234 



GRACELESS MAMBA. 



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 I 



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without an attempt to restore his youth. I felt 

 sad to see the wistful lingering look with which 

 he accompanied his Kua-heri — farewell (a tout 

 jamais !) But his case was far beyond my skill. 



We set out at 7 a.m. on the next day with in- 

 finite trouble. The three porters whom we had 

 engaged had run away, characteristically futile, 

 without even claiming their hire, and none of 

 Sultan Kimwere's men had the stomach to face 

 the redoubtable Wazegura. The Ealoch had 

 gorged themselves faint with beef, and the hide, 

 the horns, and huge coUops of raw meat were 

 added to the slaves' loads. We descended the 

 Pass in a Scotch mist and drizzle, veiling every 

 object from view, and it deepened into a large- 

 dropped shower upon the fetid lowlands. The 

 effect of exchanging 4000 for 1000 feet was any- 

 thing but pleasant, and we at once felt shorn of 

 half our strength. That night we slept at Pas- 

 imga ; the next at Msiki Mguru, and the third, 

 after marching 17 miles, our greatest distance, at 

 Kohode. Here the graceless Mamba allowed us 

 to be punted over the deep sullen stream by a 

 slave upon a bundle of cocoa fronds, to the im- 

 minent peril of our chronometers. 



We now resolved to follow the river-course 

 downwards, and to ascertain by inspection if the 



