In the distance the long-
sought mountains of Bamangwato at length loomed blue before me. We
halted beside a glorious fountain, which at once made me forget all
the cares and difficulties I had encountered in reaching it.
The name of this fountain was Massouey, but I at once christened it
"the Elephant's own Fountain." This was a very remarkable spot on the
southern borders of endless elephant forests, at which I had at length
arrived. The fountain was deep and strong, situated in a hollow at the
eastern extremity of an extensive vley, and its margin was surrounded
by a level stratum of solid old red sandstone. Here and there lay a
thick layer of soil upon a rock, and this was packed flat with the
fresh spoors of elephants. Around the water's edge the very rock was
worn down by the gigantic feet which for ages had trodden there.
The soil of the surrounding country was white and yellow sand, but
grass, trees, and bushes were abundant. From the borders of the
fountain a hundred well-trodden elephant foot-paths led away in every
direction, like the radii of a circle. The breadth of the paths was
about three feet; those leading to the northward and east was most
frequented, the country in those directions being well wooded.
We drew up the wagons on a hillock on the eastern side of the water.
This position commanded a good view of any game that might approach to
drink.
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