The turbid Kingani, famous for its hippopotami, was reached in a short time, and we began to thread the jungle along its right bank until we were halted point-blank by a narrow sluice having an immeasurable depth of black mud. The difficulty presented by this was very grave, though its breadth was barely eight feet; the donkeys, and least of all the horses, could not be made to traverse two poles like our biped carriers, neither could they be driven into the sluice, where they would quickly founder. The only available way of crossing it in safety was by means of a bridge, to endure in this conservative land for generations as the handiwork of the Wasungu. So we set to work, there being no help for it, with American axes--the first of their kind the strokes of which ever rang in this part of the world--to build a bridge. Be sure it was made quickly, for where the civilized white is found, a difficulty must vanish. The bridge was composed of six stout trees thrown across, over these were laid crosswise fifteen pack saddles, covered again with a thick layer of grass. All the animals crossed it safely, and then for a third time that morning the process of wading was performed. The Kingani flowed northerly here, and our course lay down its right bank. A half mile in that direction through a jungle of giant reeds and extravagant climbers brought us to the ferry, where the animals had to be again unloaded--verily, I wished when I saw its deep muddy waters that I possessed the power of Moses with his magic rod, or what would have answered my purpose as well, Aladdin's ring, for then I could have found myself and party on the opposite side without further trouble; but not having either of these gifts I issued orders for an immediate crossing, for it was ill wishing sublime things before this most mundane prospect.