up and down in the water. Mountmorres is just
ahead in his canoe and easily within reach but to
my surprise his paddlers suddenly turn away from the
bank and make for mid-stream evidently straining every
muscle. Turning round I order my crew to pull
rapidly to the rescue but to my disgust they also
turn into mid-stream and take no notice of my command.
Having asked Chikaia the meaning of this he replied:
La petite bete qui mange l’homme.
Chikaia’s knowledge of zoology and French being
somewhat limited every animal is for him either a
petite. or a grande bete. The information
was therefore not very valuable for it was impossible
to imagine what small beast was in the habit of eating
people. Thinking, however, of a crocodile I took
my rifle but Chikaia laughed and said: “Non,
non, la petite.” By this time we were well
out in mid-stream opposite the kitchen canoe which—to
add to the mystery—was not upset at all.
The cook, the crew, the goats and the fowls were all,
however, in the water. No danger was apparent
for the crew were swimming at their ease and hoisting
the live stock back into the canoe. It is useless
being astonished at anything in Africa and there was
obviously nothing to do but sit still while the crew
raced along as fast as they could paddle. In
a few minutes they pulled into the bank and there
we waited for the kitchen which presently appeared
with the cook reclining in the arms of one of the crew
and moaning: “Je mart, je mort.”
After a rapid examination, however, I could find nothing
at all the matter. At length we discover the truth.
His canoe had run into a large hornet’s nest
hanging from the branch of a tree and he had been
stung in the head. To avoid further damage, he
and the whole of the crew not only jumped into the
water themselves but threw all the live stock overboard
as well, for the natives believe that the sting of
this insect kills and they fear it more than an encounter
with a wild beast. The cook was therefore in
a highly hysterical condition and no doubt in considerable
pain also although no mark of a sting could be discovered,
amidst his thick curly black hair. Still I took
him into my canoe, gave him whisky internally and
bathed his head with permanganate of potassium and
he was quite well next day. After this delay we
struggle on until just before dark we reached the worst
rapid on the river the Kandoko Falls, up which the
canoes are lifted inch by inch. Everything was
already wet so the fact that a terrific tornado burst
before we could pitch the tents added but little to
our discomfort.