the scene, put imaginary guns to their shoulders give a loud bang and then describe circles with their hands to give a dumb show of the bird falling, laughing and shouting all the time.  They are really just like young children and are easily pleased by trifles.  After walking some distance the sergeant becomes wildly excited and clutches me violently by the arm but makes no noise.  Looking up I see a large monkey but signify that I will not shoot those beasts.  He then asks permission to fire his rifle and brings it down with a shot through the head.  After this we paddle on to the hippo ground.  After the very first shot at a head fifty yards away, the canoe suddenly gives a great lurch and as nearly as possible capsizes.  Another great beast had evidently chosen that moment to come up just under it and if we had not been a heavy load, would undoubtedly have thrown it high in the air.  As it was, beyond a shaking, no one was damaged and we had excellent sport for a few minutes until the animals made for the bank and hid themselves in the long grass.

Behind Irebu is a plain, where the grass is really green, the green that is only seen in the tropics.  Here and there are clumps of palms and patches of forest, the whole giving the appearance of a well kept park.  There are antelope and wild pig here but they are very difficult to stalk owing to the open character of the ground.  There are also a few red-legged partridges and many pigeons so that one always found something to shoot.

The native camp here consists of a large square shut off by a wooden fence.  Inside are large huts in which the soldiers live, and oddly enough, they all prefer to have separate establishments, each woman preparing the food for her husband.  These women also work in the plantation when they are not concerned with the business of maternity, which judging by the number of children about, must be very seldom.  The native cemetery is a curious-looking place, for on each grave is placed the clothes of the dead one and any other belongings he has.  No one knows the origin or object of this custom.  They are not for the journey to the happy hunting ground apparently, for missionaries say they have never heard the natives speak of any kind of a future state.  It may be that these articles are merely to show the wealth of the departed; they are however, all broken or torn to shreds, so that no robber should be tempted to take them.  Many of the tribes are said to eat their dead, except those of high position and those who die of infectious diseases, and others used to throw the corpses in the river.  Some tribes however, have a very elaborate funeral with much wailing and lamenting and the departed is interred beneath his own hut, which is never occupied again.