en them
and the rest of the Manganja is in the mode of tattooing the face. Their
language is the same. Their distinctive mark consists of four tattooed
lines diverging from the point between the eyebrows, which, in frowning,
the muscles form into a furrow. The other lines of tattooing, as in all
Manganja, run in long seams, which crossing each other at certain angles
form a great number of triangular spaces on the breast, back, arms, and
thighs. The cuticle is divided by a knife, and the edges of the incision
are drawn apart till the true skin appears. By a repetition of this
process, lines of raised cicatrices are formed, which are thought to give
beauty, no matter how much pain the fashion gives.

It would not be worth while to advert for a moment to the routine of
travelling, or the little difficulties that beset every one who attempts
to penetrate into a new country, were it not to show the great source of
the power here possessed by slave-traders. We needed help in carrying
our goods, while our men were ill, though still able to march. When we
had settled with others for hire, we were often told, that the dealers in
men had taken possession of some, and had taken them away altogether.
Other things led us to believe that the slave-traders carry matters with
a high hand; and no wonder, for the possession of gunpowder gives them
almost absolute power. The mode by which tribes armed with bows and
arrows carry on warfare, or defend themselves, is by ambuscade. They
never come out in open fight, but wait for the enemy ensconced behind
trees, or in the long grass of the country, and shoot at him unawares.
Consequently, if men come against them with firearms, when, as is usually
the case, the long grass is all burned off, the tribe attacked are as
helpless as a wooden ship, possessing only signal guns, would be before
an iron-clad steamer. The time of year selected for this kind of warfare
is nearly always that in which the grass is actually burnt off, or is so
dry as readily to take fire. The dry grass in Africa looks more like
ripe English wheat late in the autumn, than anything else we can compare
it to. Let us imagine an English village standing in a field of this
sort, bounded only by the horizon, and enemies setting fire to a line of
a mile or two, by running along with bunches of burning straw in their
hands, touching here and there the inflammable material,--the wind
blowing towards the doomed village--t