Kingwere, The Canoe Paddler, Espying Us From His Brake Covert, On The Opposite Side, Civilly Responded To Our Halloos, And Brought His Huge Hollowed Tree Skilfully Over The Whirling Eddies Of The River To Where We Stood Waiting For Him.

While one party loaded the canoe with our goods, others got ready a long rape to fasten around the animals' necks, wherewith to haul them through the river to the other bank.

After seeing the work properly commenced, I sat down on a condemned canoe to amuse myself with the hippopotami by peppering their thick skulls with my No. 12 smooth-bore. The Winchester rifle (calibre 44), a present from the Hon. Edward Joy Morris - our minister at Constantinople - did no more than slightly tap them, causing about as much injury as a boy's sling; it was perfect in its accuracy of fire, for ten times in succession I struck the tops of their heads between the ears. One old fellow, with the look of a sage, was tapped close to the right ear by one of these bullets. Instead of submerging himself as others had done he coolly turned round his head as if to ask, "Why this waste of valuable cartridges on us?" The response to the mute inquiry of his sageship was an ounce-and-a-quarter bullet from the smooth-bore, which made him bellow with pain, and in a few moments he rose up again, tumbling in his death agonies. As his groans were so piteous, I refrained from a useless sacrifice of life, and left the amphibious horde in peace.

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