_Tuesday, July 5_, was a wet day, and we made but slow progress. At night there was again a very heavy shower, of which we had the full benefit. Wednesday was a repetition of Tuesday in every particular. This morning I was quite ill. A traveller often finds it very trying to watch the native boatmen lazily doing their work. They make such a mess of it that one cannot look on without disappointment and irritation. The best preventive of such feelings is to lay hold of a pole or a paddle and engage in assisting the men. This I was quite unable to do to-day. A soaking in bed does not fit one for physical exertion under a tropical sun. But one refuge was open still. We had brought some newspapers with us, and these were all acceptable now, no matter what their date might be. When, however, I could not read, I was obliged to be a spectator of the boatmen, but I tried to observe their work as a piece of mere curiosity and to forget that we had any interest in it. The defect in this Anyasa crew was that they had not learned to concentrate their energy in an emergency. The poor fellows expended much more force than would have been necessary had they employed it well. The Mazaro lads are much better boatmen, but since the arrival of the Missions many of the Anyasa have made trips to Mazaro, and now know all about the journey. On his engagement each man gets a fathom of cloth (value 5d. in Scotland, and 9d. here) to buy food, and meet the ordinary expenses of the voyage. The first thing he does with this money is to buy a bed, which is just a bag made of strips of mlasa woven together like a straw hat. At night the owner, and one or more friends crawl into this bag, which is placed near a fire on the bank. Once in they are very comfortable, the mosquitoes cannot touch them, and in this climate they cannot suffer from cold. As soon as morning dawns the boatmen may be seen emerging one by one from their sacks. But they are in no hurry to make a start. There are generally a few logs smouldering in what had been the fire-place last night. Round these they gather, and put on a few handfuls of grass, and seem preparing to—watch the course of events. Happy for the traveller if he has decided that the boat must start at once, for the slightest semblance of cooking risks at least an hour’s detention. But many travellers believe that a hot cup of coffee keeps off fever, and stay a few minutes to boil water. The natives themselves in ordinary circumstances do not eat at this hour; all they do is to pass round a large pipe, of which each man takes a whiff, and desires nothing more. But when water has to be boiled, everyone takes advantage of the occasion. The traveller’s captain or interpreter, or whatever he may be termed, will be the first to entertain the idea of prolonging “the boiling of the water” till a great deal of other cooking can be done. The traveller, if a stranger, must depend much on his “captain”; and the