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The last flies of summer, their huge bellies swollen and their wings sluggish, were buzzing about in the golden afternoon, gleaming with a sputtering fire. Away to the horizon, which the peak of the Mongó broke with a blotch of haze, like an island floating in the distance, the sea stretched calm and tranquil. Good weather! Good weather!
As it crosses the track in a southerly direction, this might either be the head of the Kululu mongo or river, which, passing through the district of Kiwele, drains westward into the Malagarazi river, and thence into the Tanganyika, or else the most westerly tributary to the Ruaha river, draining eastward into the sea.
During the night the lighthouses of Ibiza and Formentera slipped past the dark horizon. When the sun arose a vertical spot of rose color like a tongue of flame, appeared above the sea line. It was the high mountain of Mongó, the Ferrarian promontory of the ancients.
Behind, the peak of the Mongó alone was visible, for the base of the mountain was cloaked in cloud. The Garbosa was running with an alarming list to starboard, its bulging sail almost dipping into the water, as the vessel raced along. The frown of the weather was not at all to the liking of the captain, who, if he wanted to get his load ashore, would not be able to run in till nightfall anyhow.
To starboard lowered the gigantic battlements of the Point, precipitous, weather-beaten, blackened by storm and sea. Inland against the starlit sky the somber Mongó reared its lofty head. It had taken a whole day to cross the Gulf of Valencia; but now beyond the Cape the fair road to Algiers was opening, and the Garbosa would soon be out on the deep sea.
These memories made him turn his eyes toward a huge bluish bulk extending out into the sea and looking to the casual spectator like a great barren island. It was the promontory crowned by the Mongó, the great Ferrarian promontory of the ancient geographers, the furthest-reaching point of the peninsula in the lower Mediterranean that closes the Gulf of Valencia on the south.
The Chinese formerly called the Songaree 'Ku-tong, and considered the lower Amoor a part of that stream. The Goldees named it 'Mongo, and the Gilyaks called it 'Mamoo. The name Amoor was given by the Russians, and is considered a corruption of the Gilyak word. When Mr. Collins descended, in 1857, the natives near Igoon did not or would not understand him when he spoke of the Amoor.
"Here we will wait," panted the uncle, "and when B'chumbiri comes we will call him to land, for he has the sickness mongo." "What of Sandi?" asked the father, who was no gossip. "Sandi is gone," replied the other, "and there is no law."
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