ould have preferred not to have robbed these
industrious hymenopters of the "fruit of their labors," as he
expressed it. But Dick Sand did not understand it in that way. He
smoked out the bees with some dry herbs and obtained a considerable
quantity of honey. Then leaving to the indicator the cakes of wax,
which made its share of the profit, Cousin Benedict and he returned to
the boat.

The honey was well received, but it was but little, and, in fact, all
would have suffered cruelly from hunger, if, during the day of the
12th, the boat had not stopped near a creek where some locusts
swarmed. They covered the ground and the shrubs in myriads, two or
three deep. Now, Cousin Benedict not failing to say that the natives
frequently eat these orthopters--which was perfectly true--they took
possession of this manna. There was enough to fill the boat ten times,
and broiled over a mild fire, these edible locusts would have seemed
excellent even to less famished people. Cousin Benedict, for his part,
eat a notable quantity of them, sighing, it is true--still, he eat
them.

Nevertheless, it was time for this long series of moral and physical
trials to come to an end. Although drifting on this rapid river was
not so fatiguing as had been the walking through the first forests
near the coast, still, the excessive heat of the day, the damp mists
at night, and the incessant attacks of the mosquitoes, made this
descent of the watercourse very painful. It was time to arrive
somewhere, and yet Dick Sand could see no limit to the journey. Would
it last eight days or a month? Nothing indicated an answer. Had the
river flowed directly to the west, they would have already reached the
northern coast of Angola; but the general direction had been rather to
the north, and they could travel thus a long time before reaching the
coast.

Dick Sand was, therefore, extremely anxious, when a sudden change of
direction took place on the morning of the 14th of July.

Little Jack was in the front of the boat, and he was gazing through
the thatch, when a large expanse of water appeared on the horizon.

"The sea!" he shouted.

At this word Dick Sand trembled, and came close to little Jack.

"The sea?" he replied. "No, not yet; but at least a river which flows
toward the west, and of which this stream is only a tributary. Perhaps
it is the Zaire itself."

"May God grant that is!" replied Mrs. Weldon.

Yes; for if this were the Zaire or Congo, whic