width. These agreed with the times taken by the
natives at the different crossing-places--as Tsenga and Molamba. About
the beginning of the upper third the lake is crossed by taking advantage
of the island Chizumara, which name in the native tongue means the
"ending;" further north they go round the end instead, though that takes
several days.

The lake appeared to be surrounded by mountains, but it was afterwards
found that these beautiful tree-covered heights were, on the west, only
the edges of high table-lands. Like all narrow seas encircled by
highlands, it is visited by sudden and tremendous storms. We were on it
in September and October, perhaps the stormiest season of the year, and
were repeatedly detained by gales. At times, while sailing pleasantly
over the blue water with a gentle breeze, suddenly and without any
warning was heard the sound of a coming storm, roaring on with crowds of
angry waves in its wake. We were caught one morning with the sea
breaking all around us, and, unable either to advance or recede, anchored
a mile from shore, in seven fathoms. The furious surf on the beach would
have shivered our boat to atoms, had we tried to land. The waves most
dreaded came rolling on in threes, with their crests, driven into spray,
streaming behind them. A short lull followed each triple charge. Had
one of these seas struck our boat, nothing could have saved us; for they
came on with resistless force; seaward, in shore, and on either side of
us, they broke in foam, but we escaped. For six weary hours we faced
those terrible trios. A low, dark, detached, oddly shaped cloud came
slowly from the mountains, and hung for hours directly over our heads. A
flock of night-jars (_Cometornis vexillarius_), which on no other
occasion come out by day, soared above us in the gale, like birds of evil
omen. Our black crew became sea-sick and unable to sit up or keep the
boat's head to the sea. The natives and our land party stood on the high
cliffs looking at us and exclaiming, as the waves seemed to swallow up
the boat, "They are lost! they are all dead!" When at last the gale
moderated and we got safely ashore, they saluted us warmly, as after a
long absence. From this time we trusted implicitly to the opinions of
our seaman, John Neil, who, having been a fisherman on the coast of
Ireland, understood boating on a stormy coast, and by his advice we often
sat cowering on the land for days together waiting fo