stems all right, but could not manage to get through the
downward-pointing spikes of the dead leaves. F. tried and failed, to the
great amusement of the men, but to the greater amusement of myself. I
was a wise person, and lay on my back on a canvas cot, so it was not
much bother to look up and enjoy life. Not to earn absolutely the stigma
of laziness, I tried to shoot some nuts down. This did not work either,
for the soft, spongy stems closed around the bullet holes. Then a little
wizened monkey of a Swahili porter, having watched our futile
performances with interest, nonchalantly swarmed up; in some mysterious
manner he wriggled through the defences, and perched in the top, whence
he dropped to us a dozen big green nuts. Our men may not have been much
of a success at climbing for nuts; but they were passed masters at the
art of opening them. Three or four clips from their awkward swordlike
pangas, and we were each presented with a clean, beautiful, natural
goblet brimming full of a refreshing drink.

About this time a fine figure of a man drifted into camp. He was very
smooth-skinned, very dignified, very venerable. He was pure Swahili,
though of the savage branch of that race, and had none of the negro
type of countenance. In fact, so like was he in face, hair, short square
beard and genial dignity to a certain great-uncle of mine that it was
very hard to remember that he had on only a small strip of cloth, that
he was cherishing as a great treasure a piece of soap box he had
salvaged from the shore, and that his skin was red chocolate. I felt
inclined to talk to him as to an intellectual equal, especially as he
had a fine resonant bass voice that in itself lent his remarks some
importance. However, I gave him two ordinary wood screws, showed him how
they screwed in and out, and left him happy.

After supper the moon rose, casting shadows of new and unknown shapes