It Was War, And War Alone, And We Were Too Deep Down In
The Valley To Make Our Voices Heard In Explanation.
Fortunately,
they had burned off the long grass to a great extent.
It only here
and there hid them from us. Selecting an open spot, we spent a night
regarded by all around us as slave-hunters, but were undisturbed,
though the usual way of treating an enemy in this part of the country
is by night attack.
The nights at the altitude of the valley were cool, the lowest
temperature shown being 37 degrees; at 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. it was 58
degrees, about the average temperature of the day; at mid-day 82
degrees, and sunset 70 degrees. Our march was very much hindered by
the imperfectly burned corn and grass stalks having fallen across the
paths. To a reader in England this will seem a very small obstacle.
But he must fancy the grass stems as thick as his little finger, and
the corn-stalks like so many walkingsticks lying in one direction,
and so supporting each other that one has to lift his feet up as when
wading through deep high heather. The stems of grass showed the
causes of certain explosions as loud as pistols, which are heard when
the annual fires come roaring over the land. The heated air inside
expanding bursts the stalk with a loud report, and strews the
fragments on the ground.
A very great deal of native corn had been cultivated here, and we saw
buffaloes feeding in the deserted gardens, and some women, who ran
away very much faster than the beasts did.
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