The Eastern Congo 



So we parted, Lewis to recross the Luangwa River, I, 

 with a rifle as my only companion, to spoor up the big tusker 

 and see what had become of him. 



The succession of miniature water-filled pits that marked 

 my quarry's progress across the veldt were easy enough to 

 follow and presently led me to a dark and muddy backwater, 

 overhung with foliage, which being not more than fifteen 

 yards wide the big bull had taken in his stride, so to speak. 



To mere man, however, this deep waterway was an 

 obstacle not so easily negotiated, so venturing down the bank 

 with my cocked and loaded rifle resting on my shoulder, I 

 drove my right leg deep into the mud on the water's edge, 

 and with my left stretched out into the water, lowered myself 

 down gradually to test the depth of the river — with a view 

 to knowing if I could wade across or if I should have to 

 swim it. 



Not finding bottom I was about to raise myself again, 

 when suddenly, without so much as a swirl of the oily water, 

 I felt my leg in an awful grip from below, accompanied by a 

 terrific wrench that all but turned me over head-first into 

 the river. I just managed to save myself, however, owing to 

 my right leg being firmly held, up to the knee, in the 

 alluvial mud left by the subsiding water. 



Realising on the instant that I was in the grip of a large 

 crocodile, that terror of African waters, from whose jaws few 

 men have ever escaped, I nerved myself for a supreme effort 

 by clinging on for dear life to the roots about me as the croc, 

 strained to pull me under. 



Fortunately for me, to hold on to my rifle when having 

 a fall had become a second nature ; I therefore still had 

 this in my grip and it lay, as far as I can remember, half 



240 



