After other combats, Stanley and Tippu Tib came to a country on the western bank densely peopled with hostile natives, where they had to fight again. The savages were repulsed, and rowed out to a long island, where they moored their canoes by ropes fastened round posts. They would certainly renew the attack next day. But this time they were to be thoroughly checkmated. Rain pelted down on the river, the night was pitch dark, and there was a fresh breeze. Stanley rowed to the island, and his boat stole silently and cautiously under the high tree-covered bank. He cut the ropes of every canoe he got hold of, and in a short time thirty canoes were sent adrift down the river, many of them being caught by boatmen posted farther down stream. Before dawn the men were back at the camp with their looted boats. The savages, who lay crouching in their grass hovels on the island, must certainly have felt foolish in the morning when they found that they had lost their canoes and were left helpless. Then an interpreter rowed out to them to put before them the conditions exacted by the white man. They had treacherously attacked his troop, killing four and wounding thirteen. Now they must furnish provisions, and then they would be paid for the captured canoes and peace would be established. It was important that the expedition should have a few days' rest at this place, for Tippu Tib had had enough, and refused to advance a step farther down the river with its warlike natives. Accordingly, he was to turn back with his black retinue, while Stanley was to continue the journey with a selected party, many of whom had their wives and children with them. The troop consisted of a hundred and fifty souls. Provisions were collected for twenty days. The canoes were fastened together in pairs by poles, that they might not capsize, and the flotilla consisted of twenty-three boats. It was one of the last days in December. A thick mist hung over the river and the nearest palms were scarcely visible, but a breeze sprang up and thinned the haze. Then the trumpets and drums sounded the signal for starting, and Stanley gave the order to get into the boats. The parting song of the sons of Unyamwezi was answered by Tippu Tib's returning troop, and the flotilla of canoes glided down the dark river towards unknown lands and destiny. Stanley believed that this mighty river, which he named after Livingstone, was none other than the Congo, the mouth of which had been known for more than four hundred years; but he did not reject the possibility that it might also unite with the Nile or be connected with the Niger far away to the north-west. The journey which was now to solve this problem will be famous for all time for its boldness and daring, for the dangers overcome and adventures experienced, and is quite comparable with the boat journeys of the Spaniards who discovered the Amazons and Mississippi rivers in America.