On the fifth morning, or the 23rd April, the rain gave us a few hours’ respite, during which we managed to wade through the Stygian quagmire reeking with noisomeness to the inundated river-bank.  The soldiers commenced at 5 A.M. to convey the baggage across from bank to bank over a bridge which was the most rustic of the rustic kind.  Only an ignorant African would have been satisfied with its small utility as a means to cross a deep and rapid body of water.  Even for light-footed Wanyamwezi pagazis it was anything but comfortable to traverse.  Only a professional tight-rope performer could have carried a load across with ease.  To travel over an African bridge requires, first, a long leap from land to the limb of a tree (which may or may not be covered by water), followed by a long jump ashore.  With 70 lbs. weight on his back, the carrier finds it difficult enough.  Sometimes he is assisted by ropes extemporized from the long convolvuli which hang from almost every tree, but not always, these being deemed superfluities by the Washensi.

Fortunately the baggage was transferred without a single accident, and though the torrent was strong, the donkeys were dragged through the flood by vigorous efforts and much objurgation without a casualty.  This performance of crossing the Ungerengeri occupied fully five hours, though energy, abuse, and fury enough were expended for an army.

Reloading and wringing our clothes dry, we set out from the horrible neighbourhood of the river, with its reek and filth, in a northerly direction, following a road which led up to easy and level ground.  Two obtruding hills were thus avoided on our left, and after passing them we had shut out the view of the hateful valley.

I always found myself more comfortable and lighthearted while travelling than when chafing and fretting in camp at delays which no effort could avoid, and consequently I fear that some things, while on a march, may be tinted somewhat stronger than their appearance or merit may properly warrant.  But I thought that the view opening before us was much more agreeable than the valley of Simbamwenni with all its indescribable fertility.  It was a series of glades opening one after another between forest clumps of young trees, hemmed in distantly by isolated peaks and scattered mountains.  Now and again, as we crested low eminences we caught sight of the blue Usagara mountains, bounding the horizon westerly and northerly, and looked down upon a vast expanse of plain which lay between.

At the foot of the lengthy slope, well-watered by bubbling springs and mountain rills, we found a comfortable khambi with well-made huts, which the natives call Simbo.  It lies just two hours or five miles north-west of the Ungerengeri crossing.  The ground is rocky, composed principally of quartzose detritus swept down by the constant streams.  In the neighbourhood of these grow bamboo, the thickest of which was about two and a half inches in diameter; the “myombo,” a very shapely tree, with a clean trunk like an ash, the “imbite,” with large, fleshy leaves like the “mtamba,” sycamore, plum-tree, the “ugaza,” ortamarisk, and the “mgungu,” a tree containing several wide branches with small leaves clustered together in a clump, and the silk-cotton tree.