One afternoon I started to pay a second visit to Malemya. He and his people were in the midst of a beer-drinking, which had lasted a few days already, but which he assured me was only beginning. He gave me a hut in a village at some distance from the scene of the beer drinking. Though he was quite drunk when I arrived, he soon recovered and came down beside me. We spoke of the great numbers of people that could be reached from Chirwa, and he promised me a guide to its shores. He said the Lake used to be full of water, but that it was becoming drier every year—“What could be the reason?” Problems of this kind often occupy native chiefs, who are always glad to hear the opinions of a stranger. On going along its shores next day, I saw that the Lake at one time had been broader, and that over a great part of the land still covered, the water was only a few feet in depth. That night I slept in a village near the Lake. The headman urged me to occupy his own dwelling and accordingly proceeded to clear out his poultry. Bismark warned me against entering the hut as it was full of “what was called fleas”. But since the people were so kind as to give up their home for me, I thought it best not to be fastidious. On the whole I was comfortable; once I awoke and was quite overawed at hearing the gnawing of the rats. It seemed as if hundreds of mouths were munching at once. I lighted a match, and then there was a great scamper, which disturbed the few fowls that still roosted above me. I could see that the roof where my host kept his maize was alive with rats. For a while they paused in their carnival, but slowly and surely the dread sound returned. I buried my head under the blankets and wished for the Pied Piper of Hamelin! In this village there was great plenty, and in its neighbourhood we saw large herds of game. As the village was situated beside a stream, the people were all experts at spearing fish.