like a beast.

Our life in its routine was regular; in its details bizarre and full of
the unexpected. Every morning we arose an hour before day, and ate by
lantern light and the gleam of fires. At the first gray we were afoot
and on the march. F. and I, with our gunbearers, then pushed ahead down
the river, leaving the men to come along as fast or as slowly as they
pleased. After about six hours or so of marching, we picked out a good
camp site, and lay down to await the safari. By two o'clock in the
afternoon camp was made. Also it was very hot. After a light lunch we
stripped to the skin, lay on our cots underneath the mosquito canopies,
and tried to doze or read. The heat at this time of day was blighting.
About four o'clock, if we happened to be inspired by energy, one or the
other of us strolled out at right angles to the stream to see what we
could see. The evening was tepid and beautiful. Bathed and pyjama-clad
we lolled in our canvas chairs, smoking, chatting or listening to the
innumerable voices of the night.

Such was the simple and almost invariable routine of our days. But
enriching it, varying it, disguising it even--as rain-squalls, sunshine
cloud shadow, and unexpected winds modify the landscape so well known
from a study window--were the incredible incidents and petty adventures
of African travel.

The topography of the river itself might be divided very roughly into
three: the headwater country down to its junction with the Tsavo the
palm-elephant-grass stretch, and the gorge and hill district just before
it crosses the rail road.

The headwater country is most beautiful The stream is not over ten feet