A strong breeze from the north-west lasted all the morning, but at noon it moderated, and two hours afterwards, taking advantage of the calm, we pushed off from Mabibi, and, rounding the south-west corner of the Ukerewé peninsula, pulled for the Kunneneh islets, which we reached without loss or accident. Again the north-west breeze blew strong, and, as it had power over a greater expanse of water, the waves did not subside until 2 P.M. It was tough labour rowing against the heavy swell, and the distance to the Miandereh Islands was long. By persevering, however, we made good progress, yet at sunset Miandereh islets were not in sight. Intense darkness set in. We could not see one another, though we could hear the measured, rhythmic beat and splash of oar and paddle, but no voices. Now and then I flashed a waxlight over the dark waste as a beacon to the thoughtless and unwary. By this means, and by threats of punishment to those who strayed from the line, the canoes were kept together. We had proceeded quietly for three hours in the darkness, when suddenly shrill cries were heard for “the boat.” Hurrying to the spot, I managed to distinguish, to my astonishment, round dark objects floating on the water, which we found to be the heads of men who were swimming towards us from a foundered canoe. We took the frightened people on board, and picked up four bales of cloth, but a box of ammunition and 400 lbs. of grain had sunk. We moved forward again, but had scarcely gone half a mile when again piercing cries from the deep gloom startled us. “The boat, oh, the boat!” was screamed in frenzied accents. As we steered for the spot, I lit a wax taper and set fire to the leaves of a book I had been reading during the afternoon, to lighten up the scene. Heads of struggling men and bales were found here likewise in the water, and a canoe turned bottom up with a large rent in its side; and while distributing these among the other canoes, we heard to our alarm that five guns had sunk, but fortunately no lives were lost or other property, except four sacks of grain. My boat was now up to her gunwale with twenty-two men and thirty loads, and if a breeze rose, she would, unless we lightened her of property, inevitably sink. Through the darkness I shouted out to the frightened men, that if any more canoes collapsed, the crews should at once empty out the grain and beads, but on no account abandon their boats, as they would float and sustain them until I could return to save them. I had scarcely finished speaking before the alarming cries were raised again: “Master, the canoe is sinking! Quick, come here. Oh, master, we cannot swim!”