On coming to islands we sometimes have great difficulty in deciding which channel to take. We often try one where the heavy boat will not pass at all, and to our great disappointment we have to go back. Our boatmen bathe very frequently, using a charred stick as a flesh brush. They have no tooth brush, but they rub their teeth very carefully with their fingers. The appearance of herds of hippopotami[13] always causes much excitement. The Mission boat has done good service for five years, but it is hardly seaworthy now, and a well directed knock would at once admit the water. Accordingly, we pass these animals in great suspense. Towards sunset we are just approaching the palm trees (mivumu), and our hearts are full of thankfulness; only I have to record a report that I heard yesterday forenoon. It was so painful that I did not set it down at the time, and I have been reasoning ever since that it is likely false. It is to the effect that a white man has been killed by men of Matekenya’s. This young man reached the Ruo on Saturday night, being just a day’s journey before ourselves. He was told that Chiputula had gone to make war, and was advised to proceed with the greatest haste so as to pass Matekenya’s country before hostilities had actually commenced. He went on during night, but on Sunday afternoon, they say, he was attacked and massacred along with all his crew. The report was brought by Chiputula’s fighting men, who passed along the bank. They said they had been told this by prisoners. Our crew profess to believe it as it somewhat excuses them for turning back. _Friday 8._—We start from the palm trees. A dense vapour rises off the river, as if its waters were beginning to boil. The sun is up for some time before we can see it on account of the fog. To-night we reach a village. Here there is great mourning for people slain in war. The headman tells us that many of Chiputula’s men are dead. He points out some of the neighbouring villages, and enumerates how many inhabitants are mourned for in each. Here nothing can be bought, which is unfortunate, as our provisions are now nearly exhausted, and we may take three days to reach another hamlet. Our men seem to take pleasure in teasing the villagers about their poverty. They ask “Have you fowls”?—“_Pabe_,” “Have you maize”?—“_Pabe_,” &c., &c. To dozens of such questions the answer was Pabe (There is not). This made us all laugh, and I asked one of the boatmen why the villagers would sell nothing. He explained that they had not very much after all, as they lived by fishing. Down here fish are found in abundance, but higher up the river they become less plentiful, and at Katunga’s there are hardly any.