To Sango-Tanga, and Back. . 135 
bay, with about ten miles of chord, in every way 
a copy of its northern neighbour—the same 
scene of placid beauty, the sea rimmed with 
opalline air, pink by contrast with the ultramarine 
blue; the limpid ether overhead; the golden 
sands, and the emerald verdure—a Circe, however, 
whose caress is the kiss of death. The curve is 
bounded south by Point Dydnye, which appeared 
to retreat as we advanced. At 2 p. m., when the 
marvellous clearness of the sky was troubled by a 
tornado forming in the north-east, we turned 
towards a little inlet, and, despite the heavy surf, 
we disembarked without a ducking. A creek 
supplied us with pure cold water, a spreading tree 
with a roof, and the soft clean shore with the most 
luxurious of couches—at 3 p.m. I could hardly 
persuade myself that an hour had flown. 
As we approached Byanye, at last, a village 
hoisted the usual big flag on the normal tall pole, 
and with loud cries ordered us to land. Lango- 
biimo, who was at the helm, began obeying, when 
I relieved him of his charge. Seeing that our 
course was unaltered, a large and well-manned 
canoe put off, and the rest of the population 
walked down shore. I made signs for the 
stranger not to approach, when the head man, 
Angflah, asked me in English what he had done 
to offend me, and peremptorily insisted upon my 
sleeping at his village. All these places are look- 
