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?"
At 5 P. M. we weathered Point Dyanye, garnished, like Nyonye,
with a threatening line of breakers; the boat-passage along shore
was about 400 yards wide. Darkness came on shortly after six
o'clock, and the sultry weather began to look ominous, with a
huge, angry, black nimbus discharging itself into the glassy
livid sea northwards. I suggested landing, but Langobumo was
positive that the storm had passed westwards, and he objected,
with some reason, that in the outer gloom the boat might be
dashed to pieces. As we had not even a stone for an anchor, the
plea proved, valid. We guided ourselves, by the fitful flashes of
forked and sheet lightning combined, towards a ghostly point,
whose deeper blackness silhouetted it against the shades.
Suddenly the boat's head was turned inland; a huge breaker,
foaming along our gunwales, drove us forwards like the downwards
motion of a "swing-swong," and, before we knew where we were, an
ugly little bar had been crossed on the top of the curling scud.
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