When One Is On The Top Of The Hills, A Cold Breeze
Comes Through The Mist Chilling One To The Bone, And Bending The
Heads Of The Palm Trees, Sends Down From Them Water By The Bucketful
With A Slap; Hitting Or Missing You As The Case May Be.
Both myself and my men are by now getting anxious for our "chop,"
and they tell me, "We look
Them big hut soon." Soon we do look them
big hut, but with faces of undisguised horror, for the big hut
consists of a few charred roof-mats, etc., lying on the ground.
There has been a fire in that simple savage home. Our path here is
cut by one that goes east and west, and after a consultation between
my men and the Bakwiri, we take the path going east, down a steep
slope between weedy plantations, and shortly on the left shows a
steep little hill-side with a long low hut on the top. We go up to
it and I find it is the habitation of a Basel Mission black Bible-
reader. He comes out and speaks English well, and I tell him I want
a house for myself and my men, and he says we had better come and
stay in this one. It is divided into two chambers, one in which the
children who attend the mission-school stay, and wherein there is a
fire, and one evidently the abode of the teacher. I thank the
Bible-reader and say that I will pay him for the house, and I and
the men go in streaming, and my teeth chatter with cold as the
breeze chills my saturated garment while I give out the rations of
beef, rum, blankets, and tobacco to the men.
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