The last village on the sands is Kukakun, where the wreck of a schooner saddens the scene. Within a few hundred yards of Akromasi we bent abruptly eastward and exchanged the sands for the usual stiff soil of red clay. The gut is formed by the point-bluff and a southern block, and the surface is covered with dense second-growth—pandanus, the false sugar-cane, ferns large and small, and the sloth-tree, the Brazilian ubá or Preguiça, with tall, thin white trunk and hanging palmated leaves. The African palm-birds (orioles of the Merulidæ family), whose two colours, red (ntiblii) and golden yellow (enadsi), apparently divide them into as many fighting factions, give a touch, a bright colour to the dulness, and chatter over their pensile homes, which strangers would mistake for cocoa-nuts.
Severely hustled and horribly shaken up, we ran down the little valley of the Avin streamlet. It comes from afar, heading, they say, in Abasakasu, a region where gold abounds. In three-quarters of an hour we had cleared the four short miles which separate Axim from the Ancobra ferry. This is the line of a future tramway, which will transport goods from the port to the river; at present they must be shipped in bar-boats, which cost much and carry little. The ground divides itself into three sections—the red clay north of Axim; the sands, whose green-grown upper levels are fitted to support iron-pot sleepers; and the Avin valley, which debouches upon the left bank of the Ancobra. The first and the last divisions are safe for creosoted wood. My friend Mr. Russell Shaw would, I doubt not, take the contract for 4,000l., and a macadamised cart-road could be made for 500l.
This would be the beginning of a much-wanted change. At present the prices of transport are appalling. The French mines pay from 2l. to 2l. 10s. per ton from England to Axim; from Axim to Tákwá, forty miles by river and thirty by land, costs them 600 francs (24l.) per ton. Moreover, native hands are not always forthcoming.
The Ancobra River, the main artery and waterway of this region, must not be written after the Jonesian or modern mode, 'Ankobra' and 'Ankober,' nor with Bosman 'Rio Cobre' (River of Copper). It has evidently no connection with Abyssinian Ankober. To the native name, 'Anku' or 'Manku,' the Portuguese added Cobra, expressing its snaky course. Bowdich, followed by many moderns, calls it Seënna, for Sánmá or Sánumá, meaning 'unless a gale (of wind).' The legend is that a savage and murderous old king of the Apollonians, whose capital was Atábo, built a look-out upon a tall cocoanut-tree, and declared that nothing but a storm could lay it low. Sánmá is still the name of the settlement on the right bank near the rivermouth.
We rested at Kumprasi, a few huts close to the embouchure of the iron-bedded Avin streamlet and backwater. The little zinc-roofed hut, called by courtesy a store, belonging to Messieurs Swanzy, was closed. Katubwé, the northern hill on the left bank, had been bought, together with Akromasi Point and the Avin valley, by the late M. Bonnat, who cleared it and began shafting it for gold in the usual routine way. During the last six months it has been overgrown with dense vegetation. Mr. Walker believes, not unreasonably, that this lode is connected with the Apatim or Bujiá reefs.
Ferrying across, we could note the wild features of the Ancobra's mouth. The bar, which in smooth weather allows passage to a load of five tons, not unfrequently breaks at an offing of four miles, and breaks obliquely. The gape is garnished on either side by little black stumps of rocks, and the general effect is very unpleasant. A fine school of sharks fattens on the fish inside the bar. At this season the entrance narrows to a few feet, the effect of a huge sandspit on the right lip, and carries only six feet of water. During the rains it will rise eleven feet at Sánmá, and at Tumento twenty-four feet in a day, falling with the same dangerous rapidity. We shall see more of the Ancobra, which here separates two districts. Between it and Cape Threepoints the land is called Avaláwé; and the westward region, extending to Cape Apollonia, is named Amrehía, the Amregia of Jeekel and Dahse, meaning, 'where people meet.'
We halted for breakfast at Sánmá, where Messieurs Swanzy have another storehouse, and where the French Company is building one for itself with characteristic slowness. The settlement is ill-famed for the Chigo or jigger (Pulex penetrans), unknown in my day upon the West African coast. It has killed men by causing gangrenous sores. From 'Tabon,' [Footnote: 'Tabon' is evidently corrupted from the popular greeting ''Sta bom?' (Are you well? How d'e do?)] the Brazil, it crept over to São Paulo de Loanda, and thence it spread far and wide up and down coast, and deep into the interior. This fact suggests that there may be truth in the theory which makes the common flea of India an immigrant from Europe.
At 1 P.M. we resumed our way along the beach, under sunshine tempered by the 'smokes.' These mists, however, are now clearing away for the tornado-season, and 'insolation' will become more decided. We ran by sundry little bush-villages: their names will be found in my companion's careful route-survey. I shall notice only those which showed something notable.
There is sameness in the prospect, which, however, does not wholly lack interest. Soon after dawn the village urchins begin disporting themselves among the breakers and billows upon broken bits of boat, while their fathers throw the cast-net nearer shore. The brown-black pigs and piglets root up the wet sand for shell-fish; and, higher up, the small piebald cattle loiter in the sun or shade. From afar the negro-groups are not unpicturesque in their bright red and brimstone yellow sheets, worn like Roman togas. A nearer view displays bridgeless, patulous noses, suggesting a figure of [Symbol: Figure-8 on its side.]; cheek-bones like molehills, and lips splayed out in the manner of speaking-trumpets: often, indeed, the face is a mere attachment to the devouring-apparatus. Throughout the day sexes and ages keep apart. The nude boys perch upon stones or worn-out canoes. Their elders affect the shade, men on one side of the village and women on the other. All the settlements are backed by cocoa-trees in lines and clumps. Those who view Africa biliously compare them with hearse-plumes; I find in them a peculiar individuality and likeness to humankind. There is the chubby babe, six feet high; the fast-growing 'hobbedehoy;' the adult, bending away from you like a man, or, woman-like, inclining towards you; there is the bald, shrunken senior; and, lastly, appears death, lean and cold and dry.
Between sea and settlement stand the canoes, flat-bottomed and tip-tilted like Turkish slippers; where the land is low and floods are high, each is mounted upon four posts. Fronting and outside the village stands a wall-less roof of flat matting, the palaver-house. The settlement is surrounded by a palisade of fronds stripped from the bamboo-palm and strengthened by posts; the latter put forth green shoots as soon as stuck in the ground, and recall memories of Robinson Crusoe. The general entrance has a threshold two to two and a half feet high. The tenements are simple as birds' nests, primitive as the Highlander's mud-cabin and shieling of wattle and heather. The outer walls are of bamboo-palm fronds, the partitions are of bamboo-palm matting, and the roofs are of bamboo-palm thatch. Each place has its osafahin, or headman, and each headman has his guest-house, built of better material, swish or adobe.