On the sixteenth day after leaving Fernando Po they entered the Gaboon. On the right hand bank were the fort and dwellings of the French. A little farther up stood the English factories; and upon a green hill behind, the church, school, and houses of an American mission. On the left bank was the wattle town of King William, the sable monarch of the Gaboon. Mr. Goodenough at once landed and made inquiries for a house. He succeeded in finding one, consisting of three rooms, built on piles, an important point in a country in which disease rises from the soil. At Bonny Mr. Goodenough had, with the assistance of the agent, enlisted six Houssas. These people live much higher up on the coast, but they wander a good deal and may be met with in most of the ports. The men had formed a guard in one of the hulks, but trade having been bad the agent had gone home, and they were glad to take service with Mr. Goodenough. They spoke a few words of English, and, like the Kroomen, rejoiced in names which had been given them by sailors. They were called Moses, Firewater, Ugly Tom, Bacon, Tatters, and King John. They were now for the first time set to work, and the goods were soon transported from the brig to the house. “Is anything the matter with you, Frank?” Mr. Goodenough asked that evening. “I don't know, sir. My head feels heavy, somehow, and I am giddy.” Mr. Goodenough felt his pulse. “You have got your first touch of fever,” he said. “I wonder you've been so long without it. You had better lie down at once.” A quarter of an hour afterwards Frank was seized with an overpowering heat, every vein appearing to be filled with liquid fire; but his skin, instead of being, as usual, in a state of perspiration, was dry and hard. “Now, Frank, sit up and drink this. It's only some mustard and salt and water. I have immense faith in an emetic.” The draught soon took its effect. Frank was violently sick, and the perspiration broke in streams from him. “Here is a cup of tea,” Mr. Goodenough said; “drink that and you will find that there will be little the matter with you in the morning.” Frank awoke feeling weak, but otherwise perfectly well. Mr. Goodenough administered a strong dose of quinine, and after he had had his breakfast he felt quite himself again. “Now,” Mr. Goodenough said, “we will go up to the factories and mission and try and find a really good servant. Everything depends upon that.” In a short time an engagement was made with a negro of the name of Ostik. He was a Mpongwe man, that being the name of the tribe on the coast. He spoke English fairly, as well as two or three of the native languages. He had before made a journey some distance into the interior with a white traveler. He was a tall and powerfully built negro, very ugly, but with a pleasant and honest face. Frank felt at once that he should like him.