And
apparently my bullet hurt him no more than the whip the horse, for
he dropped heavily to all fours, and again disappeared into the
muddy river. Our disappointment and chagrin were intense, and at
once Anfossi and I organized a hunt for that evening. To encourage
us, while we were sitting on the bridge making a hasty dinner,
another hippopotamus had the impertinence to rise, blowing like a
whale, not ten feet from where we sat. We could have thrown our tin
cups and hit him; but he was in the water, and now we were seeking
only those on land.
[Illustration: Mr. Davis and Native "Boy," on the Kasai River.]
Two years ago when the atrocities along the Kasai made the natives
fear the white man and the white man fear the natives, each of the
river boats was furnished with a stand of Albini rifles. Three of
the black soldiers, who were keen sportsmen, were served with these
muskets, and as soon as the moon rose, the soldiers and Anfossi, my
black boy, with an extra gun, and I set forth to clear the island of
hippos. To the stranger it was a most curious hunt. The island was
perfectly flat and bare, and the river had eaten into it and
overflowed it with tiny rivulets and deep, swift-running streams.
Into these rivulets and streams the soldiers plunged, one in front,
feeling the depth of the water with a sounding rod, and as he led we
followed. The black men made a splendid picture. They were naked but
for breech-cloths, and the moonlight flashed on their wet skins and
upon the polished barrels of the muskets.
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