The March to Banza Nkulu . 267 
We prepared to bivouac under a fine shady 
Saffu, or wild fig, a low, thick trunk whose dark 
foliage, fleshy as the lime-leaf, so often hangs its 
tresses over the river, and whose red berries may 
feed man as well as monkey. The yellow flowers 
of hypericum, blooming around us, made me 
gratefully savour our escape from mangrove and 
pandamus. About sunset a gentle shower, the 
first of the season, caused the fisher-boys to dance 
with joy ; it lasted two good hours, and then it was 
dispersed by a strong westerly breeze. Canoes 
and lights flashed before our eyes during half the 
night; and wild beasts, answering one another 
from rock to rock, hundreds of feet above us, 
added a savage, African feature to the goodly 
mise-en-scene. 
Arising early next morning, I was assured that 
it is necessary to cross the stream in order to 
reach the Cataracts. Tuckey did so, but further 
inquiry convinced me that it is a mistake to march 
along the northern bank. Of course, in skirting 
the southern side, we should not have approached 
so near the stream, where bluffs and debris ren¬ 
dered travelling hopeless. The amiable ichthyo- 
phagi agreed for two fathoms of fancy cloth to 
ferry us across the river, which is here half a mile 
broad. The six-knot current compels canoes to 
run up the left shore by means of its backwater, 
and, when crossing, to make allowance for the 
