back when a fine antelope-cheval rushed from the wood across the sandy
beach towards the water. Chikaia at once became very excited and wished
me to fire, but it was useless, as the beast was more than a hundred
yards away. It was satisfactory to find the boy was a keen sportsman,
even though he did not appreciate the different capacities of a gun and
a rifle. However, I made a mental note never to go, even for a casual
stroll in Africa, without both weapons.

On returning to the ship, we hear that the Captain's boy has killed a
hippo and that dozens of others are waiting to be shot. We therefore
determine to try some shooting by moonlight and Chikaia is delighted
when he sees the _gras_ as he calls my Lee-Metford come out of its case.
It is a beautiful night with clear, cool air. Streams of silver flow
from the moon on the water, while the palms tower high with majestic
crowns. Here we are in the very midst of real nature and yet again it
unpleasantly recalls the scenery of a theatre. It is indeed
extraordinary with what accuracy scenic artists construct tropical
scenes. The surroundings tend to make one sentimental and regret that
this veritable garden of Eden should be exploited to make billiard balls
and rubber tyres for automobiles and bicycles. The native also, instead
of hunting elephant and hippos, eating his fill and sleeping, and eating
again and sleeping again until the carcase has disappeared and then
hunting again, now has to collect rubber juice and cut wood for an ugly
looking steam flat. Such however, is civilisation in the Congo.

Spoor of elephants and hippos abound and the grunt of the latter can
frequently be heard, but they are not sitting up on their haunches
waiting to be shot. The clear, shrill chirp of the sentry bird is indeed
warning the big beasts that something strange is moving and we shall
have to lie still for a long while probably before getting a chance at