We Were Now, When We Crossed The Boundary Rivulet Nyamatarara, Out Of
Chicova And Amongst Sandstone Rocks, Similar To Those Which Prevail
Between Lupata And Kebrabasa.
In the latter gorge, as already
mentioned, igneous and syenitic masses have been acted on by some
great fiery convulsion of nature; the strata are thrown into a
huddled heap of confusion.
The coal has of course disappeared in
Kebrabasa, but is found again in Chicova. Tette grey sandstone is
common about Sinjere, and wherever it is seen with fossil wood upon
it, coal lies beneath; and here, as at Chicova, some seams crop out
on the banks of the Zambesi. Looking southwards, the country is open
plain and woodland, with detached hills and mountains in the
distance; but the latter are too far off, the natives say, for them
to know their names. The principal hills on our right, as we look up
stream, are from six to twelve miles away, and occasionally they send
down spurs to the river, with brooks flowing through their narrow
valleys. The banks of the Zambesi show two well-defined terraces;
the first, or lowest, being usually narrow, and of great fertility,
while the upper one is a dry grassy plain, a thorny jungle, or a
mopane (Bauhinia) forest. One of these plains, near the Kafue, is
covered with the large stumps and trunks of a petrified forest. We
halted a couple of days by the fine stream Sinjere, which comes from
the Chiroby-roby hills, about eight miles to the north. Many lumps
of coal, brought down by the rapid current, lie in its channel. The
natives never seem to have discovered that coal would burn, and, when
informed of the fact, shook their heads, smiled incredulously, and
said "Kodi" (really), evidently regarding it as a mere traveller's
tale. They were astounded to see it burning freely on our fire of
wood. They told us that plenty of it was seen among the hills; but,
being long ago aware that we were now in an immense coalfield, we did
not care to examine it further.
A dyke of black basaltic rock, called Kakolole, crosses the river
near the mouth of the Sinjere; but it has two open gateways in it of
from sixty to eighty yards in breadth, and the channel is very deep.
On a shallow sandbank, under the dyke, lay a herd of hippopotami in
fancied security. The young ones were playing with each other like
young puppies, climbing on the backs of their dams, trying to take
hold of one another by the jaws and tumbling over into the water.
Mbia, one of the Makololo, waded across to within a dozen yards of
the drowsy beasts, and shot the father of the herd; who, being very
fat, soon floated, and was secured at the village below. The headman
of the village visited us while we were at breakfast. He wore a
black "ife" wig and a printed shirt. After a short silence he said
to Masakasa, "You are with the white people, so why do you not tell
them to give me a cloth?" "We are strangers," answered Masakasa,
"why do you not bring us some food?" He took the plain hint, and
brought us two fowls, in order that we should not report that in
passing him we got nothing to eat; and, as usual, we gave a cloth in
return. In reference to the hippopotamus he would make no demand,
but said he would take what we chose to give him. The men gorged
themselves with meat for two days, and cut large quantities into long
narrow strips, which they half-dried and half-roasted on wooden
frames over the fire. Much game is taken in this neighbourhood in
pitfalls. Sharp-pointed stakes are set in the bottom, on which the
game tumbles and gets impaled. The natives are careful to warn
strangers of these traps, and also of the poisoned beams suspended on
the tall trees for the purpose of killing elephants and hippopotami.
It is not difficult to detect the pitfalls after one's attention has
been called to them; but in places where they are careful to carry
the earth off to a distance, and a person is not thinking of such
things, a sudden descent of nine feet is an experience not easily
forgotten by the traveller. The sensations of one thus
instantaneously swallowed up by the earth are peculiar. A momentary
suspension of consciousness is followed by the rustling sound of a
shower of sand and dry grass, and the half-bewildered thought of
where he is, and how he came into darkness. Reason awakes to assure
him that he must have come down through that small opening of
daylight overhead, and that he is now where a hippopotamus ought to
have been. The descent of a hippopotamus pitfall is easy, but to get
out again into the upper air is a work of labour. The sides are
smooth and treacherous, and the cross reeds, which support the
covering, break in the attempt to get out by clutching them. A cry
from the depths is unheard by those around, and it is only by
repeated and most desperate efforts that the buried alive can regain
the upper world. At Tette we are told of a white hunter, of
unusually small stature, who plumped into a pit while stalking a
guinea-fowl on a tree. It was the labour of an entire forenoon to
get out; and he was congratulating himself on his escape, and
brushing off the clay from his clothes, when down he went into a
second pit, which happened, as is often the case, to be close beside
the first, and it was evening before he could work himself out of
THAT.
Elephants and buffaloes seldom return to the river by the same path
on two successive nights, they become so apprehensive of danger from
this human art. An old elephant will walk in advance of the herd,
and uncover the pits with his trunk, that the others may see the
openings and tread on firm ground.
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