The next morning the ship was off Accra. Here the scenery had
entirely changed. The hills had receded, and a wide and slightly
undulating plain extended to their feet, some twelve miles back.
The captain was going to land, as he had some despatches for the
colony, and he invited Frank to accompany him. They did not, as
Frank expected, land in a man of war's boat, but in a surf boat,
which, upon their hoisting a signal, came out to them. These surf
boats are large and very wide and flat. They are paddled by ten or
twelve negroes, who sit upon the gunwale. These men work vigorously,
and the boats travel at a considerable pace. Each boat has a stroke
peculiar to itself. Some paddle hard for six strokes and then easy
for an equal number. Some will take two or three hard and then one
easy. The steersman stands in the stern and steers with an oar. He
or one of the crew keeps up a monotonous song, to which the crew
reply in chorus, always in time with their paddling.
The surf is heavy at Accra and Frank held his breath, as, after
waiting for a favorable moment, the steersman gave the sign and
the boat darted in at lightning speed on the top of a great wave,
and ran up on the beach in the midst of a whirl of white foam.
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