people presently came up, and rated us for sleeping in the bush;
we retorted in kind, telling them that they should have been more
wide-awake. Whilst the boat was being baled, I walked to the
shore, and prospected our day's work. The forest showed a novel
feature: flocks of cottony mist-clouds curling amongst the trees,
like opals scattered upon a bed of emeralds; a purple haze banked
up the western horizon, whilst milk-white foam drew a delicate
line between the deep yellow sand and the still deeper blue. Far
to the south lay the Serna or prairillon of Sanga-Tanga, a
rolling patch, "or, on a field vert," backed by the usual dark
belt of the same, and fronted by straggling dots that emerged
from the wave--they proved to be a thin line of trees along
shore. We were lying inside the mouth of the "Habanyaa" alias the
Shark River, which flows along the south of a high grassy dome,
streaked here and there with rows of palms, and broken into the
semblance of a verdure-clad crater. According to the people the
Nkonje (Squalus) here is not a dangerous "sea-tiger" unless a man
wear red or carry copper bracelets; it is caught with hooks and
eaten as by the Chinese and the Suri Arabs. The streamlet is a
favourite haunt of the hippopotamus; a small one dived when it
sighted us, and did not reappear. It was the only specimen that I
saw during my three years upon the West African Coast,--a great
contrast to that of Zanzibar, where half a dozen may be shot in a
single day. The musket has made all the difference.

At 6 A.M. on Friday, March 28, the boat was safely carried over
the bar of Shark River, and we found ourselves once more hugging
the shore southwards. The day was exceptional for West Africa,
and much like damp weather at the end of an English May; the grey
air at times indulged us with a slow drizzle. After two hours we