and the first breath of spring gave life to the queer antediluvian vegetation—­calabash and cactus, palmyra, bombax, and fern.  An admirable mirage lifted the canoes which preceded us clean out of the river, and looking down stream the water seemed to flow up hill, as it does, according to Mrs.—–­, in the aqueducts of Madeira.  Although the tide began to flow up shortly after 10 A.M., and the sea-breeze wafe unusually strong, we covered the forty-five miles in 7 hrs. 15 m.  Amidst shouts of “Izakula Mundeh,”—­white men cum agen!—­we landed at Boma, and found that the hospitable Sr.  Pereira had waited dinner, to which I applied myself most “wishedly.”

Once more in civilization, we prepared for a march upon S. Salvador.

No white man at Boma knew anything of the road to the old Capital; but, as a letter had been received from it after three days’ march, there was evidently no difficulty.  I wrote to Porto da Lenha for an extra supply of “black money,” which was punctually forwarded; both Chico Furano and Nihama Chamvu volunteered for the journey, and preparations were progressing as rapidly as could be expected in these slow-moving lands, when they were brought to the abruptest conclusion.  On the 24th Sept. a letter from the Commodore of the station informed me that I had been appointed H. M.’s Commissioner to Dahome, and that, unless I could at once sail in H.M.S.  “Griffon,” no other opportunity would be found for some time.  The only step left was to apply for a canoe, and, after a kindly farewell to my excellent host, I left Boma on the evening of Sept. 25.

With a view of “doing” the mosquitoes, we ran down the Nshibul or central arm of the Nzadi, and found none of the whirlpools mentioned by the “Expedition” near Fetish Rock.  The bright clear night showed us silhouettes of dark holms, high and wooded to the north, and southwards banks of papyrus outlying long straggling lines of thin islands like a huge caterpillar.  The canoe-men attempted to land at one place, declaring that some king wanted “dash,” but we were now too strong for them:  these fellows, if allowed, will halt to speak every boat on the river.  The wind fell to a dead calm, and five hours and a half sufficed to cover the thirty miles between Boma and Porto da Lenha.  Here Mr. Scott supplied me with a fine canoe and a fresh crew of seven paddles.

The noon was grey and still as we left the Whydah of the south, but at 2 P.M. the sea-breeze came up stiff and sudden, the tide also began to flow; the river roared; the meeting of wind and water produced what the Indus boatmen call a “lahar” (tide rip), and the Thalweg became almost as rough as the Yellala.  Our canoe was literally

“Laying her whole side on the sea,
As a leaping fish does.”