The day was exceptional for West Africa,
and much like damp weather at the end of an English May; the grey
air at times indulged us with a slow drizzle. After two hours we
passed another maritime village, where the farce of yesterday
evening was re-acted, but this time with more vigour. Ignorant of
my morning's private work, Hotaloya swore that it was Sanga-
Tanga. I complimented him upon his proficiency in lying, and poor
Langobumo, almost in tears, confessed that he had pointed out to
me the real place. Whereupon Hotaloya began pathetically to
reproach him for being thus prodigal of the truth. Nurya, the
"head trader," coming down to the beach, with dignity and in
force told me in English that I must land, and was chaffed
accordingly. He then blustered and threatened instant death, at
which it was easy to laugh. About 10 A.M. we lay off our
destination, some ten miles south of Dyanye Point. It was a
beautiful site, the end of a grassy dune, declining gradually
toward the tree-fringed sea; the yellow slopes, cut by avenues
and broken by dwarf table-lands, were long afterwards recalled to
my memory, when sighting the fair but desolate scenery south of
Paraguayan Asuncion.
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