Down the River—The Lake at Last—Selim describes the Lake’s Beauties—Kalulu answers Selim—Kalulu does not believe in Selim’s Sky-spirit.—The Journey on the Lake—Selim shoots a Zebra—Selim’s furious ride on a Zebra—Selim safe—The Tempest on the Lake—Slaves again.
The time to make a bold stroke towards regaining a country where they might meet friends came about three hours after darkness had fallen upon the earth. No sound had been heard to cause alarm: the bullfrogs growled inharmoniously among the wild spear-grass; the bull-crocodile woke the echoes with his hoarse roar; the black ibis had long ago hushed its harsh screams. It was surely time to be astir, for at this time of night peaceful Africans or weak parties seldom venture out of their villages.
They soon found the canoe, and without exchanging a word the men and boys cautiously got in, and Simba and Moto, each taking a paddle, drove the boat out until it reached the flood, and silently dipping their paddles in the water they guided their boat to the opposite side, and under the lee of the tall grass and mangrove trees impelled her along noiselessly.
They came abreast of the village, and they rested on their paddles; they passed it, and the work was resumed with caution. Once beyond the fields, Kalulu and Selim each took a paddle, and the increased muscle soon sent her swiftly gliding down. They were now passing through an uncultivated tract, and Simba exerted his giant strength, and Moto his sinew and muscle to the work, and the rapid progress they were making was seen by the swift flight of trees and branches and tall cane by them.
The stars, in bright galaxies and shiny myriads, lit their course, the river flow aided them, and the rapid rate at which they went exhilarated them. They were probably going down the river at the rate of five miles an hour, thus paddling with the current; nine hours of such work would put them out of reach of danger by morning, even should they be pursued; and provided they paddled on unseen by the natives no trace would be left behind by them.
This was a happy and expeditious way of travelling towards home, thought our people. The longest day’s march was nothing compared to the number of miles that may be travelled down stream, for even should they rest awhile the friendly current still conveyed them down towards their destination. So, blessing your stars, and your fortune, glide on my heroes, glide down until morning!
The day dawned and revealed their surroundings, prominent hills, all crowned with tall trees, with slopes descending rapidly to the river’s edge, a straight course before them; the current swifter; sometimes racing past the rocks with the speed of a rapid, and not a sign of cultivation about them anywhere. Cheered by the auspicious outlook they bent to their paddles with will and vigour.
Beyond the hill-country the river broadened and became sluggish in its flow; tall matete cane towered above them to the height of bamboo. This also was cheering, for except fishermen no tribe cares to live in such a sickly neighbourhood. After resting a short time and recruiting their strength with a breakfast of dried meat, they continued their course. Low, sandy islands rose in mid-stream, covered with reeds, on which lay, basking in the morning sun, several crocodiles, who rushed to their liquid homes at hearing the sound of the paddles, and on seeing the intruding canoe. On our friends rowed, past mangroves and groups of Eschinomense, which flung their random roots out in all directions; past sandy isles and patches of sandbars; through narrow channels, along which they raced, whither they knew not, whither they cared not, so they took them to the inland sea they were in search of.
At noon our party halted in the depths of a mangrove swamp, and went to sleep in the bottom of the canoe. In the dark night they woke thoroughly refreshed, and tasked their powers of digestion with some more beef, and then paddled out to the stream once more. Another night was passed under the beamy stars and dark-blue sky, while mild breezes bathed their hot brows, and tall cane gently nodded their heads as a token of farewell, and the leaves sighed their regrets at the evanishing canoe. The water broke in wavelets against her side, and formed a foamy wake behind. The bull-crocodile sonorously roared, and the bull hippo, at his banquet of tiger grass, uttered his deep base bellow, which strange noises the startled night caught up and pealed across the swampy fens and morasses, rousing the indignant and protesting frogs. Still silent sat the rowers, uttering no words, speechless as shadows; while the canoe cleft the murky-faced river, glided swiftly under the nodding reeds and sombrous mangrove, and halted not for frog or crocodile.
And morning came; and as the rising sun began to drive the mist of night away—lo! the lake at last! Liemba’s lake! And the hitherto speechless rowers burst into a triumphant shout and an enraptured “Ah!” as they thought the goal was won.