This is a French colony, and if the
French traders and I were patriots instead of merchants we would
buy from our own people, but we buy from the Germans, because trade
follows no flag. They make a gin out of potatoes colored with rum or
gin, and label it 'Demerara' and 'Jamaica.' They sell it to us on
the wharf at Antwerp for ninepence a gallon, and we sell it at nine
francs per dozen bottles. Germany is taking our trade from us
because she undersells us, and because her merchants don't wait for
trade to come to them, but go after it. Before the Woermann boat is
due their agent here will come to my factory and spy out all I have
in my compound. 'Why don't you ship those logs with us?' he'll ask.
"'Can't spare the boys to carry them to the beach,' I'll say.
"'I'll furnish the boys,' he'll answer. That's the German way.
"The Elder-Dempster boats lie three miles out at sea and blow a
whistle at us. They act as though by carrying our freight they were
doing us a favor. These German ships, to save you the long pull,
anchor close to the beach and lend you their own shore boats and
their own boys to work your cargo. And if you give them a few tons
to carry, like as not they'll 'dash' you to a case of 'fizz.' And
meanwhile the English captain is lying outside the bar tooting his
whistle and wanting to know if you think he's going to run his ship
aground for a few bags of rotten kernels. And he can't see, and the
people at home can't see, why the Germans are crowding us off the
Coast.
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