peaked Icopjes, some like spires, some like domes,
grey and weird, rising out of rich vegetation, getting
bluer and bluer in the far distance, and there is
always something indescribably rich about the blueness
of an African distance. As we descended
we passed a* wide-spreading tree hung with rich
yellow maize pods drying in the sun. Here, too, the
bright coral red flowers of the Erythrina kaffra were
just coming out. Eichness of colour seemed to pervade
everything.
It was immediately on crossing the Lundi Eiver,
the threshold of the country as it were, that we were
introduced to the first of the long series of ancient
ruins which formed the object of our quest. By
diligent search amongst the gigantic remains at Zimbabwe
we were able to repeople this country with a
race highly civilised in far distant ages, a race far
advanced in the art of building and decorating, a
gold-seeking race who occupied it like a garrison in
the midst of an enemy’s country. Surely Africa is a
mysterious and awe-inspiring continent, and now in
the very heart of it has been found work for the
archasologist, almost the very last person who a short
time ago would have thought of penetrating its vast
interior. Quid novi ex Africa ? will not be an obsolete
phrase for many generations yet to come.
^ The Lundi Eiver was the only one of the great
rivers which flow through this portion of the country
which gave us any real trouble. Our waggons had
to be unloaded and our effects carried across in a
boat, and the waggons dragged through the rushing
stream by both teams of oxen; it was an exciting
scene, and the place was crowded with people in the
same condition as ourselves. On reaching the left
bank we halted in a shady spot, and encamped for
two days, in order to give our oxen rest and to study
the ruin. It was a very charming spot, with fine rocky
kopjes here and there, rich vegetation, and the dull
roar of the fine stream about fifty feet below us. From
one of the kopjes we got a lovely view up the river,
over the thickly wooded flats on either side and the
Bufwa range of mountains beyond.
The country beyond the Lundi is thickly populated,
with native villages perched on rocky heights, many
of which we saw as we wended our slow way through
the Naka pass. One hill is inhabited by a tribe of
human beings, the next by a tribe of baboons, and I
must say these aborigines of the country on the face
of it seem more closely allied to one another than
they are to the race of white men, who are now appropriating
the territory of both. The natives, living
as they do in their hill-set villages on the top of the
granite kopjes, are nimble as goats, cowardly yet
friendly to the white stranger. They are constantly
engaged in intertribal wars, stealing each other’s
women and cattle when opportunity occurs, and
never dreaming of uniting against the common enemy,
the Zulu, during whose periodical raids they perch
themselves on the top of their inaccessible rocks, and
look down complacently on the burning of their huts,
the pillaging of their granaries, and the appropriation
of their cattle. Under the thiek jungle of trees by