Here every evening may be seen in their
freshest linen the six married white men of Libreville, and, in the
latest Paris frocks, the six married ladies, while from the verandas
of the factories that line the sea front and from under the paper
lanterns of the Cafe Guion the clerks and traders sip their absinthe
and play dominoes, and cast envious glances at the six fortunate
fellow exiles.
For several days we lay a few miles south of Libreville, off the
mouth of the Gabun River, taking in the logs of mahogany. It was a
continuous performance of the greatest interest. I still do not
understand why all those engaged in it were not drowned, or pounded
to a pulp. Just before we touched at the Gabun River, two tramp
steamers, chartered by Americans, carried off a full cargo of this
mahogany to the States. It was an experiment the result of which the
traders of Libreville are awaiting with interest. The mahogany that
the reader sees in America probably comes from Hayti, Cuba, or
Belize, and is of much finer quality than that of the Gabun River,
which latter is used for making what the trade calls "fancy"
cigar-boxes and cheap furniture. But before it becomes a cigar-box
it passes through many adventures. Weeks before the steamer arrives
the trader, followed by his black boys, explores the jungle and
blazes the trees. Then the boys cut trails through the forest, and,
using logs for rollers, drag and push the tree trunks to the bank of
the river.
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