Cameroon is the village of Bimbia, said to be one of the most noted slave depots in the district. Hundreds of slaves used to be shipped from here in the days when the trade was allowed, and it is said that some time after the trade was prohibited one of these slave ships was just about to embark her human freight, when a British man-o'-war hove in sight. The captain, thinking his ship would be taken—and it was, I believe—and wanting to secure the golden dollars he had, took them to the shore and buried them. This is said to be thousands and thousands of pounds and is still unfound, so goes the tale. I tell it to you as it was told to me.
Our daily routine in the river was so similar that we will now consider the whole of the ship's cargo had been bought, and she is getting ready to make a start for home, which we were all very glad of; but our joy did not last long, for the mail arriving just at that time with letters from England, the captain received communication from our owners that they were sending out another ship, which he was instructed was for our chief mate to take charge of. That meant that the mate would have to remain to lay the cargo of her, while our old ship went home; but the poor man had been very ill for some time previous to this news, and was totally unfit to take charge; so under the circumstances there was only one thing to be done, and that was for the captain to remain and send the mate home. As soon as this was decided upon, two of us were asked to stay behind and help to work the newly-arrived vessel. I was one, the cook was the other (our skipper liked to be looked after in the eating department). Well, we soon settled down in our new quarters, and in a week or so said good-bye to our old ship and shipmates, who were jolly
