Léopoldville.
Along the road the friendly chiefs had collected
great earthen jars full of fresh and foaming palm-juice.
At every village the women had prepared pots of
cold water to give myself and my people a parting
drink, and to bid us kindly adieus.
Ngamberengi, Ngoma, and old Makoko were by the
roadside with their friends, slaves, and children, to see
the last of us, and every village we passed showed the
appearances of a general holiday. The acquaintance
of many months with them had ripened into a full
friendship. Not a shadow remained of the doubt
which in old times blinded their eyes and clouded
their vision. The fond regard we had mutually conceived
towards one another was unmistakeably genuine.
Their rough hands, often horny from labour and ill-
usage, felt as warm to me as any that I had touched
elsewhere.
On our march to Inkissi we slept first at Ngoma’s, a
place which rests lovingly under the lee of the sheltering
mountain of. Iyumbi. We crossed the breezy ridge
whence we may gaze over a world of lower, hill-domes
divided from one another by the: sinuous.lines of dark
foliage. We plunged down :irito the cool forest tangle
at its base, and emerged into full: sunlight tracing
the spines of level ridges.' We dipped down into the
hollows made fresh with streams arid verdure, and
then climbed up to rest under Mbe’s friendly and
grateful palms. Along an elevated and grassy tableland,
with the Congo a few miles to our right tearing
down over its successive terraces, we next journeyed.