About 4 A.M. In The Moonlight We
Started To Drop Down River On The Tail Of The Land Breeze, And As I
Observed Obanjo Wanted To Sleep I Offered To Steer.
After putting
me through an examination in practical seamanship, and passing me,
he gladly accepted my offer, handed over the tiller which stuck out
across my bamboo staging, and went and curled himself up, falling
sound asleep among the crew in less time than it takes to write.
On
the other nights we spent on this voyage I had no need to offer to
steer; he handed over charge to me as a matter of course, and as I
prefer night to day in Africa, I enjoyed it. Indeed, much as I have
enjoyed life in Africa, I do not think I ever enjoyed it to the full
as I did on those nights dropping down the Rembwe. The great,
black, winding river with a pathway in its midst of frosted silver
where the moonlight struck it: on each side the ink-black mangrove
walls, and above them the band of star and moonlit heavens that the
walls of mangrove allowed one to see. Forward rose the form of our
sail, idealised from bed-sheetdom to glory; and the little red glow
of our cooking fire gave a single note of warm colour to the cold
light of the moon. Three or four times during the second night,
while I was steering along by the south bank, I found the mangrove
wall thinner, and standing up, looked through the network of their
roots and stems on to what seemed like plains, acres upon acres in
extent, of polished silver - more specimens of those awful slime
lagoons, one of which, before we reached Ndorko, had so very nearly
collected me.
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