I met with several of the Wayeiye natives on the Tonga, who hunt the hippopotamus and crocodile. When at my station on that river, opposite Nakane village, in 1867, a curious affair occurred, which shows the wonderful amount of sense and affection crocodiles possess. A little below my waggon, a native boy caught a young crocodile about a foot in length, and took it up to the huts, and put it into an old basket. About two hours afterwards, my driver called out there was a large crocodile crawling up the bank, and making for the hut where the young one was in the basket, the natives running away. On looking out of my waggon, sure enough, a large one, about eleven feet in length, was up to the basket, when my Kaffirs ran up with rifles and shot it. The distance of the hut from the river was over 100 yards. It was impossible to say how the mother found out the whereabouts of her baby; it might have been by smell, or she might have seen the boy put it into the basket. I have heard many similar statements from the natives, of the old ones following their young when taken, but put little faith in them until I absolutely saw for myself the truth of these statements. Crocodiles are also very tender over their eggs; they scratch a hole in the sand, lay about a dozen, then cover them with sand, and watch with great care until the young come forth. The altitude of Linyanti above sea-level is 2813 feet, the same as the water-level of the Chobe, Lake N'gami, river Zouga, and the large brak vlei Makarakara, showing the perfect level of these points. This country is full of pans and vleis, dense bush, sand everywhere, not a stone to be seen in all this region. At a vlei called Sixteen Vlei, the road goes to the Victoria Falls; but with all its flatness, there is an indescribable charm in travelling through it; there are so many novel objects to take the attention of an explorer, in addition to hunting, and sometimes being hunted by the large game when stalking them in the dense bush or under lofty trees, far away from the human world. One may die and be forgotten, and no one may ever hear how. My death has been reported twice, at different times, to the Governor of the Cape, once by the Rev. Mr. Thomas, of Shiloh in Matabeleland, in 1869, that I had been killed by the Makalakas, in the desert, my waggon destroyed, and property taken, and my friends in the Colony in duty bound were mourning my loss for several years, as I had not been down south, having treked far in beyond any white traders, and was never heard of.