Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

to come in ;
FAR, YET NOT FARTHEST, IN 35
already, sufficient unto the canoe is the cargo
thereof. Truly a trial trip ! But if he conieth not this
cargo goeth not, so our funny friend lurches in feet first,
the intelligent idea being that if these really frightful feet
find room his meagre body can easily follow. Already
filling fast before you start, you are almost as wet as the
traditional drowned rat, and away you wobble on the
river. The water is now as much in the boat as the boat
in the water. Circling in many a creditable curve, you
long "to be over yonder," a negro glued to your back, a
brand-new boat and a brand-new experience. It is a
remarkable fact—and fact it is—that old Kasonkomona,
on the Lufira, used regularly to capsize his canoe at the
precise point where, on the morrow, he would dive for the
lost treasure—of course, after his half-drowned passenger
was well on his way to the next camp. A strong
swimmer, he always dramatically saved the sinking
voyager, the greedy glitter in his eyes bespeaking salvage
operations on the morrow — guns, spears, beads, all
harvested from the river bottom.
Another detail. At each of our camps we are forced,
gipsy-like, to build a culinary Ebenezer, not one but three
stones necessary for a pot-rest, each new bivouac appro-
priately demanding its new Ebenezer. " Hither by Thy
help I come," these sermonising stones seem to say every
time the pot mounts the memorial heap, and looking away
back out to the Ocean I see a long row of Ebenezers,
almost enough to build a Temple. That British tinsmith
who manufactured my camp copper kettle little guessed