We are ordered to return.—Hesitation.—The Slave dealings
here.—Future of Ovampo-land.—A Field for Missionaries.—Best
way of getting there.—Slavery and Servitude.—Giving Men
away.—Arrange my Packs.—Start Homeward.—Leave Ondonga.—The Oxen
suffer severely.—Reach Okamabuti.—The Waggons are safe.—Start
for Omaramba.—Okavarè.—Elephants visit us.—Ice every
night.—Pass Omagundè.—Reach Barmen.
On one occasion Nangoro told me that he would send Chik back with me to
my country. I promised to take him as far as that of the Hottentots,
where he could see some of my countrymen; but that my country was so
far off, that if he went to it, he would never find his way back again;
besides, it was cold, and he would die there; so it was agreed that Chik
should go back with me to Barmen. I was very glad of this arrangement,
as I wanted to obtain fuller information from him than I possessed. I
wished to make a small vocabulary of the language of the Ovampo, and
learn something more than I could observe of their manners and customs;
but here in Ovampo-land Chik would scarcely answer a single question. He
constantly replied, “You must not ask these things; Nangoro will think
that you want to take away his life.” And he became quite sulky if he
was pressed. Indeed, I have no conception to this day whether or no
the Ovampo have any religion, for Chik was frightened and angry if the
subject of death was alluded to.
My articles of exchange were now reduced to a few handfuls of beads; and
I could not stay longer in the country. A man can no more travel without
things of exchange here than he can without money in England. I therefore
insisted upon being allowed to leave Ondonga, where my cattle were dying
by inches, and where I was eating up my food, and could afford to stay no
longer; and I begged hard for a guide to take me on to the river, or to
some place where I should find pasturage and game.
_June 13th._—Nangoro sent me word “that day I might buy and sell; that
the next day I must come and take leave of him; and the day after that I
must go back to Damara-land.”
Now came the question what was to be done. The river was four long
days ahead. It was a goal to reach, and in itself probably well worth
visiting. Its commercial importance might be great, as it appears to
offer a high road into the very centre of Africa, through countries
which, if as healthy as Ovampo or Damara-land, leave nothing to be
desired on that score. It was precisely the most interesting point of my
whole journey. Ought then a visit to it to be abandoned because Nangoro
would not let us go? Or ought we to push on for it at all hazards? On
the other hand, the river was well known to, and frequented by traders
from Benguela; there would therefore be no difficulty in fully exploring
it from that side; and probably infinitely more could be learnt by
inquiries properly made at Mossamedes than anything that I could report
from having seen it with my own eyes during so cursory a visit as I
proposed. Now, as to the risk I should run by temporising with Nangoro
until I had obtained permission to go there. My oxen would entirely knock
up, and probably die; and then what could I do? Even if I walked back to
the waggons, leaving things of the greatest value to me in Ovampo-land,
the want of ride-oxen would be felt most seriously throughout the return
journey. They were everything to me. It was on them that I explored the
roads, followed tracks, and made the most successful expeditions. If
Omagundè, through whose pasture grounds I must return, was to attack us,
as I thought he most probably would, it must be by the ride-oxen alone
that we should have a chance of escaping. I could not spare them nor risk
losing them. It would be impossible to replace them before many months,
as it is not one ox out of forty that will make a ride-ox, for only those
are fit to break in that show far less gregariousness of disposition than
oxen ordinarily do. The beasts that walk first, and lead the herd, are
the only oxen that can be ridden with any comfort or success; the others
jib and crowd together, and fight with their horns, when you try to urge
them on, and the whole caravan comes to a stand-still. It takes half a
year to break in an ox to anything like travelling purposes; he has not
only to learn to be quiet, but also to bear a weight on his shoulders.
Now, with great trouble I had collected together fifteen efficient ride
and pack-oxen: they were the stay of my party in cases of difficulty or
danger, and I would not for any but the weightiest considerations run
the risk of losing them. With no better supply of water and pasturage
than they were now allowed, I felt sure that though they might reach
the river, and even return to Nangoro’s, yet that they would never see
Damara-land again. I also feared that the Portuguese traders might play
me some tricks, as these half-castes are by no means scrupulous, even
less so than traders are elsewhere; and I could not help thinking of
the way in which our own countrymen had behaved to the late Mr. Ruxton,
when he landed at Walfisch Bay, with a view to explore the interior. I
confess that greatly annoyed as I was at being unable to visit the river,
I could not help feeling that Nangoro’s refusal to let me proceed was all
for the best, and I accommodated myself to his orders, and put myself in
readiness to start on my return.
I made many inquiries as to whether there were any slave-dealings between
the Ovampo and the Portuguese; but I was always answered in the negative.
I afterwards heard at St. Helena that slaves were not exported from the
south of Benguela, because they never thrived when taken away, but became
homesick and died. This is exactly what I should conceive of the Ovampo;
they evidently have strong local and personal attachments; they are also
very national, and proud of their country.
I should feel but little compassion if I saw all the Damaras under the
hand of a slave-owner, for they could hardly become more wretched than
they now are, and might be made much less mischievous; but it would be
a crying shame to enslave the Ovampo. To me, as a stranger, they did
not behave with full cordiality; and it was natural enough that they
should not; but among themselves the case was quite different. They are
a kind-hearted, cheerful people, and very domestic. I saw no pauperism
in the country; everybody seemed well to do; and the few very old people
that I saw were treated with particular respect and care. If Africa is to
be civilised, I have no doubt that Ovampo-land will be an important point
in the civilisation of its southern parts. It is extremely healthy, and
most favourably situated for extending its influence. From the sea-coast
it must be accessible; and inquiries really should be made at Mossamedes
about the river which bounds it. A ship cruising along the sea-shore
there can see nothing at all, for the coast is a low sandy desert, which
extends quite out of ken of people afloat: it is behind this strip of
desert that the habitable country begins, and probably _through_ the sand
of it that the river percolates. It is very much to be wished that some
explorer would make an attempt from Little Fish Bay, or thereabouts. It
would be a far easier undertaking than that which I have gone through,
because the starting-point is an inhabited place, where every necessary
can be bought with money. Full information could be obtained there on all
the articles of exchange, and horses could be procured. Black men, who
speak Portuguese, can readily, I am assured, be found; and there is so
large an export of skins and ivory (according to Portuguese authorities)
from Benguela, that there must be excellent shooting somewhere in the
country. I will guarantee the healthiness of the lands to the south of
the river; and the Portuguese declare the same of those to the north.[2]
I also earnestly recommend this land to the notice of all who are
interested in missionary enterprise. The Ovampo have infinitely more
claims on a white man’s sympathy than savages like the Damaras, for they
have a high notion of morality in many points, and seem to be a very
inquiring race. It would be an easy country to secure a footing in, as
the king’s good-will has alone to be gained, and not that of numbers of
independent captains, who never settle by the missionaries, but come
suddenly with their cattle, eat off all the grass near, and then move on
to a fresh pasturage.
I should have said that I use the word Ovampo in the Damara sense, in
which it includes all the corn-growing tribes to their north. These seem
to be of precisely the same race, manners, and customs; and they speak
one language. I have seen men from several of them; and whenever I asked
the Ovampo, they said that all their neighbours were just like themselves.
On my voyage back to England, as I was very anxious to determine the
question of how the Ovampo river was connected with the sea, and whether
it afforded a good road up the country, I waited a month at St. Helena
for the chance of a vessel to take me to Little Fish Bay; owing, however,
to the suppression of the slave-trade, none of our cruisers called there
as they used frequently to do, neither was it expected that they would do
so: I therefore abandoned the attempt.
But a traveller who, starting from the north, desired to make the
expedition, should go in the first instance to Rio, and thence plenty of
opportunities would offer of crossing over to Africa.
Though no slaves are exported from the countries in which I travelled,
yet there is a kind of slavery in the countries themselves. It is not
easy to draw a line between slavery and servitude; but I should say
that the relation of the master to the man was, at least in Damara and
Hottentot-land, that of owner rather than employer.
I cannot speak with certainty of the exact standing in which the Damaras
and the Bushmen severally live among the Ovampo. The first are employed
principally as cattle-watchers; the second, who are even more ornamented
than the Ovampo themselves, are a kind of standing army; but I have great
reason to doubt whether either the one or the other class is independent.
The Ovampo, as I have mentioned, looked down with much contempt on the
Damaras; and there is not a single instance, so far as I could learn, of
an Ovampo-woman marrying a Damara, and settling in Damara-land; but the
reverse is a very common case. The Bushmen appear to be naturalised among
the negro-tribes, and free in the border-lands between them to a distance
very far north of Ondonga. I cannot say how far; but I certainly think to
the latitude of Caconda. I believe them to be a very widely spread race.
Of the Ghou Damup I lost all trace in Ovampo-land. The Namaqua Hottentots
and Oerlams, in all their plundering excursions, capture and drive back
with them such Damara youths as they take a fancy to, and they keep them,
and assert every kind of right over them. They punish them just as they
please, and even shoot them, without any one attempting to interfere.
Next in the scale of slavery are those Damaras, Ghou Damup, or Bushmen,
who place themselves under Hottentot “protection,” and on much the same
footing as those among the Hottentots, are the paupers that are attached
to different werfts among the Damaras. These savages _court slavery_. You
engage one of them as a servant, and you find that he considers himself
your property, and that you are, in fact, become the owner of a slave.
They have no independence about them, generally speaking, but follow a
master as spaniels would. Their hero-worship is directed to people who
have wit and strength enough to ill-use them. Revenge is a very transient
passion in their character: it gives way to admiration of the oppressor.
The Damaras seem to me to love nothing: the only strong feelings they
possess, which are not utterly gross and sensual, are those of admiration
and fear. They seem to be made for slavery, and naturally fall into its
ways. Their usual phrase with reference to the missionaries is, “Oh, they
are wise, but weak;” but Jonker and the Hottentots are, I could almost
say, their delight. They wonder at their success.
All over Africa one hears of “giving” men away: the custom is as follows.
A negro has chanced to live a certain time in another’s employ; he
considers himself his property, and has abandoned the trouble of thinking
what he is to do from day to day; but leaves the ordering of his future
entirely to his employer. He becomes too listless to exist without a
master. The weight of independence is heavier than he likes, and he will
not bear it. He feels unsupported and lost if alone in the world, and
absolutely requires somebody to direct him. Now, if the employer happens
to have no further need of the man, he “gives” him, that is to say, he
makes over his interest in the savage to a friend or acquaintance; the
savage passively agrees to the bargain, and changes his place without
regret; for, so long as he has a master at all, the primary want of his
being is satisfied. A man is “given” either for a term or for ever; and
it was on this tenure that I held several of my men. Swartboy gave me
his henchman; Kahikenè, a cattle-watcher; Mr. Hahn, a very useful man,
Kambanya. As a definition of the phrase “giving a man,” I should say
it meant “making over to another whatever influence one possessed over
a savage; the individual who is given not being compelled, but being
passive.”
Before starting on my return I bought as much corn as I could carry back,
which also proved to be exactly as much as I could buy with my stock of
beads. I knew by this time pretty well what weights the different oxen
could carry, and arranged their saddle-bags accordingly. I always carried
a couple of spring balances with me when on ride-oxen, and as they each
marked up to forty pounds, by using the two together I could weigh up
to eighty pounds, which was as much as I ever wanted on this occasion,
though afterwards when ivory had to be earned I was put to shifts for
weighing it. It saves infinite trouble in packing to have the two
saddle-bags of exactly the same weight, and I am sure that no practice
will train the hand to judge with certainty whether they are so; a small
heavy thing always feels lighter than its real weight, and a bulky thing
heavier. I have constantly tested the guesses that practised muleteers
and camel-drivers have made of the weights of things, and often convicted
them of great mistakes. In my waggon I carried a steel-yard, and knew
and registered the weight of everything I carried.
I mentioned that the Ovampo had fowls; they are very pretty small
bantams, and I bought three—thinking that being a new breed they might
have some points about them which would be valuable to poultry fanciers;
they eat very little, and laid eggs every day. I put them in an Ovampo
basket, covered it with a piece of skin, and made one of the Damara women
carry it on her head.
_June 15th._—We left Nangoro’s in company with Chik, and with Tippoo,
who did the honours for Nangoro. The oxen kicked excessively with their
packs. Kahikenè’s black ox ripped up with his horns two of the bags of
corn that he carried, and galloped about, kicking and tossing like mad.
We caught him at last, and had him down, and sawed off the tips of his
horns on the spot. We were about three hours in doing four miles, and had
to encamp under a tree; the first start is always the most troublesome
part of a journey.
_June 16th._—Travelled four hours and slept at the vley. The oxen were
so stiff that I had to take them on by easy stages. They strayed in the
night, and were not recovered till past midday. Spooring is out of the
question in Ondonga, as the ground is trodden up everywhere. Luckily the
oxen had done no damage, only a little trespass, and we went on to Chik’s
house, where we stopped. There was evidently no means of getting water
for the cattle before leaving Ondonga, so we made ready to be off very
early. The morning came, and, to our surprise, Chik would not go with
us. We persuaded him to go as far as Netjo’s, whom we knocked up out of
his snug hut in the chill early morning, and wishing him and his family
an affectionate adieu, gave him the last beads that we had, and started
away on our old track to Damara-land.
It was with the greatest relief that I once again felt myself my own
master, and could go when I liked and as I liked; anything for liberty,
even though among the thorn-bushes.
I was sincerely grieved that Chik would not return with us, as he was a
person of great consequence in the country, and I had hoped that by his
means the Damara-land Missionaries would be enabled easily to extend
their stations among the Ovampo, which was an object they had long hoped
for. They would also have had leisure to learn from him enough of the
Ovampo language to make themselves independent of an interpreter. I
believe Chik wanted to go, but he could persuade no companions to join
him, and, naturally enough, did not like to go alone.
The oxen went very steadily and quickly, and although we had often to
adjust their packs, yet we made eight hours’ actual travelling by four
o’clock; they seemed to know they were going home; we then stopped in
a grassy place, and the oxen had the first good meal they had enjoyed
for more than a fortnight. It was quite pleasant to watch their lank
sides distending. There was no time to be lost, so that we were up and
packed and off before day-break. The night was bitterly cold, and when
we started the Damaras and ourselves carried firebrands, breathing their
smoke to keep us warm. We travelled five hours and came to the edge of
the flat. There are wells of brackish water there. The oxen were utterly
tired, for we had gone quickly, and the sun was intensely hot after a
cold night. I thought the oxen might choose to drink the water though we
could not, so I off-packed and tried them, but they refused although now
forty-eight hours without water. They would not eat either. We packed up
again after noon and struggled over the flat. The oxen were dead-tired;
they tripped their legs together and looked as miserable as could be,
but just before night-fall we reached the wells; there is no shelter nor
firewood here, but the bleak wind sweeps over the flat, and tired as we
were we had to watch the oxen all night. They drank excessively, and then
wandered restlessly about in the dark, so that during my watch I could
hardly keep them together, though running and walking a great part of the
time.
That night fairly broke the constitutions of Frieschland, Timmerman,
Buchau, and Kahikenè’s ox, and severely tried all the others. The first
four were never the same oxen again that they had been before. We stayed
at the wells till the forenoon of the next day, and then pushed through
the Ovampo werft at the south border of the flat, and off-packed at
Etosha.
_June 21st._—We arrived at Omutchamatunda, which we now found deserted,
except by a few Bushmen. We pushed on the day after to beyond Otjando,
and then following our old spoor we arrived safely at Otchikoto; there
we took a day’s rest, and amused ourselves in bathing. I made some
fish-hooks out of needles, and caught about a hundred small fish, which
we eat. We could hear nothing of the waggons from the Bushmen. News
travels very slowly in these parts.
Even at Otchikango no information could be obtained. Ootui was deserted,
and we were sick with anxiety. If Chapupa had played false with Hans,
what should we do?—a handful of men on worn-out beasts, with all the
savage Damaras and a dried-up country in front.
_June 30th._—Three hours from Okamabuti, we came upon Damaras; they
said that the waggons were to have started that very morning to rejoin
Chapupa, who had changed his encampment some days previously. Hans, they
said, was well, but they knew nothing more. We rode to Namboshua, took a
drink of water there, and then, two hours after, came upon our waggons’
spoor, and upon Okamabuti at the same time. We anxiously examined the
now deserted kraal for tokens that all was right. We found John Morta’s
cooking fire still burning, and unmistakable signs of his handiwork
about, so that no harm had happened to him. Phlebus’ spoor was recognised
directly; he had a large foot and walked flatly, and we found some signs
of John Williams. As the cattle kraal was well trodden down, my oxen were
probably all well; after a long search and comparing remarks, we rested
satisfied that no great mishap could have befallen the party, and that
Hans had trekked on, either for better pasturage or for some other good
reason. It was clear, from what the Damaras said, that the waggons were
not very far off; and as the news of our arrival would reach them the
same night, I off-packed the tired beasts and intended to give them a
good feed in the morning—waiting till Hans either sent me some Damaras
or came himself to take me on. As we were off-packing, to my dismay I
found that we were one pack ox short, and he was the animal that carried
my MSS., nautical almanac, gun tools, bullet moulds, and numberless
nick-nacks, that were particularly necessary to me. One never counts
oxen on the road; they are so gregarious, that, as a general rule, it is
quite unnecessary. In this case we had all been pressing forwards and
riding in front of the drove, and none of us could tell whether we had
seen the lost one since our first start. It was a very awkward case, for
the country was stony in part, and, where not stony, ploughed up with
the spoors of the lately migrating Damara oxen. Tired as they were, two
of my men and three Damaras went back after him, and, strangely enough,
at Namboshua, and by one of those chances that travellers are so often
indebted to, one of these Damaras came right upon him as he was lying
down, tired, among some thick trees; he was, of course, brought back in
triumph.
The next morning a posse of my Damaras came running joyfully to me; they
had heard of my arrival at the waggons the previous night, and came to
tell me the news and escort me to them. My party had trekked on with
Chapupa, to be near him for the sake of protection, as the Bushmen had of
late been stealing a great deal in the neighbourhood.
_July 1st._—After three or four hours’ ride, I recognised the burly form
of my faithful servant Hans, on the look-out at the top of a hill. To my
extreme relief I learnt that all had gone on well; that Chapupa, although
troublesome, had done no mischief; that several sheep had been bought,
that the oxen were well, and the axletree was as successful a piece of
carpenter’s work as the one that had been broken. Chapupa had bought
things and never paid for them, and, being in disgrace, sneaked away from
me. Kasupi was our principal friend now; he said that it was absurd to
try to go back the way we came, as of all the watering-places at which
we drank between Kutjiamakompè and Omanbondè, a journey of three weeks,
not more than two now remained that were not dry. He said that we must
return by the Omaramba, where we should find both water and grass, and
that he would guide us there and start us. A lad made his appearance, who
said that he knew the Omaramba road perfectly, and under these escorts we
proceeded. Numbers of Damaras wished to join me: I allowed a few to do
so, and my party now numbered thirty-four. We returned by our old road
to Okatjokeama, and then turned to the left. At a werft there I found
my old guide who had stolen the horse-rug and run away from me. He had
the impudence to wear it before my eyes. He was six feet seven inches
high, and large in proportion, and therefore too heavy for me to give a
shaking to, and I dared not whip him, so I only pulled the rug off his
back and rated him soundly.
We hit the Omoramba and followed it to the confluence of its two
branches. Game began now to show, and we had no need to kill any oxen. We
had some charming hunts—one after wild boars. Kasupi could not, any more
than the other Damaras, give me much information about the road _down_
the Omoramba. It seemed most unfavourable to waggon travelling. They said
the Omoramba ran between hills where Ghou Damup lived, and the Damaras
dare not go there.
If my ride-oxen had not been so entirely worn out, and the country so
arid, I should have much liked an excursion in that direction, which, as
I have since discovered, would be a most interesting route. Now, however,
it was out of the question.
_July 12th._—My entire werft at Okavarè consisted of eighty cattle, and
110 sheep and goats; of these many belonged to the men, and not to me. I
had only seventy cattle and eighty sheep and goats: of these about forty
were useful waggon oxen, and fifteen ride and pack, leaving me a surplus
of fifteen slaughter oxen and the eighty small cattle. My articles of
exchange were at a very low ebb indeed, although I had a small further
supply at Walfisch Bay. I had no reason to expect getting more than ten
oxen with them in Damara-land; but when I arrived among the Hottentots,
I intended to sell one of my waggons for forty or fifty oxen, which can
always be done; and thus becoming independent, should have amply enough
for a second excursion on a smaller scale.
We now trekked steadily up the Omoramba, and one day’s work was like
another’s. There were wells every two, three, or four hours, but deep
ones, and choked with sand, which we had on every occasion to clear out,
working for hours, and often half through the night. The river-bed is
sometimes a broad reach of sand with high banks, sometimes imperceptible,
except to a very practised eye. Thorns of course hem it in.
The few incidents that occurred on our return journey were these. One
night we slept close to water-holes: our encampment was anything but a
quiet one; and the dogs barked all night, as they almost invariably did.
We had watered the oxen out of a heavy wooden trough that Damaras had
made and left at the wells, and this trough blocked up the pathway down
to the largest well. In the morning, to our surprise, we found elephant
spoors all about us: three large ones and two calves. They had pushed the
trough to one side, and walked down to the well till their trunks could
reach the water, and had stamped the sand in, and made a great mess of
our handiwork. Then they had walked close round us till their minds were
satisfied, and finally moved off straight away across country.
A very large springbok was shot, which we weighed against a large and fat
sheep that we killed. The first was 120 pounds; the second, 112 pounds.
Damara sheep stand much higher than our English sheep, and have no wool;
the hair of their hides is like that of a calf. Hans sold two of his curs
to some of the Damaras for two oxen each. I cannot conceive what could
have induced them to make such a bargain. They were keen upon dogs, for
they offered four oxen for another one, “Watch;” but he was too useful to
me in worrying night marauders to be spared.
We had a fine night for chevying hyenas. After one was killed, and
everything was silent, I sent a Damara out among the bushes to imitate
their howl, that we might hear the others answer, and know where they
were. He did it so successfully, that all the dogs were at him in an
instant, and he was bitten.
_July 17th._—Our old friend the hill Omuvereoom came into sight. The air
was very thick and cold at nights. The sky had quite an English November
appearance. We found ice about us nearly every morning since leaving
Ondonga. For the last three weeks I have observed that there is a vast
deal of electricity in the air, every woollen thing crackles when rubbed
with the hand. My large black dog “Wolf” is quite a powerful electrical
machine when his back is stroked down.
_July 25th._—We arrived at Ontikeremba, where there are a great many deep
wells, about four feet in diameter, and thirty feet deep. A row of four
men contrived to hand up the water out of them; but it was as much as
they could do. I can hear nothing of the proceedings of the Hottentots,
during my absence, but learnt the full particulars of Kahikenè’s death.
The bed of the Omoramba is now that of a small sandy streamlet; yet
wells are found in numbers along it.
_July 26th._—At Otjikururumè we came in full sight of Diambotodthu, and
Omatako was right before us.
_July 28th._—Left the Omoramba, along which we had been travelling every
day (except two) for more than a fortnight; and on July 29th arrived at
Okandjoë.
We had now passed through the midst of Omagundè’s country; but he had
moved to where Kahikenè had been staying, and therefore I saw nothing of
him. Crowds of Damaras and nearly one thousand head of cattle were at
Okandjoë, where there is copious well-water. I sent in a civil way to beg
the use of two wells for my cattle; but the Damaras were very impudent,
and refused. We therefore seized upon the wells, and the Damaras became
obliging and highly courteous.
It gave us quite a home feeling to see the hills that we knew so well
round about us. I was now safe as regards water; for by my map I knew the
distance to Kutjiamakompè, and thence, happen what might, I could pass
through to Schmelen’s Hope. We heard some news of the missionaries here,
that Mr. Hahn had been to Omaruru, and also that the Hottentots had been
quiet, and not plundering.
_July 31st._—Arrived at Kutjiamakompè, and were once again on our old
waggon-spoors. It was strange to see how the dry season had altered the
place: I should never have recognised it at a cursory glance. The fine
sheet of vley water was now baked earth, and we drove over it to wells
which were on the other side.
_August 1st._—In the clear evening we passed over the ridge which
separates the water-shed of the Swakop from that of the Omoramba. The
Schmelen’s Hope Hills, and those by Jonker, and opposite to Barmen, rose
into view at once, and we took our farewell leave of the beautiful cones
of Omatako and the other high landmarks that had so long guided us.
We found water at Okamabondè, and next day at Okandu, whence I sent a
messenger on to Barmen with a note.
_August 3rd._—We rested at Schmelen’s Hope, and, August 4th, arrived
safely at Barmen, being a year all but ten days from the time when I
sailed from Cape Town, and five months from the day that the waggons
left Schmelen’s Hope; of these five months ninety days were employed in
journeying onwards, independently of such excursions as were made from
time to time to look out for roads. It occupied fifty days of travel
to reach Nangoro’s from Schmelen’s Hope, and forty days to come back
again. The return distance was 168 hours, or about 462 miles, and we were
forty-nine days on the road, nine of them being days of rest or necessary
delay. This gives, including stoppages, an average of nine and a half
miles a day, which is very fair travelling for a continuance, even over
known roads.