Hottentot family.  Mr. Oswell, in trying to cross the river, got his horse bogged in the swampy bank.  Two Bakwains and I managed to get over by wading beside a fishing-weir.  The people were friendly, and informed us that this water came out of the Ngami.  This news gladdened all our hearts, for we now felt certain of reaching our goal.  We might, they said, be a moon on the way; but we had the River Zouga at our feet, and by following it we should at last reach the broad water.

Next day, when we were quite disposed to be friendly with every one, two of the Bamangwato, who had been sent on before us by Sekomi to drive away all the Bushmen and Bakalahari from our path, so that they should not assist or guide us, came and sat down by our fire.  We had seen their footsteps fresh in the way, and they had watched our slow movements forward, and wondered to see how we, without any Bushmen, found our way to the waters.  This was the first time they had seen Ramotobi.  “You have reached the river now,” said they; and we, quite disposed to laugh at having won the game, felt no ill-will to any one.  They seemed to feel no enmity to us either; but, after an apparently friendly conversation, proceeded to fulfill to the last the instructions of their chief.  Ascending the Zouga in our front, they circulated the report that our object was to plunder all the tribes living on the river and lake; but when they had got half way up the river, the principal man sickened of fever, turned back some distance, and died.  His death had a good effect, for the villagers connected it with the injury he was attempting to do to us.  They all saw through Sekomi’s reasons for wishing us to fail in our attempt; and though they came to us at first armed, kind and fair treatment soon produced perfect confidence.

When we had gone up the bank of this beautiful river about ninety-six miles from the point where we first struck it, and understood that we were still a considerable distance from the Ngami, we left all the oxen and wagons, except Mr. Oswell’s, which was the smallest, and one team, at Ngabisane, in the hope that they would be recruited for the home journey, while we made a push for the lake.  The Bechuana chief of the Lake region, who had sent men to Sechele, now sent orders to all the people on the river to assist us, and we were received by the Bakoba, whose language clearly shows that they bear an affinity to the tribes in the north.  They call themselves Bayeiye, i.e., men; but the Bechuanas call them Bakoba, which contains somewhat of the idea of slaves.  They have never been known to fight, and, indeed, have a tradition that their forefathers, in their first essays at war, made their bows of the Palma Christi, and, when these broke, they gave up fighting altogether.  They have invariably submitted to the rule of every horde which has overrun the countries adjacent to the rivers on which they specially love to dwell.  They are thus the Quakers of the body politic in Africa.