At 2.20 P.M. on September 2, we left Porto da Lenha, and passed Mashel’s Creek, on whose right bank is the village of Makatalla; the charts call it Foomou, and transfer it to the left.  Here we enter upon the riverine archipelago.  The great stream before one, now divides into three parallel branches, separated by long narrow islands and islets, banks and shallows.  The northernmost channel in our maps, “Maxwell River,” is known to Europeans and natives as Noangwa; Mamballa or the central line is called by the moderns Nshibul, and the southern is dubbed by the hydrographer, “Rio Konio,” a truly terrible mistake for Sonho.  As a rule, the Noangwa, though infested during the rains by cruel mosquitoes, is preferred for the ascent, and the central for dropping down stream.  The maximum breadth of the Congo bed, more than half island, is here five miles; and I was forcibly reminded of it when winding through the Dalmatian Archipelago.

The river still maintained its alluvial aspect as we passed along the right bank.  The surface was a stubble strewn with the usual trees; the portly bombax; the calabash, now naked and of wintry aspect; and the dark evergreen palmyra, in dots and streaks upon the red-yellow field, fronted by an edging of grass, whose king, cyperus papyrus, is crowned with tall heads waving like little palms.  This Egyptian bush extends from the Congo mouth to Banza Nokki, our landing-place; it grows thickest about Porto da Lenha, and it thins out above and below:  I afterwards observed it in the sweet water marshes of Syria and the Brazils.  We passed sundry settlements—­Loango Pequeno, Loango Grande, and others—­and many canoes were seen plying up and down.  On the left or to the south was nothing but dense reedy vegetation upon the low islands, which here are of larger dimensions than the northern line.  As evening drew near, the grasshoppers and the tree frogs chirped a louder song, and the parrots whistled as they winged their rapid flight high overhead.  Presently we passed out of the lower archipelago, and sighted the first high land closing upon the stream, rolling hills, which vanished in blue perspective, and which bore streaks of fire during the dark hours.  Our Cabinda Patron grounded us twice, and even the high night breeze hardly enabled us to overcome the six-knot current off the narrow, whose right side is called Ponta da Diabo.  Devil’s Point is not so named in the chart:  the place is marked “Strong Tide” (No. 1), opposite Chombae Island, which the natives term Zunga chya Bundika, hence probably the name of the village Bemandika (Boma ndika).  At this satanic headland, where the banks form a gate three miles broad, a man hailed us from the bank; none understood him, but all made up their minds that he threatened to visit us during the night.