the sea was placid and unbroken as before. This is, in fact, the
typical "roller" of the Gaboon coast--a happy hunting ground for
slavers and a dangerous place for cruizers to attempt. As the
sea-breeze came up strong, the swell would have swamped a
European boat; but our conveyance, shaped like a ship's gig, but
Dalmatian or Dutchman-like in the bows, topped the waves with the
buoyancy of a cork, and answered her helm as the Arab obeys the
bit. To compact grain she added small specific gravity, and,
though stout and thick, she advanced at a speed of which I could
hardly believe her capable.

Past Nyonye the coast forms another shallow bay, with about ten
miles of chord, in every way a copy of its northern neighbour--
the same scene of placid beauty, the sea rimmed with opalline
air, pink by contrast with the ultramarine blue; the limpid ether
overhead; the golden sands, and the emerald verdure--a Circe,
however, whose caress is the kiss of death. The curve is bounded
south by Point Dyanye, which appeared to retreat as we advanced.
At 2 P.M., when the marvellous clearness of the sky was troubled
by a tornado forming in the north-east, we turned towards a
little inlet, and, despite the heavy surf, we disembarked without
a ducking. A creek supplied us with pure cold water, a spreading
tree with a roof, and the soft clean shore with the most
luxurious of couches--at 3 P.M. I could hardly persuade myself
that an hour had flown.

As we approached Dyanye, at last, a village hoisted the usual big
flag on the normal tall pole, and with loud cries ordered us to
land. Langobumo, who was at the helm, began obeying, when I
relieved him of his charge. Seeing that our course was unaltered,