on him. I gave all my remaining trade goods,
and the rest of the rum to the Fans as a dash, and
they were more than satisfied. I must say they
never clamoured for dash for top. The Passenger
we had brought through with us, who had really made
himself very helpful, was quite surprised at getting
a bundle of goods from me. My only anxiety was
as to whether Fika would get his share all right; but
I expect he did, for the Ajumbas are very honest men;
and they were going back with my Fan friends.
I found out, by the by, the reason of Fika’s
shyness in coming through to the Rembwe; it was a big
wife palaver.
I had a touching farewell with the Fans: and
so in peace, good feeling, and prosperity I parted
company for the second time with “the terrible
M’pongwe,” whom I hope to meet with again,
for with all their many faults and failings, they
are real men. I am faint-hearted enough to
hope, that our next journey together, may not be over
a country that seems to me to have been laid down as
an obstacle race track for Mr. G. F. Watts’s
Titans, and to have fallen into shocking bad repair.
Wherein the Voyager, having fallen among the black
traders, discourses on these men and their manner
of life; and the difficulties and dangers attending
the barter they carry on with the bush savages; and
on some of the reasons that makes this barter so beloved
and followed by both the black trader and the savage.
To which is added an account of the manner of life
of the Fan tribe; the strange form of coinage used
by these people; their manner of hunting the elephant,
working in iron; and such like things.
I spent a few, lazy, pleasant days at Agonjo, Mr.
Glass doing all he could to make me comfortable, though
he had a nasty touch of fever on him just then.
His efforts were ably seconded by his good lady,
an exceedingly comely Gaboon woman, with pretty manners,
and an excellent gift in cookery. The third
member of the staff was the store-keeper, a clever
fellow: I fancy a Loango from his clean-cut
features and spare make, but his tribe I know not for
a surety.
One of these black trader factories is an exceedingly
interesting place to stay at, for in these factories
you are right down on the bed rock of the trade.
On the Coast, for the greater part, the white traders
are dealing with black traders, middle men, who have
procured their trade stuff from the bush natives, who
collect and prepare it. Here, in the black trader
factory, you see the first stage of the export part
of the trade: namely the barter of the collected
trade stuff between the collector and the middleman.
I will not go into details regarding it. What
I saw merely confirmed my opinion that the native
is not cheated; no, not even by a fellow African trader;
and I will merely here pause to sing a paean to a
very unpopular class—the black middleman
