It Was On The 23rd Of December, 1894, That We Left Liverpool In The
Batanga, Commanded By My Old Friend Captain Murray, Under Whose Care
I Had Made My First Voyage.
On the 30th we sighted the Peak of
Teneriffe early in the afternoon.
It displayed itself, as usual, as
an entirely celestial phenomenon. A great many people miss seeing
it. Suffering under the delusion that El Pico is a terrestrial
affair, they look in vain somewhere about the level of their own
eyes, which are striving to penetrate the dense masses of mist that
usually enshroud its slopes by day, and then a friend comes along,
and gaily points out to the newcomer the glittering white triangle
somewhere near the zenith. On some days the Peak stands out clear
from ocean to summit, looking every inch and more of its 12,080 ft.;
and this is said by the Canary fishermen to be a certain sign of
rain, or fine weather, or a gale of wind; but whenever and however
it may be seen, soft and dream-like in the sunshine, or melodramatic
and bizarre in the moonlight, it is one of the most beautiful things
the eye of man may see.
Soon after sighting Teneriffe, Lancarote showed, and then the Grand
Canary. Teneriffe is perhaps the most beautiful, but it is hard to
judge between it and Grand Canary as seen from the sea. The superb
cone this afternoon stood out a deep purple against a serpent-green
sky, separated from the brilliant blue ocean by a girdle of pink and
gold cumulus, while Grand Canary and Lancarote looked as if they
were formed from fantastic-shaped sunset cloud-banks that by some
spell had been solidified. The general colour of the mountains of
Grand Canary, which rise peak after peak until they culminate in the
Pico de las Nieves, some 6,000 feet high, is a yellowish red, and
the air which lies among their rocky crevices and swathes their
softer sides is a lovely lustrous blue.
Just before the sudden dark came down, and when the sun was taking a
curve out of the horizon of sea, all the clouds gathered round the
three islands, leaving the sky a pure amethyst pink, and as a good-
night to them the sun outlined them with rims of shining gold, and
made the snow-clad Peak of Teneriffe blaze with star-white light.
In a few minutes came the dusk, and as we neared Grand Canary, out
of its cloud-bank gleamed the red flash of the lighthouse on the
Isleta, and in a few more minutes, along the sea level, sparkled the
five miles of irregularly distributed lights of Puerto de la Luz and
the city of Las Palmas.
We reached Sierra Leone at 9 A.M. on the 7th of January, and as the
place is hardly so much in touch with the general public as the
Canaries are {14} I may perhaps venture to go more into details
regarding it. The harbour is formed by the long low strip of land
to the north called the Bullam shore, and to the south by the
peninsula terminating in Cape Sierra Leone, a sandy promontory at
the end of which is situated a lighthouse of irregular habits. Low
hills covered with tropical forest growth rise from the sandy shores
of the Cape, and along its face are three creeks or bays, deep
inlets showing through their narrow entrances smooth beaches of
yellow sand, fenced inland by the forest of cotton-woods and palms,
with here and there an elephantine baobab.
The first of these bays is called Pirate Bay, the next English Bay,
and the third Kru Bay. The wooded hills of the Cape rise after
passing Kru Bay, and become spurs of the mountain, 2,500 feet in
height, which is the Sierra Leone itself. There are, however,
several mountains here besides the Sierra Leone, the most
conspicuous of them being the peak known as Sugar Loaf, and when
seen from the sea they are very lovely, for their form is noble, and
a wealth of tropical vegetation covers them, which, unbroken in its
continuity, but endless in its variety, seems to sweep over their
sides down to the shore like a sea, breaking here and there into a
surf of flowers.
It is the general opinion, indeed, of those who ought to know that
Sierra Leone appears at its best when seen from the sea,
particularly when you are leaving the harbour homeward bound; and
that here its charms, artistic, moral, and residential, end. But,
from the experience I have gained of it, I have no hesitation in
saying that it is one of the best places for getting luncheon in
that I have ever happened on, and that a more pleasant and varied
way of spending an afternoon than going about its capital, Free
Town, with a certain Irish purser, who is as well known as he is
respected among the leviathan old negro ladies, it would be hard to
find. Still it must be admitted it IS rather hot.
Free Town its capital is situated on the northern base of the
mountain, and extends along the sea-front with most business-like
wharves, quays, and warehouses. Viewed from the harbour, "The
Liverpool of West Africa," {15} as it is called, looks as if it were
built of gray stone, which it is not. When you get ashore, you will
find that most of the stores and houses - the majority of which, it
may be remarked, are in a state of acute dilapidation - are of
painted wood, with corrugated iron roofs. Here and there, though,
you will see a thatched house, its thatch covered with creeping
plants, and inhabited by colonies of creeping insects.
Some of the stores and churches are, it is true, built of stone, but
this does not look like stone at a distance, being red in colour -
unhewn blocks of the red stone of the locality.
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