ACROSS THE SERENGETTI 



growth beneath the trees apparently swept unbroken 

 from where we stood to the low bank opposite. It 

 was exactly like the shallow damp but waterless 

 ravines at home, filled with blackberry vines. We 

 pushed forward, however, and found ourselves look- 

 ing down on a smooth, swift-flowing stream. 



It was not over six feet wide, grown close with 

 vines and grasses, but so very deep and swift and 

 quiet that an extraordinary volume of water passed, 

 as through an artificial aqueduct. Furthermore, 

 unlike most African streams, it was crystal clear. 

 We plunged our faces and wrists in it, and took long, 

 thankful draughts. It was all most grateful after 

 the scorching desert. The fresh trees meeting in 

 canopy overhead were full of monkeys and bright 

 birds; festooned vines swung their great ropes here 

 and there; long heavy grass carpeted underfoot. 



After we had rested a few minutes we filled our 

 empty canteens, and prepared to start back for our 

 companions. But while I stood there, Memba Sasa, 

 good faithful Memba Sasa, seized both canteens 

 and darted away. 



"Lie down!" he shouted back at me, "I will go 

 back." 



Without protest — which would have been futile 

 anyway — I sank down on the grass. I was very 

 tired. A little breeze followed the watercourse; the 



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