At 3 P.M. we entered a thorny jungle; and by 5 P.M. we had arrived at Muhalata, a district lorded over by the chief Nyamzaga.  A Mgogo, of whom I made a friend, proved very staunch.  He belonged to Mulowa, a country to the S.S.E., and south of Kulabi; and was active in promoting my interests by settling the tribute, with the assistance of Bombay, for me.  When, on the next day, we passed through Kulabi on our way to Mvumi, and the Wagogo were about to stop us for the honga, he took upon himself the task of relieving us from further toll, by stating we were from Ugogo or Kanyenyi.  The chief simply nodded his head, and we passed on.  It seems that the Wagogo do not exact blackmail of those caravans who intend only to trade in their own country, or have no intention of passing beyond their own frontier.

Leaving Kulabi, we traversed a naked, red, loamy plain, over which the wind from the heights of Usagara, now rising a bluish-black jumble of mountains in our front, howled most fearfully.  With clear, keen, incisive force, the terrible blasts seemed to penetrate through an through our bodies, as though we were but filmy gauze.  Manfully battling against this mighty “peppo “—­ storm—­we passed through Mukamwa’s, and crossing a broad sandy bed of a stream, we entered the territory of Mvumi, the last tribute-levying chief of Ugogo.

The 4th of April, after sending Bombay and my friendly Mgogo with eight doti, or thirty-two yards of cloth, as a farewell tribute to the Sultan, we struck off through the jungle, and in five hours we were on the borders of the wilderness of “Marenga Mkali”—­the “hard,” bitter or brackish, water.

From our camp I despatched three men to Zanzibar with letters to the American Consul, and telegraphic despatches for the `Herald,’ with a request to the Consul that he would send the men back with a small case or two containing such luxuries as hungry, worn-out, and mildewed men would appreciate.  The three messengers were charged not to halt for anything—­rain or no rain, river or inundation—­as if they did not hurry up we should catch them before they reached the coast.  With a fervent “Inshallah, bana,” they departed.

On the 5th, with a loud, vigorous, cheery “Hurrah!” we plunged into the depths of the wilderness, which, with its eternal silence and solitude, was far preferable to the jarring, inharmonious discord of the villages of the Wagogo.  For nine hours we held on our way, starting with noisy shouts the fierce rhinoceros, the timid quagga, and the herds of antelopes which crowd the jungles of this broad salina.  On the 7th, amid a pelting rain, we entered Mpwapwa, where my Scotch assistant, Farquhar, died.  We had performed the extraordinary march of 338 English statute miles from the 14th of March to the 7th of April, or within twenty-four days, inclusive of halts, which was a little over fourteen miles a day.

Leukole, the chief of Mpwapwa, with whom I left Farquhar, gave the following account of the death of the latter:—­