The Lake Regions of Central Africa: A Picture of Exploration, Vol. 1Burton, Richard Francis, Sir
History
The Lake Regions of Central Africa: A Picture of Exploration, Vol. 1
Burton, Richard Francis, Sir
Africa, Central -- Description and travel
On the 18th September, a final march of four hours placed us in the
plains of Ugogo. Leaving the place of the last night’s bivouac, we
pursued the line of the Dungomaro, occasionally quitting it where
boulders obstructed progress, and presently we came to its lower bed,
where perennial rills, exuding from its earth-walls and trickling down
its side, veiled the bottom with a green and shrubby perfumed
vegetation. As the plain was neared, the difficulties increased, and the
scenery became curious. The Dungomaro appeared a large crevasse in lofty
rocks of pink and gray granite, streaked with white quartz, and
pudding’d with greenstone and black horneblend; the sole, strewed with a
rugged layer of blocks, was side-lined with narrow ledges and terraces
of brown humus, supporting dwarf cactus and stunted thorny trees; whilst
high above towered stony wooded peaks, closing in the view on all sides.
Farther down the bed huge boulders, sunburnt, and stained by the courses
of rain-torrents, rose, perpendicularly as walls, to the height of one
hundred and one hundred and twenty feet, and there the flooring was a
sheet or slide of shiny and shelving rock, with broad fissures, and
steep drops, and cups, “potholes,” baths, and basins, filed and cut by
the friction of the gravelly torrents, regularly as if turned with the
lathe. Where water lay, deep mud and thick clumps of grass and reed
forced the path to run along the ledges at the sides of the base.
Gradually, as the angle of inclination became more obtuse, the bed
widened out, the tall stone-walls gave way to low earth-banks clad with
gum-trees; pits, serving as wells, appeared in the deep loose sand, and
the Dungomaro, becoming a broad, smooth Fiumara, swept away verging
southwards into the plain. Before noon, I sighted from a sharp turn in
the bed our tent pitched under a huge sycomore, on a level step that
bounded the Fiumara to the right. It was a pretty spot in a barren
scene, grassy, and grown with green mimosas, spreading out their
feathery heads like parachutes, and shedding upon the ground a filmy
shade that fluttered and flickered in the draughty breeze.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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