Leaving Busaiga, we descended to a wide plateau, which was most likely at one time a lake bed, but the water has run off and left it quite dry. The curious parallel gorges, where villages now nestle, resemble immense yawning cracks formed by the land calling out for water. In one of these clefts, where there was a sleepy little hamlet, we pitched camp. The old chief of the place was sitting in his courtyard contentedly smoking a huge pipe. He did not take the least notice of our arrival, and, from what he said, if we had been a party of plunderers, he would have assumed exactly the same immovable attitude. It was a very stuffy place; the heat seemed to fall down listlessly in the little valley and had no strength to move off at night. As for the varieties of insects that visited us as the candles were lit, even the most initiated naturalist must have been puzzled at classifying them. [Illustration: THE SEMLIKI RIVER.] On the following day we were up at daybreak to cheat the sun, which we expected would do its worst for us in the exposed Semliki plain. When we reached that level, although it was only 8.0 a.m., the heat was almost unbearable. The little donkey must have felt it rather badly, for it upset itself in the mud, and this twisted into weird contortions the invaluable umbrella that was being carried on its back. The Semliki River has to be crossed half-way across the plain; its waters are of a thick grey colouring, and in them are smuggled away crocodiles, all sorts of fierce fish with tusk-like teeth, and fever germs. A big dug-out canoe came over from the opposite bank to ferry us across, and then returned to fetch our porters, ass, and cows. The animals took most naturally to the skiff—which might perhaps be traced back to their ancestors of the Ark period. In the cool of the afternoon an old fisherman punted me out in his canoe. He attracted my attention to a big crocodile drawn up on the bank—it suddenly woke from its sleep and slipped into the water for an evening ablution. These dug-outs are scarcely what you might call inviting. I have never seen one that does not leak considerably, and it is difficult to imagine yourself comfortable when seated on a few rushes at the bottom of the boat, feeling all the time the water oozing in under you. Antelopes simply abound in the plain. In one spot alone there must have stood forty of these peaceful creatures. They evidently understand that all their district is preserved against the sportsman, for they now venture quite close to the path and look at passers by with the greatest impertinence. Two fine creatures with handsome antlers stood defying our caravan only about fifty yards away, and simply refused to be frightened off.