There was no great difficulty with the mules. One gave a lead, and then the rest swam across, the boys swimming beside them. But with the donkeys it was a different matter. The men tried coaxing them, leading them, whacking them. It was all no good. The donkeys settled into the firm, resolute stubbornness of their kind, which is invincible, and it seemed as if the expedition would be left in the condition of a wasp that has been cut through the middle—the active half in one place and the “portage and storage” half in another. Sunset began before progress had been made, and the air was quickly becoming colder. Finally we solved the problem by brute force. Five fixed nooses were tied in a long rope, and five donkeys’ heads were put in the nooses. Then we, on the further side of the stream, hauled on to the rope. It was a “tug of war,” and we moved the donkeys. Then one of us took the rope back in the boat, and the next batch came over by “cable ferry.” There was a chance that the donkeys would struggle and strangle or drown themselves, but all were pulled across without casualties. The last three made the journey just after six o’clock. Of course our men had to be in the water with the beasts to steady them, and keep them in place, and all worked with a will. Some were in the stream, off and on, for three or four hours, and the cold was sharp when the sun sank. Unluckily there was no wood near our camping-ground, so they had no fire to cheer them afterwards, and could not dry their wet clothes. The Habashes, when they cross a ford of this kind, roll all their garments into a bundle, which they carry on their heads while they swim or wade. We were all sorry for the mischance which denied the boys warmth after a wetting, and we served out a nip of green chartreuse to those who had been in the water longest. On the next day, January 16, we had before us the business of fording the river Gumara, and, to avoid a repetition of the trouble with the donkeys, we determined to strike away from the lakeside, so as to reach the stream where we could go over on foot. Dupuis found that this route would bring him close to the Debra Tabor road, and at once resolved to set off, on the following morning, with a light baggage train, to pay a visit of thanks to Ras Gouksha, who was at that place. Crawley was to accompany him, while I stayed in charge of the camp. It was a short march from our halting-place beside the Reb to the ford by which we were to cross the Gumara, and we did not start till eleven o’clock. The baggage animals were able to have a feed of grass, and they and the boys alike were warmed by the sun before our journey began. All needed a little rest and comfort after the previous day’s work. It is a plain country between the Reb and the Gumara, partly covered at that season by tall, dry grass, and partly by swamp-grass standing in ooze. In the wet months the whole tract is a morass.