{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_72480/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_72480","id":"gutenberg_72480","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/72480","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Archaeology & Anthropology","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Fang (African people)","Fetishism -- Africa, West","Missions -- Gabon","Mpongwe (African people)"],"text":"THE FETISH FOLK OF WEST AFRICA\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  AMVAMA, A FANG CATECHIST (See p. 316).\n]\n\n\n\n\n                     The Fetish Folk of West Africa\n\n\n                                   By\n                           ROBERT H. MILLIGAN\n                _Author of \u201cThe Jungle Folk of Africa\u201d_\n\n                             _ILLUSTRATED_\n\n[Illustration: [Logo]]\n\n                   NEW YORK      CHICAGO      TORONTO\n                       Fleming H. Revell Company\n                          LONDON AND EDINBURGH\n\n\n\n\n                          Copyright, 1912, by\n                       FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY\n\n\n                    New York: 158 Fifth Avenue\n                    Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave.\n                    Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W.\n                    London: 21 Paternoster Square\n                    Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street\n\n\n\n\n                                Preface\n\n\nIn this book as in the one that preceded it, _The Jungle Folk of\nAfrica_, the author endeavours to exhibit the _humanity_ of the African\nas it impressed himself.\n\nThe difference between the two books is chiefly a difference of\nemphasis, and is indicated in the titles. In the former the African\nis described in relation to his surroundings\u2014his exterior world.\nMuch is said about the forest\u2014deep, solemn, vast, impenetrably\nmysterious\u2014wherein he roams at large with nature\u2019s own wild freedom;\ncontending also with its mighty forces, and wresting from it the\nmeans of existence by his own resourcefulness of expedient. In the\npresent volume the author essays the more difficult task of\nrevealing the interior world of the African\u2014his mental habits and\nbeliefs. Much is said about _fetishism_ and _folk-lore_.\n\nIf, despite all that is said herein, the philosophy of fetishism should\nremain obscure\u2014and there is no doubt of it; if the reader should close\nthis book with the consciousness of a broad, comprehensive ignorance of\nthe subject, it may be to some extent the fault of fetishism itself,\nwhich is the jungle of jungles, an aggregation of incoherent beliefs.\nThe world of the African is as wild and strange as the weird world that\nwe often visit on the brink of sleep. It was far from Africa that\nSiegfried thought it worth while to encounter the dread dragon, Fafner,\nand slay him for the possession of the magic tarnhelm forged by the\nNibelung. In Africa everybody has a tarnhelm. Second-hand tarnhelms are\nfor sale everywhere. I myself had a rare one; but I have lost it, or\nmislaid it. To us, who think of nature as the realm of law, order, and\nuniformity, the world of the African seems to have gone mad. This\nmadness, however, is more apparent than real. The African thinks in\nterms of the miraculous; natural effects are explained by supernatural\ncauses; supernatural, but not therefore unintelligible, still less\nirrational. Therefore, if we should not find the fabled thread out of\nthis amazing labyrinth of fetishism, it may be possible to find a thread\n_into_ it; and not only possible, but also worth while, if within the\nlabyrinth we shall find the African himself and come to know him, mind\nand heart, a little better.\n\nOne need not apologize for the space given to folk-lore so long as Brer\nRabbit and Brer Fox retain their present popularity with old and young;\nfor in African folk-lore we have the originals of the stories of Uncle\nRemus. Aside from the entertaining quality of folk-lore, its idealism\nhas a human value. In Mr. Lecky\u2019s essay, _Thoughts on History_,\npublished since his death, the great historian pays the following\nremarkable tribute to idealism:\n\n\u201cLegends which have no firm historical basis are often of the highest\nhistorical value as reflecting the moral sentiments of their time. Nor\ndo they merely reflect them. In some periods they contribute perhaps\nmore than any other influence to mould and colour them and to give them\nan enduring strength. The facts of history have been largely governed by\nits fiction. Great events often acquire their full power over the human\nmind only when they have passed through the transfiguring medium of the\nimagination, and men as they were supposed to be have even sometimes\nexercised a wider influence than men as they actually were. Ideals\nultimately rule the world; and each, before it loses its ascendency,\nbequeaths some moral truth as an abiding legacy to the human race.\u201d\n\nInasmuch as the history of most African tribes must ever remain unknown\nto us, their legends and all that is included in their folk-lore possess\nadditional anthropological value as a medium through which to study the\nAfrican mind.\n\nThe African, despite his degradation, is interesting; and that, not\nmerely as an object of religious endeavour, but on the human level, as a\nman. The testimony of Mr. Herbert Ward\u2014traveller, adventurer, soldier\nand artist\u2014who first went to Africa with Stanley, and afterwards went a\nsecond time and spent several years, is the testimony of all\nsound-hearted men who have lived in Africa. Mr. Ward, in _A Voice From\nthe Congo_, says:\n\n\u201cThere was a good side even to the most villainous-looking savage....\nThey appealed strongly to me by reason of their simplicity and\ndirectness, their lack of scheming or plotting, and by the spontaneity\nof everything they did.\u201d And again: \u201cIt has been my experience that the\nlonger one lives with Africans, the more one grows to love them.\nPrejudices soon vanish. The black skin loses something of its unpleasant\ncharacteristics, for one knows that it covers such a very human heart.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, the degradation of the African is a fact. And it is being\nproved that there is no power of moral renovation for him inherent in\nmaterial progress. Christianity, and nothing else, vitalizes his moral\nnature; and therefore it contains the potentialities of civilization.\nWhen Mr. Giddings, and other sociologists of a certain class, ignoring\nspiritual values, demand a gospel for the life that now is, we offer\nthem the same Gospel of Christ, and point to its actual results in\nAfrica; maintaining that the missionary is the chief agent in Africa\u2019s\ncivilization, and affirming that civilization is but the secular side of\nChristianity.\n\nOne of the stories in this volume appears also in Dr. Robert H. Nassau\u2019s\nadmirable book, _Fetishism in West Africa_; and two of the stories are\ntold, in slightly different form, in Mr. R. E. Dennett\u2019s interesting\nbook on the folk-lore of the _Fjort_. Most of the illustrations are from\nphotographs taken by Mr. Harry D. Salveter.\n\n                                                     ROBERT H. MILLIGAN.\n\n  _New York._\n\n\n\n\n                                Contents\n\n\n                                    I\n THE WHITE MAN\u2019S GRAVE                                                15\n\n    The Coast\u2014The Old Coaster\u2014His\n      obsession\u2014Angom\u2014Loneliness\u2014Gaboon\u2014The seasons\u2014Ice that\n      burned\u2014A _peculiar_ climate\u2014The mosquito\u2014Quinine\u2014Frightened\n      into fever\u2014A matter of coffins.\n\n\n                                   II\n \u201cTHE WISE ONES\u201d                                                      29\n\n    From palm-oil to trousers\u2014Mpongwe and Fang\u2014Making a\n      king\u2014Caste\u2014Domestic slavery\u2014Ndinga, a human leopard\u2014A Gaboon\n      belle\u2014Native courtesy\u2014A fight\u2014A war-custom\u2014The cause of the\n      tide\u2014A dying confession\u2014A case of witchcraft\u2014Curing the sick\u2014A\n      secret society.\n\n\n                                   III\n A DYING TRIBE                                                        42\n\n    Women who cannot marry\u2014The slave-trade\u2014The\n      rum-traffic\u2014Elida\u2014Augustus\u2014Trade and polygamy\u2014Too proud to\n      speak\u2014Destruction of authority\u2014Customs not irrational\u2014The\n      dowry\u2014The foreign governments\u2014The whipping-post\u2014A fatal\n      defect.\n\n\n                                   IV\n A LIVING REMNANT                                                     56\n\n    A difficult work\u2014The Jesuits\u2014Iguwi\u2014Single blessedness\u2014A chicken\n      breakfast\u2014Buttons\u2014A remarkable illustration\u2014A\n      service\u2014Fluency\u2014Toko Truman\u2014Izuri\u2014Ntyango\u2014Sara\u2014Lucina\u2014Uncle\n      Remus\u2014_The Tortoise and his Creditors_\u2014_The Wag_\u2014A battle in\n      canoes\u2014A captive father\u2014A graveyard.\n\n\n                                    V\n AFRICAN MUSIC                                                        72\n\n    A taste for comic opera\u2014An organ and an organist\u2014The origin of\n      music\u2014Musical instruments\u2014The sense of melody\u2014A decomposed\n      tune\u2014Unfamiliar scales\u2014Mourning\u2014Rhythm\u2014Extremely musical\u2014Three\n      songs.\n\n\n                                   VI\n PESTS                                                                85\n\n    _The Ten Plagues_\u2014Killing flies\u2014The driver ant\u2014Other ants\u2014The\n      jigger\u2014The sandfly\u2014The mosquito\u2014The centipede\u2014The\n      cockroach\u2014The white ant\u2014Divers other pests\u2014Internal\n      parasites\u2014Rats\u2014Snakes.\n\n\n                                   VII\n THE \u201cCANNIBAL\u201d FANG                                                 110\n\n    A discriminating palate\u2014Not the worst cannibals\u2014Appearance\u2014The\n      Negro face and the Greek face\u2014Legs\u2014The wheel\u2014Dress\u2014An\n      overdressed woman\u2014Food\u2014Cannibalism\u2014An affair of honour\u2014Native\n      art\u2014Curiosity\u2014Turning them into monkeys.\n\n\n                                  VIII\n MANNERS AND CUSTOMS                                                 125\n\n    The native resourceful\u2014Unambitious\u2014Trade\u2014Communism\u2014Boiling the\n      Bible\u2014A quarrel\u2014Marriage\u2014The dowry\u2014A case of torture\u2014The\n      head-wife\u2014The tongue a woman\u2019s weapon\u2014Polygamy\u2014_Ogula and her\n      Ngalo_\u2014_Tragedy_\u2014Dancing\u2014The story-teller\u2014An interesting liar.\n\n\n                                   IX\n FUNERAL CUSTOMS                                                     145\n\n    A talking corpse\u2014A world of magic\u2014Sympathy and expectoration\u2014The\n      dirge\u2014Premature burial\u2014A funeral incident\u2014Death\n      customs\u2014Conventional mourning\u2014An incident of the\n      _grass-field_\u2014A horrible burial custom\u2014Two death scenes, a\n      contrast.\n\n\n                                    X\n THE \u201cDOROTHY\u201d                                                       158\n\n    A godsend\u2014A gasoline palaver\u2014Canoeing\u2014The rapids\u2014A pilot\u2014A\n      sudden stop\u2014Passengers\u2014The mangrove swamp\u2014A wheelman and a\n      bottle\u2014Pirates\u2014Towing a town\u2014Nkogo\u2014Ndutuma\u2014Ndong Bisia\u2014A\n      saucepan and a ball of twine.\n\n\n                                   XI\n SCHOOLBOYS                                                          179\n\n    Lolo\u2014Unwashed\u2014Washed\u2014A flying bucket\u2014A little friend\u2014The blessed\n      Melchisedec\u2014A parting\u2014_Ko-ko-ko-ko_\u2014The centre of a fight\u2014The\n      poetry of soap\u2014A threat of suicide\u2014The eloquence of sounding\n      brass\u2014A \u201crotten road\u201d\u2014Savages as soldiers\u2014Ngema\u2019s\n      father\u2014Across our bow\u2014A tornado.\n\n\n                                   XII\n A SCHOOL                                                            198\n\n    Mendam, the _big brother_\u2014Clothing\u2014A day\u2019s program\u2014Cutting\n      grass\u2014A python\u2014Rations\u2014A collapse\u2014The dormitory\u2014The\n      dispensary\u2014The jigger-palaver\u2014Not stupid\u2014A head that got\n      hit\u2014Singing\u2014Interruptions\u2014A picnic\u2014Games\u2014War-dances\u2014Stories\u2014_A\n      Tug-of-War_\u2014_A Race_\u2014_The Leopard and the Antelope_\u2014An\n      evangelistic force.\n\n\n                                  XIII\n THE MENTAL DEGRADATION OF FETISHISM                                 219\n\n    The horseshoe\u2014The charm\u2014The fetish\u2014The relic\u2014The fetish-doctor\u2014A\n      psychological consequence\u2014The African idea of\n      nature\u2014Incredible beliefs\u2014Confession of a chief\u2019s son\u2014Two\n      babes\u2014The idea of God\u2014The mental atmosphere\u2014Making the\n      rainbow\u2014A problem\u2014First lessons\u2014Why the river is crooked\u2014An\n      old woman\u2019s illustration.\n\n\n                                   XIV\n THE MORAL DEGRADATION OF FETISHISM                                  233\n\n    A lost child\u2014Worship of snakes\u2014Demoralizing factors\u2014A chief\u2019s\n      fetish\u2014Ingredients\u2014Human sacrifice\u2014A royal death\u2014Wives and\n      witchcraft\u2014Concluding a war\u2014Destiny\u2014Man\u2019s nature\u2014New\n      conceptions\u2014A revolt from cannibalism\u2014Heaps of\n      skulls\u2014Deliverance.\n\n\n                                   XV\n FETISHISM AND THE CROSS                                             246\n\n    A precocious boy\u2014Killed his friend\u2014Essentially moral\u2014Cure for\n      lying\u2014The ordeal\u2014A trial and death\u2014The sense of\n      guilt\u2014Expiatory rites\u2014The new ideal\u2014The\n      atonement\u2014Self-sacrifice and self-assertion\u2014Ndong Koni builds\n      a church\u2014Onjoga cuts grass\u2014Makuba\u2019s rheumatism\u2014What is a\n      missionary?\u2014Onjoga\u2019s wife\u2014Children at play.\n\n\n                                   XVI\n MISSIONS AND SOCIAL PROGRESS                                        264\n\n    The _noble savage_\u2014Story of a feud\u2014Society and the\n      individual\u2014Progressive and\n      unprogressive\u2014Interdependence\u2014Conquest of\n      nature\u2014Education\u2014Authority of custom\u2014Work\u2014Trustworthiness\u2014A\n      civilizing experiment\u2014A communion service\u2014Equality of woman\u2014A\n      salutation\u2014Attitude towards nature\u2014A thirst for\n      knowledge\u2014Service\u2014Legitimacy in government\u2014The home\u2014_Thy\n      kingdom come_.\n\n\n                                  XVII\n THE CRITICS                                                         286\n\n    The missionary blamed for everything\u2014Bewildering\n      inconsistency\u2014Professor Starr\u2014Misfits\u2014Criticism\n      unjust\u2014Unbelief\u2014Antipathy towards the\n      native\u2014Cruelty\u2014Vice\u2014Lowering of ideals\u2014Missions sociologically\n      sound\u2014The let alone policy too late\u2014Miss Kingsley.\n\n\n                                  XVIII\n SAINTS AMONG SAVAGES                                                310\n\n    The best apologetic\u2014Mb\u2019Obam\u2014Sara\u2014A matrimonial bureau\u2014Angona\u2014A\n      pot-palaver\u2014A narrow escape\u2014Amvama\u2014A clean knife\u2014A bet\u2014Proving\n      himself\u2014A dowry palaver\u2014Opposing a chief\u2014Robert Boardman\u2014Son\n      of a \u201cprince\u201d\u2014Blindness\u2014Incident of a pipe\u2014His love of\n      music\u2014His wife\u2014A near-elopement\u2014Walking in the light.\n\n\n\n\n                             Illustrations\n\n\n          AMVAMA, A FANG CATECHIST             _Frontispiece_\n                                                _Facing page_\n          MISSION HOUSE AT BARAKA                          22\n          WOMEN\u2019S SECRET SOCIETY                           41\n          TRADING-HOUSE AT GABOON                          54\n          AN MPONGWE WEDDING                               65\n          A FANG FAMILY                                   110\n          FANG TRADERS WITH IVORY                         128\n          THE _DOROTHY_                                   158\n          CREW OF THE _DOROTHY_                           171\n          THE PRIMARY CLASS                               179\n          A LITTLE SCHOLAR                                187\n          THE DAILY CLINIC                                187\n          SCHOOLHOUSE AND DORMITORY AT GABOON             205\n          SEVERAL STRIDES TOWARDS CIVILIZATION            264\n          A FASHIONABLE WEDDING IN KAMERUN                283\n          ANYOROGULI                                      306\n          RETURNING FROM THE GARDENS                      306\n          FANG CHRISTIANS                                 323\n\n\n\n\n                                   I\n                         THE WHITE MAN\u2019S GRAVE\n\n\nFor that matter the whole west coast of Africa is called by the natives\n_The White Man\u2019s Grave_; and everywhere the fever stalks along the beach\nlike a grim sentinel warning the stranger to stay away and ready to beat\nhim into delirium and death if he lands. But the name, _The White Man\u2019s\nGrave_, is especially attached to several of the oldest of the coast\nsettlements. Notable among these is Gaboon, in the French Congo, almost\nexactly at the equator, where I lived for nearly six years, the period\nof my second term in Africa.\n\nOn the long voyage of five weeks from Liverpool to Libreville I had been\nduly prepared for the worst by the Old Coasters on board, who deem it\ntheir duty to instruct all newcomers in regard to the evils of the\nclimate and the certainty of an early death. This duty constitutes a\ndaily exercise during the entire voyage and is discharged faithfully and\nconscientiously. Each morning at the breakfast-table the young\nmissionary is told that the African fever is inevitable, and to expect\nit will bring it on in two days. The healthy die first. \u201cMissionaries\ndie like flies.\u201d The abnormal mortality among missionaries is due to\nseveral persistent delusions; chief among them, the temperance delusion,\nand the quinine delusion. According to the Old Coaster, everybody whose\nmind is open to conviction knows that temperate habits are no defense\nand that total abstinence is a quick method of suicide. Quinine only\naggravates the fever; everybody knows that also; but missionaries will\nnot admit it. Then there is the minor delusion of the umbrella. All\nthose people who regularly carried umbrellas are dead. Those who didn\u2019t\ncarry them are dead too, but they lived longer.\n\nThe dreadful racking pain of the fever is adequately described, and then\nthere is added the consoling thought that a man may sometimes escape\nhaving it _fatally_ by having it _frequently_. \u201cFatally, or frequently:\u201d\nthe poets among them dwell fondly on the alliteration.\n\nAfter we have begun to call at the African ports this elementary\ninstruction is reinforced by a circumstantial and realistic account of\nthe death of the \u201cpoor chaps\u201d who have \u201cpegged out\u201d since the last\nvoyage. The number is large: I did not know there were so many white men\non the coast. Many among them were of my particular build, complexion\nand general appearance\u2014I was told.\n\nIt is not that the Old Coaster is indulging a barbarous sense of humour\nin trying to frighten the newcomer, but he has become fairly obsessed\nwith the thought of the climate. Sooner or later this morbid distemper\nseizes upon most of those who live for any length of time in West\nAfrica.\n\nAfter such an unappetizing conversation at the breakfast-table, a\ncertain young missionary escaped to the upper deck where he was soon\njoined by an Old Coaster who asked him if he happened to have a\nprayer-book. Delighted that the conversation had taken a turn (and such\na _good_ turn) he replied that he hadn\u2019t a prayer-book, not being an\nAnglican, but that he might procure one from a fellow passenger.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d be ever so much obliged,\u201d says the Old Coaster, \u201cif you would; for\nI want to write down the burial service. You see, no matter how a man\nmay have lived, it\u2019s a comfort to him out here on the coast to think\nthat he\u2019ll have a decent burial; so we\u2019re neighbourly, and we read the\nservice for one another.\u201d\n\nIn one last desperate effort to turn the conversation from the dead to\nthe living, the missionary remarked, with considerable force: \u201cBut\npeople don\u2019t all die of fever out here! What about those that don\u2019t?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d he replies; \u201cthey die of many other things besides fever.\nLet\u2019s see;\u201d\u2014and he counts them off on his fingers:\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s kraw-kraw. Kraw-kraw is an awful nasty disease that just\ndecomposes a man\u2019s legs and nothing can stop it.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s dysentery. A lot of people die of that. There\u2019s every kind of\ntuberculosis. There\u2019s abscesses. There\u2019s pneumonia. There\u2019s ulcers\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd kraw-kraw,\u201d says another Old Coaster, coming up behind him. \u201cWhy,\nthere was my friend So-and-so\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve already said kraw-kraw,\u201d says the other, and he passes on to the\nnext finger.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s Portuguese itch. Maybe you think you know what itch is, but you\ndon\u2019t if you\u2019ve never had the Portuguese itch of the coast.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s the Guinea worm. It favours the leg and is sometimes ten feet\nlong. You may possibly get it out if you don\u2019t try to wind it from the\ntail; but anyway it leaves a wound that doesn\u2019t heal in this climate.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s enlarged spleen. There\u2019s\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cKraw-kraw,\u201d says another arrival. \u201cWhy, there was So-and-so\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI _said_ kraw-kraw,\u201d answers the leader.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s smallpox\u2014in frequent epidemics,\u201d he continues.\n\n\u201cAnd there are so many other parasites feeding on a man, inside and out,\nthat one who has lived on this coast for several years ought to be able\nto furnish in his own body a complete course for a class of medical\nstudents.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you mention kraw-kraw?\u201d says a late arrival.\n\n\u201cKraw-kraw?\u201d interposed the missionary. \u201cI know all about kraw-kraw. The\nhighest authorities on tropical diseases have declared that it is not a\nphysical, but a mental, malady that attacks the Old Coaster. The victim\nimagines that he is an old crow, and he goes around flapping his wings\nand crying, \u2018Kraw-kraw.\u2019\u201d\n\nOne morning at the breakfast-table, when the conversation turned for a\nmoment to the cheerful subject of cocktails, a youngster exclaimed:\n\u201cGentlemen, gentlemen, I protest against this cheerfulness. For a whole\nminute the conversation has been utterly irrelevant. Men are mortal and\nthe dead are accumulating. Let us therefore return to the obsequies.\u201d\n\nA solemn-eyed Old Coaster leaned towards his neighbour and in a loud,\nsepulchral whisper remarked: \u201cI give _him_ a month.\u201d\n\n\u201cI give him two weeks,\u201d replied the other.\n\nMany of those who came aboard, especially those from the more lonely\nplaces, looked like haunted men. Extreme isolation invites madness.\nThere were moments when the heart of the traveller faltered or stood\nstill, almost crushed by the pathos and tragedy of it all.\n\nAt the annual mission-meeting I was appointed not to Gaboon, but to\nAngom, seventy miles up the Gaboon River. Angom had a peculiarly evil\nreputation even in Africa, and the appointment was made only after a\nprolonged discussion in which some contended that the place ought to be\nabandoned and the climate of that particular station pronounced\nimpossible. The facts arrayed in support of this opinion presented such\na gloomy outlook that when, in conclusion, a missionary physician and\nhis wife and myself were assigned to Angom, the appointment sounded in\nour ears somewhat like an order for our execution.\n\nThree weeks after we reached Angom I stood one morning on the bank of\nthe river, exceedingly lonely as I gazed after the boat that bore away\nthe physician and his wife, both of them sick and returning to the\nUnited States. I remained alone at Angom only a few months, but I was\nexpecting to remain for the entire year, sixty miles from the nearest\nwhite man, and unable as yet to speak the language of the jungle folk\naround me. And besides the barrier of an unknown language between them\nand me, there was at first such a mental and moral aloofness from the\nnatives that their presence, and especially the sound of their constant\nlaughter, only drove me to the centre of a vaster solitude.\n\nOften in those first days I fought against loneliness and fever\ntogether, each aggravating the other. When loneliness would make its\nmost terrible onslaught it assumed a disguise\u2014and invariably the same\ndisguise. More than half the battle was fought when I had penetrated the\ndisguise and learned to recognize the foe even from afar. It invariably\napproached in the form of discouragement\u2014the intolerable feeling that\nall I was doing was useless; that I was the fool of a pathetic delusion\nwhose only redeeming feature was a good intention. The doubt suddenly\nemptied life of all that was worth while and left an aching void; and\nnothing in the whole world can ache like a void. In our nobler aims and\nenthusiasms doubt is the worst foe of courage\u2014the thought that one may\nbe making a fool of himself; the highest courage is to resist the doubt,\nand the highest wisdom is to know when to resist it. I think Hawthorne\nsaid something like that.\n\nLet me anticipate the years so far as to say that, although I was always\nmore or less alone in Africa, and drank the cop of solitude to the\ndregs, I completely outlived these attacks. And, strange enough, the\nvery question which had been my dreaded foe became my strongest ally and\ndefense, namely, the question, Is it worth while? For I fought that\nquestion out to a sure affirmative. In later years the dominant feeling,\nthat which constituted the irresistible attraction of missionary life,\nand made its privations as nothing, was the constant feeling that life\nin Africa was infinitely worth while, and that nowhere else in the world\ncould my life count for so much to so many.\n\nThe first letters from missionaries at the coast advised that I should\nnot think of staying alone at Angom, but should move to the coast and\njoin them at Baraka, our Gaboon station. This did not seem to me\nadvisable, since it would separate me from the interior tribe, the wild\nFang, among whom I was expecting to work and whose language I was\nlearning. The coast tribe, the Mpongwe, were already provided for and\ndid not need me. But as time passed letters came from all over the\nmission making so strong a protest that it seemed inadvisable to \u201cinsist\nupon being a martyr\u201d\u2014as my fellow missionaries expressed it, with na\u00efve\ncandour. One friend added that if I died, or rather _when_ I died, I\nwould have no one to blame for it but myself. That settled it. The idea\nof dying with no one to blame for it, after the lonely life at Angom,\nwas entirely too unsensational; so I moved to Baraka, where some one\ncould be blamed when I died.\n\nThe name _Gaboon_ is used, especially by the English, in a general way\nto designate not only the river of that name but all the adjacent\nterritory. Most people prefer it to the name _Libreville_, because it is\nof native origin; and they like the far-away sound of it. If we would be\nstrictly accurate, however, the name belongs only to the great estuary\nof the river. The Gaboon River is not long, but it receives many\ntributaries and for the last hundred miles from the sea it is\nmagnificent. Forty miles before it reaches the sea it bends northward by\nnorthwest and widens out into a broad estuary from five to fifteen miles\nin width and forty miles long, which I have always called the _bay_. It\nis one of the few, and one of the best, harbours on the entire coast of\nAfrica. Libreville, the old French capital of the Congo Fran\u00e7ais, and\nBaraka, our mission station, are situated on the east bank of the\nestuary and opposite its broad mouth. They look therefore directly over\nthe sea.\n\nGaboon was known in the Middle Ages and probably in the early centuries.\nTravellers and adventurers of a superstitious age, passing upon the high\nseas, reported that it was a dreadful land where at night strange fires\nbursting from the earth leaped to the clouds and reddened the sky, fires\nwhich probably came from \u201cinferno\u201d not far beneath. It is quite possible\nthat the fire which they saw may have issued from Mount Kamerun, farther\nto the north, which is now an extinct volcano; but there is a more\nlikely explanation. The country around Gaboon is more open than most\nparts of West Africa. A dense undergrowth of shrubbery and long grass\ngrows up each year, which towards the end of the dry season is burned\noff by the natives, in some places to clear their gardens, and in some\nplaces for the fun of seeing it burn. As seen from the mission hill the\nfires are seldom extensive, though the effect is a ruddy glow upon the\nclouds and is beautiful. But as I have seen them when out upon the bay\nat night, and upon the sea, the effect of their full extent, the glowing\nsky and its reflection in the sea, were sufficient to inspire awe and\nimpress deeply the superstitious mind of a sailor gazing on a strange\nland of savage people.\n\nLibreville as it is approached from the sea is one of the most beautiful\nplaces on the entire West Coast. The government buildings stand upon a\nhill, the _Plateau_, from which a handsome boulevard runs to the south\nparallel with the beach, between rows of giant coco-palms. On this\nboulevard are the trading-houses, French, Portuguese, German and\nEnglish. The buildings are nearly all white, including the iron roofs;\nbut some of them have roofs of red tile. There are many beautiful trees.\nThe houses are only half visible through screens of foliage; and along\nthe walks every unsightly thing, every deserted building or decaying hut\nis overgrown with vines of delicate beauty and the wildest profusion of\nscarlet, purple and lavender flowers.\n\nThe beach is strewn with logs of African mahogany of great value, which\nthe traders are preparing to ship. For these they have exchanged a\nvariety of goods. They carry a large stock of flint-lock guns especially\nfor the interior trade. The average price of a trade-gun is five\ndollars. They are called \u201cgas-pipe\u201d guns in the vernacular of the coast.\nThe barrel is three feet four inches long, and the bore Mr. Richard\nHarding Davis compares to an artesian well. \u201cThe native fills four\ninches of this cavity with powder and the remaining three feet with\nrusty nails, barbed wire, leaden slugs, and broken parts of iron pots.\u201d\nThis dreadful weapon \u201ckicks\u201d so violently in the recoil that it is\nalways a question as to which is the more dangerous end. Of course, if\nthe contents of the barrel should actually enter a man\u2019s body it would\ntear him all to pieces. But there is always a doubt about the aim, and\nthere is no doubt about the kick.\n\nTwo miles south of the Plateau there is another hill nearly as high, and\nhaving the finest outlook towards the sea. On this hill is the mission\nstation, Baraka.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  MISSION HOUSE AT BARAKA, GABOON.\n\n  The roof is of palm thatch, upon which poles of bamboo are placed.\n]\n\nThe house, as one approaches it, appears through a screen of palms and\norange-trees, of the strong-scented frangipani, the scarlet hibiscus,\nand oleander growing as high as the house. There is an abundance of\nroses everywhere. There are also a few coffee-trees in the yard, and one\nexquisite cinnamon.\n\nThe view from the veranda of the mission house at Baraka is a scene of\nmagic beauty. The joyous lavishness of colour excludes from the mind the\nthought of the deadly serpent and the relentless fever-fiend that\nstealthily glide within the shadows. The long hillside sloping to the\nbeach is half covered with mangoes and palms, oleander and orange-trees,\nand the graceful plumes of the bamboo that wave to and fro and tumble in\nthe breeze like children at play. In front is the open sea. On the left,\nlooking up the estuary, one sees in the bright morning light a fairy\nisland of deep emerald set in a silver sea, and beyond it a distant\nshore in dim purple and gold. And even while one is looking, the island,\nthe silver sea and the golden-purple shore gradually dissolve and\ndisappear in the haze that gathers and deepens as the day advances. But\nagain, and always, it appears in the clear evening light, more beautiful\nthan ever.\n\nI found it impossible to persuade my friends that Gaboon is not the\nhottest place in the world, since it is not only in Africa, but at the\nequator. This was also my own idea of Gaboon until it was corrected by\nexperience. It is not as hot at the equator as it is several hundred\nmiles north or south of it. The thermometer ranges between 72\u00b0 and 86\u00b0,\nseldom going above or below this range. But the humidity is extreme (not\nsurpassed, I believe, in the world) and this makes it seem hotter than\nthese figures would indicate. The atmosphere feels as if it were about\nfifty per cent. hot water. At the coast there is the delightful\nsea-breeze\u2014but as soon as one says it is \u201cdelightful\u201d he is reminded\nthat it is very dangerous.\n\nOne hears from the natives of the coast more complaints of cold than of\nheat and in the hottest weather their black skin is always cool. The hot\nmonths are December and January; and the coolest are June and July.\n\nThe wet and dry seasons of Gaboon are very distinct. The dry season\nbegins in May and lasts for four months, during all which time there is\nnot a shower. Then the wet season begins in September and lasts four\nmonths, during which it rains almost incessantly. This is followed by a\nshort dry season of two months and a short wet season of two months,\nthus completing the year. This succession of the seasons is as regular\nand distinct as our winter and summer. The effect of the long dry season\ncorresponds in some respects to our winter, giving vegetation a rest.\nEuropeans delight in the dry season, although towards the last they long\nfor the rain. But the natives dislike the dry season, which is too cool\nfor their comfort; and since the land-breeze is very strong, and their\nbodies but slightly protected with clothing, there is much sickness\namong them in these months.\n\nI never told the Africans about ice, nor described snow, lest it would\novertax their credulity and discredit me; for if they should doubt I had\nno way of proving it. But after the French hospital was built the Gaboon\npeople not only heard about ice but many of them actually saw it. One\nday we obtained a piece of ice at Baraka, sufficient to make ice-cream.\nWhen we had finished eating I took some of it out to the men of my\nboat-crew and after telling them that it was something which we liked\nvery much, I gave a teaspoonful to Makuba, the captain. No sooner had it\nentered his mouth than he leaped into the air with a wild yell\u2014wild even\nfor Africa. He shouted: \u201cI\u2019m killed! I\u2019m burned to death! I\u2019m burned to\ndeath!\u201d\n\nThe extremest sensation of cold seems to be not distinguishable from\nthat of extreme heat. Never having tasted anything cold, it is\npositively painful to them.\n\nDespite the exaggeration of the Old Coaster we are constantly reminded\nthat, after all, Gaboon is _The White Man\u2019s Grave_. There were a number\nof Anamese prisoners of war whom the French had transported from Anam.\nThey were employed in the construction of two miles of road along the\nbeach. During the few months of work seventy out of one hundred died. In\nthis dreadful death rate there were probably unusual factors. The road\ncrosses a marsh that is a first-class incubator for mosquitoes. And\nbesides, it is not likely that the men were reasonably provided with\nfood or medical attendance.\n\nEven upon the subject of the climate opinions differ. There are some\npersons\u2014very few\u2014who, after living in West Africa a number of years,\nbecome so used to its death record that they seem to think that every\nother place is just the same. One or another of these occasionally\nbecomes an indignant champion of the climate. At one of our annual\nmission meetings I offered a resolution appealing to the Board of\nMissions in New York for an extra allowance for health changes, in view\nof the \u201chostile climate.\u201d A veteran missionary, whose many years in\nAfrica made him the wonder of the coast, objected to the word _hostile_,\ndeclaring that unless it were stricken out he would vote against the\nresolution. But with charming inconsistency he added that he fully\nrealized the need of the extra allowance and he would gladly vote for it\nif only, for the word _hostile_, we would substitute the word\n_peculiar_.\n\nNext morning after breakfast, Mr. Gault, in whose home I was staying,\nsaid to me: \u201cApropos of the objection made yesterday to the word\n_hostile_ as applied to this salubrious climate, have you observed that\nevery one who asks a blessing at the breakfast-table seems to be\nthankful\u2014and surprised\u2014that none of us has been stricken down during the\nnight and that we are all again able to get to the table?\n\n\u201cThe more remarkable,\u201d he added, \u201cwhen we recall that we were chosen by\nthe Board not because we were either good or clever, but chiefly because\nof our constitutions.\u201d\n\nIt was only a short time afterwards that Mr. Gault himself one morning\nwas not able to get to the breakfast-table. Two days later they buried\nhim at Batanga. He was one of the truest and best men I have ever known.\n\nThere is less fever now than there was a few years ago, and the death\nrecord is decreasing. Not that the conditions are much improved; but\ncommon sense has prevailed, and men as soon as they become seriously ill\nhasten away on the first steamer. Besides, the proper use of quinine as\na preventive is better understood as the result of the knowledge of the\nsources of malaria and its various stages.\n\nThe mosquito theory\u2014that the Anopheles mosquito is the carrying agent of\nthe malaria parasite\u2014is of course generally accepted. The late Dr. Koch\nadvised that a liberal dose of quinine every eighth or ninth day ought\nto be an effective preventive with most persons. Major Ronald Ross, head\nof the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, advised the destruction of\nthe mosquito, chiefly by drainage, and the segregation of white people\nfrom the natives. The natives have become at least partially immune; but\nthere are numerous malaria parasites in their blood constituting the\nsource from which it is carried by the mosquito, which after biting a\nnative bites a white person; and when the white man\u2019s blood is malarious\na little exposure to the tropical sun, a slight chill, even a mental\nshock or undue strain, anything that lowers the vitality, is likely to\nprecipitate the fever.\n\nI myself, after several years of frequent fever, at last gained\npractical immunity by taking five grains of quinine every night, which I\ndid without omission for three years, until I left the coast. If my\nvitality had not been already reduced to the minimum I would not have\nrequired so much quinine. Many persons, instead of taking quinine\nregularly, wait until the fever actually comes and then take very large,\nnerve-shattering doses for successive days, from thirty to sixty or even\nninety grains a day. One may recover from the fever, but one does not\nentirely recover from the quinine until he leaves the coast.\n\nSometimes the newcomer is fairly frightened into a fever by those who\nhave lived in Africa long enough to have become obsessed with the\nthought of the climate and whose conversation it completely absorbs.\n\nNear the end of my voyage to Africa I spent a night ashore at a certain\nmission, where a good lady who was in a very sociable mood, having shown\nme to my room, stood in the doorway telling me of the various\npersons\u2014not a few\u2014who had died in that particular room, and giving some\ngraphic detail of each death. It was gradually borne in upon me that\nthere must be some horrible fatality attached to that room. Finally she\nadvised me not to lock my door. \u201cFor,\u201d said she, \u201cMr. P\u2014\u2014, who always\nlocked his bedroom door, was found dead in bed one morning in this very\nroom, although he went to bed looking as well as you do now. About noon\nnext day they broke the door open, and sure enough there he was\u2014lying\nright there!\u201d\n\nI replied: \u201cMy dear lady, won\u2019t you please knock on my door very early\nin the morning, and if I do not answer, open the door and walk in; for I\nfully expect to be dead.\u201d\n\nA certain American lady, who was a missionary for some years in Liberia,\ntells how that when she landed, expecting to proceed to a station some\ndistance inland, where she would join several other missionaries, she\nwas met with the news that the missionaries of that station (four, I\nbelieve) had all died of fever a few days before she landed, one\nimmediately after another. Nevertheless, the person who had the\nauthority for her appointment escorted her to that desolate station and\nleft her there alone. A partition of boards in the house was nearly all\ngone; it was only a few feet from the floor. She asked the explanation\nof this appearance and was told that the boards had been used to make\ncoffins. Having received this interesting, though somewhat curious\ninformation, she was left alone to find what comfort she could in the\nreflection that there was enough of the partition left for one more\ncoffin.\n\nShe told me about it herself\u2014many years afterwards.\n\n\n\n\n                                   II\n                             THE WISE ONES\n\n\nAt Gaboon, in the French Congo, one sees all the successive stages in\nthe process of civilization. First, there is the savage, whose whole\napparel is a little palm-oil and a bit of calico half the size of a\npocket-handkerchief; then there is the man who wears \u201ctwo fathoms\u201d of\ncloth wound about him gracefully and falling below his knees; next,\nthere is the man who wears this same robe with a shirt; then the man who\ndiscards the native robe and wears a shirt and trousers, but with the\nshirt always outside the trousers; and, last of all, the gentleman who\nwears his shirt inside his trousers. These several classes are somewhat\ndistinct. One does not classify the man with a taste for simplicity who\nwears a rice-sack with holes for his head and arms; nor the untutored\ndude who wears a pink Mother Hubbard or a lady\u2019s undergarment. These\nfreakish modes represent attempts to hasten the process of civilization\nand to pass prematurely from one of the above classes to another.\n\nIn general, the distinction of _culotte_ and _sansculotte_ indicates the\ndifference between the Mpongwe\u2014the old coast tribe\u2014and the Fang\u2014the\ninterior tribe, who have only reached the coast in recent years. The\nMpongwe is the most civilized of all the tribes south of the Calabar\nRiver. Many of them, besides wearing trousers, live in _deck-houses_,\nthat is, houses with wooden floors. The first floor ever seen by the\nnatives was the deck of an English ship; hence the name _deck-house_. It\nwas also from contact with English sailors that the native learned to\nspeak of a \u201cfathom\u201d of cloth.\n\nThe Mpongwe are the proudest people of West Africa. An African woman is\nnever allowed to marry into an inferior tribe; although the men may do\nso. And since the Mpongwe have no social equals among the adjacent\ntribes, it follows that no Mpongwe woman can marry outside of her own\ntribe, unless with a north-coast man or a white man. The Fang, the great\ninterior tribe, are mere \u201cbush-animals\u201d in the mind of the Mpongwe. A\nFang man, though he were perfectly civilized, and even educated in\nFrance, would not be allowed the social status of the meanest Mpongwe.\nThe coast women can all speak Fang; for they trade with them and buy\ntheir daily food from them; but they are ashamed to be heard speaking\nit. Often when I addressed them in Fang they would shake their heads as\nif they had never heard the language before; whereupon I nearly always\nasked them a question on some matter of interest to themselves; the\nprice of a parrot, for instance, if I knew that the lady was anxious to\nsell it. Such a question invariably made the dumb to speak.\n\nThe Mpongwe call themselves _The Wise Ones_. And other tribes generally\nadmit their claim and take them at their own self-estimate. In former\ndays, when they had real kings, they buried their kings in secret, not\nmore than ten persons knowing the hidden grave, lest some other tribe\nmight steal the body, for the sake of obtaining the brains, which would\nbe a very powerful fetish and would make them wise like the Mpongwe.\n\nThe king was chosen from among the people by the elders and was selected\nfor his wisdom. The ceremonies of his enthronement were such that he\nrequired not only wisdom, but also courage, physical strength and a\nsuperb digestion. The man\u2019s first intimation that he had been chosen by\nthe elders was an onrush of the people\u2014not to do him honour, but to\nabuse and insult him. They would hurl opprobrious epithets at him, curse\nhim, spit upon him, pelt him with mud and beat him. For, they said, from\nthis time he would do all these things to them, while they would be\npowerless to retaliate. This, therefore, was their last chance. They\nalso reminded him of all his failings in graphic and minute particulars.\nIf the king survived this treatment, he was then taken to the former\nking\u2019s house, where he was solemnly invested with the insignia of the\nkingly office, in the shape of a silk hat. No one but the king was\npermitted to wear a silk hat.\n\nFollowing the inauguration ceremony, the people came and bowed before\nthe new king in humble submission, while they praised him as\nenthusiastically as they had before reviled him. Then he was fed and\nf\u00eated for a week, during which time he was not allowed to leave his\nhouse, but was required to receive guests from all parts of his dominion\nand eat with them all. These ceremonies ended, he turned to the\ncomparatively easy and commonplace duties of his kingly office. This\ncustom, like many others, has passed away under the influence of\ncivilization.\n\nIn former days the Mpongwe were divided into three distinct classes.\nThere were, first, the slaves, the largest class of all. Then there was\na middle class, of those who although free were of slave origin, or had\nsome slave blood in their veins\u2014even a drop. And then there was a very\nsmall aristocracy of pure Mpongwe.\n\nOf these three classes the middle class probably had the hardest time.\nThey had freedom enough for initiative and trade enterprise and they\noften became rich. But so sure as they did, they were at once an object\nof envy and class hatred on the part of the aristocracy, with the result\nthat they were in constant danger of being accused of witchcraft and put\nto death, their goods being confiscated for the benefit of the governing\nclass\u2014the aristocracy.\n\nSince slavery has been formally abolished by the French government the\nline between slaves and this middle class has almost disappeared\u2014but not\nquite, for slavery has not been entirely abolished. But the\n\u201caristocracy\u201d is as distinct as ever.\n\nDomestic slavery is rarely attended with the usual horrors of alien\nenslavement. Mpongwe slaves were serfs rather than slaves. Until the\nadvent of the white slaver they were rarely sold or exchanged. Mpongwe\nslaves were sometimes taken for debt and sometimes stolen from other\ntribes.\n\nSeveral Mpongwe men have told me that their slaves were children of the\ninterior whom they had rescued when their parents had thrown them away,\neither into the bush to perish by the beasts, or into the river. They\nmust have been driven to this by some cruel superstition; for the\nAfrican loves his children, and the mother of his children is his\nfavourite wife. Perhaps the children were twins. In many tribes there is\nsuch a fear of twins that they are often put to death and their mother\nwith them. In some of these tribes they are believed to be the result of\nadultery with a spirit.\n\nMany former slaves have chosen to maintain the old relationship\u2014somewhat\nmodified\u2014rather than accept full freedom, and be left without friends,\nfamily or possessions; a peculiar misfortune for those who have never\nhad an opportunity to acquire a habit of independence.\n\nAt one time a man named Ndinga was working for me. He was a faithful\nworkman, except for one inexplicable fault. Occasionally he would stay\naway half a day or the entire day without asking to be excused, or\nnotifying me. Several times he did this when I was about to make a trip\nup the river, and was depending upon him to make one of the crew. At\nlength I dismissed him and he departed without explanation or complaint.\nBut one of the other men came to me and told me Ndinga\u2019s plight. He was\nreally the slave of an Mpongwe chief, right under the eyes of the\ngovernment. The master allowed him to work for himself, but I imagine he\ntook part of his wages. He also exercised the right to call upon him at\nany time for personal services, and each time that he had stayed away\nfrom his work he had been called by the master, who ignored my claim\nupon Ndinga and the consequent inconvenience to me, though he claimed to\nbe my personal friend. Ndinga was sufficiently civilized to feel the\ndegradation of his position, and the poor fellow submitted to rebuke and\nfinal dismissal rather than tell me he was a slave. I learned also that\nhe had lost several other positions in the same way and had usually been\ndismissed with cursing and abuse. I sent for him immediately, and\nwithout explanation told him that I had changed my mind and that he\ncould return to work. Meantime, I called the master, and reminding him\nthat slavery was strictly forbidden, I told him that if he should again\ncall Ndinga away from work I would notify the government. There was no\nfurther trouble.\n\nThis man, Ndinga, was in pitiable need of a friend. It is extremely easy\nfor a slave to get a bad reputation, and Ndinga was said to be a\n\u201cleopard-man,\u201d that is, a man who changes himself into a leopard\u2014either\nin order to kill an enemy or devour a sheep. I have heard Ndinga accused\nof this frequently; and there were many who regarded him with great\nfear. Every hysterical woman who thought that she saw a leopard was\nready to swear that it was Ndinga. If the leopards had been active in\nthe community at that time all their doings would have been charged\nagainst him.\n\nThe Mpongwe women are regarded as the best-looking and most graceful\nwomen on the entire coast. Wherever there are communities of white men,\neven hundreds of miles north and south of Gaboon, there are Mpongwe\nwomen; for it is with them more than the women of any other tribe that\nwhite men form temporary alliances.\n\nThe Gaboon belle has a brown complexion and faultless skin, fine\nfeatures and dreamy dark eyes with long lashes. She moves so easily that\nshe carries her folded parasol, or bottle of gin, or other\nindispensable, on her head. She dresses her hair neatly and with great\npains; usually parting it in the middle and arranging it in numerous\nsmall braids which she fastens behind. Her dress is a large square robe\nof bright colours, often of fine material, wound around her, immediately\nbelow her arms, reaching to her feet and kept in place by a roll around\nthe top of it\u2014a peculiar twist of _leger de main_ which only a black\nhand can perform. Somewhere in this roll her pipe is usually hidden\naway. This dress leaves her graceful shoulders and arms uncovered. She\nwears slippers with white stockings, and upon her head a very large silk\nhandkerchief of bright colour, beautifully arranged in a turban. Add to\nthis a lace or silk scarf thrown over one shoulder, not forgetting her\nsilk parasol carried unopened on her head; then add a lot of jewelry and\nplenty of perfume, and her attire is complete. Moreover, she has a soft\nvoice, and does not yell except when she quarrels, and she seldom\nquarrels when she is dressed in her best. Most of the Christian women\nwear an unbelted wrapper, or Mother Hubbard.\n\nThe Mpongwe people are peculiarly gentle, and courteous in their\nmanners; and in this respect the men even surpass the women. Travelling\nin a boat with an Mpongwe crew, one is always surprised at their\ncourtesy and thoughtful consideration. Courtesy, indeed, which some one\ncalls \u201cbenevolence in little things,\u201d is a racial characteristic. I was\nonce obliged to make a very hard journey from Batanga to Benito, a\nhundred miles down the coast. For this purpose I purchased a bicycle in\na German trading-house at Dualla, the capital of Kamerun. The bicycle\nweighed fifty pounds, and cost me a dollar a pound. I did not realize\nwhat I was undertaking. The sea-breeze was against me; portions of the\nbeach were of soft sand and parts of it were so rough and rocky that I\nhad to climb steep banks and stretches of rock, carrying the fifty-pound\nwheel on my shoulders. I had been long in Africa and my strength was\ngreatly reduced. Several times, almost overcome with exhaustion, I threw\nmyself down upon the beach and lay there for half an hour before I could\ngo on. There were various misadventures along the way and a sensational\nescape from quicksand. It was an opportunity, however, to test the\nkindness of the native.\n\nI took no food, but depended upon the hospitality of those to whom I was\na stranger; although if hospitality had failed, I could have paid for\nfood; but not once did it fail along the way. Wherever there was a\nstream to be waded, if a native was anywhere in sight, either on the\nbeach, or fishing out on the sea, in his canoe, I called or beckoned to\nhim, and he came and carried me over\u2014for a white man must not get wet\nwhen he is exposed to the wind; then he went back and got my wheel. In\none place the water was to the man\u2019s shoulders, and there was a current,\nbut he held me in a horizontal position above his head, and exerting his\nwhole strength, with firm, slow step he proceeded, and set me down dry\non the other side. Then he cheerfully turned about and went after my\nwheel. In another place heavy crags projected into the sea and at high\ntide there was no beach for a quarter of a mile, so that I was compelled\nto carry the wheel. At this place, I met a native carrying a load who\nwas evidently returning from a journey to the interior; and upon my\nrequest for help, he at once hid his load by the way and taking my wheel\ncarried it over the rocks, nearly all this distance, to the better beach\nbeyond. In every case I told the man beforehand that I did not expect to\npay him for his service except in friendship, and friendship sufficed.\nNor did I pay anything for my food; and not once on the entire journey\nhad I the least difficulty in procuring it. Some of these people were of\nother tribes; but in courtesy the Mpongwe surpass them all.\n\nThey generally live at peace within the family and the village. The\n_men_, at least, rarely fight. Whenever I heard that an Mpongwe fight\nwas in progress, I rushed to the scene; but I must confess to mixed\nmotives. For a fight among Mpongwe men is decidedly picturesque and\nentertaining, since they fight by butting each other in the stomach with\ntheir heads. The women are much more quarrelsome, and these very belles,\nwhose beauty I have praised, have frequent quarrels and occasional\nfights, the latter usually involving a number of women; for though the\nquarrel commences with two women, when it gets to a real fight the\nfamily and relations of each woman take part in it. From this moment it\nproceeds somewhat formally. They line up on two sides, and with a lively\naccompaniment of appropriate language, they rush upon each other, not\nusually striking, nor scratching, but each woman seeking to tear off her\nopponent\u2019s robe. I witnessed such a fight in which eighteen women\nengaged. A woman, when her robe is taken off, admits defeat. For this\nreason, instead of preparing for a fight by donning her oldest clothes,\nshe prepares by putting on her newest and strongest, which she doubles\nand ties about her waist, letting it fall to her knees, but she wears no\nupper garment.\n\nThere is a strange war-custom in all the tribes of West Africa unlike\nanything I have ever heard of elsewhere. Sometimes when one of their\nnumber is killed, or a woman stolen by an enemy, instead of avenging his\ndeath directly they will kill some one of a third town which has nothing\nwhatever to do with the palaver. This third town is then expected to\njoin with them in punishing the first town, which, being the original\noffender, was the cause of all the trouble. In _The Jungle Folk of\nAfrica_ I have described this custom thus:\n\n\u201cAmong the Mpongwe, in the old days before the foreign power was\nestablished, and among the closely related tribes south of them, this\ncustom prevailed in an extreme form. A woman being stolen, the people of\nthe offended town would hurry to another town near by, before the news\nhad reached them, and would kill somebody. This town would then hurry to\nthe next and kill somebody there, each town doing likewise until perhaps\nfive or six persons of as many different towns would be killed in one\nnight. The last town would then, with the help of the others, demand\njustice from the first. It may be that the object of this frightful\ncustom was to restrain men from committing the initial crime, that might\nbe attended with such wide-spread death, bringing upon themselves the\ncurses of many people. For above all things the African cannot bear to\nbe disliked and cannot endure execration.\u201d\n\nThe Mpongwe now have no war-customs. And I am not sure that peace has\nproved an unmixed blessing. They have lost something of courage and\nvirility.\n\nDespite the veneer of civilization, I fear that this amiable and\ngraceful people\u2014excepting only the few Christians\u2014are as superstitious\nas ever. Nature is still inhabited by myriad spirits to whose activity\nnatural phenomena are due. They still speak of the great spirit who\ncauses the flow and ebb of the tide by dropping an enormous stone into\nthe sea and again removing it. Trial by ordeal is common even among the\nmost intelligent. And not a death occurs among them that is not\nattributed to witchcraft.\n\nA man dying in the hospital at Gaboon turns his solemn, beautiful eyes\ntowards one who sits beside him, and tells in confidence what has\nbrought about his death. It is strange how approaching death, as if to\ntestify to man\u2019s divine origin in the hour of his most appalling defeat,\ndignifies the features and countenance of the lowest with a mysterious\ndignity that transcends all differences of colour, transforms even\nnatural ugliness, and brings all men to one level. The greatest is no\nmore than human; the lowest is no less. This dying man tells how that\nsome weeks past, having gone on a journey to a certain town forty miles\nnorth, and during the night having wondered what his friends at home\nmight be doing, he thought he would visit Gaboon, leaving his body while\nhis spirit alone travelled through the air. But on the way he met a\ncompany of spirits making a similar journey, one of whom was an enemy;\nwho, recognizing him, gave him a fatal thrust in the side. He quickly\nreturned to his body; but in the morning he felt the weakness resulting\nfrom the fatal stroke, and from that day had grown weaker and weaker\nuntil death was upon him.\n\nI was present at the trial of a slave, in a leading Mpongwe town, who\nwas accused of causing the death of one of the relations of the chief, a\nman who had been ill for a long time with tuberculosis. I had been\ncalling on the sick man regularly. One day, going again to the town, I\nsaw a crowd of people gathered in the street who were very much excited.\nThe man had just died, and as usual the panic-stricken people were\ndetermined to blame somebody. The chief who was trying the case was a\nwell-educated man who had been closely associated with white people all\nhis life and was prominent in trade. Arbitrary suspicion had about\nsettled upon this slave\u2014for slaves are always the first to be\nsuspected\u2014when a boy came forward and said that on the preceding night\nhe had discovered the slave standing behind the sick man\u2019s house and\nthat he had watched him while he opened a bundle of leaves which he had\nin his hand and in which was a piece of human flesh like a fish in size\nand form. No more evidence was necessary. No one asked the boy how he\nknew that it was not a fish which he had seen; nor how he knew that it\nwas human.\n\nThey would have killed the man instantly but for their fear of the\nFrench government; for the town was close beside the capital. When I\ntried to reason with them, they answered me with the all-sufficient\nexclamation: \u201cAsk the boy! Ask him yourself!\u201d Those who took the leading\npart in this trial were dressed like Europeans.\n\nSickness and death, they believe, may be caused by fetish medicine,\nwhich need not be administered to the victim, but is usually laid beside\nthe path where he is about to pass. Others may pass and it will do them\nno harm. The parings of finger-nails, the hair of the victim and such\nthings are powerful ingredients in these \u201cmedicines.\u201d An Mpongwe, after\nhaving his hair cut, gathers up every hair most carefully and burns it\nlest an enemy should secure it and use it to his injury. When sickness\ncontinues for a length of time they usually conclude that some offended\nrelation has caused an evil spirit to abide in the town.\n\nAn Mpongwe man, Ayenwe, had a severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism.\nI was going to see him regularly and doing what little I could for him.\nBut his mother\u2019s people, who lived in a town four miles away, concluded\nthat it was a spell of witchcraft, inflicted by his father\u2019s people. So\nthey came one stormy night at midnight and stealing him out of his\nhouse, put him in a canoe and carried him on the rough sea to their\ntown. The patient can always be prevailed upon by his relations, if\nthere are enough of them to wear out his resistance. However strongly he\nmay object at first he will finally throw up his hands and say: \u201cKill me\nif you will then. The responsibility is yours; I have nothing more to do\nwith it.\u201d A man\u2019s very soul is not his own in Africa.\n\nAn Mpongwe woman, Paia, was suffering greatly from salivation, through\nthe injudicious use of calomel. She was a Christian woman and a member\nin the Mpongwe Church, although her relations were all heathen. She was\nin agony and a fellow missionary and myself had already reached the\npoint where we could do nothing more for her. The numerous heathen\nrelations were all present. They sat on the floor smoking and\nexpectorating in gloomy silence, with the windows closed, and filled the\nhouse so that I could hardly pass in and out. I tried my best to get\nthem to take Paia to the French hospital, but they were horrified at the\nbare suggestion. The tales in free circulation concerning the\nhospital\u2014poisons administered by the doctor, mutilation, and death by\nslow torture\u2014would fill a volume. Several days passed: Paia was worse.\nThey concluded that the house was bewitched\u2014and perhaps the whole\ntown\u2014and resolved to carry her away to another town, across the river.\nIn such cases it is advisable to put a body of water between the victim\nand the bewitched town. Paia told me that she was more than willing to\ngo to the hospital if they would let her; but she said they would never\nconsent. Next morning about daylight I suddenly appeared before her door\nwith four strong men and a hammock swung on a pole. Before her relations\nknew what had happened one of the men had carried her out to the\nhammock, and we started to the hospital. The French doctor, one of the\nvery best on the coast, at my request gave her special attention, and in\na few days she was well.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  WOMEN\u2019S SECRET SOCIETY OF GABOON.\n]\n\nThe lowest reach of Mpongwe degradation is represented by the woman\u2019s\nsecret society, to which a majority of the Mpongwe women\nbelong\u2014practically all, except the Christians, who regard it with\nabhorrence. I know of nothing in any interior tribe more degrading and\nimmoral. In former times of cruelty and oppression the society probably\nserved for the protection of women against their husbands; but in these\ntimes it is the husbands who need protection, and the society, having\noutlived its usefulness, has degenerated. The women of the society\nfrequently meet together at night, usually in an arbour of palms, and\nsing unspeakably lewd songs\u2014phallic songs\u2014which are heard all over the\nvillage. There is always a crowd of young men gathered around the\narbour; and the badinage which passes between them and the women is\nshocking. And yet these same persons, on all other occasions in their\ndaily intercourse, observe a degree of decorum which would astonish\nthose who think that there is scarcely any such thing as decorum in\nAfrica.\n\n\n\n\n                                  III\n                             A DYING TRIBE\n\n\nThis amiable and attractive people, the Mpongwe tribe, is now but a\ndying remnant, hurrying to extinction. It is not long since they were\nnumbered by tens of thousands; now there are probably not more than five\nhundred pure Mpongwe. There are women among them for whom marriage is\nimpossible. For, as I have already said, their social superiority makes\nit impossible for them to marry into other tribes; but, within their own\ntribe, many Mpongwe women are related, nearly or remotely, to every\nsurviving family, and the very strict laws of consanguinity forbid the\nmarriage of related persons. It is expected, therefore, that these women\nwill make their alliances with white men; that is, that they will not\nmarry at all.\n\nThe first exterminating factor was slavery. Sir Harry Johnston, in _The\nCivilization of Africa_, has this to say in regard to the fatal\nadaptability of the Negro to a condition of slavery:\n\n\u201cThe Negro in general is a born slave. He is possessed of physical\nstrength, docility, cheerfulness of disposition, a short memory for\nsorrows and cruelties, and an easily aroused gratitude for kindness and\njust dealing. He does not suffer from homesickness to the overbearing\nextent that afflicts other peoples torn from their homes, and, provided\nhe is well fed, he is easily made happy. Above all, he can toil hard\nunder the hot sun and in the unhealthy climates of the torrid zone. He\nhas little or no race-fellowships\u2014that is to say, he has no sympathy for\nother Negroes; he recognizes and follows his master independent of any\nrace affinities, and as he is usually a strong man and a good fighter,\nhe has come into request not only as a labourer but as a soldier.\u201d\n\nSir Harry, speaking as an eye-witness of the capturing and the\nexportation of slaves, gives a lurid description of their sufferings,\nwhich, he says, \u201cwere so appalling that they almost transcend belief.\u201d\nHe makes a conservative estimate that in the modern period of the\nslave-traffic twenty million Africans must have been sold into slavery.\nThe Mpongwe was one of the tribes that suffered most. A large portion of\ntheir country was depopulated. The slave-traffic was frightfully\ndemoralizing to the Africans themselves. It excited fiendish passions,\nstifled every instinct of humanity and inspired craft and cruelty far\nsurpassing anything hitherto known. It was said that three men of the\nsame family dared not leave their town together lest two of them should\ncombine to sell the third.\n\nMore than half a century has passed since the last slave ship sailed out\nof Gaboon harbour and disappeared over the western horizon with its\ncargo of grief and rage, many of them wailing vengeance in a mournful\nchant, improvising the words as they sang. For the African sings his\nbitterest grief as well as his joy. He sings where the white man would\nweep, or curse; but to the accustomed ear no cry could equal the pity of\nhis song.\n\nIt was in this region that Du Chaillu hunted the gorilla and gathered\nmuch of the material for his famous books. An interior chief, in\nappreciation of Du Chaillu\u2019s visit to his town, once presented him with\na fat slave; and when Du Chaillu kindly declined the offer, protesting\nthat he would not know what to do with him, the chief exclaimed in\nastonishment: \u201cYou must kill him and eat him, of course.\u201d\n\nDu Chaillu spat violently upon the ground\u2014the African way of expressing\ndisgust and abhorrence.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said the bewildered chief, \u201cwhat do you do with all our people\nwho are sent down the river and far away to your country? We have\nbelieved that you fatten them and eat them.\u201d\n\nIt is supposed that our present mission station was formerly the site of\na slave pen, where slaves were kept until they were shipped\u2014a\n_barracoon_; hence the name _Baraka_.\n\nThe slave-traffic was succeeded by the rum-traffic; and it would not be\neasy to say which of the two has proved the greater evil for Africa.\nThere is more drunkenness in Gaboon, among the Mpongwe, than in most\nplaces on the coast. Except among the few Christians, an abundance of\nrum is used at every marriage and every funeral and both men and women\ndrink to drunkenness. The women drink as much as the men, and there are\na greater number of hopeless dipsomaniacs among them.\n\nOne day, as I was walking along the beach, I met a bright-looking\nMpongwe woman who surprised me by addressing me in English. I was eager\nto know who she was. She said her name was Elida Harrington, and that\nwhen she was very young the wife of one of our missionaries, for whom\nshe had been working, took her to America when she went on furlough and\nthat during the period of the furlough she had attended school in\nAmerica. Those early days were evidently a sweet memory, and Elida\u2019s\nface was aglow with pleasure as she told me. Finally I asked her why I\nhad never seen her at the mission. The glow faded from her face, and\nafter a moment of gloomy silence she replied: \u201cYou\u2019ll know soon enough.\u201d\n\nI afterwards learned that Elida, when she was young, was married to a\nman who was given to _nagging_. He was continually making petty and\ngroundless charges of infidelity against his wife. There is no surer way\nto inspire the dislike of the African. They are wonderfully generous in\nforgiving impulsive cruelty, but continual nagging will alienate them.\nAt last, just to spite her husband, Elida told him that all his charges\nwere true; that she had done all those things, and much worse\u2014such\nthings as he had never thought of charging against her. Her husband,\nwhen he recovered from a paroxysm of rage and astonishment, told her to\npack her things and leave his house; to which she quietly replied that\nshe would be glad to do so, since she had already decided upon that very\ncourse.\n\nSoon after my first meeting with Elida I called at her house. It was\nthen that I learned why she kept away from the mission. She was so\nintoxicated that she could not get to the door. And this was habitual.\n\nOne day Elida went to see her sister Jane, who was sick in bed. Jane\nwanted some bread and gave her the price of a loaf and asked her to go\nout and buy it for her. Poor Jane never got the bread. And poor Elida!\nShe went only as far as the first rum-shop.\n\nI think of another, a young man who bore an honoured name, _Augustus\nBoardman_, and who from his childhood was closely connected with the\nmission. He spoke English not like an African but as if it were his\nnative tongue. I never knew a native who understood the finer feelings\nof white people as Augustus did. I never knew a native who had in\nhimself so much of what we call _sentiment_. On one occasion he went\nwith me to Angom where Mr. Marling was buried. Mr. Marling, who had been\ndead for five years, was the missionary whom Augustus had known best and\nloved most. In the evening, just before leaving for the coast, I\nhappened to pass Mr. Marling\u2019s grave, and there I saw a beautiful wreath\nof flowers carefully woven, which Augustus had laid upon the grave. The\nAfrican is strangely indifferent to flowers, and I have never known\nanother who would have done what Augustus did.\n\nOn another occasion I received a letter from him when he was up the\nOgow\u00e8 River. He wrote that while visiting at our old mission on the\nOgow\u00e8 he had come across an English song-book, in which he had found a\nsong, the words of which were the most beautiful he had ever read in his\nlife; so beautiful that he had committed them to memory; and he was\nwondering whether it was well known and commonly sung among\nEnglish-speaking people. He copied the words of the entire song and\nenclosed them in the letter. The song was _The Lost Chord_. The anguish\nof the lost chord in his own life was the secret of the deep impression\nthat the song made upon him.\n\nIn America a child can be kept out of the way of the worst temptations\nuntil he has reached years of discretion, but such separation is\nimpossible in Africa. This boy, when he was a little child, was taught\nto drink rum; his mother died a hopeless victim of it; and by the time\nhe was a young man the appetite for it was insatiable and complete\nmaster of him. The finer feelings which characterized him seemed to make\nhim all the more the victim of this inordinate desire. He fought it as\nhe might have fought a python of his native jungles, but in vain. On one\noccasion, in the presence of Mr. Marling, he pledged himself with the\nsolemnity of an oath never to taste it again. A few days afterwards he\nwas walking down the street of an interior town when most unexpectedly\nhe met a boy with a bottle of rum. He sprang at the boy, snatched the\nbottle from him and drank the contents. Other efforts ended similarly.\nHe afterwards made such promises to me, weeping and fairly prostrated\nwith shame and humiliation; yet he soon fell again. He became at length\nquite hopeless, and it was necessary to dismiss him from all service in\nthe mission. He got several good positions, but lost them immediately.\nWhen I last saw him he was a moral wreck and almost an outcast even in\nAfrica, where there are no outcasts. Augustus has since died; one more\nvictim of poisoned rum.\n\n_He is full of compassion and plenteous in mercy._ And, knowing Augustus\nas I knew him, I dare to hope that he has again at last heard the\nlong-lost chord, and the sound of the great _Amen_.\n\nThe native is constitutionally incapable of being a moderate drinker.\nAnd, besides, drunkenness is not disgraceful; they have not the spirit\nthat revolts from it. I have personally seen little children\nintoxicated. I have seen them intoxicated in the schoolroom. I have\nknown of parents getting their own children to drink to intoxication for\ntheir amusement. It is doubtful whether there is another tribe in all\nWest Africa so besotted with alcoholism as the Mpongwe. Physicians agree\nthat it is one of the chief causes of their increasing sterility.\n\nAnother factor in the extermination of the Mpongwe is the demoralization\nof domestic life incident to methods of trade. The Mpongwe man is a\ntrader by instinct. In shrewdness and diplomacy I doubt whether he has a\nsuperior among all the tribes of West Africa. This shrewdness he\nexpresses in many homely proverbs; as, for example, when he says: \u201cIf\nyou must sleep three in a bed, sleep in the middle.\u201d White traders all\nalong the coast employ the Mpongwe as middlemen between them and the\ninterior people, who possess the export products. The white man gives\nthe middleman a certain quantity of goods on trust. With these he goes\nto the interior and establishes a small trading-post in one or several\ntowns. It is a life of privation and danger, a lonely, miserable\nexistence, but he endures it with patience for the joyful hope that at\nthe end of a year or two he may return to his beloved town and family in\nGaboon, so rich that he can afford to \u201crip\u201d for six months; to dress so\nthat the women will adore him and the men hate him. His goods being soon\nexhausted by his numerous relations as well as himself, he starts off\nfor another year or two. He has a wife, or wives, at Gaboon, and he\ntakes to himself a wife or two at each of his interior trading-centres.\n\nIn the dangers of these middlemen and the necessities of trade Miss Mary\nH. Kingsley finds a plausible argument for polygamy, amounting, in Miss\nKingsley\u2019s opinion, to a full justification. Indeed, for various\nreasons, the majority of traders defend and advocate native polygamy.\nThe journeys of these native traders to the interior are dangerous, and\nI agree with Miss Kingsley that they deserve credit for their courage.\n\u201cCertainly they run less risk of death from fever than a white man\nwould; but, on the other hand, their colour gives them no protection;\nand their chance of getting murdered is distinctly greater; the white\ngovernmental powers cannot revenge their death in the way they would the\ndeath of a white man, for these murders usually take place away in some\nforest region, in a district no white man has ever penetrated.\u201d\n\nThere are two reasons why so many of them nevertheless survive. The\nfirst is that trade follows definite routes and the trader is expected\nabout once in six months by all the towns along the way, in which the\npeople are eager for trade-goods, the men \u201cfairly wild for tobacco\u201d and\nthe women impatient for beads and other ornaments. Under these\ncircumstances, for the people of any one town to kill the trader would\nmean trouble between that town and the other towns along the route.\n\nBut this consideration alone is not sufficient; and Miss Kingsley gives\nus the means that he employs for his further safety, as follows: \u201cBut\nthe trader is not yet safe. There is still a hole in his armour, and\nthis is only to be stopped up in one way, namely, by wives; for you see,\nalthough the village cannot safely kill him and take all his goods, they\ncan still let him die safely of a disease, and take part of them,\npassing on sufficient stuff to the other villages to keep them quiet.\nNow the most prevalent disease in the African bush comes out of the\ncooking-pot, and so to make what goes into the cooking-pot\u2014which is the\nimportant point, for earthen pots do not in themselves breed poison\u2014safe\nand wholesome, you have got to have some one who is devoted to your\nhealth to attend to the cooking affairs; and who can do this like a\nwife?\u2014one in each village of the whole of your route. I know myself one\ngentleman whose wives stretch over 300 miles of country, with a good\nwife base in a coast town as well. This system of judiciously conducted\nalliances gives the black trader a security nothing else can, because\nnaturally he marries into influential families at each village, and all\nthe wife\u2019s relations on the mother\u2019s side regard him as one of\nthemselves and look after him and his interests. That security can lie\nin woman, especially so many women, the so-called civilized man may\nironically doubt, but the security is there, and there only, and on a\nsound basis; for remember that the position of a travelling trader\u2019s\nwife in a village is a position that gives the lady prestige, the\ndiscreet husband showing little favours to her family and friends, if\nshe asks for them while he is with her; and then she has not got the\nbother of having a man always about the house, and liable to get all\nsorts of silly notions into his head, if she speaks to another\ngentleman, and then go and impart these notions to her with a cutlass,\nor a kassengo, as the more domestic husband, I am assured by black\nladies, is prone to.\u201d[1]\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 252.\n\nThis picture is not untrue to the facts. And yet some of us who have\nold-fashioned ideas of morality are not convinced that polygamy is\nthereby justified with its beastly immorality on the part of those men\nand of all those women who prefer not to have husbands hanging about the\nhouse with silly notions\u2014that is to say, _moral_ notions\u2014about the\nbehaviour of women. And however heartrending may be the condition of\nthose interior men and women, without tobacco and without beads, we\ncannot agree that their necessity justifies any such degrading practice\nfor its relief. As for the slight excess of rubber and ivory that\ncivilized folks obtain by this means, it may soothe the civilized breast\nto know that all, or nearly all, this trade produce would reach the\ncoast in other and more legitimate ways without these middlemen, whose\npresence is a curse to the interior people, whose absence is a curse to\ntheir own tribe, and who are above all a curse to themselves.\n\nThis demoralization of domestic life is even worse for the Mpongwe women\nthan for their absent husbands. There is a large settlement of white men\nin Gaboon, most of them government officials. And because of the climate\nthe white population is always rapidly changing. Nearly all the Mpongwe\nwomen become the mistresses of those men. And the worst of it is that\ninstead of being deemed disgraceful this only gives them social prestige\namong their own people. A woman said to me one day:\n\n\u201cIga is so proud she won\u2019t speak to me any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cOh, she is living with a white man now,\u201d was the reply.\n\nThe marriage tie in Gaboon has long ceased to be a \u201ctie.\u201d It was much\nmore binding before the advent of the white man, and it is more binding\nto-day among the uncivilized Fang.\n\nThe dreadful diseases that have been imported into Africa are certainly\na factor in the extermination of the Mpongwe. But the subject is too\nunpleasant to discuss at length in this place.\n\nAgain, the disregard of native institutions and the destruction of\ntribal authority by the foreign government tends to break down all\nauthority and remove all moral restraints. This is more or less true in\nall West Africa. The native form of government among the Mpongwe is\nsomewhat patriarchal; authority belongs to the head of the family, the\nhead of the clan and the head of the tribe. The native reverence for the\nauthority of these men is the saving virtue that sustains the tribe. But\nthe chief\u2019s authority and this reverence are destroyed together when the\npeople see him tied up occasionally and flogged; or ruthlessly flung\ninto prison; or his authority superseded by that of a native policeman.\nThe kingly office goes begging for an occupant when men find that the\ngrandeur of royalty consists in being held more or less responsible for\nall the misdoings of all the tribe, while, perhaps, some black mistress\nof a government official has more real power than the native king.\n\nThe authority of custom, in former times, even exceeded the authority of\nkings. But the foreigner ignores native customs, or ridicules them, or\neven condemns and forbids them\u2014often without understanding them. The\ntribal customs of Africa, from the most trivial to the most revolting,\nare not arbitrary, but have a moral meaning and significance; though\nthey sometimes outlive their usefulness. They either embody such rude\njustice as the African has attained; or else they represent the\noperation of the law of self-preservation. One can give a rational\nexplanation even of the most cruel and revolting custom that I have ever\nknown in Africa, namely, the custom of burying a man\u2019s wives alive with\nhim when he dies. Africa abounds with deadly poisons, and African wives\nfrequently contract an unpleasant habit of using them in the\ncooking-pot. How common the practice is may be judged by the African\nproverb: \u201cWe don\u2019t eat out of the same dish,\u201d used for instance as\nfollows: \u201cSo-and-so is angry but what do I care? We don\u2019t eat out of the\nsame dish.\u201d The wife prepares her husband\u2019s food and has the daily\nopportunity of using this deadly weapon. But this burial custom\u2014the fact\nthat when he dies she will be buried with him\u2014gives her a personal\ninterest in keeping him alive. It is scarcely necessary to say that I\nthink that this custom ought to be suppressed and its observance\nseverely punished. But meantime something ought to be done to improve\nthe morals of the African wife.\n\nThe dowry paid for a wife among the Mpongwe is forty dollars. Among the\nuncivilized Fang it is several times this amount, although the Fang are\nvery poor in comparison. The Mpongwe dowry was reduced by the French\ngovernment as a step in the direction of its abolishment; for it is\nnothing more than a purchase price. But the result of this forced\nreduction of the dowry has been demoralization rather than civilization.\nThe custom among all tribes is that if a wife desert her husband her\nfamily must pay back the dowry or send back the wife. It is not easy to\nsend back a large dowry, and the people, being unable or unwilling to do\nit, will send the woman back unless she has a very strong case against\nher husband. But forty dollars can easily be raised, especially if there\nshould be several white men to help. So there is nothing to prevent the\nMpongwe woman from leaving her husband when she pleases; and it pleases\nher to change him frequently. Until the African attains the moral\nsentiment that makes the marriage bond sacred it is better that there\nshould be the bond of outright purchase and ownership rather than no\nmarriage at all.\n\nIt is so with the whole body of custom. It expresses the inward life of\nthe people. It contains such rudimentary morality as they know, or\nembodies a principle that is necessary for the preservation of society.\nIt is on the level of the African\u2019s moral culture. It corresponds with\nhis beliefs and has the consent of his mind. The foreigner may by sheer\nforce change his outward condition, but unless there be also a\ncorresponding inward change he does not respond to the new obligations;\nhis moral responsibility is not equal to the new demands, and the result\nis moral degeneration followed inevitably by physical degeneration.\n\nThis very matter of the dowry illustrates the different method of the\nmissionary and, I believe, the true principle of progress. Our early\nmissionaries made no church laws against the dowry, but they faithfully\npreached the equality of woman and the higher idea of marriage; and as\nthe Christians became imbued with this sentiment they themselves\nabolished the dowry within their own society. But they did it at the\ninstance of a moral sentiment which made marriage more secure than ever.\nThe inward preceded the outward change. The missionary does as much harm\nas anybody else when he adopts the easy method of ruthless and\nindiscriminate assaults upon native customs and beliefs. It was not the\nMaster\u2019s method. Even slavery Jesus did not attack with violence; that\nwere as vain\u2014if I may use the illustration of Dr. Richard Storrs\u2014as vain\nas to attack an Arctic ice-field with pick and drill; but He turned upon\nit the summer sunshine and it slowly melted away. He inspired men with a\nsentiment of human brotherhood and destroyed slavery by expelling the\nspirit that made it possible. The African has a rooted antipathy to the\npick and drill, but he loves the sunshine; he is responsive to truth and\ncapable of high and transforming affections.\n\nIt is said on the coast that England rules her African colonies for\n_commerce_, France for _revenue_ and Spain for _plunder_. The English\npolicy gives the utmost encouragement to native enterprise and thrift,\nand on the whole the English colonies are the most prosperous and\npromising. The French policy of revenue imposes such a burden of\ntaxation that life no longer consists in eating and drinking and talking\npalavers, but in paying taxes. And the enormous import and export duty\nstifles enterprise and in the end defeats its own purpose. But it must\nbe said that the French officials, of all classes, in their personal\nintercourse with the natives, are free and friendly, and in consequence\nare much better liked than the English officials, who, though usually\njust, are often arrogant, and, while they care for the welfare of the\nnative, care nothing for his feelings. One recalls that in the early\ndays of America the French got on with the Indians much better than the\nEnglish.\n\nThe German policy cannot be described in one word. Their policy is\ncommercial; but they love government for its own sake and they govern\nfar too much. There is an element of militarism in their rule that is\nentirely too rigorous for the African, and must ultimately destroy him\nunless it becomes modified through knowledge and experience. It is\ncertain that Germany has not yet solved the problems of colonial\ngovernment in Africa. Some years have passed since I lived in Kamerun\nand it may be that conditions have improved\u2014though I doubt it; but it\nused to be that the first visible institution of government in a new\ndistrict was the whipping-post. Whatever Germany does she does with all\nher might, and the activity of this institution made the proximity of a\ngovernment station an undesirable neighbourhood if one chanced to have a\nhuman heart. The outpost of civilization in Africa is frequently a\nwhipping-post.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  TRADING-HOUSE AT GABOON.\n\n  The beach strewn with logs of mahogany in preparation for shipment.\n]\n\nThe fatal defect, both of trade and government, as independent\ncivilizing agencies, is that they have forcibly altered the outward\nconditions of the native without changing the inward man. The African is\nsomewhat in the position of the poor Indian in our own country a few\ngenerations ago. He was a hunter in a land stripped of game, a warrior\ndeprived of arms and obliged henceforth to seek his rights by legal\ntechnicalities\u2014while he was still the very same old Indian, inwardly not\na whit better, and by no means equal to the demands and moral\nobligations which the new conditions imposed upon him. One may clip the\nclaws of the tiger and even pull his teeth, but he is still a tiger; and\na French uniform on an African cannibal does not make him a vegetarian.\n\n\n\n\n                                   IV\n                            A LIVING REMNANT\n\n\nThe diminishing number of the Mpongwe, the hostility of the climate, the\ninsistence by the government that French must be the language of the\nschools, the great difficulty of procuring a corps of French-speaking\nmissionaries, the curse of rum, the presence of a large community of\nwhite men and the natural irresponsibility of the white man in\nAfrica\u2014all these have combined to limit the work of our mission among\nthe Mpongwe and to make it exceedingly difficult. And besides, there is,\nespecially, the strong opposition of the French Jesuits who have a large\nmission in Gaboon and any number of missionaries that the work may\ndemand. Their hostility makes co\u00f6peration impossible. Their methods, of\ncourse, are Jesuitical. We have the authority of certain historians for\nthe statement that in the early days of missions among the American\nIndians the Jesuit Fathers taught the Iroquois of Canada that Jesus was\na big Indian Chief who scalped women and children. If that was ever\ntrue\u2014and I doubt it\u2014their object of course was to gain first the outward\nadherence of the Indian, submission to their authority, with the\nintention of afterwards instructing him in the full content of\nChristianity, as they understood it. The French Jesuits, perhaps with\nthe same good intention, have baptized nearly all the polygamy,\ndrunkenness, immorality and fetishism of Gaboon, and they call it\n_Christianity_. But I believe it is more inaccessible to moral and\nspiritual influence than it was before.\n\nOne day shortly after the news of the death of Pope Leo XIII reached\nGaboon, and before I had heard of it, I was passing along the beach when\nI heard in a small village the _ululu_ of women who were wailing for the\ndead. Their mourning has usually a local occasion, and I had no doubt\nbut that somebody was dead in their own village; so I hurried over. The\nmourning ceased abruptly at my approach\u2014a triumph of curiosity over\ngrief. When I asked who was dead, the leader answered: \u201cThe Pope!\u201d She\nfollowed the answer with a prolonged howl in which they all joined, and\nthe tearless mourning proceeded. That is how I learned of the death of\nLeo XIII.\n\nThe Protestant Christians of Gaboon are a very small community; but they\nare the best Christians, and the dearest people, I have known in Africa.\nThey alone, of the Mpongwe, have good-sized families of healthy\nchildren. They are the living remnant of a dying tribe.\n\nWhen I moved to Baraka the Mpongwe work, the oldest in the mission, was\nin charge of a fellow missionary, Mr. Boppell, and I had not expected to\ntake any part in it. But before the first year had passed, Mr. Boppell\u2019s\nhealth compelled him to leave Africa, his wife having died at the\nbeginning of the year. From that time I had charge of the Gaboon Church,\nbesides the work among the Fang. In particular I undertook the training\nof an Mpongwe candidate for the ministry, who since Mr. Boppell\u2019s\ndeparture was occupying the pulpit and preaching very acceptably. This\nman, Iguwi, I instructed four hours each week; but after most of the\nyear had passed, I felt that I could perhaps spend the time to better\nadvantage.\n\nIguwi was the best educated and the most eccentric man of the entire\nMpongwe tribe. He was a monk by nature. The African is distinctly a\nmarrying man. He is usually very much married. But Iguwi at the age of\nforty-five was still single and was therefore a mystery to the natives.\nHe and myself were the only two single men in the entire region of\nGaboon. My own case seemed strange enough to the natives. They never\nlost an opportunity of asking me for an explanation. \u201cMr. Milligan,\u201d\nsays a wistful and sympathetic inquirer, \u201cyou nebber get wife?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I nebber get one.\u201d\n\nAfter a period of silence:\n\n\u201cWell, Mr. Milligan, why you nebber get wife? You no have money for buy\nher? or she done lef\u2019 you and run \u2019way wid odder man?\u201d\n\nIn reply to these frequent queries, I gave so many answers that I have\nalmost forgotten which was the right one.\n\nIguwi was the only African I have ever known who was not a marrying man.\nI have known other single men among them, but they were either busy\nlaying plans to run away with some other man\u2019s wife, or were working day\nand night and stealing, according to opportunity, to obtain sufficient\ndowry.\n\nIguwi was extremely bashful; and in this also he was an exception to his\nrace. On one occasion, an elder of the church and his wife, intimate\nfriends of Iguwi, invited him to a chicken breakfast. They lived beside\nhim and he passed their house several times a day. Nevertheless, he\nreplied in a letter that he hoped they would excuse him on account of\nhis bashfulness; but that he would be very grateful if they would send\nhim his portion of the chicken. Iguwi was born in slavery, and as he\nbecame educated and somewhat cultivated he was very sensitive in regard\nto his birth. This indeed may account largely for his bashfulness.\n\nBut quite as prominent as Iguwi\u2019s bashfulness and quaint eccentricities\nwas his transparent sincerity and goodness. His religion had not the\nAfrican tendency to exhaust itself in mental transports. The poor always\nhad a friend in him. I have had to remonstrate with him for giving away\nall that he had. On one occasion, he came to me and asked the monthly\npayment of his salary in advance. I expressed surprise at his need of\nit, seeing that only a few days before I had paid him for the past\nmonth. But I found afterwards that he had expended the whole mouth\u2019s\npayment in helping a poor widow to repair her house. She was not in any\nway related to him; and she had relations who were able to help her; but\nshe had a sharp tongue and had turned them away from her, and when\npoverty and distress came there was none to help her. The most degraded\nof the heathen believed in Iguwi and would never have doubted his\nhonesty or truth. In this sense, indeed, he was a \u201cliving epistle\u201d of\nChrist which all could read and which none misunderstood. For so gentle\na spirit he had a set of categories that were especially drastic. On one\noccasion, when I asked him how many persons had attended his village\nprayer-meeting, he replied: \u201cFifteen Christians and six sinners.\u201d The\nattendance on the preceding Sunday was \u201cninety Christians and\ntwenty-five sinners.\u201d\n\nIguwi was a remarkably good preacher. He had been taught in the mission\nschool at Baraka in the old days when English was still permitted, but\nat best he received there only the equivalent of a primary-school\neducation. After he decided to study for the ministry he received\nfurther training in a theological class. It was a mystery to me how a\nman so bashful and diffident had ever chosen the ministry for a\nprofession. But when Iguwi stood on the platform his diffidence\ndisappeared entirely and his speech was perfectly free and courageous.\nThe people all enjoyed his preaching and were helped by it. He was so\nabsent-minded, however, in regard to his dress, that a committee should\nhave been appointed to look him over before he went into the pulpit, in\norder to see that nothing essential had been omitted, and that his\nclothes were fastened on him securely. A perpetual problem to the native\nmind is how to get clothes to stay on without buttons\u2014a problem of which\npolite African society anxiously awaits the solution. Even with buttons,\nthe imported garments of civilization are still uncertain, when worn by\nthose who are not to the manner born. Sometimes, as if by a sudden act\nof disenchantment, the buttons simultaneously unfasten, strings untie\nand clothes fall off. Iguwi\u2019s trousers were supported by a red sash,\nwhich often got loose and began to unwind slowly as he preached. When\nthe loose end of the sash touched the floor, it was a question as to\nwhat the climax of the sermon would be. I finally advised him either to\npreach shorter sermons or wear a longer sash.\n\nIguwi\u2019s sermons were thoughtful and spiritual. It was strange how so\nunpractical a man could preach such practical sermons. They must have\ncome to him by intuition rather than by any exercise of judgment. It was\nalso indicative of a remarkable intellect that a man without any\nlibrary, who had read only a few books that he had borrowed from\nmissionaries, could preach sermons that were always well constructed and\nthoughtful. I happen to recall an outline which he submitted to me one\nday on the text, \u201cFor as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are\nsons of God.\u201d His three main points were: First, The Spirit leads to the\ncross of Christ; second, He leads to moral conflict (Iguwi probably said\nto \u201cwar\u201d); third, He leads to victory.\n\nWhen I was leaving Africa, I gladdened Iguwi\u2019s heart with a set of\nMatthew Henry\u2019s commentaries\u2014which more than doubled his library. The\nquaintness, the homely simplicity and spirituality of Matthew Henry were\nnot unlike Iguwi himself.\n\nI have said that outside the pulpit Iguwi, with all his goodness, was\nutterly unpractical. Often, indeed, he seemed to lack common sense. I\nonce gave him a book to read in which the writer, by way of illustrating\nthe evanescence of human glory, referred to the gorgeous palace of ice\nwhich was built by Catherine of Russia, and so soon dissolved beneath\nthe sun. Iguwi had heard of ice and knew very well what it was, but\nbeing unfamiliar with its resources of illustration he was deeply\nimpressed. While he was still reading this book, one night in\nprayer-meeting he offered a prayer in which I, who did not understand\nthe Mpongwe language, was suddenly startled by the English words, _ice_,\n_palace_, _Catherine_, _Russia_.\n\nEven if the congregation had known English the illustration would still\nhave been unintelligible to them. For aught they knew _Russia_ might be\nthe name of an African tribe, or a river in America, and they were as\nignorant of the other words; and since those four words comprised the\nwhole illustration, the force and beauty of it must have been somewhat\nlost upon them. It occurred to me at the time that a library, instead of\nbeing a help to Iguwi, would probably have spoiled his preaching.\n\nIguwi was so unpractical it seemed best not to ordain him. If the worst\nheathen of Gaboon had asked admission to the membership of the church\nIguwi would have received him with a _God-bless-you_. But he continued\nto visit the sick and to give away his living to the poor. His goodness\nshone along all the lowly paths of service.\n\nA service in the Gaboon Church is much like a service in one of our best\ncoloured churches in America. There is perfect order and good attention,\nand we need not labour too much to be simple, for they listen\nintelligently. Occasionally, however, one is reminded that it is really\nAfrica and not America. I have seen a man, in the first pair of shoes\nthat he ever possessed, come to church unusually late, tramp as heavily\nas reverence would allow in coming up the aisle, and then sit in the end\nof the seat, assuming an unnatural and uncomfortable position in order\nto keep his feet in the aisle. What is the use of spending money for\nshoes and wearing them with so much discomfort if people are not to know\nthat you have them? Shoes for the African trade are purposely made with\nloud-squeaking soles; the African will not buy shoes that do not \u201ctalk.\u201d\nSometimes, in localities further from the coast, the head of the family\nwill enter the church alone, wearing the shoes, and upon reaching his\nseat will throw them out of the window to his wife, who also will wear\nthem into the church, and perhaps others of the family after her.\n\nAmong the Mpongwe it was deeply impressed upon me that the sincerity of\npiety is not to be judged by its fluency. Most white people who acquire\nthe art of public speaking, especially in religious meetings, are\nobliged to cultivate it; and only a small minority of Christians can\noffer a prayer in public. But the African speaks with perfect freedom\nand entire absence of selfconsciousness. He can offer a public prayer\nlong before he becomes Christian, or has any such intention. It took me\na long time to put the proper estimate upon fluency. One day I visited a\nwoman, Nenge, who was going further and further astray through rum and\nother Mpongwe vices. I was so greatly impressed by her eloquent\nexpression of ideals and aspirations that I inferred a great change in\nher life. I prayed with her and asked her if she would pray for herself.\nWithout the slightest hesitation she began a prayer of considerable\nlength that almost brought tears to my eyes. She prayed for herself and\nme. But I found out afterwards that she had not the least intention of\nparting with either of her great sins, and she was surprised that I had\nso misunderstood her. She had not meant to deceive me. The truth is that\nany native could offer such a prayer. After several such experiences I\nbecame wary. It is a great gift, however, when it is truly consecrated.\nAn Mpongwe prayer-meeting never lags.\n\nThe Gaboon Church in its early history was ministered to for many years\nby Toko Truman, probably the most eloquent native preacher who was ever\ntrained in the West Africa Mission. He was entirely blind for seven\nyears before he died. The first time I visited Gaboon Toko was still\nliving. I was on my way home to America and was detained several days at\nGaboon, waiting for a French steamer. I had heard much of Toko, and I\nvisited him every day. Among ever so many incidents of interest which he\nrelated I recall his reply to a certain white trader, a very profane\nman, who took pleasure in mocking at Toko\u2019s faith and self-denial. One\nday the trader remarked that if there was any such place as heaven, he\nhimself was as sure of an entrance there as anybody.\n\nToko replied: \u201cI have read the words of Jesus, \u2018Not every one that saith\nunto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven,\u2019 that is to\nsay, not even all those who pray shall enter; and the chances would seem\nto be small for you, who do not pray at all. Heaven is not as cheap as\nyou think.\u201d\n\nIzuri is an elderly woman, a member in the Mpongwe Church, whose charity\ntowards the Fang of the interior presents a striking contrast to the\nspirit of the coast people generally. I have already said that, in the\nmind of the coast people, the Fang belong to the orders of lower\nanimals, and that the coast women are ashamed to be heard speaking Fang,\nthough they all speak it; for they trade with them daily. Izuri, when I\nhad charge of the Mpongwe Church, was sewing for a trading-house one\nwhole day each week, thereby earning twenty cents, which she gave to\nhelp support a native missionary among the Fang. The Fang come down the\nriver long distances to sell food and building material in the Gaboon\nmarket. They must travel with the tide, and often they remain at the\ncoast all night. It is sometimes hard for them to obtain shelter; and,\nmoreover, they are subjected to every form of temptation by those who\nwould get from them the money or goods they have procured for their\nproduce. Izuri might often be seen going along the beach in the evening,\ninviting these homeless people to her town where she gave them shelter\nin a house which she owned but did not occupy. And often in the evening,\nsitting down in their midst, she would talk to them in their own\nlanguage, fairly scandalizing her neighbours. I presume Izuri still\ncontinues her ministry to the poor Fang.\n\nAn Mpongwe man, Ntyango, showed this same spirit towards the Fang and\nwent among them and preached to them. He died about the time I went to\nGaboon, and was buried in the mission graveyard. Some years afterwards\nthe workmen were cutting grass in the graveyard. Among them was a Fang\nman named Biyoga, whom Ntyango had taught to read when he was a small\nboy. As Biyoga was cutting grass and occasionally spelling out the names\non the tombstones he found Ntyango\u2019s name on one of them. Sacred\nmemories stirred the heart of the wild Fang. The next day he came to me\nand told me that since the days, long ago, when he had known Ntyango he\nhad never met another man like him. All the time since finding his name\nand while working beside his grave he had been thinking of him,\nrecalling his kindness to the Fang, especially to the children, and his\nChristian teaching, and now he wished only to be the kind of man that\nNtyango was.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  AN MPONGWE WEDDING.\n\n  The bride is a daughter of Lucina, who stands at the left of the\n    bride.\n]\n\nI think of Sara whose honesty and goodness had beautified her face. Left\na widow with five young children, and very poor, she often felt the\nburden of care too heavy for her shoulders; but she went bravely on.\nWhen her daughter was married and the customary dowry of forty dollars\nwas offered Sara by the young husband, she refused to take it, believing\nthat it was not in accord with Christian principle. The king of the\nMpongwe tribe, being jealous for old customs, resented Sara\u2019s action,\nand having invited her to his town made her a prisoner, thinking to\nintimidate her; but he failed even to pick a quarrel with her, and after\na few days he released her.\n\nI think of Lucina, than whom the Mpongwe Church never had a more\nfaithful member. Lucina\u2019s husband, preferring a dissolute life of\ndrunkenness and polygamy, left her with five young children. Indeed,\nwhen he took other wives he had to leave her; for her character embraced\nthe sensibility as well as the faithfulness of Christian wifehood. She\nbrought up her children under great difficulties, working for them like\na very slave; and though she was young, educated and extremely\nattractive, the breath of scandal never tarnished her reputation. When\nher husband accepted a dowry for their daughter and sent a portion of it\nto Lucina, she sent it back to him saying that if he had sold their\ndaughter for a price, her conscience would not allow her to share it\nwith him.\n\nAnd, among others, there was Sonia, a white-haired old man with the\nheart of a child. Sonia had as many stories as _Uncle Remus_; but his\nbest stories were the incidents and adventures of his own life.\n\nOne still night as we lay at anchor, in the middle of the swift-rolling\nriver, with the moonshine lying in silver ringlets across its surface,\nthe boat-boys asked Sonia to tell them a story. As usual his first reply\nwas that he did not know any stories\u2014excepting a few foolish old stories\nthat they had heard till they were tired of them. But at length\u2014as\nusual\u2014he thought of one, and then another, and still another.\n\nHe first told a typical story about the tortoise and his creditors. The\ntortoise in African folk-lore is notorious for unscrupulous cunning.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a great famine in the land and food was very\ndear. So the tortoise called upon his friends, the worm, the cock, the\nbushcat, the leopard and the hunter, and borrowed from each a box of\nbrass rods, promising to pay them at the end of the season on different\ndays. On the day appointed the worm appeared and asked for the payment\nof the loan. Then the tortoise asked him to wait until he should go and\nfetch the money. So the tortoise went off to get the money, and the next\nday he came back with the cock, who also came according to appointment\nfor the payment of his loan. Then the worm and the cock met, and the\ncock ate the worm.\n\nThen the cock asked for his money and the tortoise asked him to wait\nuntil he should go and fetch it. And he went off again, and came back\nnext day with the bushcat, who had come for the payment of his loan.\nThen the cock and the bushcat met and the bushcat killed the cock and\nate him.\n\nThen the bushcat asked for his money and the tortoise asked him to wait\nuntil he should go and fetch it. And he went off again, and came back\nthe next day with the leopard, and the leopard killed the bushcat and\nate it.\n\nThen the leopard asked for his money, and the tortoise asked him to wait\nuntil he should go and fetch it. And he went off again, and came back\nwith the hunter. And the hunter and the leopard killed each other.\n\nThen the tortoise laughed at them all for being fools. And the moral is\nthat it is not wise to lend to a man lest he may wish you evil and seek\nto kill you. But Sonia reminds the boys that the story contains only the\nwisdom of the heathen, and that Jesus teaches us to help those who need\nour help even if we should lose by it.\n\nAfter various comments on the moral of the story, to the effect that\n\u201cloan oft loses both itself and friend,\u201d Sonia tells a story of two\nfriends and a wag.\n\nThere were two friends who had been friends from childhood, and who were\nmore than brothers to each other; and these two friends had never been\nknown to quarrel. Now there was a wag in a neighbouring town, who one\nday, when he heard the people talking about these two friends who had\nnever quarrelled, declared that he would make them quarrel. That day he\nput on a coat of which one side was blue and the other side red and then\nwalked down the road that ran between the two men\u2019s houses. In the\nevening the friends met as usual and one of them said: \u201cDid you see the\nwag pass to-day with a red coat on?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the other, \u201cI saw him pass; but it wasn\u2019t a red coat. It was\nblue.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure it was red,\u201d said the first.\n\n\u201cBut it wasn\u2019t. It was blue,\u201d said the other.\n\nAnd so they disputed until one of them called the other a fool; and then\nthey fought.\n\n\u201cTake that,\u201d said one.\n\n\u201cAnd that,\u201d said the other.\n\nSo they fought until their wives came running to them and parted them.\nBut they went to their houses with heavy hearts. For they had been\nfriends for a lifetime and now their friendship was broken. And all the\npeople felt sorrow. But the wag, when he came along, laughed and told\nthem how he had worn a coat which was red on one side and blue on the\nother. And the friends and their wives ever afterwards hated the wag.\n\nSonia\u2019s stories were most interesting when he recounted real incidents\nin his own life. When a young man, he told us, he had lived as a trader\nat this Fang town opposite which we were anchored. The noise of\ndrumming, dancing and singing had ceased and the town was wrapped in\nuntroubled sleep. There is no stillness in the world like that of an\nAfrican town in the night.\n\nSonia told us about a battle he had witnessed, which was fought upon the\nriver, at this very place where we lay; a battle between this town and a\ntown which then stood on the opposite bank, but of which nothing now\nremained. This town was already old at the time of the war but the other\nwas new, the people having come recently from the far interior, being\ndriven forth by the hostility of more powerful clans behind. There was\nno quarrel between the towns; but the people of the old town thought\nthat it would be good policy to give their new neighbours a whipping\nupon their arrival in order to insure a wholesome respect.\n\nFirst, I believe, they stole a woman. Then followed a guerrilla warfare,\nin which each side killed as they had opportunity, waylaying\nindividuals, or rushing from ambush upon a party of venturesome\nstragglers from the enemy\u2019s town. In this way a number were killed on\neach side; and the war, which was first undertaken more as a vain\nexploit or adventure than from any serious motive, was soon prosecuted\nwith feelings of deadly hate and a purpose of revenge. Every night, from\neach town, the wail of mourning for the dead was wafted across the\nriver; and curses were mingled with the mourning.\n\nAt length one canoe attacked another in the river, where they had been\nfishing. Immediately other canoes came to their help, and still others,\never so many of them, pushing off rapidly from each side until all the\nmen of the two towns, young and old, were in the middle of the river\nwhere they fought to a finish. When fighting in canoes, whatever other\nweapons they may have, they carry a small battle-ax, which is used\nespecially to prevent the capsizing of the canoe by those who are\nalready in the water. Sonia told how that, again and again, at a blow\nthey severed a man\u2019s hand, or completely disabled him. They swim so well\nthat they could still make a strong fight after being capsized. The\nbattle was long, and the river ran red with their blood. Those who were\nkilled were carried by the current out to the sea to feed the sharks.\n\nThe people of the new town lost. Those of them who were left pulled down\ntheir town and moved to another place. In a few years nothing remained\nof it but one or two skeletons with the grass growing through their\nribs. But for years afterwards the superstitious native passing along\nthe river in the dead of night heard again the noise of battle\u2014fierce\ncries and dying groans. And whenever this sound is heard, they say,\nagain the river runs red like blood.\n\nOne incident of the war, prior to the final battle, I recall, as Sonia\ntold it that night.\n\nThe people of the old town captured a man of the other side, and his\nson, a little boy. They bound the father, and before his eyes\ndeliberately killed his son\u2014and ate his flesh. The main motive of\ncannibalism, under such circumstances, would be neither wanton cruelty\nnor a vicious appetite, but _fetishism_. By eating one of their number\nthey render the enemy powerless to do them any farther injury. Some time\nafterwards they slew the father. But already they had broken his heart,\nand with hands uplifted he welcomed the death-blow.\n\nThe emotion with which old Sonia told this whole story indicated how his\nown heart had been wrung. He said not a word about any effort of his to\ndissuade the people from their cruelty; but I knew him well, and I was\nconfident that the part he had taken was not unheroic. That is a story\nthat was never told.\n\nSonia in his latter years, between long intervals of sickness, was a\nmissionary to the Fang. They all regarded him with love and reverence.\nThe oldest savage among them, and the wildest, were as children when\nthey addressed him.\n\nIn the little graveyard, on the mission hill at Baraka, are the graves\nof those who have thought that life itself was not too great a price to\npay for the saving of such men and women from degradation. Henry\nDrummond said that while in Africa he had been in an atmosphere of death\nall the time, and that he realized, as never before, the awful fact of\ndeath and its desolation as something calling for an answer. One of my\nfirst experiences in Gaboon reminded me that I was again in the land of\ndeath, when I assisted in the burial service of the beautiful young wife\nand bride of a fellow missionary, less than three months after their\narrival in Africa. So far away from home we enter deeply into each\nother\u2019s sorrows. I was standing by in the last hour, when with pale face\nthe stricken but silent husband stepped to the open door and nervously\nplucked a flower growing there, a large crimson hibiscus, the beauty of\nthe tropics, which he laid on the pillow beside his unconscious wife,\nand the two broken flowers drooped and died together, while the shadows\ndarkened around us and the night came on. In the unconscious act there\nwas something more affecting than in any words of grief. It seemed to\nrelate this death to all death everywhere, in a world where forms of\nlife appear only to vanish into darkness and day hurries to the night.\n\nSoon after our patient sufferer had ceased to breathe, in the midst of\nthe stillness that followed the prolonged struggle with the fever, a\nstorm that had been gathering with the darkness broke forth with great\nviolence that shook the house. I had only arrived in Africa. I went out\ninto the storm unspeakably oppressed with doubt, to which it was a kind\nof relief. Was it a noble sacrifice? or an appalling waste? In the\nintervals of the storm, and mingling with it, there came the sound of a\ndirge, the hopeless death-wail, from a village close by, where the poor\nnatives were mourning for one of their number who had died that day, a\nyoung man at whose bed I had stood a few hours earlier, the only son of\na heart-broken mother. Those who have always known the words of One who\nbrought life and immortality to light cannot realize the heathen view of\ndeath, and the abysmal darkness of the invisible world. There is no\nsound so well known in Africa, and none that so haunts the memory in\nafter years, as the mourning dirge, in which with united voices they\nchant their sorrow for the dead\u2014their despair and desolation; the sound\nthat is borne upon every night-wind and becomes to the imagination the\nvery voice of Africa. The groaning of the palm-trees in the darkness of\nthat night, as they bent beneath the tempest, and in the distance the\nsound of the troubled sea, were the fitting accompaniment and interlude.\nBut in our house, beside our dead, there was light\u2014and doubt was\nvanquished. There, hope was whispering to a stricken heart sweet\npromises of life; and faith was saying: \u201cLet not your heart be troubled,\nneither let it be afraid.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                   V\n                             AFRICAN MUSIC\n\n\nIt was many years ago, among the Bulu, in Kamerun. Dr. Good and myself\nwere holding a religious service in the town of a great chief, Abesula,\nwhose thirty-five wives were seated around him. After we had sung\nseveral hymns Dr. Good began to preach, but had not proceeded as far as\n_secondly_ when Abesula, interrupting, exclaimed: \u201cSay, white man, won\u2019t\nyou stop talking and sing again? And I wish you would dance with your\nsinging; for I don\u2019t care for singing without dancing; and I don\u2019t like\npreaching at all.\u201d\n\nWe found that Abesula\u2019s whole family were united in this preference for\ncomic opera. But Dr. Good and I were in hopeless disagreement as to\nwhich of us should do the dancing. Besides, the Africans themselves are\nexpert dancers and qualified judges; and if our music had \u201ccharms to\nsoothe the savage breast,\u201d I am afraid that our dancing would have made\nmore savages than it would have soothed.\n\nAfter a few months among the Bulu I had an organ brought up from the\ncoast, a baby-organ, which when folded a man could carry on his head.\nThe people had heard that something wonderful was coming with the next\ncaravan; and on the day of its arrival it seemed as if the whole Bulu\ntribe had assembled on our hill. Having unpacked the organ I set it on\nthe porch while they all stood on the ground below. The tension of\nsuspense during the slow progress of preparation was a test of\nendurance. At last, everything being ready, I sat down at the organ,\nfilled the bellows, and amidst profound silence suddenly sounded a loud\nchord. Instantly the crowd bolted. Nothing was to be seen but\ndisappearing legs. The men, being more fleet of limb, reached the\nhiding-places first; then the women and larger children, the smaller\nchildren being left to their fate. To them the organ was of course a\nfetish, and full of talking spirits. Gradually they came out from their\nhiding-places. Then, as fear subsided, each one began to laugh at the\nothers and to tell his ancestors all about it. In the ensuing noise the\norgan had a rest. They soon became devotedly fond of it, and it was a\ngreat help in our mission work. Regularly on Sunday morning after the\nservice I would set the organ on the porch and play for them until I was\ntired\u2014and that was not very long; for in that climate the bellows were\nsoon in such condition that the playing was prominently spectacular,\ndone with the feet, reinforced by all the muscles of the body. In after\nyears, among the Fang of the French Congo, I always carried an organ\nwith me.\n\nTo all the interior natives, Bulu and Fang, and even to the coast tribe\nof Batanga, my playing of that little organ was much the most wonderful\nthing about me. In going to Africa a second time, after four years\u2019\nabsence, on my way to Gaboon I landed at Batanga for a few hours. The\nnatives remembered me as having a beard, and I was now shaved. But there\nwas with me a fellow traveller who had just such a beard as mine had\nbeen; so that, to the natives, he looked more like me than I did myself.\nThey of course mistook him for me; and the stranger got a friendly\nreception which pleased him as much as it surprised him. He said he\nnever had met such friendly natives. But upon my protest they discovered\ntheir mistake and began to pay me some attention. I insisted that they\nhad forgotten me and that my feelings were hurt; at which they made the\nmost excited remonstrance. They remembered that I had played the organ.\nOne of the boys, in his eagerness to convince me that they had not\nforgotten me, began to imitate my motions at the organ, which he\nexaggerated to an outlandish caricature in which hands, feet, head,\nmouth and eyes were equally active, saying as he performed: \u201cLook me,\nMr. Milligan; this be you.\u201d Following his example, they all engaged in a\nperformance that would have scandalized any company of self-respecting\nmonkeys, saying the while: \u201cThis be you, Mr. Milligan; this be you.\u201d\n\nMy fellow traveller, who may have felt somewhat chagrined at finding\nthat the hearty reception accorded him was intended for me, turned to me\nand made some remarks that have no rightful place here.\n\nWe are all familiar with the legend that Pythagoras invented the first\nmusical instrument after listening to the blacksmith\u2019s hammers.\nLongfellow repeats it in the poem, \u201cTo a Child\u201d:\n\n                 \u201cAs great Pythagoras of yore,\n                 Standing beside the blacksmith\u2019s door,\n                 And hearing the hammers, as they smote\n                 The anvils with a different note,\n                 Stole from the varying tones that hung\n                 Vibrant on every iron tongue\n                 The secret of the sounding wire,\n                 And formed the seven-corded lyre.\u201d\n\nShakespeare also refers to this reputed origin of music in \u201cThe Two\nNoble Kinsmen.\u201d Pirithous, relating the death of Arcite, tells how he\nrode the pavement on a horse so black that the superstitious would have\nfeared to buy him, a prancing steed whose iron-shod feet seemed only to\ntouch the stones\u2014as if counting them, rather than trampling them, and\u2014\n\n                                    \u201cthus went counting\n          The flinty pavement, dancing as \u2019twere to the music\n          His own hoofs made\u2014for, as they say, from iron\n          Came music\u2019s origin.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, this story\u2014like many others that cluster about the name of\nPythagoras, as, for instance, that he was seen in two cities at the same\ntime\u2014is seriously vulnerable, and is probably pure myth, without enough\nof fact to qualify as a legend. The obvious objection, that various\nhammers striking upon an anvil give out, not different notes, but the\nsame\u2014for the notes vary with the anvil and not with the\nhammers\u2014Longfellow meets by using the plural, _anvils_.\n\nIn the latest of Mr. H. E. Krehbiel\u2019s learned and interesting books,\n_The Pianoforte and Its Music_, the writer holds that the first of all\nstringed instruments was the bow. Every boy knows the musical twang of\nthe bowstring at the moment that the arrow flies. In the _Iliad_,\nApollo, the god of music, is also the god of archery, and is called the\n\u201cbearer of the silver bow.\u201d Mr. Krehbiel also recalls the passage in the\n_Odyssey_ in which Ulysses tries his bow, after the suitors of Penelope,\none by one, had tried and failed; and when Ulysses drew the arrow to its\nhead and let it go, the string rang shrill and sweet as the note of a\nswallow. This theory of the origin of musical instruments is strikingly\nsupported by the instruments in present use among the savage and\nprimitive tribes of West Africa.\n\nA Kombe cook, at Gaboon, each day after dinner, lay down for a nap and\nplayed himself to sleep upon an instrument which was nothing but a bow\nwith a single string. The string was made of a certain runner, the fibre\nof which is very tough and gives a resonant note. The cook found that by\nplucking the string with a metal, rather than with his fingers, he\nproduced a better note; so for this purpose he regularly used the\nbread-knife and took it to bed with him. When I first heard this\nunclassical music I thought he was playing on a Jew\u2019s-harp.\n\nThe native improves this instrument when he attaches to one end of it a\ngourd or calabash, in the shape of a bowl, to augment the sound\u2014the\nfirst sound-box. When he plays he places the flat side of the gourd\nagainst his chest. He improves the instrument immensely when he adds\nthree strings, making four in all, successively shorter. The four\nstrings pass over a central bridge, which is notched at different\nheights for the different strings. This makes eight strings and produces\neight different notes. The gourd, or sound-box, is placed in the middle\nof the bow, opposite the bridge. This instrument is usually made from\nthe midrib of a palm-leaf. The bent midrib itself forms the bow; while\nthe strings are the loosened fibres of its own tough skin. These are\nmade taut by the vertical bridge, and their vibrating length is\nregulated by strong bands passing around the ends of the strings and the\nbow.\n\nAnother native instrument is a harp, both in shape and in principle. The\nupper end is a bow, or half-bow; the lower end is an oblong sound-box\ncovered with a perforated skin\u2014monkey-skin or goatskin. The upper ends\nof the strings are attached to pegs inserted in the bow, by which the\nstrings may be tuned. There is also a five-stringed lyre, with a\nsound-box somewhat like the harp, but instead of a single bow at the\nend, there are five bent fingers, each with its string. There is a very\nrudimentary dulcimer, and a xylophone, and various modifications of the\ninstruments which I have described.\n\nThe favourite of all these instruments, and the one of largest musical\ncapacity, is the harp. The native uses it most frequently to accompany\nhis singing. There are professional singers among them, whose position\nis somewhat analogous to that of minstrels several centuries ago in\nEurope. The songs of these professional singers are usually lengthy\nballads\u2014traditional tales in lyric form. The monotony of the solo, which\nis a dramatic recitative, is broken by a somewhat regular and frequent\nchoral response. The singer half closes his eyes and sways his body as\nhe sings. He seems oblivious of time and place. I have sometimes thought\nthat there was an element of hypnotism in his influence upon his\naudience. Upon the instrument he plays a running and unvaried\naccompaniment to his song. But it would be a great mistake to judge the\nsong, or the African capacity for melody, by the miserably inadequate\ninstrument. The singer\u2019s voice far exceeds the instrument, both in range\nand in the division of intervals.\n\nThe fact is, however, that the only one of his musical instruments which\nthe African regards with profound respect is his dearly-beloved\n_tom-tom_\u2014the drum to which he dances. From this some have inferred\nthat, to the African savage, rhythm without melody is music, which of\ncourse is a mistake. It is even doubtful whether his sense of melody be\nnot altogether as keen as his sense of rhythm, though not equally\nappealed to. The drum is very easy to construct; but not so the harp or\nviol; and the Negro is so lacking in mechanical genius that he cannot\ninvent an instrument capable of reproducing his melodies. Therefore the\nmelodies are always vocal. They do not dance to the drum, by itself; for\nthey invariably sing when they dance. Dancing without singing is almost\nimpossible; at least I have never seen it during seven years in Africa.\nThey are passionately fond of singing and have good voices. The voices\nof the men are much better than those of the women and have sometimes\nthe resonant sonority of a deep organ-tone, or an exquisite melancholy,\nwhich it is to be hoped they may never lose through future conditions of\ncivilization.\n\nThe native songs are elementary but fascinating. Few white men, however,\ncan sing them; for the scales, or tone-systems, upon which most of them\nare based, are entirely different from our major and minor modes. Their\nscales have not a distinct tonic, that is, a basal tone from which the\nothers in the system are derived, as, for instance, the first tone,\n_do_, of our major scale. It follows that the cadences of their music\nare not clearly defined; or, as a friend of mine would say, \u201cThey don\u2019t\ntaper off to an end like ours.\u201d\n\nAlthough their music is so difficult for the white man, the natives\nlearn our music with astonishing ease, even their oldest men and women,\nand sing it well\u2014if they have half a chance. But is it surprising\nthat\u2014since our scales are new to them\u2014they at first need a little\ncareful training, or at least the lead of a clear-toned organ reasonably\nwell played? Otherwise they are not unlikely to substitute the tones of\ntheir own scales. The result is indescribable. Imagine a large\ncongregation singing the doxology with all their might, and about half\nof them singing it in G minor instead of G major! But the comparison is\ninadequate. The singing in some mission congregations is enough to cause\na panic. The first Sunday that I spent in Africa was at Batanga, where\nthe people had learned the hymns before any white missionaries went to\nlive among them. I was near the church when the large congregation\nstarted the first hymn. It was a translation of \u201cGod is the Refuge of\nHis saints, When storms of sharp distress invade.\u201d The tune of this\n_storm of sharp distress_ was good old _Ward_, but, alas, in such a\nstate of _decomposition_ that I did not recognize it until they had sung\nit through twice. And so it was with many of the tunes. Their own music\nhas no extended range of high and low notes; and so, in these hymns,\nwhenever they came to a high passage, or even a single high note, they\nsang it an octave lower, and the low notes they sang an octave higher.\nIt was a vocal feat, and no audience of white people could have done it\nwithout training; but it did not sound much like music, still less like\nworship.\n\nSo great a musician as Dvorak, when he came to America, was profoundly\nmoved by the original melodies of the American Negro, and became their\nenthusiastic champion. Indeed, they inspired the most beautiful of all\nhis symphonies, the one entitled, \u201cAus der Neuen Welt.\u201d I do not refer,\nof course, to the so-called Negro melodies composed by white men. Some\nof these are beautiful; but they are not Negro melodies. They do not\nexpress the Negro\u2019s emotional life and he does not care much for them.\nThose wonderful songs of the Fisk Jubilee Singers are the real thing.\nSome of those very melodies may have originated in Africa. Others are\nmore developed than any that I heard in Africa; but they are very\nsimilar, and they use the same strange scales, which makes them\nunfamiliar to our ears and difficult to acquire. Among them, I really\nbelieve, are occasional motives as capable of development as those of\nHungary.\n\nFor a long time the music of Africa defied every attempt on my part to\nreduce it to musical notation. Very few persons have made the attempt;\nfor it is easier to reduce their language to writing than their music.\nAt first it seemed as inarticulate and spontaneous as the sound of the\ndistant surf with which it blended, or the music of the night-wind in\nthe bamboo.\n\nThe melody of African music is strange to our ears, because, as I have\nsaid, it is usually derived from tone-systems that are unlike either our\nmajor or minor scales. They have the _pentatonic_ scale, that is, a\nmajor scale without the fourth and the seventh notes, thus avoiding the\nuse of semitones; but their other scales are strange to most people.\nAmong them are some of the scales of the _plain-song_ of the Roman\nCatholic Church\u2014the _Gregorian chant_. The plain-song is the only\nsurvival (among ourselves) of ancient music. Modern music is based upon\nharmony, and consists essentially in a progression of chords. The\nsuccessive tones of a modern melody acquire their character not chiefly\nfrom their own sequence, as do ancient melodies, but from the chords to\nwhich they belong; and the chords even when they are not voiced are\nalways understood. But harmony itself is modern, dating from about the\nthirteenth century. African melodies cannot always be harmonized, and\nwhen the harmony is added it is not usually effective.\n\nBut in African music another scale is employed which is not Gregorian,\nbut oriental. It is a minor scale with an augmented interval\u2014a tone and\na half\u2014between the sixth and seventh notes, that is, with a minor sixth\nand a major seventh. This peculiarly effective interval imparts an\nintense melancholy. Verdi, with delightful propriety, makes use of this\nvery scale in A\u00efda, in the hymn of the Egyptian priestesses in the first\nact, where an extant Arab melody is introduced. This scale is probably\nthe oldest tone-system in the world and may have come originally from\nthe banks of the Ganges, in the far-distant past.\n\nThe African, like the oriental, conceives of the scales, and the\nmelodies derived from them, as moving downward, instead of upward like\nour own. All African music sings downward. Another striking peculiarity\nis that they lack _tonality_, as the musician would say; that is, they\nseem not to be in any particular key. The strong feeling of the key-note\nwhich characterizes our major scale is entirely absent; and this, of\ncourse, accounts for the absence of a well-defined cadence, to which I\nhave alluded. The weird fascination of the African dirge is largely due\nto this absence of tonality. Musical genius could hardly surpass this\ninstinctive expression of despair\u2014the desolation of an everlasting\nfarewell.\n\nThe emotion which it represents, however intense, is rather\ndisappointingly transient. Sometimes it is even unreal; I mean to say\nthat it is sometimes indulged for its own sake. And this is true of the\nNegro everywhere. A few days ago I came upon an article in an old\nmagazine, in which a Southern woman, in \u201cRambling Talks About the\nNegro,\u201d tells of a mourning party of Negroes that assembled one night\nbeside her house to finish a mourning ceremony that ought to have been a\npart of a funeral a few days earlier; but a storm had interrupted it.\nThe unearthly mournfulness of their music was intensified by their\nbeautiful voices until it became unbearable, and the woman bowed her\nhead upon the window sill and cried without restraint, while imagination\nconjured up fictitious woes, such as the sudden death of her children\nand of all her friends, until she was alone in a bleak world. Then it\noccurred to her that it was wrong for people to indulge a voluntary\nanguish and make a luxury of misery; so she sent a servant to offer a\nbarrel of watermelons to the party of mourners on condition that,\ninstead of mourning, they should dance and jollify; to which they\nheartily responded, after first making sure that the melons were in good\ncondition, for they really preferred to mourn.\n\nWhen, to the peculiar scales which Africans employ, one adds the further\nfact that in African music (and indeed in the Negro melodies of our\nSouth) the note which corresponds to our seventh in the scale (a step\nbelow the tonic) is seldom a true seventh, but is slightly flatted,\nenough to make a distinct note with a character of its own, one has\nprobably accounted for the peculiar plaintiveness, the elusiveness, the\nvague mysteriousness, which constitutes the charm of all true Negro\nmusic.\n\nThe rhythm of African music is a further impediment to our appreciation.\nIn the music of the dance the rhythm is of necessity somewhat regular.\nBut even in this music it is variable and does not conform throughout to\nany one time-scheme but changes back and forth from duple to triple\nwithin the same melody. This also is characteristic of oriental music.\nIn most African music the rhythm is regulated by the words, like the\nrecitative, the rhythmic imitation of declamatory speech. But it has the\nsymmetry that feeling secures. The best way to learn the African\u2019s song\nis to watch the swaying of his body and imitate it, and if the words\nhave meaning let their feeling possess one. Mr. William E. Barton, the\ncompiler of a small collection of choice Negro melodies, tells how that\n\u201cAunt Dinah,\u201d who had been trying to teach a Negro hymn to a young lady,\nat last seeing her begin to sway her body slightly and pat her foot upon\nthe floor, exclaimed: \u201cDat\u2019s right, honey! Dat\u2019s de berry way! Now you\u2019s\na-gittin\u2019 it sho nuff! You\u2019ll nebber larn \u2019em in de wuld till you sings\n\u2019em in de sperrit.\u201d\n\nThe African sings not only his joy, but his grief; not only his love,\nbut his anger, his revenge and his despair. Livingstone was greatly\nsurprised, upon approaching a slave caravan, to hear some of them\nsinging. But as he listened he found that they were singing words of\ngrief and vengeance\u2014for usually they were betrayed and sold by some of\ntheir own people. So it was everywhere, as old men of Gaboon have told\nme; they went away chanting their desolation and their curses upon those\nwho had betrayed them.\n\nThere is no doubt that music is the art-form of the Negro. He is the\nmost musical person living. His entire emotional life he utters in song.\nHe has not yet done any great thing. His day is still future. But I\nbelieve that when he comes, he will come singing.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  DANCE SONG OF MPONGWE\n\n  The time signature is only approximately correct, and forces a\n    rhythmic symmetry which African music does not possess. The\n    energetic momentum is characteristic of African dance music.\n]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CANOE SONG OF GABOON\n\n  All African music, like Oriental music, sings downward.\n]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  A MOURNING DIRGE\n\n  This is chanted by an individual, or a succession of individuals, and\n    is not the usual wail in which all join, though it is much like it.\n    African music is not always based upon harmony; nor does harmony\n    always improve it.\n]\n\n\n\n\n                                   VI\n                                 PESTS\n\n\nIt is part of the squalid commonplace of life in Africa that the most\nexciting adventures are not with elephants but with ants, and our worst\ndanger is not the leopard but the mosquito. And this struggle against\nminute enemies requires more patience than the fight with beasts, both\nbecause it is not occasional, but an unremitting warfare, and because it\ndoes not appeal to our love of the heroic, nor stimulate with the\npromise of praise. When Paul tells us that he fought with beasts at\nEphesus, our hearts swell with admiration; but if he had said: \u201cI have\nfought with the mosquitoes in Africa,\u201d he would have elicited no\nsympathy and some ridicule; although the latter is also a fight for\nlife, and attended by greater danger and weariness and pain.\n\nIt is significant that it was in Africa that Moses summoned the ten\nplagues to his aid in humbling the haughty Pharaoh. If ten had not been\nsufficient he might have summoned ten times ten, and without exhausting\nthe domestic resources.\n\nWe are grateful that common houseflies are not sufficiently numerous to\nconstitute a pest, except where cattle are bred in large numbers. In\nGaboon there was no need for screens on doors and windows.\n\nBut there are many kinds of flies, and the natives who have not learned\nto wear clothing commonly carry a fly-brush made of a bunch of stiff\ngrass about two feet long, that they may defend the whole area of the\nback, where the fly usually makes its attack. When one sees a fly on a\nneighbour\u2019s back it is regarded as a duty of friendship to come up\nbehind that neighbour slowly and stealthily, giving the fly full time to\nbite his worst and so be deserving of death, then to strike an awful\nblow on the neighbour\u2019s back, fit to bring him to his feet with a yell.\nIt seldom harms the fly, but it expresses great indignation, and, by\nimplication, sympathy with your neighbour. The habit of killing flies,\nor attempting to kill them when they alight, is an obsession with the\nnative, and it seems a physical impossibility for him to resist. He does\nit in church. When I first preached in Batanga, to a large congregation,\nI was very much disturbed by this unlooked-for and constant slapping on\nbare backs. And whenever I saw a man creep quietly across the aisle or\nforward several seats to perform this friendly office, I could not help\nwatching until I heard the slap, when I always felt like stopping the\ndiscourse long enough to ask: \u201cDid you kill it?\u201d For in the mind of all\nthose around there seemed to be nothing else going on in that church but\nthis exhibition of applied Christianity.\n\nForgetting that the white man is protected by his clothing, they vie\nwith each other in the discharge of this courtesy; and the exasperating\nblows that the white man receives from his black friends are the chief\ndiscomfort that he suffers from the larger flies. One day shortly before\nleaving Africa I was riding in an open boat when a native man sitting\nbehind me suddenly gave me a slap on the back that actually hurt, and so\nstartled me that I did some fool thing a little short of leaping into\nthe sea. I turned around and asked the man in a tone of cold politeness\nwhether he was trying to make my back the same colour as his.\n\n\u201cWhy, no,\u201d said he, \u201cI am killing flies.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m no fly,\u201d I replied frigidly.\n\nA few minutes later, when I was indulging in a somnolent reverie, he\nstruck me again\u2014I think it must have been in the same place, it hurt so\nmuch worse than the first time; whereupon I turned about and, striking a\nvery dangerous attitude (for a missionary), I threatened that if he did\nit again I would land him a blow in the stomach whether there was a fly\nthere or not. My boat-boys, who knew the uses of clothing and\nappreciated the immunity of my back from fly-bites as well as the\ngreater tenderness and sensitiveness of the white man\u2019s body, laughed at\nthis interesting diversion. Then they undertook to enlighten their\nfriend from the bush as to the white man\u2019s view-point, combining\ntheoretical instruction with practical sense by removing him to another\nseat: for they well knew that if he should see another fly on my back,\neven while they were talking, he would strike again. He cannot help it:\nthe habit is coercive.\n\nAmong the worst pests, and peculiar to Africa, is the driver ant. They\ngo together in countless and incomprehensible numbers. The first sight\nthat one gets of them is a glistening black, rapid-running stream about\ntwo inches wide crossing the path before him. Upon closer inspection he\nfinds that the stream is composed of ants; and recognizing the driver\nant of which he has heard many incredible stories on the way to Africa,\nhe feels like shouting \u201cFire!\u201d and running for his life. But as a matter\nof fact he may with impunity examine them as closely as he pleases so\nlong as he does not touch them. They are so occupied with their own\nserious purpose that they will take no notice of him.\n\nIn the middle of the black stream are the females, about the size of our\ncommon, black wood-ant, while along the sides run the soldiers guarding\nfrom attack, and these are about four times the size of the others. The\ndefense of the females is no matter of necessity, but rather gallantry,\nfor those female viragoes are abundantly able to defend themselves. No\ncreature so small ever had such a bite. They are all provided with jaws\nand with stings and they know how to work both vigorously. Some fine day\nas the newcomer saunters along, his eyes engaged with the beauty of the\nlandscape, he walks into the ants. It may be one minute, perhaps two,\nand possibly five, before he knows anything of the serious mistake he\nhas made. Then suddenly he experiences a sensation which is usually\ncompared to numerous red-hot pincers applied implacably; for these ants\ndo not let go. If he follows the course prescribed by ardent advisers,\nhe will do either of two things: he will instantly strip off his\nclothing, even if he should be in the governor\u2019s courtyard, yelling the\nwhile at the top of his voice so that those who object may go some other\nway; or he will make a dash for the nearest rain-barrel and tumble into\nit. Fortunately, their bite is not poisonous and leaves no bad effects\nafterwards. After this experience he will never allow more than one eye\nto dwell upon the charm of the landscape; the other will be directed to\nthe path before him. If a man must go out at night he always carries a\nlantern.\n\nWhen these ants come to a place where there is food to their liking,\nthey scatter and spread out over a large area. Then, of course, they are\nnot so quickly discovered, and one may easily walk into them. They are\none of the trials of bush-travel, and the worst living nuisance of the\nbush, where the undergrowth hides them even from the keen eye of the\nnative. There is seldom a day on a bush journey that the caravan does\nnot march into the drivers. Then there is some wild yelling by those in\nthe lead; the cry, \u201cDrivers!\u201d goes all along the line and each man as he\ncomes to them makes a lively dash through them, stamping heavily as he\nruns; for it is possible thus to keep them off or to shake them off\nbefore they get a hold. All other insects and animals flee before them,\nincluding the python and the leopard.\n\nTravellers have frequently told how that the silent, sleeping forest has\nsuddenly become all astir and vocal, the angry boom of the gorilla or\nthe frightened bleat of the gazelle alternating with a cry of the\nleopard and the scream of the elephant; all forgetful of their mutual\nhostility and vying with one another in the speed of their escape from\nthe driver ant, abroad on a foraging expedition, to the number of\ninfinity.\n\nThey make frequent visits to the native villages and the white man\u2019s\npremises, usually in the night, spreading over the whole place,\u2014the\nground, the houses, inside and out, and through the roofs. Here they act\nas scavengers, driving before them all other insect nuisances, such as\nthe cockroaches and centipedes, which especially infest the thatched\nroofs. Nevertheless, if one should hear the language of the average\nwhite man, upon the occasion of one of these nocturnal visitations, when\nthe drivers have wakened him rudely and driven him headlong out into the\ndark, and perhaps the rain, there to shiver during this untimely\nhouse-cleaning, one would not for a moment mistake it for an expression\nof gratitude.\n\nSetting hens must be kept carefully out of their way. In one instance I\nknew of the drivers visiting a nest one night when the young chickens\nwere just coming out of the shells. The empty shells were there in the\nmorning, but no chickens. If they should gain undiscovered access to a\nchicken-house in the night, they would leave nothing but bones and\nfeathers. At Efulen we built our chicken-house against the workmen\u2019s\nhouse, on the side away from the bush, so that the drivers on their\napproach should first visit the workmen and we should be warned in time\nto save our chickens.\n\nWe had been there only a short time when we were awakened one night by\nthe familiar outcry as the men were driven out of their house. But the\ndrivers had come from a different direction that night, and when we went\nto the chicken-house we found it already in their possession. It was but\nthe work of a minute or two to tuck our pajamas inside our socks, bind\nour sleeves with handkerchiefs around the wrists, tie another\nhandkerchief around the neck and pull a cap down over the head. Thus\nprepared I entered the chicken-house, the ground and walls of which were\na glistening black mass. Stamping my feet all the time, I snatched the\nchickens one by one from the roost, stripped the handful of loose ants\nfrom their legs and handed them out to Dr. Good and Mr. Kerr, who picked\noff the remaining ants, after which we brought the chickens into our\nhouse and put them on the pantry shelves until morning, meanwhile\nbuilding a line of fire around the house to keep the drivers back.\n\nBut it was not long after this that they found the house unguarded one\nmorning just at daylight when I was alone at Efulen. I was awake but not\nyet ready to rise when I heard a low, rustling sound upon the floor of\nmy room. After a few minutes, observing that it was becoming more\ndistinct, I drew back my mosquito-net and looked out. Almost the entire\nfloor was black with the drivers, and they were close to the bed. From\nthe foot of the bed towards the door it was still possible for me to\nescape by a good jump; and in a moment I found myself shivering out in\nthe yard while my clothes were still in the house.\n\nOne day, as Dr. Good and I were entering a native village, Dr. Good\nwalked through some stray drivers. He began to preach to the people, who\nas it happened were already gathered in the street where they had been\ntaking a palaver. Before he had been preaching more than a minute I\nobserved that his gestures were more animated than I had ever seen\nbefore. Soon they became violent, noticeably irrelevant and even of\nquestionable propriety. It was a little like Brer Rabbit, one evening\nwhen the mosquitoes were bad, telling the wolf about his grandfather\u2019s\nspots. I looked on with increasing amazement and consternation, until at\nlast even Dr. Good\u2019s indomitable will was overborne, and he shouted:\n\u201cDrivers!\u201d and bolted abruptly for the bush. I tried to go on with the\nservice, but it was almost impossible because of the laughter of the\naudience. Each one insisted upon telling his neighbours all about it, to\nthe accompaniment of a broad caricature of Dr. Good\u2019s gestures.\n\nThere was once a native man in Gaboon who was slightly deranged in his\nmind. The government advised, and at last insisted, that he should not\nbe allowed at large. His family, being averse to confining him, chiefly,\nI imagine, because of the care it would entail upon them, sent him to a\nvillage of their relations across the river ten miles distant. There he\nremained for some time. The people there bound him at night lest he\nmight set fire to the town while they slept. He objected to this and at\nlast became troublesome by calling out continually during the night.\nThen they improvised a rude shelter back a short distance from the town,\nwhere they placed him at night and as usual bound him. One night he was\nmore noisy than ever before, yelling and screaming hideously so that he\nwakened the people. They thought that he had become demented but no one\nwent to him until morning, and then they made the horrible discovery\nthat the drivers had attacked and devoured him.\n\nIn some tribes criminals are sometimes punished by being bound to the\nground in the track of the drivers. One can hardly conceive of anything\nmore horrible; for they would enter ears and eyes and nostrils. But I\nbelieve this is very rarely done. When death is decided upon, the\nAfricans usually accomplish it by quick means.\n\nThere is another ant which I would say is worse than the driver, were it\nnot that as yet its distribution is limited and it may be only\ntransient. It is a very small red ant difficult to see with the naked\neye except in a good light and on a white surface. It takes to dark\nclosets, upholstered furniture, hair mattresses and those who would\nsleep upon them. It has not been long known in those portions of West\nAfrica that are familiar to the white man. It has come from the\nsoutheast towards the coast. In 1900 it took possession of our\nmission-house at Angom, which was not occupied at that time.\n\nIt is doubtful whether this ant would be likely to infest a house when\nthe grass around it is kept closely cut and the house well opened to the\nlight and air; but when once infested it is not clear that these\nprecautions would drive it out. One of Woermann\u2019s trading-houses on the\nOgow\u00e8 had to be abandoned because of it.\n\nMy first experience with it was in 1900 when I visited Angom and slept\nin the mission-house that had been occupied only occasionally for more\nthan a year. I was no sooner asleep than I was awakened by an extremely\npainful sensation, as if red-hot pepper had been sprinkled all over me.\nI felt no sharp bite, but only this intolerable smarting pain. It\noccurred to me that I might have been poisoned during the day by some\nviolently poisonous herb in the bush or the overgrown garden; but I\nremained in bed never thinking that the cause of it was there. The\nnatives told me in the morning what it was. My flesh was badly inflamed\nand I had fever all that day. After that I always slept in the boat, or\nin later years, the launch, when I visited Angom.\n\nAmong African pests there is another red ant, very small, though not so\nsmall as the last. It does not bite nor attack the person, but is\nnevertheless a great nuisance, particularly to housekeepers. All table\nfood must be kept out of its way. Any food remaining on the table even\nan hour is covered with them. They are especially fond of sugar; and if\nit is left on the table or unprotected from one meal to the next, it is\nfound a living red mass. By what powerful instinct they immediately\ndiscover the place where food is, and where they come from in such\nnumbers, are among the mysteries that the white man will often ponder.\nMost of our food is imported, in tins, and once a tin is opened it is\nkept away from these ants by being placed in a safe suspended from the\nceiling by tarred rope. The safe is a light frame of wood covered with\nwire screen or netting.\n\nBesides these, there are numerous other varieties of ants, less harmful,\nor altogether harmless. The ground is so infested with them that neither\nwhite man nor native ever thinks of sitting down upon it, as we might\nsit upon the grass in this country. Altogether, more than five thousand\nvarieties of ants have been described and classified; and most of these\nare found in Africa.\n\nAmong the worst of the African pests is the _jigger_. Those who are most\nsensitive to it would without doubt call it the worst of all. If the\npest of the small ant travels from the interior towards the coast, this\npest began at the coast and is extending towards the interior. It has\nevidently been imported\u2014tradition says from Brazil, in the cargo and\nsand ballast of sailing vessels. The older inhabitants along the coast\nremember when it first became known, and I am sure that it made itself\nknown very soon after it arrived. The jigger is a tiny species of flea,\nso small that the naked eye sees it with difficulty. It has all the\nreprehensible habits of its kind. The males hop all over one\u2019s person in\na playful manner, giving him a nip here and a nip there; but the females\nburrow beneath the skin. The favourite place is the feet, especially\nunder the nails, but they are frequently found also under the finger\nnails and sometimes in the elbows and knees. Here the female, unless\ndiscovered and removed, forms a sac which expands to the size of a small\npea, and which contains hundreds of little jiggers who soon begin to\n\u201cjig\u201d for themselves, and burrow again in the same flesh. Many of them\nhowever are scattered on the ground; those that remain keep multiplying,\nuntil if neglected the whole foot becomes a festering sore.\n\nTo the African child the jigger is the occasion of its worst suffering.\nI have seen children who could not walk, some with toes eaten away, and\nseveral with nearly the whole foot gone. For, to the African and to some\nwhite men, they are not irritating while boring beneath the skin, and\nafterwards they are very hard to see, especially in the black skin of\nthe native. One may know nothing of their presence for several days,\nafter which they are so hard to remove that the native child will bear\nthe irritating itch that they first occasion rather than submit to the\npain of removing them; and when the itch has become a painful sore, no\nchild could remove them. Some African mothers watch their children\u2019s\nfeet closely but others neglect them cruelly. I am glad to say that\nthose who allow their feet to get full of jiggers, or mothers who\nneglect the care of their children\u2019s feet, are looked down upon, as\nlousy persons would be among us, though not to the same extent.\n\nThe jiggers are less troublesome in the wet season. But with the dry\nseason their numbers increase rapidly, and towards the close of the\nseason the soil and the sand are fairly alive with them. If possible,\nmissionary boarding-schools ought to have vacation at this time; for the\nwhite missionary is sure to get them in the schoolroom; and the\ndormitories, which usually have only earthen floors, become so infested\nwith them that even native children are often kept awake at night, and\nthe amount of discipline necessary to make them keep their feet in order\nmay demoralize the school. There are always children, large and small,\nwho need no supervision, and are sufficiently self-respecting to keep\ntheir feet clean; but their task is made exceedingly difficult by the\npresence in the same dormitory of those who breed jiggers by thousands.\nAs a rule, with but few exceptions, the children who keep their feet\nclean are those who have been in the school before and are known as\nmission-boys and mission-girls.\n\nIn my boys\u2019 boarding-school of later years one would see a strange sight\neach day during the dry season. The whole school filed out at recess and\nsat down along either side of the path leading to the mission-house. A\ncommittee of boys examined the feet of the others and reported to me the\nname of every boy who had jiggers in his feet; while I stood with\nnote-book in hand and wrote down their names. Then when the food was\ngiven out at noon these boys were left without food until their feet\nwere pronounced clean. The larger boys were responsible for those of\ntheir own town or family who were too small to attend to their own feet.\nI once kept a boy more than a day without food until he removed his\njiggers, and one hopeless boy I at last expelled from the school for the\noffense. For rigid insistence upon this discipline, I felt, lay close to\nmoral instruction.\n\nThe white man of course suffers from jiggers, but not so much as the\nnative, because of his shoes, his cleaner house, and because his feet\nare more sensitive, so that he becomes aware of them after several days\nat the most, when they can be removed without injury, if it is very\ncarefully done. After one has been in Africa a length of time he will\ndetect their presence as soon as they begin to burrow. Some white men\nhave a native boy examine their feet every night or morning; for the boy\nhas very sharp eyes, and he removes the jigger with surprising skill. It\ncan be done with a pin; a needle is better and a pair of tweezers is\nstill better. If the sac that is formed after several days be broken in\nthe removal, it may cause a sore that will take some time to heal.\nIndeed, if one be greatly reduced in health and the blood in bad\ncondition, it may not heal at all until he leaves the country on\nfurlough. I have known men who for weeks were not able to wear a shoe\nbecause of jigger sores.\n\nAfter I had been a few months in Africa, one day, while in bed with\nfever, I said to a friend that in allowing my feet to touch the floor\nbeside the bed where natives had been standing, I must have caught the\nitch; for a most irritating itch had been troubling me for several days.\nMy friend at once suggested jiggers as the cause. I answered with great\nassurance that it certainly was not jiggers, for I had watched my feet\nvery closely, having determined from the first that I should get no\njiggers\u2014which of course was true, but I suppose I had been watching for\ncreatures the size of potato-bugs crawling over my feet I at once called\na native boy, however, wishing perhaps to assure my friend, and the boy\nfound seven colonies of jiggers. It took my feet a long time to heal.\nBut it never happened again.\n\nThe male jigger, as I have said, does not burrow in the flesh, but\ndisports himself upon the surface and makes himself very numerous. He is\none of the great variety of influences that keep the white man\nconstantly scratching. The native scratches too, scratches most of the\ntime, and often with both hands, but he does not get excited about it,\nnor attract so much attention. But the habit is disgusting in the white\nman, and after all it is a habit rather than a necessity. A minority\nexercise the strongest self-restraint, a larger number exercise\nrestraint sometimes; many white men, however, exercise no restraint at\nall, but scratch continually, regardless of the occasion.\n\nThe sandfly, or _midge_, not known at the coast, but widely distributed\nin the interior, must be counted among the worst of African pests. They\nalso are exceedingly small. They do their utmost to make life\nintolerable in the early morning hours after daylight, and again in the\nevening before dark. Some are more sensitive to them than others. When I\nwas living in the interior, I bathed my hands and face in kerosene or\nturpentine each morning and evening as their hour approached and\nsometimes repeated it once or twice before they retired.\n\nThe mosquitoes are so bad, especially in the low places along the coast,\nthat even the natives must sleep under mosquito nets.\n\nIn the song of our childhood we were impressed with the possibilities of\nsuch minuti\u00e6\u2014as little drops of water, little grains of sand and little\nmoments of time, when these are multiplied by infinity. But infinity is\nthe status of all insect life in Africa. In order to realize the pest of\nthe mosquito in towns adjacent to mangrove swamps one must multiply the\ninsect until it seems to compose about fifty per cent. of the\natmosphere. Its music too is impressive.\n\nWherever possible the white man builds his house upon a well-cleared\nhill and so escapes them, sometimes almost entirely as at Baraka. But\nthis is not always possible. Many missionaries have told of writing\nletters while sitting cross-legged on their beds with the mosquito-net\ndrawn down around the bed.\n\nThe centipede is common, especially in those houses that have thatch\nroofs. The African centipede is very large, and its bite is poisonous,\nthough rarely fatal. My first experience with it was one morning, in my\nbedroom, when I took a bouquet of flowers off the table and held them to\nmy face. A large centipede glided out of the flowers, and running\nswiftly across my hand and along my arm to the elbow, dropped to the\nfloor. Fortunately, my sleeve was short, else I should have been bitten.\nBut one morning that I shall not forget I put on a sock, and there was a\ncentipede in the toe of it. Unfortunately the sock was in a state of\ngood repair; there was no hole in the toe. I was badly bitten, for it\nwas some time before I could get the sock off; and the sickening feeling\nof repulsion was worse than the bite. I afterwards acquired the habit of\nshaking socks and shoes and clothing before putting them on. It is well\nworth while; for if one is disappointed in the matter of centipedes, one\nmay perhaps shed a scorpion or several roaches, or sometimes even a\nsnake. There are scorpions in all parts of Africa and in some places\nthey abound. Their bite is always bad, and that of some varieties is\ndangerous.\n\nBut if I were asked my opinion as to the very worst pest in Africa, I\nwould name the roach, or _cockroach_, and I think that the majority of\nwhite men would agree with me. My aversion to this creature is so strong\nthat I do not pretend to be able to give a dispassionate judgment. It is\na _beast_ of an insect. It is much larger than the familiar cockroach of\nthis country and is often two inches long; and all its powers and\nqualities of disposition are proportionately developed. It multiplies\nwith amazing rapidity. It has an odour that for real nastiness takes\npre\u00ebminent rank even in malodorous Africa. It has a voracious appetite,\neats almost everything and seems to get fat on arsenic, which I have fed\nto it in large quantities; though some persons declare that it thrives\non arsenic by not eating it and by detecting it even when mixed with\nsugar or anything else. It is found in the pantry, in clothing, in the\nlibrary, in furniture, in every drawer and every corner, and a thatch\nroof is soon full of them. Even in bed one is not always free from them,\nfor during sleep they often nibble one\u2019s nails and hair. The only way to\nkill the cockroach is to crush it, and the result is so disgusting that\none will feel that it has more than avenged its death. Once in a while\nin the evening all the cockroaches take to flying, as if seized with a\npanic or madness. And when they do this they make one forget all the\nother pests of Africa.\n\nIf the least bit of butter or grease should touch a suit, one may depend\nupon it that unless it is put in a roach-proof trunk the roach will find\nthat spot, and in the morning a hole will be eaten through. They devour\nwool as a horse eats hay; but they will leave both wool and grease for\nthe starch contained in cloth bookbindings. They show a decided\npreference for new books, the starch being softer in these. If, in a\nmoment of supreme folly, one should leave a book uncovered on a table\nover night, he will find it in the morning with several spots upon it\nthe size of a dime, where the starch and colour are eaten out and the\nbare gray threads exposed. This happened to my _Memoirs of Tennyson_;\nboth volumes were badly defaced in one night. Of course one will cover\nwith heavy paper\u2014when he _has_ the paper\u2014every book in his library, or,\nat least, those that are not already spoiled by the time he gets round\nto them; but books so covered lose their identity, like friends in\nmasquerade. Besides, books thus kept in paper in that damp atmosphere\nwill soon be covered with mould. If one adds to this that while roaches\nor mould are destroying the outside of his books white ants are doing\ntheir best to get at the inside, he will see that the obstacles incident\nto literary pursuits in Africa are well-nigh insuperable.\n\nI cannot dismiss the white ant with this passing notice, for it also is\none of the pests of Africa; indeed, there are many who regard it as the\nworst of the African pests. It is characteristic of the impudent\nhypocrisy of this stealthy insect that it should somehow get itself\ncalled a _white ant_, when, as a matter of fact, it is not an ant at\nall, and is not white. It is a dirty-yellow _termite_, a soft-bodied\ninsect, in appearance like a very small piece of impure tallow. It is\ncommonest in Africa, but is also found in South America, India and\nCeylon, and one species, it is said, is even found as far north as\nBordeaux.\n\nThe admirable and interesting features of the white ant (and it has\nsome) have nowhere been better described than in Henry Drummond\u2019s\ncharming chapter in _Tropical Africa_.\n\nThe white ant lives underground in colonies of enormous numbers. It\nfeeds chiefly on dead wood, and its presence is the explanation of the\nnoticeable fact that there is very little dead wood\u2014rotting logs or\nfallen branches\u2014in an African forest. It does not wait until dead\nbranches fall, but climbs the trees in search of them. But as its body\nis choice food for birds and other insects, and as it is defenseless and\neven blind, it protects itself whenever it comes above ground by\nbuilding an earthen tunnel over itself as it climbs. This yellowish\nbrown tunnel, a half tube in form, and half an inch wide, one will see\nrunning up trees and posts everywhere in Africa. In building it they\ncarry the earth in grains or little pellets from below the ground\nthrough the tunnel to the open end of it; then having covered the pellet\nthoroughly with a sticky secretion they place it firmly in its proper\nposition and hurry away for another. The soldiers of the colony, which\nare very few comparatively, are armed with formidable jaws. Two or three\nof these guard the open end of the tunnel where the work is being done.\nThey take no part in the work of construction. But if an enemy, usually\nin the form of an ant, draw near with the object of capturing a worker,\nthe soldier in an instant will be upon him. He may pound him to death,\nor thrust him through, or using his mandibles like a pair of scissors\nmay cut him in two, or hurl him from the battlement as with a catapult;\nthese different methods representing different species. After this the\nworkers again proceed with the building of the tunnel. These tunnels are\nfor temporary use and are not nearly as substantial as the nests. They\ncrumble into dust after a few weeks and are blown away by the wind or\nwashed down by the rain.\n\nThe ant-hills and the ground below are filled with an intricate network\nof tunnels. Professor Drummond tells us that in the elevated plains of\nCentral Africa these ant-hills are mounds ten or fifteen feet high and\nthirty or forty feet in diameter, and even then the greater part of the\nant habitation is underground; and that the amount of reddish-brown\nearth plastered upon the trees is sufficient to give tone to the\nlandscape. And this he says is the great agricultural process of the\ntropics, which in temperate zones is accomplished by the earthworm\ncarrying the under soil to the surface, transposing the upper and the\nlower layers, doing thoroughly what man does rudely with the plough. In\nthe lower plains of West Africa, the white ant is not so abundant, nor\nthe ant-hills nearly so large as those which Professor Drummond saw. Nor\nis there any such need of them, for the earthworm is common enough. The\nmore numerous ant-hills are two or three feet high and are often shaped\nlike a series of bowls turned upside down one on top of another; but the\nshape varies. A good way to provide for young chickens is to send a boy\nto the bush to get an ant-hill, then break off several small pieces at a\ntime and give to the chickens. It will be full of ants, and the\nhappiness of the chickens will be ample reward: there is nothing that\nthey like better.\n\nAnd that reminds me that Schweinfurth, in _The Heart of Africa_, relates\nthat he himself ate white ants in unlimited quantities. He says they are\nespecially good with corn. And then he recommends them as best when they\nare \u201cpartly boiled and partly fried.\u201d I never tried them that way.\n\nThe most painstaking study and the most elaborate description of the\nwhite ant that has ever been made is probably that of Karl Escherich,\nwhose book, _Termitenleben auf Ceylon_, has recently been published.\nEscherich spent three months in Ceylon studying the white ant. He\ndescribes thirty-five species of termite existing in Ceylon.\n\nIn the nest (the _termetarium_) of many of the species of white ants\nthere are tunnels and chambers devoted to the growing of a certain\nfungus\u2014real fungus gardens. Sometimes two different species of termite\ninhabit the same nest, or termites and ants. They live in different\ngalleries which intermingle but never open into each other. If by the\nbreaking of a wall they should come together fierce battles ensue.\nSometimes other insects, certain beetles, for instance, live with the\ntermites as guests, to whom they even feed the larv\u00e6. Their presence is\nprobably a protection against their enemies; and they seem to have many.\nAn army of marauding ants will sometimes invade the nest and seek to\ncarry off the occupants.\n\nThere are several distinct castes in the social organization of the\ntermites; the queen, the males, the soldiers, the workers and the larv\u00e6.\nThe queen is enormous in size as compared with the workers; sometimes\nthree inches long. And exalted to the throne she never moves again, but\nconfines her activities to the laying of eggs, which she deposits at the\nrate of several thousand a day. But more remarkable than either her size\nor her ugliness is the fact (stated by Escherich) that she sweats out to\nthe surface of her body a substance which is eagerly devoured by the\nworkers. It is this \u201cexudate\u201d which binds them to her and for which they\nfeed and cherish her. The workers are continually licking her and\nEscherich declares that he saw one worker tear out a piece of the\nmother\u2019s hide and eagerly drink the liquid which flowed from the wound.\nAnd as her body was scarred in many places it would seem that this was\nnot uncommon.\n\nA certain \u201cant-exterminator\u201d has been used successfully in destroying\nthe white ant. It consists of a charcoal stove on one side of which is a\nhand-pump and on the other a hose. A powder of eighty-five parts of\narsenic and fifteen parts of sulphur is thrown upon the glowing charcoal\nand by means of the pump and the hose the fumes are forced into the\nnest. Then the entrance is plugged and the nest is left thus for several\ndays.\n\nBut perhaps somebody is asking why an insect so wonderful and\ninteresting should be destroyed at all. And that reminds me that I\nclassified the white ant as a pest\u2014and one of the worst pests in Africa.\n\nWhen the white ant devours an object, a dead branch, for instance, it\nworks inside, consumes the whole interior and leaves the thinnest shell\nof an exterior, an empty shape, which yields at a touch and falls into\ndust or nothing. And unless one watches very closely, or provides some\nspecial protection, it will do this same thing with his house or the\nfurniture in it, or the wooden posts under it. White men\u2019s houses are\nbuilt upon posts and elevated several feet from the ground. A post\nbeneath the house, though of the hardest wood, and appearing to the eye\nto be quite sound, may in fact be a hollow cylinder which will collapse\nat a kick. Iron pillars are now generally used instead of wood, iron\nbeing about the only substance which the white ant cannot eat. But one\nmust watch the iron pillars closely for the earthen tunnel leading from\nthe ground to the wooden beams above; for once they get into a house\nthey can never be gotten out. A board in the floor will collapse, or a\ntrunk, of which they have left only a shell. They are very fond of\npaper; so one must especially watch his library, or some day he will\ntake down his favourite poet only to find that there is nothing of it\nbut cover and the edges of the leaves. I know this very thing to have\nhappened.\n\nI contracted a special prejudice against them when they came out of the\nfloor into my barrel of sermons\u2014and I remembered the particular quality\nof food they are supposed to relish. I was not using those sermons in\nAfrica and it is not likely I should ever have used them again anywhere;\nneither am I the victim of any delusion in regard to the loss that the\nworld sustained in their destruction. The loss was mine alone, and was\nchiefly sentimental. But a minister usually has a unique regard for his\nsermons, a regard proportioned to the extent that they represent the\nsweat of the brain and the heart. In this instance the destruction was\nonly partial; for by a mere accident I discovered them before they had\nentirely chewed and digested all my sermons.\n\nThese are a few of the most troublesome insect pests, and there are\nothers.\n\nThere is the big flying beetle, purblind and stupid, that comes in the\nevening and looks the size of a bat; that circles around the table\nseveral times, with a noisy boom, tumbles at length into the gravy and\nthen flops into your face. There is the hippo fly, like an enormous\nhorsefly, that thrusts a stiletto into one through his clothing. In the\nupper part of the Gaboon River, where navigation with a launch was\ndangerous and I stood constantly by the engine, I had a boy, sometimes\ntwo boys, standing beside me with fly-brushes to keep them off.\n\nThere are caterpillars the very touch of whose hair is poisonous and\nproduces an irritation of the skin. There are wasps that daub nests of\nmud on frames and furniture and even on clothing if it is left hanging\nfor a while without being disturbed. In many parts there are myriads of\nmay-flies that swarm about sunset, that is, about dinnertime. Sir Harry\nJohnston complains that these may-flies give soup an aromatic flavour.\nThere is the boring beetle that burrows into the rafters, reducing them\nto dust. There is the _walking-stick_, a slender dead twig, six or eight\ninches long, with lateral stems, which you sometimes find hanging to\nyour curtains or mosquito-net, and which, when you take it in your\nfingers to throw it out, suddenly spreads aborted wings, nearly\ntransparent and of purple hue, and flies around you, a creature of only\none magnitude\u2014length without breadth; a conglomeration of dark lines\nplunging through the air. Then, startled out of your wits, you think you\nhave seen the devil for sure.\n\nI have not touched upon the numerous internal parasites that prey upon\nhumanity. Only a scientific expert ought to risk telling extensively of\nthese incredibilities. Among them is the _eye-worm_, one of the\n_Filaria_, which in spite of its euphonious name is an abomination. It\nis a white, thread-like worm, an inch long, that goes all through the\nbody beneath the epidermis. It becomes visible only in the white of the\neye, and while there a doctor can remove it. But it must be done, not\nonly with extreme care, but promptly, for it does not stay long in one\nplace. It is extremely irritating in the eye, but in other parts of the\nbody, although it causes distressful itching, it is not so irritating as\none would expect. It sometimes causes swelling, especially in the back\nof the hand. Every few days my forearm or my hand was swollen from the\npresence of this worm. I have seen a ridge across the nose where a\ncolony was passing. I have been told that the eye-worm and the worm that\ncirculates beneath the epidermis are not identical. I am not sure about\nit; but I hope there are not two of them.\n\nThe guinea worm belongs to the same family, with the beautiful name, the\n_Filaria_. The larva enters the human body in drinking-water and makes\nits way to the subcutaneous tissue of its host\u2019s leg, where it often\ncauses serious abscesses. It grows rapidly, curling round and round and\nraising the skin. It often reaches a length of ten feet and sometimes\nmore.\n\nAll African houses are infested with rats and mice. The white man has\nintroduced the cat. But there are still very few and they are so highly\nvalued that among the Fang in late years a cat has been made a part of\nthe dowry which a man pays for his wife. It was several months after our\nfirst house was built at Efulen before we were able to procure a cat\nfrom the coast. In that time the rats had full possession of the house\nand merely tolerated us. They gambolled all night over the beds in which\nwe were sleeping, and over ourselves, sometimes even getting under the\ncover. I had always abhorred them, and I was led to use a mosquito-net,\nnot for mosquitoes, but to keep the rats out. I never got so used to\nthem but that I sprang out of bed whenever they got into it. Finding\nthat the mosquito-net did not altogether suffice, I hit upon the happy\nexpedient of keeping a lamp lighted in my room all night. This was\neffective to some extent, but only by driving them into the rooms\noccupied by my fellow missionaries, Dr. Good and Mr. Kerr, whose\nabhorrence of them, however, was not equal to mine. They wondered why I\nkept the lamp burning, but I did not tell them; for if we all had lamps\nthe rats would have no choice of room, and surely a man has some right\nto profit by his own discovery. I desisted from this practice as soon as\nDr. Good solved my purpose, which he did one night after he had gone to\nbed, and instantly announced it with a shout.\n\nBut at last a new missionary arrived in the shape of a gray cat, and we\nwelcomed her with a lavish entertainment of sport and feast, delicately\nadapted to the instinct and the palate of her feline ladyship. All that\nnight there was wild riot in the pantry where we had put her. In the\nmorning that cat was the shape of a beer-barrel; and, besides, there lay\non the pantry floor nine dead rats.\n\nWhen I slept in native houses I always wore socks at night. The natives\ndeclare that the rats attack them during sleep, especially their feet.\nAnd they say that the rat blows upon the wound that it makes so that the\nsleeper will not feel it. From this belief there is a current proverb\nwhich they apply to a flatterer, or to one who, while using smooth\nwords, would inflict an injury: \u201cHe blows upon the wound that he makes.\u201d\n\nThe natives are perhaps more afraid of snakes than anything else, and\nwith good reason. Africa is the home of deadly snakes. Most of them are\nnocturnal, and as the white man stays within doors at night, he may be\nin Africa many months before he realizes how abundant they are. Whenever\nit was necessary to go out at night, I always carried a long staff which\nI pushed along the path ahead of me.\n\nOne of our schoolboys at Gaboon, one night about eight o\u2019clock, was\nwalking down towards the beach in the middle of a wide road, when he\nstepped on a small snake. It bit him, and in about half an hour he died\nin great agony. At Batanga a woman one night, stepping out of her door,\nplaced her foot on a snake that was coiled upon the door-step. She was\nbitten and died immediately. Sometimes they get into the thatch roofs of\nthe houses, and between the bamboo walls; but this rarely happens in the\nbetter houses in which the white man lives. One of our missionary ladies\nat Benito, while she was sick in bed with fever, found a snake coiled\nunder her pillow.\n\nThe natives upon being bitten by a snake immediately cauterize the wound\nwith a red-hot iron; or, when that is not procurable, they will cut out\na piece of the flesh around it, often cutting off a finger or a toe to\nsave a life. They seem to have the idea that all snakes are deadly, and\nif one ask, in regard to a particular snake, whether it is poisonous,\nthe certain response will be an exclamation of astonishment at his\nignorance. They solemnly declare in regard to many varieties that they\nwill spring at a man and go straight through his body. This is a strange\ndelusion, considering their usual accuracy of observation and knowledge\nin regard to animals. It is probably accounted for by the superstitions\nthat attach to snakes. In many African tribes the snake is sacred. In\nthose tribes they are frequently used by the priests as an ordeal in\ndiscovering criminals. The people are ranged about the priest, who is a\nsnake-charmer. He passes around bringing the snake into contact with\neach person. The person whom it bites is adjudged guilty.\n\nThe characteristic snakes, especially the deadly vipers which abound,\nare of bright and variegated colours, green, red, yellow and black. Some\ncall them beautiful, but in most of us the association of ideas makes it\nimpossible for us to see any beauty in a snake. Their colours are the\nvery colours of nature around them; and therefore, instead of making\nthem conspicuous, are really an approximation to invisibility\u2014though I\nbelieve that the protective colouration of animals, as a principle, has\nbeen exaggerated.\n\nA recent traveller says that in crossing the entire continent of Africa\nhe saw only two snakes, and he adds that since he succeeded in killing\nboth of them there are now no snakes in Africa, so far as he knows. I am\nreminded of a vivid experience when an American friend, Mr. Northam,\nstayed some months in Gaboon and collected biological specimens. Mr.\nNortham asked me whether there were many snakes around Gaboon. I told\nhim that there were very few. At his suggestion I told my schoolboys\nthat he wished to collect snakes and would give them something for all\nthe valuable snakes they would bring to him. The immediate result was\nenough to make a man think that he had been suddenly precipitated into a\nstate of delirium tremens. I had not supposed that there were so many\nsnakes in all Africa. A continual procession of boys passed my door,\neach with some horrible kind of snake dangling from a stick, or dragging\nalong the ground. And I had said there were but few snakes in Gaboon!\nThe explanation is that I kept to the paths while abroad, and snakes are\nseldom found in the paths in the daytime; for they are mostly nocturnal\nin their habits, and I was not. But the boys know where to find them at\nany time.\n\nAfter all, life in Africa is quite tolerable. As I think back over this\nformidable array of pests, I am somewhat surprised that I was not more\nconscious of them while in Africa, and that I had leisure to do anything\nelse but fight them. The explanation is that, although one is fighting\nsome of them all the time, one is never fighting them all at the same\ntime.\n\n\n\n\n                                  VII\n                          THE \u201cCANNIBAL\u201d FANG\n\n\n\u201cThe Mpongwe have plenty of salt in them,\u201d said one of my boat-boys. He\nwas a Fang, and he was speaking of the coast tribe.\n\n\u201cThe Mpongwe have plenty of salt,\u201d he repeated. I drew out my note-book\nand credited the boy with a very interesting and expressive designation\nof a moral quality. Such an improvement on our word _sand_! It was not\nless interesting, however, when I found that he meant it not morally,\nbut literally\u2014that he was speaking not metaphorically, but\ngastronomically. As a matter of fact, not one of these boat-boys had\never tasted human flesh, and they would have been insulted at the\nimputation of cannibalism; but it is not long since their fathers\nemerged from cannibalism, and tradition still distinguishes the flesh of\nthe various surrounding tribes, ascribing a preferable flavour to this\nor that tribe. It is generally understood that the coast tribes are\nbetter flavoured than those of the interior.\n\nThe Fang are nearly always referred to as the _cannibal_ Fang; and the\ncasual reader might suppose that they were the worst cannibals in\nAfrica. But the cannibalism of the Fang does not compare, either in\nextent or hideousness, with that of the Congo tribes, as we shall see.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  A FANG FAMILY.\n]\n\nThe Fang is one of the largest and most important of the West African\ntribes. For many years they have been moving from the far interior\ntowards the coast, burning, killing and even eating their way through\nthe older coast tribes. They have now emerged at many points along the\ncoast, of which Gaboon was probably the first. The tributaries of the\nGaboon form a network of waterways, which are also the highways. There\nare but few bush roads in this part of the jungle and they are of the\nworst kind; in the wet season mud to the knees alternating with water to\nthe waist, and deeper. Along the rivers and streams the Fang have built\ntheir towns. The population of a town varies from fifty to two hundred.\n\nMost of my work was done among the Fang. From Baraka I reached their\ntowns by boat and canoe, in later years by the launch _Dorothy_.\n\nThe Fang are brown, not black in colour, and are several shades lighter\nthan the coast tribes. Their colour is quite to their liking. They\nregard themselves as far better looking than white people. The men are\nusually tall, athletic and remarkably well formed, though not as full in\nthe chest as a perfect physique would require. Most of the younger men\nare fairly good looking. Many of the younger women have pretty faces,\nbut they are not nearly as intelligent looking as the men. Many of the\nchildren are beautiful, with sweet faces and lovely eyes.\n\n\u201cThey think they are better looking than white people.\u201d And why not? I\nmyself do not so regard them; but I may be wrong. Questions of beauty\nare decided by reference to some standard in the mind; but whether the\nstandard depends upon custom, and varies with it, is a matter of doubt\nand dispute. My own judgment, like that of others, was modified as I\nlived among the black people. Sir Joshua Reynolds advanced the notion,\naccording to Hazlitt, that beauty was entirely dependent on custom. I\nfeel, with Hazlitt himself, that custom, though powerful, is not the\nonly principle of our preference for the appearance of certain objects\nmore than others; that what constitutes beauty is in some way inherent\nin the object, and that \u201cif custom is a second nature there is another\nnature which ranks above it.\u201d Hazlitt in his argument contrasts the\nGreek and the African face, doing injustice, I believe, to the latter.\nYet in general one must admit that Hazlitt is right. In the Greek face\nhe finds a conformity to itself, a symmetry of feature with feature and\na subtle, involuted harmony of lines, which he says is wholly wanting in\nthe African face. The Greek face is beautiful, \u201cbecause it is made up of\nlines corresponding with or melting into each other;\u201d the African face\nis not so, \u201cbecause it is made up almost entirely of contradictory lines\nand sharp angular projections.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe general principle of difference between the two heads is this: The\nforehead of the Greek is square and upright, and, as it were, overhangs\nthe rest of the face, except the nose, which is a continuation of it\nalmost in an even line. In the Negro, or African, the tip of the nose is\nthe most projected part of the face; and from that point the features\nretreat back, both upwards towards the forehead, and downwards towards\nthe chin. This last form is an approximation to the shape of the head of\nthe animal, as the former bears the strongest stamp of humanity.\u201d\n\nThe African physiognomy, he further observes, is made up of jagged,\ncross-grained lines, starting out in every oblique direction, and in\nfact appears \u201csplitting in pieces.\u201d\n\nBut the African physiognomy is also consistent with itself; its\nabruptness is uniform. There is regularity in the violence of its\nchanges; and may not this also constitute beauty to an accustomed eye?\nIt is certain that there is in such a face the possibility of an\nextraordinary expression of grandeur and moral force; and these also are\naspects of beauty, as well as the intellectual and affectional elements\nthat constitute the expression of the Greek face. There is a beauty of\nmountains as well as of meadows.\n\nHowever it may be, we who have lived long among the Africans, and\nwithout the distemper of racial prejudice, do invariably find that our\nideas, or our standards, gradually undergo such a change that the\nAfrican face appears to us in varying degrees of beauty, much as that of\nthe white; beauty which at first we did not see. Even the nose, which\nbears a striking resemblance to the ace of clubs, at length, with\ncustom, ceases to appear ugly, and seems the absolutely proper nose for\nthe African physiognomy. And they surely have beautiful eyes.\n\nYet one must admit that it is not eyes, nor noses, nor even faces, but\nlegs, that are most in evidence in African society. I suppose it is\nbecause we are not used to seeing those honourable and useful members\nexposed that they are so conspicuous. Looking at an African crowd,\nespecially when seated on the ground as in a village service or\nlistening to a native \u201cpalaver,\u201d with their knees elevated in front of\nthem, there seems to be ten times as many legs as people. Their variety\nalso commands attention. There are long legs and short legs, lean legs\nand fat legs, straight legs and crooked legs, gnarled legs, knotted\nlegs, brown legs and black legs.\n\nProbably nowhere in the world is life more primitive. How little a man\ncan live on! How much he can do without! An African can be happy with a\npot, a pipe and a tom-tom. I have shown some of them a wheel for the\nfirst time, making use of a toy, and have explained its use while they\nwondered. At Vivi, on the Congo, they tell that when they began to build\nthe railroad they unloaded a shipment of wheelbarrows and ordered the\nworkmen to use them in removing the d\u00e9bris. A little later they observed\nthe workmen marching in single file with the loaded wheelbarrows on\ntheir heads. They have only the vaguest idea of passing time. They never\nknow their own ages, of course; neither can they understand why anybody\nshould want to know. A man of middle age makes a serious guess that he\nis ten years old. A French judge in Senegal tells how that a man,\nbrought before him, gave his age as five years\u2014when he had been weaned\nat least twenty-five.\n\nThe Fang when they first come from the interior go almost entirely\nnaked. The men wear a bit of bark-cloth, the women a few leaves,\nchildren to the age of nine or ten years wear nothing. But as soon as\nthey come in contact with coast people they all begin to wear imported\ncloth. A chief soon attains the dignity of a shirt. If they have little\nuse for clothes they are passionately fond of ornamentation. When they\nfirst come from the interior they are fairly loaded with beads and\nbrass, the latter made into heavy arm-rings, leg-rings, neck-rings and\ncoiled bracelets which cover the entire forearm. At first they regard\nclothes also as ornamentation and they think that white people, in\ncomparison with them, are exceedingly vain.\n\nI was holding a service in a Bulu town when a woman entered and\nimmediately engaged the attention of the feminine portion of the\naudience. On the preceding day she had visited the mission and I had\ndressed and bandaged an ulcer on her leg. The white bandage had caught\nher fancy and she removed it that she might keep it clean; and now she\ncame to the service with it round her neck. The women looked at her,\ndrew a long loud breath and nudged their neighbours. It was very plain\nthat in their opinion she was much overdressed. And, strange to say, she\nimpressed me in that same way. At least, compared with the others, she\nlooked as if she might be dressed for a sleigh-ride.\n\nThe staple food of the Fang is cassava\u2014that which Stanley calls\n_manioc_\u2014which is the root of a shrub, a little like our elder in\nappearance, from which our tapioca is prepared. They use it however in a\nmuch coarser form than tapioca. The root is left macerating in water for\nseveral days which has the effect of removing certain poisonous\nprinciples. Then it is placed in a wooden trough and beaten into a mass\nwith a wooden pestle. After this it is made into straight slender rolls\na foot long, wrapped in plantain leaves, bound around with fibre and\nboiled. It tastes a little like boiled tapioca. But whereas we are\naccustomed to eat the tasteless tapioca with cream and sugar, the native\nhas neither of these and thinks himself very fortunate if he has a\nlittle salt to season it. Sometimes in travelling I have used it for\nseveral days; but I have improved it by frying it in butter. The cassava\nwhen properly prepared is evidently wholesome; but one may frequently\nsee it soaking in a dirty, stagnant pool, the same pool that the whole\ntown has used, for that and other purposes, week after week and month\nafter month. No one can imagine the variety of germs that it may soak up\nduring the several days that it lies in such a pool. The native is\nchronically full of worms. He knows it and attributes most pain to their\npresence. In declaring that he has a headache he places his hand on his\nforehead and says: \u201cWorms are biting me.\u201d A little kind teaching in the\nbetter preparation of their food would be good missionary employment.\n\nBesides cassava, they have plantains, bananas, sweet potatoes, corn,\ngroundnuts and a few other foods that are less common. None of these\nfood products are indigenous. Most of them, including even cassava, it\nis said, were introduced by the Portuguese, at intervals within the last\nthree hundred years. Meat is not regarded as a necessity, although there\nis a chronic hunger for it, to which some have attributed their practice\nof cannibalism. In most towns there are a few goats and sheep and\nchickens; but they are reserved for feasts and festive occasions. They\nhunt and trap all the wild animals of the forest and are not averse to\neating any of them, including snakes, even in an advanced stage of\ndecomposition. On the lower Gaboon they have abundance of fish, which\nthey catch with various baskets, nets, and seines. There are certain\ninsects, grubs and caterpillars which they also eat. One day a boy\nreported to me that the natives of a near-by town had found a bee-tree,\nand they wished to know whether I would buy the honey. Buy it? I should\nthink so! I could scarcely wait for it. They brought it at length; but\ninstead of smoking the bees _out_, they had smoked them _in_; they\noffered me a great mass of honey and grubs and dead bees.\n\nThey do not eat eggs; neither do they ever drink milk or use it in any\nform and our use of it is somewhat disgusting to them. A friend once\noffered milk to a Kru-boy just to try him, and he replied\ncontemptuously: \u201cMilk be fit only for piccaninny; I no be piccaninny.\u201d\n\nThey have seen white men milk the goat, which always requires a number\nof natives to hold the animal. And once when Mr. Gault of Batanga was\nexplaining to a group of natives about the cow, which gives the milk\nthat we import in tins, describing her size and her great horns, one of\nthe natives suddenly turning to the others exclaimed: \u201cSay, he is lying.\nHow could they hold her?\u201d Since that time most of them have seen cattle.\n\nThe Fang wife prepares the food for her husband and sets it in the\n_palaver-house_, or public-house of the town, where he eats with the\nother men. She does not eat with them. There is no regular time in the\nday for eating; and when they have begun to eat there is no regular time\nfor stopping. The quantity of food is the only limit. On a journey they\ncan go without food a very long time, far surpassing the endurance of\nthe white man. And they are often compelled to travel with empty\nstomachs from their habit of eating all their food the first day. But\nafterwards they will make up for this abstinence, however prolonged.\nIndeed, it is by their gluttony, rather than in other ways, that they\nfirst exhibit their degradation to the white man. I have said that the\nchildren were usually pretty; but sometimes they are dreadfully\nmisshapen by a distended stomach. The last mail brought me a charming\npicture of a little three-year-old missionary boy of Gaboon, prodding\nthe stomach of a native child with his finger, and with eyes of wonder,\nasking: \u201cIs dat your tummy?\u201d\n\nOne of their first efforts, after coming in contact with the white man,\nis an attempt to acquire the noble art of eating with a spoon. But in\nthe first practice of it if they forget themselves for a moment they are\nvery likely to put the hand to the mouth in the old way and drive the\nspoon round to the ear. Considering their ignorance they are\nsurprisingly cleanly in their persons and their habits. After eating\nthey invariably rinse their mouths with water and they regularly brush\ntheir teeth. For the latter purpose they commonly use a brush of soft\nwood with transverse ridges. They are very particular about this. Often\na carrier in the bush will carry his brush along with him. Sometimes it\nis the sum-total of his personal effects. Everybody knows that the\nAfrican has beautiful teeth. But in some tribes, and even among the Fang\nof the far interior, they often file the front teeth to a point,\nthinking to add to their beauty, but in fact adding greatly to their\nugliness.\n\nI have said that the Fang are cannibals. But this loathsome custom is\nnot as common among them as travellers have generally reported. I doubt\nwhether the Fang eat any but their enemies\u2014captives taken in war. And\ntheir chronic meat-hunger is not the only reason for eating their\nenemies. It is done as an insult to the enemy, the most deadly insult\nthat can be offered, and means that the war will be fought to a finish,\nor at least until the other side has eaten one of the enemy. But the\npractice of cannibalism in war is intimately related to fetishism. It is\nbelieved that after eating one of the enemy, the latter can do them no\nharm. Their bullets will glance harmlessly off their bodies, or will\neven go through them without hurting, if indeed they hit them at all.\nCannibalism affords them the strongest possible fetish protection.\n\nThe cannibalism of the Upper Congo tribes is much worse than this and is\nalmost indescribable. Some of them eat their own dead. Sir Harry\nJohnston tells us that the Basoko tribe bury none but their chiefs.\nOthers, who would not eat their own dead, exchange them for the dead of\na neighbouring clan.\n\nThis vicious taste often becomes a mania with the African, an obsession,\nlike the ungovernable appetite for rum, until he thinks of man chiefly\nas food to satisfy this craving. Among such tribes raids are made on\ntheir neighbours for the express purpose of cannibalism. Sir Harry\nJohnston speaks of the son of a celebrated chief who once exclaimed:\n\u201cAh! I wish I could eat everybody on earth!\u201d and also of a Bangala chief\nwho ate his seven wives in succession, inviting his friends and close\nassociates to the feast. It is more than possible that these lowest\nforms of cannibalism are due to the demoralization incident to the\nslave-raids of the Arabs. The Arabs were succeeded by the Belgians; but\nsome of those who are best qualified to judge think that the r\u00e9gime of\nthe Belgians has been worse than that of the Arabs.\n\nAmong tribes to whom such forms of cannibalism would be revolting, there\nare probably individual inhuman ghouls, who exhume the bodies of the\ndead in the night and eat them. And it may be from this fact that\nwitches are always accused of eating people.\n\nIf it be true, then, throughout the entire Fang tribe, that they eat\nonly their enemies it will be seen that their cannibalism is very\ndifferent in extent and even in loathsomeness from that of some other\ntribes. It is a fact, however, that the cannibal tribes are not\nnecessarily lower than the others, but may be quite as gentle and\ntractable and quite as capable. And from this some have argued that,\nafter all, our horror of cannibalism is purely conventional, due to\ncustom and training; and that there is no essential difference between\neating human flesh and that of the lower animals, except in imagination.\nBut the readiness with which whole tribes renounce the custom, become\nashamed of it, and contract the white man\u2019s abhorrence for it, confirms\nthe belief that it is never legitimate and must always be regarded as a\nvice. In such matters imagination may be closer to our moral natures\nthan we know.\n\nA certain town on the Gaboon named _Alum_\u2014when I left Africa I knew\npersonally most of the men, women and children of the town\u2014is populated\nby one of the most intractable clans of the Fang. Though peculiarly\nfierce in war, they are otherwise gentle and courteous. The venerable\nchief I regarded as a particular friend. He had a long beard\u2014somewhat\nrare among the Fang and highly esteemed. It was braided tightly and tied\non the end with a string as venerable as the beard itself. The braid was\nnot for fashion or beauty. It was intended to prevent the possible loss\nof stray hairs that might fall into the hands of an enemy and be used as\na powerful fetish against him. Upon my leaving the town at the\nconclusion of a visit it was in accord with custom for him to express\nhis personal regard for me by taking my hand in his and spitting in it.\nIn order to appreciate this beautiful custom one must regard it\nspiritually\u2014if he can. It is called \u201cblowing a blessing.\u201d The blessing\nis blown with the breath and the spitting is a trivial accessory.\n\nIt was when these people first migrated from the interior bush that the\nfollowing incident occurred\u2014which was told to me by Sonia of Gaboon who\nknew all the persons concerned. A certain man\u2019s wife having several\ntimes eloped with a man of another town and having caused the husband\nmuch trouble and humiliation, he at last became so enraged that instead\nof seeking to procure her return he determined upon a bloody revenge.\nWith several companions he immediately started in a canoe for the town\nwhere her father and mother lived, arriving before they had heard the\nnews of their daughter\u2019s latest elopement. At some distance from the\ntown they left the canoe and entered the forest. All the others of the\nparty hid themselves near the path while the man himself went on to the\ntown and professed to have come just to make his mother-in-law a\nfriendly visit. Addressing her as _Mother_, he told her that he had\nkilled a bush-pig in the forest and that he had come to ask her to go\nwith him to get some of it before he should take it home. The woman,\nwithout doubting, followed him along the path.\n\nAfter a while she said: \u201cSon, it is far and I am old.\u201d\n\nHe told her that it was only a short distance ahead; so she went on.\n\nSoon again she exclaimed: \u201cAh, son, it is very far and I am old.\u201d\n\nHe replied that it was now very near, thus enticing her far from town.\n\nAt last he exclaimed: \u201cMother, here it is!\u201d\n\nAt his word the party in ambush sprang upon her and with their swords\nkilled her. They then cut from her body one entire leg, which they took\nto their town and ate. He had avenged his injured dignity and had\nremoved his shame. He had no longer any reason to feel ashamed!\n\nHe sent a brief message to the unfaithful wife: \u201cStay where you are; the\npalaver is finished.\u201d\n\nI must say that this incident is not fairly representative of the\nAfrican savage. Not that it exaggerates his brutality, when he is\nenraged; but there is in it an element of treachery which is oriental\nrather than African. He does not usually conceal his anger, but hastens\nto express it in passionate words. And when one has succeeded in\nallaying his passion and soothing his feelings, and he has again smiled\nand sworn friendship, one may reckon assuredly that the palaver is ended\nand that the smile does not conceal malice nor intent of revenge. He is\npassionate but not vindictive, cruel but not treacherous.\n\nA few years have made such changes that the Fang of the Gaboon, instead\nof boasting of cannibalism, would indignantly deny it. In the interior\nthey still practice it as an insult to the enemy. But on the Gaboon they\ninsult the enemy by charging it against them.\n\n\u201cThe African,\u201d says Booker T. Washington, \u201clives like a child, in the\nrealm of emotion and feeling.\u201d And a white man among Africans lives much\nin that same realm. His experience is largely a succession of\ncontrasting emotions. Sick with disgust and hopelessness, when brought\ninto contact with such loathsome features of degradation as we have been\nconsidering, he consigns the whole black race to perdition, and anon\nsome pathetic circumstance reveals a wealth of moral possibilities,\nwhich touches the heart and makes him ashamed; some unconscious action\nof real friendship and confidence in the white man, it may be; some\nexpression of the profound affection on the part of a savage towards his\nmother and children; or some rude work of art which he displays with\npride, something upon which he has expended astonishing labour for\nbeauty\u2019s sake alone\u2014crude enough, to be sure, but giving \u201cthoughts that\ndo often lie too deep for tears.\u201d He has a shapely stool which he cuts\nout of a solid block of light mahogany, with only one tool, a rude adz\nof his own making. He has absolutely no knowledge of joinery, so he cuts\nit out of the solid block, expending upon it an amount of patient labour\nof which he is usually considered incapable. He also pyrographs it with\nartistic decorations. Why all this labour when the solid block itself is\nquite as serviceable, and far more stable? He has an inward sense of\nbeauty to which he must make it conform, an ideal which commands him and\nwhich he strives to execute. The brass handle of his sword he decorates\nby ingenious and not unskillful repouss\u00e9 designs. The mats that the\nwomen weave are decorated with patterns in colours, requiring care and\nskill in their making.\n\nThe curiosity of those who have not seen a white man before, or are not\nused to seeing him, is unbounded and at first attaches to everything\nthat he possesses. Magic is their easy explanation of everything they do\nnot understand. A match (until they become accustomed to it) will\nscatter a crowd as quickly as a Gatling gun. It is the supernatural of\nwhich they are most afraid; as with us, those who believe in ghosts are\nmore afraid of them than the worst of living enemies.\n\nNothing of ours is more wonderful or more desired than the\nlooking-glass. Yet they are not always conceited in regard to their\nappearance. One poor interior woman, seeing her face in the\nlooking-glass for the first time, sank to the ground with a little cry,\nand said: \u201cI did not think I was so ugly.\u201d\n\nTheir wonder is not always directed as we would expect. It is not the\ngreatest achievement that excites the greatest wonder. One day, after my\nreturn to America, in company with a friend I was passing one of the\ngreatest buildings of Chicago, when the friend said: \u201cWhat would your\nAfricans think of such a building?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Africans,\u201d I replied (pointing to a man on the corner with a tin\nmonkey climbing a string), \u201cwould be so entirely occupied with that tin\nmonkey climbing a string that you could not get them to look at the\nbuilding.\u201d\n\nIn the invention of the monkey they would have some comprehension of the\ndifficulties to be overcome, while not knowing how it had been\naccomplished; hence the mystery. But in the case of the great building\nthey have no present knowledge which would enable them in any measure to\nrealize the difficulties, or the principles involved. The African\nwonders most at those things which bear some relation to his present\nknowledge. For wonder is not exactly an expression of ignorance, as it\nhas been called, but rather an expression of imperfect knowledge.\n\nAll things in our possession of which they did not know the use were\nregarded as fetishes. I wore glasses when studying. One day at Efulen I\ncame out of the house with the glasses on. A group of women were\nstanding in front of the house; and several of them, seeing me look at\nthem through the glasses, fell flat on the ground; whereupon I\ndiscovered that they supposed my glasses were a fetish by which I might\n(as one of them said) turn them into monkeys. They supposed that we were\n\u201cspirits,\u201d and so they called us. Looking at my black shoes one of them\nexclaimed: \u201cThe spirit\u2019s hands and face are white, but his feet are\nblack, and I suppose the rest of his body is black.\u201d\n\nAnother said: \u201cThe spirit has feet, but he has no toes.\u201d\n\nAnother said: \u201cWhat an ugly colour! But he would be a beauty if he were\nblack.\u201d\n\nDear reader: Were you ever an object of curiosity? Of course you have\nbeen on some single occasion\u2014for a passing moment, or even a whole\nevening. But I mean day after day, and all the time, for an indefinite\nperiod. If so, you have my profound sympathy.\n\n\n\n\n                                  VIII\n                          MANNERS AND CUSTOMS\n\n\nThe Fang is a resourceful man, though he has no genius for mechanical\ninvention. He wrests from nature all that he needs and does not depend\nupon his neighbour.\n\nHe lives in a house of bark or bamboo with a roof of thatch, for which\nhe gathers the materials, and builds it all himself. In his primitive\ncondition his only clothing is bark-cloth which he skillfully hammers\nout of fibrous bark. With the fibre of the pineapple, he weaves a\npowder-pouch, or other similar convenience. He makes himself an\nexcellent canoe and is scarcely surpassed as an expert in its\nmanagement. He is also a fisherman; and he knits his own fish-net. For\nthe latter he now uses imported string; but without the imported string\nhe could use some vegetable fibre. If he wishes to improve his primitive\nbed of poles he makes a grass mat. An old woman one day taught me the\nart of mat-making. I sat beside her at the loom, in the street, and\nworked under her supervision until she declared me quite proficient\u2014so\nmuch so, she said with some anxiety, that there was no need of my doing\nany more. The African\u2019s knowledge, too, however meagre, is as varied as\nhis skill. As he becomes civilized he will specialize. There will be\ndivision of labour in the community and mutual dependence upon one\nanother. No doubt he will gain much; but he will also lose something, he\nwill lose in resourcefulness; he will lose something of freedom and the\nspirit of independence. And unless he gain much in that which is moral\nand spiritual, his loss will be a misfortune wholly grievous.\n\nI venture the statement that the African is not lazy\u2014at least not _very_\nlazy. He is idle not so much because he hates work, but rather because\nhe is unambitious and the unfortunate victim of a habit of content. He\nwill not work for the sake of working, because, unlike the white man, he\ncan be supremely content in idleness. But offer him something that he\nreally desires or deems worth while and he will work amazingly. There\nare only one or two things that the African will work for; that is to\nsay there are only one or two things that he wants.\n\nHe will work to earn a dowry in order to marry; especially if he has in\nmind some particular woman as the prospective wife. Month after month he\nwill labour and even for a year or two he will engage in the hardest\nwork. But just as the white master is about to reverse his opinion of\nthe whole black race and proclaim that they are the greatest workers in\nthe world the man completes the amount of the dowry, and immediately he\nquits. No inducement will tempt him to continue. To offer him double\nwages would only lower his estimate of your intelligence. He will work\nfor an end that he desires; but the ordinary motives of the white man do\nnot appeal to him at all. He will never work for the mere sake of\naccumulating wealth.\n\nThe men do all the building, and when a new garden is made the men cut\ndown the trees. Their hardest work is incident to war or hunting, but it\nis occasional, and most of their time is spent in absolute idleness. The\nregular work is done by the women. It is chiefly that of caring for the\ngardens (which are sometimes far from the town), carrying home the\nproduce, gathering wood and carrying it from the forest, and cooking the\nfood. They rise at daylight and start for the gardens, leaving the care\nof the babies to older children or to their husbands. I have seen the\nhusband of six wives taking care of several hungry babies whose mothers\nhave been long in the gardens; and it seemed to me that he, rather than\nthe wives, had the heavier end of the domestic responsibilities.\n\nThere is one other instinct besides that of matrimony that will stir the\ndormant energy of the native, and that is the love of driving a bargain.\nHe is a born trader. But if prices, however high, should become\nhopelessly fixed, and shrewdness have no advantage, I am not sure that\nhe would care any more for the trade.\n\nWherever a foreign government has not interfered with African custom the\nproduce of the interior, chiefly rubber and ivory, is carried from the\nfar interior, in brief stages, by successive caravans. The original\nowners of the ivory start coastward in a company. Beyond a certain limit\nthey cannot go, as the people will not allow them to pass. They must\ngive over the ivory to others who will carry it over the next stage and\nin turn deliver it to others. There may be five or six stages in the\njourney to the coast. The first company when they deliver the produce to\nthe next do not return home but remain in the town of the second company\nuntil their return, often assuming their marital relations in their\nabsence. The second company does the same in regard to the third, and\nthe others likewise. Since the goods received in payment must come from\nthe coast, no bargain is made until the return journey. The last company\ncarries the ivory to the coast and obtains goods in payment, returning\nto their town, where the preceding company is waiting. Then follows a\ngreat palaver and oceans of oratory. The company in possession seek to\nkeep as large a portion as possible of the goods and to give as little\nas possible to the interior people. The palaver at last being settled,\nthis company starts for home and again, after an exciting palaver,\ndivides the goods with the next company, whom they find still waiting\nfor them. This is repeated with each successive stage until at last the\noriginal owners, after weeks of waiting, get a small remainder of the\ngoods, or at least a souvenir, for their ivory. The principal\nsatisfaction is perhaps not the actual amount of the goods, but the big\npalaver, and the driving of a shrewd bargain.\n\nWith the establishment of the European government this trade method is\nsooner or later reversed. The white trader sends native sub-traders into\nthe interior to buy produce as directly as possible from the original\nowners. This cuts off the people of the intermediate stages from what\nthey regard as their exclusive right of participation as middlemen. The\ndissatisfaction usually grows until it ends in war. Germany in her\nvarious colonies is frequently engaged in this one-sided war; and she\nwages it ruthlessly.\n\nMeantime the Fang of the lower Gaboon and some other tribes similarly\nsituated have found far better employment. The Fang raise food\u2014cassava\nand plantains\u2014for the market at Libreville. For there are usually about\nseventy-five white men in Gaboon, all of whom eat plantains; and there\nare throngs of natives, servants of the white men, and others employed\nby the government. Besides, the Mpongwe women, except the Christians,\nare mostly unwilling to care for gardens and they must buy food for\nthemselves and their families. The Fang therefore can easily sell all\nthe food they can raise. In the morning looking from the mission-house\none may see the bay covered with white sails like a flock of\nsea-gulls\u2014the sails of the Fang canoes bringing food to the market. This\nis surely the best fortune that can fall to any people in West Africa.\nWhile it still gives opportunity for their trade instinct, it turns them\nto agriculture, the most wholesome of all occupations for such a people.\nIt keeps them at home, provides healthful work, extends opportunity to\nall and distributes prosperity.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  FANG TRADERS WITH IVORY.\n]\n\nThe white man in setting out for Africa divests himself of every\nsuperfluous possession and provides only for the bare necessities of\nlife. If he is bound for the interior he must feel that he has\nconsecrated himself to poverty. It is strange, therefore, and surprising\nto find the natives regarding his meagre stock of goods as fabulous\nwealth and himself as a sort of multi-millionaire. But it is stranger\nstill that he himself should gradually accept their judgment and regard\nhimself as rich. For the sense of wealth depends upon having more than\none\u2019s neighbours; and there is no feeling of privation in not being able\nto procure those things that nobody else has. The white man\u2019s privations\nmay be many, but they are inevitable; he has all that is procurable in\nhis situation, and far more than those around him. He therefore has a\ncomfortable feeling of wealth, the more pleasant because unexpected.\n\nBut this attitude of the natives towards the white man, especially in\nnew tribes, forebodes trouble. There is not much danger of robbery or\nviolence, but there is danger to his moral influence. A kind of\ncommunism obtains among them. A man having our \u201cabundance\u201d would divide\nwith the men of his town, all of whom are related to him. If a man\nhunting in the forest should kill a monkey or a python he will bring it\nto his town before he cuts it up and it will be divided equally. For\nthis reason it is very hard to buy any game from them; no one person has\nauthority to sell it. Even at the coast and in the old semi-civilized\nsettlements, when a native, after being employed by a white man, returns\nto his town with his wages he will be expected to assist everybody in\nthe town who happens to want anything and has not the price\u2014and there\nare always some of them who want to get married and have not succeeded\nin raising the dowry. So the wages of a hard year\u2019s work are dissipated\nin less than a month. It is hard, but it is custom. It cannot be denied\nthat the custom fosters an easy-going content and precludes the\nunhappiness and cruelty of worldly ambition. But, with ambition, energy\nalso and industry are discouraged and a premium is put upon laziness.\nThe tyranny of custom in Africa and other uncivilized lands is not easy\nfor those to realize who have not witnessed it. It is \u201cthe only\ninfallible rule of faith and practice.\u201d\n\nThe people of the interior, when the white man first goes among them,\ninvariably expect him to divide his goods with them just as soon as they\nunderstand that he professes to be their friend. Such a profession seems\nhypocrisy while he keeps his goods. They can yield intellectual assent\nwhen he reasons that the white man has a right to his own customs; but\nin the consideration of a particular custom it still remains that theirs\nis right and his is wrong; and when they actually see the goods, greed\nmasters reason and they are often enraged.\n\nAll worldly prosperity in Africa depends upon the possession of proper\nfetishes. They are therefore quick to conclude that we have very\npowerful fetishes; and it is inevitable that before long they should\nconclude that the Bible is the missionary\u2019s fetish. At Efulen, among the\nBulu, when we had been there but a short time, a band of men, setting\nout upon the war-path with their guns upon their shoulders, marched up\nto our hill and asked if we would give them a Bible to take with them to\nmake their guns shoot straight and procure their success. One day Dr.\nGood missed a Bible. It had been stolen. He heard nothing of it for a\nmonth; after which he was one day walking through a native village where\nthe people, expecting to go to war next day, were preparing a very\npowerful fetish or \u201cwar-medicine\u201d by boiling together in a pot several\nof their most reliable fetishes; and in the boiling pot he found his\nBible.\n\nPerhaps it is the frequency of war between towns that keeps the people\nwithin a town, or in a company, generally at peace among themselves. It\nis surprising how one can trust workmen or carriers or schoolboys to\ndivide their food without quarrelling. In this respect they far surpass\nwhite workmen, or white schoolboys. Where we would expect a quarrel no\nquarrel occurs.\n\nAnd then again, just when one has declared that \u201cAfricans never\nquarrel,\u201d a scandalous quarrel breaks out over some infinitesimal\nmatter. Individuals, especially women, often have a reputation for\nquarrelling. Some towns are notorious. I once visited such a town, where\nno white man had been before. I found the stormiest people I ever met in\nthe jungles. During the two days that I remained in the town there\noccurred an almost continuous succession of palavers, each of which\nseemed to involve the whole population of the town\u2014men, women and\nchildren. Long after they went into their houses for the night some of\nthem continued yelling their anger loud enough to be heard by all whom\nit concerned. The occasion of a general quarrel the day that I arrived\nwas this: A certain man\u2019s hen had laid an egg in another man\u2019s house,\nand the latter man had kept the egg. The town was rent in twain over the\nownership of that egg. Forcible arguments were presented on either side\nbut without avail. Before it was settled something else had happened\nthat required a vigorous exercise of lungs for its adjustment, and the\negg palaver was laid on the table. There was not a spare moment in which\nto resume it before I left, and it may be undecided to this day. Even\nwhile I was preaching, a woman in the congregation, sitting immediately\nin front of me, continued the palaver, occasionally yelling unladylike\nremarks to some other woman whom she evidently supposed to be at the end\nof the universe. In all such quarrels there is much of bluff and\nbluster, but not so much anger as one might suppose. Such a quarrel, if\nanything should appeal to their keen sense of the ridiculous during its\nprogress, might break up in a laugh.\n\nWhen two Fang women engage in a prolonged quarrel\u2014usually sitting\nimmediately within the door of their respective houses and cursing each\nother in shrill tones, heard all over the town\u2014the people sometimes\nbecome impatient and demand that they shall come out into the street and\nfight. I have witnessed such a fight. They prepare for it by throwing\noff even the shred of clothing that they wear. They fight more like men\nthan women\u2014if it be true that women usually scratch and pull each\nother\u2019s hair when they fight. When one of them is repeatedly thrown to\nthe ground she confesses defeat. At least it may be said to their credit\nthat this usually ends the matter; and the next day they may be as\nfriendly as ever.\n\nThe marriage relation, of course, dominates all customs and is the\nfoundation of the whole social structure. With the Africans love is not\nso closely linked with sex as among most modern races. Friendship is\ndeemed nobler than romantic love. This of course is due to the\ninequality of the sexes; woman is not regarded as fit for companionship\nwith men. A wife is expected to love her own people more than her\nhusband. A man loves his brothers and his friends at least as much as\nhis wife; his children he loves far more, and his mother he loves most\nof all. Indeed, his love of his mother is the deepest emotion of his\nheart and his best moral quality. The African young and old thinks he\nhas fully justified the most violent assault upon another when he says:\n\u201cHe cursed my mother.\u201d Any uncomplimentary reflection more or less\nserious is a \u201ccurse.\u201d\n\nA wife is bought with a price and is part of a man\u2019s wealth. A man\u2019s\nwealth is always reckoned by the number of his wives. The chief of the\ntown is the man who has the most wives. But most men have only one wife\nand some have none, because they cannot procure a dowry. The size of the\ndowry differs in different tribes. Among the Fang it is enormous,\nconsidering their very primitive condition. The following dowry was paid\nby a Fang near the coast: ten goats, five sheep, five guns, twenty\ntrade-boxes (plain wooden chests of imported material), one hundred\nheads of tobacco, ten hats, ten looking-glasses, five blankets, five\npairs of trousers, two dozen plates, fifty dollars\u2019 worth of calico,\nfifty dollars\u2019 worth of rum, one chair (with one leg missing) and one\ncat.\n\nIn addition to such a dowry a man is required to make frequent presents\nto his wife\u2019s relations, who may be expected to arrive at any time, and\nin any number, for an indefinite visit. If he should fail in this they\nwill induce his wife to run away and return to her town, and it will\ncost him many presents and perhaps a war to get her back again.\n\nA dowry is often kept intact so as to do service repeatedly. A man is\nfortunate if he have one or several sisters; for with the dowry which he\nprocures for them he will get himself as many wives. Children are\nfrequently betrothed to each other by their parents. A girl thus\nbetrothed is taken to her husband\u2019s town and raised by his mother.\nLittle girls, even infants, are sometimes betrothed to old men. I knew\nof an instance where a child was betrothed before it was born, the dowry\nbeing kept intact so that it could be returned in case the child should\nnot be a girl. The frequent betrothal of little girls is partly due to\nthe fact that less dowry is paid for a child than for \u201ca whole woman,\u201d\nas the Fang would say.\n\nFor those who are not so fortunate as to inherit a dowry or to have a\nsister the proper thing is to steal a woman from some adjoining town.\nMost women are glad to be stolen and the affair is often an elopement.\nThis will precipitate a war between the two towns. At least nine out of\nten wars among the Fang begin this way. After several or many have been\nkilled the \u201cpalaver\u201d is settled by the whole town paying the dowry.\n\nIf a man have many wives it is regarded as magnanimous for him to take\nlittle notice of infidelity. Seldom, however, does he rise to this level\nof magnanimity and many wives mean constant palavers. In either case it\nmeans boundless immorality.\n\nThe aggrieved husband, in a case of adultery, may punish with terrible\nseverity, if he feel so disposed. In some tribes it is punishable with\ndeath. In a tribe immediately south of the Fang the injured husband\nfrequently cuts off the ears and even the nose of the guilty woman. In\none instance that I knew of, on the Ogow\u00e8 River, a man cut off his\nwife\u2019s nose and lips. Among the Fang I have never seen such mutilations,\nbut in the far interior the practice is probably not unknown. A man\nsuspecting his wife of wrong-doing, especially after a prolonged absence\nfrom town, may upon the impulse of his own suspicion and without a shred\nof evidence resort to torture to compel a confession. And this recalls\nto my mind an occasion upon which I administered physical chastisement.\nI may say that there were three such occurrences during more than twice\nso many years, and that in each instance the occasion of my wrath was\nthe outrageous treatment of a woman.\n\nOne Sunday morning in a town named Angon Nzok, on a branch of the upper\nGaboon, I was about to hold a religious service when I heard, in the\nother end of the town, a woman crying. For a long time she had been\nmoaning and crying in a low tone which had escaped my attention, though\nI heard it. But now there followed an outburst of piteous cries. I\nsprang to my feet and ran quickly in the direction of the cries and to\nthe house from which they seemed to issue, but the door was closed as if\nno one were within.\n\nAt first I thought that I had not rightly located the sound, but I was\ntold that a man and his wife were within the closed house, the man\ntorturing his wife to extort a confession of unfaithfulness, and the\nname of the partner in the wrong. The closed door was a sign, almost\nsacred to the Fang, that no man must enter, but I disregarded it. The\nman had returned from a journey, and without the least evidence had\naccused the woman and had then resorted to torture to extort a\nconfession.\n\nHe bound the woman\u2019s hands together, palm to palm, by means of two\nbamboo sticks, which passed across the back of the hands, the ends being\ntightly bound together. Her hands were then raised above her head and\nkept there by a cord which was attached to the roof. This mode of\ntorture may not seem horrible as one tells it; but it really is\nexceedingly painful, and if long continued is enough to drive a woman\nmad. The man at the moment when I entered was probably tightening the\ncords or making them more secure; wherefore the screams of the poor\nwoman. In the animated exercise which followed the revelation of what\nwas occurring behind that closed door my mind retains a vivid\nrecollection of three prominent and important movements. The first\nmovement was a kick that broke the door in and landed me in the middle\nof the cabin; the second was another kick that carried the man to the\ndoor; the third was another kick that lifted him into the street, where\nhe stood paralyzed with astonishment and rubbing his injuries. It took\nonly a moment to cut the cords and set the woman free. I then went out\nand found the man, who of course was not much hurt but was greatly\nhumiliated.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d I said to him, \u201cif you will solemnly promise never to do this\nagain, the palaver will be finished and you and I will be friends.\u201d\n\nAfter a brief conversation we vowed eternal friendship and he came to\nthe service. But long after the service the woman was still crying with\nthe pain, while other women poured warm water upon her tortured hands,\nand murmured their sympathy.\n\nIt may be supposed that this man would carry out his purpose when I had\nleft the town, and perhaps with increased severity. But this he would\nnot do. The African is peculiarly superstitious in regard to\ninterruptions. And an interruption so extraordinary in the performance\nof such an act would be regarded by him as a sign that the act would be\nattended by misfortune to himself, and he would not repeat it.\nNevertheless I thought it well to keep myself carefully informed for\nsome time, so that in case he should act in defiance of superstition he\nmight not be disappointed in his expectation of misfortune.\n\nA man may punish his wife for any misdemeanour or neglect of duty; and\nmany of them bear upon their backs ugly scars and wounds inflicted by\nthe sword of an enraged husband. However abused, it is vain for her to\nappeal to the town; for it is the town of the husband\u2019s family, and she\nis the stranger. And, besides, the saying among them is that you must\nnever tell a woman that she is right, lest she despise her husband.\n\nA source of injustice, in the case of polygamy, is the influence of the\nhead-wife; for every man who has several wives recognizes one of them as\nthe favourite, and head over the others. Not that she sits in idleness\nwhile the others work; for it is more likely that she is the favourite\nbecause she works well and cooks well. But she has every opportunity to\ntyrannize over the other wives and make their lives a bitter bondage. If\nthey desire anything from the husband there is but little chance of\nobtaining it unless the head-wife favours the request. In a dispute\nbetween two of them the husband\u2019s judgment would depend upon the\nhead-wife. She exercises authority over all his children, even the\nchildren of other wives.\n\nYet, not to leave an exaggerated impression, it must be said that there\nis much less quarrelling than one would expect between wives of the same\nhusband. The African wife also has far more independence in actual life\nthan their theories allow. She owns the garden, and her husband is\ndependent upon her for his food. If she runs away she leaves him much\nthe poorer; at least there is always a risk that he will not recover\neither her or the dowry. And, then, he is mortally afraid of her tongue,\nher chief resource; and well he may be; for in an outburst of passion it\nis the tongue of a fiend, and scorches like hell fire. Frequent storms\nof unrestrained passion give to the face of the woman of middle age a\npermanent expression of weakness and dissipation. She is the victim of\nso much oppression and cruel wrong that one would like to depict her as\ninnocent; for it is human nature to attribute virtue to those who\nsuffer. But it most be confessed that the African woman is at least as\ndegraded as the man. He is more cruel; but she is more licentious.\n\nIt is exceedingly difficult to learn the attitude of the African woman\ntowards polygamy. Still, I believe it is contrary to her natural\ninstinct. I have known instances of heathen women cursing Christian\nhusbands because they would not marry other wives, and it happens\u2014though\ninfrequently\u2014that women leave their husbands for this reason. But in all\nsuch cases I believe that the woman acts upon the impulse of some lower\nmotive and at the expense of her better self. In civilized lands are\nthere not those who marry for wealth or social position, even without\nlove? In Africa, wealth and social position are represented by a\nplurality of wives. The wife of a monogamist is a \u201cnobody,\u201d and,\nbesides, has an unusual amount of work to do. But I believe that the\nmajority of women in Africa have in them enough of the true woman to\nhate polygamy. Their fables and folk-lore are full of this hatred.\n\nCertain phases of polygamy one cannot discuss frankly. Children are not\nweaned until the age of two or three years. During this period of\nlactation the husband and wife observe absolute continence in regard to\neach other. But he has other wives and this continence imposes no\nrestraint upon him. And to the woman it is a source of so much\nunhappiness and jealousy that she frequently refuses to bear children,\nand resorts to abortion. This practice of abortion, and its relation to\npolygamy, is curiously overlooked by those who advocate polygamy for\nAfrica. It is doubtless more common in some tribes than in others.\n\nBut while polygamy is obnoxious to the woman\u2019s instinct, it is impressed\nupon her that the instinct is selfish and ought to be suppressed, and\nthat it is right to be willing to share her husband with other wives. It\nis just at this point that the teaching of Christianity makes so strong\nan appeal to the African woman; and her response is whole-hearted. It\ntruly \u201cfinds\u201d her. I know women in Gaboon who have suffered\ninexpressible humiliation and grief when their husbands took other\nwives, and who immediately separated from them and lived their remaining\nyears in widowhood.\n\nThe Orungu tribe, immediately south of Gaboon, from whom I often\nobtained workmen, have a peculiarly large body of stories and legends,\nwhich form a kind of commentary on all their customs. The following is\nan example:\n\nOnce upon a time there was a very great king, Ra-Nyambia, who had many\nsons and daughters, and whose servant was Wind. Now, one of this king\u2019s\ndaughters, Ogula, had an _ngalo_. The ngalo is a very powerful fetish.\nSome favoured persons are born with it. It is never acquired by others.\nOgula, when she became a \u201cwhole\u201d woman, declared that she was not\nwilling to have a husband who would have other wives, but must have one\nwho would be all her own. She waited a long time, but found no man who\nwas fit to be her husband. Then she consulted her ngalo, who told her\nwhat to do. One day shortly after this, when her father\u2019s people were\ngoing hunting, she said to them: \u201cFind for me a wild goat, and do not\nkill it, but bring it to me alive.\u201d\n\nSo the hunters brought her a wild goat; and when Ogula saw it she said:\n\u201cIt is well.\u201d\n\nShe then requested one of the hunters to kill the wild goat and skin it\nmost carefully. She also requested another hunter to fill her canoe with\nwater. The skin she burned in the fire till all that was left was ashes,\nand the ashes she carefully wrapped in plantain leaves and put away in a\nsafe place. Then she commanded that the entire body of the wild goat\nshould be placed in the canoe, which was full of water. There she left\nit for three days. On the third day, standing beside the canoe, she\naddressed her ngalo and said: \u201cOh, ngalo mine, turn this goat into a\nhandsome and stylish man.\u201d\n\nImmediately there leaped out of the canoe a very handsome and stylish\nman.\n\nThen Ogula sent her servants to her father, Ra-Nyambia, and bade them\nsay to him that she had procured a husband and that she was coming to\npresent him to her father. Ra-Nyambia made ready to receive them\nproperly. He called his servant, Wind, and told him to clean up the\nstreet; whereupon Wind got busy and swept the street clean. And\nRa-Nyambia put on his best ornaments. Soon Ogula appeared with her new\nhusband walking by her side, while all the people followed in\nastonishment and admiration, saying to one another: \u201cWhere did Ogula get\nthis handsome and stylish husband?\u201d\n\nRa-Nyambia was greatly pleased; and Ogula and her husband returned to\nher house. But everywhere, through all the towns, there went out a\nreport of Ogula\u2019s handsome and stylish husband.\n\nNow there lived in a town not far away a beautiful woman, named\nOgondaga, the daughter of a king; and Ogondaga had no husband. At length\nOgondaga said: \u201cI am tired of hearing of Ogula\u2019s handsome and stylish\nhusband. This day I shall go and see him for myself.\u201d\n\nShe ordered her father\u2019s servants to take her in a canoe to Ogula\u2019s\ntown, saying also to her father that she would return that same day.\nThis, however, she did not intend to do; for she had determined to win\nthe love of Ogula\u2019s husband. Ogula received Ogondaga very kindly, and\nwhen her husband returned from the forest she said to him: \u201cThis is my\nfriend Ogondaga.\u201d\n\nIn the evening Ogondaga\u2019s servants came and said to her: \u201cIt is time to\ngo home.\u201d\n\nBut she replied: \u201cYou must go without me; for I am going to visit my\nfriend Ogula.\u201d\n\nThen they asked her when they should return for her, and she said: \u201cYou\nneed not come for me at all. I shall go home when I please.\u201d\n\nOgula treated Ogondaga very kindly, and gave her plenty to eat and a\ngood bed. The next day Ogula\u2019s husband said to her: \u201cI love Ogondaga;\nyou must speak to her for me. Will you do so?\u201d\n\nAnd Ogula, though her heart was sore, said: \u201cI shall speak to her.\u201d\n\nThis she did; and her husband went with Ogondaga and neglected her. The\nnext day they had work to do together and she called him; but he was\nangry. And so it was the next day, and the next.\n\nNow this continued for four days; whereupon Ogula, taking some of the\nashes of the goatskin, which she had so carefully kept, came upon her\nhusband while he was washing, and suddenly rubbed the ashes upon his\nfeet. Instantly his feet were changed to hoofs. He stamped upon the\nground and cried out: \u201cWhat is this? What is this?\u201d\n\nHis wife replied: \u201cIt is nothing at all. Why don\u2019t you go out on the\nstreet?\u201d\n\nThen he pleaded with Ogula until she relented and by the power of her\nngalo changed his hoofs again into feet. But again he abandoned her.\n\nThen Ogula, taking all the ashes of the goatskin, and watching her\nopportunity, while he was washing threw the ashes over her husband\u2019s\nbody, saying: \u201cGo back where you came from.\u201d\n\nImmediately her handsome and stylish husband was changed into a wild\ngoat and began leaping around the room. Ogula opened the door, outside\nof which Ogondaga was sitting, and the goat sprang through the door into\nthe street and scampered off into the forest, while all the people\nlaughed and shouted, saying one to another: \u201cSo, Ogula\u2019s handsome and\nstylish husband was only the wild goat which Ra-Nyambia\u2019s people caught\nin the forest.\u201d\n\nBut Ogula turned to Ogondaga and said: \u201cDo you see your man? Call him to\nyou. He always comes when you call.\u201d\n\nThen Ogula called Ogondaga\u2019s people to her town. She also told her\nfather, Ra-Nyambia, to prepare for a big palaver. So Ra-Nyambia called\nWind and told him to sweep the town clean. When Ogondaga\u2019s people came\nOgula brought them before Ra-Nyambia, together with all Ra-Nyambia\u2019s own\npeople. Then Ogula told the whole story: How she had got a handsome and\nstylish husband for herself; how Ogondaga came; how kindly she had\nreceived her; how she was even willing that Ogondaga should share her\nhusband\u2019s heart; and how Ogondaga had taken, not a part, but his whole\nheart.\n\nFinally she said to her visitors: \u201cYou may go back now to your town; but\nOgondaga is not going with you. She must stay here and be my slave as\nlong as she lives.\u201d\n\nAnd Ra-Nyambia and all the people said that the judgment was just. So\nOgondaga became Ogula\u2019s slave.\n\nAnd that\u2019s the end of the story.\n\nThe African woman is not cynical enough to mean that the difference\nbetween a man and a goat is chiefly a matter of the skin. But the wild\ngoat of the story reminds one inevitably of the ancient _satyr_, which\nwas half man and half goat; which men also imitated in pagan festivals,\ncovering themselves with goatskins, and singing and dancing. Hence the\norigin of the word _tragedy_, which means a _goatsong_, and which came\nto us by way of the Greek drama, which was developed from those early\nreligious festivals.\n\nThe Fang have a variety of amusements to which they are devoted. They\nhave many games. A few of these are always associated with gambling. But\ntheir chief and constant amusements are music, dancing and\nstory-telling. Of music I have already said enough.\n\nThe tom-tom supplies the rhythm for dancing, but the melodies are vocal.\nThe songs are solos with responsive chants sung in chorus. They dance\nwith the whole body, setting in motion the limbs, head, shoulders,\nthighs and stomach. In many of their dances they simulate love-making or\nhunting, and the various animals they pursue. Sometimes the movements of\nthe dance are very obscene. Among the women there are professional\ndancers; and these are nearly always women of low reputation. Men and\nwomen sometimes\u2014not often\u2014dance simultaneously, but never in couples,\nnor is there any physical contact between them. There are solitary\ndancers, men and women, who dance themselves into a frenzy, leaping into\nthe air or whirling round and round until they fall in a swoon, or a\ntrance, during which, or immediately upon recovering, they name persons\nwho are guilty of witchcraft.\n\nBut no person is more popular among the Africans than a good\nstory-teller. There are professional story-tellers whose performances\ncorrespond to those of the theatre among civilized people. One of these\ntakes his place in the middle of the street with the whole population of\nthe town sitting on the ground before him.\n\n\u201cShall we tell a story?\u201d he says.\n\n\u201cA story!\u201d they respond in chorus.\n\n\u201cThen let us away!\u201d\n\n\u201cAway!\u201d\n\nIn such a story as that of \u201cOgula and her Ngalo,\u201d already told in this\nchapter, the story-teller would occasionally break into song or\nchanting; whereupon the audience will take up the chant as a refrain and\nrepeat it over and over, until he is ready to proceed with the story.\n\nThe African is a born story-teller. And we should expect this from the\nfact that he is the most sociable man in the world. He cannot easily be\nkilled with work; but isolation will kill him quickly. The old men sit\nin the palaver-house all their spare time (that is, all the time between\nnaps and meals) entertaining and amazing the younger generation with the\nnarration of their past exploits\u2014how many women have gladly eloped with\nthem, how many others they have captured, how many enemies they have\nkilled in war, and how they have fought wild animals with unheard-of\nbravery. The conversation is often a lying-match. But they turn out\ninteresting tales.\n\nAn old man\u2014a famous hunter in former days, according to his own\nstory\u2014tells at great length of a fierce fight between a leopard and a\ngorilla which he witnessed; and having at last exhausted his resources\nof invention, but utterly unwilling that the story should end in an\nanticlimax, he tells how the gorilla, watching an opportunity, suddenly\nseized the leopard\u2019s tail and swung him around his head so swiftly that\nthe leopard was hurled into space leaving his tail in the gorilla\u2019s\nhand. Observing the look of incredulity in the faces of his audience, he\ngravely adds:\n\n\u201cAnd this I saw with my own eyes. And when both the leopard and the\ngorilla had gone I picked up the tail and brought it home to my town,\nthinking that I would use it to keep the flies off my back. Many people\nof the town saw this tail; but all those who saw it are dead. For, you\nsee, it was a human leopard (a leopard that was formerly a man) and it\nhaunted the town so long as the tail was there, and inflicted a plague\nupon the people, so that every one who saw the tail died. And at length,\nfor the sake of the town and the health of the people, I carried the\ntail to the forest and left it where the leopard would find it.\n\n\u201cAnd that\u2019s the end of the story.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                   IX\n                            FUNERAL CUSTOMS\n\n\nA Kru workman died at an English trading-house, it is said\u2014or was\nsupposed to have died\u2014and his uncoffined form was being borne to the\ngrave upon an open bier by his fellow workmen, when he suddenly\nembarrassed the funeral cort\u00e8ge by addressing the bearers and demanding\nthat he be instantly informed of what they were intending to do\u2014and why.\n\nThe affrighted bearers hastily dropped their load and set out for the\ninterior of Africa. Encountering a body of water on the way they plunged\ninto it and submerged themselves as long as nature would allow, in order\nto effect a disconnection with talking spirits\u2014which are supposed to\nhave an aversion to water\u2014and their fear being thus quenched, they\nreturned. The corpse meanwhile got off the bier and went home.\n\nPremature burials are common enough in Africa, for reasons which I shall\nmention later. But the African might offer an easier explanation and say\nthat the Kruman was really dead and came to life again. For the African\nlives in a world of confusion and disorder, where there is scarcely any\nsuch thing as a \u201ccourse of nature\u201d; but, rather, a succession of\nunrelated wonders. Elsewhere every effect has a cause; but Africa is run\nby magic, and things happen without a cause. Elsewhere, as some sage has\nremarked, every beginning has an _end_\u2014implying that the end bears a\nlogical relation to the beginning and may even be foreseen; but in\nAfrica a beginning is just a beginning, and affords no clue to the\nend\u2014if there should be any end. One goes to a wedding, and it turns out\nthat the groom is a leopard in the form of a man, who in the midst of\nthe ceremony carries off the bride. One goes to a funeral and the corpse\nsits up and talks or breaks loose and runs away. This is the atmosphere\nin which the African lives.\n\nAmong the semi-civilized Mpongwe of Gaboon, when sickness seems likely\nto prove fatal, the friends and relations from far and near gather into\nthe house of the sick, as many as can crowd inside, and sit about on the\nfloor, quietly expectorating, or smoking and expectorating, but always\nexpectorating. The effect of sympathy upon the salivary glands has not\nbeen duly considered by physiologists. There is more than one reason for\ntheir hastening to the bedside of the sick. It is, of course, expected\nas an expression of sympathy; and if the sick one should recover he will\nresent the omission of this customary courtesy. But if he should die\nthere are sure to be charges of witchcraft, and suspicion is likely to\nfall first on any who did not come to sympathize, the supposition being\nthat they were kept away by a sense of guilt.\n\nThe low wail of mourning starts as soon as it appears that the sick one\nis dying, although he may still be conscious. Then when the death is\nannounced there is a great outburst of cries and shrieks, accompanied by\nfrantic actions of grief and protest. But this wild outburst soon\nsubsides into the regular wail of the mourning dirge.\n\nThe mother is always the chief mourner. However formal the mourning of\nothers, hers is a poignant anguish that rends the hearer\u2019s heart. As she\nchants she breaks forth into a rhapsody in which she recites the story\nof her loved one\u2019s life, dwelling upon those incidents the memory of\nwhich only a mother cherishes. She sings because she must. No other\nexpression would be adequate; and certainly no other would be so\naffecting to the hearer. One reflects that the strongest emotions\nnaturally resort to music for their expression, and that singing is as\nnatural as laughter or tears; and one understands how that ancient\norators\u2014accounted the world\u2019s greatest\u2014chanted, or intoned their\norations without lessening, but rather deepening the impression of\nsincerity and passionate conviction.\n\nThe mourning continues without interruption until the burial, except\nwhile the coffin is being made\u2014for the Mpongwe use coffins. The coffin\nis made in the street, in front of the house. If there should be any\nwailing at that time the departed spirit will not like his new house,\nand some of those who helped to make it will surely die before the year\nis over. I have seen a man, who heard the least sound of a wail while he\nwas working on the coffin, fling his hammer on the ground in great anger\nand refuse to continue the work. The mourning is also suspended during\nthe digging of the grave, if it is near by. The making of the grave must\nnot be interrupted, but continued until it is finished. Upon its\ncompletion a stick or other object is thrown into it to keep other\nspirits from taking possession before its proper resident comes to\noccupy it.\n\nThe corpse, having been prepared for burial by being dressed in its best\nrobe, is laid upon the floor, the mother or nearest relation taking the\nhead upon her lap and leading in the mourning. But, before this, all the\nrelations put on their oldest rags and as few of them as decency will\nallow. The most civilized among them, unwilling to disrobe, often turn\ntheir dresses inside out. Owing to the peculiar climate bodies are not\nusually kept long. The funeral sometimes takes place within twelve or\neven eight hours after death.\n\nFrom the stories of natives one must conclude that premature burial is\nfar from uncommon. The short interval which custom allows between death\nand burial is a partial explanation. And it may also be accounted for\namong many tribes by the frequency of religious trance, mistaken for\ndeath. The trance is usually self-induced, for the purpose of reading\nthe future, or when they commune with the spirit of the moon; but the\npractice would probably make them subject to involuntary trance. They\nhave abundant opportunity of proving the fact of premature burial, since\nthey so frequently exhume the bodies of the dead; sometimes they find\nthe body in an altered position. There are various reasons for exhuming\nthe bodies of the dead. Sometimes the spirit of the departed is\ndissatisfied with the grave and becomes troublesome to the living,\nsubjecting them to annoyance and injury until the body is placed in\nanother grave. If the departed was a person of small importance the\npeople may resent these posthumous activities and seek to disable the\nspirit by exhuming the body and throwing it into the sea, after cutting\noff the head. Among the interior tribes the body is frequently exhumed\nin order to obtain the brains or the skull for fetish purposes. Thus the\nevidences are found of premature burial.\n\nBut, besides the haste with which they bury their dead, and the\nfrequency of the trance, there is still another explanation of premature\nburial. They are disposed to regard a person as dead as soon as he\nbecomes unconscious, although the heart may still be perceptibly\nbeating. They cannot dissociate the personal spirit from seeing, hearing\nand feeling. They will therefore say of the unconscious one that he, the\nperson, is gone, and that only the life of the body is left; and they\nwill lose no time in preparing for the funeral.\n\nThe spirit of the deceased knows all that is going on and is supposed to\nbe very sensitive in regard to the amount of mourning and the details of\nthe funeral. Among the Fang, the wives of a man who has died, when they\nare not put to death, are often beaten severely to augment their sorrow,\nand they are compelled to go entirely naked for a length of\ntime\u2014sometimes a whole year. No one must speak to them, nor give them\nfood.\n\nIt is especially respectful to the dead to manifest reluctance in\nburying the body. And to act unreasonably at such a time, or to seem a\nlittle foolish, is very pleasing to the departed. The bearers usually\nbelong half to the father\u2019s family and half to the family of the mother.\nThe coffin is of plain boards covered with blue cotton. There are no\nhandles: the bearers carry it on their heads. The practice in former\ntimes, but not so common now, was for some of the bearers on the way to\nthe grave to refuse to go further, as if unwilling to bury the body of\ntheir friend and relation. The others would insist upon burial, and a\nstrange altercation would take place, with some pushing, the bearers\nhalting and starting, and halting again, but at last yielding to\nnecessity and mastering their feelings.\n\nA short time before I left Gaboon there was a peculiar revival of this\ncustom. A woman had died who was a member of the church. According to\nour custom, they were allowed to bury her in the mission cemetery. The\ncemetery is on the back part of the premises and it is necessary to pass\nthrough the front yard to reach it. The family of this particular woman\nwere all heathen, and I presume they had been drinking; for rum is now\nregarded as a necessity at an Mpongwe funeral, except among the\nChristians. During the procession of the funeral, as they were entering\nthe cemetery, some of the bearers objected to going further, and began\nto push the other bearers back, according to the good old custom. But in\nthis instance custom was outdone. The two parental families to whom the\nbearers belonged had not been friendly. The pushing of some was resented\nby the others, and soon each party, under the guise of conventionality\nand revered custom, delivered real blows upon the other and paid off\nsome old scores. In the ensuing fight the coffin was precipitated to the\nground. Leaving it where it fell, the whole funeral procession started\nfor the police court. And experience with French justice having taught\nthem that much depends upon getting there first, each party tried to\noutrun the other. Some of the mourners, however, fearing trouble with\nthe officials if the body were not buried immediately, dissuaded them\nfrom their purpose before they reached the court, and they all came back\ntogether and buried the body.\n\nThe coast tribes have regular burying places. But most interior tribes\nbury in the street, or in the garden, and sometimes even beneath the\nearthen floor of the house. A prominent man in Batanga, whom I knew,\nburied his favourite wife under his door-step. In such burials probably\nsomething more is sought than merely to honour the dead. They may also\nintend to procure health and protection for the household. This idea is\nborne out by the customs of certain far-interior tribes, among whom when\na great chief would build a house he first kills a number of slaves and\nburies them beneath the foundation.\n\nAmong the Fang, back from the coast, who have not been influenced by\ncontact with the white man, all the funeral customs are more rude and\nbarbarous, and often revolting. The dead are buried without coffins,\nusually in a sitting posture, and in very shallow graves. Some of the\ntribes adjacent to the Fang on the south do not bury at all. They have\nregular cemeteries in which they leave the bodies above the ground and\ncover them with palm branches or woven mats. In most tribes offerings of\nfood and drink are placed beside the grave. As the drink evaporates and\nthe food wastes they say the spirit is consuming it. Fire-wood is left\non the grave that the body may be kept warm. In the case of those\naccused of witchcraft they often seek to disable the spirit by burning\nthe body. For the spirits of the dead still retain some connection with\nthe body. For this same reason when slaves die, or others whom they have\nespecial reason to fear, they sometimes beat the body with heavy clubs\nuntil they break every bone and reduce it to a shapeless mass.\n\nWives charged with witchcraft are usually buried alive with the dead\nbody of the husband. In one instance, in a certain town that I knew\nwell, a very large grave was dug in the middle of the street, and the\nbody of the man\u2014a chief\u2014was placed in the middle of it. Then his seven\nwives, charged with having bewitched him, were brought forward, and they\nwere about to break their legs and throw them into the grave, when the\ntimely arrival of the missionary prevented the deed and saved the\nwomen\u2019s lives. He interposed no physical force; but, knowing his\nfeelings, they were not willing to commit such an atrocity in his\npresence.\n\nThe human shrinking from the dead with them takes the form of fear that\nthe dead will harm them, even their own nearest relations. No matter how\nthey may have loved one while he was alive, yet they will not desire\nthat his spirit should linger; but rather in their mourning they often\nentreat the dead one to depart. It is heartrending to hear a mother in\nthe midst of her grief entreat her child to stay far from her and not to\ntouch her. They resort to various expedients to get rid of the spirits\nof the dead. Sometimes, upon the announcement of a death, while the\nwomen indulge in frantic shrieks, or the mourning wail, the men beat\ndrums or fire off their guns to frighten the spirit away. Nevertheless,\nthe spirit remains in the house as long as the body is there and\naccompanies it to the grave. Therefore the bed that the deceased lay\nupon is occupied continually between death and burial to the supposed\ndiscomfort of the spirit. After the burial they hurry home, sometimes\nrunning, in order to escape from the spirit, which may not be able to\nfind its way back to the town alone. On the way home it is advisable, if\npossible, to plunge into water. If one should fall while thus running he\nwill die within a year. Sickness and other troubles are often attributed\nto the spirits of those who have recently died. Little children whose\nmothers have died often die themselves soon after; it is because the\ndead mother cannot resist the temptation to embrace them.\n\nAmong the Mpongwe blue is worn as mourning. The men also shave their\nheads. The mourning chant is continued at night, usually for a month\nafter the funeral. Near relations remain as visitors in the town during\nthe period of mourning. The usual activities are suspended and children\nare neglected. The white man\u2019s rum is now regarded as a necessary factor\nin relieving hearts surcharged with sorrow. As time passes gossip\nbecomes incessant and engenders estrangements and hatreds. There are\nalso criminal intimacies. Indeed, a period of mourning is perhaps the\nmost demoralizing experience through which a community can pass.\n\nWith most of the mourners the mourning wail itself is purely\nconventional, serving only for the assumption of a sham grief rather\nthan the relief of a real one. But no one forgets the possible charges\nof witchcraft; and to avert suspicion it is wise to be prompt and eager\nin the mourning, especially on the part of those who were known to be\nestranged from the deceased. A certain Mpongwe woman, entering a house\nof mourning where a friend had just died, asked the husband of the\ndeceased to excuse her from mourning because she had a sore ear and it\nhurt her to mourn.\n\nGrief, however, is often very deep and real among the Africans; and it\ncan never in any land be measured by conventionalities. The grief of\nparents for the loss of children is, as I have said, the most poignant\ngrief of the African heart. Again and again, when I have asked a father\nor mother to explain to the session of the church their long absence\nfrom its services, they have confessed in tears that they had been\nunable to believe in the Christian\u2019s God since He had taken away their\nlittle child\u2014sometimes an only child\u2014and had left the parent heart cold\nand joyless.\n\nOne day, walking across the lonely _grass-field_ of Gaboon, the\nstillness broken only by the rustle of the long grass around me and the\ndistant boom of the sea beyond the horizon, I met a man of Gaboon who\nwas returning home after a trading expedition into the forest. He was a\nshrewd man who had traded successfully both with white and black and who\nseemed to care for nothing else but trade, a man of materialistic mind\nand peculiarly inaccessible to any spiritual message. We sat down and\ntalked for some time, first of course about trade; but gradually the\nconversation became more intimate and he talked about himself, at length\nrevealing a great sorrow that years ago had darkened his life and left\nit dark, like the setting of the sun. He had lost in succession three\nlittle children\u2014all he had. He tried to tell me about it, but he had not\naccustomed himself to speaking of it, and the story ended half-way in a\nflood of tears. I told him that little story that every minister tells\nmore than once in the course of his ministry\u2014the story of the kind\nshepherd, and the willful mother sheep that would not cross the stream\nto the good pasture and the safe fold on the other side; and how the\nshepherd took the lamb in his arms and carried it across, and how the\nmother sheep stood a while and looked after it with longing and then\nfollowed her lamb to the other side. It was a familiar incident to\nhim\u2014some such thing he had done himself\u2014and the simple story moved him\ndeeply. I never saw him again; for I left Africa shortly afterwards. But\nI have not forgotten the human tenderness that was revealed beneath the\nsurface hardness of the man\u2019s heathen heart; and I hope that if he be\nstill alive he may not have forgotten the vision of the \u201csweet fields\nbeyond the swelling floods,\u201d and the message of God\u2019s love and kindness\nwhich he heard that day, like a still, small voice sounding across the\nstorms that had wrecked his life.\n\nThe tribes north of the Calabar River\u2014the real Negro tribes\u2014are more\ncruel in all their customs than the tribes further south. Even apart\nfrom any accusation of witchcraft, when a man dies a number of persons\nare frequently put to death to accompany his spirit to the other world.\nWhen a great chief dies wives and slaves are killed that the chief may\nenter the spirit world as a person of consequence. For it is supposed\nthat slaves sent with him will still be his slaves and wives will still\nbe wives. I have known an instance of a native dying on shipboard, and\nwhen the body was cast into the sea, the female relations actually tried\nto leap after it in order to accompany the spirit of the deceased to the\nother world.\n\nAmong some of the tribes of the Niger it was the custom (until the\nEnglish government suppressed it) that when a chief died a number of\npersons, perhaps twelve or more, usually women and slaves, were buried\nalive with him, and without any accusation against them. An enormous\ngrave was dug; and all these persons were lowered into it together with\nthe dead body of the chief. Then the grave was covered over with a roof,\na small opening being left, upon which a stone was placed. Each day the\nstone was removed and the question was asked of those below whether they\nhad yet followed the chief\u2014each day until at last no voice replied.\nAmong the Fang I have not known of any such practice. The only persons\nput to death on such occasions are those who have been charged with\nwitchcraft. But multitudes die daily on this charge.\n\nMy first contact with death in Africa was among the Bulu, at a little\ntown called Mon Nlam (if I remember correctly) close to Efulen. One\nafternoon when I was alone at Efulen I was startled by the firing of\nguns in the little village at the foot of our hill. There were cries\nalso and shrieks such as I had never before heard. Several of the many\nnatives around me belonged to Mon Nlam; and these started for home as\nfast as they could run. I caught something of their alarm and ran after\nthem to the town. Following the lead of the natives I ran through the\ntown into the banana garden immediately beyond, where all the people\nwere gathered. There in the midst were a number of women (I forget how\nmany) shrieking frantically and throwing themselves madly upon the\nground. They were entirely naked and their bodies were smeared with\nwhite clay, even their faces and their hair. Other women were vainly\ntrying to restrain them, while the crowd looked on.\n\nSuch a scene was quite new to me in those days, and the horror of it I\nhave never forgotten. I had only the slightest knowledge of the language\nand it took me some time to find out what had happened. Several men, the\nhusbands of these women, had gone hunting in the forest. Two other towns\nnear by were at war with each other; but this town had nothing whatever\nto do with the war. A number of men from one of the two towns were\nhiding in the forest, lying in wait for the enemy, when they espied\nthese men who were hunting. In the dim light of the forest they mistook\ntheir friends for their enemies and fired upon them. An African would\nrather kill ten friends then let one enemy escape. They killed all the\nmen of the hunting-party. This was the news that had just reached the\ntown. It was the more pitiable because the town was small, and the loss\nof several of its strongest men seriously weakened its defense.\n\nThere were the usual charges of witchcraft against the women; and when I\nin amazement pointed out to them that in this instance there was no\nmystery whatever; that those men, as they knew, had been killed by the\nbullets of those who had fired upon them, they replied that while this\nwas doubtless true it was only half the truth; for those men wore\nprotecting charms that would have made it impossible for bullets to\ninjure them, and that the spell of witchcraft must have destroyed the\npower of the charms. I only convinced them that while I knew\nconsiderable about bullets I knew nothing about witchcraft and nothing\nabout wives. The doubt, however, which had been thus suggested, was\nsufficient to enable us to protect the women from any fatal violence;\nalthough the restraints and sufferings imposed upon widows during their\nperiod of mourning is almost intolerable.\n\nIn contrast with that scene, where the elemental passions of fear, grief\nand rage fairly made demons of men and women, I think of another death\nthat was not in any way horrible or revolting; it was the death of a\nFang chief named _Ndong_, one of the first of the Fang Christians. Ndong\nand his people had come recently from the far interior and had settled\non one of the branches of the Gaboon. He had lived all his life among\nsuch death scenes as I have just described, and himself had taken a\nleading part in punishing witchcraft. When I first knew him he had more\nfetishes than any man in his town; for he was in ill health and of\ncourse supposed that somebody was bewitching him. The fetishes were an\nattempt to protect himself; but they were a failure, and he was in\nterror of everybody around him. After several conversations with him he\nboldly renounced fetishism and threw away all his fetishes. He told the\npeople that if God desired that he should live He would defend and\nprotect him; and that if God was calling him he was ready to go. He\nlived six months to proclaim this new faith, and then died, having been\nsorely tried by constant suffering. I reached the town just as he died.\nThere was not a fetish in his house. But it was more surprising that\nthere was no heathen mourning. The town was strangely quiet when I\narrived. An elderly woman said to me:\n\n\u201cNdong has died. He died as one goes to sleep, without fear, and without\nblaming anybody. We never saw a death like this before. A new day is\ndawning.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                   X\n                             THE _DOROTHY_\n\n\nIn response to my urgent appeal, a gasoline launch, the _Dorothy_, was\ngiven for the work on the Gaboon River, by a friend of missions living\nin Orange, New Jersey. The gift was a memorial to a little daughter,\n_Dorothy_, who had died.\n\nThe arrival of the _Dorothy_ was the most joyful event of all my years\nin Africa. Hitherto I had reached the Fang only by canoe or small\nsailboat, the latter depending upon oars more than sails. The area of\nthe work was therefore circumscribed and the incidental exposure\ndreadful. But now we no longer regarded the heat by day nor the rains by\nnight; for there was a large cabin provided with every comfort,\nincluding good beds. And this latter was a main consideration. After the\narrival of the _Dorothy_ I seldom stayed in a town over night nor slept\nin a native bed\u2014a few straight poles laid side by side, sometimes with\nthe additional luxury of a grass mat. Besides a bed of poles, I escaped\nstifling heat, infinite noise, rats, roaches, lizards, scorpions,\ncentipedes, ants, fleas, lice and a staggering combination of odours. In\nthe lower rivers that flow through the mangrove swamps I also escaped\nthe vile atmosphere and the mosquitoes by running out to the bay at\nnight. Added to these considerations, its speed was such that I could\ntravel against wind and tide; and by means of it the former work was\nmultiplied many times, and spread over the whole area of the Gaboon\nbasin.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  THE _DOROTHY_.\n]\n\nThe _Dorothy_ was a house-launch, and was intended only for the rivers.\nThe walls of the cabin presented such an area to the wind that on the\nbay or at sea, unless in the calmest weather, it rolled as nothing else\never rolled; and in a storm it was dangerous.\n\nNdong Koni, who had been long in my service, was captain of the\n_Dorothy_; the rest of the crew I had to choose with greater care than\nin former days, and it was difficult to find men who were qualified both\nby intelligence and trustworthiness. I discharged one man for\ndisobedience in smoking a pipe over an open tank from which they were\ndrawing gasoline.\n\nOn one occasion when I was preparing for a long trip up the river, Ndong\nKoni was absent; and not having time myself to look after every detail\nof the preparation, I entrusted to one of the crew, a boy named _Toko_,\nthe work of filling the tank with gasoline. Toko was not a Fang, but a\ncoastman. He was so black that he seemed to radiate darkness and create\na kind of twilight in his neighbourhood. The Fang were like mulattoes\nbeside him. He had worked some time for an English trader and had picked\nup a smattering of very original English. On this occasion Toko assured\nme that he \u201cdone fill the tank proper full.\u201d But on the return trip the\nengine suddenly stopped one morning at daylight: the gasoline was\nexhausted. We were thirty miles from home: and it was the rough bay, not\nthe river, that stretched between. There was only one thing to do; and\nin a few minutes we had anchored the _Dorothy_, and had started for\nGaboon in a canoe, our purpose being to get the gasoline we required and\nreturn immediately.\n\nThe canoe was large and there were plenty of paddles, so I took with me\nevery man on board except Toko, whom I left in charge of the _Dorothy_,\nto spend what I supposed would be the longest and most miserable day of\nhis life. For I knew that we would not be back before midnight; and\nalthough the bay was now like glass the sea-breeze would rise about ten\no\u2019clock and increase all day long. The _Dorothy_ was anchored in a very\nbad place and it was enough to make one sick in anticipation. But it was\nnecessary that some one should remain in charge, and I was so indignant\nat Toko for his neglect that I had no compunction of conscience, but\ninwardly gloated like a cannibal over a feast. We are all cannibals by\ninstinct when it comes to eating our enemies.\n\nThe sea-breeze later in the day became almost a gale, and was directly\nagainst us; the waves were soon crested with whitecaps and grew bigger\nand bigger. It took the combined strength of six men with paddles to\nmake any headway in the last several hours. I felt quite safe, for Ndong\nKoni whom we had picked up along the way was steersman. The skill of the\nnatives in canoeing\u2014their instinctive balancing, their knowledge of the\nwaves, and the proper way to receive each wave is marvellous; for of a\nhundred waves no two may be alike. The degree of tendency to careen at\nthe stroke of each wave, or (if the sea is abeam) as the peak of the\nwave passes under the canoe, must be met by a dexterous stroke of the\npaddle of the steersman, or the counterpoise of the body. It is very\nexhilarating. Mind and muscle must act instantly. No sooner is one wave\npassed than the mind, dismissing it, leaps to the next encounter. One\nfinds himself personifying the waves and regarding them as personal\nenemies whom he must fight or die. But our canoe was large, and strength\nas much as skill kept us from being swamped.\n\nWe reached Gaboon late in the afternoon and having procured gasoline and\nrigged our largest sailboat, the _Lafayette_, we immediately started\nback to the _Dorothy_. It was a wild night and very dark; but the wind\nwas favourable, and there was not on all the coast of West Africa a\nbetter sailing boat of its size than the _Lafayette_. Many a night I\nhave sailed in her on the open sea, to Corisco and Benito, sometimes\nwhen the night was pitch dark and the wind howling. Such a situation is\nfar from conducive to sleep. But I had great confidence in the\n_Lafayette_. She combined speed and daring with amiability and was a\nboat to admire and love.\n\nBut we are now on our way back to the _Dorothy_ and to the rescue of\npoor Toko. We reached the _Dorothy_ at midnight. Long before this I had\nrelented towards Toko. Indeed, soon after the sea-breeze arose in the\nmorning, and I knew the _Dorothy_ was rolling in the trough of the sea,\nI was disappointed to find that I was not really enjoying his\ndiscomfiture as much as I had anticipated. As the wind blew harder I\nexperienced an emotional reaction, and I felt more and more sorry for\nhim. When night came on the loneliness of his situation, far from land,\non a rough sea, added another appealing element, and it would have been\nthe easiest thing in the world to have obtained a promise from me to\nraise his wages if we should succeed in rescuing him from his miserable\nplight. Many hours before we reached him we saw the dim solitary light,\nindicating that the _Dorothy_ was at least afloat. Then we could see the\nlight swaying from side to side with the rolling and plunging of the\nvessel. On we sped, while the light seemed far away as ever; then, all\nat once, it flashed with sudden nearness, and in a few minutes we were\nat the gangway.\n\nI called to Toko as we approached, but received no answer. Even as we\ncame alongside there was no response to our united call. I sprang on\nboard and rushed into the cabin only to stumble over some unwonted\nobstacle that nearly pitched me on my head. The obstacle was the living\nbody of Toko, who to my question replied: \u201cMastah, I done pass fine day.\nI been sleep all time. All this day and all this night I no wake, only\nfor eat and for make them head-light.\u201d\n\nI muttered in reply: \u201cYou incorrigible rascal! You ought to have been\nsick. You know you ought.\u201d\n\nSeveral times I ascended the upper Gaboon, called the _Como_; further\nthan any launch had ever gone, to a town thirty miles above Angom, and\none hundred miles from the sea. The Como on its way to the sea cuts\nthrough the Sierra del Crystal Mountains. The course of the river\nthrough the mountains is tortuous and through deep gorges. The current\nis exceedingly swift; and the channel, which is deep but narrow, is\nfilled with projecting rocks and hidden snags. The water pours through\nthese gorges in a succession of rapids, or waltzes down in whirling\neddies, or, again, coils and twists like an angry serpent. In contrast\nto the repulsive and evil-smelling mangrove swamps of the lower river,\nthe scenery of the upper river is magnificent and exquisitely beautiful.\nThe hills part before us as if by magic; while with each short curve the\nscene is changed. The high banks, from the tops of the trees even to the\nwater, are draped with a veil of delicate vines, covered with flowers of\nwhite and lavender, and festooned upon the banks with long, drooping\nferns, all swinging in the wind. A picturesque native town, perched upon\na high summit, is named _Home of the Moon_.\n\nNavigation through this channel is difficult and dangerous. Ndong Koni\nhad charge of the wheel, and no white man could have surpassed him. A\nmomentary glance at the surface of the water was sufficient to tell him\nwhat was beneath. He knew exactly the allowance to make for the strength\nof a whirlpool, or the force of the current in a short curve. An error\nof judgment, or a moment\u2019s hesitation, in some places might have been\nour destruction.\n\nThe first time I ascended this dangerous part of the river I engaged a\npilot from one of the oldest towns; a man who had known the river all\nhis life, who had seen it frequently at the lowest, and was therefore\nfamiliar with the channel; for the native does not forget a channel, but\nhas a peculiarly tenacious memory for each snag and boulder that has\noccasionally been exposed to view. This pilot was picturesque, being\ndressed in a nondescript felt hat and scarcely anything else. We haggled\nfor some time over the price of his services, but at last he agreed to\ncome for a bar of soap and a dose of salts.\n\nAs we ascended the river Ndong Koni stood at the wheel, in the bow,\nwhile the pilot stood immediately behind him, indicating with\noutstretched arms the channel and the dangers on either side. I stood\nbending over the engine, with one hand on the lever and the other on the\nthrottle, in an attitude of strained attention. Several times we touched\nhidden snags that sent a shiver through the launch and strangely\naffected my own vertebr\u00e6; and once or twice we struck with such force as\nto disconnect the propeller. Suddenly the pilot began to \u201ctake on\u201d like\na maniac, yelling and calling to his ancestors, throwing his precious\nhat and pursuing it from one end of the cabin to the other, as if his\nmind had given way under the weight of responsibility. I left the engine\nlong enough to rush forward, seize him by the neck and throw him into a\ncorner. Then the truth dawned upon me: he had seen a fly and was trying\nto kill it. I have already said that this disposition towards the fly is\nan obsession with the native. In no other matter is he such a fool. But\nif he were engaged in a life-and-death combat with an enemy a sudden\nopportunity to kill a fly might prove his undoing.\n\nUpon our return we were sweeping down the river with the speed of a\nlocomotive when I chanced to look out and found that we were passing\nAtakama, where we were intending to call. I shouted to the mate to stand\nby, and added some ungentle words of remonstrance at his stupidity in\nnot observing that we had reached Atakama, where I had told him we were\ngoing to stop. I probably overdid the matter of remonstrance, for the\nmate got excited. He sprang to the anchor, and without a moment\u2019s\nhesitation threw it overboard, while we were still going at nearly full\nspeed with the swift current. The ensuing jar was such that it took me\nsome time to realize that we were still afloat, and I could never\nafterwards pass the place without emotion.\n\nFurther down the river we were enlivened by the presence of several\npassengers going to the coast to work, or perhaps to visit. Visiting is\na passion with the African. It is regulated by custom, which prescribes\na limit (though a very generous one) beyond which it is not lawful to\nextend a visit. More than once I have known of a long-suffering host\nspeeding the departing guest by an appeal to this law. Upon every\njourney with the _Dorothy_ we were besieged with applications for a\npassage. No tickets were issued, but the fare was always a chicken,\nregardless of distance or destination. Ndong Koni was purser and looked\nafter the chickens, collecting them before we started and feeding them\non the journey. The people would not sell chickens to me, but would give\nthem in pay for passage, since I would not accept anything else. I was\ntherefore glad enough to have a few passengers, as it meant that I ate\nchicken instead of sardines or Armour\u2019s sausage. Toko, who often\nofficiated as cook, was always glad when he could make the announcement:\n\u201cMr. Milligan, I go burn a chicken for your chop.\u201d When there were no\nchickens he had to \u201ckill a tin.\u201d\n\nThe basin of the Gaboon with its network of small rivers filled by the\ntide, as I have said, is a contrast to the scenery of the upper river.\nWhen the tide is high the foliage of the mangrove lies upon the water\nand the appearance is not displeasing except for its unapproachable\nmonotony. But when the tide is out these streams are empty or nearly so\nand the receding water leaves the mangroves standing up six or eight\nfeet out of the water on their mass of vertical roots as if on tiptoe.\nThe dripping roots are usually covered with small oysters. Below this\nlies the deep, black, slimy mud, sometimes only half seen through the\nbrooding vapour and stretches forth uncanny fingers and creeps from root\nto root. The ugliness of it is only equalled by the smell. There is\nnothing more hideous in the world, and I am sure that the Styx itself\nflows through a mangrove swamp. Sometimes the receding tide left us\nstranded in this black batter for several hours, and the night consigned\nus to mosquitoes. But as soon as the rising tide floated us we sped to\nthe bay, leaving mosquitoes and heat and f\u0153tid banks behind us, and\nblessing the _Dorothy_.\n\nOn several occasions I ventured out upon the open sea with the\n_Dorothy_. Twice I went to Benito, one hundred miles north of Gaboon. On\nthe first of these journeys my old captain, Makuba, was with me instead\nof Ndong Koni. But Makuba\u2019s home was at Benito, and he decided to remain\nthere. I hired an intelligent coast man in his place, one who had had\nyears of experience in sailing-craft and knew the intervening coast\nperfectly. The sea was so heavy that we kept as close to the shore as we\ndared, although it was fringed with rocks and reefs. The night we chose\nfor our return was exceedingly dark and the sea rough. The engine was in\nan obstinate mood and my entire attention was occupied with it.\n\nSuddenly I became conscious that the sea was abeam, instead of on our\nstarboard bow. Leaving the engine, I ran forward, and looked at the\ncompass. We were going directly towards the shore. I actually heard the\nsound of the breakers on the reef. My intelligent wheelman, in order to\nrender me the best possible service, had thought to stimulate his mind\nand muscle with a few swags from a bottle of rum, which he had\nthoughtfully brought with him. But, owing perhaps to the lurching of the\nvessel, he swallowed more than he intended, with the result that he was\nsoon comfortably sleeping while the _Dorothy_ sped towards destruction.\n\u201cBe ye angry, and sin not,\u201d is the twofold injunction of Scripture. I\nmay as well confess that I concentrated upon the first part of the\ninjunction and clean forgot the second part.\n\nThe wind blew harder, and we realized that we were out on a stormy sea\nwith a house-launch. On this occasion a friend, Mr. Northam, was with\nme. The rough sea made very hard work at the wheel, but the erstwhile\npilot lay on the floor in a somnolent drunk. Mr. Northam and I took the\nwheel alternately an hour at a time, all that night. For a while it was\nnot a matter of making progress but of weathering the gale. We were\nseventeen hours running fifty miles, from Hanje to Corisco, and when at\nlast, next morning, we reached shelter and dropped anchor, we all three,\nMr. Northam, myself and the _Dorothy_ were about done out.\n\nOn one occasion the _Dorothy_, in the interest of humanity, played the\npart of a man-of-war. We were out on the bay, at least a mile from the\nshore, when our attention was attracted by the strange man\u0153uvres of a\nlarge number of canoes all equipped with sails. They were far from us,\nand were between us and the shore. We soon saw that it was a case of\npiracy. In all, there were six canoes. Five of them were sailing in a\nwide circle around the other; but the circle became narrower, and still\nnarrower, as they closed in upon their victim like white-winged birds of\nprey. The poor canoe in the centre turned first one way, then another,\nonly each time to find its escape cut off by the revolving circle of\ncanoes. Ndong Koni understood every move they made and explained it to\nme. He begged me to interfere. I consented, and he sprang to the wheel\nwith a shout. It was necessary at first to conceal our intention lest\nthe canoes should escape to the shore. So he took a course towards a\npoint beyond them, going towards the shore, but at such an angle that\nthey supposed we were passing on. Then suddenly he turned towards them\nand at full speed bore down upon them.\n\nBy the time we had reached them they had closed in upon the central\ncanoe and had taken everything that was in it. There were thirty men\nagainst five. The five men in the single canoe had been to Gaboon with\ntheir garden produce, or perhaps a raft of mahogany logs, for which they\nhad bought several guns, one or two whole bolts of calico, a web of\nsail-cloth, and a heap of sundry cheap ornaments for their wives, which\nmight have been sold by the pound or bushel. The robbers took all these\ngoods and even took some of the paddles the men were using. I was now at\nthe wheel. I kept the _Dorothy_ under way and cut a circle around them,\nwhile I ordered them to return all the stolen goods. They resented it as\nmuch as if the goods were actually their own and I the plunderer. But\nwhile they hesitated I ran against their largest canoe, in which sat the\nchief, striking it at an angle, near the bow, so as not to break it, but\nto send a shiver through it that showed them how completely they were at\nmy mercy. They were willing to do anything in the world if I would only\nagree not to repeat that last man\u0153uvre. They restored all the stolen\ngoods; and since the single canoe was going my way, I took it in tow to\nthe delight of the occupants.\n\nOne day, calling at a town seventy miles from the coast, I found it\nalmost torn down and the people in great distress. They had decided,\nmonths before, to move the entire town to the coast, and therefore had\nnot planted their gardens that season. A month previous to my visit the\npeople of the town, with all their goods and chattels, including\nchickens, goats and sheep, and in some cases even the material of their\nhouses, had been loaded in a fleet of canoes of every size\u2014some so small\nthat a single man sitting in one of them found it necessary to straddle\nit and let his legs hang in the water, and some large enough for a chief\nand half a dozen wives and twice as many children, besides a few goats,\nand a few bunches of plantains and bananas. When they were ready to\nstart a messenger arrived telling them that the people of Alum, a large\ntown thirty miles down the river, were lying in wait for them, intending\nto kill some of them or take them prisoners. These two towns had been\nfriendly of late; but the people down the river, knowing that the\nup-river people with their families and possessions would be at an\nextreme disadvantage, knowing also that they could not long delay their\njourney because of their limited supply of food, bethought them of some\nold score resulting from a former war, and resolved to lie in wait and\ntake several prisoners in the hope of extorting a ransom. So they kept\nmen watching day and night on the river.\n\nThe unfortunate people of the upper town proved their resourcefulness by\nproposing to me that I should tow the whole town down the river behind\nthe _Dorothy_\u2014and do it at night. I, for some reason, was fascinated\nwith the idea, and it took only twelve chickens to persuade me.\n\nTaking the entire town in tow, I started down the river about nine\no\u2019clock at night. Shortly after midnight I realized that we were\napproaching the enemy because of the extraordinary silence of those in\nthe canoes, who hitherto had maintained a deafening noise, but now were\nhushed, having put out their torches, and were lying down flat in their\ncanoes for safety. The enemy was on the watch; many canoes were on the\nriver. It was pitch dark, not a single light or sign of life visible.\nThe _Dorothy_ as she suddenly burst upon their sight with all her\nlights, and going full speed, must have looked very formidable to people\nwho had never seen anything of the kind, for she had not before passed\nat night. They may have supposed that a whole battalion of spirits of\nall kinds and colours were coming against them. The effect was an\nimmediate panic. Calling loudly to each other and to their ancestors\nthey hastened to the bank. It was only after we had passed that they\ndiscovered the canoes in tow and suspected that their enemies had\noutwitted them.\n\nI visited the town soon afterwards for the purpose of laughing at them.\nAnd they laughed with me; laughed as only Africans can laugh.\n\nOne morning just at the break of day Toko burst into my bedroom all out\nof breath and cried: \u201cOh, Mr. Milligan, _Doroty_ done loss! _Doroty_\ndone loss! I look him: he live for beach. I fear he never be good no\nmore.\u201d\n\nBefore he had finished I had jumped out of bed, and in pajamas and bare\nfeet was running to the beach where I discovered the _Dorothy_ nearly a\nmile down the beach, stranded and lying on her side. It was the worst\npart of the whole beach, full of rocks, a place where no one would think\nof beaching even a small boat. It was a mystery how she ever got there\nwithout breaking to pieces. There had been a violent tornado during the\nnight and her cable had parted. Very fortunately she was first carried\nout to sea. A calm followed and the sea gradually became very quiet.\nWith the turning tide she drifted towards the shore. By the time she was\nnear the beach there was neither wind nor wave and she drifted with the\ncurrent which of course was strongest where it was deepest and unimpeded\nby rocks. So she wound in and out, where no human pilot could have\nglided her, until she stranded. Then the tide receded before the wind\nagain arose; else she would have pounded on the beach. When I found her\nshe was high and dry. I could not tell how much damage she had received\nand wondered whether she would ever float again. It was a day of\nsuspense as well as hard work.\n\nIt took until three o\u2019clock in the afternoon to get her straightened up\nand ready for the incoming tide to float her. I stayed there all day,\nhaving sent a boy to the house to fetch my breakfast and a pair of\ntrousers. When the tide was low we carefully marked the channel; and\nwhen she floated we towed her until we were past the last rock and then\nI sprang to the engine, started her up and she was soon going full\nspeed, nothing the worse for her visit ashore and evidently glad to get\nback to sea.\n\nIt was a trying day. I was standing in water most of the time. But the\nsuspense was the hardest of all. It is not easy to imagine all that the\nlaunch meant to me. Every part of my work depended upon it. I gathered\nthe schoolboys from many towns, some of them far away, and at the end of\nterm returned them to their homes. I visited regularly the various\ngroups of Christians scattered in widely separated towns, and by means\nof the launch was preaching in all the towns on the Gaboon and its\ntributaries. Its loss would have undone my work. And besides, there was\na sentimental attachment which I can hardly explain. In that prolonged\nexile, this commodious, and almost luxurious, launch represented\ncivilization\u2014fine buildings, libraries, music, hotels, porterhouse\nsteak, ice-cream and so forth, besides friends, home and all that. Well,\nwhen the suspense was completely relieved and the _Dorothy_ was going at\nfull speed back to her anchorage\u2014but no one could understand who has not\nbeen an exile from home and civilization.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CREW OF THE _DOROTHY_.\n\n  At the end of the line, on the left, is Toko; the tall man at the\n    other end is Ndutuma; the small boy is Nkogo.\n]\n\nAt last and before very long, I had the kind of crew I desired. Besides\nNdong Koni and Toko, there were three others in the crew of the\n_Dorothy_, Ndutuma, Ndong Bisia and a small boy, Nkogo.\n\nNkogo was one of the brightest of my schoolboys. He sang remarkably well\nand often led the singing in the school. His beautiful voice was a great\nhelp to me in holding services in the towns. He was the most energetic\nboy I have ever known in Africa. The rest of us grew tired once in a\nwhile, but Nkogo never. He was steward, and my personal attendant\nbesides. In the intervals of his own work he was always relieving\nsomebody else, Ndong Koni at the wheel, or Toko at the engine, or the\ncook in the galley.\n\nOften we had to anchor a mile, or even two miles, from a town, because\nof shallow water, and go the remaining distance in a canoe, perhaps\nagainst a strong current. Nkogo was always the first to volunteer for\nthis extra work, except when it was necessary several times in one day,\nand then it taxed the strength of the men. Nkogo was opposed to letting\nanother canoe pass us, even if they had twice our number of paddles. He\nthought it was not loyal to the white man. At such times he would still\nbe racing when all his companions had eased up, or until, as he used to\nsay, \u201cthe canoe began to get hot.\u201d Life always presented its humorous\nside to Nkogo. It was one of my few entertaining diversions to hear him\neach night recount, to those who had remained on board the _Dorothy_,\nthe incidents of our visits in the towns and all that we had seen and\nheard, while his audience laughed. I myself had usually seen the\nsickness, the suffering, the ignorance, the cruelty and all that saddens\nthe heart. But the real truth of African life required that my account\nshould be supplemented by Nkogo\u2019s observations.\n\nNdutuma was the willing horse that was often overworked. The heavy end\nalways came to him. It was he who cast the anchor and weighed it; which\nwas exceedingly hard work, until, when the _Dorothy_ had been in Africa\nmore than a year, we got a small anchor for the river and used the heavy\none only in the bay. He also had charge of the canoe which we towed. If,\nupon reaching a town at the ebb of the tide, an acre of black mud of any\nor every depth separated us from the town, it was always Ndutuma who\ncarried me on his shoulders. He was a large, homely, coarse-featured\nman, with a good eye and a gentle voice that was the perfect expression\nof his kindness and good-nature. And he was a direct product of\nmissionary effort. For he belonged to one of the most savage clans of\nthe Fang. His town was burned several times by the French, and some of\nthe people killed, because of their unprovoked attacks upon their\nneighbours. Ndutuma was one of Ndong Koni\u2019s converts and was a Christian\nbefore he ever saw a white missionary. He was at that time about twenty\nyears old.\n\nAbout two years after his conversion there occurred an event in his life\nwhich revealed the quality of his faith. Until that time he was the only\nChristian in his town and the way was hard for him; but shortly\nafterwards there were more Christians in that town than in any other.\nNdutuma\u2019s wife, preferring a more warlike husband, managed to get\nherself stolen by a man of another tribe. The chief of Ndutuma\u2019s town,\nwith some of his allies, made war on the offending tribe; but Ndutuma\nhimself did not join them in the war. The result was strange enough,\nfrom the American point of view\u2014a whole community enraged over an\nelopement and hotly pursuing the offenders, while the forsaken husband\nsat quietly at home singing hymns. In Africa the interest of each man\nbelongs to the whole community, including his interest in his wife.\n\nIt was not that Ndutuma was glad to be rid of her. For he certainly did\nwant a wife, and any other that he would get would probably be as bad.\nMoreover he paid a very large dowry for her and had no dowry with which\nto procure another. It was Christian principle alone that restrained\nhim. He said he would use all peaceable means to get her back, and even\nif such means failed he would not shed blood. The hard part of it for\nhim was the brand of cowardice and the bitter reviling from his people\nfor enduring such an insult, and for resigning the woman and the goods\nhe had paid for her. It required far more bravery for him to stay at\nhome than to join in the war. But he was firm; and in their hearts they\nknew he was no coward. They also learned the meaning of Christian faith.\nThey were still more willing to learn the lesson when several of their\nyoung men were killed in this very war, notwithstanding the fetishes\nwhich they wore for their protection.\n\nNdutuma never recovered his wife nor the dowry he had paid for her; so\nhe was left a poor man. But most unexpectedly a rich uncle died and left\nhim four wives. This was wealth indeed, and most young men in such luck\nwould have strutted intolerably before their fellows. But Ndutuma coolly\nannounced that he was not a heathen any more; that he would take one of\nthese women for his wife, whichever of them wanted him, and give the\nothers to his poor relations. He was not a noisy man, and that was\nremarkable in Africa; but he was a man without a price; who was ready at\nany time to act upon his faith without regard to consequences. He made\nenemies among those who were tenacious of heathen customs. Not long\nafter I left Africa he died. His death was wrapped in mystery; and in\nAfrica such mysteries are usually related to poison. I do not know that\nNdutuma was a martyr. But he was made of martyr stuff. And many a\nbloodthirsty man and adulterous woman he led into ways of peace and\npurity.\n\nNdong Bisia was one of the most interesting boys that I met in Africa.\nHe was not with me very long, but he was one of those occasional\nAfricans that appeal directly to the affectional side of one\u2019s nature. I\nhave said that the Mpongwe tribe have an instinct for good manners, and\nare the most courteous people in West Africa. But this Fang boy\nsurpassed them all. He first came to me as a schoolboy. When the school\nclosed at the end of the year I took the boys home with the _Dorothy_,\nand I was obliged to stay two days at Fula where Ndong and several of\nthe boys lived. I had asked the Fula boys to do my cooking on the\njourney. When we arrived at this town, early in the morning, the boys\nhastened ashore pell-mell to see their friends\u2014all but Ndong. He\nremembered that I would need breakfast and he stayed to prepare it.\n\nWhen he had set everything in order, he said: \u201cMr. Milligan, I am going\nto town to see my people but I shall come back and have your dinner\nready for you when you return from the town.\u201d\n\nHe did this for two days. Some few of the other boys would have done the\nsame thing if I had asked them, but Ndong did it without being asked:\nand it was always so. He was also my best assistant in medical work.\n\nAfterwards he worked on the launch and was with me all the time, often\nin trying circumstances, but he always presented the same contrast to\nthe ingratitude and selfishness of the heathenism around him.\n\nThe two boys, Ndong Bisia and Ndong Koni, are associated with an\nincident in which they displayed a heroism of devotion that may perhaps\nenable the reader to understand how it is that a white man can love the\npeople of the jungles.\n\nOne day we started on a journey with the _Dorothy_ and had gone\ntwenty-five miles, across the bay, when an accident occurred which\nstopped the engine. The remainder of that day, and a considerable part\nof the night and all the next day, I tried in vain to make the repair. I\nthen decided to leave the launch and go home in a canoe, returning\nimmediately with the _Lafayette_ and crew to tow the _Dorothy_ back to\nLibreville. An approaching fever also warned me not to work any longer\nat the engine. It chanced that I had only a very small canoe in tow. I\nwas therefore dependent upon being able to procure a larger one from\nsome native who might pass that way; and we were in an out-of-the-way\nplace.\n\nAt last a canoe came in sight, in which was one solitary woman. I called\nloudly to her across the water, but she was afraid and would not come\nnear. Among the heterogeneous and somewhat outlandish variety of goods\nwhich I always carried there happened to be a dress which had once\nbelonged to a white woman and which had been discarded years before,\nwhen the woman returned to America. It was a gorgeous purple affair,\nmuch the worse for wear. The native woman (to whom I offered it),\nyelling at the very top of her voice, answered: \u201cWhat do I want with a\ndress? I\u2019m all right as I am; I never had any such thing on in my life.\u201d\n\nI told her that this was a very fine dress which had once been worn by a\nwhite woman.\n\nShe hesitated, but again answered: \u201cIt would only cover my ornaments so\nthat people would not know that I have them; and besides it would not\nfit me.\u201d\n\nHer \u201cornaments\u201d were half a dozen large brass leg-rings which she wore\nbetween her ankles and her knees.\n\nBut necessity in this instance was not only loud, but eloquent. I\npleaded that she could rattle her ornaments as she walked\u2014which they\nknow well how to do\u2014and the people would think that she had ever so\nmany; and, besides, when they were covered she would not need to keep\nthem polished. As to its fitting, I yelled to her that I had scissors,\nneedle and thread, and that I would make it fit perfectly. Being at\nvarious times engineer, carpenter and blacksmith, it was easy enough to\nbe a dressmaker.\n\nThere was some persuasion in my arguments, for again she hesitated. But,\nafter further reflection, she moved on, replying: \u201cI\u2019m all right as I\nam;\u201d in which mind I presume she continues to this day.\n\nTwo hours after nightfall another canoe approached, in which were\nseveral men whom on a former occasion I had towed across the bay, and\nthey were now eager to do anything possible to help me. I borrowed their\ncanoe and engaged one of their men. The canoe was a lamentable and\nancient affair. One side was badly split, and in the other side there\nwas a part so rotten that I thought I could have thrust my foot through\nit. The sail was a mosaic of old shirts and other cast-off garments. The\nsheet was a bit of rotten rope pieced out with vine. After a thorough\ninspection I was unable to pronounce the craft seaworthy, but I decided\nto risk it; and, in case of emergency, I provided myself with a saucepan\nand a ball of twine: the former to bail out water, and the latter for a\nvariety of uses.\n\nNdong Koni and Ndong Bisia, besides the stranger, returned with me. Both\nboys made humorous comments upon the canoe and begged me not to attempt\nto cross the bay in it. But I did not see that I had any alternative. So\nwe set out upon the deep with no other material resources than a\nsaucepan and a ball of twine. At first we were in quiet water; but after\na few minutes, having turned a point of land, we were suddenly out on\nthe bay. As we got further out the wind increased and blew hard, and the\nsea, though not really bad, was far too rough for such a canoe. Nothing\nbut sheer exhaustion saved me from a state of fright. But, what was more\nsignificant, the two Ndongs were also alarmed for our safety.\n\nI was in the bottom of the canoe, reclining against a thwart, on the\nverge of sleep, but conscious of all that was going on. With the\nincreasing wind and the straining of the whole canoe I felt that\nsomething must soon happen by way of climax. The only question was\nwhether the collapse, when it came, would be particular or general.\nSuddenly a gust of wind was followed by a crash. The boom was gone, the\nsheet broken, the sail torn. A passing wave drenched us and almost\nswamped the canoe. Then I plied the saucepan diligently, while Ndong\nKoni dexterously managed the canoe\u2014for we were in the trough of the\nsea\u2014and Ndong Bisia and the other man, using the ball of twine, made a\nnew sheet and tied the torn sail. Before long we were again speeding\nahead, though not so fast, for we had no boom. We had other startling\nexperiences during the night; but at length we reached the land shortly\nbefore daylight.\n\nI have told more than enough for my purpose and have admitted irrelevant\ndetails. We were in extreme danger that night, and more than once we\ndoubted whether we would reach land. But through all the long night,\nwith its mischances and dangers, nothing else so impressed me even at\nthe time, and nothing else still remains with me so vividly, as the\ndevotion of those two boys, Ndong Koni and Ndong Bisia; their anxiety\nfor my safety and their utter disregard of their own danger. And if\noccasion had come, I know that they would have sacrificed their lives to\nsave mine. Such boys are worth labouring for and worth living for.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  THE PRIMARY CLASS IN MELVIN FRASER\u2019S BULU SCHOOL.\n]\n\n\n\n\n                                   XI\n                               SCHOOLBOYS\n\n\nUpon my first arrival in Africa\u2014at Batanga\u2014Dr. Good, Mr. Kerr and myself\nimmediately prepared for an overland journey to the Bulu interior.\n\nEarly one morning, the caravan being ready and in form, we were about to\nmove, when, at the last moment, a small boy, frightfully dirty, came\nbounding out of the dark forest, all out of breath as if chased by\ncannibals, and throwing himself at my feet, entreated me to take him to\nthe interior as my personal attendant. Every white man is supposed to\nhave a \u201cboy.\u201d I had expected to engage a Bulu boy upon reaching the\ninterior. But the African has a remarkable talent for importunity. This\nboy said his name was _Lolo_, and I half relented at the sound of it.\nLolo might have been ten or eleven years old; although, as Dr. Good\nremarked at the time, it was not easy to understand how he could get so\nmuch dirt on him in only ten years.\n\n\u201cGo and wash yourself in the Atlantic Ocean,\u201d I said; \u201cand when I see\nwhat colour you are I shall consider the matter of engaging you.\u201d\n\nAs a matter of feet, the African is surprisingly clean\u2014for a savage; and\nthis boy had probably accumulated most of his dirt in his desperate\nplunge through the jungle-paths that he might reach Batanga before the\ncaravan should set out. He proved to be a very handsome boy, of delicate\nfeatures and intelligent expression, and with irresistibly beautiful\neyes. He was lighter in colour than the average. And I take this\nopportunity of saying that there are as many shades of complexion among\nAfricans as among other people. There are differences between tribes and\nbetween individuals of the same tribe. As one goes towards the interior\nthe tribal colour is decidedly lighter. The Mpongwe people are\nblack\u2014sometimes almost coal-black\u2014beside the light-brown Fang. There are\nindividual Fang who are yellow. Ndong Koni is as fair as an average\nmulatto. And when the skin is smooth and soft this colour is the\nfavourite complexion. But the albino (and they are not uncommon) is an\nabhorrence.\n\nLolo\u2019s eyes danced with joy when I engaged him. African eyes as compared\nwith others, besides being remarkable organs of sight, serve a great\nvariety of secondary uses. They can laugh, or sing, or plead, or weep;\nthey can love, or they can break all the commandments. But the most\nbeautiful and expressive eyes in Africa are those of the boys. Lolo at\nonce regarded this new relationship as a kind of fatherhood on my part;\nand he amply repaid me, not only in faithful service, but also in\npersonal devotion which was quite pathetic, and which in the course of\nevents was put to an extreme test. He was both brave and affectionate\u2014a\ntypical African boy.\n\nOn my part, it was my knowledge of Lolo that first inspired me with a\nstrong desire for a school, and enabled me to realize what a moral\nfactor a school of such boys might become in transforming the life of\nthe people. The African baby is a beautiful, solemn-eyed little\ncreature, who looks out at the world as if he were undecided whether to\nstay. About half of them decide not to stay. The African baby is cunning\nand bright, but it seldom cries, and it is not given to play nearly as\nmuch as the white child. As the child grows older he cheers up. It has\nbeen said that only when he reaches years of indiscretion does the\nAfrican become joyful. From that time on he is joyful to the end. But\nthe African boy, before he becomes stupidly happy, bears the strongest\nstamp of humanity and is more interesting than at any other stage in his\ncareer.\n\nOn the first long march into the forest, Lolo easily kept up with the\ncaravan and when we arrived in camp busied himself in waiting upon \u201chis\nwhite man\u201d\u2014opening my box of clothing and getting everything that I\nwanted, taking off my shoes, bringing water, making my bed, helping the\ncook, waiting at supper and a score of other duties. On the first day of\nthis journey we passed through Lolo\u2019s town, about two or three hours\nfrom the coast. The chief was Lolo\u2019s own father and there was some\nlikelihood of trouble; for the boy had slipped away without his father\u2019s\nknowledge. Lolo hid in the bush while I sat down in the palaver-house\nand called for the chief, thinking it best to tell him that I had\nemployed his boy and in some way to win his consent. He kept me waiting\nan unusually long time. But when he appeared no explanation was\nnecessary; it was evident that he had been making his toilet. He was\ndressed in a pink calico Mother Hubbard, which came about to his knees\nand was longer in front than behind. I thought he had it on wrong side\nto the front, but I was not sure. It was the more incongruous because he\nwas very tall and strongly built. He was so preoccupied with this new\nrobe of state that it was the easiest thing in the world for him to part\nwith a son; and there was no need of a present, nor even of diplomacy.\nDuring my first term in Africa, a year and a half, Lolo was with me all\nthe time.\n\nHe had been with me a whole month, and I had about concluded that I had\nensnared an angel, when one day I discovered in him a large inheritance\nof latent savagery. There was another boy at Efulen about the same age\nas Lolo. They used the same bucket to fetch water. A dispute arose as to\nwho should have the bucket first. The dispute developed by rapid stages\ninto a quarrel, and then a fight. An extreme unwillingness to part with\nthe bucket was followed by excessive willingness; and when I came in\nsight, they were passing it back and forth to each other with deplorable\nvivacity, which threatened to put the bucket out of service for all\ntime. But their savage yells and distortions of countenance were so\namazing and impressive that the flying bucket was reduced to an\ninsignificant detail. As I approached they closed in upon each other,\nthen fell to the ground each with his arms tight around the other\u2019s neck\nand intent upon nothing short of murder. Having rolled over several\ntimes, they came to the edge of a very steep hill that had been cleared\nfor a road. Down this hill they rolled together at such a rate that they\ncontinued to cling to each other for safety and because there was\nnothing else to cling to. They received so many jolts and bruises on the\nway that about the time they reached the bottom, or soon after, a bond\nof sympathy united them and they were friends.\n\nShortly afterwards I fell sick with a fever and lay in bed several\nweeks, first in a tent and then in a native hut. It was through those\nlong, weary weeks that I fully tested the patience and the devotion of\nLolo, and the little servant of the jungles became a friend whom I shall\nnever forget. As I grew worse the people when approaching had to be\nwarned not to make a noise, and warned again after their arrival, and\nwarned once a minute while they remained. When Lolo was not doing this\nor engaged in some other urgent service he was sitting beside my bed,\nsometimes keeping cold water on my head, or fanning me, and if no\nimmediate service was necessary he still sat there so as to be on hand\nwhen I required him. There was nothing to look at but bark walls and an\nearthen floor and he could not even see those very well, for empty\nsalt-bags had been hung over the windows to darken the room. I marvelled\nat his devotion, which I had done nothing in the world to earn, except\nthat I was fond of him. It was no sense of duty that impelled him, nor\nany moral obligation\u2014the African is not strong on morals\u2014but it was\npurely a service of love, and it would have done credit to any white\nfriend. Often when he thought I was asleep I felt his hand laid on my\nforehead to see if the fever was high. Often, indeed, the little African\nboy in the service of the white man regards him with an abandoned\ndevotion peculiar to his race, and with a love which his own father has\nnever awakened, although there is bound up with it all the moral\npossibilities of the boy.\n\nAfter leaving Kamerun I still kept track of Lolo. Others followed me who\nwere at least as good to him as I was; and it is a great satisfaction to\nknow that he did not grow up into a savage. And yet of such stuff are\nsavages made. Hamlet, in the churchyard, reflecting sadly upon the base\nuses to which our bodies may return, observes that imagination may trace\nthe noble dust of Alexander till one finds it stopping a bung-hole; and\nthat \u201cImperius C\u00e6sar, dead and turned to clay, May stop a hole to keep\nthe wind away.\u201d It is a matter for at least as grave reflection that out\nof the same living boy may be made the bloodthirsty savage, or the kind\nof man which is called \u201cthe noblest work of God.\u201d Which of the two a boy\nis destined to become depends somewhat on whether his name happens to be\n_Lolo_, or _John_.\n\nIt was years after that I opened, at Baraka, in the French Congo, a\nboarding-school for Fang boys. At the beginning of the term I gathered\nthe boys and brought them to Baraka with the _Dorothy_. The mountain\ndoes not come to Mahomet, so Mahomet goes and fetches it. As they were\nscattered over the entire area of the great Fang field, the opening of\nthe school was a formidable labour of two weeks; and it was also the\nmost exhausting and trying experience of the whole year. For these two\nweeks were spent not in actual travel, but nearly all of it in the towns\nin red-hot contentions with the parents of the boys, who at the first\nwere always unwilling to let them come to the school. In the more remote\ntowns many of them suspected that I wanted to sell the boys into\nslavery, or even to kill them for some unknown purpose. There were days,\nbefore the school was well known, when I was utterly disheartened by\ntheir continual refusal, in town after town, to let me have their boys,\nthough there were many bright lads in most of the towns.\n\nThe boys themselves would have come; the trouble was with their parents.\nSometimes I was constrained to say that the parental institution was an\nintolerable nuisance; or, at least, that the African child might well\nenvy the blessed Melchizedek who was without father or mother. But\norphans are not to be found. Each child has a score of parents; for a\nchild\u2019s parents include all his uncles and aunts even several degrees\nremoved. The child of course knows his own parents and makes a\ndifference between them and the rest; but he addresses them all as\n\u201cFather\u201d or \u201cMother,\u201d and they divide parental authority among them, all\ntaking a hand in the child\u2019s bringing-up: and it must be admitted that\nno better way could be devised for bringing up a first-class savage.\n\nI usually held a service in the town. Then I asked the people for boys\nfor my school, explaining the purpose of the school. The first reply was\nalways a loud general consent\u2014which did not deceive me; for I knew that\nit was only general and did not apply to any particular boy. As soon as\na boy jumps up and says, \u201cI want to go,\u201d immediately several fathers and\na score of mothers order him to sit down; another boy expresses his\ndesire to come, and another score of parents protest. Then the war is\non; and during its progress I usually receive a goodly share of cursing\nand abuse. With some I argue, with some I plead; sometimes I flatter,\nsometimes I scold\u2014anything to get the boy. Besides diplomacy, a present\nof a piece of laundry soap was a necessity. I carried the yellowest kind\nof it, in long bars which I cut off by the inch.\n\nI would not take any boy, whom I had not had before, without his\nparents\u2019 consent. And if I failed to obtain their consent, however\nunreasonable they might be, I declined to take the boy, though I often\nleft him crying on the bank, or sometimes fighting a whole mob of his\nnumerous relations single-handed. But if the boy had been in my school\nbefore and I had expended months of labour upon him the question was\nquite different. I then felt that I had a claim upon him, and I would\ntake him if I possibly could, even in spite of his parents.\n\nIn one town I met a fine boy, Ndong Nzenye, a tiny and handsome child,\nwho had already been in my school. Of course he wished to return, and I\nwas delighted that there seemed to be no parental objections. But at the\nlast moment the inevitable mother appeared, and on general principles\nvetoed his coming. When she saw that she was unable to prevail she flew\nat him to give him a parting blow. He ran the length of the street\u2014the\nwoman following at his heels\u2014and back again, and towards me for\nprotection. I also ran towards him; but she was gaining on him, and just\nbefore we met she struck him, on the back, a blow with her fist that\nhurt him badly, and with a cry he fell into my arms. She said: \u201cNow you\ncan go with your white father;\u201d and she went into the house looking as\nif she thought she had done a good deed.\n\nHe was leaving home for six months and that was his farewell. One\nnaturally wonders whether there are any moral possibilities for a boy\nwho comes of such stock and from such a home. Yet that boy, as I knew\nhim for two years, in the school and out of it, was gentle, obedient and\nlovable; though if he had remained in that town he would have grown up a\nsavage like his people.\n\nAlthough such mothers are not uncommon, yet as a rule when it was\nsettled that the boy was coming to school his mother would prepare him\nsome little delicacy to eat on the way; and occasionally, though seldom,\nI have been touched by evidences of real tenderness. In a certain\nfar-away bush-town, more than one hundred miles in the interior, I\napproached an old woman to plead her consent for her boy who was eager\nto come with me. The Fang word for _no_ is _koko_ (kaw-kaw). As soon as\nI had spoken she began shaking her head, in regular time with her words,\nand repeating in a continuous monotone: \u201cKo-ko-ko-ko-ko-ko-ko-ko,\u201d on\nand on, like an agitated crow, all the time I was talking, and seeming\nnot to stop for breath. I talked loud however, and she heard. I told her\nhow much the other boys who belong to that town would in future surpass\nher boy, until at length I saw that her judgment was convinced and was\ngaining a slow victory over her feelings. She was still shaking her\nhead, and she continued the ceaseless \u201cKo-ko-ko-ko\u201d; but big tears were\nrolling down her cheeks, for she knew that she was going to yield. She\nwas gradually lowering her voice, while I went on to say that I would\ntake good care of her boy and that I could teach him many things that\nshe did not know. By this time, though she was still shaking her head\nvery slowly, her voice had died out. I gave the woman a big piece of\nlaundry soap\u2014four inches perhaps.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  EKANG.\n\n  A little scholar.\n]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  DISPENSARY\u2014THE DAILY CLINIC.\n\n  At the extreme end, on the spectator\u2019s left, Mendam (see pp. 191, 198)\n    is the boy who is kneeling, and has his hands on another boy\u2019s\n    shoulders.\n]\n\nIn one town a father whose boy had been in my school refused to let him\ncome the second time, giving as his reason that I was teaching him not\nto kill people, while he wished him to kill. The father had heard him,\nafter he had been in my school, teaching the people of the town a new\ncommandment: \u201cThou shalt not kill.\u201d I tried my best to get the boy back\nagain in the school in spite of his father; but I did not succeed. I\nwonder how many he has killed by this time!\n\nIn a certain town at the head of one of the smaller rivers of the lower\nGaboon there was one of my boys, named Ekang, a little fellow whom I\nregarded as the brightest boy in school; at least he led them all in\nFrench. I reached the town about ten o\u2019clock at night. The people were\nall asleep; but Ekang soon heard my voice in the street and came\nquickly. He approached making amusing and mysterious signs to me,\nenjoining silence, which he explained when he came up by whispering:\n\u201cShe\u2019s asleep.\u201d\n\nThere was no need to explain who \u201cshe\u201d was. But even while he was\nspeaking \u201cshe\u201d had awakened and was charging furiously down the street.\nThe boy proposed that I should take his hand and run; but the suggestion\ndid not appeal to me; so I turned and faced the foe. Ekang got behind\nme, and for further safety put his arms around my waist. She made a dash\nat him, but he circled around to the other side. Then began a gymnastic\nperformance of which I was literally the centre, the two revolving about\nme, first one way, then the other, the boy\u2019s arms still around my waist,\nand both of them keeping up a lively and impressive conversation, which,\nwith the African, is inseparable from action. If I have the slightest\ndegree of that personal dignity that would seem to be the right of a man\nwho believes the first chapter of Genesis, neither mother nor son\nrecognized it. Failing to lay hold of him in this manner she then tried\nto catch his hands at my waist; but here I asserted my rights and kept\nher at full arms\u2019 length. When I told her that I really could not have\nher so near to me, she replied: \u201cI\u2019m not after you [which greatly\nrelieved me]: I\u2019m after my boy; for I\u2019m his mother.\u201d\n\nI said that it was impossible that she could be his mother; that mothers\nlove their children, and that she talked as if she wanted to kill this\nchild; and seeing that he was one of my favourite boys I must take him\naway from her cruelty. A long and trying altercation followed, despite\nthe late hour, and a hard day\u2019s work. At last she was so far reduced, or\nso sleepy that it was only a matter of judging how much soap it would\ntake to complete the victory. It took nearly half a bar; but it sealed a\nstrong friendship.\n\nI could almost write a poem on laundry soap. I had never before imagined\nthe intimate relation of soap and sentiment. Even in our own land it\nranks about next to godliness: but in Africa godliness usually takes a\nsecond place to laundry soap. My own method was to try godliness first\nand then to follow up the effect with laundry soap.\n\nOne mother, who was not in town when her husband let me have their boy,\nhaving heard upon her return that the boy had gone, immediately followed\nus in a canoe, and overtook us at the next town. She came close to the\nlaunch and, shrieking like a maniac, took a rank poison which she had\nprovided for the purpose, and holding it up in her hand declared that if\nI would not deliver the boy to her instantly she should swallow the\npoison. I parleyed with her a while until I felt that she probably meant\nwhat she said. After death, she assured me, she would haunt me and cause\nme all kinds of trouble as long as I lived. My wives would fall in love\nwith other men and would run away; as fast as I could marry others they\nalso would leave me. This was an appalling prospect for a single man; so\nI gave her the boy.\n\nTowards the close of a tour of this kind the nights were uncomfortable\nbecause of the many that had to be accommodated in the launch. I have\nnever laid claim to genius except on the ground that I could put more\nboys into one bed than any man of my generation. The launch was supposed\nto provide sleeping room for six persons. But more than once I made it\naccommodate as many as thirty, ten of them being adults. The retiring of\nsuch a company at bedtime was a strategic performance that required\nstrict and skilful oversight and called for some very precise man\u0153uvres.\n\nIt was much more difficult to get boys from the towns of the upper\nriver. The people were more ignorant and savage. One day on one of these\ntrips, after several successive failures, I called at a certain town,\n_Ikala_, where I held a service and asked for boys and after much\ntalking procured one boy. Then I went further up the river to a town\nnamed _Mfu_, where I anchored for the night. It was the hot season of\nthe year. I had left Angom at daylight that morning, had done some hard\nwork on the engine, had called at several towns and had held a service\nin each, preaching in undershirt, overalls and grease. Besides there was\nthe responsible work of navigating in these rapid waters of the upper\nriver\u2014in short I was dead tired. After a hasty supper, I went ashore and\nheld a long service at Mfu. The attendance was very large and was\nfollowed by endless conversation; for a white face was a rare sight and\nthe message of the Gospel quite strange. When I asked for boys one boy\nsaid he wanted to come; but he had overlooked the consideration of his\nmother\u2019s consent. A little later she burst upon the scene in a tropical\nrage. She was fairly crazed with anger. I tried to persuade her that I\nhad no intention of eating her boy, nor of turning him into a monkey or\na hobgoblin. On the matter of the monkey she was not easily convinced,\nfor she had heard of white men doing such things and selling the monkeys\non passing steamers. \u201cMoreover (observing my eye-glasses), what was that\nthing that I wore on my eyes,\u201d she would like to know, \u201cbut the very\ndiabolical fetish by which I changed people into monkeys? and I had best\ntake care how I looked at her through that fetish, for she was not a\nperson to be trifled with, but very dangerous when roused, though\nnaturally good.\u201d\n\nShe was so ugly with anger, and so ferocious that if my glasses had\nreally been endowed with power to change her into an average monkey I\nmight have been tempted to use them for the improvement of her looks and\nher manners. There was no use in talking that night; she scarcely heard\nme; and about ten o\u2019clock I returned to the launch, without the boy, and\ndreadfully tired.\n\nIn the interval of my absence, the man of Ikala who had given me his\nboy, repenting of his goodness (the only thing the savage ever repents\nof), had followed me up the river with several friends, all armed, and\nhad stolen the boy from the launch. Nor did he even have the good\nmanners to leave the two inches of soap that I had given him.\n\nNext morning before breakfast I again landed, hoping by more substantial\neloquence to persuade the woman of Mfu. For the boy, whose name was\n_Mfega_, was a very manly little fellow and wanted to come as much as I\nwanted to have him. I took with me a pair of bright, brass arm-rings\nthat had cost seven cents\u2014the largest present I ever made for the\npurpose. I turned them about in the sunlight as I passed her house, and\nindifferently rattled them. After a while I went straight to her house\nand offered her the rings for the boy. Notwithstanding Paul\u2019s contempt,\nI found the eloquence of sounding brass more persuasive than the tongue\nof an angel, which I had before assumed. She surrendered him to me, not\neven prescribing how he should be cooked. Mfega returned to his town\nafter several months and he taught these same people to sing our hymns\nand told them many things he had learned about the true God; and my\nreception ever after that was friendly and cordial.\n\nI then crossed the river to another town, called _Fula_, where the\ngovernment had lately established a post, which was in charge of two\nblack soldiers of Senegal, imported by the French. I visited in Fula a\nwhile and then set out to a bush-town, or group of towns, called _Nkol\nAmvam_, more than two hours from the river. I have said elsewhere that\nthere is no such thing as a _mile_ in Africa, and that periods of time\nare used as terms of linear distance. The road was at the very worst,\nmuch of the way knee-deep in mud, for it was the wet season. The boys\ncalled it _ebol nzen_\u2014_a rotten road_. The part of one that was above\nground was kept moist by the dripping undergrowth that met across the\npath, which was also full of thorns and briers. Seldom had I travelled\non any such road, and not at all since the days, long past, when I had\nwalked with Dr. Good in the Bulu interior. I had now been in Africa a\nlong time, and this road was almost too much for me.\n\nI had with me for guide one of my schoolboys, Mendam, who lived in a\ntown a little further down the river. Mendam was one of the characters\nof the school, independent and original, a chucklesome boy with the best\nlaugh in the school. Mendam thought that the walk over such a road was\ntoo much for \u201chis white man\u201d in his present state of health, and I was\ntouched by the feeling of regard and sympathy that he showed. We came to\na running stream almost to our knees, clear and cool, so grateful and\nrefreshing that I halted and stood in the middle of it for some time,\nquite tired. Immediately Mendam was on his knees washing the mud off my\nfeet and trousers.\n\nThough I had never before been in Nkol Amvam I had had five of their\nboys in my school the preceding year. The chief had brought them out to\nthe river. I was therefore not entirely a stranger, and as usual the\nexceedingly kind reception which I received from all the people was in\nstriking contrast to that of those towns from which I had never had boys\nin the school; and the boys themselves fairly shouted for joy. This time\nthey wanted me to take all the boys in the town. I held a service and\nthen started back to the river taking nine boys from Nkol Amvam.\n\nI reached Fula at noon, just in time to prevent a quarrel between my\ncrew and the two soldiers who were in charge of the government post.\nThese natives of Senegal, although they know French, and many of them\nhave some education, are still savages; and it is a pity that they\nshould ever be armed and left among a people who are foreign to them\nwithout the supervening authority of a white man. They are cruel and\nbestial. These two men were a terror to all the husbands in the\nsurrounding towns. This day they had come into the town, and seeing two\nof my men, Ndong Koni and Toko, who were chatting freely with the people\nand naturally attracting a good deal of attention, they thought they\nwould let the townspeople see that they were the superiors of these\ncoastmen. To their insolence my men responded with contempt, and the\nquarrel had gone about as far as mere words could go when I arrived. I\nsoon settled that palaver and we hurried on board, and started down the\nriver.\n\nWe had great difficulty in turning the launch. The current was\nexceedingly swift, a roaring torrent, and the channel narrow and\ndangerous. As we began to turn, the bow necessarily came close to the\nbank into slack water, while the stern was in the strong middle-current.\nAnd before we could get sufficient way on her the stern would be carried\ndown leaving her bow still up-stream and headed for the bank. Twice we\nhad to drop the anchor. Then we threw out a line from the stern and\npassed it around a tree, and weighing the anchor let the bow turn with\nthe current. We were soon rushing down the river through rapids and\nwhirlpools, and swirling currents. We called at one or two towns on the\nway, and reached Angom about three o\u2019clock, where I had work for the\nrest of the day. It was a great relief to get back into the well-known\nchannel of the broad deep river that \u201cflows unvexed to the sea.\u201d\n\nOn the way up the river the preceding day, we had stopped at a town\nwhere one of my former schoolboys, Ngema, whose father refused to let\nhim come again, said that he would like to go up the river with me to\nthe towns beyond, expecting to stop on the way back. I told him that I\ncould not stop at his town coming down; so he took a small canoe in tow.\nNext day, when we made our last stop before passing his town, he got\ninto the canoe and was towed behind us; but when he was near home he\nsuddenly scrambled upon the launch and as we passed by he cut the\ntow-line and called out to the people to send some one after the canoe,\nthat he was going back to school with me. I of course consented to his\ncoming, for he had already been in my school two terms and I had a claim\non him. I was delighted with the plan and greatly enjoyed carrying him\nswiftly past his town while a concourse of his scandalized parents stood\non the bank executing fantastic gestures of remonstrance; for, standing\nbeside the engine, I could not hear their words. I waved back at them\npleasantly as we swept around a curve out of their sight.\n\nLater in the day, when we were at Angom, Ngema came to me with a\npeculiar expression that combined amusement and annoyance, with his head\ninclined to one side as if he were too weak to hold it up, being quite\novercome by some piece of intelligence. He said, \u201cMr. Milligan, father\nhas come.\u201d At the same time a loud noise, increasing as it approached,\nconfirmed the news. But I was not alarmed, as I had the man at a\ndisadvantage, away from his own town. Supposing that we might stop at\nAngom, he had followed us in a canoe. The boy kept close to me, while I\nwent on with my work, not paying much attention to the father\u2019s loud\nremonstrance, but occasionally jesting with him on the score of the\nboy\u2019s success in getting away from his town. The African likes to be\nteased; it is the consummate expression of brotherly love. In the\nevening when I was about to start for the coast I went to him and said:\n\u201cNow don\u2019t you think you have cursed me enough for this trip? Can\u2019t we\nbe friends before I go?\u201d\n\nLooking somewhat abashed, but no longer unfriendly, he replied quietly:\n\u201cA bar of soap would settle the palaver.\u201d\n\nThe African savage is more than \u201chalf child.\u201d I was sure that when I\nwould take these boys back to their towns, no matter what might have\nbeen the circumstances under which I obtained them, their parents would\nbe the best friends I had in the town.\n\nThat evening I started down the river with the _Evangeline_ in tow,\nwhich had been at Angom while we were up the river. I made two short\nstops to take on more boys. An entertaining episode occurred at one of\nthese places. Eight boys, seeing the _Dorothy_ coming down the river,\ncame out in a large canoe, some of them expecting to go with me to\nBaraka. They had not the least idea of the speed or the momentum of the\n_Dorothy_, and they ran straight across her bow. It was an exciting\nmoment when the river suddenly closed over a canoe and eight boys and a\nterrific yell. I scarcely knew which of the submerged elements formed\nthe largest bubbles on the surface. But they all came up\u2014boys, canoe,\nand yell\u2014and we secured them.\n\nI had in all fifty-one persons on board the _Dorothy_ and the\n_Evangeline_. I ran all that night and reached Baraka in the early\nmorning. But I must tell the story of that night; for we encountered a\ntornado on the way.\n\nI usually left Gaboon in the morning so as to have the first thirty\nmiles of the journey past and get into the river before the sea breeze\nbecame strong. In returning it was not so easy to choose the time for\nthis part of the journey; and I sometimes encountered a rough sea. On\nthis occasion I had intended to anchor over night at a point sixty miles\nfrom Gaboon and finish the journey in the early hours of the next day.\nBut I felt the strain of responsibility for this big human cargo and I\nwas anxious to reach home. Sleep would be impossible for me in the\ncrowded launch. When I considered also that the sea is usually more\nquiet at night, I decided to go on the remaining sixty miles to Gaboon.\nThe moon and the stars were shining brightly above us, and almost as\nbrightly in the depths of the swift, silent river. When we reached the\nsea it was as smooth as satin, and it continued so for a few hours. The\nair was so still that at length the stillness became ominous, and I\nbegan to fear that it was the calm that precedes a storm.\n\nA black cloud loomed up from the horizon which we recognized as the\nsignal of the tornado. As usual there seemed to be two skies, the one\nrevolving within the other, in opposite directions. But the black cloud\nhurried towards the zenith, spreading abroad, until in the course of a\nfew minutes it covered the entire sky, blotting out every star. We\nhastily closed all the windows and shutters and carried down some of the\nstuff from the top of the launch; but there was not time to save all.\nThe darkness above and around us seemed palpable like smoke, and beneath\nus the sea was like ink. There was not a light on sea or land to guide\nus and of course we could not see the shore-line, which we had always\nfollowed instead of steering by the compass. We could only take the\nsoundings and keep out in deep water. I do not want to frighten my\nreaders as I was frightened that night; so I hasten to say that nothing\ncame of it except the fright. But, having the sole responsibility for\nthe lives of those fifty persons, the strain was great and I could have\ntaken Jonah\u2019s place and have been flung overboard for the safety of the\nrest. We moderns are more practical, however, and I took the soundings,\nmyself heaving the lead. In such a moment I could not trust a native to\ndo it\u2014except Ndong Koni, and he was at the wheel. For the native is\naccustomed to the canoe, and in a storm his instinct would be to go to\nthe shore. In a moment of peril he would be not unlikely to follow his\nown instinct instead of my orders.\n\nSuddenly the wind came; the tempest was unchained. We first heard its\nroar in the distance; and in a moment the tornado was on. I fairly lost\nmy breath at the first swoop of it. The launch quivered and trembled\nlike a frightened horse. Once or twice she swayed so far over that the\nsmall boys screamed, and then realizing that this was a life-and-death\nstruggle, and that it depended entirely upon her, she braced herself for\nthe battle. The poor _Dorothy_! Like some of her fellow missionaries she\nwas overworked. Intended only for inland waters, she was not only\ngreatly overloaded, but also required to fight her way through a\ntropical tornado on a wide sea. We gave her half speed and steered right\ninto the storm. The first blast carried away all that was on top of the\nlaunch. The wind raged fiercer and louder; but the _Dorothy_ somehow\nheld right on. Fortunately she had to contend only with the wind; and\nnot with wind and wave, for the sea was not yet rough. At last the\nwelcome rain came, falling as it falls only in the tropics. Soon\nafterwards the wind died down, but the rain continued to fall for hours,\nand it seemed ice-cold.\n\nThrough all that storm, when the _Dorothy_ was toiling in the sea, and\nafterwards through the rain, for more than two hours, I stood outside on\nthe small forward deck throwing the heavy lead without stopping, and\ndirecting the man at the wheel. As we anchored the day was breaking,\nwhich made twenty-four hours of continuous work. But all the following\nday, whether at work or rest, I was thinking of the long overdue\nfurlough.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XII\n                                A SCHOOL\n\n\nI said that Mendam had the best laugh in the school; and a good heart\nwent with it. A much younger boy, Mba, came from a town near where\nMendam lived. But they were not of the same clan. Both boys were from\ntowns far up the river and neither of them had ever seen the sea until\nthey came to my school. Like all interior people they thought that the\nwhole world was one great \u201cbush.\u201d Mba was shy and sensitive and Mendam\nbecame a _big brother_ to him through the school year. I think the _Big\nBrother_ idea, now popular in America, must have come from Africa. The\ntwo boys became devotedly attached to each other. Mendam helped Mba with\nhis lessons; helped him also to take the jiggers out of his feet.\n\nOne day just before dinner several boys were down in the gully behind\nthe school when they suddenly came upon a python. They announced it with\na shout that brought the entire school stampeding down the hill. Mba had\nhis whole dinner of rice and smoked fish on his plate at the moment when\nhe heard the shout. He ran with it in his hand until he came to the path\nleading down into the gully, and then, naturally, he set the plate down\nin the path while he hurried on. But how was Obiang to know that Mba\u2019s\ndinner was right in the middle of the path when he came tearing down the\nhill to kill the python? Obiang planted his foot fair on the plate,\nleaving a large track and not much else. Mba, after a vain hunt for the\npython, came back to enjoy his dinner. I hope we shall never get so old\nthat we cannot sympathize with the pangs of a hungry boy. Mba was as\ninconsolable as the mother bird whose \u201cbrood is stol\u2019n away.\u201d But it\nonly lasted till Mendam arrived.\n\n\u201cNever mind, Mba,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019ll give you half of my dinner. I\u2019ll give\nyou _more_ than half.\u201d That was some sacrifice for a healthy, hungry boy\nwho was much bigger than Mba.\n\nBut the tragedy of life begins early in Africa. One day the news came\nthat war had broken out between neighbouring towns up the river and that\nMba\u2019s father had killed Mendam\u2019s father.\n\nIt was a bitter grief for both boys, and a hard struggle on the part of\nMendam; for the blood of countless generations in his veins cried\nvengeance. By all the codes and customs that ever he had heard of before\nhe came to school he should have hated Mba with a hatred that would last\nfor life. It was a hard struggle; but if the Christian faith in him had\nnot triumphed\u2014if the friendship of the two boys had been broken\u2014I don\u2019t\nthink I would have told the story.\n\nMany friendships were formed in the school which in after years would\nsurely become a power for the prevention of war and the shedding of\nblood. Boys of neighbouring clans, mutually hostile, clans between which\nthere were old feuds; clans which are bred in the belief that it is a\nvirtue to hate each other\u2014in that schoolboys of such clans found\nthemselves side by side; and in the social alignments of the school\nthese very boys were drawn together by the fact that, coming from\nneighbouring communities, they had much in common. These school\nfriendships were exceedingly strong; for the African\u2019s affections are\nhis substitute for moral principles. It is impossible that such boys\nshould afterwards contract the mutual hate of their fathers, or without\ncompunction shed each other\u2019s blood.\n\nMany of the boys when they came to Baraka had only the smallest rag of\nclothing and some had none. I got just boys\u2014nothing more. I had their\nclothes made and ready for them before the school opened. The dress\nwhich a fellow missionary devised for them was a gingham shirt with a\nyoke, and loose sleeves to the elbow, and the usual cotton robe (a\n_cloth_ they call it) of bright colours bound with red or white,\nfastened around the waist and falling below the knees. They wore only\nthe cloth in the schoolroom, the shirts being kept for parade. I\ndisliked to see trousers on the natives, with a few exceptions of those\nwho were perfectly civilized in mind and manners and somewhat cultivated\nin taste. It immediately and unconsciously introduced a standard of\ndress and taste to which they could not measure up; a standard entirely\ndifferent from that which was applicable to a primitive people in\nconditions of simplicity and freedom. Moreover, the natives, both men\nand women, as well as children, look by far the best in bright colours,\nnot admissible in our style of clothing. They do not look well in white;\nand in black they are ugly. But red, yellow, blue, orange, purple,\ngreen\u2014any of these colours, or all of them, are becoming and appropriate\nto their climate.\n\nThe day\u2019s program for this school of seventy-five boys was as follows:\nAt 5:45 A. M. the rising bell rang and at 6:15 I met the boys in the\nschoolroom for prayers, after which they had breakfast. From seven\no\u2019clock until nine they cut grass and did other necessary work in the\nyard. In the proper season they picked the oranges and gathered them.\nFrom nine o\u2019clock until half-past three they were in school, with a\nrecess of half an hour in the morning for taking jiggers out of their\nfeet, and an hour at noon for dinner. At half-past three the dispensary\nwas opened for the sick and ailing. From four o\u2019clock till five they\nworked again in the yard, and at five they all took a bath in the sea.\nOn Saturday morning the program was the same until ten o\u2019clock. Then a\nsmall piece of soap was given to each boy and they all washed their\nclothing in a stream that passed near their house. Extravagance always\ngoes with improvidence, and both are prominent characteristics of the\nAfrican. But in nothing else is their extravagance more flagrant than in\ntheir use of soap, although they are so eager for it and have so little\nof it.\n\nThe cutting of grass is a constant labour. There is no such thing as a\nlawn; the grass is very coarse and rank, and does not form a sod. There\nis every condition of growth\u2014good soil, heat and moisture; and the rapid\ngrowth of vegetation is astonishing. Here and there on the mission\npremises were large beds of the strange sensitive-plant, which at the\nleast disturbance folds its petals together face to face. Before one, as\nhe walks through it, its beautiful foliage is spread like a heavy green\ncarpet, while behind him is nothing but scraggy, wilted vines and no\nfoliage at all. But in a few minutes it opens again.\n\nThe Africans use a short, straight cutlass for cutting grass, which\nrequires that they stoop to the ground. Even at the best, it is very\nslow work. I, like others before me, imported a scythe, and showed\nseveral of the workmen how to use it. But they did not take to it. As\nsoon as I disappeared it was put carefully away for my own use.\n\nBesides the cutting of grass, there were roads to keep in repair, cargo\nto land, or carry from the beach to the storeroom, and much other work.\nThe work of the boys saved the necessity of hiring a number of men; and\nso the boys paid a large part of the expense of keeping them. As a\nmatter of fact, the maintenance of each boy (his food and clothing) cost\nsix or sometimes seven dollars for an entire year.\n\nIt required a vast expenditure of energy and continual oversight to get\nseventy-five boys to go to work promptly and to work well. They were\njust at the age when total depravity takes the concrete form of\nlaziness; but they were not more lazy than so many white boys.\n\nOne day when they were cutting the very long grass in the back of the\ngarden, there was a sudden cry, \u201cMvom!\u201d (python). Lying in the grass was\na monster python with several coils around a dog which it was preparing\nto swallow. It was a dog that we all knew, the only one of a respectable\nsize in the community. Being preoccupied with the dog, and partly hidden\nin the grass, it did not seem to pay any attention to the boys. About\ntwenty-five of them remained to watch it while fifty came to call me.\nBaraka was well provided with various firearms, but there was not a\nsingle piece that would actually shoot. As a rule the appearance was all\nthat was really necessary. But in a real emergency this left something\nto be desired. Finding myself without a weapon I went to the garden and\nlooked at the monster snake, and when I saw that it did not seem\ndisposed to leave so fine a supper I cautioned the boys to keep away\nfrom it while I ran to an English trading-house\u2014_Hatton & Crokson\u2019s_\u2014in\nsearch of a weapon. The traders were as defenseless as the mission. The\nmanager, however, recalled that there was in his possession a pistol, a\nprecious affair, belonging to the firm. I waited exactly half an hour\nwhile he put it \u201cin perfect condition,\u201d and loaded it. I kept on waiting\nwhile he stood with it in his hand telling me what a fine weapon it was,\ninstructing me in its use, and especially requesting that I should bring\nit back myself and not entrust it to a native for reasons which he fully\nexplained. I then returned to the mission wondering whether the python\nmight not take a fancy to something more delicate than a poor dog, and\nhow many boys a python would hold. But it was still coiled about the dog\nnot having finished crunching his bones. I crept very close, took deadly\naim and fired. Deafening silence! The pistol did not go off. Again I\npulled the trigger, with the same result, and again, and again. I\nwithdrew in disgust. It was the only big game that I had ever attempted\nto shoot; and I had already considered what I would do with the skin.\n\nThe older boys and several men who were present had been eager all the\nwhile to attack it with their cutlasses; and I now gave them permission.\nThey formed in line. One man was to strike first, back of the head, and\nall the rest instantly to follow. It had lain quiet so long and was so\nvery sluggish that one could hardly conceive that it was alert; but at\nthe first stroke, before the other cutlasses fell, it had gone like a\nflash. We could only guess at its size; but I have vowed never to record\nmy guess. Pythons have been actually measured in Gaboon at thirty feet.\n\nOne day the schoolboys killed a very young one twelve feet long, and\nimmediately returned to search for the parents; for they said that a\nmere baby python like this would not yet have left its parents\u2019 care to\nshift for itself. The next day after this several of the smaller boys\nwere taken sick and I was called to the dormitory to see them. My\nimmediate diagnosis was _python_, and I found that I was right. But none\nof the boys who had been in the school for more than one term joined in\nthe feast; and some of them would no more have eaten it than I would.\n\nThe regular food of the boys was cassava and dried fish. Plantains were\nsometimes substituted for cassava. If we were out of fish I gave them\nsardines\u2014one sardine to each boy as his allowance of meat for a whole\nday; I believe that no devout contributor to missions will charge me\nwith extravagance. If I had neither fish nor sardines I gave them\ncoconuts. The meat of a very ripe coconut is full of a strong oil and\nthe natives like it. A boy\u2019s food costs less than a cent a meal.\n\nThe food for an entire day was given out at noon. They cooked their fish\nall together in a large kettle. During the entire year there was never a\nquarrel over the division of their food. I provided knives and forks and\na beautiful service of tin plates and spoons, all of which was new to\nthem as well as eating off a table\u2014in this instance a broad shelf around\nthe outside of the house covered by the projecting eaves. The only\nplates that they had ever known were leaves; so they called the plates\n_leaves_, and had no other name for them. But I was rather puzzled the\nfirst time a boy came and asked me for a \u201cleaf\u201d\u2014\u201ca white man\u2019s leaf.\u201d\n\nThe schoolhouse was an old discarded residence, which had been used by\nnative ministers and others connected with the mission. It had been good\nin its day, and it had a board floor; but it was now in an advanced\nstage of decay. It was divided into two rooms. One day I was in the\nsmaller room teaching a class of fifteen little boys seated on three\nlong benches when suddenly the floor gave way and the whole class fell\nthrough. White ants were probably responsible for the collapse. The\nfloor was elevated on posts and the ground was several feet below. One\nside of the room went down before the other, declining the benches so\nthat the boys slid to the lower end and fell off all in a heap. They got\nup after a while and having crawled out they went around the schoolhouse\nand marched in at the front door. Nduna, who was teaching a class, being\nsurprised at their entrance, said: \u201cI thought you boys were in this\nother room.\u201d Esona, the wittiest boy in the school, replied: \u201cWe thought\nso too but we were mistaken.\u201d\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  SCHOOLHOUSE AND DORMITORY AT GABOON.\n]\n\nThe dormitory was a long, low building with earth floor, walls of bamboo\nand roof of palm thatch. The teacher lived in one end of it, in a large\nroom separated by a partition. The bed was a bunk five feet wide which\nran around the walls of the whole interior. This bunk was a simple\ndevice of my own. I made it with the assistance of a native carpenter\nout of boxes, of which there was always a great pile on hand, in which\nshipments of goods had been received. The bare boards with nothing else\nwould have been by far the best beds that the boys from the interior and\nmany of the others had ever slept upon. But there were rolls of\ndiscarded matting in the storeroom which had been accumulating for a\ngeneration. I had this washed, and spread on the beds, and even doubled,\nwhich made them positively luxurious. Their house was kept as clean as\nsuch a house could be kept. They did their cooking outside under a roof\nwithout walls, and the house was very little used except for sleeping.\n\nThis all may seem very simple\u2014ludicrously simple. But _the simple life_\nis a popular vogue in these days, at least in theory; and we were only\npracticing what others preached. For those boys it was such a change as\ncannot easily be imagined. They were taught habits of order and\ncleanliness, self-respect and consideration for others, to work and to\nthink, all that is essential to civilization, and the great religious\ntruths which are its foundation and which centre in the cross of Christ.\nEven if they do not become professed followers of Christ they are far\nremoved from their former life. That life and its surroundings will\nnever be the same to them, and will never again satisfy them.\n\nParents were more willing to give me sick children than any others,\nbecause these were of little or no use at home, and they soon learned\nthat those who went away sick were more than likely to return well.\n\nEach day after school hours I opened the dispensary. At the beginning of\nthe term there were usually twenty or thirty boys who were treated\ndaily. None of them, of course, were very serious cases. Most of them\nhad itch, all of them had worms, many had ulcers, and there were a few\nfevers and a few fits. In my last year in Africa a fellow missionary\nrelieved me of most of this medical work. Some of the ulcers were\ndreadful, for the blood of many of these children, especially those who\nlive near the coast, is so tainted with venereal disease that a small\ncut or scratch is liable to become an ugly sore, and such wounds are\nrarely cleansed. Long before the close of the term, however, they were\nnearly all well and their bodies clean and smooth.\n\nIn a former chapter I have told at some length of the scourge of the\njigger, and how the discipline of the school was concentrated in an\neffort to make the boys keep them out of their feet. A boy who had\njiggers got no food until his feet were clean. It was hard discipline,\nbut it would have been cruel to have done otherwise. The whole of the\nmorning recess was spent in examining their feet. Without exception the\nboys who had been long in the school kept themselves perfectly clean\nfrom jiggers, and they in turn were willing to examine the other boys\u2019\nfeet and report to me. It was a measure of self-protection; for one boy\nwhose feet were full of jiggers would scatter thousands of them.\nSometimes in the dry season, when they are worst, I had the boys haul\nbarrels of salt water from the sea and flood the house with it.\n\nThe program of daily studies covered the subjects usually taught in\nprimary schools, besides French and the Bible. With the help of a\nmissionary friend I translated into Fang a simple catechism of fifty\nquestions and answers and a number of hymns. They committed to memory\nboth catechism and hymns. These they invariably taught in their towns\nupon their return home. Some few of the boys are very bright in all\ntheir studies and learn fast\u2014as fast as American boys; others are stupid\nin everything\u2014as stupid as some American boys. The average African\nschoolboy, however, is not as clever as the average American boy. In the\nacquisition of a foreign language the African boy far surpasses the\nAmerican. Yet this is not now regarded as a high order of faculty. It\nrather belongs to the elementary mind and the highly civilized nations\ntend to lose it.\n\nI have never known an American school in which there was better order\nand so little exercise of discipline as in my African school. There was\nno flogging at all. The entire matter of discipline was confined to the\njigger-palaver. Yet these boys were not by any means dull or lacking in\nhumour. Indeed, the humour of the Negro is far more keen than that of\nany Asiatic race, and is nearest to our own.\n\nBut even in the best-ordered schools there will be an occasional lapse\nof discipline, and my school was no exception. One day in the class I\ncalled on a certain boy, Toma, to read. A knife had been stolen from my\nroom that morning\u2014probably by a workman\u2014and the boys had been talking\nabout it and wondering if any of their number could have done it. Toma\nwas one of the larger boys and was dull at his books. Moreover, he was\nconscious of being backward and was easily embarrassed when he was\nreciting. This day as he rose to recite, a certain smart boy, Esona,\nwhom I have already mentioned, said in a loud whisper: \u201cNow, if anybody\ncan\u2019t recite his lesson that will be a sign that he has stolen Mr.\nMilligan\u2019s knife.\u201d\n\nThe effect of the remark on Toma\u2014as Esona expected and intended\u2014was that\nit embarrassed him and made it impossible for him to recite. He stumbled\non from bad to worse, to the ill-concealed amusement of the class, until\nat last he came to a dead stop, paused for a moment, and then suddenly\nturned and flung his book across the room at Esona\u2019s head. It was well\naimed, and it hit. Toma evidently knew some things about books that\nEsona had never thought of.\n\nIn singing they excelled. I am sure that only a choir of well-trained\nAmerican boys could sing as well as those boys of my school. They soon\nacquired a reputation on the coast, and visitors, from passing steamers,\nhaving heard of them from the captains and others, asked to hear them\nsing; and I do not think that they were ever disappointed. There was a\nquartette of boys who sang beautifully. I made some phonograph records\nof their singing, but after bringing them all the way to New York in\nsafety, where I used them a few times, they got broken between New York\nand Chicago.\n\nThe hymn, if well used, is the form in which the Christian religion will\nreach more people than can be reached by any other means. When these\nboys returned to their towns the people old and young were eager to\nlearn the hymns, and had soon committed many of them to memory. In\nfar-away towns that no white man had ever visited before, I have held a\nservice, and when I started a hymn the people all joined heartily in\nsinging. _He Leadeth Me_ was the favourite of all the hymns, and was\nalways the first one that they learned.\n\nThe routine of the day\u2019s work was liable to various interruptions.\nSometimes a boy was enticed by his relations to run away from the\nschool. I always followed, and at any cost brought him back, for fear of\nthe demoralization of the school. I had always exacted a promise of each\nboy when I received him that he would stay until the end of the term.\nAnd they never ran away except when induced to do so by people of their\ntown whom they happened to meet. One day word was brought to me that two\nof the boys had run away, having been persuaded to do so by a relation\nwho came selling food. I set out in hot pursuit with several attendants,\nand soon we met the man who had been overheard asking the boys to go\nwith him. He denied all knowledge of them, but I had proof. I brought\nhim to Baraka, bound him hands and feet and said that he would be\nreleased as soon as the boys were returned to me. In a few hours the\nboys arrived.\n\nThere were other interruptions. For instance, while I am engaged in the\nabsorbing task of unfolding the implications of monotheism to a class of\ntheological students whom I am preparing for the work of catechists, a\nnaked Fang from the bush stalks into the room unannounced and says:\n\u201cWhite man, what\u2019s good for worms? I\u2019m full of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cSantonine and castor oil,\u201d roars the whole class in concert, with such\nalacrity and assurance that I wish it were one of the implications of\nmonotheism.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ve brought two eggs,\u201d says the Fang; \u201cgood eggs\u2014both of them\nlaid this morning\u2014and I want some of that medicine.\u201d\n\nI leave the class and first spend considerable time testing the eggs.\nOne of them is probably the oldest egg in the world. I complain to the\nman, and he tells me that he took his wife\u2019s word for its being laid\nthat morning; but that he might have known better, for she is the worst\nliar that ever lived, and he\u2014a lover of truth\u2014is going to send her home\nto her father and demand the dowry which he paid for her. And if it be\nrefused war will be declared between that town and his own.\n\nI advise him that the matter of the egg is hardly worth going to war\nover. The other egg is middling good; and I give him the medicine. Then\nI resume the theological lecture.\n\nThe most noticeable feature of this _simple life_ is its bewildering\ncomplexity. There is no mental perspective. The clamour of the small but\nimmediate interest constantly claims the attention, as a mote may bolt a\nlandscape. Emerson\u2019s observation, that Isaac Newton was as great while\nengaged in tying his shoe-string as in computing the magnitude of the\nfixed stars, was comforting when much of my time was occupied in tying\nshoe-strings. Yet, after all, such a life is exactly as great, or as\npetty, as a man himself makes it. The shoe-string is the equivalent of a\ncup of cold water. And it is a fact that these small matters afford the\nvery best kind of opportunity for personal contact and personal\ninfluence with the native.\n\nBut the worst annoyance was due to parents coming to visit their\nchildren. Sometimes half a dozen men and women would come from a distant\ntown to visit one small boy, all of them claiming the parental relation.\nIn the first place, such visitors could not understand why the boys\nshould not be kept out of school while they were there. And then they\ncould not understand why they should not stay over night or several\nnights, at my expense, and sleep in the boys\u2019 dormitory. Each of these\nmatters involved a long contention. Then they could not understand why\ntheir boys should not be allowed to return home with them and spend a\nfew days. Then they could not understand why I should not give each of\nthem a present when they were about to take their leave. Sometimes the\nboys, themselves, who had been happy and content, became unsettled and\nwanted to go home. About every second or third day such visitors were\nannounced. Parents were always my chief trouble in Africa. Even in\nfevered dreams they haunted me. At first these contentions, which\nusually occurred in the morning, fairly wore me out before the day\u2019s\nwork was well begun, but I afterwards learned to regard them as\ninevitable and to bear them with the least mental expense possible. My\nanswers and protests became stereotyped, and I could carry on a vigorous\ncontention while thinking of something else. But I tried hard not to\noffend these people, and somehow we always parted on friendly terms.\nWithin a month I might meet them in some distant town, and an unkindly\nreception or unkindly report would defeat the purpose of my preaching.\n\nIn the middle of the term I had a picnic. Taking the _Lafayette_ or the\n_Evangeline_ in tow behind the _Dorothy_ we went to a beach twelve miles\naway and spent the day. We had many of the usual picnic sports. But\nnearly all the prizes were soap, the pieces ranging from one to six\ninches. Their deficiency in real sportsmanship is not surprising, but it\nis rather amusing. A boy\u2019s effort to win a race consisted largely in\nattempting to disable his competitors.\n\nThey showed more of the true spirit of the sportsman in their native\ngames and sports.\n\nThey are fond of wrestling, and they wrestle fairly well. There is a\ngame in which two sides are chosen, and a boy of the first side,\nstanding opposite a boy of the second side, raises his arms above his\nhead\u2014which the other boy must do at the same time\u2014then claps his hands\ntogether rapidly, as often as he pleases, at length suddenly thrusting\neither arm in front of him as if striking a blow. The other boy must\nkeep with him as nearly as possible, and at the right moment thrust out\nthe corresponding arm. A certain number of \u201cwins\u201d makes a chief. The\nchief retires honourably from the game and becomes a spectator. This\ngame is a training both for mind and muscle.\n\nIn their own towns, where they have spears, men and boys play a game in\nwhich some object, perhaps a piece of plantain stock, is hurled along\nthe ground, while from either side they throw their spears at it and try\nto \u201cwound\u201d it.\n\nThey have an interesting variation of _Hide and Seek_. One of their\nnumber is sent into the bush to hide. In his absence some one \u201ccurses\u201d\nhim. Then they all call to him and vociferously ask him: \u201cWhich of us\ncursed you? Which of us cursed you?\u201d His only guide is their\ncountenances, which he studies. If he names the right one, then the\nlatter must hide.\n\nThey have a \u201claugh\u201d game in which a boy, standing before his fellows,\nbids them laugh and tries in every legitimate way to compel them. He\nmimics various animals, or well-known persons, especially persons of\ngreat dignity. The boy who laughs exchanges places with him and in turn\nbids his fellows laugh. They have a mocking song which they sing to one\nwho fails to make anybody laugh. This is a good training for oratory,\nwhich occupies a large and important place in all Africa, the land of\nthe _palaver_. It is also a training in facial control, in which, as it\nseems to me, the African is no amateur.\n\nThey also have gambling games in their towns; but I do not know that\nhabitual gambling is common.\n\nSome of the games of the schoolboys, like some of their stories and\nfables, may have been borrowed from adjacent tribes. For the Fang, whom\nI know best, are in contact with other tribes south of them and also\nwith the people of Gaboon, where many tribes intermingle.\n\nThe boys were very fond of dancing, in which they often indulged in the\ncool evening after supper. African dances are not in the least degree\neffeminate; and they have nothing like our round dances. Their dancing\nis as vigorous and masculine as their wrestling, and as a gymnastic\nexercise is far better than wrestling. They dance with the whole body,\nkeeping time with the feet, while they wag the head, sway the shoulders,\nrotate the thighs, agitate the muscles of the stomach until it seems to\ngyrate. The African dance is distinctly a \u201cstunt.\u201d In many of the dances\nthey follow one another round and round in Indian file.\n\nBut they also have hunting-dances and war-dances with sham fights. Some\nterrific battles, with uncomputed casualties, have been fought in my\nschool yard. In one of these battles they impressed into service an\nenormous brass kettle which I had provided for their cooking. This and a\nnumber of old kerosene tins did noble service as a military band and\nreinforced their yelling battle-song. They seriously damaged the brass\nkettle. But I forgave them; for it was the only instance of destruction\nof which they were guilty during the whole year. One would scarcely\nexpect them to study economy when a battle was raging upon which\u2014if I\nmight judge by the evidence of wild enthusiasm\u2014the future of their tribe\nwas depending. Will it seem credible, or even possible to the American,\nthat never once did a real fight occur as an incident in these battles?\n\nWhen the grass was rankest, however, or when the torrential rains had\nexcoriated the hillside roads, and there was plenty of hard work for the\nschoolboys each day, they usually substituted story-telling and singing\nfor dancing and games in the cool of the evening.\n\nBoys in Africa and everywhere else are fond of animal stories. The\nstory-teller imitates all the animals of his story, and as this talent\ndiffers in different individuals, the story loses nothing, but rather\ngains by repetition. Mendam, Nkogo, Esona and Ekang were all good\nstory-tellers. The following stories are known widely in West Africa:\n\nThe tortoise (which corresponds to Uncle Remus\u2019s _Brer Rabbit_)\nchallenged the hippopotamus to a tug-of-war. The hippopotamus at first\nrefused to believe that the tortoise was serious, but at length he\naccepted the challenge. Then the tortoise challenged the rhinoceros to a\ntug-of-war. The rhinoceros at first did not believe that the tortoise\nwas serious, but at length he, too, accepted the challenge.\n\nAt the appointed time the tortoise was on hand with an enormous\nbush-rope (liana), and when the hippopotamus arrived he fastened one end\nof it to him and brought him to the bank of the river.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the tortoise, \u201cI shall fasten the other end to myself and we\nshall keep on pulling until you pull me into the river or I pull you\ninto the bush.\u201d\n\nJust then the rhinoceros came along to keep his appointment, and the\ntortoise fastened the end of the rope to him and said: \u201cNow, I shall\nfasten the other end to myself and we shall keep on pulling until you\npull me into the bush, or I pull you into the river.\u201d\n\nThen the hippopotamus and the rhinoceros pulled against each other, and\npulled and pulled. Sometimes the rhinoceros was dragged almost into the\nriver and again the hippopotamus was dragged to the bush. At length they\nbecame completely exhausted and each of them decided to give up to the\ntortoise and admit defeat. For this purpose they came walking towards\neach other until they met. They looked at each other for a moment in\nsurprise, and then they both cursed the tortoise.\n\nThe chameleon, despite its innocence, is an object of superstitious fear\nto the African, and they are disposed to regard it as superwise.\n\nThe chameleon challenged the elephant to run a race. The elephant was\namused, for the chameleon is one of the slowest creatures in the forest.\nBut finding that the chameleon was really in earnest, the elephant\naccepted the challenge. So the chameleon and the elephant set out on a\nlong race through the forest. The chameleon only started and then\nimmediately turned back; for he had arranged with different members of\nhis family that one of them should be present at the end of each stage\nof the race. So at the end of the first stage when the elephant came\ndashing in, all out of breath, he found the chameleon already there.\n\n\u201cWhat? You here?\u201d exclaimed the astonished elephant.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the panting chameleon, \u201cI just got in.\u201d\n\n\u201cAren\u2019t you very tired?\u201d said the elephant.\n\n\u201cNot very,\u201d said the chameleon.\n\nSo they set out again. But the chameleon only started and came back,\nwhile the elephant ran on.\n\nAt the end of the next stage the elephant was again surprised to find\nthat the chameleon had arrived a little ahead of him. And so it happened\nat the end of each stage until at last the elephant gave up, and\nconfessed that the chameleon had outrun him.\n\nIn all African fables the various animals are but thinly disguised human\nbeings.\n\nThe leopard bet his life to the antelope that if he would hide the\nantelope would not be able to find him. The antelope agreed, and the\nleopard went and hid in the forest. But the antelope found him very\nquickly. Then the leopard was very angry. So he told the antelope to\nhide and see how quickly he could find him. The antelope agreed, but he\ntold the leopard that he would surely have his life.\n\nThen the antelope hid and the leopard searched for him and searched and\nsearched, but could not find him. Then he said: \u201cI am too tired to walk\nany more, and I am hungry; so I shall pick some of these nuts and take\nthem to town to eat.\u201d\n\nSo the leopard filled a bag with the nuts, and when he had carried them\nto town he called all his people together to eat them, and he told a\nslave to crack the nuts for the people to eat. But, lo, out of the first\nnut there jumped a fine dog. Now, the leopard was married and had four\nwives, and each wife had her own house in which she cooked. The dog ran\nto the first house and asked the wife for something to eat. But the wife\nbeat the dog and drove it out. Then the dog ran to the second house and\nasked for something to eat. But the second wife beat the dog and drove\nit out. Then the dog asked the third wife, and she also beat it. Then\nthe dog asked the fourth wife, and she beat it and tried to kill it. But\njust as it was dying the dog changed into a beautiful maiden. Then the\nleopard wanted to marry the maiden.\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d she said, \u201cbut you must first kill those four wives who\nbeat the dog and tried to kill it.\u201d And the leopard was so much in love\nwith the maiden that he killed his four wives for her sake.\n\nThen he asked the maiden to marry him; but she said: \u201cI cannot marry a\nhusband with such dreadful nails. Won\u2019t you please have them cut?\u201d Then\nthe leopard cut his nails.\n\nBut again the maiden said: \u201cI can\u2019t marry a husband with such awful\neyes. Won\u2019t you please take them out?\u201d And the leopard tore out his\neyes.\n\nThen the maiden said: \u201cI can\u2019t marry a husband with such clumsy feet.\nWon\u2019t you please chop them off?\u201d And the leopard had his feet chopped\noff for he loved the maiden and wanted to marry her.\n\nBut again the maiden said: \u201cThere is just one more thing that I wish you\nwould do for me. Your teeth are frightfully ugly. Won\u2019t you have them\nknocked out?\u201d And then the leopard sent to the fireplace for a stone and\nhad his teeth knocked out.\n\nThen the maiden was suddenly changed into the antelope; who said to the\ndying leopard: \u201cYou thought to outwit me, but I have outwitted you and\nhave taken your life and the life of your whole family.\u201d\n\nTowards the middle of the term the boys began to come to me voluntarily,\none by one, saying that they desired to be Christians; and before the\nterm had closed nearly all, at least four out of five, had professed\nfaith in Christ. How many of these would prove faithful no one could\ntell; but very few of them gave me reason to doubt their sincerity. They\nwere not baptized, nor received into the church, until they had been two\nyears on probation. At first my confidence in their profession of faith,\ncompared with that of adults, hesitated; but it grew stronger with\nexperience each passing year. The boys were not the weakest, but the\nbest Christians in Africa. Their minds had never been warped with\nfetishism; and they had a more intelligent grasp of Christian\nprinciples.\n\nSeparated from the heathen environment during a portion of their\nformative years\u2014from its degrading beliefs as well as its immoral\npractices\u2014and having that intimate contact with the missionary which\nonly a boarding-school provides, the impression was nearly always\nlasting. \u201cAs the twig is bent the tree is inclined.\u201d\n\nThe very towns in which these boys lived became different from all other\ntowns. A stranger travelling with me from town to town would surely\nnotice the difference. These boys became without doubt the greatest\nevangelistic force in the Fang field. Africans are natural orators; and\neven the small boy has not the least difficulty in expressing his\nthoughts appropriately. Whatever religious truth I taught the schoolboys\nthey in turn taught their people when they returned home. They did what\nneither myself, nor any other white man, could ever have done. Boys of\ntwelve years, or even ten, gathered the people of their towns around\nthem, both old and young and taught them reading and whatever they had\nlearned of arithmetic. This is a matter of observation and astonishment\nin all mission fields in Africa.\n\nAnd all Africans have this beautiful childlike quality that they are\nteachable\u2014a quality that Jesus must have had in mind when He set a child\nin the midst of the disciples as the symbol of Christian attainment. The\nbiggest African chief will sit on the ground and listen to the small\nboy, so long as the small boy knows anything worth while that the chief\ndoes not know.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XIII\n                  THE MENTAL DEGRADATION OF FETISHISM\n\n\nNo; it was not among the Negroes, but among the peasants of Germany that\nthe horseshoe acquired its power of luck.\n\nOne day very long ago, in a German village, an honest blacksmith was\nhard at work making a horseshoe when the devil, strolling about the\nvillage, was attracted by the hammering. While looking on at the\nblacksmith it occurred to him that it might be a very good thing to get\nhis own hoofs shod. Thereupon he made a bargain with the blacksmith, and\nthe blacksmith set to work to put horseshoes on the devil. Now the\nhonest blacksmith knew very well that it was the devil and nobody else.\nSo he put on each of his feet a red-hot shoe, and drove the nails\nstraight into the devil\u2019s hoofs. The devil then paid him and went his\nway; but the honest blacksmith threw the money into the fire. Meanwhile,\nthe devil, after walking some time, began to suffer pain from his shoes,\nand as he went on the pain became worse and worse. In his torment he\ndanced and he kicked and he raged and he swore, and still the pain\nbecame worse. Then at last, in agony, he tore the shoes off and threw\nthem away. From that day to this whenever the devil sees a horseshoe he\nruns away as fast as he can go.\n\nThe superstition of the horseshoe has been so eagerly embraced by the\nNegro that most people seem to think that it originated with him. It is\nprecisely like many of his own superstitions, and it shows that\nignorance and superstition in Africa are like ignorance and superstition\nanywhere else, and that the African mind is essentially like our own.\n\nThe charm, the fetish and the relic represent ascending grades of\nbelief. They are all associated together in what we call _fetishism_.\nThe charm operates not by reason of any intelligence within itself but\nby some influence from without. The horseshoe is such a charm. One of\nthe numerous African charms is the string which a mother ties around the\nwaist of her child and which is worn throughout childhood. This fetish\nis for health. The Roman Catholic priests, in the early history of their\nmissions on the Congo, substituted for this health-fetish a string made\nfrom the fibres of a palm that had been blessed on Palm Sunday. There is\nno evidence, however, that the substitution of the Roman fetish for the\nAfrican fetish resulted in any marked improvement in the health of the\nnatives.\n\nA charm is not necessarily a physical object\u2014like the amulet. In Africa,\nas among the superstitious everywhere else, it may be a word or action,\na sign or symbol, a formula or incantation. To count the number of\npersons present on certain occasions will cause the death of at least\none of them within the year. The utterance of the word _salt_ at the\nwrong moment has been known to produce appalling consequences.\n\nThe fetish proper represents a more intelligible form of belief than the\ncharm or amulet. One common kind of fetish implies animism; that is,\nthat the various objects of nature have each a life analogous to that of\nman to which their phenomena are due. This life is inseparable from the\nobject. The eagle\u2019s talon, the wing feathers of any bird, the claw of\nthe leopard, the teeth of animals, and all those objects which are\nassociated with that which is desirable or that which is fearful are\nvaluable fetishes, because one may avail himself of the powers inherent\nin such objects. The African sometimes says that the surf is in a nasty\ntemper; and when he uses this expression he is not speaking\nfiguratively. The wind talks to the forest, and the forest talks to the\nwind. The tornado is often nothing more than a quarrel between mountain\nand forest, lightning against wind; and, as one writer expresses it, we\nourselves may get hit with the bits. Not that they are angry at us, but\nat each other, and we had best keep out of the way.\n\nClosely related to this class of fetishes is a kind somewhat higher than\nthe animistic fetish. In this the relation of the physical object and\nthe power within it is not that of body and spirit but that of a house\nand a tenant residing in it. The spirit may leave the fetish, and then\nit will be of no more use. But the skill of a fetish-doctor may compel\nthe spirit to remain. As long as it remains it is under the control of\nthe possessor of the fetish and must do his bidding. If it should\ndisobey he will punish it, usually by hanging it in the smoke. It is\nsuch a fetish, contained in a goat\u2019s horn, that a man walking in the\nforest carries suspended from his neck to make him invisible to an\nenemy. Another he hangs among his plantains to keep the wind from\nblowing them down.\n\nBut the most powerful and sacred fetish is the ancestral relic,\npossessed by every grown man. It is the skull of the father or other\nancestral relation. Here fetishism becomes ancestor-worship. The skull\nis the residence of the dead father, and if it be treated well, that is,\nkept in a warm and dry place, the father will confer every kind of\nfavour\u2014success in hunting and in war, in stealing and attracting other\nmen\u2019s wives. For death has not improved the morals of these ancestors.\nThe son never punishes the ancestral fetish. Indeed, if he neglect it\u2014if\nhe let it get cold or wet\u2014the ancestor will punish him. Many a hunter\u2019s\ngun has refused to fire just at the critical moment because of such\nneglect. He often talks to the dead father and tells him his affairs and\nasks his help. This fetish is only for men, not for women. If a woman\nshould see it she will surely die. If she even be heard talking too\ncuriously about it she is liable to die. This is no imaginary fear on\nher part. For the ancestral anger, like much of the occultism of Africa,\nhas a material basis of secret poison administered by living agents.\n\nThe fetish-doctor, or medicine-man, is to be feared. He is more powerful\nin some tribes than in others; but within his own tribe his reputation\ndepends upon himself. Any shrewd fellow, should good fortune attend him\nfor a while, may persuade the people that he can make powerful fetishes.\nThere will be application for various fetishes at good prices. Every\nsuccess enhances his reputation; and if he is very clever he will even\nconvert failure into success. If a man return a fetish and tell him it\nhas failed\u2014that his goods have been stolen, his hens have not laid, his\nwives have eloped, or his canoe has capsized with him\u2014the doctor will\nnot usually dispute the failure, but will discover the reason, and more\nthan ever impress his customer with his skill and knowledge. Sometimes\nas soon as he looks at it he will say that it is dead; that the spirit\nhas escaped from it and it may as well be thrown away. Then by some\noccult means he discovers how this has happened. The owner, it may be,\nhas not taken proper care of it; or an enemy has lured it away from him\ninto his own service; or a witch has killed it. Thereupon he offers to\nmake him another fetish at a reasonable price.\n\nThe fetish-doctor soon acquires the power of detecting witchcraft and\nsometimes even of discovering the witch. His diagnosis and treatment of\nthe bewitched are interesting and varied. One particular treatment is as\nfollows: Having discovered that the patient has really been bewitched,\nhe makes several incisions on the breast. Then, after an exercise of\nhowls and incantations, he applies his lips to the incision and sucks\nthe wound until the patient screams; whereupon, he takes out of his\nmouth some article, perhaps a goat\u2019s horn, which he is supposed to have\nsucked out of the body of the patient, and which had been witched into\nhim. He again applies his lips, and when the patient screams a second\ntime he takes another article out of his mouth and displays it before\nthe credulous people. Having thus removed a miscellaneous assortment of\narticles\u2014roots, pebbles, broken pottery and other objects entirely out\nof place in a human anatomy\u2014the patient is left in a fair way to\nrecover; and if he should not it is surely not the fault of the doctor.\n\nIt is always a question to what extent the fetish-doctor is a conscious\nhypocrite. He usually begins practice by exploiting some particular\nfetish in which he really believes and whose power he has proved.\nFinding the trade lucrative he invents other fetishes upon the same\nprinciple\u2014for there _is_ a principle, that is to say, there is always\nsome apparent relation between the ingredients of a fetish and the\npurpose for which it is designed. If some of his first fetishes should\nbe successful and gain him a reputation he may come to believe in his\nown power. He may consciously abuse that power\u2014and physicians in other\nlands have been known to do the same; but he still believes in the\npower\u2014believes in fetishes and in witchcraft and in the possibility of\nits detection.\n\nAfrica presents to the psychologist an unexplored and inviting field. A\nman who possesses a fetish-skull usually invokes its aid to prevent\nsecret unfaithfulness on the part of his wife. He compounds a certain\nfetish the ingredients of which include a lock of his wife\u2019s hair,\ncuttings of her nails, or her saliva. This fetish he puts into the box\nwith the father\u2019s skull; and now, it is believed, if his wife be\nunfaithful she will surely die; death being inflicted by the ancestor.\nIt seems to be a fact that this fetish frequently proves effective\nwithout the aid of poison; that is to say, the woman dies. Fear often\ndrives her to a tardy confession, which, however, affords her but small\nrelief; for everybody tells her that she is going to die.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a corpse,\u201d says one. \u201cYou\u2019re failing every day,\u201d says another.\n\nAnd the poor woman, as if yielding to some occult compulsion, fails\nrapidly and dies. She dies, presumably, as a psychological consequence\nof her belief in the fetish.\n\nOne must never tell a sick person that he is going to die lest one be\ncharged with wishing his death. In some tribes it is equivalent to a\ncurse designed to effect death, and is liable to severe punishment.\n\nThe following dying confession was made by a woman in a Fang town of\nGaboon: Years ago, when she was a child, a man of her town had given her\na certain fetish medicine, concealing it in her food. After she had\neaten it he told her what he had done, and said that this medicine would\neffect her death at the birth of her first child. She must keep this\nmatter secret from everybody, even from her parents, lest the medicine\nkill her immediately. This gloomy prospect darkened her life for years,\nand just before the birth of her first child she sickened and\ndied\u2014probably as a psychological consequence of her belief in the\nfetish. Such confessions are not uncommon.\n\nThe mental degradation of the African is often overlooked through the\ndeeper regard for his moral degradation. Therefore it is my present\npurpose to depict the mental degradation of fetishism, and to set over\nagainst it the new and transforming conception of God and nature which\nChrist imparts to the African mind.\n\nCarlyle has said: \u201cWhat notion each forms of the universe is the\nall-regulating fact with regard to him.\u201d Looking out upon nature and\nknowing of no divine intelligence ever present and presiding, the\nAfrican does not discover the reign of law nor the uniformity of nature.\nThose phenomena of which the cause is not as obvious as the effect he\nrelates to a supernatural cause. And since _will_ is the cause that he\nknows by experience, he instinctively attributes natural phenomena to a\npersonal will; not to _one_ will, however, but to many; for natural\nphenomena are various and the moods of nature are inconsistent. He hears\nthe crash of thunder, and if he says, \u201cSomebody threw something,\u201d he is\nnot very far from the ancient conception of Jupiter hurling\nthunderbolts. And, since that which is normal and regular does not\nattract attention like that which is unusual and fearful, therefore to\nthe unreflecting mind the beneficence of nature is far less obvious than\nits terrors; since the laws of growth, seedtime and harvest, rain and\nsunshine,\u2014all the kindly ministry of nature, is quiet and unobtrusive,\nwhile her cruelty thrusts itself upon the mind, the African concludes\nthat the innumerable spirits which rule nature or constantly interfere\nwith it are mostly evil and hostile.\n\nFrom this view it is not a long stride to the belief that the spirits\nreside _in_ the objects of nature, each in its appropriate object; and\nthis is fetishism. We are all fetishists by instinct; though we may hear\nit with the astonishment of Moli\u00e8re\u2019s hero when he found that he had\nbeen talking prose all his life. Every time one slams a door in anger or\nkicks at a bucket\u2014as if such things had sentience and could be hurt\u2014he\nexhibits a fetish instinct.\n\nIf we bear in mind, then, that the very axioms of the African\u2019s belief\nobliterate the line between nature and the supernatural, and, further,\nthat habitual lying makes the character of truth vague and uncertain,\nand also that he has an imagination almost as vivid as reality, we may\nbe somewhat enabled to understand the degraded mental condition\nindicated by such incidents as the following, which I repeat because\nthey are representative:\n\nA certain woman, knowing that the penalty would be death, confessed\u2014and\nwith undoubted sincerity\u2014that by witchcraft she had caused another\nwoman\u2019s death, and was herself killed by the people.\n\nA certain man, evidently without the slightest intention of\nuntruthfulness, tells how that journeying one day in the forest he had\nmet two strange men who by fetish power had thrown him to the ground,\nhad opened his body, and removing his intestines, had stuffed him with\ndry grass instead, which would have injured him for life, but that a\ndoctor of his own tribe found him, reopened him, removed the hay and put\nreal intestines in its place. I know a woman in Gaboon who claims and\nevidently believes that she is constantly attended by several leopards,\ninvisible to all others but herself. There is a man in Gaboon of whom\nthe whole community believes that he frequently changes himself into a\nleopard in order to steal sheep and to devour a whole sheep at a meal.\nThis he does also when he would avenge himself upon his enemies. This\nparticular man denies that he has any such power. But sometimes men\nconfess or claim that they themselves possess it; and in some cases they\nseem to believe it. A broken-hearted chief once told Du Chaillu how that\nhis son, who had been his joy and hope, had been accused of killing two\nmen of the town by turning into a leopard. The old man at first\npassionately defended his son. But to his horror, the son, stepping\nforward, confessed the charge, and that he had turned himself into a\nleopard and killed the two men\u2014he did not know why. With the chief\u2019s\nconsent the son was burnt to death over a slow fire. And the sight of\nthat horrible death was ever in the old man\u2019s eyes.\n\nOne day the Rev. Dr. Nassau (who relates this incident in his book,\n_Fetishism in West Africa_) arrived in a native village where he found\nan extraordinary commotion, the people panic-stricken with fear. Upon\nmaking an inquiry as to the cause, he was told that on the preceding day\nthe wife of the chief had borne a son, the only son of the chief, who in\nhis joy had this day made a great feast, which they were about to\ncelebrate, when suddenly another woman of the village, carrying at her\nside a baby girl three months old, passed through the crowd straight to\nthe house in which was the new-born boy, and exchanging the children,\ncame out bearing the baby boy. Upon the loud protest of the people and a\ndemand for an explanation she told them the following story:\n\nThis baby boy, she said, although borne by the chief\u2019s wife, really\nbelonged to her; while the baby girl which she had borne three months\nago belonged to the chief\u2019s wife. She and the other woman, she said,\nwere both witches. Until recently they had been intimate friends and had\nbeen accustomed to go off together in the night to witch-feasts and\nwitch-dances in neighbouring villages. Their unborn babes they were\naccustomed to leave upon the grass while they joined in the dance. Her\nbabe, she said, was a boy, and the other was a girl. But one morning the\nother woman, leaving the dance before her, took the male child and left\nthe other, thinking that she would not know the difference. After that\nthey had never gone out together; a coolness had sprung up between them,\nand she had waited her time and kept her secret. In due time she had\nborne the baby girl, which really belonged to the chief\u2019s wife; and now\nthe chief\u2019s wife had borne the baby boy, which belonged to her.\n\nThe chief\u2019s wife stood dumb, as if in self-condemnation. No one doubted\nthe story; and the woman bore the child away.\n\nThe trial for witchcraft is by ordeal. In most cases poison is\nadministered. If the accused dies or is seized with vertigo this is\nsufficient evidence of guilt; if no such result follows, it is a sign of\ninnocence.\n\nThe African believes in a God, who made all things; but his idea of God\nis grossly anthropomorphic. God is a very big African chief with a great\nmany wives. Some of their fables in which God figures are not\nrepeatable. He regards men and women with contempt, and as a rule\nignores them. I do not know that they ever worship Him. Their worship is\ndirected to the innumerable spirits about them who infest the air, among\nwhom are their ancestors. The spirits are generally disposed to do them\nharm; but they may be placated, and their own dead may even be rendered\nfavourable by certain ceremonies. But an incomparably greater number of\nspirits are always hostile, and the impulse of African worship is fear.\n\nHere, then, is a state of mental degradation that to us looks almost\nlike insanity. I have only touched upon the salient points of their\nbelief. One can never convey to others any adequate impression of the\nstifling mental atmosphere of an African community, with its stagnation\nand torpor, depressing even the mind of the missionary and in some\ninstances fairly threatening his faith. My experience of that atmosphere\nhas been such that I have the deepest sympathy and compassion for\ntraders and government officials living often solitary in such\ncommunities; whose beliefs and morals are often not the result of\npersonal convictions, but merely a reflection of the beliefs, traditions\nand moral restraints of the social community in which they have lived.\nUpon the beliefs of such men there is a power of gravitation in the\nmentality of an African community that acts like the Magnetic Mountain\nof the Arabian fable, which, as ships approached it from the sea, drew\nout of them every nail, bolt and rivet, and left them a wreck of\nfloating timbers, to be flung at random upon the lonely shore or buried\nin its sand.\n\nAt the first approach the mind of the African seems utterly\ninaccessible. His mental powers are paralyzed; he has forgotten how to\nthink. If his mental redemption is possible where must it begin?\n\nOne day long ago, when a fellow missionary and myself were together in\nthe Bulu interior, a native young man, in response to our inquiry,\nexpressed the African belief that the rainbow is a snake. It has the\npower\u2014which many men also have\u2014of making itself invisible. The\nmissionary, reflecting that superstition is simply ignorance of nature\nand nature\u2019s laws, resolved to undertake immediately the boy\u2019s\neducation. The sun was shining brightly, and the missionary, having sent\nthe native to fetch a bucket of water, told him that he himself would\nthen and there make a rainbow. He asked me to stand on the porch and\nthrow the bucketful of water in a certain direction, while he took his\nstand on the ground with the boy by his side. Now it happens that in\nmatters of science I have an inveterate inclination to be content with\ntheory. I never attempted a practical experiment in my life that did not\nmiscarry. Besides, everybody knows that a bucket is an exceedingly\nawkward instrument with which to take accurate aim. The water came down\non the upturned faces of the two eager scientists. The black man has an\nabiding antipathy to the fourth element; and this native evidently\nregarded the performance as a punishment for his unbelief in regard to\nthe substance of the rainbow. He ducked his head and shouted: \u201cI\nbelieve; I believe; master, please don\u2019t do it again.\u201d\n\nLater in the day he might have been heard telling his friends not to let\nthe white man hear them say that the rainbow is a snake\u2014if they did not\nwant a bucket of water thrown on them. So we made a conversion after the\nMohammedan fashion. But that native must have wondered what might be the\nessential difference between the _reign of law_ and the _law of rain_.\n\nA million such experiments, even if perfectly successful, would not be\nworth while except as amusement; for the native mind is wrong not merely\nin particulars, but fundamentally. The idea of God must be injected into\nnature, as a basis for law, before a scientific attitude is possible.\nOnly the idea of God can expel the multitude of spirits whose activities\nmake of nature a haphazard warfare of conflicting forces. And how shall\nwe convey this idea to the degraded mind of the African?\n\nOf course we should change his idea of nature if we could persuade him\nof God\u2019s _unity_, and that nature, therefore, is the product of a single\nmind; His _spirituality_, and that He is therefore present everywhere,\nin nature and the hearts of men; His _holiness_, and that God and nature\nare therefore on the side of righteousness; His _love_, and that God and\nnature are therefore benevolent and sympathetic with man. But to talk to\nthe African about God\u2019s attributes is to speak in an unknown tongue. And\nbesides, God\u2019s personality is something more than the sum of His\nattributes, which no more make God, as some one has said, than arms and\nlegs and head and trunk make my father. But we can present to the\nAfrican mind the personal Christ\u2014God incarnate\u2014and the African heart\nresponding can love Him; and loving Him he can know Him; for love is\nmore knowing than reason. The African is, above all, still capable of\nstrong personal affection; and looking into the face of Jesus he sees\nGod\u2014the _One God_ of conscience\u2014and learns to call Him _Father_, a word\nwhich even to the African mind implies _love_ and _care_. He knows\nnothing of attributes, but like a child he can discern his Father\u2019s\nwill.\n\nGod\u2019s fatherhood includes His care. And this relates God to nature,\nthrough which that care is largely exercised. His first lessons on\nnature the African learns not from science, but directly from Jesus.\nJesus multiplies the loaves, and the value of the miracle for the\nAfrican, and for us, is not the wonder of it, but the lesson that it is\nGod who gives us our daily bread. Jesus stills the storm on Galilee and\nthus teaches that the Father is present in all storms and always rules\nthe sea and the wind, which are not under the control of demons. Jesus\nheals the leper, and we learn His power over all disease, and that a\nloving will afflicts and heals. He raises Lazarus from the dead, and\nreveals that death is never in the hands of a malignant foe, but under\nthe control of a sympathetic Power. The thought of the African is\ncompletely reversed by this knowledge of God. Nature is not the result\nof myriad spirits hostile to himself, but the product of one single\nmind, and its laws, the expression of a constant and loving Will. It is\nas if the forked lightning at which he trembles in the darkness should\nflash upon the storm-cloud the word _Father_; and fear becomes faith. In\nJesus the _One God_ of conscience, the _Father_, becomes supreme over\nnature.\n\nA certain native named _Toko_, of the Mpongwe coast tribe, who had been\nfor some years a Christian, went back into the interior among the Fang,\npreaching the Gospel. The Fang were notorious robbers, who at every\nopportunity plundered the cargo of traders as it passed in boats up and\ndown the river. While Toko was preaching one day, some one interrupting\nhim said: \u201cI don\u2019t believe that God is good, as you say. For why did He\nmake this river so crooked that in order to reach the coast we have to\ntravel nearly twice the straight distance?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy friend,\u201d replied Toko, \u201cGod knew that you wicked Fang were going to\nlive along this river and that you would plunder passing boats; and He\nmade the river crooked so that you can\u2019t see the boat coming until it is\nso near that you have not time to get out to it before it is past.\u201d\n\nThe wit aside, and however defective the teleology, observe the\nunderlying attitude towards nature, and the fundamental change it\nimplies. God is in nature, which is therefore under law, is sympathetic\ntowards man, and working on the side of righteousness\u2014a view that\nexcludes and dooms fetishism and witchcraft. This simple man, and his\nfellow Christians with him, had the right basis for a scientific\nknowledge of nature.\n\nIt is truly astonishing how the African mind, despite its rude\nmaterialism, beginning with the idea of love, as revealed in Jesus,\ngrasps ultimately the spirituality of God and the spiritual nature of\ntrue worship. One instance must suffice for illustration:\n\nThe women of West Africa, in preparing their food, bury it in the ground\nbeside a stream for several days. A fellow missionary, one day examining\nan old woman who presented herself for baptism, and careful lest she\nmight regard the water of baptism as a fetish, asked her a question\nregarding its significance, to which she replied:\n\n\u201cWhen I bury my food in the ground I mark the place. What use would the\nmark be if there were no food there? Baptism is but the mark: God dwells\nin the heart.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                  XIV\n                   THE MORAL DEGRADATION OF FETISHISM\n\n\nAn African woman was one day walking through the forest to her garden\nwhen she found a little child who was apparently lost and was crying\nwith hunger. She took pity on the child and immediately carried him back\nto her town where she comforted him and nursed him. The child remained a\nfew days and then mysteriously disappeared. Immediately a dreadful\nplague broke out in the town and many people died and there was much\nmourning. Then they knew that it was not a real child whom the woman had\nfound, but a spirit in the form of a child, who had appealed to the\nwoman\u2019s pity and had lain on her bosom in order to bring death and\ndesolation upon the people.\n\nWith such spirits, wanton and wicked, the African mind has filled the\ninvisible world. The powers above him are hostile\u2014all except the spirits\nof his immediate ancestors.\n\nThe former worship of snakes in Dahomy (nearly extinct by this time)\nthrows a lurid light upon the African\u2019s conception of the powers above\nhim. According to the belief of the Dahomians snakes were spirits\nincarnate. The Dahomians have a peculiar interest for Americans since\nthe World\u2019s Fair of Chicago, where the chief attraction of the Midway\nPlaisance was an African village of real Dahomians, who regularly\nentertained a gazing throng with war-songs and war-dances and also\nscandalized feminine modesty. In one respect, however, the Chicago\nvillage had been modernized, as we shall see.\n\nWhen Leighton Wilson first went to Dahomy he found in each village a\nhouse in the middle of the street, provided for the \u201cexclusive\u201d use of\nsnakes\u2014there was probably not much difficulty in keeping it \u201cexclusive\u201d\nconsidering the deadliness of many African snakes. The snakes, Dr.\nWilson tells us, were fed and better cared for than the inhabitants of\nthe town. If they were seen straying away they were brought back. At the\nsight of them the people prostrated themselves upon the ground. It is\nnot improbable that during the World\u2019s Fair Dahomians in far-away Africa\nwere offering prayers to snakes for the safety of their friends in\nChicago.\n\nThe snakes are spirits; and such are all the innumerable spirits which\ninfest the air, excepting only a man\u2019s ancestors, who are more or less\nkindly disposed towards him. The African, therefore, is not merely, like\nthe Mohammedan, the victim of inexorable fate; nor merely the plaything\nof nature. But he is subject to the caprice of evil spirits, or the\nobject of their malignant hostility.\n\nThe following are chief factors in the demoralization of African\ncharacter: _first_, the African\u2019s attitude towards the powers above him\nis that of fear, for he deems them hostile to him; _second_, his\nconsequent attitude towards his fellow men is that of distrust,\nculminating in the belief in witchcraft; _third_, his conception of his\nown destiny is not hopeful nor ennobling: the future life is not better,\nbut worse, than this life.\n\nAgainst the hostility of the spirits a man\u2019s ancestors (especially his\nimmediate father) afford him some protection. But even such protection\nis uncertain; for the ancestors themselves are very petulant and easily\noffended, and when they are displeased they are as much to be feared as\nother spirits. The favours which a son seeks from his father are not\nspiritual blessings of any kind, but temporal benefits. It cannot be\nsaid that the motive of this worship is entirely filial reverence. A\nfather is much more useful dead than living; and aged parents are\nsometimes even afraid that their sons will put them to death in order to\nprocure the benefits which they could afterwards confer. The skull of\nthe father is the commonest ancestral fetish, but not the only one.\n\nAn old chief, one day when I was visiting in his town for the first\ntime, came and laid at my feet his most sacred fetish. It was contained\nin a small cylindrical box of bark made for the express purpose of\nholding this kind of fetish. The women, when they saw the box, screamed\nwith fear and fled for their lives, putting their hands on their ears\nlest they should hear the old man\u2019s words and die. They are not supposed\nto know the contents of the box, and they are ready at any moment to\ntake a solemn oath that they do not know, though as a matter of fact\nthey know very well.\n\nThe following were the interesting if somewhat repulsive ingredients of\nthis very powerful fetish. There was first, and chiefly, the brains of\nthe old man\u2019s father, who had gained eminence and success according to\nFang ideals. Some days after the father\u2019s death, when the body was\npartly decomposed, the son visited his grave at midnight\u2014entirely\nnaked\u2014opened the shallow grave, severed the head from the body, and hung\nit up in a house, letting the decomposing brain drip upon some white\nchalk. To this he added one of the old man\u2019s teeth and a bit of his hair\nand cuttings of his nails, also a strip of flesh cut from the dead man\u2019s\narm and dried over the fire. When the owner of such a fetish is about to\nengage in any considerable enterprise he rubs a portion of the brains\nupon his forehead and thereby possesses himself of all the serviceable\nqualities of the deceased\u2014his adroitness in lying, his skill in\ncheating, his cleverness in stealing goods or other men\u2019s wives or in\nkilling his enemies. If he is going to talk a big palaver he places the\nstrip of dried flesh in his mouth, and keeps it there all the time he is\ntalking, that he may be eloquent and successful. A man possessing this\nkind of fetish, if he were going to a trading-house, would not hesitate\nto rub a portion of the brains and chalk upon his hand, so that in\nshaking hands with the white man it might pass to the white man\u2019s hand\nand make him benevolent. Some of them think that having thus put\nmedicine on the white man\u2019s hand he will give them anything they ask.\n\nThe hostility of spirits other than ancestors is appeased in various\nways. Arbitrary restraints and prohibitions are frequently imposed upon\nchildren soon after birth, to be observed through life. Such\nprohibitions usually have reference to a particular spirit which is\nalways present with the inhibited person. The commonest prohibition is\nthat of some particular food. Among my schoolboys there were always\nseveral who could not eat plantain, although it is the food that they\nlike best. It was often difficult to provide other food for them; but\nthey would have died rather than eat plantain. Women are prohibited from\neating certain kinds of meat, or certain parts of an animal\u2014usually (by\na strange coincidence) the very parts that the men like best. There is\nscarcely a limit to the self-denial sometimes involved in the observance\nof these arbitrary restrictions.\n\nAmong the Fang the offering of human sacrifice to placate the spirits is\nnot customary. Witchcraft probably usurps the place of this form of\nhuman sacrifice. But among the more highly organized tribes of the\nCalabar and the Niger, where individuals wield despotic power,\nmultitudes have been offered in sacrifice to appease the hostility of\nthe spirits: and they would still be offered but for the presence of\nforeign governments. It took the English many years to suppress the\nannual sacrifice of human beings to the crocodiles of the Niger. I once\nhad the pleasure of travelling with that great man and great missionary,\nMr. Ramseyer (_Father Ramseyer_, all white men called him), a member of\nthe Basle Mission, who for thirty years lived at Kumassi in the Ashantee\nTerritory; and I heard from Mr. Ramseyer himself the story of Prempeh,\nthat beastly king of Kumassi, whose fetish-trees were regularly watered\nwith the blood of human beings; and who, when at length his lust for\nblood had become insatiable, had a slave put to death each night for his\nentertainment\u2014and probably, also, to appease the hostility of the\nspirits. King Prempeh was finally captured by the English, and not long\nafterwards died in the prison at Sierra Leone.\n\nNext to fear of the spirits the most demoralizing factor is the\nAfrican\u2019s distrust of his fellow men. The one is a corollary of the\nother. The African, like other savages, before giving one a drink\nswallows a mouthful of it himself to prove that it is not poisoned. In\nsome of the large tribes of the Niger, where a king _is_ a king, it was\nthe practice (until the English government interfered with custom) for a\nking, upon his accession to the throne, to put to death all his brothers\nand half-brothers. In one of those tribes the blood royal was held in\nsuch reverence that under no circumstances would they shed it; so they\nused to put the royal brothers to death by stuffing the mouth and\nnostrils full of cotton. It was a far more horrible death than cutting\nthe throat; but it was respectful.\n\nOn one occasion, when my heart had been rent by the dreadful cruelty\ninflicted upon a certain woman whom I knew very well, who had been\ncharged with witchcraft because of the death of her husband, I addressed\nthe whole population of the town, and after holding forth for some time\nin wrathful denunciation of their unreasoning suspicion, I asked why a\nman\u2019s wives must always be the first to be charged with his death. An\nelderly chief; rising to his feet, gently interrupted me, and using my\nnative name, _Mote-ke-ye_ (_Man-who-never-sleeps_), he said:\n\n\u201cAh, Mote-ke-ye, I would like to ask one question: Are you a married\nman?\u201d\n\nI was well aware, when I answered No, that the shrewd old man had routed\nme. The guilty men looked at one another with a relieved and peculiarly\nsignificant smile which said politely but unmistakably: \u201cThen you are\nnot qualified to judge us; for you know nothing about the natural\nhostility of wives, and we know all about it.\u201d\n\nA man\u2019s wives are the first to be charged with his death, even without\nevidence, because they are supposed to have a latent desire for it. As I\nhave already said, much of the witchcraft of Africa is straight poison\nusually administered in food. Africa abounds with deadly poisons and\nmany Africans are skillful in their use. Wives do the cooking, and so\nhave the constant opportunity to inflict death by this powerful but\ninvisible weapon. One often finds that one bad custom is nothing more\nthan a pitiful attempt to correct another. And this may explain the\ncustom of killing wives at the death of the husband. At any rate it\ntends to restrict a wife\u2019s use of poison and to inspire an earnest\neffort to keep her husband alive.\n\nIt has been estimated that, in those tribes that are beyond the\nrestraints of foreign governments, nineteen out of twenty Africans die\nby violence. This accounts for the sparse population of Africa. For\nalthough the African race is prolific, and the land in most parts\ncapable of sustaining a dense population, it is the most sparsely\npopulated country in the world.\n\nMany of this number are killed in war, which is a chronic condition.\nNothing is too trivial to occasion a war. The usual beginning, however,\nis the stealing of a woman by a man of another tribe or village.\nFollowing this, the people of the two villages wage an aggressive\nguerrilla warfare, killing each other at every opportunity, not sparing\nwomen or children. The war usually continues until on either side\nanother woman is stolen by a third party and another war begins. Then\nthe first war is closed: a great palaver is talked between the two\nparties in some neutral town; and after oceans of oratory it is usually\nagreed that the side that has done the most killing shall pay over to\nthe other side a corresponding number of women and much goods, including\na proper dowry for the woman first stolen.\n\nOne of the first scenes that I witnessed in Africa was that in which, at\nthe end of a war, four women were thus delivered to the enemy. The\npeople were all gathered together when the chief announced the names of\nthe four women. Each woman, as she heard her name, sprang from the\nground with a shriek and tried to escape into the forest; but several\nmen were on hand to catch her. She struggled until they bound her. Then\nthe next name was called, and we heard another shriek. Finally the four\nwomen were led away, all of them crying bitterly. In the town to which\nthey were taken they would be given as wives to certain men, and soon\nthey would begin to make the best of the situation, would probably form\nnew attachments and forget the old.\n\nWomen are thus bought and sold. A man\u2019s wealth is reckoned by the number\nof his wives. On one occasion in a native town a conversation with the\nchief led me to preach on the future life; and I preached both heaven\nand hell. The chief evidently inferred that he was bound for the latter\nplace. He asked me what I thought about it. I told him candidly that I\nthought so too. For a moment he seemed troubled, and then his\ncountenance brightened with relief, and he exclaimed: \u201cI know what I\u2019ll\ndo. I\u2019ll send my head-wife in my place.\u201d\n\nBelief in witchcraft is the extreme expression of mutual distrust. It is\nsupposed that as many Africans are put to death for witchcraft as those\nwho die in war. The African seems not to believe that there is any such\nthing as a natural death. Even when a man is killed in war some one is\nusually charged with having bewitched him; for it will be said that he\nwore a fetish for safety, but that a witch had broken the spell of the\nfetish. A witch\u2019s spirit is \u201cloose from her body.\u201d In the night she\nleaves her body and goes off to foregather with other witches with whom\nshe joins in wild and unspeakably wicked revels, during which they feast\nupon the \u201chearts\u201d of people. The people whose hearts have thus been\neaten sicken soon afterwards and die. A witch is always careful to\nreturn to her body before daylight. If the vacant body be found during\nher absence it would be wise to destroy it immediately.\n\nWhen a number of deaths occur in close succession a council is held in\nthe presence of the witch-doctor. When he announces witchcraft as the\ncause a panic ensues in which the people become fairly dehumanized with\nfear and a thirst for vengeance. Each one suspects everybody else. The\nwitch-doctor sometimes names the guilty persons. And woe to any enemies\nthat he may have in that town! Usually, however, they resort to the\nordeal to find the guilty ones. The spectacle of such a panic is very\nrevolting. The horrors of war, even at the worst, are never comparable\nto the horrors of witchcraft. It is the constant fear of the African,\nand his most powerful fetishes are those which protect him against it.\n\nExcept in the vicinity of the foreign governments witches are put to\ndeath and always by cruel means, wives charged with witchcraft being\nburied alive with the dead body of the husband. In one town that I know\nten women, wives of one man, were thus buried with him; in another town,\ntwenty women. Their legs were broken before they were thrown into the\ngrave.\n\nEven cannibalism, regarded as the lowest reach of degradation, is not\nonly a natural consequence of fetishism, but is one of its logical\nforms. I doubt whether, among the Fang, it is ever practiced on the mere\nimpulse of hunger. It is rather the last desperate resort of fear\nseeking fetish protection. The strongest protection against an enemy in\nwar is to eat one of their number. After that the enemy can do no harm\nand need not be feared; unless (always this same dreadful\nqualification)\u2014unless some traitor in one\u2019s own town should break the\nspell even of this fetish by witchcraft.\n\nThe African is further demoralized by his idea of man\u2019s destiny. He\nbelieves in a future life. I never encountered a doubt on this subject.\nBut his belief is not ennobling, nor a source of moral inspiration.\nDeath is an unmitigated evil, and the dead are always wishing to be back\nin the flesh. The future does not hold rewards or punishments for the\ngood or evil of the present life; nor has present goodness any future\nadvantage. There, as here, to have a great many wives and plenty to eat\nare chief factors in happiness. They have big palavers there as well as\nhere. Sometimes palavers left unfinished here are settled there. In some\ntribes (the Kru tribe, for instance) when smallpox or other scourge\nvisits a town, and many people die about the same time, it is supposed\nthat an unfinished palaver has been resumed in the other world and these\npersons were needed as witnesses.\n\nIt will be perceived that beneath all this moral degradation of the\nAfrican, beneath his cruelty and licentiousness, there lies a degrading\nconception of man\u2019s nature. Man has no divine origin and no noble\ndestiny; therefore he has no intrinsic value and human nature has no\ninherent worth.\n\nBut to this seeming hopeless ruin of humanity Christ in His own person\nimparts a new conception, _first_, of the dignity of man\u2019s nature;\n_second_, of the possibilities of his character; _third_, of the\ngreatness of his destiny.\n\nIn Jesus, God takes upon Himself this despised human nature, and reveals\nthe divine character in a human life. That same life is at once a\nrevelation of God and an example to men; and without incongruity Jesus\ncould say, in words perhaps the sublimest ever uttered in the ears of\nmen: \u201cBe ye perfect even as your Father in heaven is perfect.\u201d Man,\ntherefore, even the most degraded and the slave, is akin to God and the\nobject of His tender regard. The light of this revelation extinguishes\nall minor differences between men; a human soul is of more value than\nthe whole world, and neither wealth nor power can add anything to a\nman\u2019s worth.\n\nMuch is added to this new conception of man when Jesus reveals in\nHimself the possibilities of human character. It was always a surprise\nto me to find how readily the African recognizes in Jesus the human\nideal; how he accepts Him as the true moral standard, by which\nhenceforth he judges himself and realizes what he is and what he ought\nto be.\n\nThe great destiny of man which Jesus discloses seems not only credible,\nbut even natural, in the light of man\u2019s kinship with God and the\npossibilities of human character. Instead of the poor African\u2019s fear of\ndeath and his degrading conception of the future life, Jesus sets before\nhim a hope that thrills his heart with joy. Man has many present faults\nand frailties, but he does not belong to the present. He is not a\nfinality, but a possibility; a possibility to be realized only in the\nperspective of an infinite future, in which death itself is but an\nincident, the end of nothing worth while; and beyond it is the\nconsummation of all our hopes, a consummation which language becomes\nrhapsody when it would describe.\n\nIs it wonderful that this new conception of humanity should be morally\ntransforming? that, for instance, it should impress even the African\nmind with the sanctity of human life?\n\nCannibalism disappears as soon as the Gospel becomes intelligible, and\nlong before they accept it as individuals. A war arose between two\nvillages, in a community where I had preached not more than a year, for\nthe people had recently come from the far interior where cannibalism was\ncommonly practiced. The town making the attack came on a very dark\nnight, intending to set fire to the other town, which only required that\nthe blaze be started in one place, the houses being so close that all\nmust burn together. They were led by two young men whom I knew. While\nthe rest of the party were hiding, these two, going forward, saturated\nthe thatch roof of the first house with kerosene, and were striking a\nmatch, when the noise was heard by the man inside. He quietly arose,\nmoving stealthily as a cat, opened the door, and discovered the two\nyoung men standing a few yards in front of him. He took deliberate aim\nand fired twice. One man fell dead instantly; the other, frightfully\nwounded, reached his friends, who put him in a canoe and took him back\nto his town, where he died a few days later. I have said that one of the\ntwo fell in the street. A few years ago they would have eagerly devoured\nthe body, both as a feast, and as a fetish protection against the enemy.\nThe fetish belief still remained strong as ever, but they revolted from\nthe practice; and having cut the body in pieces and boiled it, they\nsmeared the grease upon their foreheads and breasts, hoping that it\nwould thus avail for their protection. But they did not taste it. In\nformer times they would actually boast of eating an enemy; now these\nsame people are ashamed to confess it, and it is the most offensive\ncharge that one town can make against another.\n\nThe old chief to whom I have already referred, who laid at my feet the\nsacred fetish of his father\u2019s brains, told me how that he was persuaded\nto give it up by a neighbouring chief (one whom I had instructed) who\nhad come to his town, not to make war and kill, as formerly, but in a\nspirit of peace, and had stayed many days in order to tell the people\nthe things which he had recently learned. He had said that he and they\nmust stop making war with each other; that one God was Father of them\nall, who also loved them all; that they must throw away their fetishes,\nentrust themselves to God\u2019s care, believe in His Son and do right; and\neven if they suffered for it in this world there was a life to come in\nwhich they would be fully rewarded. This same chief, who was speaking to\nme, had had seven wives; but at the instance of his new faith he put\naway six of them and refused to accept a dowry for those whom he put\naway.\n\nThe Christians among them refuse to accept the dowry for daughter or\nsister; and polygamy of course is forbidden. Wars are less and less\nfrequent; and the sanctity of human life has taken such a hold of mind\nand heart that it must henceforth be a governing principle among them.\n\nHow completely the Gospel of Christ can transform the invisible world to\nthe mind of the African and vanquish his abject and demoralizing fear of\nspirits was proved by the numbers of men who began coming to me, some of\nthem from towns far away, in order to surrender the skulls of their\nfathers, the most potent fetish known to the African for protection\nagainst the hostility of the spirits. I found myself in possession of\nheaps of these uncanny skulls, and I did not quite know what to do with\nthem. One day, a man, having heard that I was going to bring them to\nAmerica, came to me in alarm to ask whether I had considered the\npossible consequences of confusion at the resurrection if the heads of\nthese Africans should be transported to the other side of the sea.\n\nThe voluntary surrender of a father\u2019s skull is the strongest possible\nevidence of the sincerity of an African\u2019s faith in Christ, and his\nsalvation from the paralyzing fear of spirits.\n\nThe disciples, that stormy night on Galilee, thought they saw a ghost,\nand in their fear of the ghost they forgot their fear of the tornado\nthat was threatening to engulf them. But at the sound of a well-known\nvoice, \u201cIt is I; be not afraid,\u201d their fear becomes joy, and Peter even\ncries out: \u201cLord, bid me come unto Thee.\u201d\n\nThe story is one that always appealed to the Fang of the Gaboon. For, in\nbringing their garden produce to the morning market, they must cross the\nbay at night in their frail canoes, and they all know what it means to\nbe overtaken by the sudden fury of a tropical storm until they have\ndespaired of reaching the land. And it is with the African as with the\ndisciples, his fear of the supernatural is always greater than his fear\nof the natural, and confidence in Christ casts out all fear. So also in\nthe last hour, when about to pass out of this life into the dread world\nof spirits, I have seen him meet death without fear. For he hears the\nvoice of Jesus saying: \u201cIt is I; be not afraid,\u201d and he responds: \u201cLord,\nbid me come unto Thee.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                   XV\n                        FETISHISM AND THE CROSS\n\n\nDuring my study of the language of the Fang I was one day talking to a\nyoung boy and searching for a better word for _mercy_ than the very\nvague word in general use. He was a bright lad, with beautiful eyes and\nfrank manner. I said to him:\n\n\u201cA man was hunting in the forest, when he discovered a woman of a\nneighbouring town alone in her garden. He decided to steal her and add\nher to the number of his wives. He caught her and tied a bush-rope\naround her, and himself holding the end of it he made her walk ahead of\nhim through the forest towards his town. On the way, the woman,\nrecovering from her first fright, began to cry and to plead with him to\nlet her go. She told him that she had three little children and that the\nyoungest was sick and would probably die without its mother. The man for\nsome time hardened his heart, but the woman continued to plead and to\ncry more bitterly. Then at last the man\u2019s heart was softened. He began\nto think that perhaps two wives were enough for the present; and he let\nthe woman go.\n\n\u201cNow, when he reaches his town and tells the people what he has done\nwhat will they say about him?\u201d\n\nPromptly came the answer: \u201cThey will call him a fool.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy will they call him a fool?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cBecause he is not a real man. He has a soft heart like a woman\u2019s heart.\nAll women are fools.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how about small boys?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said he, \u201csmall boys are very much like women; but of course we\nwill be real men when we grow up.\u201d\n\nNot that the African is destitute of the instinct of humanity\u2014by no\nmeans; but a false ideal calls for the repression of his best instincts.\n\nIn the course of a war between two villages, in which I knew nearly all\nthe people, a young man named _Minkoa_, a bright and rather manly young\nfellow, was one day out in the forest hunting when he was shot to death\nby a party who were in hiding near the path. Minkoa\u2019s sister was married\nto the very man who first shot him, and they had been intimate friends,\nlike brothers in each other\u2019s regard, and had visited much together; but\nthe man did not know that it was Minkoa when he fired the shot in the\ndark forest. Having wounded him, and seeing him fall to the ground, he\nsprang forward to complete the work, and instantly recognized his friend\nMinkoa. The savage heart is never wholly savage. With a cry of grief he\nfell beside the wounded man and with his own body would have saved him\nfrom further injury; but the rest of the party having come up, they\ndragged him back, flung him aside with a curse, and standing over\nMinkoa, fairly riddled his body with bullets. Compassion, or even\nnatural affection, under such circumstances, is a weakness and must be\nsuppressed as incompatible with what they regard as manly courage.\n\nAll heathendom suffers for want of a perfect human ideal. The first\nresult is a variety of ideal and type in different nations and different\nreligions. Not only does the Confucian type, the Mohammedan type, the\nBuddhist type, differ from the Christian type, but they also differ\nessentially from each other. In each, some one virtue, parental\nauthority, for instance, or courage, occupies almost the entire\nforeground, while other virtues recede in the perspective of character.\nIn Africa virtue is almost identified with courage, and power is\nworshipped. Woman, therefore, who in all lands represents the gentler\nvirtues\u2014compassion, devotion, patience\u2014is contemptible; and the child\nalso; for where power is worshipped feebleness can have no claim. Woman,\nthus relegated to a place of inferiority and contempt, sinks to a lower\nlevel of degradation than the man. Cruelty is the characteristic of the\nmen; licentiousness, of the women.\n\nBut notwithstanding the imperfection of his ideal the African is\nessentially moral. He knows the difference between right and wrong; he\nknows that it is wrong to lie and to steal. Sometimes I was disposed to\ndoubt it; when he told me lies for no possible advantage, or when he\ncommitted wanton wickedness.\n\nFor instance, I ask a man what town he comes from, and he answers that\nhe comes from Jamanen, when he really came from Atakama; and there is no\nconceivable reason why he should deceive me, except that he lies by\npreference. In the first days among the Bulu, before there was an\nestablished friendship between them and ourselves, when I have asked the\nroad to a certain town the men have directed me the opposite way, and I\nhave inferred the truth from the suppressed exclamations of the\ntittering women. A man steals a woman, instead of offering a proper\ndowry; and when I remonstrate, indignant that he should precipitate a\nwar with all its bloodshed and suffering rather than pay a dowry, he\namazes me by confessing that he expects to pay the dowry all the\nsame\u2014after the war. Why not pay it in the first place and save the lives\nof his people? And why does the African tell me a lie when the truth\nwould serve his purpose better? Has he sunken to such a depth that \u201cFair\nis foul, and foul is fair?\u201d So it sometimes seemed. But a more intimate\nknowledge of him always compels one to abandon this theory. It is never\nthe love of bloodshed that leads him to act thus, but an excessive\nadmiration of courage. His attitude of distrust towards his fellow men\nhas bred in him a disposition to secretiveness and deception, so that he\nlies even when there is no occasion, not from preference but from force\nof habit.\n\nLet him discover that another has lied to him, or stolen from him, and\nhe will resent it as readily and as naturally as ourselves. On occasion\nI have heard him preach a fairly good extemporaneous sermon on these\nsubjects. In Old Calabar I was shown the leaf of a certain tree, the\nlower side of which is like sandpaper, and I was assured that it is\nfrequently used upon the lips of persons convicted of lying\u2014though I did\nnot observe that trees of this kind were being rapidly defoliated by\nreason of this custom. The African lies in self-defense, and steals in\nthe interest of success; but what he practices himself he condemns in\nothers; for he knows that it is wrong.\n\nAgain, the universal practice of the _ordeal_ is evidence of the moral\nnature of the African; though at first sight it would seem rather to\nindicate moral imbecility. Sometimes a hen is set on eggs and the\naccused person is adjudged guilty or innocent according as the greater\nnumber of chickens hatched are male or female. This is a mode of trial\nfor less serious offenses. More commonly in the case of witchcraft a\nmild poison is administered to the accused in a drink. Sometimes it only\nproduces vomiting and does him no harm. But if he is seized with vertigo\nand staggers, he is adjudged guilty.\n\nSince the establishment of foreign governments it is seldom that a white\nman is allowed to witness this ordeal; but in earlier days they\nwitnessed it frequently. Du Chaillu tells of such a trial at which he\nwas present, in a town near Gaboon. There lived in the town a woman,\nOgondaga, an unusual woman among her people, he says; the one also who\nhad kept his house and cooked his food and had been exceedingly kind to\nhim. A number of deaths occurred in the town, and when the witch-doctor\nwas consulted he announced witchcraft as the cause. The usual panic\nensued. The terrified people, exclaiming, \u201cThere are those among us who\neat people,\u201d ran through the streets with drawn swords, athirst for\nblood. The witch-doctor named three persons as possible witches; and\nlast among them he named Ogondaga. As they dragged her from her house\ntowards the river she caught sight of her white friend and piteously\nbegged him to save her. The lonely white man, pale and trembling, looked\non, but could do nothing. They made her drink the poison. There was a\nmoment\u2019s terrible suspense; then she was seized with vertigo and\nstaggered. But even before she fell they sprang upon her with savage\nyells, cut her body to pieces, and with curses flung it piece by piece\ninto the river. And yet I am citing the ordeal as evidence of a moral\nnature!\n\nThe roots of certain shrubs, the bark of certain trees, and, above all,\nthe notorious Calabar bean are used as ordeal poisons. Sometimes both\nthe accused and the accuser are compelled to submit to the ordeal. In at\nleast one African tribe, when one person charges another with certain\nserious offenses they are both (accused and accuser) tied to stakes some\ndistance apart, on the brink of the river in the neighbourhood of\ncrocodiles, and whichever of the two is seized first is adjudged guilty.\nThe other is then set free.\n\nThe ordeal is a form of judicial trial in which supernatural aid is\nrelied upon to take the place of evidence and to determine guilt or\ninnocence. We must not forget that the ordeal was a medieval practice in\nEurope; and that our fathers were required to prove their innocence by\ndipping their hands into boiling water, or carrying a red-hot iron nine\npaces. But our fathers believed in a righteous God, and when evidence\nwas wanting the ordeal was a direct appeal to His judgment. It is very\ndifferent, and more strange, to find the African relying upon the\nordeal, who does not believe in a righteous God. The God of African\nbelief made the world; but in character He is no better than the\nAfricans themselves; and, moreover, he is a God afar off and inactive,\nwhile the spirits who are near and active are also evil and hostile.\n\nThe principle of the African ordeal is that there is an eternal\nconnection between guilt and retribution; and knowing of no righteous\nGod to execute vengeance, they attribute wrath to the dumb forces of\nnature; these, they conceive, are in league against the wrong-doer and\nwill execute vengeance. The belief is the more impressive because it is\ndirectly contradicted by the facts of experience. Fire burns the\ninnocent; the lightning-stroke is no respecter of persons; the fury of\nthe tornado is not partial to the good. And yet the belief persists. It\npersists because of the irrepressible instinct that wrong-doing deserves\npunishment, and that somewhere at the heart of the universe there is a\nmoral power that connects guilt and retribution.\n\nThe same instinct accounts for the sleepless Nemesis and the whips and\nscorpions of the Furies of ancient mythology. There is a peculiar and\nstriking instance of it in the Scriptures: Paul, having been shipwrecked\non the island of Melita, gathered a bundle of sticks and laid them on\nthe fire which the natives had kindled; but a viper, by reason of the\nheat, came out and fastened on his hand. Then the natives said one to\nanother: \u201cNo doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped\nthe sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live.\u201d\n\nBut when, instead of falling dead suddenly, they saw no harm come to\nhim, they changed their minds and said that he was a god.\n\nOne still night, as we lay at anchor in the middle of the broad river,\namidst profound darkness, a deep-voiced man related to the crew a story\nof how a certain man, whose father and sisters had been killed by\nanother man in a tribal war, not being able to avenge himself, at last\n\u201cthrew his face on his enemy.\u201d It is not necessary to repeat the\nunpleasant details of how this is done; but in many tribes they believe\nthat where a great wrong has been unavenged it really can be done, and,\nintentionally or otherwise, it illustrates in a gruesome manner a\nprinciple of remorse of which some suppose that the African is\nincapable. Ever after the man threw his face on his enemy the enemy saw\nthat face. It haunted him in the midst of all his joys, made his sorrows\nthe heavier, and poisoned all the pleasures of his life. Fetishes,\nprayers, incantations were all in vain; he still saw it, saw it alike in\nthe darkness and the light, and saw it always. At last, when madness\nthreatened him because of this haunting face, he killed himself to\nescape from it. But it is very doubtful whether he would escape it even\nin death; for there are those who say that a face thrown upon a man will\ncontinue to haunt him in the next life even as in this.\n\nAgain, even more clearly does the African prove that he is essentially\nmoral by the ceremonies which he has instituted for the relief of a\nsense of guilt. I once witnessed a peculiar ceremony of this kind in a\nnative town. A series of dire misfortunes, which had exhausted the usual\nresources of fetishism, led them at length to search their own hearts\nfor the cause. By some means it was concluded that the infidelity of the\nwives of the town was the cause of their calamities. Thereupon a fetish\nmedicine was prepared in a large bucket. An individual who played the\npart of priest was hidden in a green booth in the middle of the street.\nHe was supposed by the women to be a spirit, and not a human being. He\nspoke in a false voice that was inhuman enough for any spirit. The women\nas he called them by name, one by one, approached and sat down on a seat\na few yards from the booth. The \u201cspirit\u201d within the booth held one end\nof a rope of vine, while the woman seated without held the other. Then\nhe asked her whether she was guilty of the sin that had wrought so much\nevil. The women believed that the spirit already knew their guilt or\ninnocence, and they were afraid to lie. They all confessed their guilt\nin the hearing of the people\u2014probably every woman in the town. Then an\nassistant, at the command of the priest, dipped a bunch of grass into\nthe medicine and sprinkled it upon the guilty, thereby removing the\ncurse.\n\nSince that time they have all heard of the blood that was shed on\nCalvary; and by its sprinkling some of those some women, I trust, have\nbeen cleansed from a guilty conscience.\n\nBlood itself is often used in these ceremonies; the fresh blood of\nfowls, or of sheep or goats. In such a ceremony the people are seated on\nthe ground, one behind another, and the priest passing along pours the\nblood over their heads and shoulders. To most of them it is a mere\nceremonial and removes the curse without reference to the heart. Such a\nscene often recalled the observation of George Adam Smith, that the\nessence of heathenism is not idolatry but ritualism. Many of them shrink\nfrom the blood, lowering their heads to keep it off their faces and\nevidently desiring as little of it as possible. But occasionally one may\nsee a woman welcome it with eager, upturned face, and eyes of infinite\nand pathetic longing; in the spirit of that disciple who said: \u201cLord,\nnot my feet only, but also my hands and my head.\u201d\n\n\u201cOut of the depths,\u201d said the psalmist\u2014\u201cOut of the depths have I cried\nunto Thee, O Lord.\u201d And must we not believe that this inarticulate cry\nfrom the abysmal depths of the poor African woman\u2019s darkness and\ndegradation is heard by the attentive ear of Him who sitteth upon the\nthrone of the heavens and is very nigh unto them that are of a contrite\nheart?\n\nIn nothing else does the African reveal his essentially moral nature\nmore than in his immediate recognition and acceptance of the character\nof Jesus as the human ideal; although it is an ideal that traverses all\nhis former conceptions, that subverts those ideas which are the basis of\nhis dearest social customs, and condemns utterly that conduct which has\nbeen his very boast. Jesus is so immediately understood by the African\nthat we are often asked whether Jesus was a black man. He is understood\nby every tribe and nation, because He unites in Himself the ideals of\nall. He also unites in Himself individual qualities of seeming\nincompatibility. In Him the most masculine qualities are united with\nthose which are usually regarded as feminine, such as gentleness,\npatience, devotion. Christ redeems woman from oppression and bondage by\nrescuing from contempt those virtues in which she excels, and even\ngiving them pre\u00ebminence. He is the ideal of woman as well as man.\n\nBut that which concerns us just now is the strange fact that the African\nimmediately accepts the new ideal. He recognizes the character of Jesus\nas the authoritative standard even when he refuses to conform to it; and\nits authority is based wholly on his perception of its intrinsic\nsuperiority. The African finds in Jesus the complete definition of his\nown conscience. We shall not find a better explanation of this fact than\nthat of the Bible; that he was made in the image of God and has not\nforgotten his origin.\n\nIf this depiction of the mind and heart of the African be true, it will\nbe almost a foregone conclusion that the gospel which inspires his faith\nand becomes the power of God unto his salvation is the gospel of the\ncross and the atoning Saviour. Those who are called to preach Christ to\nthe most degraded of mankind are ever in accord with the persistent\ninstinct of the Church in all ages, embodied in the beautiful tradition\nthat the spear which wounded our Saviour\u2019s side on Calvary had\nhenceforth the power to heal every wound that it touched.\n\nThis gospel of the atonement, in the first place, relieves his sense of\nguilt. His sense of guilt is very vague, indeed; but the ceremonies\nwhich he has instituted for its removal are the most concrete expression\nof his moral nature. He knows nothing of the theological implications of\nthe atonement, nor does he understand the philosophy of his own\nsalvation; but he knows that the crucified Christ satisfies his heart\nand relieves his conscience. For man is always greater than his\nreasoning faculty, and sometimes when it is impotent he still may know\nthe truth by faith direct. The justice of vicarious atonement is not\nincredible to the African because he already has the idea. In common\nwith most oriental races he has an idea of human solidarity which the\noccidental has lost (though he is regaining it) by reason of his\nexcessive emphasis upon individualism. The African represents the\nopposite extreme. Each member of a family or tribe may be held justly\naccountable for any misdeed of any other member. If, for instance, in\nconducting a caravan through the forest one of them should desert, it\nwould be in strict accord with African justice to shoot all the\nremaining members of that man\u2019s tribe. White men (including some\nmissionaries) have occasionally won a reputation for generosity by\nforegoing their rights in this respect. The human mind will never\nexhaust the divine mystery of the cross; but somewhere in its\nneighbourhood society will probably find the true mean between the two\nextremes of individualism and social solidarity. The voluntary sacrifice\nof Christ as our representative and its procurement of our pardon is\ncredible to the African and relieves his sense of guilt.\n\nAgain, it is Christ as the atoning Saviour who secures his repentance.\nNowhere else but at the cross have men united the ideas of holiness and\nlove, God\u2019s hatred of sin and love of men. In heathen religions, when\nlove is attributed to God, as in some forms of Hinduism, He is indulgent\nand indifferent to sin; when holiness is attributed to Him, as in\nMohammedanism, He is remote and indifferent to men, because they are\nsinful. And even the Pharisees were scandalized, not understanding how\nthat Jesus, while professing to be holy, could receive sinners and eat\nwith them. But the atoning death of Jesus, in which the divine goodness\nis concreted, unites holiness and love, hatred of sin and love of\nrighteousness, and makes them inseparable.\n\nThose who have acquired an intimate knowledge of the mind and heart of\nthe heathen know that it is the consequences of sin, rather than sin\nitself, which they would escape. There is but little real abhorrence of\nsin. And the missionary feels instinctively that to proclaim to such an\naudience a gospel of forgiveness on a basis of repentance alone, without\neither penalty or atoning sacrifice, would only give license to\nindulgence, and make repentance itself impossible. The atonement of\nChrist, while offering free pardon, impresses even the mind of the\nAfrican with the enormity of sin and the impossibility of pardon to the\nimpenitent.\n\nAnd again, Christ the atoning Saviour is the highest impulse to\nself-sacrificing service. The love of the atonement is more than the\nlove of complacence. The atonement is love actualized as service.\n\nIt seems to me one must have lived among the heathen in order to realize\nhow this principle of self-sacrifice stands over against the world\u2019s\nprinciple of self-assertion. It is claimed, and with some truth, that\nBuddhism also has this principle of self-sacrifice. But, according to\nthat religion, self-sacrifice leads to death, practical annihilation,\nwhich is therefore more desirable than life. In Christianity\nself-sacrifice leads to more abundant life and is the way not to a grave\nbut to a throne. In Revelation a Lamb slain from the foundation of the\nworld is seated upon the throne and rules: self-sacrifice is the\nprinciple not of death but of life, the way to power and glory; and this\nis not merely a temporal discipline, but an eternal principle\u2014\u201cfrom the\nfoundation of the world.\u201d\n\nThe African has a capacity for devotion not surpassed in the world. And\nhe easily construes Christian duty in terms of service.\n\nNdong Koni was one of the first of the Fang Christians. He chose Christ\nearly in life, and his mind was as completely purged of fetishism as was\nhis heart of heathen cruelty. He was gentle and affectionate; and\nthrough all the years in which he was my constant companion, in frequent\nsickness, and in toils long and hard, I received from him so much\nkindness and affection that my heart still grows tender when I think of\nhim. Ndong Koni was accounted very poor because he had no sisters. A man\ngives his sisters in marriage, and with the dowry which he obtains he\nprocures for himself as many wives as he has sisters. Ndong Koni had not\neven one sister; and since he would not elope with another man\u2019s wife\nhis domestic future was a problem which neither he nor his friends could\nsolve. Therefore, when he came to the mission and asked for work, I\nsupposed that he had resolved to procure a dowry by working for it\u2014which\nwould require the labour of years. But I found, when I visited his town,\nthat, with only the assistance of an old uncle, Ndong Koni had built a\nlittle church in his town; and in order that it should be far better\nthan any house in town they had decided that it should have real\ncarpenter-made windows and doors swinging on real hinges. This grandeur\nwould be very costly, and Ndong Koni had sought work at the mission in\norder to earn money to pay for it. From that time, as long as I remained\nin Africa, he never left me, except for an occasional brief interval. He\nrose from one position to another until he was captain of the crew of\nthe _Dorothy_, and, finally, a catechist. Many of the towns near Ndong\nKoni\u2019s home were new, the people having come recently from the interior.\nI was the first white man to visit most of these; but I always found\nthat Ndong Koni had preceded me and was the first missionary.\n\nOne of Ndong Koni\u2019s converts was Onjoga, a remarkable man, who\nafterwards became an elder in the Fang church. Onjoga had reached middle\nage when he became a Christian, and for a long time he was the only\nChristian in his town. It was a peculiarly bad town. Soon after his\nconversion he came to the mission to ask me if I could send a teacher to\nhis town; for, he said, he would like to learn to read the Bible that he\nmight instruct his people. I had no teacher whom I could send; but\nOnjoga was so determined that I concluded to keep him at Baraka for a\nwhile and give him special instruction. He remained several months\nduring which I taught him daily; and half of each day he worked in the\nyard to earn the price of his food.\n\nHe winced perceptibly when I told him that the only work which I could\ngive him at the time was that of cutting grass. This is the one kind of\nwork, above all others, that the African soul abhors. The coarse, rank\ngrass grows with astonishing rapidity in that moist, hot climate. But\nfor reasons of health it must be kept down. A lawn-mower is useless: it\nis cut with a short, straight cutlass\u2014the English matchet\u2014and in\nwielding this cutlass one must stoop to the very ground. It is extremely\nhard work, and regarded also as peculiarly menial. To keep half a dozen\nnatives working at it steadily for half a day is the final test of the\nwhite man\u2019s power of command in Africa.\n\nOne day I set the crew of the _Evangeline_ at this work. Makuba, the\ncaptain, was very resentful; and the next day when I ordered him to get\nthe boat ready for a missionary journey he was still resentful\u2014so much\nso that he could scarcely walk. In answer to my stare of amazement at\nhis snail pace he informed me that he had rheumatism as a result of\ncutting grass. Makuba was an incomparable boatman and a faithful friend;\nbut in that mood he was sufficiently exasperating to demoralize both\ncrew and missionary and to make the heathen rage. When we got well under\nway, and the _Evangeline_ had spread her white wings to the wind, the\nother men began to eat; but Makuba would not even touch his food. At\nlength I said to him:\n\n\u201cMakuba, I am very sorry that your rheumatism is so bad you can\u2019t eat;\nfor I am going to have a fried chicken for my dinner and I was expecting\nto give you a portion of it\u2014about half, perhaps.\u201d\n\nI had already learned that the chicken is the one African fetish whose\npotency survives all changes. Makuba\u2019s countenance was a study; but he\nreplied:\n\n\u201cMr. Milligan, chicken no be same as other chop. I be fit to eat\nchicken.\u201d (Makuba was not a Fang, so he always addressed me in English.)\n\n\u201cBut do you think it would cure your rheumatism?\u201d I asked; \u201cI am not\nsure that I can spare it unless it is going to effect a complete cure.\u201d\n\nMakuba assured me that fried chicken was the specific for his kind of\nrheumatism. And he was right; for it cured him completely. We had a\nsuccessful missionary tour, Makuba doing extra service at every\nopportunity and singing as he held the helm.\n\nThe reader will understand, therefore, that Onjoga, the Fang Christian,\na man of middle age, and of real importance in his town and tribe, did\nan extraordinary thing when he consented to cut grass that he might stay\nat Baraka and be instructed in the Christian religion. He was distinctly\na man of brains. Before I left Africa I saw him stand before a large\naudience and read a chapter from the Gospel of Matthew; and he read it\nwell. It was he, by the way, who, after one of our missionary tours,\nfirst gave me my African name, _Mote-ke-ye_: _Man-who-never-sleeps_.\n\nWhile Onjoga was living at Baraka I often took him as one of the\nboat-crew in my work of itinerating. On one occasion, after a long\njourney and a futile effort to reach a certain town during the\nafternoon, we lost our way; for there was a network of small rivers. We\ncould neither find that particular town nor any other. Our predicament\nbecame serious when darkness approached and the air became dense with\nmosquitoes. At length we espied a canoe in the distance with several\npersons in it. We pulled as fast as possible in order to overtake them;\nbut they evidently thought that we were pursuing them and they tried to\nescape from us. Then Onjoga, rising in the boat and calling to them as\nloud as he could yell (loud enough to be heard at any finite distance)\ntold them that we were lost and that we would like to go with them to\ntheir town for the night. Having observed my helmet, they knew that\nthere was a white man in the boat and they were afraid, and refused to\ntake us to their town; for the French had recently burned some of their\ntowns. Onjoga assured them that I was not a government officer. Then\nthey asked who I was.\n\nOnjoga shouted back: \u201cHe is a missionary.\u201d\n\nAcross the distance came the question: \u201cWhat is a missionary?\u201d\n\nThen Onjoga, shouting with all the strength of his powerful lungs, gave\nthem an outline of my work, a brief character-sketch of myself, and a\nrapid synopsis of the Gospel which would have laid the world under\nlasting obligation if I could have preserved it. Much to my surprise it\nhad the desired effect. They waited for us and took us to their town,\none of considerable size of which I had not before known the existence.\nWe spent the night there and preached to the people. In the evening,\nwhen all the people were assembled, one of their own number started a\nFang hymn (one that I had translated) in which they all joined, to my\nastonishment. Then they sang another, and another. The explanation was\nthat Ndong Koni had frequently visited the town in order to teach them.\n\nOnjoga\u2019s wife, Nze, was a great trial to him after he became a\nChristian. At length he told me that he was going to put her away and\nasked me to come to his town and judge the palaver. For he wished me to\nknow that he was folly justified. I went to his town and held a great\npalaver and heard many witnesses. I listened half a day to the very\nunpleasant story of Nze\u2019s infidelity. Onjoga said that he did not care\nso much about it before he became a Christian, but now it was revolting\nto him and intolerable. After a long talk with Nze I asked Onjoga to\ntake her back once more. He was at first very unwilling. I said:\n\n\u201cI know it is hard; but she promises to do right in the future; and\nbesides, if you put her away you will probably marry some one else just\nas bad; for they are all alike, or nearly so.\u201d This was before there\nwere any conversions among the women.\n\n\u201cI know it,\u201d he replied; \u201cbut I shall procure a very young wife and I am\ngoing to beg you to take her to Baraka and raise her for me.\u201d\n\nHis heart was so set upon this project that I had some difficulty in\npersuading him that training wives for other men was not exactly my\nspecialty.\n\nAt last he consented to take Nze back once more. \u201cBut,\u201d he said, \u201cI know\nshe will not keep her promise.\u201d\n\nHe was right. It was only a little while until Nze was living as badly\nas ever. He put her away and remained single for some time. Then he\nmarried a woman who had become a Christian under his teaching, and they\nlived most happily together. Shortly before I left Africa I went to his\ntown and baptized their infant daughter. That service is still a sweet\nmemory.\n\nIt was not a great move for Nze. She married a man in the same town and\nlived next door to Onjoga. Onjoga was a natural leader of men, and the\ninfluence of his life transformed that town. Each time I visited him he\ntold me of men and women who had renounced their fetishes, together with\ntheir cruelties and adulteries, and had confessed the Christian faith.\nBut the last time I visited his town he came walking down the street to\ngreet me, leading by the hand none other than Nze, whom he presented\nsaying: \u201cShe is now a Christian; and she is in the class that I am\nteaching.\u201d When I left Africa Nze was still a faithful member of\nOnjoga\u2019s class.\n\nHe was a man of evangelistic fervour. He regarded himself as a debtor to\nall his people to make known the gospel of Christ crucified, which was\nalways the burden of his preaching. There were but few towns on the\nGaboon where his voice was not heard. Ndong Koni was gentle and winsome;\nbut Onjoga was aggressive and forceful. They represented extreme types;\nand there are other types among the Fang equally pronounced. For Christ\nlifted up upon the cross draws all men unto Him.\n\nOnjoga\u2019s own town instead of being one of the worst became one of the\nbest towns on the Gaboon. In the early days when I first visited it the\ncharacteristic sound which greeted me as I approached it (usually in the\nearly night) was perhaps the bitter cry of a woman who was being\ntortured for witchcraft; or the uncouth howling of a leopard-man whom\nwomen and children may not see lest they die; or the weird wail of their\nmourning for the dead; or the noise of war-drums and the savage shouts\nof warriors who were keeping an expected enemy warned that they were on\nthe watch. Such were the sounds that ascended in the darkness like the\nsmoke of their torment. A few years later, in that town one would hear\nevery evening at a regular hour the people, young and old, singing\nhymns, and singing them as they ought to be sung, from the heart. Nor\nwas there any cry of torture, nor any howl of a leopard-man, nor beating\nof war-drums, nor any other sound that would strike fear into the heart\nor quench the laughter of children at play.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XVI\n                    MISSIONS AND SOCIAL PROGRESS[1]\n\n\nThe \u201cuntutored child of nature\u201d whom we meet in the pages of Rousseau\nand Cooper, the \u201cnoble savage\u201d of sentimental fiction, is not the savage\nof missionary literature.\n\nHenry George, while repudiating the sentimental view, contrasts the\npersonal independence of the savage with the dependence of the labourer\nof civilization whose skill is specialized until his labour becomes but\nan infinitesimal part of the varied processes which are required to\nsupply even the commonest wants. The following is Mr. George\u2019s\nattractive picture of the savage:\n\n\u201cThe aggregate produce of the labour of a savage tribe is small, but\neach member is capable of an independent life. He can build his own\nhabitation, hew out or stitch together his own canoe, make his own\nclothing, manufacture his own weapons, snares, tools and ornaments. He\nhas all the knowledge of nature possessed by his tribe\u2014knows what\nvegetable productions are fit for food, where they may be found; knows\nthe habits and resorts of beasts, fishes and insects; can pilot himself\nby the sun or the stars, by the turning of blossoms or the mosses on the\ntrees; is in short capable of supplying all his wants. He may be cut off\nfrom his fellows and still live.\u201d[2]\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  _Progress and Poverty_, p. 256.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  SEVERAL STRIDES TOWARD CIVILIZATION.\n\n  A Group of Bulu.\n]\n\nThis personal independence is a fact and it is one that appeals strongly\nto the imagination of those who see the savage at a distance and who\nthink of him only as _primitive_, instead of savage. His state seems\nclosely akin to that social condition, described by an ancient poet, in\nwhich law, commerce, literature, science and religion are not\nspecialized, but implicit in the daily life of each individual. Man\nloves the exercise of liberty for its own sake, regardless of aim and\nconsequence. It seems to be a condition of manhood\u2014of moral spontaneity\nand development. But the personal independence of the savage (when we\nsee him not with the imagination but with the eyes) is the expression of\nhis brute selfishness. Even his wife has no share in it; nor anybody\nelse if he can help it; for the desire for liberty is but a step from\nthe desire for power. There is no word in his vocabulary to express the\nidea of justice. And when we pass from his social condition to the\ninward man, himself, we find him the victim of a thousand abject fears\nand cruel tyrannies that enslave him.\n\nMr. George L. Bates, a naturalist, who spent several years among the\nFang and gave me both sympathy and assistance in missionary work, tells\na story of a Fang feud, the last incident of which took place a few\nmonths before I left Africa. I repeat the story told by Mr. Bates,\nalmost in his own words:\n\nNzwi Amvam, a man of the Esen clan, had been killed by Bibane, chief of\nthe Amvom clan, the enemies of the Esen. After some days a palaver was\nheld to divide the dead man\u2019s estate and decide to whom his seven widows\nshould be given. These seven women were seated on the ground, in the\nmiddle of the street, while the assembled company, a miscellaneous crowd\nfrom that and surrounding villages, were seated on either side of the\nstreet in the shade of the low projecting palm-leaf roofs. The important\nmen of the clan sat in the open palaver-house at the end of the street.\nAfter much oratory it was agreed that Ngon, eldest son of Nzwi Amvam,\nshould receive two of his father\u2019s wives, the other five being\ndistributed among the near relations. Then the palaver broke up to be\nfollowed in the evening by a great dance with much drumming.\n\nWhen young Ngon lay down that night he considered that he had become an\nimportant man. Before his father\u2019s death he had one wife; now he had\nthree. He had also received from his father\u2019s estate a store of iron\nrods and spearheads sufficient to purchase another wife. And, besides,\nhe had a gun\u2014the only one in his town\u2014which, it is said, had come from\nthe land of white men, beyond the great sea. He was in a fair way to\nbecome a great man. But Ngon was not happy. He was thinking of the man\nwho killed his father; he was thinking of Bibane, and a passion stronger\nthan the desire for wealth and greatness took possession of him. He felt\n_olun_, that is _shame_, _grief_, _rage_, an intolerable thirst for\n_revenge_\u2014he felt _olun_.\n\nMany moons Ngon waited his opportunity. Many times he had his men\nconceal themselves along the forest paths that led to the village of the\nAmvom; but the enemy was too wary for them. At length, the day came that\nNgon levelled his gun from behind a tree at the son of his enemy, who\nwas passing alone and unsuspecting, and sent a rude fragment of an iron\npot tearing into his chest. The wound was mortal. In a few hours they\nheard the wailing of the women of old Bibane\u2019s village. Then the\ndeath-drum of the Amvom boomed through the forest and Ngon heard it with\nfierce delight. The _olun_ was removed from his breast. And, besides, he\nwas now a great man beyond question, for he had killed an enemy with his\nown hands.\n\nIn Ngon\u2019s village, however, when the shouting was over they reflected\nthat Bibane was a man to take revenge with interest; and the Amvom were\na powerful clan. It was the beginning of a period of alarms. Often at\ndead of night the whole town was terrorized when the cry was raised,\n\u201cThe Amvom are coming!\u201d For many moons the women never went to the\nplantations except when armed men went before and behind them in the\npath. Ngon himself usually headed the company. He also kept strict watch\nof the gloomy border of the forest surrounding the plantation while his\nwives dug cassava and filled their baskets, or cut bunches of plantains\nand bananas to carry home. But as time passed and the Amvom did not\nappear Ngon began to keep less strict watch.\n\nOne day his most faithful wife, young Asangon, went to a plantain grove\nunder her care, far from the village, and came back reporting other\nenemies to be watched besides the Amvom. The plantain stocks were\ntwisted and eaten off and all the bushes around trodden flat. Elephants!\nA few nights and their depredations would cause famine in the village.\nSo with some of his young men, Ngon went to the place, built a booth of\npalm branches, prepared a bed, gathered fuel for a fire, and returned to\nthe village. At dusk he set out for the plantain grove, accompanied by\nhis wife, Asangon, and their little son, whom Asangon carried astride\nher right hip, sitting in a wide strap of monkey-skin which was slung\nover her shoulder. Ngon walked ahead with his gun and a gum torch\nlighted to show the way and to frighten evil spirits in the dark forest.\nThey were going to sleep in the booth among the plantains for the\npurpose of scaring away the elephants. As he set out his white-haired\nmother cautioned him to look out for the Amvom. \u201cThey\u2019re a crafty lot,\u201d\nshe said, \u201cand want to cut your throat and eat you.\u201d But the young man\ndeclared that Bibane\u2019s people were far away on a hunt.\n\nFour nights they slept among the plantains and scared the elephants\naway. It was noticed also that Asangon seemed to enjoy going out thus,\nand spending the night with only her husband and her baby. It had\nprobably never occurred to her to form a distinct wish to be Ngon\u2019s only\nwife, but her happiness in the present arrangement was none the less\nkeen, and was made all the keener by the apprehension that it would not\nlast long.\n\nThe fourth morning, as they went through a bit of uncleared forest,\nsuddenly at a turn in the path a spear whizzed past Ngon, and he saw\namong the trees the face of Bibane and the Amvom. He raised his gun and\npulled the trigger; but the white man\u2019s weapon failed him this time. The\npowder flashed in the pan and that was all. At the same moment hearing a\ncry behind him, he turned to see his little son pierced with the spear\nthat had missed himself, and dying in his mother\u2019s arms. The Amvom\nsprang out upon him; and it was all he could do to break from them and\nescape into the forest, leaving his wife a captive and his son dead. It\nwas now in the Esen villages that the wailing was heard; while there was\ndancing and drumming among the Amvom.\n\nBut Ngon Nzwi again felt _olun_. In the dusk of the following morning\nwhile the people were still in their beds, his voice was heard in the\nstreet, rousing them from their sleep.\n\n\u201cPeople of this village,\u201d he cried, \u201cdescendants of Ndong Amvam, who\nfirst came from the east and founded this settlement, I am Ngon Nzwi,\nson of Nzwi Amvam, son of Amvam Ndong, son of Ndong Amvam; I am head man\nof this village. Bibane of the Amvom killed my father, Nzwi Amvam, and\nnow he has killed my child, captured my wife, and tried to take my own\nlife. May that man of the family of Amvam who fails to help me in my\nrevenge see his own people dead corpses! And my revenge will not be\ncomplete until I have eaten the flesh of the arm that threw the spear\nyesterday.\u201d\n\nThe gruesome threat was literally fulfilled. Many seasons passed before\nthe opportunity came; but it came at last and the dead body of Bibane\nlay at his feet. His wives knew what was to be done with the right arm\nand they prepared the feast for Ngon. Some of his closest friends joined\nhim in it, but there was no dancing or story-telling, and not many words\nwere spoken about it by his people. For the memory of it weighed upon\ntheir spirits.\n\nThe personal independence of the savage does not constitute the _simple\nlife_ of our idealizing imagination. There still are foes without and\n_olun_ within,\u2014not to speak of hostile spirits and the fear of\nwitchcraft.\n\nGuizot in his _History of Civilization_ defines civilization as\n_progress_, the progress of _society_, and the progress of\n_individuals_; the melioration of the social system and the expansion of\nthe intellectual and moral faculties of man. And these two elements,\naccording to Guizot, are so intimately connected that they reciprocally\nproduce one another. When we speak of the authority of example and the\npower of habit we admit, perhaps unconsciously, that a world better\ngoverned, a world in which justice more fully prevails, renders man\nhimself more just.\n\nThat is true; but society is moralized by ideas; and ideas must work\nthrough the brains and the arms of good and brave men. Therefore\nChristianity addresses itself primarily to the individual; though it\ndoes not ignore social conditions. It is easier to love men, especially\nalien men, in the mass than to love them individually. Rousseau, it is\nsaid, loved mankind but hated each particular man; and there are those\namong us who would fight for the freedom of the Negro race but would not\nwalk a block with an individual Negro. The love of Jesus is an aggregate\nof individual and personal loves. It was _one sheep_ that went astray\nwhom the shepherd followed weary and footsore till he found it; it is\n_one_ sinner over whose return there is joy in heaven. The missionary is\nfirst of all an evangelist, not a social reformer. Christianity aims at\nthe redemption of man, first in his individual character, and then in\nhis associate life.\n\nChristianity is so intricately interwoven with our own civilization, its\ninfluence upon our characteristic institutions is so subtle, that it is\nnot easy to say where its beneficence begins or ends; and many among us\nare constantly attributing its social effects to other causes. But\nintroduced into Africa its power as a social force at once becomes\nobvious. It comes in contact with a social condition which presents the\nextremest contrast to that of our civilization, a condition which is\nhostile at almost every point to the spirit of Christianity and that has\nremained unchanged probably for ages; it comes as an evangelistic\nagency, not working directly for social reforms; but within the lifetime\nof one man society is transformed almost beyond recognition by the\nabolishment of social evils, the implantation of institutions of\neducation and philanthropy, and the beginning of all that is highest and\nbest in our civilization.\n\nLet us not exaggerate the difference between civilization and savagery.\nIt is always necessary to check the dramatic instinct, which for the\nsake of a telling contrast would set the worst aspects of heathen\nbarbarism over against the best or even ideal aspects of Christian\ncivilization. Civilization is still far from perfect and savagery is not\nwholly savage.\n\nThe interval between civilization and the savage state is never so great\nas that between the latter and an animal state. No animal uses fire;\nthough I recall that Emin Pasha declared that he had witnessed a\nprocession of African monkeys carrying torches;\u2014but we didn\u2019t see it. No\nanimal cooks its food; no animal wears clothing; no animal makes either\ntools or weapons; no animal breeds other animals for food; no animal has\nan articulate language. Moreover without a certain degree of order,\nintelligence and justice, human society, even that of the savage, could\nnot continue to exist.\n\nBut one going from America to Africa is impressed only by the contrast;\nand he necessarily reflects upon it and seeks to define it.\n\nThe first contrast between civilized society and that of Africa which\nimpresses one is that of _interdependence_ and _independence_. I lived\nvery simply in Africa, and yet the whole world contributed to my simple\nfare. On my table there was butter from Denmark, milk from Switzerland,\nrice from India, sugar from Cuba, coffee from Brazil, dates from Arabia,\nother fruits from France or from California, vegetables from England,\nmeats from America\u2014and so forth. I did not even know where the wheat was\ngrown from which my bread was made; nor whether the cattle that supplied\nbeef had first grazed in Argentina or on the prairies of the Canadian\nNorthwest. It was the same with the materials and furnishings of the\nhouse I lived in and the clothing I wore. The whole world contributes to\nthe material well-being of each civilized man. In contrast to this the\nnative African\u2014before conditions are modified by civilization\u2014supplies\nall his own needs. He has the assistance only of his wife and he could\ndispense with that. The entire provision for his material well-being is\nfurnished within the area of his visible horizon or within the radius of\nan hour\u2019s walk from his village. There is no regular buying or selling\nand no money.\n\nIn this social condition men are very much alike, and there is a close\napproximation to equality. Each man possesses all the knowledge of his\ntribe and can do what any other man can do; there is no \u201cdifferentiation\nof function,\u201d and no interdependence. There is only nature\u2019s own\ndifference of male and female; the only real society is that of the\nfamily. The village is an enlarged family the maximum size of which\ndepends upon the necessity of combining against a common foe. African\nsociety, therefore, beyond the family, has scarcely more coherence than\na herd of gregarious animals. It is not an organism but a mere\naggregation of individuals.\n\nThe interdependence of civilization is largely the result of man\u2019s\nincreasing _conquest of nature_; and this is the next contrast between\ncivilized society and that of Africa. The difference between the canoe\nand the steamship is typical. Improved means of transportation,\nbeginning with the use of steam, has made possible the exchange of\nproducts between remote countries. The ever-increasing knowledge of\nnature, resulting in mechanical inventions, has made near neighbours of\nthe nations. We read the news of the world each morning. Money\ncontributed in New York to-day for the relief of a famine in China is\ndistributed there to-morrow. The whole world is embraced in our daily\nthought and interest. The African, unless he lives by a river, knows\nnothing of the world beyond the farthest village to which he has walked.\nNot even the invention of the wheel has reached him. The civilized man\nhas made nature supplement himself; has made himself swifter than the\nswiftest of animals and stronger than the strongest, and has multiplied\na thousandfold the product of his labour. In order to disseminate the\nbenefits of this increasing conquest of nature there arises a demand for\nskilled labour; and upon the principle that a man can do but one thing\nin a lifetime and do it well, different classes appear, performing\ndifferent functions in the social body, dependent upon one another as\nthe various organs of the body depend upon one another, and society\nbecomes an organism developing from simplicity to complexity.\n\nThe _intellectual development_ of the civilized man as compared with the\nsavage\u2014his knowledge of the world in which he lives, and of man\nhimself\u2014his science and philosophy, his refining enjoyments of\nliterature and music\u2014all that is embraced in _education_ creates even a\ngreater difference than that of material well-being. As steam and\nelectricity have annihilated space so the printing-press has annihilated\ntime. The knowledge and the wisdom of the past are recorded for our\nbenefit. A pigmy standing on a giant\u2019s shoulders (Macaulay observes) can\nsee further than the giant; and a schoolboy of our times knows more\nastronomy than Galileo. Each generation stands upon the shoulders of the\npreceding generation. There is nothing in any way corresponding to this\nin Africa. There is no increase of knowledge and no expanding\nintelligence. The intellectual stagnation, the stifling mental torpor of\nan African community must be experienced in order to be realized.\n\nAnother striking difference between America and Africa is the _authority\nof custom_ in Africa, and its resulting social immobility. Returning to\nAmerica after only a few years in Africa one is surprised and somewhat\nbewildered by the changes that have taken place. It takes considerable\ntime to adjust oneself to altered conditions. In Africa there is no\ntrace of any change in customs, or any alteration of methods, from time\nimmemorial. Conduct, even in its details, is governed by custom. Nobody\nquestions its authority; nobody violates it. The appeal to custom is\nfinal.\n\nFor instance, the rite of circumcision is universally practiced and\nrigidly regarded, but nobody knows why. There may be a good reason for\nit\u2014I believe there is\u2014but they have forgotten it. Or, to give an example\nof its authority even in trivialities, the slavers in the old days\ntrained the men of the Kru tribe to work on ships and thereafter finding\nthem useful allies persuaded them to put a distinguishing mark upon\nthemselves so that none of them might be taken and enslaved by mistake.\nThe mark is a tattooed band running down the middle of the forehead to\nthe tip of the nose. With the suppression of the slave-trade the\nusefulness of this ugly disfigurement of course became obsolete; but the\nfashion was meanwhile established and to this day every Kruman is thus\ntattooed. He has forgotten its origin. If you ask him the reason for\nthis mark he thinks that he gives a perfect explanation when he says:\n\u201cIt be fashion for we country.\u201d To ask him the reason for the custom is\nequivalent to asking why right is right. The finality of the appeal to\ncustom is like our appeal to the ten commandments. Of course the\nauthority of custom in Africa serves to check personal tyranny and to\nmodify the principle that might is right. It thus prevents society from\ngoing backward; but it also prevents it from going forward; a thousand\nyears are as a day. Mobility is a condition of progress.\n\nA more radical difference between the civilized man and the African than\nany we have yet mentioned is that of _work_. It is not merely a contrast\nbetween actual work and idleness, but a contrast of attitudes that\nconstitutes this difference. \u201cUse, labour of each for all,\u201d says\nEmerson, \u201cis the health and virtue of all beings. _Ich dien_, I serve,\nis a truly royal motto. And it is the mark of nobleness to volunteer the\nlowest service, the greatest spirit only attaining to humility. Nay, God\nis God, because He is the servant of all.... All honest men are daily\nstriving to earn their bread by their industry. And who is this who\ntosses his empty head at this blessing in disguise, and calls labour\nvile, and insults the workman at his daily toil?\u201d\n\nThis is everywhere the sentiment of the truly civilized man. He may be\nlazy but he still recognizes the dignity of labour. But the African\nrecognizes only the dignity of idleness and deems it the true badge of\nsuperiority. Work is not so obnoxious to his laziness as it is to his\nself-respect. It is the brand of inferiority. It is not _exertion_ that\nhe hates: he exerts himself in war and in hunting. It is when work\nassumes the form of _service_ that it offends him. Manhood, he believes,\nconsists in self-assertion as contrasted with self-sacrifice. His ideal\nis not to minister but to be ministered unto. Therefore work is\nrelegated to women, who are weaker and cannot resist the imposition.\n\nIt is only necessary to point out one more difference between Africa and\ncivilization; and in this last, it seems to me, we have before us the\ndifference that is really fundamental: it is _trustworthiness_.\n\nCivilization depends upon this quality in men. To the entire social\nstructure of civilization each individual contributes strength or\nweakness according to his trustworthiness. In New York it has sometimes\nbeen found, upon investigation, that in the steel frame of certain high\nbuildings many of the rivet holes were filled with soap and putty\ninstead of rivets. In the same city not long ago, in the family of a\nprominent physician, the maid who had the care of the children went\ncalling on a friend and found that in the friend\u2019s home there was\nscarlet fever. The maid considered only that she had already had scarlet\nfever and was therefore safe from it. So she made the call, but she\ncarried the fever back to the physician\u2019s home and his children died\nfrom it. Such exceptions prove the rule, namely, that trustworthiness is\nthe social cement of civilization.\n\nA Fang village of a hundred persons can hold together constituting a\nsociety; but as soon as it grows to a group of about two hundred it goes\nto pieces and forms new villages. The men of the smaller village are\nmore closely related, are brothers, and affection, a sentiment of\nbrotherhood, insures a certain amount of honesty in their mutual\nrelations. As the relationship widens this sentiment weakens and\ndistrust takes the place of confidence. And the worst of it is that they\ndistrust each other because they really know each other; because they\nare _untrustworthy_. Distrust is the dissolution of society.\n\nSome years ago at Batanga the white traders introduced a \u201ctrust\nsystem,\u201d whereby a quantity of goods were entrusted to a native, that\nhe might go to the interior and trade with the expectation of paying\nfor the goods with ivory or other trade produce upon his return to the\ncoast. This simple arrangement was regarded by the trader as extremely\nsatisfactory. He charged enormous prices in ivory for his goods, and\nbesides\u2014theoretically\u2014he got the ivory, which otherwise was difficult\nto procure. He did not worry about the payment; for the German\ngovernor, being an obliging gentleman, and wishing to stimulate trade,\nthreatened long imprisonment and lavish flogging to any and every\nnative who should betray his trust; who, for instance, would spend the\ngoods in buying a number of wives for the time being, in giving large\npresents to all his relations, or in making merry with the whole\ncommunity and wasting his substance in riotous living. The iron hand\nof the Kaiser would prevent all that, and the trust-system would soon\nmake Batanga a centre of commerce and civilization. Of course all the\nenterprising young natives hurried to get goods that they did not have\nto pay for until some other time, realizing only the foolishness of\nworrying about the future, and that possession is ten-tenths of the\nlaw in Africa.\n\nWell, after a great while they all came back accompanied by the Kaiser\u2019s\nsoldiers. When the old matter of the goods was mentioned to them and a\nlonging for ivory was expressed, the response was uniform: \u201cDem goods?\nDem goods you done give me? Why, mastah, all dem goods done loss.\u201d\n\nAt the very earnest appeal of the missionaries, reinforced by the\nlimited capacity of the jail at Kribi, a law was finally passed\nabolishing the trust-system in that particular form.\n\nIt was not fair. The poor native\u2019s sense of moral responsibility was\nunequal to the demand made upon it. For the same reason a high form of\ncivilization cannot be superimposed upon a morally degraded people.\nTheir moral responsibility would not be equal to its demands; it would\nbear too hard upon them even as upon children; it would crush them.\n\nIn thus recording the successive contrasts between civilization and the\nsavage state, I am not conscious of exploiting a theory, but have rather\nrecorded the differences that impressed me in the course of actual\nexperience in Africa; and I have recorded them somewhat in the order of\ntheir importance, passing from outward and manifest differences to those\nthat are less obvious and more fundamental. But we find that we have\ngradually passed from social conditions to individual qualities and that\nthe fundamental difference is _personal character_.\n\nA short time after the organization of a church among the Fang, the\n_Ayol Church_, I held a communion service in which about sixty persons,\nsome of them from distant towns, sat together at the \u201cLord\u2019s Table.\u201d Let\nthe reader imagine himself at that service with me; and let us consider\nbriefly the social energy of the new moral forces represented by that\nservice.\n\nThe very first thing that we observe in contrast to the surrounding\nheathenism is that both men and women are partaking together of this\nsymbolic feast. The Fang man does not eat with his wife; so here\nimmediately a custom is violated and the equality of woman is\nrecognized. This same principle has abolished polygamy, and there is not\na polygamist at this table. The authority of custom in its chief\nstronghold is challenged and overthrown by a divine law that judges all\ncustoms, however ancient, and which is henceforth the highest authority.\nThe sacred institution of the family is purified. It is not by\necclesiastical enactment that polygamy is abolished; the enactment would\nbe ineffective but for the higher estimate of woman which Christianity\nhas introduced by exalting those qualities in which she especially\nexcels, and establishing a mutual relation as incompatible with polygamy\nas with polyandry.\n\nWe also observe that these sixty persons represent many various clans of\nthe Fang, and even different tribes, for there are two Mpongwe women\npresent. The heathen Mpongwe despise the Fang. And between the different\nclans of the Fang themselves there are ancient feuds and relentless\nhatreds. But the very meaning of this service is _fellowship_.\n\nThe heathen Fang have no salutation, and need none; their instinct is to\nhide rather than to meet. But the people who meet at this service salute\neach other with the word _monejang_\u2014_brother_, or _sister_. And they did\nnot learn this salutation from me; for I had never used it thus; but\nwhere the Spirit of Christ is, there is the instinct of brotherhood.\nThis Christian society, therefore, although scattered far and wide, and\nhaving no material interests in common, is yet drawn together by an\ninvisible bond which is already stronger than all the disintegrating\nforces of the savage state. When the population of a Fang village\nreaches the number of two hundred its dissolution is imminent. But each\nmember of this Christian society has pledged himself to the conversion\nof others; and as the society grows its coherence increases.\n\nIn their worship also, as well as in their fellowship, we find certain\nprinciples of social energy. Their view of God and of the world makes\npossible the _conquest of nature_, which is the basis of our material\ncivilization. These men and women have all parted with their fetishes.\nThat means that they have defied the multitude of evil spirits in whom\nthey once believed and have definitely committed themselves to faith in\none God, the Father of all, in whom mankind are brothers.\n\nBut it means more than this. The spirits of evil in whom they believed\nwere localized in the objects of nature and to their presence all\nnatural phenomena were due. Nature was therefore lawless and hostile.\nBut these demons have all been cast out by the presence and power of God\nin nature. They now thank Him for the fruitfulness of their gardens and\nthey pray to Him in the midst of the storm. One mind, a divine\nintelligence, presides over nature and the world is not run by magic,\nbut governed by law. They do not comprehend the full content of their\nfaith; neither do we. But they are fundamentally right and education\nwill do the rest. They already have that knowledge upon which the\n_conquest of nature_ depends.\n\nWe observe that many of those present in this service have books. The\nbooks are the Gospel of Matthew and the book of Genesis, which have been\ntranslated into their own language\u2014the first Fang books. Nearly all the\nyounger persons present and some of those who are old have learned to\nread that they might read these books. We are never quite prepared for\nthe thirst for knowledge, the intellectual awakening, incident to their\nspiritual birth. They live in a new world; they are citizens of a\nworld-wide kingdom and they want to know all about it. Poor as they are\nthey will soon be giving of their slender means for the spread of the\nGospel among people whom they have never seen. We are bound to respond\nto this desire for knowledge and to encourage it to the utmost.\nEducation is not a mere expedient by which the missionary obtains the\ngood-will of the people and secures a hearing for the Gospel; it is a\ndemand created by the Gospel itself and henceforth the necessary adjunct\nof evangelistic work. Many, like myself, have gone to Africa intent upon\nevangelistic work, and before long have chosen to spend most of their\ntime in the schoolroom.\n\nAgain, in this service, they celebrate, in the death of Christ, a\n_self-sacrificing service_; and to this same spirit of self-sacrifice as\nagainst self-assertion, they all are solemnly pledged. This attitude of\nmutual service is another strong factor of coherence. It constitutes not\nonly the best society possible, but also the most progressive, and it\nis, for our purpose, especially significant in that it implies an\naltered attitude towards work. They still have to contend with natural\nlaziness, but they are no longer the victims of a false ideal. Service\nis not a disgrace, but a duty.\n\nIn the organization represented in this service, as well as in its\nfellowship and its worship, we shall find principles of social progress;\nwe shall find this Christian society a model of organization for all the\nsocial institutions and native governments that progress may in the\nfuture demand.\n\nGuizot, speaking of legitimacy in government, says:\n\n\u201cThe conditions of legitimacy are the same in the government of a\nreligious society as in all others. They may be reduced to two: the\nfirst is, that authority should be placed and constantly remain, as\neffectually at least as the imperfection of all human affairs will\npermit, in the hands of the best, the most capable; so that the\nlegitimate superiority, which lies scattered in various parts of\nsociety, may be thereby drawn out, collected and delegated to discover\nthe social law,\u2014to exercise its authority. The second is that the\nauthority thus legitimately constituted should respect the legitimate\nliberties of those whom it is called to govern. A good system for the\nformation and organization of authority, a good system of securities for\nliberty, are the two conditions in which the goodness of government\nresides, whether civil or religious. And it is by this standard that all\nshould be judged.\u201d\n\nAnd to this standard the government of this mission church conforms. The\ntwo elders who officiate in this service have been chosen by the members\nof the church themselves, and for no reason whatever except their moral\nworth and wisdom. One of the elders is Mb\u2019Obam, a noted chief, a man of\nwide influence even among the heathen. The other, Okeh, is in all,\nexcept moral worth, the opposite extreme from Mb\u2019Obam; diminutive and\nweak in body, he is useless for war and non-combative in disposition,\nthe kind of a man whom the heathen despise and ridicule\u2014but so kind, so\npure in heart, so humble, that none was more worthy to be exalted and\nthese Christians proved themselves by their perception of his worth. The\nprogress of this African community, implied in the choice of such a one\nas Okeh for leader, has leaped across uncounted centuries.\n\nThe man whom the Mpongwe church has recognized as pastor for many\nyears\u2014though he was never ordained\u2014was born a slave. The place of\nhighest authority is attainable to those in every rank; no class is\nespecially privileged; no privileges are hereditary; there is no such\nthing as _caste_ within this society; and therefore it is more likely to\nbe progressive and not stationary. In short, superiority, wherever\nfound, is recognized, drawn out, and invested with authority to govern.\n\nFor the _security of liberty_ it is only needful to mention the Bible,\nthe authoritative word, to which all have equal access. But there is\nanother factor. This government uses no force. It declares that temporal\nand spiritual authority are essentially different and must be kept\nforever separate; that physical force has rightful authority only over\nthe actions of men, but never over the mind or its convictions. This\ndeclaration of the _liberty of conscience_ is the parent of civil and\npolitical liberty.\n\nIt is difficult for the American, accustomed to the separation of\nspiritual and temporal power, to realize the utter confusion in the\nAfrican mind\u2014and in heathen minds elsewhere\u2014of moral authority and\nphysical force. Tyranny is the inevitable consequence of this confusion.\nIt is easy to object that Europe at one period in her history had to\ncontend against the Church itself for this very principle of separation\nand the liberty of conscience which it involves. But at an earlier\nperiod, it was the Church which first instructed Europe in this\nprinciple by insisting upon the separation of the two authorities, and\nwhich implanted the idea of liberty; and when it became obscured it was\nby rebellion within the Church that it was recovered. The Church is not\nrepeating on the field of missions the mistakes of its history in\nEurope; and therefore as a social force it progresses with accelerated\nvelocity.\n\nSuch then are the forces of social progress which are inherent in this\nChristian society, forces which are altogether new and strange in\nAfrica, forces which place this society in the line of continuous and\nindefinite progress towards civilization.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  A FASHIONABLE WEDDING IN KAMERUN.\n]\n\nAlready we may see the beginning of civilization in material things. The\nfirst thing that emerges from the inchoate society is the home. I have\nalready spoken of the abolishment of polygamy; but a home also implies a\nhouse. The houses of a Fang village are built on either side of one\nnarrow street, under one continuous roof, and consist of a single room\nseparated from the next dwelling by a half-open bamboo partition. But\nthe Christian wants a better house, because he is a better man. It is\nnoticeable that the Christian man separates himself from this common\nvillage life and builds a single house of several rooms for himself and\nhis family. All Christians do not immediately do so; but the tendency is\nsufficiently marked to insure the certainty that the idea of the home\nwill prevail. These better houses have windows, and doors on hinges, and\nsometimes even a board floor. There is therefore a demand for carpenters\nand other skilled workmen. Here is where the industrial school responds\nto an exigent need and is both an adjunct and a direct result of\nevangelization. Here also is the beginning of a division of labour and\nthat interdependence which characterizes civilization.\n\nThe Fang Christians are all clothed; for decency is a Christian\ninstinct. The cloth which they now wear is imported from England and\nAmerica. They pay for it with the produce of their gardens. For this\npurpose they raise more than they need for their own consumption. Their\ngardens are therefore much larger than they used to be, and both men and\nwomen work in them. Having better clothing they must take care of it;\ntherefore they want to sit on chairs, instead of on the ground. Neither\ncan they keep their clothing decently clean if they eat their food with\ntheir hands. Knives and forks and plates and tables are soon added to\nthe household furnishings. One thing demands another; each added comfort\nrequires more work. Those men now expend in productive labour the energy\nwhich they formerly wasted in conflict.\n\nSuch is the general course of development towards a social community\nhaving intercourse with the civilized world; receiving much, and adding\nits increment to the material welfare of the race and the sum of\nhappiness.\n\nAll the constitutive elements of civilization may be summed up in two\nthings: a condition of interdependence in material things, and a\nsentiment of human brotherhood. But we have seen that the progressive\ninterdependence of civilization is based upon an increasing knowledge of\nnature, and that this knowledge of nature becomes possible to the\nAfrican through the Christian view of God and the world. We have seen\nthat faith in Christ effects a mental and moral regeneration of the\nindividual from which springs a sentiment of brotherhood and spirit of\nmutual trust which is the coherence of society without which it becomes\na heap of sand. The saying is reasonable, therefore, that civilization\nis but the secular side of Christianity; and all the good which social\nprogress comprehends is embodied in the prayer which these Fang\nChristians unitedly offer: _Ayong dia nzak_\u2014_Thy kingdom come_.\n\nCommerce and government in our day are making the claim that they are\nthe all-sufficient forces of civilization throughout the world. But\nhowever much they have accomplished that is beneficial, we cannot forget\nthe evils which have attached to them; that in Africa and elsewhere\ncommerce is responsible for the sale of rum and for other evils as\ndegrading; and that government by the civilized powers, despite such\ngrandiloquent phrases as \u201cthe onward march of civilization,\u201d has\nconsisted very much in taking territory from those to whom it belonged,\nbecause, forsooth, \u201cthey have a darker complexion or a flatter nose.\u201d\nBoth commerce and government are invaluable adjuncts of Christianity;\nbut it has within itself the potentialities of both.\n\nThat prayer, _Thy Kingdom Come_, is being offered daily in every land\nand in every language of the world and everywhere it has the same\nmeaning. It means that all those who sincerely offer it, however great\nthe contrast of their history and traditions, are a community, united by\nthe stronger bonds of aims and ideals. It means that they have a vision\nof a united race of mankind; a vision of all nations drawn into one\ncommon brotherhood in commerce, government and religion, and that they\nbelieve in the abounding adequacy of the Gospel of Christ for its\nrealization. Society resounds with the cry of the oppressed and the\ndissonance of human passion; but still they cherish the vision of unity\nand peace; and they believe that this _kingdom of God_ is the end\ntowards which all social progress moves.\n\n\n\n\n                                  XVII\n                              THE CRITICS\n\n\nElsewhere I have represented the _climate_ as the theme of the Old\nCoaster whom the voyager meets after leaving Liverpool, or some other\nEuropean port, for West Africa. He makes free use of all the adjectives\nthat have usually been appropriated to the characterization of sin and\ndeath.\n\nBut I may not have said that the Old Coaster has what musicians call a\n_sub-theme_. His sub-theme is _Missions_. The unity of his conversation\nis secured by the use of the same adjectives. If the missionary is\ncoddled at home or foolishly praised, the severe and relentless\ncriticism to which he is subjected after leaving Europe may be regarded\nas a providential discipline. According to the Old Coaster every evil\nthat infests West Africa is due directly or indirectly to the\nmissionary. I have heard him blamed for the Belgian atrocities of the\nCongo, and for the Hut Tax War of Sierra Leone, and even for the\nfatality of the climate. For, it is said, everybody knows that it is not\nmalaria but quinine that kills the white man in Africa; the belief in\nquinine is simply fatuous, and its use is criminal; and the missionary\nalone is responsible. Rum, which is the only protection against malaria,\nwould keep the traders alive, but sooner or later, following the example\nof the missionary, they take quinine and die.\n\nThese criticisms serve to while away the time, and do no harm unless\nthere should be on board a smart traveller who is bent upon learning all\nabout Africa from the deck of a steamer and then giving his knowledge to\nthe world in a book. The Old Coaster (and the name often includes the\ncaptain and officers of the ship) is obsessed with the desire to impart\ninformation. The missionary has magazines through which his voice is\nheard: but the smart traveller is the Old Coaster\u2019s opportunity and he\nmakes the best of it and pours forth a volume of misinformation\nsufficient to fill the most capacious mental vacuum. The Old Coaster\nthus employed is not more than half malicious. He sometimes winks at a\nmissionary standing by, as much as to say: \u201cThe joke\u2019s on you.\u201d He\ngenerally divides missionaries into two classes, _deliberate impostors_\nand _well-meaning fools_, generously assuming that the missionary\npresent belongs to the latter class, so that the relation of\ngood-fellowship on board is not necessarily disturbed by the\nanti-missionary acrimony.\n\nOne of these travelling critics was so wrought upon by the reported\nmisdoings of missionaries and their destructive influence upon the\nreligion and the morals of the natives that before he reached the Congo\nhe went clean crazy\u2014as witness the following from his book: \u201cWhat\nreligions furies with unholy rage have demolished those weird gods, and\ndisturbed fervent but unobtruding piety in the exercise of its duties?\u201d\nIt may have been the result of going ashore without an umbrella. I never\nheard whether this man recovered; but let travellers take warning and\nnot trifle with the dangers of the coast and the Old Coaster.\n\nOne is impressed by the bewildering inconsistency of the criticisms, so\ncontradictory that if all were published no further answer would be\nnecessary than to cite critic against critic. The more numerous class of\ncritics contend that the native is so morally inferior that he cannot be\nimproved; and a profession of Christian faith only adds to his heathen\nvices a more disgusting hypocrisy. The other class of critics, less\nnumerous, but more intelligent and reputable, contend, on the contrary,\nthat the native is all right as he is, his pristine morality becomes\nhim; there is no need to improve him and we ought not to try.\n\nNot long ago Prof. Frederick Starr after a brief visit to the Congo\npublished his opinions in the Chicago _Tribune_ and made many strictures\nupon missionary work. He wrote under the rather complacent caption, \u201cThe\ntruth about the Congo,\u201d quite confident that his word and hasty\nobservations were sufficient to discredit the hundreds who had gone\nbefore him, as able and as honest as himself, and who had lived many\nyears in the Congo. Professor Starr confesses at the outset that he\npersonally \u201cdislikes the effort to elevate, civilize, and remake a\npeople,\u201d and that he \u201cshould prefer to leave the African as he was\nbefore the white contact.\u201d It is his opinion that civilized folk have no\nright to change the customs, institutions or ideas of any tribe, even\nwith the purpose of saving their souls. Such critics regard the African,\nnot at all with a human and sympathetic interest, as a fellow man,\ncapable of progress, and possibly endowed with an immortal soul; but\nwith an esthetic and historical interest, as constituting a link between\nus and our ape-ancestry, an object to be appraised like a piece of\nantique art, not for its present or future use, but for the past. To\nchange him shows a want of good taste and historical imagination, even\nif the change relieve his suffering and improve his morals; that were a\nsmall compensation if we thereby impoverish the variety of human types\nand leave the world less interesting to the connoisseur. Incidentally,\nProfessor Starr denied categorically the reported atrocities of the\nBelgians in the Congo Free State. He had asked the Belgians themselves\nabout the matter.\n\nIn seeking to explain the wide-spread criticism of missions and of\nmissionaries it ought to be frankly admitted that among missionaries\nthere are misfits and occasional freaks whose misconduct scandalizes the\nwell deserving. If we have any knowledge of human nature, and realize\nthat in every society there are unworthy and false members, we should\nnot even expect that the ranks of missionaries alone would be exempt. By\ndenying a palpable fact we only exasperate our critics and lead them to\ndoubt the sincerity of all instead of a very few. It is always wholesome\nto admit the truth, and indiscriminate praise is as foolish and\nmisleading as wholesale criticism.\n\nOn one of my voyages to Africa a certain missionary was regarded as \u201cthe\nbiggest liar on board.\u201d What in the world ever attracted him to the\nmission field it were hard to imagine. Criticism of other and all\nmissionaries was his favourite employment, especially when conversing\nwith those who were hostile to the work. While we were anchored at Accra\nI heard him say to a trader, as he pointed ashore towards the splendid\nEnglish mission: \u201cThat is where the missionaries take in heathen and\nturn out devils.\u201d He did not stay long in the mission but he did\nconsiderable harm in a short time and created painful misunderstandings\nthat were by no means removed by his departure. Imagine the position of\na missionary placed perhaps alone with such a man, with no other\ncompanionship and no escape from his neighbourhood! Moreover the report\nof the missionary\u2019s work, and even his reputation, depends upon the\nother man; he is therefore at his mercy. For the reputation of one who\nlabours in a lonely and distant field may be indefinitely greater or\nless than he deserves. The man of whom I speak, after his return to\nAmerica, figured in the police courts in New York City, where he was\narrested on a very serious and odious charge. His record there is still\naccessible.\n\nWell-meaning missionaries sometimes make themselves ridiculous in the\neyes of white men by their attitude and manner towards the natives. I\nonce witnessed such a scene, when a missionary standing on deck, in the\npresence of white men, conversed with a group of natives in a manner so\nunseemly and so silly that the comments of the white men were chiefly\noaths and ribald laughter. When at last the natives after an hour on\nboard were about to go ashore, one of them, a young savage about sixteen\nor seventeen years of age with scarcely a stitch of clothing on him,\ncame to the missionary and said: \u201cMe, I go for shore;\u201d whereupon the\nmissionary extended his hand and lifting his huge helmet exclaimed in a\nvery loud voice accompanied by a sweeping bow: \u201cGoodbye, sir; good-bye;\nand I\u2019m happy to have met you, sir.\u201d\n\nThe captain in a voice of thunder turned to me and said: \u201cWho is that\nfool?\u201d I have weakened the captain\u2019s forceful language by omitting his\nexpletive, which the average reader will easily supply.\n\nMore frequently, yet perhaps not often, the missionary errs in his\nattitude towards his worldly-minded fellow passengers on these long\nvoyages\u2014is unamiable, or indulges in moral strictures in a way that\ncannot possibly do good, and is calculated to create prejudice and\nantipathy.\n\nI recall one Sunday when two army officers thought to kill time by\nplaying ball on deck. Like others of their class, they regarded all\ncivilians with contempt and missionaries with abhorrence. They were\ninteresting when drunk, but extremely stupid when sober. A lady\nmissionary came and sat down in her chair on the side of the deck where\nthey were playing ball. As the man at the bat began to strike more\nvigorously the ball occasionally flew past the lady at an uncomfortably\nshort distance. There were chairs on the other side of the deck where\nshe could have been quite as comfortable, and there was only one place\nwhere there was room to play ball; but those men were breaking the\nSabbath, and she must protest by staying there and looking righteous,\nthat is to say, very cross. She was naturally modest as well as\nkind-hearted, and she remained there wholly from a sense of duty. She\nwas a small, scanty person, with a prominent nose, and she sat bolt\nupright, her nose looking like an intentional target for the ball. Once\nwhen it whizzed past her one of the men said, \u201cAren\u2019t you afraid you\nwill get hit with this ball if you stay there?\u201d It never seemed to occur\nto him that there was another alternative, namely, for them to stop\nplaying.\n\nShe seemed not to hear, but looked more cross than ever, and appeared as\nif she wanted to get hit, so as to be a martyr to her principles; or at\nleast so as to have a better reason for looking so cross. The captain\ncame along and after contemplating for a moment the smiling levity of\nthose worldly men and the contrasting acerbity of the Christian woman\u2019s\ncountenance, as she sat there keeping the Sabbath day holy, he went to\nthe side and laughed overboard. At length a fellow missionary approached\nher and asked if she would go with him to the other side of the deck,\nadding that he wanted to talk with her on a matter of missionary\ninterest. She was a real good woman with a mistaken sense of duty. We\nmust surely seek to be amiable to people as we find them, and try to\nlike people as they are. Such conduct is a source of irritation to those\nwho indulge in it, and it inspires dislike and consequent criticism.\n\nAnother source of criticism is the missionary magazines of the various\nsocieties engaged in missionary work. These magazines fall into the\nhands of the trader; and sometimes he finds a glowing account of the\ngreat work being done by Missionary A who happens to be his neighbour,\nand he is unable to reconcile the report with the work which he has seen\nwith his own eyes. Usually his eyes are at fault. He is blind to\nspiritual values. There are old traders in Gaboon who do not know that\nthere is a native Christian in the community.\n\nBut we cannot dismiss the whole matter in this cavalier manner, and I\nfeel like adding that the missionary magazine, however necessary, is not\nan unmixed good. It is not good that a man should let his left hand know\nall that his right hand does. The missionary magazine reports to the\nworld what the missionary chooses to write about his own work. If his\nletters are interesting and report large success they are eagerly sought\nand published; and he of course is not callously indifferent to his\nreputation. But, inasmuch as there are few or no witnesses but himself,\nthe magazine puts a premium on egotism and immodesty; and it sometimes\nfosters a kind of spiritual impotence which needs the stimulus of\npublicity. One of the bravest and best missionaries it has ever been my\nprivilege to know, the Rev. William Chambers Gault, was seldom mentioned\nin a missionary magazine and little known to the church at home, though\nhe laboured for many long years in Africa and is buried there. Mr. Gault\nwas incorrigibly modest.\n\nBut even with the utmost margin of excuse\u2014admitting the foolishness of\nfulsome and indiscriminate praise; admitting that missionaries are\nmortal, and some few of them _desperately_ mortal\u2014it remains that the\nwholesale criticism and violent denunciation that one hears on the\nvoyage is unjust and outrageous. We must look for the reason of it in\nthe critics themselves\u2014the non-missionary white men residing in Africa.\nAnd in themselves we will find reason enough.\n\nFirst of all, many or most of these men, according to their own\nconfession, are not men of personal faith in Christ, but men who deride\nthe Gospel in which we believe. Of all those who have criticized\nmissions, I have only known of one man who himself professed to be a\nChristian; his criticism was rather mild and was due more to what he had\nheard than what he had seen.\n\nCarlyle has said: \u201cUnbelief talking about belief is like a blind man\ndiscussing the laws of optics.\u201d How can a man think it worth while to\nexpend lives and money in preaching to the heathen a Gospel which he\nhimself rejects? If the Gospel itself is foolishness those who preach it\nmust be fools, and the greatest fools are those who preach it at the\ngreatest sacrifice. What does cynicism know about enthusiasm? It was not\n\u201cmuch learning,\u201d but much Christianity, that made Paul seem mad to\nFestus. Manifestly the first question to ask the disbeliever in missions\nis whether he is also a disbeliever in Christianity and in Christ. It is\nreally astonishing that so many critics of missions, and so many of\ntheir readers, should treat this latter question as entirely irrelevant.\n\nRacial antipathy towards the black man is also a reason of hostility to\nmissions. The intensity of this feeling where the inferior race is in\nthe majority is surprising, even in men who in all their other relations\nare generous and considerate. In the opinion of many a white man in\nAfrica the black man is little better than a beast, and they treat him\naccordingly. To speak of him as a brother man is to insult the white\nman.\n\nThis antipathy actually prefers that the black man should remain in his\npresent degradation\u2014perhaps to justify itself. It resents every effort\nto elevate him; and as it sees him actually rising to the moral level of\nthe white man it is only intensified into hatred. One soon perceives\nthat the object of the white man\u2019s greatest aversion is not the lowest\nnative, but the best. The critic may therefore be sincere when he\ndeclares that he can see no good in the native product of missions, for\nhe is blinded by this special prejudice. Racial antipathy is much more\nmarked in the government official than in the trader; yet even the\ntraders when they live in communities often have a code of arrogant\nmanners according to which they ostracize any of their number who may\nextend to the native a degree of social recognition.\n\nThis antipathy must necessarily be hostile to missionary work. For the\nwork of the missionary implies that he regards the black man as a\nbrother man; one who is also capable of moral elevation. He is not\nnecessarily blind to the present degradation of the native; but he\ninsists that he does not belong to the present, but to the future; that\nhe is endowed with an immortal soul and the moral possibilities which\nimmortality implies. He admits the worst but \u201csees the best that\nglimmers through the worst,\u201d and \u201chears the lark within the songless\negg.\u201d And experience has justified his faith.\n\nThe missionary treats the native according to this belief, and as he\nrises gives him exactly the social place to which his character as an\nindividual entitles him. He takes very little interest in the abstract\nquestion of equality, or whether the black man is inherently inferior\nand different in kind from the white man. But he believes that in\nChristian brotherhood there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither black nor\nwhite. This attitude and the behaviour which comports with it are\nobnoxious to many white men, and are inevitably a source of much\nhostility to missions.\n\nTo the impulse of racial antipathy there is often added that of angry\npassion unchecked by social restraints, and stimulated by the\nirritability of a malaria-infected temper.\n\nOne day during a sea voyage a white man was telling a number of us how\nthe native workman ought to be managed. Addressing a missionary he said:\n\u201cYou missionaries make a great mistake in being kind to the native\nworkman. To let him know that you value him is to spoil him; to praise\nhim is to make him impudent; to trust him is to make him a thief. The\nproper way to manage him is never to speak to him without swearing; and\nto curse him even when he does his best. They are all misbegotten sons\nof rum-puncheons, whose highest idea of heaven is idleness and drink.\nThey hate us all, and the only way to get any service out of them is to\nuse the club. Every man who has ever worked for me bears the mark of my\nclub, and some of them I have maimed for life. It is the only way to get\nthe brutes to do anything.\u201d\n\nThe missionary replied: \u201cI believe every word that you say in regard to\nyour treatment of the native. But this much at least is to be said for\nmy method, as against yours, that mine is a complete success, and yours\na complete failure, even according to your own confession. Most men do\nnot brag about their failures, nor try to teach others what they\nthemselves have not yet learned. In spite of kicks and curses you do not\nget the natives to work. One must conclude, therefore, that you like\nkicking and cursing more than you like success. Now my method succeeds\nto the extent that I usually get from the native all the service for\nwhich I pay him; and, besides, they have nursed me when I was sick; and\nthey have vied with each other in protecting me from the sun by day and\nstorms by night; they have exposed themselves to danger for my sake, and\nthey have even saved my life at the extremest peril of their own. But\nwould you therefore exchange your method for mine? No; not even for the\nsake of success.\u201d\n\nBut the worst cruelty of the foreigner towards the native results from\nthe union of trade and government\u2014when the government official is also a\ntrader. This is what happened in the miserable Congo Free State, when\nthe king of the Belgians became the king of traders. The concession\nsystem of the Belgians was afterwards introduced into the French Congo.\nBut at length a voice was heard that had long been silent, and De\nBrazza, rival of Stanley and founder of the French Congo, came forth\nfrom his well-earned retirement, and France was stirred with the\neloquence of a great man\u2019s indignation. The result was that the worn-out\nexplorer himself was appointed the head of a commission that was sent to\ninvestigate the conditions in those parts of the French Congo in which\nthe concession system was in operation. De Brazza died at Dakar on his\nreturn, a martyr to his efforts for justice and humanity in Africa. But\nhis report was already written, in which he charged M. Gentil,\nCommissioner General of the French Congo, with maladministration and\ngreat cruelty towards the natives. He reported a number of natives\nflogged to death with knotted whips. He stated that on one occasion, at\nthe colonial office at Bangui, in order to force the natives to bring\ntrade produce\u2014called taxes\u2014fifty-eight women and ten children were taken\nand held as prisoners and that within five weeks forty-seven of these\ndied of starvation. Is it any wonder that to certain white men the usual\nmethods of the missionary seem very slow and ineffective?\n\nThe missionary is the champion of the helpless native against the white\nman\u2019s cruelty, and if he sometimes oversteps the limit of discretion, as\nis often said (though I do not know of a single instance), his excessive\nzeal is at least on the side of justice and humanity, and it is also in\nbehalf of the weak against the strong. The government official seldom\nburns down native towns for pastime in the community where there is a\nmissionary. When remonstrance is unavailing the missionary will at\nlength report the matter to a higher official, and even the highest. And\nif such cruelty be general and atrocities abound, he even carries his\nremonstrance to the governments of Europe, or appeals to the civilized\nworld, as he has done in regard to the Belgian Congo.\n\nAgain, there is no doubt that the particular vices which so many white\nmen practice in Africa are a source of estrangement between them and the\nmissionaries and a reason for hostility and consequent criticism of\nmissions.\n\nIt is easy to be uncharitable and even unjust when writing on this\nsubject. The contrast between the _selfish_ motives of the trader and\nthe unselfish motives of the missionary has been overworked. It is not\nnecessarily greed for gold that takes the trader to Africa, but often a\nperfectly honourable ambition. Besides, I have known traders who went to\nAfrica chiefly because it offered the most immediate opportunity in\nsight for them to help out at home when younger brothers and sisters\nwere to be educated and the family was in straitened circumstances. The\npity is that they did not know the subtlety of the temptations awaiting\nthem. They were strong enough to live up to their moral standards, but\nthey did not see that those standards themselves would imperceptibly be\nlowered. Yet this is what happens.\n\nIn a recent book, _The Basis of Ascendancy_, the author, Mr. Edgar\nGardner Murphy, speaking of the small proportion (as it seems to him) of\nthe nation\u2019s brains which the Southern white man of the United States\nsupplies as compared with the New Englander, sets forth most earnestly\nthe danger to the white man in the Southern states of contact with the\nlow standards of an inferior race. The significant fact, Mr. Murphy\nsays, is not the mere pressure of a lower racial standard, but the white\nman\u2019s cumulative modification of his own standards of self-criticism and\nself-direction:\n\n\u201cThrough the conditions of his familiar contact with less highly\ndeveloped habits of efficiency, with forms of will more immature than\nhis, he is deprived of that bracing and corrective force, resident in\nthe standard of his peers, which, manifesting itself within every\npersonal world as one of the higher forms of social co\u00f6peration, is, in\nfact, the moral equivalent of competition. He may sin and not die. His\nmore exacting expectations of himself are not echoed from without. Of\nhimself, as he would prefer to see himself, there is no spiritual\nmirror. The occasional tendency to take himself at his second best is\nsocially unchecked, and both his powers and his inclinations tend to\nassume the forms of approximation imposed by a life of habitual\nrelationship with a mind lower than his own.\n\n\u201cTo say that the stronger tends to become brutal because the weaker is\nbrutal, or slovenly because the weaker is slovenly, is to touch the\nprocess only on its surface. The deeper fact is not that of imitation,\nnor yet that of contagion. It is that tragedy of recurrent\naccommodations, of habitual self-adjustment to lower conceptions of life\nand to feebler notions of excellence, which is nothing less than\neducation in its descending and contractive forms.\u201d\n\nThis is incomparably more true in Africa than it ever has been or ever\ncan be in the Southern states. The worst of the remote possibilities\nwhich Mr. Murphy describes are fully realized in Africa. The velocity of\nthe process is accelerated by the depressing effect of the climate.\n\nThe missionary too is more or less sensible of this influence upon\nhimself; but he is guarded by the fact that his very purpose in Africa\nis to introduce and teach his own standards to the natives and he is\nconstantly occupied in pointing out the superiority of his own and the\ninferiority of theirs. Moreover any definite accommodation to native\nstandards would mean disgrace and failure; to other white men it means\nneither. Indeed the white man, other than the missionary, who proposes\nto maintain the home standards in Africa will sometimes find himself\nostracized by his fellows.\n\nThe use of rum by the natives the missionary is bound to denounce and\nwithin the membership of the church it is absolutely forbidden. But in\ndoing this the missionary by implication reflects very seriously upon\nmany white men. For the excessive drinking of the majority of white men\nin Africa, with its appalling consequences, is so well known that there\nis no need to exploit it. And when the native connected with the mission\nchurch refuses either to drink rum or to sell it, thereby professing\nmoral superiority to those white men, the latter are exasperated. And\nshall the missionary not teach the native the strict observance of the\nseventh commandment because the white man so flagrantly violates it? The\ndiscord arising from this source is greatly aggravated by the fact that\nso many girls educated in mission schools are enticed by the\nextraordinary temptations of the white men to a life that the\nmissionary, if he be true to his Christian standards, must condemn; for\nthe girls of the mission are the most intelligent and attractive.\n\nThese various reasons are ample explanation of the hostility to missions\nand the consequent criticisms that are heard all along the coast, and\nwhich are occasionally disseminated over the world by some writer who\nhas made a brief stay in Africa and who is so ignorant of the whole\nsubject of missions that it ought not to require much discretion to be\nsilent.\n\nThose who condemn missions on sociological grounds\u2014who, like Professor\nStarr, think that civilized folk have no right to change the customs,\ninstitutions or ideas of any tribe, even with the purpose of saving\ntheir souls\u2014are easily answered. For not only does such a view utterly\nrepudiate the claim of Christ to be the world\u2019s Saviour\u2014the \u201cLight of\nthe world,\u201d to which every man and nation has a right\u2014but it is also\ncontrary to the accepted principles of sociology. It is untrue and\nunscientific to say that the social structure of any given people has\nbeen fashioned by the people themselves, and therefore meets their\nneeds; and that progressive changes must be brought about by the people\nthemselves without the introduction of outside elements. The student of\nsocial evolution knows that the social structure is not always fashioned\nby the people themselves: it is sometimes altered radically by conquest.\nNeither does it always meet the people\u2019s needs. The first need of a\npeople is bread; and wherever the population is pressing too hard\nagainst the means of subsistence, as in India and China, with their\nrecurring famines, there is a sure sign of weakness and defect in the\nsocial structure. Neither is it true that progressive changes must be\nbrought about by the people themselves; for there may be social\nevils\u2014impediments to progress, or tendencies to degeneration\u2014which can\nonly be corrected by the introduction of new ethical elements from\nwithout. Mohammedanism, a foreign religion, has become perfectly\nnaturalized in a large portion of Africa, and our critics\u2014most of\nthem\u2014vie with each other in proclaiming the good it has wrought. The\nspread of Buddhism in the Orient introduced new ideals. Christianity,\noriginating in the Orient, brought new ideals to Europe. In Japan many\nof the elements worked out by Western civilization have been adopted and\nnaturalized.\n\nBesides, the let alone policy for Africa even if it were rational is\nhopelessly late. Foreign trade and government have long been established\nand show no sign of withdrawing. And the question is whether we shall\nsend to Africa our civilization, with all its burden of new demands and\nmoral responsibilities, without disclosing to its primitive and\nchildlike people that which alone supports our material civilization and\nenables us to bear its moral weight\u2014that which is deepest and best in\nour thought and life.\n\nOne of unusual gifts and attainments, who in all probability would have\noccupied a position of great influence in the church in America if he\nhad remained at home, after labouring more than forty years in Africa,\nspeaks thus of the temporal benefits consequent upon the spread of\nChristianity:\n\n\u201cFor the feeling with which I was impressed on my very first contact\nwith the miseries of the sociology of heathenism, entirely aside from\nits theology and any question of salvation in a future life, has been\nsteadily deepened into conviction that, even if I were not a Christian,\nI still ought to, and would, do and bear and suffer whatever God has\ncalled or allowed me to suffer or bear or do since 1861 in my\nproclamation of His Gospel, simply for the sake of the elevation of\nheathen during their present earthly life from the wrongs sanctioned by\nor growing out of their religion.\u201d[3]\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  Rev. Robert Hamill Nassau, D. D., _Fetishism in West Africa_, p. 26.\n\nBut to this apologetic the missionary adds his confident belief that the\nChristian faith affects not only the Africans\u2019 redemption from \u201cthe\nmiseries of the sociology of heathenism,\u201d but also and chiefly the\nsalvation of their souls; for he has seen the evidence in the lives of\nmany who have been morally transformed by the power of a new and\ntranscendent hope. Christian missions have made high claims, but their\nself-estimate has been justified by their achievement.\n\nWhen I was on the voyage to Africa for the first time it chanced that\nMiss Mary H. Kingsley, the famous English traveller and writer, had just\nmade one of her journeys down the West Coast and her name was in\neverybody\u2019s mouth. Expressions of opinion were remarkable for lack of\nmoderation, and oscillated between extremes of praise and criticism.\nWhen I went to Africa the second time Miss Kingsley had finished her\ntravels on the coast and written her books, with their strong indictment\nof missions. I was amazed at the frequency and assurance with which Miss\nKingsley was everywhere quoted. The captain of the steamer upon which I\ntravelled knew her books almost by heart. He could repeat whole pages;\nwhich he did with as much reverence as if he were quoting from _Science\nand Health_. He had no doubt but that she had dealt the final death-blow\nto missions, and that the era of missionary activity was already drawing\nto an inglorious close by reason of her indictment. The captain himself\nseemed to feel real bad about it.\n\nSome years have passed since Miss Kingsley wrote; but she is quoted as\nmuch as ever, especially in England. _The African Society_ was founded\nas a memorial to her, and the organ of this society, _The African\nSociety Journal_, bears a medallion portrait of her on its title-page.\nIn short, in English trade circles Miss Kingsley is a kind of religious\ncult.\n\nBesides being a remarkably clever woman and a brilliant writer, she had\nthe prestige of a great name, being the niece of Charles Kingsley and\nthe daughter of George Kingsley; a name of such historical significance\nin the Church of England that we should naturally expect Miss Kingsley\nto be in intellectual and moral sympathy with the Christian religion.\nSuch however is by no means the case. She avows her disbelief in\nChristianity and frankly tells us that Spinoza is the exponent of her\ncreed,[4] which is therefore pure pantheism. God does not transcend\nnature; nor is He separable from it. Moreover, Miss Kingsley does not\nhold this opinion dispassionately. For instance, the effort to draw\nmoral inspiration from our relation to a personal God (which she chooses\nto call \u201cemotionalism\u201d), she tells us she regards with \u201cinstinctive\nhatred.\u201d[5]\n\nFootnote 4:\n\n  _West African Studies_, p. 112.\n\nFootnote 5:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 506.\n\nWith such views Miss Kingsley finds, when she comes to the study of\nfetishism, that she half believes in it herself, and she is reluctant to\nspeak against it. She says: \u201cIt is a most unpleasant thing for any\nreligious-minded person to speak of a religion unless he either\nprofoundly believes or disbelieves in it. For if he does the one he has\nthe pleasure of praise; if he does the other, he has the pleasure of\nwar, but the thing in between these is the thing that gives neither\npleasure; it is like quarrelling with one\u2019s own beloved relations. Thus\nit is with fetish and me!\u201d[6]\n\nFootnote 6:\n\n  _West African Studies_, p. 113.\n\nWe need not be surprised, then, when Miss Kingsley frankly says: \u201cI am\nunsympathetic, for reasons of my own, with Christian missions.\u201d[7]\n\nFootnote 7:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 214.\n\nAnd not only was there a want of intellectual sympathy with the\nChristian religion, but a want of moral sympathy as well.\n\nMiss Kingsley says: \u201cAn American magazine the other day announced, in a\nshocked way, that I could evidently \u2018swear like a trooper.\u2019 I cannot\nthink where it got the idea from.\u201d[8] I _can_. And I venture the simple\nguess that the editor had read Miss Kingsley\u2019s books\u2014for instance, the\ninteresting _preface_ to _West African Studies_.\n\nFootnote 8:\n\n  _West African Studies_, p. 299.\n\nBut there are several more serious phases of this want of sympathy with\nthe spirit of Christianity which would militate against Miss Kingsley\u2019s\ncompetence as a critic of missions, namely, her avowed belief in\n_slavery_, in _polygamy_, and in the _liquor traffic_. Miss Kingsley,\nafter contending that domestic slavery is \u201cfor divers reasons essential\nto the well-being of Africa,\u201d appends the following opinion in a\nfoot-note: \u201cI am of the opinion that the suppression of the export slave\ntrade to the Americas was a grave mistake.\u201d[9] Even more vehemently does\nMiss Kingsley defend native polygamy; and still more vehemently the\nliquor traffic.\n\nFootnote 9:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 514.\n\nWe are grateful for the perfect frankness with which she expresses her\nviews on these three subjects, as it makes it an easier task to\ndiscredit her opinion on Christian missions; for, in this day and\ngeneration, to believe in these three social evils of Africa and at the\nsame time to believe in missions were impossible. If these are not evils\nit is a foregone conclusion that the missionary, who is fighting them to\nthe death, is doing more harm than good, is wasting both blood and\nmoney, and is at the best a \u201cwell-meaning fool.\u201d\n\nMiss Kingsley assures us that she went to Africa in the belief that the\nmissionary represented everything that was good and the trader\neverything that was evil. But on shipboard, long before she reached\nAfrica, when Miss Kingsley was mistaken for a missionary she thought it\nthe greatest joke of modern times\u2014and I rather agree with her. This is\nthe one joke that she repeats with infinite laughter every time that it\noccurs. Her laughter of course measures her inward sense of utter\nincongruity and want of sympathy. Her fellow passengers knew her\nattitude before she reached the first African port.\n\nAnother marked feature about Miss Kingsley\u2019s books is the author\u2019s want\nof sympathy for the sufferings of the natives, and her want of pity when\nthey bleed under the cruel lash of the white man. Though written by a\nwoman, they are books without tears.\n\nFor instance, a story of heartrending wrong and suffering was told me by\na trader of Fernando Po, who, although he had been on the coast for\nyears, and, one would think, had been hardened by cruel sights, was yet\ndeeply affected as he related it. I was able to verify it afterwards. It\nwas a story of the cruelty of Portuguese planters to certain Krumen,\nwhom by a false contract they enticed to San Thom\u00e9 Island and then\ncompelled them to remain and labour on the coco plantations as slaves.\nThe conduct of the Portuguese in Africa justifies the opinion of the\nKruman, who says: \u201cGod done make white man and God done make black man\nbut dem debil done make Portuguee.\u201d These enslaved Krumen, watching\ntheir opportunity, after two years escaped from San Thom\u00e9 in canoes by\nnight. They did not know that they were one hundred and fifty miles from\nthe mainland, and they hoped that by some unforeseen means they might\nreach their own country. They all perished; most of them by hunger and\nthirst. After many days one or two canoes drifted to Fernando Po. In\nthese the men were still alive\u2014but scarcely alive, and they died after\nbeing rescued.\n\nThis story Miss Kingsley tells, in substance, though in abridged form,\nand with no comment except the following apology for the Portuguese: \u201cMy\nPortuguese friends assure me that there never was a thought of\npermanently detaining the boys, and that they were only just keeping\nthem until other labourers arrived to take their place on the\nplantation. I quite believe them, for I have seen too much of the\nPortuguese in Africa to believe that they would in a wholesale way be\ncruel to natives.\u201d[10] Surely the quality of Miss Kingsley\u2019s charity is\nnot strained! I scarcely know a white man in West Africa who would offer\nany apology for those men, or who would call them his \u201cfriends.\u201d If the\npoor Krumen had been captured, Miss Kingsley\u2019s friends would probably\nhave flogged them to death. As a matter of fact, there are always a\nnumber of escaped slaves leading a wretched existence in the deep forest\nof San Thom\u00e9. And the Portuguese have been known to go hunting them as\nwe would hunt wild animals. They sometimes find them hiding in the tops\nof the tall trees, and it is considered uncommonly fine sport to shoot\nthem in the trees and bring them crashing to the ground.\n\nFootnote 10:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 49.\n\nMiss Kingsley disliked any and every change that threatened to improve\nthe native and thus to mar the picturesque wildness of his savage state.\nShe is perfectly consistent with her anti-mission views when she tells\nus the kind of native that she admires, as follows: \u201cA great, strong\nKruman, for example, with his front teeth filed, nothing much on but\noil, half a dozen wives, and half a hundred jujus [fetishes], is a sort\nof person whom I hold higher than any other form of native.\u201d[11] Well,\nit is proverbial that tastes differ; but the missionary thinks that, as\ncompared with this, the Christian ideal is higher and nobler. Miss\nKingsley informs us (through the words of another whom she quotes with\napproval) of the treatment received, at the hands of these same Krumen,\nby shipwrecked and half-drowned passengers cast helpless upon the shore:\n\u201cIf you get ashore you don\u2019t save the things you stand up in\u2014the natives\nstrip you.\u201d \u201cOf course they are cannibals; they are all cannibals when\nthey get a chance.\u201d[12] And this is the sort of person whom Miss\nKingsley holds \u201chigher than any other form of native\u201d!\n\nFootnote 11:\n\n  _West African Studies_, p. 385.\n\nFootnote 12:\n\n  _Ibid._, p. 42.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  A CONTRAST.\n\n  Anyoroguli, a Christian woman of Gaboon.\n]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  WOMEN OF THE INTERIOR RETURNING FROM THE GARDENS WITH CASSAVA AND\n    FIREWOOD.\n]\n\nThat the native Christians should inspire aversion is exactly what we\nshould expect; and yet we are scarcely prepared for the inveterate\nanimosity, the almost fierce hostility, that she everywhere reveals when\nshe comes in contact with a native Christian. Miss Kingsley\u2019s attacks\nupon the African Christians are the most unworthy of all the things she\nhas said. To give a single instance, I would refer to her story told in\n_Travels in West Africa_ (p. 557) of a night which she spent in the\nhouse of a Bible teacher of the Basle Mission. Two mission teachers,\ntogether with a great many others, came into the room. The teachers, she\nsays, \u201clounge around and spit in all directions.\u201d Next morning again,\nshe says, \u201cthe mission teachers get in with my tea, and sit and smoke\nand spit, while I have my breakfast. Give me the cannibal Fang!\u201d\n\nAre we to conclude that cannibalism in Miss Kingsley\u2019s opinion is a less\ngrievous offense against society than smoking and spitting? For that\nmatter, cannibals spit too. And I should think they would! And, then,\nwere the other natives who were present, the untutored savages, not\nsmoking and spitting? It may be regarded as certain that they were\nsmoking if they had tobacco; and whether or not they were smoking I am\nsure they were spitting; for that nasty habit is racial and continental.\nEven white men in Africa contract the habit; and, what\u2019s more, they\n_scratch_: they spit and scratch\u2014the effect perhaps of the climate. I\nhave known a few native Christians who neither smoke nor spit; but I\nhave not known a savage, either man or woman, who did not do both. Why,\nthen, single out these two poor boys from the rest of the company? And\nwhy visit upon their heads all the odium of a racial habit? If, at the\ninstance of the preaching of the Gospel, they have left off cannibalism,\nand killing, and adultery, and stealing, and lying, I think they will\nscarcely be damned for spitting; and I am sure they will leave that off\ntoo before they enter heaven.\n\nI well know the manners of native boys who have been in the mission long\nenough to become teachers. They have an instinct for good manners. It\nwould be far easier to criticize their morals than their manners. At\nthis same place Miss Kingsley sent an attendant to ask the teacher for\nwood to make a fire. The attendant returned and said that the teacher\nwould not give him wood unless it was paid for. Knowing the cordial\nhospitality and eager attention that would be given to a white woman by\nany and every mission teacher that I have met in Africa, I am compelled,\nfrom the extraordinary behaviour of this teacher, to doubt whether Miss\nKingsley was a gracious guest. But we need not remain in doubt; for Miss\nKingsley, while she was the guest of this teacher, in a mission house,\nhad with her a demijohn of rum, which she dispensed to the natives in\npay and barter, as was her custom everywhere; and it is more than\npossible that the teacher\u2019s message that his wood was for sale was a\nmoral protest, not only against the violation of hospitality, but also\nagainst the violation of those moral and religious principles to which\nhis life and honour were committed, and upon which depended, as he\nsincerely believed, the salvation of his people.\n\nIt would be my duty to show that Miss Kingsley received most of her\nso-called facts directly from the traders, and that all that came under\nher own observation she saw through the medium of their opinions. But\nMiss Kingsley has forestalled the necessity by the following frank\nconfession: \u201cAll I know that is true regarding West Africa, I owe to the\ntraders.\u201d[13] Miss Kingsley must have felt that she owed an enormous\ndebt of gratitude to the traders: for through two large volumes she\nsings a continual p\u00e6an to the trader\u2019s praise. I might by the citation\nof facts within my own knowledge show that in some instances Miss\nKingsley was mistaken; but I have not the least disposition to do so.\nFor the life of the trader on the far-away beaches of West Africa is so\ncheerless and loveless\u2014sometimes, indeed, an unremitting and lonely\nfight with temptation, fever, delirium and death\u2014that sympathy is more\nbecoming than criticism.\n\nFootnote 13:\n\n  _Travels in West Africa_, p. 7.\n\nBut my deepest sympathy and highest praise must be for those who have\ngone to Africa not for gold, but at the sacrifice of gold and other\ninterests; who left home and social pleasures not indifferently and\nimpatient of restraint, but with tears and aching hearts, that they\nmight carry the Gospel of peace to the most miserable of human beings;\nwhom they are not ashamed to call brethren. Many such are now working in\nthe unwholesome jungles; but a far greater number lie in the grass-grown\ncemeteries, who fell in the fight with a deadly but invisible foe, a foe\nwhich became visible only in the incarnations of delirium, when the\nfever like fire was coursing through their veins. To them belongs the\ngreater praise, for they died not in seeking their own interest, but for\nothers.\n\n\n\n\n                                 XVIII\n                          SAINTS AMONG SAVAGES\n\n\nCarlyle remarks: \u201cIf there are depths in man as deep as hell, there are\nalso heights as high as heaven; are not both heaven and hell made out of\nhim?\u201d\n\nThe final argument and the best apologetic for missions in Africa is the\nnative Christian. He is not much on exhibition but he is there. The\ntraveller does not find him; for his voice is not heard in the streets.\nMany a white resident in Africa is unaware of him and is incredulous\nwhen he is pointed out; even as the people of Nazareth did not know that\nthere was any essential difference between themselves and Jesus though\nHe had lived thirty years in their midst. But the spiritual eye of John\nthe Baptist discerned in Him one who had no need of repentance. And the\n\u201cseeing eye\u201d will easily discover the native Christian in Africa; and it\nis really worth while, for at his best he is as much like his Master as\nany that can be found anywhere, and particularly in that gentleness that\nwould not break the bruised reed.\n\nThe first elder of the Fang Church was Mba Obam (shortened to Mb\u2019Obam),\nchief of Makwe\u00f1a, and uncle of Ndong Koni. He was tall, good looking,\nvery quiet and of strong personality.\n\nOn one occasion when I was staying in his town over night it happened\nthat there was a great celebration. A month before this a big man of the\ntown, more important than popular, had died; and having mourned for him\nevery night for a whole month, the people thought they had done their\nfull duty. It remained only to give him a good \u201csend-off\u201d in a great\ndance and feast, which released all his friends and relations from\nfurther obligation of mourning. All the men from the neighbouring towns\nhad been invited and there was a great crowd and infinite noise. In the\nmidst of the furious dancing of the men some untoward incident occurred\nthat precipitated a general row, in which every man drew his sword, and\nthey instantly divided, according to their tribal relationships, into\ntwo lines of glaring, dangerous savages. Before I had fully comprehended\nthe situation Mb\u2019Obam, who had taken no part in the celebration, came\nfrom his house down the street in long strides, every inch a chief, as\nmuch so as the last of the Mohicans, but carrying no sword. At the\nextreme risk of his life, as it seemed to me, he pushed into the middle,\nbetween the lines of thrusting and parrying swords, and commanded\nsilence. To my surprise, they obeyed him and became quiet, the sudden\nsilence contrasting strangely with the former uproar and confusion.\n\nMb\u2019Obam, with the gentleness of a father, reminded them that they were\nno longer savages, but brothers, and that if they should hastily shed\neach other\u2019s blood they would be sure to regret it afterwards. There was\nno more quarrelling that night.\n\nMb\u2019Obam and his wife, Sara, had lived at Angom in the time of Mr.\nMarling and had there become Christians. After Mr. Marling\u2019s death they\nhad moved down the river to Makwe\u00f1a. Ndong Koni and Mb\u2019Obam built a\nbeautiful chapel at Makwe\u00f1a. I have already told how that Ndong Koni\npaid for the windows and doors by working in the yard at Baraka. In this\nchapel Mb\u2019Obam held a service every Sunday, besides early morning\nprayers each day, at which all the people assembled before going away to\ntheir gardens and their various occupations of work or pleasure.\n\nI have told elsewhere how that, when Mb\u2019Obam was dying, he called the\npeople around him and begged them to be good to his wife, Sara, and not\nto accuse her of bewitching him when he was gone. He also reminded them\nhow in late years he had protected the women against whom this charge\nwas made. They promised, of course, and they meant it; for they revered\nhim; but as soon as he was dead old beliefs prevailed and old customs\nasserted tyrannous authority. They charged Sara with having caused\nMb\u2019Obam\u2019s death by witchcraft. They dared not kill her; for they were in\nthe vicinity of the French government. But they drove her on her hands\nand knees up and down the street with two men sitting on her back. From\nthis cruelty I rescued her one day with a stout stick which I used\nsomewhat freely; otherwise it might have ended in her death. When Sara\nwas sufficiently recovered I said to her: \u201cSara, what can I do to\nprotect you against further cruelty?\u201d\n\nShe replied: \u201cMr. Milligan, I think you had better find me a husband.\u201d\n\nIt wasn\u2019t entirely out of my line\u2014if there\u2019s any such thing as a _line_\nin a missionary\u2019s work\u2014for, as an essential part of my pastoral duty, I\nfound it necessary to run a kind of matrimonial bureau. Well, we found a\nhusband for Sara, which was not difficult, for they all knew that she\nwas a good woman. A Christian man married her and I hope they may still\nbe living happily together.\n\nOne night Mb\u2019Obam came to an Mpongwe prayer-meeting in Gaboon and\nbrought a number of his Fang friends. The Mpongwe being a coast tribe,\nall but the Christians among them despise the Fang. The meeting was in\nan Mpongwe village and there were many present who were not Christians.\nIt happened that I was conducting the meeting; and after telling the\nMpongwe who Mb\u2019Obam was I asked him to address them, which he did in\ntheir own language. In the course of his talk he referred to the ark\nthat \u201cAdam\u201d built. Ndong Koni was sitting not far from him, and when\nMb\u2019Obam referred a second time to \u201cAdam\u2019s ark,\u201d before these\nbetter-informed Mpongwe, Ndong Koni quietly said to him: \u201cFather, you\nmean Noah.\u201d\n\nMb\u2019Obam, without the least embarrassment, replied: \u201cWas it Noah? Thank\nyou, my son. I thought it was Adam that built the ark; but it does not\naffect what I was going to say.\u201d\n\nThe simplicity of it was so beautiful that we scarcely thought of its\nbeing amusing. Then he went on and made a most fitting and touching\ncomparison between his own life and that of Noah, preaching through all\nthose years the while he was preparing the ark, a lonely believer in the\nmidst of unbelief and ridicule and wickedness that rends a believer\u2019s\nheart. \u201cYet Noah\u2019s words came to pass because they were God\u2019s words; so\nGod will in His own time justify us. Meanwhile we will go on preaching;\nand may we be faithful and uncomplaining.\u201d\n\nHe made a profound impression on the Mpongwe Christians; and often\nafterwards when I returned from my journeys some of them would ask me if\nI had been to Mb\u2019Obam\u2019s town and if he was well. When I heard that he\nwas very sick I sent a boat and brought him to Baraka. I took him to the\nFrench hospital for a few days. But nothing could save his life. It was\nonly at his death that I realized how much he was loved and respected.\nHe himself never knew.\n\nAnother man, Angona, had been an important man in his town, having had\nseveral wives, and a great variety of powerful and well-tried fetishes.\nAngona, on one occasion staying over night at Gaboon, took the\nopportunity of spending the evening at Baraka and advising with me on\ncertain matters, moral and religions. He told me how that recently he\nhad nearly lost his life by his refusal to observe a certain Fang custom\nwhich I venture to mention. Angona had been visiting a friend in another\ntown and had refused to assume the marital relations of his host,\naccording to their friendly custom. The friend was angry, suspecting\nthat something was lacking in his friendship, and not liking to see an\nold custom discarded. His anger subsided however at Angona\u2019s explanation\nthat he was a Christian. But not so the woman\u2019s anger. She tried to kill\nhim by putting poison in his food.\n\nAngona at the time of his conversion put away all of his wives but one.\nHe had paid a very large dowry for each of them; so that in putting them\naway he had also put away his wealth and to a large extent had\nsurrendered influence and social position. But the surrender of his\nfamous collection of fetishes, which he had gathered among many tribes,\nto which no doubt he owed his success and his possessions, occasioned\ngreater surprise than anything else. By the virtue of one of these\nfetishes he had been successful in matrimony, and by the virtue of\nanother his wife had not deserted him; one fetish had procured him\nsuccess in trade, another had made him successful in war; by means of\none he had recovered from a dangerous illness, and by another his\ngardens had prospered; by the virtue of one he could cause an aggressive\nenemy to \u201cswell up and burst,\u201d and by another build an invisible fire\naround himself when he slept, through which no witch could pass. And\nmost powerful of all was the sacred skull of his father. All the people\nof the town stood by and stared as Angona delivered to me all these\nfetishes; but at last when he went to fetch the skull the women were\nwarned to flee lest by any mischance the casket might open and they\nshould see what was inside and die. Angona by this renunciation gained\nthe reputation of being a particular fool. But he at once began\npreaching to the people and before many months there was a class of\nsixteen Christians in that town.\n\nAs soon as I received this report of Angona\u2019s work I visited the town.\nAfter a brief service at which all the people were present, I asked\nwhether there were any sick people in the town, and they directed me to\nthe house of a woman who was recovering from a long illness. While I was\ntalking to her another woman, one of the Christians, came in and setting\na pot on the ground beside the sick woman, said: \u201cThe pot is yours. I am\na Christian. The palaver is finished.\u201d\n\nAnother woman arose, and going over to the woman who had brought the\npot, put her arm around her in a half embrace and said:\n\n\u201cYes, you are a Christian indeed.\u201d\n\nThe sick woman had been cared for by the other woman during her illness\nand had given her this pot for her kindness. Afterwards, when she was\nnearly well she repented and asked for the pot. When it was refused she\ngave free rein to a very sharp tongue and roundly cursed the other\nwoman. The whole community had evidently become involved in the quarrel,\nwhich was becoming more bitter, when this Christian woman suddenly\nbrought it to an end, as I have told.\n\nA few weeks after this one of my catechists, Amvama, visited Angona\u2019s\ntown. While there it was recalled by the heathen people of the town that\na party belonging to Amvama\u2019s town, in the days of cannibalism, and many\nyears before Amvama was born, had killed a man of their tribe and had\ndevoured him. In Africa, it is considered a great insult to a man to eat\nhim, an insult also to his friends, such an insult as may never be\nforgotten until it is avenged. During the night, while Amvama was\nsleeping in Angona\u2019s house, the people, having surrounded the house,\ncalled Angona out and told him they were going to kill Amvama. It would\nhave been a great loss to the work and a grief to me if they killed him,\nfor Amvama was one of the best boys in all Africa. The handful of\nChristians and their sympathizers, with Angona at their head, replied\nthat they would lay down their lives in defense of him. The heathen\nprobably did not expect any such thing; for it is seldom that a town is\ndivided thus. They usually act as if by one impulse; but Christianity\ndraws new lines, makes new friends and new foes. The Christian\u2019s friends\nare sometimes those of a hostile tribe, while his foes are \u201cthey of his\nown household.\u201d The Christians, with Angona at their head, gathered\nclose around Amvama and soon showed that they meant what they had said.\nThey were few of course as compared with with the heathen; but the\nlatter were not willing to kill their own people. Before they had time\nto plan for action the Christians had escorted Amvama to a canoe and got\nhim away in safety. The next time I visited that town I had a \u201cwar\npalaver\u201d with those people. But I was greatly elated over the conduct of\nAngona and the handful of Christians whom he had taught.\n\nThis boy Amvama, who was rescued from savage bloodthirst in Angona\u2019s\ntown, was the very first of those African boys whom I gathered around me\nin the French Congo and was also with me the day that I left Africa,\nnearly six years afterwards. In that time he grew from a small boy to a\nyoung man of probably eighteen years. I used to say that he was the\nbest-loved boy in Africa.\n\nAmvama never was a heathen. He was born close to Angom, and in his\nchildhood never even saw the worst forms of heathenism. He was received\ninto the church by Mr. Marling while he was still a child; altogether\ntoo young, some thought; but the years fully justified Mr. Marling\u2019s\njudgment. Among the most impulsive people in the world, Amvama was\npeculiarly deliberate and thoughtful. I have seen him in many trying\nsituations, but I never saw him angry. Among a people who live in the\nrealm of emotion, Amvama\u2019s distinguishing characteristic was common\nsense. In school he was not as quick to learn as many others, but such\nwas his faithfulness and persistence that in the end he surpassed them\nall, and he had a saving sense of humour that always added gaiety to any\ncompany. On one occasion, on a journey up the river, when I was\naccompanied by a white man with an extremely bald head\u2014the first that\nthe crew had ever seen\u2014Amvama caused the natives and one white man to\nsmile by comparing it to a fresh-laid egg\u2014a comparison that was quite\nnew in Africa.\n\nIn the early days before the _Dorothy_, Amvama was my \u201cboy,\u201d or personal\nattendant, when I travelled about in the _Evangeline_. He was always a\ncleanly boy, according to Fang ideals, but the Fang ideal leaves\nsomething to be desired. One day, in the _Evangeline_, the crew, after a\nlong pull at the oars, were eating oranges, of which I had brought a\nsupply from the orchard at Baraka. I gave them my table-knife to cut\ntheir oranges. While they were still eating I helped myself to an orange\nand asked for the knife. It was passed to Amvama who handed it to me;\nbut, observing that it was dripping with the orange juice, he wiped it\ncarefully on his bare leg. A short time before I left Africa I told\nAmvama of this incident, which he had forgotten. Looking at me in\nastonishment he said: \u201cI? Did I do that?\u201d\n\nIt seemed incredible to him. In after years he would no more have done\nany such thing than a white man.\n\nHowever sincere the African Christian may be, the knowledge of Christian\nmorality in minute particulars is a long, slow growth. One day, out on\nthe bay in the _Evangeline_ and running before a fair wind, we sighted\nthe sails of a schooner coming towards the harbour but still far out at\nsea. Amvama and Captain Makuba disputed as to the name of the schooner.\nMakuba became impatient and said to me: \u201cMr. Milligan, I wish you would\ntell Amvama that he must not contradict me; for he is a small boy and I\nam an old man.\u201d I had always thought that Makuba was a very young man.\n\nFinally, these two, both of them Christians, and perfectly sincere,\ndecided to bet on the name of the schooner. The bet was a franc cash and\nthey asked me to hold the money; whereupon I delivered my sermon on\ngambling.\n\nI had hoped that Amvama would be the first ordained minister among the\nFang; but when he was about sixteen the need of catechists became\nimperative and I felt compelled to cut off his further education and\nsend him out into the whitening field of the harvest. This was a great\ndisappointment. For although he proved himself a faithful and invaluable\nworker, he could never be as efficient as if he had had adequate\ntraining, and could never be entirely independent of the missionary\u2019s\nsupervision.\n\nI placed Amvama in a large town, called _Ndumentanga_, where there were\na number of newly-professed Christians who were eager to be taught. The\nwork was difficult and trying and he was a young boy and inexperienced;\nand, as I have said, had never seen the worst of African heathenism. It\nwas with strange feelings that I left him in the street of that town one\nvery dark night when the rain was pouring down,\u2014left him to prove\nhimself. For four months I did not see him; but I had the fullest report\nof his work, and it was most satisfactory. He conducted a daily class\nfor religious instruction, teaching hymns and catechism and on each\nquestion of the latter giving explanations and practical talks. He also\nheld a service on Sunday; and, besides, taught a day-school each morning\nin which all who desired might learn to read the Bible. He also\nregularly visited other towns that were not too far away. It was on one\nof these latter visits that he had the narrow escape in Angona\u2019s town.\n\nFor the next two years Amvama spent most of his time at Ndumentanga.\nShortly after his first arrival, a man of the town, who had been\nvisiting another town, returned home very sick. Amvama called on him,\nand finding that he and his wife had become Christians while away from\nhome, he instructed them daily in their house, frequently calling all\nthe Christians of the town to go with him, and sing and pray with the\nsick man. He was with him when he died, seeking to strengthen his faith;\nand the people, perhaps for the first time, saw a man die without fear.\nThen the heathen wished to open the body, in order to see whether the\nman had been bewitched. But Amvama with quiet authority took possession\nof the body until it should be given a Christian burial. I marvel that a\nyoung boy was able to hold out against them and induce them to forego\nall their heathen rites; but he had won the love and confidence of all\nthese people. He held a brief service at the house; and when the body\nwas placed in the grave he called upon the people to be quiet while he\noffered a prayer. They all stood by, some in mute astonishment at a\nChristian burial service, others laughing and falling against each other\nin that weak abandon everywhere characteristic of the very ignorant.\nWhat a scene for an artist! A young boy standing in the midst of a crowd\nof carnal and degraded men and women, some of them aged; holding fast to\nthe things that are spiritual, contending for the reality of those\nthings that are not seen!\n\nFor several years Amvama had been betrothed to a young girl, who died\nwhen he was about seventeen. The dowry, which included all that he had\never earned, had been paid and the girl was living with Amvama\u2019s mother\nuntil she should be of marriageable age. It is the universal custom\namong the Fang that when a girl dies before reaching that age the dowry\npaid for her must be returned. So Amvama was entitled to the dowry which\nhe had paid; and it was the more urgent because there was no dowry for\nhim anywhere else within sight. But the girl\u2019s people, probably taking\nadvantage of the fact that Amvama was a Christian, refused to return the\ndowry. Such a refusal is always a matter of war.\n\nOne evening when he was back at Baraka for a few days, he came to see me\ndesiring my advice on this matter of the dowry, wishing to know what he\nas a Christian ought to do, but not wishing to ask me directly.\n\nPoliteness among some African tribes is reduced to a fine art. One of\nits chief elements is indirection. I ask a boy whether he will work for\nme; and he replies: \u201cDid I say I wouldn\u2019t?\u201d\n\nSometimes the third person is used instead of the first; one is\noccasionally reminded of the French _On dit_.\n\nAfter an interval of silence Amvama remarked: \u201cThose people ought to pay\nme back that dowry.\u201d\n\nI made no reply; and after a pause he said: \u201cThose people are treating\nme very badly.\u201d\n\nAnother pause, and then: \u201cMy people all want to go to war, and there are\nfive or six towns of my people.\u201d\n\nAnother pause, and he said: \u201cI tell you there will be blood spilled!\u201d\n\nAt this I spoke and said: \u201cWe don\u2019t need the help of your people,\nAmvama; you and I will go, ourselves alone, and will kill all the people\nof that town. Upon our arrival in the town we will hold a service, and\nof course everybody will come, and they will come unarmed. After singing\none or two hymns I will ask you to offer a prayer; and while you are\npraying I\u2019ll open fire on the congregation and we\u2019ll make short work of\nthem.\u201d\n\nHe laughed and said: \u201cI only wished to know what you thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, then, did you not ask me?\u201d I said.\n\nHe replied: \u201cI think I have been asking you ever since I came in.\u201d\n\nThe people would not give back the dowry, and Amvama would not let it\ncome to a clash of arms; so he surrendered it. But about a year later\nhis brother (more likely a cousin) died, leaving two wives, who by the\nlaw of inheritance became Amvama\u2019s property. Both of them were eager to\nmarry him. One of the two was as good a woman as he could have found,\nand he afterwards married her. The other he gave, with her consent, to a\ncousin who was single.\n\nIn the examination of candidates for baptism I had to rely very much\nupon Amvama\u2019s judgment in regard to those whom he had taught. In one of\nthe towns where he had taught there was a young man who had been a\nChristian for more than two years and who had attended the classes\nfaithfully; and yet Amvama did not recommend him for baptism. I asked\nhim the reason, and he said that there was only one thing against him,\nand nothing else; he was lazy\u2014so lazy that he was ridiculed in the whole\ntown. Amvama said: \u201cHe will bring reproach on his religion. And I think\nthat since his faith enables him to do other things that he did not do\nbefore, it ought also to enable him to do a little work.\u201d\n\nA few months before Amvama left Ndumentanga, war broke out between that\ntown and a town of the Bifil people, a clan of the Fang who had come but\nrecently from the far interior and were very savage. A Bifil man had\nstolen a woman of Ndumentanga. The old chief, who was a bloodthirsty\nheathen, told the town to prepare for war. But he found a rival in\nAmvama who advised that they must first make every effort to get the\nwoman back without shedding blood, which could probably be done through\nher father\u2019s influence. Amvama also told them that the fetishes upon\nwhich they were depending for protection were useless.\n\nThe chief was disgusted at the suggestion of a peaceful settlement of\nthe affair, and passionately cried for war; and the people eagerly\nresponded. The most that Amvama could do was to hold the Christians firm\nto their duty. As the chief exhorted Amvama exhorted too, but without\nthe least passion or excitement. The town was divided between these two:\nan old chief, the very embodiment of the heathenism of the past; and the\nyoung boy, representing the future\u2014the authority of a Christ-enlightened\nconscience and the power of a Christian life. The heathen went to war;\nbut the Christians refused to go and so broke with an immemorial custom.\n\nThey attacked the town of the Bifil, but the only result was that\nseveral of their own men were killed. The Bifil secured the body of one\nof them, and it was reported to me that they followed the interior\ncustom and cut the body in pieces, sending a piece of it to each of\ntheir towns. If they did this it would be a call to arms. The pieces of\nthe body would be boiled and eaten, and thus it would become a strong\nfetish protection against the enemy. The people of Ndumentanga returned\nhome from the war with sore hearts and with less faith in their\nfetishes.\n\nThe war went on more desperately and it became unsafe for Amvama; so I\nwent after him and brought him back to Baraka. But he returned from the\nfield of his labours bringing his sheaves with him, in men and women\nrescued from degradation and sin, and in the love of many.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  FANG CHRISTIANS.\n\n  In the middle of the front row stands Amvama. Behind him, on his\n    right, is Ndong Koni. The tall young man is Robert Boardman, the\n    blind catechist.\n]\n\nWhen I left Africa I felt that I was leaving many friends behind me;\nhumble friends but true, and I cherish the memory of their devotion.\nSome of them I loved because they were lovable, and others for the\nlabour and anxiety expended upon them\u2014the sweat of the brow, and the\nbrain and the heart. But there were none whom I loved more, and there\nare none whom I more often long to see, than Amvama and Ndong Koni.\n\nI cannot close these sketches without some reference to another who was\nan invaluable helper in the work among the Fang. He was totally blind.\nHe bore an English name, _Robert Boardman_, and had no African name. The\nnatives called him _Bobbie_. He was not a Fang but an Mpongwe, and his\nmother was an American Negress. His father was educated at Baraka away\nback in the early days when the missionaries were allowed to use\nEnglish, and he spoke English well. When he was a young man he came to\nAmerica. In those days Africa, to Americans, was a romance rather than a\nreality. Any chief of a village or head of his own family coming here\nwas called a _prince_. So young Boardman (Robert\u2019s father) passed\nhimself off as a prince, and probably without any intentional deception.\nHe married a Negress of the South, who supposed that by her marriage she\nbecame a princess. She left family and friends all behind and went to\nAfrica. The disillusionment was very hard and very bitter; and at last,\ninevitably, she sought relief in drink. She was evidently a woman of\nsuperior mind, if one might judge by her children, of whom there were\nfive. One of these was poor Augustus Boardman, of whom I have written in\nanother chapter, and whom drink brought to an early grave.\n\nRobert was the youngest child. He was a very interesting boy, and\nintellectually far above the average. As a young man he lived the\ndissolute life that was general among the Mpongwe of Gaboon. His\nblindness was the last result of his dissipation, and was also the cure.\nHe never walked alone again; a little boy led him by the hand. Blindness\nis a more terrible affliction in Africa, where the helpless are\nneglected, and where roads are rough and often infested with ants or\nsnakes.\n\nHe was extremely unhappy after his blindness. There were times when it\nseemed that it would drive him mad. In his misery he made others\nmiserable around him. Poor material, one would surely say, for the grace\nof God or any other moral influence to work upon\u2014this physical and moral\nwreck. But, as I once heard a reclaimed outcast say, \u201cJesus loves to\nwalk by the seashore where the wrecks come in.\u201d\n\nWhen I went to Gaboon I engaged Robert as my interpreter; for he knew\nFang as well as he knew Mpongwe. Then, when I could speak Fang without\nhim, I undertook the Mpongwe work and I used him as my interpreter to\nthe Mpongwe; so he continued in my service. The first year, when I was\nitinerating among the Fang and travelling in the _Evangeline_, he went\neverywhere with me. I recall one evening when we were setting out from\nthe beach in a very heavy sea and had got beyond the surf we saw\nRobert\u2019s little attendant on the beach very much excited and waving to\nus to come back. He was yelling something to us which we could not hear\ndistinctly across the roaring surf, but I thought he was trying to tell\nus something about \u201cBobbie\u2019s wife.\u201d Very reluctantly I told the crew to\ngo back. We were already in the surf and were going ashore as if pulled\nby wild horses when at last we made out what the boy was saying, namely:\n\u201cBobbie has forgotten his pipe.\u201d\n\nThe African has no mental perspective, according to our ideas; things\ngreat and small, the most momentous and the most trivial, appear upon a\nflat surface of equality. But it would scandalize an African to hear one\nspeak of a pipe in this disrespectful way.\n\nRobert had an unusual mind and was athirst for knowledge. His\ninterpreting was a kind of education for him and he made the most of it.\nHe was always alert for new words and their exact meaning, and he had an\nexcellent memory. There was also a vein of poetry in him. I once heard\nhim, in offering an evening prayer, ask God that Satan might not sow the\ntares of bad dreams in our sleep\u2014the more appropriate because of the\nnative regard for dreams and the habit of vivid dreaming.\n\nBut his chief love was music. He was passionately fond of it, and he had\na good tenor voice. Shortly after I first knew him, when he was so\nunhappy, I began to give him some instruction on the organ each day\nafter class. My only intention was to lighten his misery and relieve his\nsolitude. I had not the least thought of any return in missionary\nservice. The little organ which I used in itinerating I left with him\nbetween journeys. It was a new and delightful way of spending the hours,\nand he became more cheerful. In two years a very great change had taken\nplace in him. He was both cheerful and devout. When the time of harvest\ncame in the Fang field and I had need of catechists he was well equipped\nfor the work and I sent him. He took the organ with him; for he played\nthe Fang hymns and played them well. When a secretary of the Board of\nForeign Missions afterwards visited Africa he found Robert Boardman\namong the Fang, preaching and singing, and he made special mention of\nhim on his return to America.\n\nRobert, through the agency of my _matrimonial bureau_, married a Fang\nwoman, Nze, who loved him devotedly. She was a remarkably good-looking\nwoman\u2014almost beautiful. Poor blind Robert never saw her; and one day,\nafter he had been married for some time, I delighted him\u2014and saddened\nhim too\u2014by giving him a minute description of her. For a while after his\nmarriage I placed him at Ayol, which was Nze\u2019s town. After several\nmonths, when I was at Ayol, I decided to take him to another town. Then\nthe heathen relations of Nze suddenly discovered that he had not given\nsufficient dowry, although he had given all they asked. It was never\nhalf so hard to get my African friends married as to _keep_ them\nmarried.\n\nThe family of Nze secured her in a house while they talked the palaver\nwith Robert, telling him that he had not paid what they had asked. The\nstreet was filled with people and there was the wildest excitement. The\nchief of the town was not there, and when I saw that my powers of\npersuasion were not adequate for the occasion, I told Robert that as it\nwas now late in the night we would go without Nze, and that I myself\nwould afterwards talk the palaver with the chief and would do all that I\npossibly could to get Nze back. He yielded, but he was almost\nbroken-hearted.\n\nWe got into our canoe and started for the _Dorothy_, which was anchored\na little below the town. When we came alongside whom should we find in\nthe launch but Nze! She had broken out of her prison-house when night\ncame\u2014but I can\u2019t imagine how, unless some Christian woman helped her\u2014and\nstealing through the dreadful mangrove swamp, had reached her canoe and\nhad gone to the launch. At the very moment that I saw her we heard the\nwildest yelling behind us. The people of the town had just discovered\nher escape; and they, of course, thought that we had stolen her. I\nshouted to the crew to \u201cstand by\u201d for their lives. We sprang aboard, and\nwhile weighing the anchor put out all the lights. What if the anchor\nshould be fouled, as it was last time, when it delayed us half an hour!\n\nOur pursuers were rapidly drawing nearer and were almost upon us. They\nincluded, I presume, every heathen savage in the town, each of them\nyelling like ten, and perhaps engaged meanwhile in loading their guns\nwith such deadly material as broken pots and barbed wire. At last, \u201cAll\nright,\u201d shouted the mate; and we moved off just as the enemy in a fleet\nof canoes came round the last curve of the narrow river. I had made our\nparty, including Nze, lie down flat in the bottom of the launch; only\nNdong Koni at the wheel and myself at the engine remained standing.\nDespite rage and excitement I did not expect that they would fire upon\nus. But I very much feared that a stray shot, intended only to\nintimidate us, might do us as much damage as the \u201cbow drawn at a\nventure\u201d did to a certain king a long time ago. We were soon beyond\ntheir range; and then Robert\u2019s gladness and the unbounded joy of Nze\nwere a sufficient reward for us all. For my part, I was exceedingly glad\nthat Nze\u2019s husband was present; otherwise an elopement would have been\ncredited to me.\n\nA short time before I left Africa I was conducting a prayer-meeting in\nan Mpongwe town, at which Robert was present. He rose and told the\npeople about his work among the Fang and what great changes were taking\nplace through the preaching of the Gospel, which must surely be the\npower of God. Then in closing he told them something of the new joy that\nhad come into his own life. He said that although at first he had been\nbitter and rebellious against the fate that had turned his day into\nnight, yet he had lived to thank God for sending even this affliction;\nfor, in his blindness, he had wearied of the \u201cfar country,\u201d and like the\nprodigal had come home. In Christ he had found pardon and peace; and\nfinally he had been permitted to go as a missionary to the Fang, whom he\nhad learned to love, and many of whom, he was sure, loved him.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d said he, \u201cthat I shall never see this world again, nor the\nfaces of my friends; but I am walking in the light of heaven.\u201d\n\nIn a deep undertone, full of wonder, full of sympathy, full of tears,\nthey all responded: \u201cA-y, Bobbie! A-y, Bobbie!\u201d\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           BY THE SAME AUTHOR\n\n\n                       The Jungle Folk of Africa\n\n\n                  _Illustrated, 8vo, cloth, net $1.50_\n\n\n\u201cA personal narrative, most realistic, most truthful, most\nfascinating\u2014the author knows extremely well what he is writing\nabout.\u201d\u2014_Chicago Tribune._\n\n\u201cAs one reads, the mystery and terror of the jungle seem to penetrate\nhis soul, yet he reads on reluctant to lay down a book so grimly\nfascinating.\u201d\u2014_Presbyterian._\n\n\u201cA book that is remarkable for its vitality, picturesqueness, candor and\nliterary quality. Mr. Milligan saw a lot during his seven African\nyears.\u201d\n\n                                                         \u2014_N. Y. Times._\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                 AFRICA\n\n\n  The Redemption of Africa\n\n                                                  =FREDERIC PERRY NOBLE=\n\nIllustrations, Maps and Tables, 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $4.00.\n\nThe subtitle of this book. \u201cA Story of Civilization,\u201d is a most fitting\nsupplement to the distinctive title. \u201cNo book on any land surpasses this\nin thoroughness of preparation, wealth of citation, impartiality of\njudgment, and the predominant desire to tell nothing but the truth.\u201d\u2014_N.\nY. Sun._\n\n\n  Dawn in the Dark Continent: Or Africa and its Missions.\n\n                                            =JAMES STEWART, M. D., D.D.=\n\nColored Maps, 8vo, Cloth, $2.00 net.\n\nThere has probably been no man more competent to outline the missionary\nwork in Africa than the veteran founder of the famous Lovedale\nInstitute. This is just what he has done in this volume, supplementing\nit by some invaluable comments on the training of a missionary.\n\n\n  The Egyptian Sudan\n\n                                                =REV. JOHN KELLY GIFFEN=\n\nIllustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1.00 net.\n\n This new mission field of the American United Presbyterian Church has\nbeen recently brought into prominence by John D. Rockefeller\u2019s gift to\nit of $100,000. Mr. Giffen\u2019s book describes, in a most interesting\nstyle, the unique problems faced in such a country. _The Interior_ knows\nof \u201cno other book so full of information as to a great military and\neconomic center on the Cape-to-Cairo railway.\u201d\n\n\n  On the Borders of Pigmy Land\n\n       Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1.25 net.             =RUTH B. FISHER=\n\nMrs. Fisher is a successful author and has written a book which commands\nthe enthusiastic approval of \u201call sorts and conditions\u201d of papers,\nmissionary, religious and secular. The Mountains of the Moon, the Great\nLakes, the Uganda Railway, Pigmies and other tribes combine to give a\nrare and significant setting to the work of the missionary.\n\n\n  Pioneering on the Congo\n\n                                                =REV. W. HOLMAN BENTLEY=\n\nIllustrated, 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $5.00 net.\n\n\n  The Jungle Folk of Africa\n\nWith introduction by Robert Mackenzie, D.D., LL.D.\n\n               Illustrated, net, $1.50.             =ROBERT H. MILLIGAN=\n\n\u201cA book that is remarkable for its vitality, picturesqueness, humor and\nliterary quality. Mr. Milligan saw a lot during his seven African years,\nand saw it all very clearly, so that he came away with a pretty thorough\nknowledge of the folk among whom he had lived.\u201d\u2014_N. Y. Times._\n\n\n  Bishop Hannington and The Story of the Uganda Mission\n\n                   Illustrated, net, $1.00.           =W. GRINTON BERRY=\n\n\u201cOne always reads the romance of Bishop Hannington\u2019s life with\nfascination. This record deals with the early life of the martyr\nmissionary and of the influences that led to his giving his life to the\ncause. It is a graphic, racy and altogether stimulating volume.\u201d\u2014_United\nPresbyterian._\n\n\n  Daybreak in Livingstonia\n\n                                                  =JAMES W. JACK, M. A.=\n\nIllustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1.50 net.\n\n\u201cOne of the best missionary histories, combining possibilities of\nromance almost as thrilling as King Solomon\u2019s Mines, with a calm\npresentation of visible and tangible results that ought to open the eyes\nof any who still consider Christian Missions a failure.\u201d\u2014_Glasgow\nHerald._\n\n\n  In Africa\u2019s Forest and Jungle\n\n        Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.              =REV. R. H. STONE=\n\nA record of Six Years Among the Yorubans on the West Coast of Africa,\nwith numerous tales of thrilling experiences growing out of the wars\nbetween the great African tribes. \u201cA vivacious and deeply interesting\nvolume.\u201d\n\n\n  The Sign of the Cross in Madagascar\n\n                                            =REV. J. J. KILPIN FLETCHER=\n\nIllustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1.00.\n\nWith remarkably vivid touch the author describes the early conditions,\nthe coming of the \u201cstrange messengers,\u201d the \u201cmighty faith,\u201d the bitter\npersecution, the divine interposition, the changes and the victory of\nthe Cross.\n\n\n  The Personal Life of David Livingstone\n\n                                              =W. GARDEN BLAIKIE, D. D.=\n\nPortrait and maps, 8vo, Cloth, $1.50.\n\nThis standard life of the great missionary and explorer has the peculiar\nadvantage of the special authorization by his family to use unpublished\njournals and correspondence. There is thus a peculiar power in its\npresentation of what the _S. S. Times_ calls his \u201csimple but noble life\nof self-surrender to a great motive.\u201d\n\n\n  Pilkington of Uganda\n\n                                 =C. F. HARFORD-BATTERSBY, M. A., M. D.=\n\nIllustrated, 8vo, Cloth, $1.50.\n\nA fitting sequel to the biography of Alexander Mackay, covering with\nthat a moral transformation equal perhaps to anything recorded even in\napostolic days.\n\n\n  A Life for Africa\n\n                                                      =ELLEN C. PARSONS=\n\nIllustrated, 12mo, 1.25.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES\n\n\n 1. Moved Ad from the beginning to just before the ads at the end.\n 2. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in\n      spelling.\n 3. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.\n 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.\n 5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.","title":"The fetish folk of West Africa","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":103036}