C. G. Schillings, phot.
VIEW OF KILIMANJARO, TAKEN AT SUNSET.
The river now makes a great curve round to the right. A different kind of scene opens out to the gaze—a great stretch of open country. In the foreground the mud-banks of the stream are astir with huge crocodiles gliding into the water and moving about this way and that, like tree-trunks come suddenly to life. Now they vanish from sight, but only to take up their position in ambush, ready to snap at any breathing thing that comes unexpectedly within their reach. Doubtless they find it the more easy to sink beneath the surface of the river by reason of the great number of sometimes quite heavy stones they have swallowed, and have inside them. I have sometimes found as much as seven pounds of stones and pebbles in the stomach of a crocodile.
The deep reaches of the river are their special domain. Multitudes of birds frequent the shallows, knowing from experience that they are safe from their enemy. One of the most interesting things that have come under my observation is the way these birds keep aloof from the deep waters which the crocodiles infest. I have mentioned it elsewhere, but am tempted to allude to it once again.
Our attention is caught by the wonderful wealth of bird-life now spread out before us in every direction. Here comes a flock of the curious clatter-bills (Anastomus lamelligerus, Tem.) in their simple but attractive plumage. They have come in quest of food. Hundreds of other marsh-birds of all kinds have settled on the outspread branches of the trees, and enable us to distinguish between their widely differing notes.
Among these old trees that overhang the river, covered with creepers and laden with fruit of quaint shape, are Kigelia, tamarinds, and acacias. In amongst the dense branches a family of Angolan guereza apes (Colobus palliatus, Ptrs.) and a number of long-tailed monkeys are moving to and fro. Now a flock of snowy-feathered herons (Herodias garzetta, L., and Bubulcus ibis, L.) flash past, dazzlingly white—two hundred of them, at least—alighting for a moment on the brittle branches and pausing in their search for food. Gravely moving their heads about from side to side, they impart a peculiar charm to the trees. Now another flock of herons (Herodias alba, L.), also dazzlingly white, but birds of a larger growth, speed past, flying for their lives. Why is it that even here, in this remote sanctuary of animal life, within which I am the first European trespasser, these beautiful birds are so timorous? Who can answer that question with any certainty? All we know is, that it has come to be their nature to scour about from place to place in perpetual flight. Perhaps in other lands they have made acquaintance with man’s destructiveness. Perhaps they are endowed with keener senses than their smaller snow-white kinsfolk, which suffer us to approach so near, and which, like the curious clatter-bill (which have never yet been seen in captivity), evince no sign of shyness—nothing but a certain mild surprise—at the sight of man.
C. G. Schillings, phot.
KIBO IN THE FOREGROUND, WITH THE SADDLE-SHAPED RANGE CONNECTING IT WITH MAWENZI IN THE DISTANCE. THE AVERAGE HEIGHT OF THIS “SADDLE” IS MORE THAN 16,OOO FEET.