We landed and walked a few yards to the settlement. A 'Steam-launch' sounds grandiose, and so does a 'Great Central Depot'--seen on paper. And touching this place I was told a tale. Some time ago two young French employes, a doctor and an engineer, were sent up to the mines, and fell victims to the magical influence of the name. Quoth Jules to Alphonse, 'My friend, we will land; we will call a _fiacre_; we will drive to the local Three Provincial Brothers; we will eat a succulent repast, and then for a few happy hours we will forget Blackland and these ignoble blacks.' So they toiled up the stiff and slippery slope, and found a scatter of crate-huts crowning a bald head of yellow argil. Speechless with rage and horror at the sight of the 'Depot,' they rushed headlong into the canoe, returned without a moment's delay to Axim, and, finding a steamer in the bay, incontinently went on board, flying the Dark Continent for ever. We housed ourselves in Messieurs Swanzy and Crocker's establishment at Tumento. The climate appeared wholesome; the river brought with it a breeze, and we were evidently entering the region of woods, between the mangrove-swamps of the coast and the grass-lands of the interior. At Tumento I met, after some twenty years, Mr. Dawson, of Cape Coast Castle. The last time it was at Dahoman Agbome, in company with the Rev. Mr. Bernasko, who died (1872) of dropsy and heart-disease. He is now in the employment of the Takwa, or French Company, and his local knowledge and old experience had suggested working the mines to M. Bonnat. Some forty years ago the English merchants of 'Cabo Corso' used to send their people hereabouts to dig; and more recently Mr. Carter had spent, they say, 4,000_l_. upon the works. He was followed by another roving Englishman, who was not more successful. The liberation of pawns and other anti-abolitionist 'fads' had so raised the wage-rate that the rich placers were presently left to the natives. We exchanged reminiscences, and he at once started down stream for Axim. As we were unable to work, Mr. Grant proceeded to inspect the concession called 'Insimankao,' the Asamankao of M. Zimmermann. It is the name of the village near which Sir Charles Macarthy was slain: our authorities translated it 'I've got you,' as the poor man said to the gold, or the cruel chief to the runaway serf. Mr. Dawson, who is uncle by marriage to Mr. Grant, had also suggested this digging. Our good manager, now an adept at prospecting, found the way very foul and the place very rich. It was afterwards, as will be seen, visited by Mr. Oliver Pegler and lastly by Cameron.