The great satirist here gives, in humorous heroics, a
fair description of the hopes of Christendom with regard to
the progress of “ golden Africa.” No land in modern times
has attracted so much curious attention among the sons
of civilisation. Missions have been maintained in the
country at enormous cost, and worked in many instances
with indomitable pluck. Pioneers of commerce have penetrated
to its inmost recesses, and the same may be said of
the great explorers who pushed on with the higher purpose
of adding to the knowledge of mankind some new facts
relating to hitherto unknown races and regions.
There is a peculiar charm in the idea of being able to
help in developing the resources of a country, to raise it
from prostration, and to lighten its darkness, so that finally
it may attain a position similar to that which is occupied
by ourselves. But I fancy that much of the fascination
which clings to the story of mystery-enshrouded Africa
is due to the power of the narratives related by its older
explorers.
Personally, I know that by some influence of this kind,
inscrutable perhaps, my fancy in the days of early boyhood
was fired with the thought that at some time or another I
would wander over virgin soil on the dark continent.
I t was a dream—I had almost said the dream—of my
youth, but years elapsed before the dream became a real
life experience. In the interval it was my fortune to visit
a good many lands, some of them savage even in civilisation,
hut I never lost sight of the early African vision.
At length the long cherished wish was gratified, and my
journey through the mysterious region has become a thing
of the past.
And now I find myself asking the reader to accompany
me along the line of my travels. I am to begin at once,
[telling the story in the good old fashion by noting the
wonders that I saw and heard.
It was a bitterly cold December morning, in 1883, when
I hoarded the Drummond Castle moored at Dartmouth, and
a few hours later I had my last glimpse of the lessening
shores of old England.
At lovely Madeira—the pearl of the Atlantic—a short
stay impresses every traveller with its vivid and picturesque
| scenes. Who does not remember the featherless divers who
perform as a wonderful feat, and with the greatest gusto,
¡the operation which was dreaded by ancient mariners as
I “ keel-hauling ” ? Can the visitor forget the commercial
gentlemen of acute instincts who sell the genuine articles—
not those manufactured by the gross in Birmingham or
! Lisbon—but the real gold ring from Cape Coast Castle, on
‘ which the signs of the Zodiac, so well known to every
¡traveller, are not struck by a vulgar modern die, but
engraved by the neat-fingered black man of the Cold Coast ?
It is curious to see these charming evidences of the gentle
[art and scientific knowledge of the subtle savage.
Two facts about Madeira may be mentioned. These I
[learned from trustworthy sources. I t appears that the chief
; industry, which of course is wine-making, is on the wane.
Recently the vines had been attacked by phylloxera in
¡an irresistible manner. The attacks seem to have begun
in 1872, in which year over 10,000 pipes of wine were made.
|Che produce of the year’s vintage when I passed the place,
in 1883, it was said on good authority would not exceed
; 1,000 pipes. The wine merchants, however, of the town
have a very large—should I say inexhaustible ?—stock of
| ‘ Madeira ” in their cellars, and by judicious “ blending ”
or “mixing” (very mild terms!) there will be enough
of the old-fashioned wine to supply the world even if the
b 2