deliberately overturn one canoe in the middle of the stream. Though it was in comparatively smooth water, as the Kwangola were unable to swim, they were all drowned. The canoe fortunately contained only eight men — one of whom was the interpreter Omarri, who swam ashore with his rifle in pursuit of the natives. From my perch on a rock I could of course do nothing, the roar of the cataract above preventing anyone from hearing the directions I shouted.

The catastrophe occupied only a few seconds: I saw a head and two hands appear, and the great river swept on, leaving no sign of what had taken place. Omarri returned to me, but the native paddlers all disappeared into the bush, and I saw none of them again. Towards evening we were still in the rapids, and, since there was great difficulty in getting Mohun's big canoe