WITH FLASH-LIGHT AND RIFLE 



Thousands of reed -birds fly about us while we are 

 stalking along, twittering and chattering familiarly. 

 Suddenly a tiny water-mouse attracts our eye, and at 

 the same time our ear is filled with the rumbling grunt 

 of the most gigantic mammal of these swampy regions, 

 the uncouth hippopotamus. 



The peaceful enjoyment of these scenes is often 

 rudely disturbed. No crocodiles were known to haunt 

 these lakes. It was, however, not proven that there 

 were none. 



One day, traversing one of the temporary lakes near 

 the big swamps, I noticed, not far ahead of me, a vio- 

 lent commotion in the water. My native companions 

 took to their heels, screaming, "Maml)a! mamba !" 

 which means crocodile. The two animals that moved 

 in my direction, the backs of which only emerged at 

 times above the surface, appeared to be crocodiles. I 

 myself, believing discretion to be the better part of val- 

 or, followed my men, who could not be made to stop 

 until they had reached the shore. 



I soon became convinced that the animals were not 

 crocodiles, but big snakes. Wading back for some 

 distance, I succeeded in killing three pythons over 

 twelve feet in length. They had been after the eggs 

 of the swamp birds. 



Every evening I took my stand on the small islands 

 of the lakes. The possible danger of being suddenly 

 surprised by hippopotami only increased the pleasure 



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