He next found, at the mouth of a large river, a tribe of negroes who seemed to have made greater progress in civilization than their neighbors. They had barks with sails made of palm-leaves,--the only indication of any knowledge of navigation the Portuguese had yet met with upon the African coast. No one--not even Martin Alonzo--understood their language: as far as could be gathered from their pantomime, they had come from a distance where they had seen vessels as large as the San Gabriel, whence da Gama conjectured that the Indies were not far off. He gave to the river the name of _Rio dos bos Sinaes_, or River of Good Promise. The crew suffered greatly here from the effects of scurvy,--many of them dying of the disease and others succumbing under the consequences of amputation. The ships were careened and repaired: thirty-two days were spent in this labor. These incidents are thus graphically described in the Lusiad: "Far from the land, wide o'er the ocean driven, Our helms resigning to the care of Heaven, By hope and fear's keen passions toss'd, we roam; When our glad eyes behold the surges foam Against the beacons of a shelter'd bay, Where sloops and barges cut the watery way. The river's opening breast some upward plied, And some came gliding down the sweepy tide. Quick throbs of transport heaved in every heart, To view this knowledge of the seaman's art; For here we hoped our ardent wish to gain, To hear of India's strand,--nor hoped in vain: Though Ethiopia's sable hue they bore, No look of wild surprise the natives wore; Wide o'er their heads the cotton turban swell'd, And cloth of blue the decent loins conceal'd. Their speech, though rude and dissonant of sound, Their speech a mixture of Arabian own'd. Alonzo, skill'd in all the copious store Of fair Arabia's speech and flowery lore, In joyful converse heard the pleasing tale, 'That o'er these seas full oft the frequent sail, And lordly vessels, tall as ours, appear'd, Which to the regions of the morning steer'd: Whose cheerful crews, resembling ours, display The kindred face and color of the day.' Elate with joy, we raise the glad acclaim, And RIVER OF GOOD SIGNS the port we name. "Our keels, that now had steer'd through many a clime, By shell-fish roughen'd, and incased with slime, Joyful we clean; while bleating from the field The fleecy dams the smiling natives yield. Alas! how vain the bloom of human joy! How soon the blasts of woe that bloom destroy! A dread disease its rankling horrors shed, And death's dire ravage through mine army spread. Never mine eyes such dreary sight beheld! Ghastly the mouth and gums enormous swell'd; And instant, putrid like a dead man's wound, Poison'd with fetid steam the air around. Long, long endear'd by fellowship in woe, O'er the cold dust we give the tears to flow; And in their hapless lot forebode our own,-- A foreign burial, and a grave unknown."