Fort Santo Antonio, a tall white house upon a bastioned
terrace, crowns proudly enough a knob of black rock and low green growth.
On both sides of it, north and south, stretches the town; from this
distance it appears a straggle of brown thatched huts and hovels,
enlivened here and there by some whitewashed establishments, mining or 'in
the mercanteel.' The soil is ruddy and rusty, and we have the usual
African tricolor.
The agents of the several Aximite houses came on board. We drained the
normal stirrup-cup and embarked in the usual heavy surf-boat, manned by a
dozen leathery-lunged 'Elmina boys' with paddles, and a helmsman with an
oar. There are smaller surf-canoes, that have weather-boards at the bow to
fend off the waves. Our anchorage-place lies at least two miles
south-west-and-by-south of the landing-place. There is absolutely nothing
to prevent steamers running in except a sunken reef, the Pinnacle or
Hoeven Rock. It is well known to every canoeman. Cameron sounded for it,
and a buoy had been laid by fishermen, but so unskilfully that the surge
presently made a clean sweep. Hence a wilful waste of time and work. I
wrote to Messieurs Elder and Dempster, advising them to replace it for
their own interests and for the convenience of travellers; but in Africa
one is out of the world, and receiving answers is emphatically not the
rule.
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