HIPPOPOTAMUS 201 



was one of those days when the merciful breeze from 

 North dies away and is replaced by pestilent exudations 

 from the Sudd. Our tribulations began at the start, 

 for there was an initial mile of abominable bog to 

 traverse. 1 The final goal, a couple of miles beyond, 

 presented slightly firmer ground ; but was heavily 

 bushed, full of snakes, and everywhere intersected by 

 a labyrinth of deep dongas each choked with papyrus 

 12 feet high, all impenetrably bound up by trailing 



LANDING A BULL-HIPPOPOTAMUS. 



convolvuli, prehensile creepers, and other obstructions 

 as bad as barbed wire. Quickly, however, I learned 

 the secret, though the lesson cost one momentary thrill. 

 Expecting nothing but buffalo, a sudden explosive grunt 

 right under my nose, followed by the rush of a heavy 

 beast, was apt to disconcert ; but second thoughts had 

 instantly identified that snort it was not a buffalo, but 



1 A shy suspicion that my gallant collaborator will smile at this suggests 

 itself; but, reader, it expresses the solid truth. That bog averaged well 

 over knee-deep and was intersected by innumerable khors, quite indis- 

 tinguishable, that were deepef still. Thrice I had to squat down suddenly 

 to avoid falling flat lengthwise ; moreover, the cane-grass here was of that 

 sort that fills arms, hands, and skin generally with thousands of tiny barbed 

 spicules. But L., like Gallic, cares for none of these things. 



