SHUPANGA 65 



whose daily increasing nearness to the stream 

 was the cause of great anxiety. A mile or so 

 above the Marromeo sugar works the steamer 

 passes the Mozambique Company's Customs 

 Station, on the south bank of the river. 



A day's journey, pounding slowly against the 

 current, passing many sand-banks and islets, and, 

 perchance, catching sight of the square head of an 

 aged and experienced hippopotamus on the way, 

 warily withdrawn beneath the water long before 

 the steamer nears him, and we come to Shupanga, 

 an old-established and beautifully situated station 

 of the Franciscan Missionaries. The river, still 

 about 800 yards wide, is deeper here, there are no 

 sand-banks visible, and between the point at which 

 the steamer ties up and the buildings themselves, 

 a distance of some 250 yards, a well-kept piece of 

 grass (I had almost written lawn) slopes gradually 

 upward, intersected by trim, gravel foot-paths and 

 bordered by sharp-pointed aloes and smooth-barked 

 cotton trees. The low, whitewashed buildings are 

 of stone, and very extensive and commodious. 

 There are, of course, chapel, schools, and workshops, 

 but not the least important of the mission depart- 

 ments is that of the wonderfully complete and ex- 

 tensive vegetable gardens, which possess their own 

 efficient system of irrigation tanks. A little below 

 these, one reverently removes one's hat before the 

 marble stone which marks the resting-place of 

 ]\Iary Moffat, or Livingstone, the wife of that 

 greatest of African explorers, whose name is so 

 indelibly engraven on the very heart of the great 

 continent for which he gave his life. 



5 



