Warthog 
sand-banks that abounded, that no craft but a 
canoe, which drew but an inch or so of water, 
would have been possible to navigate. As it 
was, we continually got stuck on some little 
spit of sand. That voyage was memorable 
though, for I shot two crocodiles, which sank, 
and for an episode which I will now relate. We 
had been rather late in making a start on our 
down-river journey, for we had to see the over- 
land boys well on their way before we started 
off ourselves. It was not surprising, therefore, 
that darkness approached before we had com- 
pleted half our voyage. It was not easy to find 
a decent camping-place—there was practically 
no wood or timber of any sort, except one large 
tree, which was green and therefore would not 
burn. We had no tents with us, having sent 
them overland. The banks too were very steep. 
If we were to get settled down before it was quite 
dark, we should have to hurry over selecting a 
place. I said to Weddell, ‘“‘ Why not here as 
well as anywhere else?’’ There was a small 
bush or tree not more than eight feet high that 
I observed, and that might furnish sufficient 
fuel to boil the kettle. We therefore moored the 
canoe fore and aft alongside the bank and 
clambered up the steep side. The grass here 
was quite four feet high, it had not been burnt 
off by the natives, so, in order to clear a space 
quickly, I rolled up a torch of grass, lit this, and 
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