No rain has fallen here,
so it is excessively hot. The trees have put on their gayest dress,
and many flowers adorn the landscape, yet the heat makes all the leaves
droop at midday and look languid for want of rain. If the country
increases as much in beauty in front as it has done within
the last four degrees of latitude, it will be indeed a lovely land.
We all felt great lassitude in traveling. The atmosphere is oppressive
both in cloud and sunshine. The evaporation from the river
must be excessively great, and I feel as if the fluids of the system
joined in the general motion of watery vapor upward,
as enormous quantities of water must be drunk to supply its place.
When under way our usual procedure is this: We get up a little before
five in the morning; it is then beginning to dawn. While I am dressing,
coffee is made; and, having filled my pannikin, the remainder is handed
to my companions, who eagerly partake of the refreshing beverage.
The servants are busy loading the canoes, while the principal men
are sipping the coffee, and, that being soon over, we embark.
The next two hours are the most pleasant part of the day's sail.
The men paddle away most vigorously; the Barotse, being a tribe of boatmen,
have large, deeply-developed chests and shoulders, with indifferent
lower extremities. They often engage in loud scolding of each other
in order to relieve the tedium of their work. About eleven we land,
and eat any meat which may have remained from the previous evening meal,
or a biscuit with honey, and drink water.
After an hour's rest we again embark and cower under an umbrella.
The heat is oppressive, and, being weak from the last attack of fever,
I can not land and keep the camp supplied with flesh. The men,
being quite uncovered in the sun, perspire profusely, and in the afternoon
begin to stop, as if waiting for the canoes which have been left behind.
Sometimes we reach a sleeping-place two hours before sunset,
and, all being troubled with languor, we gladly remain for the night.
Coffee again, and a biscuit, or a piece of coarse bread made of maize meal,
or that of the native corn, make up the bill of fare for the evening,
unless we have been fortunate enough to kill something, when we boil
a potful of flesh. This is done by cutting it up into long strips
and pouring in water till it is covered. When that is boiled dry,
the meat is considered ready.
The people at Gonye carry the canoes over the space requisite
to avoid the falls by slinging them on poles tied on diagonally.
They place these on their shoulders, and, setting about the work
with good humor, soon accomplish the task. They are a merry set of mortals;
a feeble joke sets them off in a fit of laughter.
