A TROPICAL JUNGLE 



taken on this job. He became quite interested in 

 telling us this, and at times forgot his duties at the 

 tiller. Then that racing-launch would take a wild 

 swoop; the clumsy old dhow astern would try vainly, 

 with much spray and dangerous careening, to follow; 

 the compromise course would all but upset her; the 

 spray would fly; the safari boys would take their 

 ducking; the boat boys would yell and dance and 

 lean frantically against the two long sweeps with 

 which they tried to steer. In this wild and untram- 

 melled fashion we careered up the bay, too interested 

 in our own performances to pay much attention to 

 the scenery. The low shores, with their coconut 

 groves gracefully rising above the mangrove tangle, 

 slipped by; and the distant, blue Shimba Hills came 

 nearer. 



After a while we turned into a narrower channel 

 with a good many curves, and a quite unknown 

 depth of water. Down this we whooped at the full 

 speed of our thirty-horsepower engine. Occasional 

 natives, waist deep and fishing, stared after us 

 bung-eyed. The Yankee ventured a guess as to 

 how hard she would hit on a mudbank. She 

 promptly proved his guess a rank underestimate 

 by doing so. We fell in a heap on the bottom. 

 The dhow bore down on us with majestic momentum. 

 The boat boys leaned frantically on their sweeps and 



79 



