The river was full of islands, winding among which, day after day, Stanley often found to be the only means of escape from the pertinacious cannibals. These islands presented a beautiful appearance with their luxuriant foliage, but while the eye was resting on loveliness, the ear would be saluted with the sound of war-drums and hideous shouts. Whenever Stanley landed and visited a village from which the inhabitants had fled, he would see human bones scattered around, flung aside like oyster-shells, after the meat was removed, and at times the whole expedition felt as if they were destined to make a grand luncheon for these ferocious man-eaters. The next day Stanley began to make preparations to get around the falls. The first thing was to clear himself of the savages that crowded the left bank and were ready to pounce on him any moment. So taking thirty-six men he led them through the bushes and drove the natives back to their villages, a mile distant, and after a desperate struggle he drove them out of these. He next cut a narrow path, three miles long, around the cataract. This was slow work, and as haste was imperative the men were kept at work all night, flaming torches lighting up the way and making the gloomy shadows of the strange forest deeper still. Camps were distributed at short intervals along the route, and to the first of these the canoes were carried before daylight. The savages made a rush on them but were driven back. At night another stretch of path was made, to which the canoes and baggage were hurried before the cannibals were astir in the morning. There was less hostility and the work went steadily on, and at last, after seventy-eight hours of unceasing labor and almost constant fighting the river was again reached and the boats launched. [Illustration: FIGHTING OUR WAY AROUND.]