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.  Here, as elsewhere, all petitioned for the magic lantern, and, as it is a good means of conveying instruction, I willingly complied.

The falls of Gonye have not been made by wearing back, like those of Niagara, but are of a fissure form.  For many miles below, the river is confined in a narrow space of not more than one hundred yards wide.  The water goes boiling along, and gives the idea of great masses of it rolling over and over, so that even the most expert swimmer would find it difficult to keep on the surface.  Here it is that the river, when in flood, rises fifty or sixty feet in perpendicular height.  The islands above the falls are covered with foliage as beautiful as can be seen any where.  Viewed from the mass of rock which overhangs the fall, the scenery was the loveliest I had seen.

Nothing worthy of note occurred on our way up to Nameta.  There we heard that a party of the Makololo, headed by Lerimo, had made a foray to the north and up the Leeba, in the very direction in which we were about to proceed.  Mpololo, the uncle of Sekeletu, is considered the head man of the Barotse valley; and the perpetrators had his full sanction, because Masiko, a son of Santuru, the former chief of the Barotse, had fled high up the Leeambye, and, establishing himself there, had sent men down to the vicinity of Naliele to draw away the remaining Barotse from their allegiance.  Lerimo’s party had taken some of this Masiko’s subjects prisoners, and destroyed several villages of the Balonda, to whom we were going.  This was in direct opposition to the policy of Sekeletu, who wished to be at peace with these northern tribes; and Pitsane, my head man, was the bearer of orders to Mpololo to furnish us with presents for the very chiefs they had attacked.  Thus we were to get large pots of clarified butter and bunches of beads, in confirmation of the message of peace we were to deliver.