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, a large and well-manned canoe put off, and the rest of the population walked down shore.  I made signs for the stranger not to approach, when the head man, Angilah, asked me in English what he had done to offend me, and peremptorily insisted upon my sleeping at his village.  All these places are looking forward to the blessed day when a trader, especially a white trader, shall come to dwell amongst the “sons of the soil,” and shall fill their pockets with “trust” money.  On every baylet and roadstead stands the Casa Grande, a large empty bungalow, a factory in embryo awaiting the Avatar; but, instead of attracting their “merchant” by collecting wax and honey, rubber and ivory, the people will not work till he appears.  Consequently, here, as in Angola and in the lowlands of the Brazil, it is a slight to pass by without a visit; and jealousy, a ruling passion amongst Africans, suggests that the stranger is bound for another and rival village.  They wish, at any rate, to hear the news, to gossip half the night, to drink the Utangani’s rum, and to claim a cloth for escorting him, will he, nill he, to the next settlement.  But what could I do?  To indulge native prejudice would have stretched my cruize to a fortnight; and I had neither time, supplies, nor stomach for the task.  So Langobumo was directed to declare that they had a “wicked white man” on board who e’en would gang his ane gait, who had no goods but weapons, and who wanted only to shoot a njina, and to visit Sanga-Tanga, where his brother “Mpolo” had been.  All this was said in a sneaking, deprecating tone, and the crew, though compelled to ply their oars, looked their regrets at the exceedingly rude and unseemly conduct of their Utangani.  Angilah followed chattering till he had learned all the novelties; at last he dropped aft, growling much, and promising to receive me at Sanga-Tanga next morning—­not as a friend.  On our return, however, he prospected us from afar with the greatest indifference; we were empty-handed.  There has been change since the days when Lieutenant Boteler, passing along this shore, was addressed by the canoe-men, “I say, you mate, you no big rogue? ship no big rogue?”