Leaving Mowa—The whirling pools of Mowa—The _Jason_ swept over the falls—The “Little Master” drowned—Too brave!—“Ah, Uledi, had you but saved him!”—The sympathy of the savages. _June 3._—The fatal 3rd of June found us refreshed after our halt of seven days, and prepared to leave Mowa to proceed to Zinga, there to establish a new camp above its great cataract, while the canoes should be leisurely taken down with such caution as circumstances demanded. Kachéché and Wadi Rehani, the store-keeper, who, in the absence of Frank, were deputed to look after the land party, mustered their following at break of day, which consisted of such invalids as were able to travel by land, the women and children, and sixty men carrying the stores, tents, and equipments of the Expedition. Meanwhile, it was my duty to endeavour to reach Zinga—only two miles off by river, while the circuitous route by land was fully three miles—in advance of the land party, in order to prepare the aborigines for the reception of the Expedition. As I set out from Mowa Cove, Frank crawled on hands and knees to a rock overlooking the river to watch us depart, and the same feeling attracted Manwa Sera and the natives to the spot. Clinging close to the rock-lined shore, we rowed out of the cove, in full view of the river and all its terrors. For three-fourths of a mile to our left the river stormed down with long lines of brown billows. Arriving at Massessé Point, or the neck of the walled channel which separates Pocock Basin below from Mowa Basin, the river relaxed its downward current, and discharged fully a sixth of its volume to the right, which, flowing against the sharp edges and projections of the Mowa cliffs, raised many a line of low waves, and rolling towards us obliged us to hug the cliffs and take to our cables. But the base of the cliffs in many places afforded no means of foothold, and, after a long and patient attempt at passing those sharp angles, we were compelled to abandon it and endeavour to breast the strong current of the eddy with our oars. While, however, there was a strong current running against the base of the Mowa cliffs and washing its boulders, there was also a slope towards the vicinity of the giant billows discharged from the cataract; and though we strenuously strove to keep midway between the cliffs and the torrent-like career of the stream to the left, it became evident to us that we were perceptibly approaching it. Then a wild thought flashed across my mind that it would be better to edge along with it than to contend against the eddy with our heavy, leaky boat, and we permitted ourselves to be carried near its vicinity with that intention; but on nearing the rushing stream we observed in time that this was madness, for a line of whirlpools constantly plays between the eddy and the down stream, caused by the shock of the opposing currents. The down stream is raised like a ridge, its crest marked by ever-leaping waves, shedding a