But the cistern in the middle of this
slave-court must make the cleanly old Netherlanders turn in their tombs.
Opposite the fort is the normal school-room, occasionally served by Mr.
Graham, of Atabo; Bein has a tide-waiter, but no pedagogue. Beyond it
rises the large and uneven swish-house of the 'King,' who has lately been
summonsed, as a defaulting debtor, to Cape Coast Castle: the single black
policeman who served the writ evidently looked upon us as his colleagues.
The people eyed us with no friendly glances; they were 'making custom' for
the ruler's return. The vague phrase denoted, in this case, a frantic
battering of drums, big and little; a squeaking of scrannel pipes; a
feminine 'break-down' of the most _effrenee_ description, and a general
libation to the Bacchus of Blackland. A debauched and drunken Ashanti, who
executed for our benefit a decapitation-dance, evidently wishing that we
had been its objects, thanked us ironically for a sixpence. We met some
difficulty in seeing the swords, which were _not_ to be sold. They were
the usual rusty and decayed fish-slicers; Cameron, however, was kind
enough to sketch them for me, and they will appear in my coming book.
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