NORTH-EASTERN RHODESIA 119 



shy situtunga splashes through the morass at 

 evening to feed on the grass lands which fringe 

 the villages. Occasionally you may see his 

 characteristic hoof- print in the mud where terra 

 firma abuts on the marshes, but you will be 

 fortunate if you catch a glimpse of him, for he 

 is a consistent night feeder, and in the daytime 

 he wanders through the dense reeds. If dis- 

 turbed he will dash right into a deep pool, and 

 will remain there with just his nostrils protruding 

 above the water until danger is past. 



This then is a region which for all time will 

 remain a sanctuary of Nature, consecrated to 

 barbaric solitude. No iron horse can cross those 

 heaving sudds, no modern methods of navigation 

 are likely to disturb the peace of the dismal 

 waters. The black hand of pestilence has been 

 brought down on the marshes, and the white 

 man who enters the realm of the rank reeds 

 can account himself fortunate if he does not 

 contract malignant fever. There also is the 

 dread Palpalis, the agent of transmission in that 

 living death which is known as sleeping sickness. 

 Creative forces have reared up great barriers 

 to advance there, and jealously do they guard 

 the deep waters of the twin lakes. It is this 

 sense of the awful ability of Nature which 

 constitutes much of the curious charm of the 

 Central African swamps. Even the glories of 

 the dawn and the joy of realizing that a night 

 of discontent, when sleep has been banished 

 from tired eyes by a myriad of insect pests, has 

 passed cannot dispel the insistent melancholia 

 which has taken deep root throughout that great 

 waste. But there is fascination in the melan- 

 choly just as there is in joy. Silence and solitude 



