“Oh, it’s all mighty fine,” replied Frank, his temper rising at the idea of being carried, which he supposed would cause him to be made a laughing-stock to everybody. “I don’t believe this fall is as bad as you say it is. The noise is not like that of the fall which we have passed, and I feel sure if I went to look at it myself I would soon find a way.” “Well, if you doubt me, send Mpwapwa and Shumari and Marzouk to see, and if they say there is a road I will try it if you command me.” Then Frank despatched two of them to examine, and after a few moments they returned, saying it was impassable by water. Frank laughed bitterly, and said, “I knew what you would say. The Wangwana are always cowardly in the water; the least little ripple has before this been magnified into a great wave. If I had only four white men with me I would soon show you whether we could pass it or not.” Frank referred, no doubt, to his companions on the Medway or Thames, as by profession he was a bargeman or waterman, and being a capital swimmer had many a time exhibited to the admiring people, especially at Nzabi creek, his skill in the art of swimming and diving. At the death of Kalulu he expressed great surprise that not one of the five then lost had been saved, and declared his conviction that Kalulu Falls would never have drowned him, upon which I had described a whirlpool to him, and when, with an apparent instinct for the water, he sought occasions to exhibit his dexterity, I had cautioned him against being too venturesome, and kept him to his land duties. The success of Nubi, who was also a good swimmer, at the whirlpool of the Lady Alice Rapids, confirmed him in his idea that a perfect swimmer ran no danger from them. At this moment he forgot all my caution, and probably his high spirit had secretly despised it. But he was also goading brave men to their and his own destruction. His infirmity manifested itself in jeering at the men for whom with me he had not sufficient adjectives at command to describe their sterling worth; for he, as well as I, was well aware of Uledi’s daring, and of his heroic exploit at the Fifth Cataract of the Stanley Falls he was himself a witness. Poor Frank, had some good angel but warned me of this scene, how easily he had been saved! “Little master,” said the coxswain gravely, stung to the quick, “neither white men nor black men can go down this river alive, and I do not think it right that you should say we are afraid. As for me, I think you ought to know me better. See! I hold out both hands, and all my fingers will not count the number of lives I have saved on this river. How then can you say, master, I show fear?” “Well, if you do not, the others do,” retorted Frank.