African Notes.
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��and there the jungle breaks ; patches of corn are seen, where some en- terprising heathen has burned off the " bush " and put in his " kauky " seed. The scenery' across the country is beautiful and satisfying, rather than grand. On the right, occasional glimpses of the sea are had, while to the left the highlands of the interior raise their tops to meet the eye above the jungle. We cross a miniature iron suspension bridge over the Sweet- water river, built by the English dur- ing the Ashantee war. Over this bridge the troops of Sir Garnet Wool- sey crossed on their march to Koo- massee. The emotion one experiences as he first comes upon this little gem is akin to what he might feel at a successful manipulation of Aladdin's lamp.
This looks like English public spirit, but the facts demur. It cost treasure, but its raison d'etre was to assist in pushing the troops to the capital of the Ashantee country, where, after staying but two days, and burning Koomassee, they brought away enough of barbaric ornaments in beaten gold to pay the entire expenses of the war. But the bridge is now left to wear out with time, and, like the improvements of the Dutch, will go to desolation and the bush.
But as the ride across the country will tire the reader, we will cut its recital short. Our heathen friends gather us flowers and catch us butter- flies, and we try a few shots at some white-breasted crows. Now and then a suggestive growl from the jungle causes my four horses to quicken their pace, or a serpent glides lazily across the road, a type of African indolence. But we are at last in Cape Coast, and
��our hammock-men are discharged until early evening. The town presents a far more interesting view as you enter from the country than it does from the beach, but the beauty is lost as one threads its narrow lanes, saluting his nostrils with the never-to-be-for- gotten West Coast odor. Cape Coast, like all Fantee towns, is irregularly laid out, although making some show of streets. There are some residences quite imposing, and around the gov- ernment buildings are grounds that show the handiwork of white men, garnished with a flora of which the tropics are ever lavish. The castle itself, or fort, is an extensive struct- ure, seemingly well garrisoned. The greater portion of the town is made up of mud houses, so called. They are built from the earth upon which they stand. This earth, wet and mixed with gravel, forms, when sun- baked, a hard cement. The walls are raised from two to three feet thick. Those that are roofed are covered with thatch, or long country grasses, save a few boasting roofs of corrugated iron — an English blunder. The native experience teaches the Fantee that a non-conductor is the proper roof in a hot country. Those that are not roofed tumble down every wet season and are rebuit in the dry, giving the inhabitants all the variety and priva- tions of a summer tour without the extra hazard of travel. We pass a chapel, but, hearing something that resembles the hum of a giant bee-hive, we turn back, and, making our way through flocks of goats, pigs, sheep, and fowls, enter what we find to be a' school-room. A hundred eyes from the shiny black faces of fifty Fantee scions turn toward us, and the tumult
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