TAITA TO KILIMA-NJAR0. 
85 
of Kilima-njaro, and is called the Kilema River), then 
a smaller one, and at last, near onr preordained camp¬ 
ing-place for the night—a charming 46 almost-island 5 5 
(this term sounds more expressive than peninsula), 
nearly surrounded by the little Mkuyuni River. You 
could hardly imagine a more romantically beautiful 
spot than this in which I camped. It was only 
approachable at one point-—where a huge tree trunk 
spanned the tiny gulf between the bank and the island, 
and formed a bridge over which to pass to and fro. 
It was this fallen tree which had made our camping- 
place a peninsula, for in lying across the stream its 
lower branches acted as a kind of dam by stopping all 
the stones, earth, and refuse washed down by the 
rivulet, and so forming in time a firm barrier that 
sent all the water careering round the other side of 
the island. In the centre of this pretty peninsula 
rose a gigantic sycamore fig-tree (which among the 
Swahili traders gave its name to this stream —Mkuyu 
■—a sycamore ; Mkuyuni —the place by the sycamore) 
—and under the vast canopy of its mighty branches 
the whole caravan encamped, feeling tolerably pro¬ 
tected from the weather by the leafy thatch o’er head. 
In all my previous African experiences I had never 
known what it was to be in real danger from the 
attacks of lions. The king of beasts had hitherto 
exhibited a provoking shyness and a persistent dislike 
to cultivate my acquaintance—so much so, that I 
often used to complain that I gained nothing from 
my wish to know the lion at home and that I might 
learn more about him in Regent’s Park than in the 
savagest wilds of Africa. But ever since the troubled 
night which we spent at the Mkuyuni, I ask no more for 
leonine visits, especially in the darkness of the small 
