We reached the road only as the sun had set angrily in the west; in the east the sky was lowering, and occasional flashes of lightning were followed at some interval by the rumblings of thunder. The air became much cooler, and I shivered in the evening breeze, gentle as it was; I had been in a profuse perspiration, and my clammy shirt was now clinging to my skin; I had left my coat in the waggon. After walking on wearily for another half-hour, I pleaded to be allowed to sit down for a little while; but the Masarwa would not hear of it, and after following the road a little longer he made a sudden bend into the woods. At first I hesitated about accompanying him, but pointing to his mouth and making a lapping sound, he made me comprehend that we were to get some drinking-water. “Meci?” I inquired. “E-he, e-he,” he answered, and grinned again gleefully, so that I could not refuse to let him take me where he would.
True enough, in a little sandy hollow not far from the road was a pool full of water. Although some gnus had been there within an hour and made it somewhat muddy, it was a welcome sight to me, and I drank eagerly.
When I raised my head from the pool my guide pointed to the black clouds, and made signs to me that we were in for a storm. It grew darker and darker, and very soon the rain began to fall heavily; the huge drops beating like hailstones upon my shivering body, and increasing the wretchedness of my condition. With considerate thoughtfulness the good Masarwa wrapped up my gun in his short leather mantle, and never failed to give me the support of his shoulder. I had the utmost difficulty in holding on. In some places the rain was so deep that we were wading almost to our knees.
Never was sound more welcome than the barking of my dog, which at last greeted my ears. Eberwald and Boly came running to meet us, and were inclined to reproach me with the anxiety I had caused them; they had yet to learn the misery I had endured.
Once again safely sheltered in the waggon, I found my energies rapidly revive. I gave directions that the Masarwa should be hospitably treated, and allowed to sleep with Pit by the side of our fire; and, having partaken of a good supper, I soon fell into a sound sleep, which I required even more than on the previous night.
I was able to move about next morning without assistance, and was ready to start again. The Bakuena, who had stayed with our people since the day before, assured us that we should find the direct road impassable; and we followed his advice in making a considerable détour through the bush. We had not gone many hundred yards when we came upon a dead duykerbock that had been killed during the night by a hyæna. It seemed incredible that a creature so fleet as the gazelle could have been caught by an animal comparatively so unwieldy; but the investigation of the tracks left no doubt that it was the case.
Subsequently we met some Masarwas returning home laden with honey. The bees are tracked in the woods by means of the honey-bird; but in open places they are pursued by following them on their homeward way, as they fly back one by one. Their nests are usually in hollow trees, and when the entrance-holes have been discovered, it is easy to drive the bees out by smoke, and to secure the combs. In exchange for a little piece of tobacco, rather more than an inch long and about as thick as my finger, I obtained a pint of honey.
The condition of the road did not improve, and we had to make our way through a number of very marshy places, where we frequently found dead tortoises. In the course of the day’s progress I noticed some plants of the cucumber tribe, which may be reckoned amongst the most striking of the South African creepers; their handsome lobed foliage is of a bright blue-green tint, and their bright green fruit, that, when ripe is dotted over with scarlet and white, stands out in beautiful contrast to the bushes over which they climb. I have seen as many as ten heads of fruit on a single plant, and no three of them in the same stage of development; the lower tip will often be quite red, the end near the stalk still green, while the intermediate parts vary through every shade of orange and yellow.
On the 5th we still found our route lying through a good deal of sand, but the woods were gradually becoming lighter, and, after a time, we emerged upon a grass plain, where the bushes grew only in patches. After travelling for about eleven miles we met a Makalahari wearing his leather apron, and carrying nothing but a couple of assegais and a hatchet. Upon my asking him whether there was any water to be found, he offered to conduct our bullocks to some pools about three miles away, and, meanwhile I proceeded to prepare our camp for the night.
A journey of an hour and a half on the 6th brought us to the Bamangwato district, and into the wide, but shallow valley of a river, of which, in the rainy season, the Shoshon is an affluent. This valley divides the Bamangwato heights into two distinct parts, the most southerly of which is characterized by several ridges separated by transverse passes; the northern part consists of an interesting network of hills intersected by valleys running some parallel, some crosswise, in the most important of which are the Shoshong and Unicorn Rivers. These northern highlands are marked by conical peaks that rise above the table-land, and by rocky passes, of which the stones that form them are enormous. By some of their peaks the Bamangwato hills are connected with the ridge I have already mentioned on the Limpopo, and consequently also with the range in the Marico district. By the Tschopo chain the highlands are in connexion also with the hill-system of Matabele-land. The whole valley has been the scene of important episodes in the history of the Bamangwatos, and I ventured to call it the “Francis Joseph Valley;” whilst to the highest hill above it I gave the name of the “Francis Joseph Peak.”