It was at this period that Frank began to be troubled with a small pimple on each foot, and even then he neglected the advice I persisted in giving him to protect them from being tainted by the poisonous fœtor which flies extracted from the exposed sores of the Wangwana. There was one poor fellow in our camp named Feruzi who was now in the seventh month of this virulent disease, and was a frightful object. Both of his feet were almost in a state of mortification, and the leg bones were attacked. That part of the camp devoted to the victims of this ulcerous disease was prudently avoided by the natives, many of whom bore the scars of ancient ulcers. Safeni, my coxswain on the Victoria Nyanza, and who was also the second in rank and influence among the chiefs, adopted a very singular treatment, which I must confess was also wonderfully successful. This medicine consisted of a mixture of powder of copper and child’s urine painted over the wound with a feather twice a day, over which he placed some fine cotton. In six weeks five patients recovered completely. The Babwendé have recourse to green herb poultices, and some of their medicines were sold to us for the sick, but I failed to observe any improvement. One kind, however, which was the powdered core of some tree, appeared to have a soothing effect. The old chief of Nzabi informed us, to our astonishment that five falls were still below us, which he called Njari Nseto, Njari Kwa Mowa, or river at Mowa, Njari Zinga, or river opposite Zinga, Njari Mbelo, or Mbelo’s river, and Njari Suki, or Suki’s river, the Babwendé term for river being Njari. _May 18._—On the 18th five of our axes required to be repaired, and Kachéché, who had some days before returned from his explorations below, and confirmed the news given to us by Nzabi’s chief, was sent above to the table-land to seek a smithy. As a market-place is like a stock exchange to the natives of this region, most of the blacksmiths were absent, and Kachéché had proceeded for a long distance into the interior, when he came across a tribe north of Nzabi, armed with bows and arrows, and who were called Bizu-Nseké. A few seconds’ acquaintance with them sufficed to prove to Kachéché that he had overstepped the boundaries of the peaceable, and accordingly he and his fellows fled for their lives, not unquickened by flying arrows. When almost in despair of discovering a native mechanic, he at last came to a forge between Mowa and Nzabi, the owner of which undertook the job of repairing the axes.