264 The March to Banza Nkulu. 
river and indenting the bed and the little tree- 
clad isle, Zungachya Idf (Tuckey’s “ZungaTooly 
Calavangoo ”) hugging the northern side, where the 
Lufu torrent adds its tribute to the waters, con¬ 
vinced me that the charms of Congo scenery had 
not been exaggerated. Yet the prospect had its 
element of sadness ; the old ruffian, Gidi Mavunga, 
recounted how he had burned this place and 
broken that, where palm-clumps, grass-clearings, 
and plantations lying waste denoted the curse of 
Ham upon the land. 
Our course now wound north-eastwards along 
hill-shoulders, rich in flowery plants and scented 
mimosa. After two hours' walking, we came sud¬ 
denly upon the Morro or cliff of the river-trough, 
now about 1,000 feet deep. Here the prospect 
again shifted ; the black gate opened, showing the 
lowest of the long line of rapids called Borongwa 
ya Vivi, with the natives and their canoes, like 
flies upon bits of straw. 
On the southern bank was a small perennial 
influent, lined with bright green above, and with 
chocolate brown below, within some twenty yards 
of its mouth. It arises, they say, near S. Salvador, 
and is not navigable, although in places it bears 
canoes. The people call it Npozo, possibly it re¬ 
presents the S. Salvador River of old travellers. 
The distance was three direct or five indirect miles 
north of the stony cone, Zululu ke Sombe. 
