At last we are to stay for the night. We must try to find a clear space where the natives will have room to light a fire and arrange their beds. Besides, the clearer a place is, the fewer are the mosquitoes. There is difficulty in finding a spot in the Elephant marsh even with these slender qualifications. To-night, moreover, everything is wet. But the natives, in cases where cooking is required, can soon work wonders. One of them lands, exclaiming, “I am like a monkey—without a knife, without a fire”. In his story of the Magomero Mission, Mr. Rowley tells us that this place was destitute of firewood, and we find it so still. But the native gets hold of a knife with which he cuts down a few of the tall reeds, and in a short time there is a blazing fire, and the cooking goes on in excellent style. The party then dry their beds and their clothes, and keep talking till midnight. The roar of the lion is occasionally heard, and the hippopotami are quite close—snorting and splashing. Since our adventure on Sunday their presence has always caused some remark, and now we are specially warned that it is dangerous to keep a light burning in the boat in case they should charge us again. On _Thursday_ the rains have cleared off, and a special effort is to be made to reach the palm trees. We saw them before us yesterday, and had hoped to reach them. The Missionaries of Magomero had this “immense grove before them for several days”. On reaching them we shall have firewood, but for the present the men pick up any stray piece of wood that they see and carefully put it in the boat. We stop at noon, and then the crew have breakfast. This consists of porridge and a “relish,” which may be ground nuts, beans or a piece of flesh or fish. Their method of eating would strike a new comer as being very unrefined, but when we remember that the use of knives and forks (especially of the latter) is quite an innovation, we can easily excuse the manners of the native. Besides, he does not at once acknowledge the superiority of the European methods. As soon as the porridge is produced, all the boatmen wash their hands very slightly, and then fall upon the “mess” with their fingers. Each man helps himself to a large handful of porridge. This he gives an affectionate squeeze for the purpose of adapting part of it to the size of his mouth, and then the business proceeds. One hand is occupied with the relish, while the other supplies the porridge and makes it into proper morsels. When the large dish is emptied they all lick their hands, and one man whirls his finger round the inside of the plate and takes off all the porridge that remains. They next wipe their hands on their loin cloth (their only garment) or on the grass; and then these simple children of nature have finished their repast.