ropose now to go on and cross the Zambesi just below
the Victoria Falls. I should like to have the spray of the
water over the carriages."--_Letter from the Right Hon. C.J.
Rhodes to E.S. Grogan, Esq., September 7, 1900._[45]

These words came to my mind as I sat under the verandah of one of the
newly thatched huts which formed the camp of the Native Commissioner at
Livingstone, Victoria Falls, on a glorious morning early in July, 1903,
gazing at one of the fairest landscapes to be seen on God's earth. I was
ostensibly occupied with my mail home, but the paper lay in all its
virgin whiteness before me, while my eyes feasted on the marvellous
panorama stretching away to the south, east, and west. My heart sank as
I realized how difficult--nay, impossible--it would be for anyone with
only a very limited vocabulary and very moderate powers of description
to convey to those far away even a limited idea of this glorious
vision--of these vivid colourings intensified by the lonely grandeur of
the whole scene and the absence of human habitations.

"Constitution Hill," as the aforesaid camp had been christened, was
situated on high ground, four miles to the north of the then drift of
the Zambesi River, which, again, was several miles above the actual
falls themselves. With the advent of the railway and of the magnificent
bridge now spanning the mighty river, that drift has actually fallen
into disuse, but at the time of our visit it was the scene of much
activity, and quite a nest of stores, houses, and huts, had sprung up
near the rough landing-stage on the north side. As transport, not only
for individuals and for every ounce of food required by the vast country
stretching away to the north, but also for the huge and valuable
machinery, boilers, boats in sections, etc., destined for the various
mining companies, the only means of maintaining communication with the
struggling but promising new colony were one very rickety steam-launch
and one large rowing-boat, beside a few canoes and native dug-outs. A
fine steam-barge, which would greatly have facilitated the passage of
all kinds of merchandise, had most disastrously slipped its moorings
during one stormy night of last wet season, and had not since been
seen, the presumption being that the relentless stream had carried it to
the mighty cataract, which, like a huge ogre, had engulfed it for all
time. But this disaster had not caused anything like consternation