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The march to Bihawana, our next camp, was rugged and long, through a continuous jungle of gums and thorns, up steep hills and finally over a fervid plain, while the sun waxed hotter and hotter as it drew near the meridian, until it seemed to scorch all vitality from inanimate nature, while the view was one white blaze, unbearable to the pained sight, which sought relief from the glare in vain.
The Sultan of Bihawana, though his subjects were evil-disposed, and ready-handed at theft and murder, contented himself with three doti as honga.
In the middle of this scorching plain stood the villages of Bihawana, almost undistinguishable, from the extreme lowness of the huts, which did not reach the height of the tall bleached grass which stood smoking in the untempered heat. Our camp was in a large boma, about a quarter of a mile from the Sultan's tembe.
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