At 7.30 A.M. on the next day the loads were placed upon the crew’s heads, and we made for the village, where the boat was still drawn up.  The “monoxyle” was full of green-brown rain water, the oar-pins were represented by bits of stick, and all the furniture was wanting.  After a time, the owner, duly summoned, stalked down from his hut, and began remarking that there was still a “palaver” on the stocks.  I replied by paying him his money, and ordering the craft to be baled and launched.  It was a spectacle to see the bushmen lying upon their bellies, kicking their heels in the air, and yep-yep-yeping uproariously when Forteune, their master, begged of them to bear a hand.  Dean Presto might have borrowed from them a hint for his Yahoos.  The threat to empty the Alugu (rum) upon the sand was efficacious.  One by one they rose to work, and in the slowest possible way were produced five oars, of which one was sprung, a ricketty rudder, a huge mast, and a sail composed half of matting and half of holes.  At the last moment, the men found that they had no “chop;” a franc produced two bundles of sweet manioc, good travelling food, as it can be eaten raw, but about as nutritious as Norwegian bark.  At the last, last moment, Langobumo, who was to accompany us, remembered that he had neither fine coat nor umbrella,—­indispensable for dignity, and highly necessary for the delicacy of his complexion, which was that of an elderly buffalo.  A lad was started to fetch these articles; and he set off at a hand-gallop, making me certain that behind the first corner he would subside into a saunter, and lie down to rest on reaching the huts.

Briefly, it was 9 A.M. before we doubled Point Nyonye, which had now been so long in sight.  With wind, tide, and current dead against us, we hugged the shore where the water is deep.  The surf was breaking in heavy sheets upon a reef or shoal outside, and giving ample occupation to a hovering flock of fish-eating birds.  Whilst returning over water smooth as glass I observed the curious effect of the current.  Suddenly a huge billow would rear like a horse, assume the shape of a giant cobra’s head, fall forward in a mass of foam, and subside gently rippling into the calm surface beyond; the shadowy hollow of the breakers made them appear to impinge upon a black rock, but when they disappeared 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.