28th June, 1872.—Went over to Kwikuru yesterday to speak about pagazi. Nkasiwa was off at M'futu to help in the great assault on Mirambo, which is hoped to be the last. But Mohamad bin Seyed promised to arrange with the chief on his return. I was told that Nkasiwa has the head of Morukwé in a kirindo or band-box, made of the inner bark of a tree, and when Morukwé's people have recovered they will come and redeem it with ivory and slaves, and bury it in his grave, as they did the head of Ishbosheth in Abner's grave in Hebron.
Dugumbé's man, who went off to Ujiji to bring ivory, returned to-day, having been attacked by robbers of Mirambo. The pagazi threw down all their loads and ran; none were killed, but they lost all.
29th June, 1872.—Received a packet from Sheikh bin Nasib containing a letter for him and one 'Pall Mall Gazette,' one Overland Mail and four Punches. Provision has been made for my daughter by Her Majesty's Government of 300l., but I don't understand the matter clearly.
2nd July, 1872.—Make up a packet for Dr. Kirk and Mr. Webb, of Zanzibar: explain to Kirk, and beg him to investigate and punish, and put blame on right persons. Write Sir Bartle Frere and Agnes: send large packet of astronomical observations and sketch map to Sir Thomas Maclear by a native, Suleiman.
3rd July, 1872.—Received a note from Oswell, written in April last, containing the sad intelligence of Sir Roderick's departure from among us. Alas! alas! this is the only time in my life I ever felt inclined to use the word, and it bespeaks a sore heart: the best friend I ever had—true, warm, and abiding—he loved me more than I deserved: he looks down on me still. I must feel resigned to the loss by the Divine Will, but still I regret and mourn.
Wearisome waiting, this; and yet the men cannot be here before the middle or end of this month. I have been sorely let and hindered in this journey, but it may have been all for the best. I will trust in Him to whom I commit my way.
5th July, 1872.—Weary! weary!
7th July, 1872.—Waiting wearily here, and hoping that the good and loving Father of all may favour me, and help me to finish my work quickly and well.
Temperature at 6 A.M. 61°; feels cold. Winds blow regularly from the east; if it changes to N.W. brings a thick mantle of cold grey clouds. A typhoon did great damage at Zanzibar, wrecking ships and destroying cocoa-nuts, carafu, and all fruits: happened five days after Seyed Burghash's return from Mecca.
At the Loangwa of Zumbo we came to a party of hereditary hippopotamus hunters, called Makembwé or Akombwé. They follow no other occupation, but when their game is getting scanty at one spot they remove to some other part of the Loangwa, Zambesi, or Shiré, and build temporary huts on an island, where their women cultivate patches: the flesh of the animals they kill is eagerly exchanged by the more settled people for grain. They are not stingy, and are everywhere welcome guests. I never heard of any fraud in dealing, or that they had been guilty of an outrage on the poorest: their chief characteristic is their courage. Their hunting is the bravest thing I ever saw. Each canoe is manned by two men; they are long light craft, scarcely half an inch in thickness, about eighteen inches beam, and from eighteen to twenty feet long. They are formed for speed, and shaped somewhat like our racing boats. Each man uses a broad short paddle, and as they guide the canoe slowly down stream to a sleeping hippopotamus not a single ripple is raised on the smooth water; they look as if holding in their breath, and communicate by signs only. As they come near the prey the harpooner in the bow lays down his paddle and rises slowly up, and there he stands erect, motionless, and eager, with the long-handled weapon poised at arm's length above his head, till coming close to the beast he plunges it with all his might in towards the heart. During this exciting feat he has to keep his balance exactly. His neighbour in the stern at once backs his paddle, the harpooner sits down, seizes his paddle, and backs too to escape: the animal surprised and wounded seldom returns the attack at this stage of the hunt. The next stage, however, is full of danger.