Attra seems to be a city of hopeless exile for all white people.

Last time I was there I used to notice every day a very old man making a pretence of working in a kitchen garden attached to a little white mission-house--a Basle Society depot.

He always seemed to be leaning on his spade, always gazing out seawards in the same intent, fascinated way.

Some one told me his history at last.

He was an Englishman of good position who had got into trouble in his younger days and served a term of years in prison.
When he came out, sooner than disgrace his family further, he published a false account of his death and sailed under a disguised name for Africa.