76 THE RIVER ZAMBEZI AND ITS SCENERY 



The steamer's whistle is heard below just as we 

 rise from a well-furnished dinner-table, but we 

 decide to remain for the night at Muterara, and 

 to proceed on our way at daybreak. So we spend 

 a pleasant tranquil evening seated in front of the 

 loopholed fortifications, and watch the ghostly effect 

 of the moonlight upon the thin diaphanous mist 

 which has commenced to veil the surface of the 

 water beneath us. It is perfectly still, and the 

 smoke from our cigarettes curls lazily upward. 

 The trees cast deep shadows, in which fireflies 

 wheel in their circular flight, whilst out in the 

 open it is so light that one could easily read in 

 the brilliant moonbeams. Morambala and the 

 mountains across to the eastward are mere shadows 

 on the horizon's faintly luminous outline. Scarcely 

 any stars are visible, although, the night is cloud- 

 less, so intensely clear is the light of the tropical 

 moon. It is a picture of half-tones ; of soft, pearly 

 greys, with something of the sharpness of a steel 

 engraving where light meets with shadow. Native 

 forms flit along the road, or pass us noiselessly, 

 to vanish into the Ewigkeit like so many in- 

 tangible phantoms. Over all, and pervading all, 

 the ceaseless shrilling of the crickets, punctuated 

 from time to time by the howl of a questing 

 hyena. 



The sunrise the following morning, as we watch 

 the progress of the wonderful phenomenon from 

 the steamer's shade deck, is one of those marvels 

 of nature which words are surely feeble to describe. 

 After the deepening of the first rosy flush of the 

 dawn, Morambala, away to the eastward, displays 



