The two boats provided for us looked very frail and small to carry two Europeans, eight “boys,” two steersmen, two balers-out of water, twelve rowers, and all our loads. The boats on this Lake are constructed of boards hewn out by native knives, and sewn together with cane. There are no seats for passengers, but sticks and grass are laid at the bottom. There was a big gale blowing when we wanted to make a start—foam-crested waves broke on the shingly shore as if it had been the Atlantic. One is surprised to miss the brine in the spray, forgetting momentarily that so immense an expanse of fretful water is other than an ocean. We waited two hours for the storm to abate, when the boatmen came saying we could put off. As soon, however, as we had rowed well out, the wind got up again and blew with terrific force; immediately the lake was lashed into anger, and had no mercy on our little craft. The oarsmen were quite unable to keep her from being driven broadside to the storm. Sitting at the bottom of the boat we watched wave after wave bear down upon us like a wall and break over our heads. The boatmen assured us that we could not stand much more, for the cane fibre that kept the boat together was rotten and giving way under the strength of the breakers. The heavy tossing made us feel wretchedly sea-sick, but we dared not let our courage flag, as the men were losing heart. We had drifted completely out of our course, but fortunately were driven toward one of the Sese Islands, which we ultimately reached, drenched through and very exhausted. Here we pitched our tent for the night, and as evening came a dead calm settled down on the Lake, and insect life awoke, swarming round us in clouds. All night we kept waking up to assure ourselves that we had not contracted sleeping sickness, as this was one of the haunts of that disease. The next morning dawned bright and calm, so we started before sunrise, startling the many gulls, divers, and herons that were indulging in a morning bath. The paddlers broke out into weird nautical songs; there is generally one man in a boat whose special work is to lead the singing to encourage the oarsmen. He begins with a loud shrill note, sustaining it with a few minor variations till a short stanza of the song is sung; then all the others join in with a deep, guttural grunt of assent to the words; this is repeated over and over and over again until the voice cracks. Seven hours’ rowing was as much as they would undertake in a day, so we landed on a beautiful little island which since then has been entirely depopulated by sleeping sickness. The sun was just about to say good-night when we put into Entebbe on the following day. The view from the water was quite enchanting. A bold, rocky promontory reminded one of a bit of the borderland coast between England and Scotland, otherwise the shore and islands were covered with the most prodigious forest growth.