38 ON SAFAEI 



special character that arrested attention was the immense 

 size of many species. There were colossal cranes, storks 

 and herons, perfect giants of the bird-world. There 

 were pelicans in droves ; these, of course, are always big. 

 Geese, ducks and flamingoes in thousands filled air and 

 water. Darters (Plotiis) with snake-like necks and small 

 cormorants perched on half-submerged trees. There 

 were herons and egrets in their many varieties ; ibises 

 of both kinds, with plovers and sandpipers, gulls great 

 and small, grebes, and many more. Though I have 

 been an ornithologist all my life, I hardly dare further 

 attempt to describe or define those exotic multitudes. 

 The assemblage, however, certainly included the Goliath 

 heron, tall and grey, standing bolt upright as a Guards- 

 man ; another conspicuous monster being the huge 

 jabiru or saddle-bill, with its heavy, uj)-tilted, murderous 

 beak, red, with a broad black band in centre, both of 

 which birds I have endeavoured to portray. Besides 

 these, there are entered in my notebook — though with 

 due doubtfulness, both on this and other occasions around 

 Nakuru's shore — the whale-billed stork [Baloeniceps) 

 and the great wattled crane {Grus ccirunculata) , a 

 sjDccies I had met with in South Africa; but neither 

 bird has yet been proved to occur here in Ecjuatoria. 



Two flamingoes that I killed with the rifle were of 

 the European species {Fhcerdcojyterus roseus), but we 

 saw others that were red all over [Ph. minor). 



Many hippo lay in the shallows off'-shore ; one, an 

 immense bull with pink cheeks and neck, showed 

 splendid curved ivory as he opened a cavernous mouth 



to yawn. He ofl'ered a good target, and W put in 



a bullet that told well. The hippo disappeared, and we 

 saw him no more, though we waited all day (watching 

 the birds also) and sent down "boys" next morning. 

 Neither of us fired at hippo again. 



That evening we marched into Nakuru and encamped 

 alongside the railway. There is a Dak bungalow at the 

 station, and, without being Sybarites, we enjoyed an 

 excellent dinner and a bottle of "Pontet Canet — a grateful 

 change from the rough fare of the veld. 



