VICTORIA NYANZA 113 



rains and tonight he was calling in every direction. 

 We had never heard louder roaring; the tremendous 

 vibrations seemed to roll right along the ground. 

 Then there would be silence for awhile until some 

 jackals commenced yapping, probably followed by 

 the weird sound of a hyrax. Then another Hon would 

 start with a low grunt and keep increasing the volume 

 until he had reached the full height of his power and 

 his mighty roar rolled over the veldt like peals of 

 thunder. Silence again! Then perhaps a hyena would 

 give vent to his feehngs in that long, indescribable cry 

 which ends in a weird laugh. Back of it all, a vast 

 chorus of bullfrogs which inhabited the swamp kept 

 up a continuous mournful croaking that sounded Hke 

 innumerable bass viols. Such is nature's stupendous 

 orchestra which nightly provides the song of the veldt, 

 for all those who are there to listen. 



With this chorus in our ears we dropped off to sleep, 

 to be awakened by my boy, Kahindi, when he brought 

 us a cup of hot tea. After a hearty breakfast which 

 was commenced by Bud opening a can of beans and 

 myself opening a can of herring, we found it required 

 but Httle effort to get out of the mudhole and were 

 soon merrily on our way toward the lake. During 

 the day we motored through a very interesting park- 

 hke country of gently rolling hills. We seemed to have 

 left the soft ground behind, or maybe it had rained less 

 here — anyway were able to make good time. That 

 night we camped under a huge sausage tree near the 

 village of Chief Kitchamuli, who shortly came out 

 followed by three of his wives and presented us with 

 some butter and gourds of milk. The milk we gave to 

 our boys, but as we craved fat and the butter looked 



