Mid-day we passed a small island which is inhabited by fisher folk. They trap the fish by means of baskets with inverted necks like a safety ink-pot. Someone suggested pulling into shore in a canoe that was passing at the time for the purpose of buying some fish, but the people had misinterpreted our intentions and had armed themselves with spears, and were waiting for us entrenched behind large rocks. So it was decided to lunch off tinned sausages that day! Our prospects of landing and enjoying a change at night from the hard boards of the dhow were shattered by the captain assuring us that he could not possibly waste such a splendid wind as was blowing, but must push on. Accordingly, mattresses and pillows were pulled out and spread on the deck, so that our couch might be a trifle more comfortable than on the preceding night. The wind did blow, and the dhow pitched to and fro like the tub of Diogenes. He must have been a better sailor than most of us were, else he could never have steered his craft. It was wonderful how the food was cooked. The Swahili boys are prodigies, and can somehow manage under any condition. Finding a large iron tray they built up their wood fires on it in the bow of the boat and with the usual three stones they boiled their kettle, saucepan or other kitchen requisites. The scenery round the shores of the lake is exceedingly pretty. The land gently slopes upward. Here and there a belt of forest stretches down to the water’s edge; the grass huts huddled together in small communities just appear peeping out from the creeks and woods, and birds of gorgeous colours fly about or build their nests in the branches overhanging the water’s edge. On the third day of our trip we were becalmed, and it was decided to land on an island for the night so that we might get a complete change of toilet and rest. There was no canoe at hand to take us ashore, so a raft was constructed of poles and two large Masai hide shields which had been given me up country. We crossed over, two by two, carefully balanced in the centre of the raft, with shoes and stockings in our hands. The men managed to get a few things across, but the raft would not bear the weight of the tents. A ground sheet was once more utilized by tying it to branches of trees to form a covering over our camp and beds at night. Looking through the mosquito net I saw the stars peeping down, and the fireflies and glow worms lighting up the air and shrubs, and heard the croaking of the frogs and the night bird cooing in the trees. It seemed like a page out of childhood’s fairy book.