Homeward Bound 
253 
it has a width of 1,000 metres^—it flows along quietly and 
lazily, but where its waters are straitened and narrowly confined 
by islands it shoots impetuously in foaming cataracts. 
We ended our first day’s trip, which lasted nine hours, at 
Bosobangi, where there is one of these rapids. At this spot 
the river has a fall of three metres and becomes a cascade. As 
the boats had, of course, to pass this, they were emptied, and the 
natives of Bosobangi, who were familiar with this kind of work, 
carried the goods, which were heaped up on the bank, round 
the waterfall by a narrow path. We then took up our stand 
on a projecting slab of rock and trained our cinematograph on 
the foaming froth of waters. At a given signal each boat, 
manned by two men only, approached the chute in turn, and with 
the speed of an arrow shot down the seething waters. 
Thrilling as the spectacle may be, the shooting of the cataracts 
itself is far from being the most agreeable of sensations, as 
there is always a danger of capsizing. A slight miscalculation 
of direction, or a cross-course taken by the boat, may result 
in catastrophe. 
We experienced this on the second day. I was sitting in 
my canoe at the head of the flotilla, the other boats following 
at irregular intervals, when we came to another rapid, which 
we could discern from afar by the white froth on the crests of 
the waves. On approaching dangerous spots the Wangilima 
were in the habit of taking an experienced pilot on board from 
one or other of the many neighbouring villages. As this course 
was not pursued in the present instance—although the river was 
at high-water mark—it was a quieting indication that the passage 
offered no difficulty. We approached nearer and nearer the 
rapids, and soon heard the rushing of the waters. The singing 
ceased, the men shipped their oars; their whole duty now con¬ 
sisted in keeping the boat in the fairway. Involuntarily we sat 
erect and grasped the gunwale with our hands. A slight feeling 
of uneasiness made itself felt in the epigastric region. We 
reached the brink of the cascade, the canoe tipped lightly up 
at the stem and shot with a mad rush through the raging torrent. 
