20 COCOA 



a babble of strange tongues below, catch a glimpse 

 of 'black hands reaching up to us; then, with a bit of 

 a bump, the Mammie Chair comes to rest on the floor- 

 boards of a surf-boat. We edge our way out and, as 

 we take our place in comfortable wicker chairs that 

 have been placed in the boat for us, up goes the Mammie 

 Chair to fetch another load of human cargo. 



Ten strapping nigger boys, sitting five aside on the 

 gunwale, bend to their paddles. . . . The helmsman, 

 standing with a grip on a steering-oar, starts a tune. 

 . . . OS we go, cutting through the swell to the 

 weird chant of a part song. We cannot understand 

 the words, for they are in the Cape Coast lingo of the 

 boat-boys, but we are told by our host that, in accord- 

 ance with a common custom, the crew are probably 

 indulging in an improvised criticism of us as new- 

 comers, speculating on the extent to which, judging 

 from our appearance, we are good for a " dash." The 

 next ditty, rendered in English to the swish of the 

 paddles and the drum of their handles beaten on the 

 gunwale, confirms the suggestion; it runs thus: 



" Paper money (Swish, swish). 

 Paper money (Rat, rat). 

 No good (Swish, swish). 

 No buy chop." 



" Chop " is West Coast palaver for food; so common 

 has the word become in this sense that our countrymen 

 out here use it even when they are talking amongst 

 themselves; thus, you will never hear them call a 

 dining-room by any other name than a chop-room. 

 The boat-boys' reference to paper money is a hint to 

 us that silver is the proper currency of the Coast, 

 and that they so strongly object to the introduction 

 of a paper currency that amongst themselves a silver 



