On October 2 we had a hard day, but it was the best before we got to Bussa. Near Waro we had twice to go on in single file. The force of the current was now immense, seven miles an hour at least. Once more we felt as if we were dashing over cataracts, a painful sensation we were all too familiar with. Our guide had met a friend, who also to the best of his lights helped us to steer a right course. At half-past five we reached Bussa, and anchored opposite the landing-stage of the village. The river here divides into several arms, the town being on that farthest to the right, about a mile from the bank. A little village occupied by fishermen and traders was situated close to our camp. The water, which is of a black colour, seems very deep here, and the islands are covered with beautiful vegetation. The natives approached us without fear, and we at once began to barter with them in the usual manner, exchanging cloth, bracelets, rings and beads for provisions. I sent Amadu to greet the chief of the village, promising him a good present if he succeeded in making that chief behave well to us. I waited his return with impatience. There we were face to face with our last but perhaps the greatest difficulty of our voyage. A very considerable fuss is made about the cataracts or rather the rapids of Bussa. Providence had so far befriended us, and enabled us to reach this point without having lost one of our boats. Not a single man, white or black, belonging to the expedition had lost his life through what a year ago had been called our temerity. We had managed everywhere with greater or less difficulty to pass on in peace, leaving behind us none who had cause to hate us or to vow vengeance on us. Yet one last effort, and our aim would be achieved just as I had hoped to achieve it, exactly in accordance with our instructions, in spite of all the difficulties thrown in our way, not only by inanimate nature but by man. Just because this was to be our last struggle we dreaded it more than we had done any other. I was therefore immensely relieved when I saw Amadu coming back accompanied by an emissary from the chief. According to him all would go well, all was arranged; the chief of Bussa would supply us with all we needed, and, greatly to the delight of our men, give us all the help required for passing the rapids safely. A good supply of the fruit called _kus_ accompanied these cheering words. The chief would receive us the next day. Whilst I was chatting with our guide and the natives who accompanied him, some girls were singing our praises and those of their master. According to their songs the people of Bussa are descended from the Persians, and they do in fact claim that they are the children of Kisira, who fought with Mahomet, and were driven away by him. Reference to history will show us that Kisira is only another name for Chosroes the Great, who was, as a matter of fact, the unfortunate adversary of the founder of Islam.