The country between Geba and Igga is uninteresting; no villages, or scarcely any, were passed, and there was no cultivation. The appearance of the banks is much what it is between Say and Bussa; a few _karités_ occur here and there, that is all. We met a canoe now and then only. The oil-palms, which had begun to appear beyond Say, now became more numerous, but the country still appeared deserted. In a large plain near Igga there is a factory kept by a white man. Just before we reached it we saw a big boat called the _Nigritian_, which was formerly the pontoon of Yola. The Royal Niger Company had just been driven from the Benuë and from the Adamawa; its trading agents had been recalled, together with the pontoon they had been _authorized_ to use on the river. This must have been a very severe blow to the Company, for much of the ivory exported through their agents came from Adamawa and Muri. The _Ribago_, a pretty little craft of from six to seven hundred tons, is moored at Igga. She is the best boat belonging to the Company. She brings down palm-oil in the nut before it is extracted, _karités_ and other articles for export. The oil is of a very fine quality indeed. It will probably be the _Ribago_ which will tow us down-stream if all is satisfactorily settled with the Company about Bussa and Auru. The agent at Igga thought we should find Mr. Wallace at Lokodja. I was very anxious to see him, for it is with him I must get the misunderstanding, if misunderstanding there were, explained. His word alone would suffice to exonerate the Company from blame, and only if he could give me that word, should I care to accept his good offices on my behalf. After passing an hour at our anchorage at Igga, we started for Lokodja to look for Mr. Wallace, whom it was very difficult to catch. Fortunately for us, the current was still very strong, but navigation was very tiring, for with the banks inundated as they were, it was difficult to find the bottom amongst the tall grass. Late in the evening we at last anchored near the left bank, and landed to cook a hasty meal. Fili, one of the coolies who looked after the kitchen department, had cleared a corner of bushes and lit a fire when, all of a sudden, the men made a rush for the boats screaming _manians! manians!_ They had been attacked by the black ants they call manians, the bite of which is very severe. No cooking for us to-night, no meal however simple! No sleep either for our poor men, for the rain began to pour down again. Worse still, the terrible manians began to climb on board by the anchor-chains, by the ropes of the grappling-hooks, by everything, in fact, which held us to the bank. They had come to storm the barges, and the ropes and chains became black with their swarms. The only way we were able to check this novel kind of invasion was by lowering the chains and ropes into the water.