Hippopotamus Traps 



arrived. The heavy morning dew lay thick on the 

 tufts of the shrubs and ghttering on the gigantic 

 swaying stalks of the elephant grass, sprinkled me 

 from head to foot as I brushed past. The sunrise 

 by this time had painted the whole vault of the sky 

 a rosy pink, which in its turn was reflected on the 

 surface of the lake. The whole effect was both 

 exhilarating and dazzling. I was pervaded with a 

 feeling of unreality. I felt I was in a dream from 

 which I would suddenly be rudely awakened. 



Now that the exact spot the hippopotamus were 

 in the habit of frequenting was known to me, I had 

 only to conceal myself on the edge of the lake at a 

 point where I could be as nearly as possible on the 

 same level with the surface of the water, in order to 

 obtain a grazing shot. But I was met with many 

 difficulties in my endeavour to select a good 

 position. 



The entire margin of the lake was riddled with 

 native hippopotamus traps, into which one was 

 constantly in imminent danger of floundering, so 

 that even my native hunters had to advance with 

 extreme caution, probing the ground in front of 

 them with their spears. Some of these traps are 

 quite ingenious. They transfix a huge mass of 

 wood or a tree log with a native spear, and suspend 

 its point downwards over a deep hole dug in the 

 ground, which they artfully conceal with grass and 

 bushes. When the clumsy hippopotamus comes out 

 of the water to feed on the bank at night, he 

 flounders into the hole and unconsciously snaps a 



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