68 THE RIVER ZAMBEZI AND ITS SCENERY 



feeling akin to grief, whilst the pleasure one feels 

 after crossing some wide plain or expanse of scrub 

 country and again finding oneself in the sylvan 

 depths of the true forest is not unlike the satis- 

 faction one experiences on reaching camp at the 

 end of a weary march. 



Proceeding slowly in my quest of a morning 

 shot, the path is soon barred by a deep stream 

 running in from the river, and, as I find, forming a 

 few hundred yards therefrom an enchanting back- 

 water full of interesting forms of life. An over- 

 hanging canopy of leafy boughs, some looped 

 together with Uianas and monkey ropes, subdues 

 the bright morning sunshine, which, nevertheless, 

 pierces the barrier in a thousand golden sword- 

 blades of dazzling light. The still, mirror-like 

 water, save where its surface is covered with the 

 lush-green leaves of a fragrant blue water lily, 

 reflects the gnarled, twisted, grey tree-roots, which 

 protrude from the low bank and carelessly over- 

 hang it. Farther on, as we glance cautiously over 

 the breast-high, recumbent trunk of some huge, 

 fallen forest monster, whose under side is covered 

 with line upon line of dirty fungi, we see an 

 amusing sight — a score of yellow chacma baboons 

 have come down to drink. Their antics are inde- 

 scribably diverting. The old men sit or recline a 

 little apart, watching with a slightly bored air of 

 complacent superiority the amusements of the 

 younger animals, who play together like so many 

 small children. The females either carry the very 

 young members of the family on their shoulders or 

 hold them by the hand as they move from place to 



