Behind us, Corisco, only twelve miles in circumference, was visible as a little self-contained world of hills and valleys, forests and prairies, cliffs and sandy beaches, and even a tiny glass-like lake. Dotted along the shore were the villages, with the smoke from them curling above the tree tops like trailing blue-gray veils. To the right and left, lay the shores of the beautiful Bay of Corisco, converging gradually into the thin, silver threads of the River Moondah, which wound its way backwards into the haze of distant verdure. It was towards this river that we steered a straight course. There was no wind and, except for the vibration of the engines, we travelled smoothly and swiftly, at a gradual incline, until, when we at last reached the mainland, our altimeter registered just over 600 feet. As we approached the land the machine banked steeply and I watched the altimeter-hand creeping slowly forward--625 . . . 650 . . . 675 . . . up to 1500 feet. Onwards and upwards we raced, while from beneath the horizon's edge, the sun came up to meet us with incredible swiftness and glory. The planes turned to crimson and gold, a new tonic seemed to be added to the air, and a distant chain of mountains suddenly glowed with the fire of dawn. For fully a minute I could only gaze ahead at the great ball of light. Then I closed my eyes for awhile, and at last looked below. The river Moondah had entered a vast mangrove swamp and showed itself only here and there as a chain of tiny, disconnected lakes. But 15 to 20 miles away to the right I caught sight of the mighty mouth of the Gaboon--a miniature sea, nearly as large as the Bay of Corisco. I knew that the upper reaches of this estuary constituted the approximate boundary of the Gorilla Country, and a thrill of expectancy ran through me like cold quicksilver. The salvation of the aged became a matter of minor importance, and in its place there grew an almost bloodthirsty lust for conquest. In spite of our ninety miles an hour the quivering machine seemed to be dragging like lead. The country below was slipping away from us far too slowly. I wanted to feel myself suddenly leap forward like a hound in the chase. Already, the actual sensation of flight was beginning to lose its spice and the only danger I feared was that of humdrum safety. As the sun rose, however, the air became more and more bumpy and the banks of clouds lying over the distant Crystal Mountains began to break and scatter. Oakley evidently anticipated a storm, for he commenced climbing again, up and up, to 5,000 feet. At this height it was bitterly cold, but the flying was straight and steady. We were now passing over the River Gaboon and as I looked to the left I saw that there were bearing down on us from the mountains no less than four distinct storms--each of which consisted of a huge cloud, whence the rain fell in great sheets.