On one occasion I nearly lost my wagon by fire, in a valley where the grass was only about three feet high.

We were roused by the roar, as of a torrent, made by the fire coming from the windward.

I immediately set fire to that on our leeward, and had just time to drag the wagon on to the bare space there before the windward flames reached the place where it had stood.
We were detained by rains and a desire to ascertain our geographical position till Monday, the 10th, and only got the latitude 9d 50' S.; and, after three days' pretty hard traveling through the long grass, reached Cassange, the farthest inland station of the Portuguese in Western Africa.

We crossed several fine little streams running into the Quango; and as the grass continued to tower about two feet over our heads, it generally obstructed our view of the adjacent country, and sometimes hung over the path, making one side of the body wet with the dew every morning, or, when it rained, kept me wet during the whole day.
I made my entrance in a somewhat forlorn state as to clothing among our Portuguese allies.

The first gentleman I met in the village asked if I had a passport, and said it was necessary to take me before the authorities.