"All Fan Now," Says Singlet In Anything But A
Gratified Tone Of Voice.
It is a strange, wild, lonely bit of the world we are now in,
apparently a lake or broad
- Full of sandbanks, some bare and some in
the course of developing into permanent islands by the growth on
them of that floating coarse grass, any joint of which being torn
off either by the current, a passing canoe, or hippos, floats down
and grows wherever it settles. Like most things that float in these
parts, it usually settles on a sandbank, and then grows in much the
same way as our couch grass grows on land in England, so as to form
a network, which catches for its adopted sandbank all sorts of
floating debris; so the sandbank comes up in the world. The waters
of the wet season when they rise drown off the grass; but when they
fall, up it comes again from the root, and so gradually the sandbank
becomes an island and persuades real trees and shrubs to come and
grow on it, and its future is then secured.
We skirt alongside a great young island of this class; the sword
grass some ten or fifteen feet high. It has not got any trees on it
yet, but by next season or so it doubtless will have. The grass is
stabbled down into paths by hippos, and just as I have realised who
are the road-makers, they appear in person. One immense fellow,
hearing us, stands up and shows himself about six feet from us in
the grass, gazes calmly, and then yawns a yawn a yard wide and
grunts his news to his companions, some of whom - there is evidently
a large herd - get up and stroll towards us with all the flowing
grace of Pantechnicon vans in motion. We put our helm paddles hard
a starboard and leave that bank.
Our hasty trip across to the bank of the island on the other side
being accomplished, we, in search of seclusion and in the hope that
out of sight would mean out of mind to hippos, shot down a narrow
channel between semi-island sandbanks, and those sandbanks, if you
please, are covered with specimens - as fine a set of specimens as
you could wish for - of the West African crocodile. These
interesting animals are also having their siestas, lying sprawling
in all directions on the sand, with their mouths wide open. One
immense old lady has a family of lively young crocodiles running
over her, evidently playing like a lot of kittens. The heavy musky
smell they give off is most repulsive, but we do not rise up and
make a row about this, because we feel hopelessly in the wrong in
intruding into these family scenes uninvited, and so apologetically
pole ourselves along rapidly, not even singing. The pace the canoe
goes down that channel would be a wonder to Henley Regatta. When
out of ear-shot I ask Pagan whether there are many gorillas,
elephants, or bush cows round here.
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