62 Into the Congo River. 
spumous sea broke and recoiled, foaming upon the 
sandy beach, which they veiled with a haze of 
water-dust, almost concealing the smoke that 
curled from the mangrove-hedged “ King Antonio’s 
Town.” Then, steaming to the north-east, we ran 
five miles to Turtle Cove, formerly Turtle Corner, 
a shallow bay, whose nearest point is “ Twitty 
Twa Bush,” the baptismal effort of some English 
trader. And now appeared the full gape of the 
Congo mouth, yawning seven sea-miles wide; the 
further shore trending to the north-west in a low 
blue line, where Moanda and Vista, small “ ship¬ 
ping-ports ” for slaves, were hardly visible in the 
hazy air. As we passed the projecting tooth of 
Shark Point, a sandspit garnished with mangroves 
and dotted with palmyras, the land-squali flocked 
from their dirty-brown thatches to the beach, 
where flew the symbolic red flag. Unlike most 
other settlements, which are so buried in almost 
impenetrable bush that the traveller may pass by 
within a few yards without other sign but the 
human voice, this den of thieves and wreckers, 
justly named in more ways than one, flaunts itself 
in the face of day. 
The Congo disclaims a bore, but it has a very 
distinct bar, the angle pointing up stream, and the 
legs beginning about Bananal Bank (N.) and 
Alligator River (S.). Here the great depth above 
and below (145 and 112 fathoms) shallows to 6-9. 
