I set out early on March 19th, a day, at that time, to me the
most melancholy in the year, but now regarded with philosophic
indifference. A parting visit to the gallant "Griffons," who
threw the slipper, in the shape of three hearty cheers and a
"tiger," wasted a whole morning. It was 12.30 P.M. before the
mission boat turned her head towards the southern bank, and her
crew began to pull in the desultory manner of the undisciplined
negro.

The morning had been clear but close, till a fine sea breeze set
in unusually early. "The doctor" seldom rises in the Gaboon
before noon at this season; often he delays his visit till 2
P.M., and sometimes he does not appear at all. On the other hand,
he is fond of late hours. Before we had progressed a mile,
suspicious gatherings of slaty-blue cloud-heaps advanced from the
north-east against the wind, with a steady and pertinacious
speed, showing that mischief was meant. The "cruel, crawling sea"
began to rough, purr, and tumble; a heavy cross swell from the
south-west dandled the up-torn mangrove twigs, as they floated
past us down stream, and threatened to swamp the deeply laden and
cranky old boat, which was far off letter A1 of Lloyd's. The
oarsmen became sulky because they were not allowed to make sail,
which, in case of a sudden squall, could not have been taken in
under half an hour. Patience! Little can be done, on the first
day, with these demi-semi-Europeanized Africans, except to
succeed in the inevitable trial of strength.