THE RHINOCEROS OF THE LADO 395 



the Congo forest lies like a shroud over the land. On our 

 right we passed the mouth of the Victorian Nile, alive with 

 monstrous crocodiles, and its banks barren of human life be- 

 cause of the swarms of the fly whose bite brings the torment 

 which ends in death. As night fell we entered the White 

 Nile, and steamed and drifted down the mighty stream. 

 Its current swirled in long curves between endless ranks of 

 plumed papyrus. White and blue and red, the floating 

 water-lilies covered the lagoons and the still inlets among 

 the reeds; and here and there the lotus lifted its leaves 

 and flowers stiffly above the surface. The brilliant tropic 

 stars made lanes of light on the lapping water as we ran on 

 through the night. The river horses roared from the reed- 

 beds, and snorted and plunged beside the boat, and croco- 

 diles slipped sullenly into the river as we glided by. Tow- 

 ard morning a mist arose and through it the crescent of 

 the dying moon shone red and lurid. Then the sun flamed 

 aloft and soon the African landscape, vast, lonely, mysteri- 

 ous, stretched on every side in a shimmering glare of heat 

 and light; and ahead of us the great, strange river went 

 twisting away into the distance. 



At midnight we had stopped at the station of Koba, 

 where we were warmly received by the district commis- 

 sioner, and where we met half a dozen of the professional 

 elephant hunters, who for the most part make their money, 

 at hazard of their lives, by poaching ivory in the Congo. 

 They are a hard-bit set, these elephant poachers; there 

 are few careers more adventurous, or fraught with more 

 peril, or which make heavier demands upon the daring, the 

 endurance, and the physical hardihood of those who fol- 

 low them. Elephant hunters face death at every turn, 



