After being some four or five days crossing the Bight of Biafra, we sighted the island of Fernando Po. Here our captain having to do a little business, we anchor for the night in the harbour of Santa Isabel. The little island of Fernando Po once belonged to us, but we exchanged it some years ago with the Spanish Government for another island in the West Indies, which our Government thought of more value. This, as far as the West Coast was concerned, was a pity, because at the time I am speaking of the island was a flourishing place, with about half-a-dozen or so English merchants, and a fairly good hotel; but not so now, for while there is still business going on, the place is not advancing, and a place that does not advance must go back. The chief merchants there to-day are English. This the Spanish would not have if they could help it, but being under certain obligations to them they suffer them to remain.
The first view of Fernando Po when you arrive in the bay is a perfect picture; it makes one almost feel they would never like to leave there; its white houses all round the front on the higher level, its wharves and warehouses at the bottom, and its beautiful mountain rising magnificently in the background. Its whole appearance is very similar to the island of Teneriffe. It seems strange that here, almost in the middle of the tropics, if you have any desire to feel an English winter, you have only to go to the top of the Fernando Po mountain, which can easily be done in two days, or even less, for while at the foot the thermometer is registering 85° or 90° in the shade, on the top there is always winter cold and snow.
Now, I think we had better continue our journey. We took a few passengers on board, and then set sail for the
