A HIPPO FEAST 243 



a school of hippos asleep in a backwater. Near 

 a large village that we passed, we saw crowds of 

 canoes all converging towards one point. On the 

 top of the bank was a yelling multitude surrounding 

 a hippo, which had just been killed and dragged 

 ashore, and the whole population had turned out 

 to get its share of the meat. We followed their 

 example, and I went ashore with our cook to 

 replenish the larder. There must have been fully 

 500 men and boys crowded about the dead beast, 

 all of them armed with magnificent knives, with 

 which they, or as many of them as could get within 

 reach, were cutting off the skin as if it had been 

 paper. I was given a front place in the middle 

 of the throng while the cook cut off a fillet, and 

 was then glad enough to escape from the smell 

 and the din, which surpassed anything I have ever 

 known. The meat of the hippopotamus, be it noted, 

 is not at all bad eating — in Africa. 



Whilst we were going down this part of the 

 Congo in canoes, we came across a good illustration 

 of the wonderful wireless telegraphy which the 

 natives employ to send news about the country. 

 On the third day after starting on our voyage 

 from Kasongo, we arrived at the Belgian post of 

 Kibombo. Though there was no means of com- 

 munication by land, and no other canoe had gone 

 ahead of us down the river, the ofificer in charo-e 

 of the place had known of our coming ever since 

 the evening of the day that we left Kasongo. 



16 — 2 



