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.
The purple sky-ground backing the Gaboon's upper course admirably
set off all its features. Upon the sea horizon, where the river
measures some thirty miles across, I could distinctly see the
junction of the two main branches, the true Olo' Mpongwe, the
main stream flowing from the Eastern Ghats, and the Rembwe
(Ramboue) or south-eastern influent. At the confluence, tree-
dots, tipping the watery marge, denoted what Barbot calls the
"Pongo Islands." These are the quoin-shaped mass "Dambe" (Orleans
Island) alias "Coniquet" (the Conelet), often corrupted to
Konikey; the Konig Island of the old Hollander,[FN#3] and the
Prince's Island of the ancient Briton.
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