would remain over-night, but we declined. Before reaching Ntandé we
passed the ruins of two villages; the owners were the attacking party
when we ascended the Rovuma in 1862. I have still the old sail, with
four bullet-holes through it, made by the shots which they fired after
we had given cloth and got assurances of friendship. The father and
son of this village were the two men seen by the second boat preparing
to shoot; the fire of her crew struck the father on the chin and the
son on the head. It may have been for the best that the English are
thus known as people who can hit hard when unjustly attacked, as we on
this occasion most certainly were: never was a murderous assault more
unjustly made or less provoked. They had left their villages and gone
up over the highlands away from the river to their ambush whilst their
women came to look at us.

_2nd May, 1866._--Mountains again approach us, and we pass one which
was noticed in our first ascent from its resemblance to a table
mountain. It is 600 or 800 feet high, and called Liparu: the plateau
now becomes mountainous, giving forth a perennial stream which comes
down from its western base and forms a lagoon on the meadow-land that
flanks the Rovuma. The trees which love these perpetual streams spread
their roots all over the surface of the boggy banks, and make a firm
surface, but at spots one may sink a yard deep. We had to fill up
these deep ditches with branches and leaves, unload the animals, and
lead them across. We spent the night on the banks of the Liparu,[9]
and then proceeded on our way.

_3rd May, 1866._--We rested in a Makoa village, the head of which was
an old woman. The Makoa or Makoané are known by a half-moon figure
tattooed on their foreheads or elsewhere. Our poodle dog Chitané
chased the dogs of this village with unrelenting fury, his fierce