Herr Vollbehr, the famous Munich portrait painter, happened to be in Lome while we were there, and he expressed a wish to paint me in the native dress I wore whilst playing in the White Goddess drama. So I gave him some sittings in the gardens of the Duke of Mecklenburg's palace, and I am told that the picture turned out very well, and has been much admired at Munich, where it is now on exhibition. The Governor's palace, by the way, is quite the finest building in Lome, as indeed is only right. It is four-square, built round a central courtyard, and must have cost no end of money. It is quite new, like all the other buildings in Lome, for not so very many years ago—some seventeen or eighteen, I believe—this town had no existence, at all events as the capital of Togoland, which was then fixed at a place called Little Popo, at the eastern extremity of the Togo seaboard.
The great drawback to Lome as a port is the heavy surf which breaks almost incessantly on the low sandy beach, as indeed it does all along the West African coast. Different methods of minimising the inconvenience caused by this hindrance have been adopted at different places. At Accra they have built a breakwater, which has cost a small fortune, and is not, I hear, a great success. At Lome they have gone the other way to work, and have erected a pier, or bridge, right out into the sea, a third of a mile long, and connected with a massive wharf, or quay, at the seaward end. This simplifies greatly the problem of landing, although it has its drawbacks. One is that there are now no surf boats there, or very few at all events, and the natives, I am told, are forgetting how to handle them, even if any were available. So when, some years back, the bridge which connects the wharf with the shore was destroyed by a tidal wave, supposed to be due to some great submarine volcanic upheaval, Lome was almost entirely isolated from the outside world for a while. However, with commendable energy, the authorities there soon set to work to rebuild their bridge; but because they could not build it over the old foundations, it now takes a curved course, which gives it a somewhat curious, lopsided appearance.
For the rest there is not much to say about Lome. It is a clean and neat little place, like most of our German colonial towns, with well-laidout streets shaded by palm and other trees, and bordered by pretty little bungalows, or, in some cases, more substantially built stone houses, set in well-kept tropical gardens. The native population of Lome, however, did not impress me favourably. The up-country native is a gentleman; the coast native is, too often, a caricature of the street "corner boy" of London or Berlin. Far be it from me, a mere girl, and a stranger and a sojourner in the colony at that, to set myself up as a judge in such matters; but it seems to me that the negro is not fitted for education, in the sense that we in Europe generally understand that much-abused word. Certain it is that no white man I ever came across, who knew his Africa, would hire as a "boy" one of the mission-school type of negro; he would infinitely prefer the wildest bush native from the remotest part of the hinterland.
At last the morning of the 13th of March dawned, the day on which we were to say good-bye to Africa. Frankly I felt sorry. I had come here six months previously, timid, and not a little apprehensive. There had been times since, up in the lonely bush, when, weary with travel and weakened with fever, I would have given anything to have gone to sleep and waked in Europe. But not now. All these feelings were over and done with, and in their place was a consuming regret for the things I was leaving behind, that were passing out of my life; the long lone trail leading onward, and ever onward, through lands new and strange; the black peoples of the far interior unspoilt by civilisation, an interesting study always; the stillness of the tropic night, the stir of the tropic dawn.
We had previously paid off our boys, of course, but all those that were in Lome at the time came down to the pier head to see us off. They were sorry to part with us. One could see it in their black faces, for the negro is nothing but a big child, and his features reflect every passing mood. "You will come back, little mother," they called out in unison, as the screw began to revolve. "Yes," I answered gravely, "I will come back." And I meant what I said. Shall I ever be in a position to redeem my promise, I wonder? Well! well! Time will show!
One thing rather pleased me. None of our boys were left stranded; they all got jobs. Alfred, our interpreter, and Asmani, Schomburgk's personal servant, took service with Baron Codelli at Kamina. Messa, the cook, got employment in the Duke of Mecklenburg's kitchen. Indeed, no boy who has been for any length of time with Europeans, and has a good character, need be long out of employment in Togo. A character, however, is an essential thing; and curiously enough they all seemed to prefer my written recommendation to Schomburgk's. I suppose it was because they had other characters from European men, and wanted to add to their collection one from a European woman, in case others of my sex wanted their services later. Schomburgk, however, said that a woman's recommendation always goes further than a man's, because prospective employers argue in this way: "Oh! so this boy has served under a woman, has he? Well, I'll engage him, because a boy who can stick a woman, can stick anybody—even me." Of course, this was said by way of a joke; but like a good many words spoken in jest, there is a certain amount of truth underlying these. Anyway, I believe it to be a fact that West African personal boys, kitchen boys, and so on, do not care over much to take service with a woman.
The ship that bore us back to England was named the Eleonore Woermamm. She was a good staunch boat, and very seaworthy and steady, like all those belonging to this fine line; but as we were steaming against "the trades," we had a rather rough passage to Las Palmas. There was a pleasant break here, and I went ashore to the "Stranger's Club," where I played roulette for the first time. I knew nothing whatever of the game, and threw down a coin at haphazard, and with the usual luck of the novice I won again and again. In ten minutes I was the richer by £7, and was already beginning to have visions of a golden fortune ahead, when the screeching of the ship's siren called me hurriedly aboard.
The rest of the voyage was uneventful up to the last day. Then, when we were nearing Southampton, we had the very narrowest escape—so I was assured—of going to the bottom. We were seated at dinner, all in the highest spirits at the successful termination of our trip, when the steamer suddenly sounded three sharp, angry blasts, then started to heel over to starboard, sending all the plates and dishes with their contents flying into our laps. Another steamer, it appeared, had come right across our bows, and only the presence of mind of the officer on the bridge of the Eleonore Woermamm in putting the wheel hard a-port, and so causing our ship to describe a circle to starboard, had averted what would otherwise almost certainly have been a very terrible disaster.