wide, but very deep, swift, and clear. It flows between defined banks
and is set in a narrow strip of jungle. In places the bed widens out to
a carpet of the greenest green grass sown with flowers; at other places
it offers either mysterious thickets, spacious cathedrals, or snug
bowers. Immediately beyond the edge of this river jungle begins the
thorn scrub, more or less dense. Distant single mountains or buttes
serve as landmarks in a brush-grown, gently rising, strongly rolling
country. Occasional alluvial flats draw back to low cliffs not over
twenty feet high.

After the junction of the Tsavo, palms of various sorts replace to a
large extent the forest trees. Naturally also the stream widens and
flows more slowly. Outside the palms grow tall elephant-grass and bush.
Our marching had generally to be done in the narrow, neutral space
between these two growths. It was pleasant enough, with the river
snatching at the trailing branches, and the birds and animals rustling
away. Beyond the elephant-grass flats low ridges ran down to the river,
varying in width, but carrying always with them the dense thorn. Between
them ran recesses, sometimes three or four hundred acres in extent, high
with elephant-grass or little trees like alders. So much for the
immediate prospect on our right as we marched. Across the river to our
left were huge riven mountains, with great cliffs and cañons. As we
followed necessarily every twist and turn of the river, sometimes these
mountains were directly ahead of us, then magically behind, so that we
thought we had passed them by. But the next hour threw them again across
our trail. The ideal path would, of course, have cut across all the
bends and ridges; but the thorn of the ridges and the elephant-grass of
the flats forbade it. So we marched ten miles to gain four.

After days of struggle and deception we passed those mountains. Then we