Tati sat in a brown study for a few minutes, and then, looking up, said: “There were five buffaloes; but only four tracks.” Semo, who was Tati’s rival in this game, instantly cried out: “Fingers” as the answer, because while there are five fingers on a hand there are only four tracks, i. e. spaces between them.
Semo was then asked to give one, and without a moment’s thought he cried out: “My father’s fowls laid their eggs under the leaves.” All kinds of guesses were made; but at last admitting their failure, Semo said: “Peanuts,” and of course they all saw it at once--peanuts grow under the ground beneath their own leaves.
Semo was called upon for another riddle, and after a short pause he said: “I went to a strange town, and they gave me one-legged fowls to eat.” This one also was too difficult for them to guess, and after many attempts Semo had to give the answer, viz. Mushrooms, which have only one stalk (i. e. one leg) on which to stand.
Soon after this the talk became general, and gradually died away as one by one they rolled themselves in their mats and went to sleep, leaving the fires brightly burning to throw out warmth to the sleepers and to frighten away hippopotami, crocodiles and sundry other creatures. During the night the snorting of hippopotami could be heard as they gambolled in the shallow water near the bank; and occasionally the switch of a crocodile became audible as it hurried by in search of food for its cruel but never-satiated jaws; many noises also came from the dark forest just beyond the settlement, that filled the night with weirdness and made the first glow of dawn welcome to men, birds and beasts.
A CONGO HUT.
THE LOWER CONGO RIVER ABOUT 90 MILES FROM THE SEA.
Just as the sun peeped above the eastern horizon bells began to ring, and the whole station awoke to life. My friends, the crew, hurriedly came from their mats, and were soon carrying bales, boxes and bottles ashore, under the directions of a white man, and in an hour or so all the goods for that station were discharged, and the steamer was pushing its nose against the strong current of brown, oily-looking water to the next up-river station.
The higher we ascended the river the narrower it became, and the more powerful was the rush of water on its ever-scurrying way to the sea. Whirlpools opened up at the most unexpected places, making the steamer roll and pitch, and straining the engines until they panted and groaned in their never-ceasing struggle with the giant current. Twice we were twisted round in a place called the Devil’s Cauldron and carried down-river, but at the third attempt the giant was conquered, and an hour or so later we were tied up to a wharf at the highest point on the Lower River.