All of them could read and write with ease.  I examined the books they possessed, and found a small work on medicine, a small cyclopaedia, and a Portuguese dictionary, in which the definition of a “priest” seemed strange to a Protestant, namely, “one who takes care of the conscience.”  They had also a few tracts containing the Lives of the Saints, and Cypriano had three small wax images of saints in his room.  One of these was St. Anthony, who, had he endured the privations he did in his cell in looking after these lost sheep, would have lived to better purpose.  Neither Cypriano nor his companions knew what the Bible was, but they had relics in German-silver cases hung round their necks, to act as charms and save them from danger by land or by water, in the same way as the heathen have medicines.  It is a pity that the Church to which they belong, when unable to attend to the wants of her children, does not give them the sacred writings in their own tongue; it would surely be better to see them good Protestants, if these would lead them to be so, than entirely ignorant of God’s message to man.  For my part, I would much prefer to see the Africans good Roman Catholics than idolatrous heathen.

Much of the civility shown to us here was, no doubt, owing to the flattering letters of recommendation I carried from the Chevalier Du Prat, of Cape Town; but I am inclined to believe that my friend Cypriano was influenced, too, by feelings of genuine kindness, for he quite bared his garden in feeding us during the few days which I remained, anxiously expecting the clouds to disperse, so far as to allow of my taking observations for the determination of the position of the Quango.  He slaughtered an ox for us, and furnished his mother and her maids with manioc roots, to prepare farina for the four or five days of our journey to Cassange, and never even hinted at payment.  My wretched appearance must have excited his compassion.  The farina is prepared by washing the roots well, then rasping them down to a pulp.  Next, this is roasted slightly on a metal plate over a fire, and is then used with meat as a vegetable.  It closely resembles wood-sawings, and on that account is named “wood-meal”.  It is insipid, and employed to lick up any gravy remaining on one’s plate.  Those who have become accustomed to it relish it even after they have returned to Europe.

The manioc cultivated here is of the sweet variety; the bitter, to which we were accustomed in Londa, is not to be found very extensively in this fertile valley.  May is the beginning of winter, yet many of the inhabitants were busy planting maize; that which we were now eating was planted in the beginning of February.  The soil is exceedingly fertile, of a dark red color, and covered with such a dense, heavy crop of coarse grass, that when a marauding party of Ambonda once came for plunder while it was in a dried state, the Bangala encircled the common enemy with a fire which completely destroyed them.