EVENING IN THE SWAMPS 



old male hippopotamus — ol makao, called by the Masai, 

 kiboko by the Waswahili. He is guiding his herd to the 

 land, and leading them to the feeding-ground by the 

 well - trodden path tunnelled through the bushes and 

 thickets. 



Just before night one may witness an interesting 

 scene. Hundreds of thousands of finchlike birds are 

 swiftly flying towards the swamp to feed, and then to 

 rest in the papyrus thickets. In close masses, strung 

 out in a long, continuous line, almost brushing the top 

 of the papyrus woods, they move along, suggesting 

 an enormous snake in their flight. They follow their 

 leaders so promptly, they carry out the various evolu- 

 tions so automatically, that I am convinced that they 

 have means of communication wath one another that 

 we cannot perceive with our senses. Also multitudes 

 of pigeons and guinea-hens drink from the w^ater of 

 the lakes and then rest for the night near by. 



Every evening at the same time, almost to the min- 

 ute, when the sky is still tinted w^ith the many delicate 

 colors of a tropical sunset, flocks of crowned cranes come 

 flying slowly towards the water, uttering strange cries 

 and making a peculiar sound \\\t\\ their wangs. The 

 twilight is of short duration in the tropics. It has now 

 become fujly dark, and we may have strayed away from 

 our camp. A long-drawn roaring and rumbling sound, 

 repeated at intcr\als, warns us that the king of animals 

 is getting ready to hunt. We had better retreat to 



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