.

The next day, crossing several ranges, with glorious scenes of surpassing beauty everywhere around us, we came in view of a mighty and swift torrent, whose bed was sunk deep between enormous lofty walls of sandstone rock, where it roared and brawled with the noise of a little Niagara.