One
afternoon, when the four or five ladies of Calabar and Mr. Bedwell,
the Acting Commissioner, and the officers of the W.A.F.F.'s were at
the clubhouse having ice-drinks, the king at the head of a retinue
of cabinet officers, high priests, and wives bore down upon the
club-house with the evident intention of inviting himself to tea.
Personally, I should like to have met a young man who could murder
three hundred girls and worry over it so little that he had not lost
one of his three hundred pounds, but the others were considerably
annoyed and sent an A.D.C. to tell him to "Move on!" as though he
were an organ-grinder, or a performing bear.
"These kings," exclaimed a subaltern of the W.A.F.F.'s, indignantly,
"are trying to push in everywhere!"
When we departed from Calabar, the only thing that reconciled me to
leaving it and its charming people, was the fact that when the ship
moved there was a breeze. While at anchor in the river I had found
that not being able to breathe by day or to sleep by night in time
is trying, even to the stoutest constitution.
One of the married ladies of Calabar, her husband, an officer of
the W.A.F.F.'s, and the captain of the police sailed on the
_Nigeria_ "on leave," and all Calabar came down to do them honor.
There was the commissioner's gig, and the marine captain's gig, and
the police captain's gig, and the gig from "Matilda's," the English
trading house, and one from the Dutch house and the French house,
and each gig was manned by black boys in beautiful uniforms and
fezzes, and each crew fought to tie up to the foot of the
accommodation ladder.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134