In this journey his Majesty thought he would have ten wives to accompany him, and to provide for his comfort; and though King Quengueza was, I should judge, at least seventy-five, the oldest among these ten wives could not have been more than fourteen years of age, and he had left a few behind still younger than these. Quengueza and I, with two of the favorite wives, including a Bakalai one, were in the royal canoe, at the head of which was a drummer. I fired a salute, and soon a bend of the river hid us from Obindji’s view. The drums were beating, and all the men were singing. All the other canoes paddled in front of us except one, which kept in the rear. The starry flag floated gracefully in the royal canoe. Quengueza was wonderfully pleased with the flag. We entered the Ofoubou River and fired another gun, the echo of which resounded from hill to hill, and started the roar of a gorilla, which could not have been half a mile distant from where we were. That fellow was certainly a large male gorilla. The Ofoubou was a narrow river, but deep at that time of the year: trees and palm lined its banks, which it had overflowed, spreading its waters over the strip of lowlands which bounded it, and which separated it from the hills. [Sidenote: _A HERD OF ELEPHANTS BATHING._] Njali-Coudié was situated about ten miles distant from the banks of the Ofoubou. By-and-by the singing ceased, and we paddled silently along, when suddenly one of the canoes ahead made us a sign to be very quiet. “What is going on?” I whispered to Quengueza. Quengueza in a low voice replied, “I know not.” Every man looked carefully at his gun. The canoe ahead had stopped, neither retreating or advancing. What could it be? We pulled with the utmost care; our paddles, as they dipped into the water, made no noise at all, and at last we all met. Then Adouma, the king’s nephew, came and whispered low—“Elephants are here, they are bathing in the river. I have heard them.” “Are you sure they are elephants?” “Are they not hippopotami?” I asked. “No,” he replied, “they are elephants.” The countenances of all the fellows brightened up; the ivory tusks of the noble beast were, they thought, already in their possession—they were selling the skin of the fox before having killed the animal. We let all our canoes pass down the stream a little way, in order that we might hold a grand palaver. Adouma, Quabi, Rapero, all Quengueza’s nephews, were present. Querlaouen and Malaouen, the two most redoubtable warriors of the Bakalai of the Ovenga, were also there; these five, with Quengueza and myself, formed the Grand Council. Quengueza, being an old man, was to remain where he was with all the party, while myself and the five others were to move in a canoe and make land near where the elephants were.