Turning to Frank, I told him I should hurry to Zinga, and after arranging with the chiefs would send him his breakfast and hammock; and if I found the men still there I would detail six to carry him; if the men were not there he might, upon the arrival of the hammock, take the first men he saw, and follow me overland. It was high noon when I arrived at our new camp, which was constructed on Zinga Point, about a hundred feet above the great cataract. There were four kings present, and hundreds of natives, all curious to view the Mundelé. Though somewhat noisy in their greetings, we were soon on an amicable footing, especially when a young fellow named Lazala began to ask me if I were “Ingiliz, Francees, Dytche, or Portigase.” Lazala further named many seaport towns he had visited, and discharged his knowledge of the manners and customs of the whites by the sea with a refreshing volubility. The great waves along the sea-beach he described in a characteristic manner as being “Mputu, putu-putu, just like the big waves of Zinga!” Whereupon a fast and sure friendship was soon established, which was never broken. At 1 P.M. breakfast was despatched to Frank, through Majwara, Benni, and Kassim, and men were sent with a net-hammock. The Zinga kings and most of their people had ascended to their homes above, on the plateau; and in my camp there were about fourteen able- bodied men besides the sick and women. And about three o’clock I took my seat on a high rock above the falls, to watch for Uledi, as from the Zinga Point, with a field-glass, I was enabled to view the river across Bolo-bolo basin, both Massassa Falls and Massessé Rapids, and nearly up to the Upper Mowa Falls. I was not long in my position before I observed something long and dark rolling and tumbling about in the fierce waves of Massassa. It was a capsized canoe, and I detected the forms of several men clinging to it! I instantly despatched Kachéché, Wadi Rehani, and ten men, with cane- ropes, to take position in the bight in Bolo-bolo, near which I knew, by the direction of the waves, the current would carry them before sweeping them down towards Zinga. Meanwhile I watched the wrecked men as they floated through the basin. I saw them struggling to right the canoe. I saw them lift themselves on the keel, and paddling for dear life towards shore, to avoid the terrible cataract of Zinga. Finally, as they approached the land, I saw them leap from the wreck into the river, and swim ashore, and presently the unfortunate _Jason_, which they had but a moment before abandoned, swept by me with the speed of an arrow, and over the cataract, into the great waves and the soundless depths of whirlpools, and so away out of sight. Bad news travels fast. Kachéché, breathless with haste and livid with horror, announced that out of the eleven men who had embarked in the canoe at Mowa, eight only were saved. “Three are lost!—and—_one of them is the little master_!”