Now and then small reddish-brown crocodiles were seen sunning themselves on the sand-bars. One, not more than three feet in length, paid no attention to the revolver shots which threw up the water close to him. The little flying fish became more numerous as we went on, skimming here and there in the smooth pools. Twice we saw one dash at an insect, once a large bee and the second time a butterfly, but they were less successful in their insect hunting than the Swallows—both the Banded[118] and the Variegated[119]—which swooped across our bow. Whenever we went close to a bank we saw multitudes of a new flower, with its graceful rebarbed stamens, looking like the falling lines of sparks from a rocket. We lunched to-day on a splendid outcropping of rock on the left bank, after chasing into the cracks some big and remarkably colored tarantulas, with light red bodies and dark legs. One of the most delightful surprises on this trip was the boat songs of the blacks. How we wished afterwards that we had written down the words and music at the time. One melody remains clear in our memory: [Music] [Illustration: FIG. 115. THE FINAL STRUGGLE UP TO SMOOTH WATER.] The words of the songs were delightful. One never-ending refrain imparted the original and thrilling information that “A long time ago is a veree long time.” Another song was the Stevedore’s Shantée. Then all would break out in a wild harmony. “Dat citee hotel is de place wha I dwell, Fare thee well—fare thee well—my citee hotel, My citee hotel—my citee hotel.” The one of which we never tired was all about “Salina—mya dear,” and we made the men sing it over and over until they were breathless. Like all negroes they were full of spirits and childish humor. Their paddling was splendid but terribly wasteful of strength, as at the end of each stroke they gave a strong upward jerk, sending a shower of drops into the air. Our luggage ballyhoo was sometimes abreast of us across the river and when the sunlight was reflected from the eight circles of water thrown into the air at each stroke, the sight was a beautiful one.