Finally
The Price I Was To Pay Obanjo Was Settled And We Proceeded To Less
Important Details.
It seemed Obanjo, when up the river this time,
had set about constructing a new and large trading canoe at one of
his homes, in which he was just thinking of taking his goods down to
Gaboon.
Next morning Obanjo with his vessel turned up, and saying
farewell to my kind host, Mr. Sanga Glass, I departed.
She had the makings of a fine vessel in her; though roughly hewn out
of an immense hard-wood tree: her lines were good, and her type was
that of the big sea-canoes of the Bight of Panavia. Very far
forward was a pole mast, roughly made, but European in intention,
and carrying a long gaff. Shrouds and stays it had not, and my
impression was that it would be carried away if we dropped in for
half a tornado, until I saw our sail and recognised that that would
go to darning cotton instantly if it fell in with even a breeze. It
was a bed quilt that had evidently been in the family some years,
and although it had been in places carefully patched with pieces of
previous sets of the captain's dungarees, in other places, where it
had not, it gave "free passage to the airs of Heaven"; which I may
remark does not make for speed in the boat mounting such canvas.
Partly to this sail, partly to the amount of trading affairs we
attended to, do I owe the credit of having made a record trip down
the Rembwe, the slowest white man time on record.
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