The decision of widely
experienced sufferers amongst us is, that next to the lower Ogowe,
New Orleans is the worst place for them in this world.
The day closed with a magnificent dramatic beauty. Dead ahead of
us, up through a bank of dun-coloured mist rose the moon, a great
orb of crimson, spreading down the oil-like, still river, a streak
of blood-red reflection. Right astern, the sun sank down into the
mist, a vaster orb of crimson, and when he had gone out of view,
sent up flushes of amethyst, gold, carmine and serpent-green, before
he left the moon in undisputed possession of the black purple sky.
Forest and river were absolutely silent, but there was a pleasant
chatter and laughter from the black crew and passengers away
forward, that made the Move seem an island of life in a land of
death. I retired into my cabin, so as to get under the mosquito
curtains to write; and one by one I heard my companions come into
the saloon adjacent, and say to the watchman: "You sabe six
o'clock? When them long arm catch them place, and them short arm
catch them place, you call me in the morning time." Exit from
saloon - silence - then:
