The natives
of Kigongo warned us not to attempt it, as the water was over our
heads; but I had only to give a hint to the men, and we set on our
way. Even the water - we were getting quite amphibious - was better
than the horrible filth and piles of decaying vegetation which
were swept against the boma of the village.
We were soon up to our armpits, then the water shallowed to the
knee, then we stepped up to the neck, and waded on tiptoe,
supporting the children above the water; and the same experiences
occurred as those which we suffered the day before, until we were
halted on the edge of the Little Makata, which raced along at the
rate of eight knots an hour; but it was only fifty yards wide,
and beyond it rose a high bank, and dry park-lands which extended
as far as Simbo. We had no other option than to swim it; but it
was a slow operation, the current was so swift and strong.
Activity and zeal, high rewards, presents of money, backed by the
lively feeling that we were nearing home, worked wonders, and in
a couple of hours we were beyond the Makata.
Cheery and hopeful, we sped along the dry, smooth path that now
lay before us, with the ardor and vivacity of heroes, and the
ease and power of veterans, We rolled three ordinary marches
into one that day, and long before night arrived at Simbo.
