One day we started on a journey with the _Dorothy_ and had gone twenty-five miles, across the bay, when an accident occurred which stopped the engine. The remainder of that day, and a considerable part of the night and all the next day, I tried in vain to make the repair. I then decided to leave the launch and go home in a canoe, returning immediately with the _Lafayette_ and crew to tow the _Dorothy_ back to Libreville. An approaching fever also warned me not to work any longer at the engine. It chanced that I had only a very small canoe in tow. I was therefore dependent upon being able to procure a larger one from some native who might pass that way; and we were in an out-of-the-way place. At last a canoe came in sight, in which was one solitary woman. I called loudly to her across the water, but she was afraid and would not come near. Among the heterogeneous and somewhat outlandish variety of goods which I always carried there happened to be a dress which had once belonged to a white woman and which had been discarded years before, when the woman returned to America. It was a gorgeous purple affair, much the worse for wear. The native woman (to whom I offered it), yelling at the very top of her voice, answered: “What do I want with a dress? I’m all right as I am; I never had any such thing on in my life.” I told her that this was a very fine dress which had once been worn by a white woman. She hesitated, but again answered: “It would only cover my ornaments so that people would not know that I have them; and besides it would not fit me.” Her “ornaments” were half a dozen large brass leg-rings which she wore between her ankles and her knees. But necessity in this instance was not only loud, but eloquent. I pleaded that she could rattle her ornaments as she walked—which they know well how to do—and the people would think that she had ever so many; and, besides, when they were covered she would not need to keep them polished. As to its fitting, I yelled to her that I had scissors, needle and thread, and that I would make it fit perfectly. Being at various times engineer, carpenter and blacksmith, it was easy enough to be a dressmaker. There was some persuasion in my arguments, for again she hesitated. But, after further reflection, she moved on, replying: “I’m all right as I am;” in which mind I presume she continues to this day.