At the word of command the column began to advance and the interest reached a fever heat.

The swamp was five or six hundred yards long, and for the first three hundred yards nothing of a thrilling sort occurred.

The shouts of the beaters blended into a rhythmic, melodious chant and the swish of their sticks as they thrashed the reeds was enough to make even the king of beasts apprehensive.
[Photograph: Abdi, the Somali Head-man] [Photograph: Along the Nzoia River] [Photograph: Beating a Swamp for Lions] Over on my side of the swamp there was a wide extension of dry reeds and bushes through which I was obliged to go in order to keep in touch with the skirmish line of porters.

We had got three-quarters the full length of the swamp and any moment might reasonably expect to hear from a lion if there was one ahead of us.

Every rifle was at readiness and the porters were advancing less impetuously.