THE START. 273 



coloured waves of the Mersey, en voyage to Fernando 

 Po. It was Christmas Eve, 1861, and cheer- 

 less vreather. At 4 p.m. we passed the Crosby 

 Light, and shortly afterwards, off the Bell Buoy, 

 the pilot left us, taking with him hurried farewell- 

 lines from some whose footsteps would never again 

 be heard on the thresholds of the homes they had 

 left. The weather was squally, with frequent 

 showers, and our craft laboured heavily, rolling 

 and pitching through a nasty cross sea, and occa- 

 sionally shipping a good deal of water. The usual 

 confusion on starting had not yet subsided, and 

 everything was uncomfortable. " Que diable allais- 

 jefaire dans cette galere T' I had heard of gorillas, 

 and strange tales "of great apes, who come up 

 beating their breasts, chanting wild war-songs in 

 voices of thunder, using palm trees for shillelaghs, 

 and shaking elephants by the scruff of the neck 

 for diversion's sake, or varying their amusement 

 by catching niggers by their wool, and swallowing 

 them as if they were harmless Holloway's pills" — 

 ■ and I was bound for the Gaboon to say " Chin 

 chin" to these " wilde mannes." 



