XIIIA BOAT CREW
The following is the beginning of a letter written to a circle of friends in America while I was in Africa.
“Seated within the open door of my study I look down the hillside, through a vista of gorgeous oleander and orange trees, of graceful, waving palms and the soft cascade foliage of the bamboo tossing and tumbling in the breeze, to the blue expanse where the Gaboon rolls out to the boundless ocean. The early afternoon is quiet, and the hazy atmosphere, peculiar to Africa, blends together in gentle harmony things most diverse in form and colour. But there is one object to which the mind and eye turn back yet again, and which by associations variously tender, pathetic, or amusing, lead memory off for a while to wander in the dreamy mazes of the past. It is the mission boatEvangeline, which lies at anchor on the bay, rising and falling with the successive waves. TheEvangelinecame to Africa many years ago. Some of those who commanded her are now infirm with age, and the voices of some are heard on earth no more. Her special work has always been that of itinerating,—carrying the Gospel of light and peace to those who sit in darkness and sorrow, by many waters. Like her namesake, the lonely maiden of Acadia, she has followed the rivers of a strange land and streams unknown that wind and wander through ‘forests primeval.’
“TheEvangelineis a gig, twenty-two feet long, having four oars and requiring four oarsmen. Her lines are perfect,and for her size she is a remarkably fine sailing-boat, riding a rough sea with a steadiness and lightness that have drawn praise from old seamen. Before the strong sea-breeze she seems fairly animate and impelled by motive and purpose as she spreads her wings to the wind and speeds forward on her errand of mercy. I can think also of sultry days when her sails hung loose and heavy through the whole day while tired men pulled wearily at the oars, whistling vainly for the wind, which ever ‘bloweth where it listeth.’ I can think of toils long and hard when we wound wearily through mangrove swamps, by fetid banks, under the relentless heat of a tropical sun. But these experiences belong to the past and I can forget them now. For it is one of the touching frailties of human nature that as the past recedes into the obscure distance we magnify its fond and pleasant memories and forget the evils that we no longer feel.
“My long journeys in theEvangelineare probably past; for a naphtha launch, theDorothy, has arrived, dispensing with the toil of oars and the aid of the fickle wind, perfectly protected from sun and rain and fitted with every comfort for day and night. But theEvangeline, though her name designates her as feminine, belongs to the ordained clergy of the Presbyterian Church and has not yet passed the dead-line. We will find for her some field in which a few years longer she may exercise her talents.
“This afternoon as I look at her I seem to see the faces of faithful boat-boys who journeyed with me by day and by night, and my mind is filled with recollections of experiences and incidents by the way. There are none in Africa whom I know better than those boat-boys; and through them I probably know all Africans better and love them more. For when sails are set before a good wind and the bow tosses the waves aside, the music of the plashing water, the mutual dependence and isolationfrom others,—the delight of it all makes social freedom and comradeship peculiar to such life; and again, when they toil at the oars hour after hour without complaint, sympathy breaks down all barriers. If you should laugh at these boys let your laughter be sympathetic; they are worthy of sympathy. Life is so hard for the African, so bare and comfortless! And when he would fain seek the road to the Better Land so many forces conspire against him that, apart for our faith in God and the love of God, one might think that the world around him was contrived for his defeat. In this dark land one catches only an occasional glimpse of the all-ruling and kindly Providence in which we believe. It would seem rather that the fabled goddess of fortune, blind and turning her wheel in the darkness, dispenses at random the destinies of men.”
The captain of theEvangelinewas Makuba, a man of Benito, one hundred miles north, one of the Kombi tribe, the remnant of a proud and capable people who for many years have been in contact with the civilization of the coast. The Kombi know the sea and are excellent boatmen, strong and daring. In travelling in their own canoes even on the sea, they commonly stand up in the canoe, using long paddles. When there are five or six men in the canoe, or the sea is rough, it is interesting to watch them. Makuba was a man of splendid physique and very strong, and as bold as a lion. Shortly after I went to Africa, when for a while I lived entirely alone, at Angom Station, seventy miles up the Gaboon River, a serious palaver occurred in which Makuba took a prominent part.
The Fang of the adjacent village stole some goods from him. He and several other workmen, being coast men, were regarded by the interior Fang as natural enemies. I was morally responsible for the safety of these coast men and I regarded myself as responsible also for the stolengoods. Moreover there was a mission store at that station and the sight of our goods was a continual challenge to the passionate greed of the Fang, who therefore must not be allowed to think that they could steal anything from the premises with impunity. Indeed, our very reputation and evangelistic success were involved; for it was plain that the Fang had been mistaking forbearance for cowardice, and in their esteem there is nothing so contemptible as a coward.
On this occasion I followed strictly the native mode of obtaining justice, and that which the native, with his idea of the solidarity of a community, recognizes as fair. A few minutes after the theft a man from the same town to which the thief belonged passed through the mission premises. I gave the order to the workmen to capture him and take his gun. Makuba, without assistance, executed the order. The man fought him violently, but being overcome was at length reduced to cursing him and predicting the various horrible deaths by which he would die, not to speak of everlasting torment that would be sure to follow. The indignant Makuba in reply tore open the front of his shirt and exposed an ugly scar upon his breast.
“Am I afraid of the Fang?” he cried. “Do you see that scar? A Fang knife did that in an attack upon my tribe, and I alone killed the man who carried it and two of his friends.”
I then took charge of the gun and told the man that I would return it as soon as his people would bring me the stolen goods, and then I released him.
MAKUBA, CAPTAIN OF THE BOAT-CREW.In a tornado his chief anxiety was always for the white man, that he might not get wet, and it was a part of politeness not to protect himself.
MAKUBA, CAPTAIN OF THE BOAT-CREW.In a tornado his chief anxiety was always for the white man, that he might not get wet, and it was a part of politeness not to protect himself.
MAKUBA, CAPTAIN OF THE BOAT-CREW.
In a tornado his chief anxiety was always for the white man, that he might not get wet, and it was a part of politeness not to protect himself.
An hour later some thirty or forty very angry men, armed with knives and guns, and shouting their war-cry, rushed into the yard. They did not yet realize that I was going to take up the palaver, but thought they had only to deal with the workmen, who were unarmed.Their intention was to kill Makuba and take the gun, which they supposed was in his possession. They ran past the end of my house towards the workmen’s house shouting the name of Makuba. But it chanced that he was at the other end of my house, so they missed him. Immediately returning they saw him but before they reached him I pushed him into the house and closing the door myself confronted them and addressed them from the porch, explaining that since Makuba was in my employ I was bound to protect him; that the palaver was therefore mine, and they would have to fight me first. They first demanded that Makuba be delivered to them, but at length proposed to accept the gun as a compromise. I of course declined the compromise and demanded the stolen goods for the gun.
Finally one of them raised the cry: “Let us kill the white man and take the store.”
This may have been a mere bluff. I am disposed to think that it was; but I did not think so that day, and one cannot be sure. It was in a Fang town much nearer to the coast and to the French government that Mr. Marling was once robbed of his very clothing and left naked in the street of the village.
The idea of killing the white man for the goods in the store became uncomfortably popular. They recounted all the grievous wrongs they had suffered at the hands of white men, and missionaries in particular, from the discovery of Africa down to the present moment. They had at various times respectfully advised that the church be closed and the store kept open all the time, and had been told in reply that the church was more important than the store, and that preaching the Gospel was our chief work. They had come to buy goods and had found the store closed and the missionaries holding prayers with the people. They had advised that wemust sell goods only to them and not to their enemies and had been told that we loved their enemies. They had advised that we lower our prices on all articles except those that they did not want and we had seen fit to fix our own prices regardless of their feelings. They had frequently come to the station to beg a little present and the missionaries had affronted them by offering them work. They had requested tobacco of this present white man and in reply he had invited them to Sunday-school.
The situation had become intolerable and they proposed to recompense full vengeance upon the aforesaid white man. The older men, however, advised that if they should attack the white man and the mission it ought not to be done by one town, but that all the adjacent towns ought to be engaged in it so as to spread the responsibility. This advice prevailed and they decided upon an attack that night, and sent messengers to two large towns some distance in the forest, telling them to come armed for an attack on the mission. I did not suppose at the time that we had a single weapon of defense except the old gun that we had captured. It was already loaded, but as far as I knew we had no ammunition. I immediately set out to search the premises, and to my great joy found a rifle, which had accidentally been left there. We found plenty of ammunition both for the rifle and the gun which we had seized. I also ordered the men to catch any native that might come near the premises and to take his gun. They were greatly surprised when they heard the report of the rifle and immediately recognized it as “a white man’s gun,” of which they have a wholesome dread, believing also that the white man has medicine which will make his gun shoot straight and absolutely sure. I was very careful to conceal the fact that I had only one rifle, and they were quite deceived, supposing that I had a sufficientnumber for all of us. They dispatched messengers a second time to the forest towns to tell them of our preparations. They all came together that night armed for war, and shots were fired continually during the night, but no attack was made. When I afterwards learned how prone they are to experimentation with a new comer, I realized that it might have been a mere bluff. No one can tell; but I had no such thought at the time. Neither did Makuba nor any of the workmen regard it as a bluff.
All the workmen excepting Makuba besought me to give back the captured gun and stop the palaver. I brought them into my house that night; but Makuba with the rifle in his hand insisted upon keeping watch, and walked before my door the whole night. The matter of his stolen goods and his personal danger were quite forgotten in absorbing anxiety for the white man’s safety. I may add that I cut off all communication with the people, refusing to buy their supplies of food, or to open the store, until after several days they returned the stolen goods, and the palaver was finished.
A short time after this I made Makuba the captain of the boat crew. He knew the sea, and everything about boats and was perfectly trustworthy. But these qualifications are more common in Africa than the faculty of discipline and command which is by no means common. Makuba was not altogether wanting in talent for discipline, but when this proved insufficient he procured obedience to his orders by diplomacy and argument; and for that matter, the greatest sea-captain dispenses with argument only because he is given authority to punish and to put in irons, which requires no talent at all.
But all Makuba’s resources of discipline and diplomacy were taxed when I hired Obianga, a young man of the Fang, whose home was near Angom. Poor Obianga isdead; and I would not make cheap jokes at his expense. He was like a wild unbroken colt, full of life, willing to work, and not lazy, but resentful of the bit and reins of authority. For any man, especially one of another tribe, to give him an order was equivalent to calling him a slave; and, representative of his tribe, he seemed ever to be saying: “We were never in bondage to any man.”
When Makuba would shout an order to him, however urgent, even if a tempest were approaching, Obianga would perhaps tell him to “shut up.” Then we usually improvised a little tempest on our own account, Makuba’s indignation being the turbulent factor. But in milder weather he would try persuasion and various expedients, old and new, always prevailing in the end.
I never interfered in these altercations, though I sometimes reckoned with the offender when the journey was over. More than once Makuba asked me to dismiss Obianga, but I would not; for I liked him and felt that there was in him the raw material for an excellent man. Then, too, I remembered that I once dismissed another man upon Makuba’s urgent and repeated request, and no sooner did Makuba hear of it than he came to me begging me to take the man on again, saying that he himself had been too impatient, reminding me also that the man had a wife and child, and promising that if I would take him back he would not complain of him again. Of course I took him back; and Makuba kept his word.
The worst disputes between Obianga and Makuba took place when they supposed that I was asleep. The native when he lies down anywhere sleeps immediately. Whenever I was lying in the bottom of the boat they always supposed that I was asleep and that no conceivable noise could waken me. During one of their quarrels Makuba, with a voice like a thunderbolt, roars: “If you don’t dowhat I say I will tell Mr. Milligan that you have two wives.”
“Sh—sh! Makuba,” says Obianga. “What did you tell me to do?”
Such altercations as the following were not uncommon: Captain Makuba orders Obianga to “haul away on the peak halliards”; to which Obianga promptly replies:
“Do it yourself.”
“I won’t do it: you will do it,” says Makuba in a threatening tone.
“Are you my father?” says Obianga.
“No,” answers Makuba with infinite scorn. “How could a Kombi man be the father of an animal like you?”
“Then stop giving me orders,” says Obianga with rising wrath. “It is not the first time you have tried it, and one of these days you will find out that it won’t do.”
“One of these days you will find out that I am the captain of this boat and that you will have to obey me,” says Makuba.
“Not as long as I can carry a gun,” answers Obianga.
By this time they are standing up and looking hard at each other. But Makuba would not think of striking a man in a mission boat. He therefore becomes diplomatic. Suddenly in a tone altogether different he says:
“Obianga, the trouble with you is that you are just a bush man; you don’t know anything about civilization. On every big ocean-steamer there is a captain, and every man on board, no matter what tribe he belongs to, obeys the captain.”
Obianga becomes instantly curious and asks: “Is he rich!”
“Yes,” says Makuba, “he gets big pay, and so do I get big pay.”
“How much do you get, Makuba?”
“How much do you think?”
Obianga thinks, as well as he knows how, his countenance distorted with the effort, and at length answers reflectively: “Two dollars a mouth.”—He himself gets a dollar and a half.
A broad smile engages Makuba’s features as he slowly answers: “Five dollars a month.”
Obianga gives expression to his surprise in a long, low whistle. It is quite evident to him that no ordinary person could command such wages; and in a tone of utmost compliance he says: “What was it you told me to do, Makuba? I forget.”
“I forget too,” says Makuba. “O, yes,” he adds, “I told you to haul on the peak halliards.”
Again, it is night, dark and stormy: a tornado seems to be approaching. Captain Makuba shouts the order to Obianga, to “make fast the jib-sheet.”
Obianga, who is no more afraid of a tornado than anything else, and whose head is nodding with sleep, tells him to mind his own business.
Makuba, losing his patience, of which he has not a large stock, calls him a cannibal—the worst insult he could offer him, and adds: “You especially like to eat us Kombi people: you say our flesh is the best.”
“You lie,” says Obianga (the current form of polite contradiction), “we like the Bekeli people better than the Kombi; there is more salt in the Bekeli.”
Do not conclude from this that Obianga himself is a cannibal. He probably never tasted human flesh; but it is not so long since his fathers emerged from cannibalism but that tradition still distinguishes between the flesh of the surrounding tribes; nor was Obianga at this moment disposed to admit that Makuba would make a more savoury dish than any of the rest of us.
In spite of Makuba’s anger it strikes him as very funnythat his intended insult should fall so wide of the mark, and he laughs “in linked thunder long drawn out.” There is nothing more contagious in Africa than laughter, and Obianga joins in it; and then of course he obeys the order. Soon after this, the storm having passed, they are singing together “I have a Father in the Promised Land,” singing it well, too; and while they sing I fall asleep.
But if a tornado should swoop down upon us, as it happens so often, or a drenching rain should catch us, the half child nature in Makuba would disappear immediately and reveal a whole man, strong, fearless and resourceful. In a tornado no man knew better than he just what to do for safety; and in a rain-storm his only anxiety seemed to be for the health of the white man—lest he should get wet, while at such times it was almost a matter of politeness with him not to protect himself.
Once on a journey of three days on the open sea, from Benito to Gaboon, I was miserably sick the second day and could not eat. Neither would Makuba eat, because I did not. The wind was contrary, and he sat at the stroke oar pulling hard until two o’clock in the afternoon without food. At last almost in tears (speaking in Kru English in which he and I always conversed) he said: “Mr. Milligan, hunger no catch you? All this day I look you and you never chop. Suppose you no chop you go die.”
Observing for the first time that his own food had not been touched, I said in surprise: “What for all them chop live same as morning-time? Yourself you never chop all this day?”
He replied: “Suppose you no be fit for chop then I no chop; I wait you, Mr. Milligan.”
“But Makuba,” I said, “suppose me and you, all two, be sick, then what man go take care of me? I no want other man; I want you.”
“Ah, Mr. Milligan,” he replied with a smile, “white man have plenty sense all same as God; black man be same as piccaninny.” Thereupon he took food and ate heartily, for he was very hungry.
I received Makuba into the church and baptized him. He was an honest man and a faithful Christian. He had a mind of his own too, and was quite original in some of his opinions. He detested every form of affectation and was fond of saying that the black man must adhere to his own habits, customs, and fashions, in so far as they were not sinful, instead of imitating the white man. Nor had he any respect for the white man, whether missionary or trader, who would fall into the ways of the black man, in speech, or dress, or manners. I quite agree with him as to the principle, but I sometimes was at variance with him in the practice. For instance, when Makuba used the boys’ bread-knife to trim his toe-nails, and they objected, he invoked this favourite principle of loyalty to his race and their customs, and wanted to know why they affected white man’s ways so long as they could not change their skins. Without violating the delicate sentiment attaching to this custom I tried to convince Makuba that there were many black people in the world who would not think of trimming their toe-nails with the bread-knife. If I might judge by his polite but incredulous smile, he probably thought that I was mistaken on this point. But if Makuba were preparing my dinner he would do it with scrupulous cleanliness, not forgetting that I am a white man.
One day we went in theEvangelineto a town some thirty miles distant, where there was a Christian, Mba Obam (usually contracted to Mb’Obam) who was the uncle of one of my boat-boys, Ndong Koni. Shortly after our arrival Ndong Koni advised that we should hold our service before night, as the town was preparing for a greatcelebration (that is to say, a great dance) that night, to which they had invited the people of an adjacent town. The occasion of all the revelry was the end of the term of mourning for a prominent man of the town, who having been dead a whole month had been sufficiently lamented. It remained only to give him a good “send-off,” and to release his friends from any further obligations. During the month of mourning the women wail every night, and there is no dancing.
Towards evening the men of Ndong Koni’s town began to adorn and decorate themselves for the fancy un-dress ball, using paint and powder, and wearing round their ankles strings of native bells. The women take no part in these celebrations except to look on and to add to the noise. When they were all ready the men formed themselves into two long lines in the street, with the drums and other wooden instruments across one end. A certain famous dancer performed in the middle, down the lines and back, to the beating of the drums. He seemed to be all joints, and he passed from shape to shape so rapidly that at times he seemed to have no shape at all. At intervals all the men danced, keeping their places in the line, but at certain changes in the music whirling to the other end of the street, and back, adding also a wild song to the beating of the drums, and furiously shaking the bells on their ankles, by which means together with a sudden stamp upon the ground they managed to mark time, which they did to perfection, and to add rhythm, which was quite fascinating in such a volume of noise.
Among the tribes which have been longer at the coast such celebrations are attended with rum-drinking; they are also continued all night, and before morning the scene is a hideous debauch. But the Fang have not yet become victims of the white man’s rum, and I know of no wrong attaching to these dances of the men except that theysometimes get excited almost to frenzy; when this occurs they are not unlikely to draw their knives on each other upon the slightest provocation, thus closing the celebration in a free-for-all fight and the spilling of blood.
“Where is the man who hath not triedHow mirth doth into folly glide,And folly into sin?”
“Where is the man who hath not triedHow mirth doth into folly glide,And folly into sin?”
“Where is the man who hath not triedHow mirth doth into folly glide,And folly into sin?”
“Where is the man who hath not tried
How mirth doth into folly glide,
And folly into sin?”
Ndong Koni had joined in the frolic. In one particular dance they used firebrands which they waved before them. Next to Ndong Koni stood a man of giant size who thought he had a grudge against one of the family. When the excitement was at its height he suddenly threw fire in Ndong Koni’s face. Ndong Koni was only a boy of about nineteen years and not large; but quick as a flash he struck the fellow a blow in the face. The man, instantly drawing his sword, sprang at him; but Ndong Koni had already drawn his sword and was on his guard. In a minute, as it seemed, the men of the two towns separated and stood facing each other, a sword in every man’s hand. Then, thrusting and parrying, they circled around and drifted down the street towards the place where I was sitting. Before any serious wounds were inflicted, the chief, Mb’Obam, hearing the clash of swords, came from his house, and running between them at considerable risk to himself begged them not to fight, especially, he added, when the white man was visiting their town. He soon succeeded in quieting them.
Meantime I had been occupying a seat of honour, a real chair, or the venerable remains of one (probably the only chair in the town), infirm and unstable, and with one leg missing. Here I was maintaining a feeble existence against a fearful onslaught of mosquitoes. Another of my boat-boys, an old man of Liberia, named Benjamin, was near me when the quarrel occurred at the other endof the street. Benjamin did not understand the Fang language very well. He heard their angry voices and saw the flash of their swords as they were moving towards us. Hearing them also call out the name of the white man, Benjamin reached the extraordinary conclusion that they were going to kill me. Quite terrified, the old man rushed towards me with the cry, “O my master, my master!” and flung his arms around me, probably with the benevolent intention of dragging me off into the thicket, or hiding me in some hole; but the chair on which I was sitting, being a delicate piece of furniture and lacking a leg, as I have said, was overturned, and I went sprawling on the ground all mixed up with Benjamin, and wondering whether the man had gone mad. By the time I gathered myself up and got my parts together the quarrel in the street was quieted and Benjamin saw his mistake. No further misadventures occurred during the remainder of this pleasant evening.
Poor Benjamin! We shall not hear of him again, and we may dismiss him with a word. That was the last journey he made in theEvangeline. He was a capable, hard-working and kind-hearted old man, and we were all attached to him. But rum was his besetting sin and finally his ruin. After a long hard struggle against it he at last gave up the fight and became a helpless and hopeless victim. I had to dismiss him. When I left Africa he was in a native town near by, drinking himself to death; nor could he live long. But so great is the multitude hurrying down this same broad road to destruction that one more old man would never be noticed in the crowd.
Ndong Koni who figured in the fire-dance, was the one I have known most intimately of all Africans, and the one who made the strongest appeal to my affections. He was a handsome boy, as light in colour as a mulatto,of gentle manners and affectionate disposition. He came to me and engaged as a boat-boy shortly after I began work among the Fang. I taught him constantly. He served in many capacities varying from boat-boy to catechist.
Soon after Ndong Koni began to work for me, I visited a group of towns in the interior accompanied by him and several other natives. We walked nine miles by a good forest path and then travelled twelve hours by canoe. I recall that on that journey I was preaching in a certain town to a good-sized audience who were gathered in the palaver-house, when an old man, seated directly in front of me and beside an anvil upon which he had been hammering, became tired of my sermon and deliberately took up his heavy hammer and resumed his work, pounding the anvil with a deafening noise against which I could not proceed. The joke was plainly on me. Addressing a young man, I asked him if he would help me to carry the anvil outside, which we proceeded to do, before the old fellow realized what we were about, taking it to a safe distance, and leaving him sitting there with his work all around him. Thereupon I proceeded with “secondly,” and “thirdly.”
In returning, two days later, we started in the canoe at five o’clock in the morning and the boys paddled until seven at night, when we again took the forest path. We had expected upon leaving the canoe to stay all night in a native town at that place; but sure symptoms of approaching fever warned me that I had best get home as soon as possible, which necessitated a walk of nine miles by night through the forest. The road was somewhat open, however, and the path well cleared, so that the journey was quite possible. The men were worn out after their long day’s work. When I told them that I wished to go home that night their first exclamations of surprisewere followed by profound silence. I said: “I know you are tired and it is not necessary that you should go on with me; but I ought to have one boy, for I am not sure of the road.”
Before I had finished, Ndong Koni, although the youngest of the party, had my food-chest on his head, and starting off said: “Mr. Milligan, I too, I go with you.”
In all my journeying in theEvangelineNdong Koni was with me. He was my best helper in the religious services in the towns. He was boat-boy and preacher and often cooked my meals besides, for he was always willing to be called upon for extra service. Upon reaching a town he would take the organ on his head and carry it into the town, where he would find the best place to hold a service, and he and I would go through the town and call the people. After singing a few hymns, in which all the boat-boys joined, I would speak to the people a while and then ask Ndong Koni to speak. I have learned my best lessons from him. Not only was he fluent in speech, but with lively intelligence and unfailing sympathy he adapted his subjects and his words perfectly to his hearers. A more kind-hearted boy I have seldom known in any land, although cruelty was the most prominent characteristic of the heathen around him, of whom were his own people. The only reason I can give for this contrast is simply that Ndong Koni was a Christian.
He had faults, I well know. But I am not the one to mention them, so much do I still feel my indebtedness to him for innumerable kindnesses through all those years, in which he journeyed with me sharing exposure and hardship, sharing also the joy of preaching the Gospel.
On one occasion Ndong Koni went into a French trading-house and asked for something which he wanted to buy. The white man behind the counter told him thathe did not have the article. Ndong Koni turned to go out, but the white man called to him and said: “Why don’t you buy rum instead?”
“Because I am a Christian,” answered Ndong Koni.
The white man railed at his belief and told him his own anti-Christian beliefs.
“Well,” said Ndong Koni, “if I believed as you do I would drink rum and do a great many other things that I do not do. But as long as I am a Christian I shall not do those things.”
Once at the close of a school term when I was taking the schoolboys home, I had seventeen boys in theEvangeline, which I was towing behind theDorothy. We had gone about twenty miles when the engine of theDorothysuddenly stopped and refused to go in spite of all my efforts. I found afterwards that the benzine which had been sent me from Germany was not the quality which the engine required. I had this same experience frequently during the next several months, and after starting out with theDorothytowing theEvangelinewe would return to port a few days later with the littleEvangelinetowing theDorothy. But this time I had first to take the boys to their homes leaving theDorothyat anchor. TheEvangelinewith seventeen boys in it was already crowded, but myself and the crew of five men squeezed into it, and room was also made for the men to use the oars. There was a good wind but we had no sails. The tide had just turned and was against us, the current was strong, and we sat in that cramped position for ten hours, while those faithful boys pulled hard at the oars without relief. At midnight we reached the first town, twenty miles beyond where theDorothyhad stopped. Here we remained until morning. Three of the schoolboys lived in this town. The other fourteen lived in several different towns on other rivers. Morning found me with fever, due to thelong exposure to the sun, for which I was not prepared, not having expected it. It was necessary that I should start for home immediately in theEvangeline. But what was I to do with the schoolboys?
In the emergency I called Ndong Koni, who looked tired enough from the long pull at the oar; but he said that he would take them through the bush to their homes. Of all the boys who have worked for me in Africa there was none excepting Ndong Koni and perhaps Makuba to whom I would have committed the care of so many boys in such a situation. The roads which are but poorly beaten paths lay through swamp and jungle all the way, and at the close of the wet season they were at the worst. The Fang of this region seldom use the bush-path, their towns being all on the watercourses. But the chief difficulty was the danger of meeting enemies on the way, and the fact that certain boys must avoid certain towns. Ndong Koni got them all safely to their homes. But immediately after starting he found that the smallest boy had a sore foot and walked with difficulty. I too recalled this after they had gone and I was very anxious about the boy. Ndong Koni, however, instead of letting him walk, or of sending him back to me, carried him on his shoulders all the way to his town, more than ten miles distant.
The sequel may be of interest to my readers. Before Ndong Koni left me I had engaged a man to take his place at the oar. Knowing from dire experience the unreliability of the native and the ease with which he absolves himself from the solemnest engagements, I told this man that he might change his mind and cancel the engagement if he chose to do so before Ndong Koni should leave me, but that after Ndong Koni had gone he would not be at liberty to change his mind, but would be obliged to accompany me even if it should require a flogging topersuade him. He protested that his feelings were badly hurt at the suggestion that he would be capable of breaking his promise and of leaving the white man in such a distressing predicament, especially this particular white man, to whom he owed every virtue that he possessed, and any of his neighbours would be glad to testify to his stainless reputation and the purity of his life.
Nevertheless, half an hour after Ndong Koni had gone, when I was ready to start, this saint among savages was missing. I called him and hunted for him in vain; nor could I get a man to take his place. The people told me that he had gone ahead of me in a canoe and was waiting for me at their fishing-camp a short distance down the river—which I knew to be false for the simple reason that they said it was true. I asked them to show me the man’s house, but no one seemed to know in which house he lived. His own brothers could not tell me. A bribe of a dose of salts was sufficient to induce the chief to lead the way to the man’s house. The door was a large piece of bark propped from the inside. It yielded to a vigorous push so easily that I was precipitated into the house headlong, my feet catching as I passed through the door and my helmet as usual rolling into the ashes. The man, I believe, was hidden within, but I did not search for him. I seized a large earthen jug, used by the women for carrying water and counted a valuable possession, and started off for the river, the whole town at my heels, making a deafening uproar. Many were in violent remonstrance and others were laughing. I took the jug aboard the boat and ordered the boys to push off.
We were getting under weigh when the missing man appeared upon the bank. But the saint had reverted to the savage, and was nothing but an ordinary cannibal threatening to cut me into small pieces and eat me. While the boat moved slowly towards the middle of theriver I talked with him and told him that if he wanted the jug he would have to keep his agreement. He at length offered to go on condition that I would send the jug ashore as soon as he came aboard and not take it to Gaboon, for it belonged to his wife. I agreed to this proposition. He probably intended, when the jug was at a safe distance, to leap overboard and swim ashore. But once I had him in my grip I decided to take no chances lest his noble character might suffer another relapse. I made him lie down on his back in the bottom of the boat beneath the thwarts, and I seated myself on his stomach. The whole population of the town was on the bank, and rending the air with laughter, in which even the man’s wives joined. So we put off down the river.
After a while he respectfully advised that it was no longer necessary for me to sit on him; that he could not possibly swim back to his town, nor walk through the mangrove swamp on either side of the river, and besides he was needed at the oar for he knew that the white man was in a hurry to reach Gaboon. As to the proposal that I change my seat I told him that what was at first a matter of necessity was now a matter of choice and that I could not be as comfortable sitting on a thwart. But one oar was idle; and besides I was deeply moved by his anxiety to get me to Gaboon as quickly as possible. So I relented and changed my seat, while he crawled out and took the oar. I had a few choice bananas, which I asked him to eat with me, and before he had finished eating we were the best of friends; and so we were ever afterwards.
The launchDorothy(which succeeded theEvangeline) I usually kept anchored well out on the bay, giving her plenty of cable. It was always hard to get out to her in the evening and I preferred to start up the river in thequiet of the morning but that was not always possible. One evening we were going out to her in a canoe, preparatory to a journey, when the sea was rougher than usual, and we had a misadventure that was no joke at the time. In the canoe were eight natives and several trunks and other baggage. Ndong Koni was in the stern. We soon saw that we were overloaded but we went on, the canoe taking water more and more rapidly.
“We can’t make it,” said some one; “let us turn back.”
But to attempt to turn in such a sea would surely have swamped us; besides, we were more than half-way to the launch.
I gave the order to go on, and every man to pull for his life. I stood up and urged the men to their best. But it was in vain. The canoe settled deeper in the water, which soon came almost to my knees. At last it went under, in eighteen feet of water, and a rough sea that no white man could swim in. Dear reader, if you should ever find yourself in such a situation, a hopeless distance from the shore and the craft sinking into the depths beneath your feet, let me advise you above all things to be perfectly calm. Don’t worry. Worry will not help in the least.
I turned to Ndong Koni and said: “Ndong, if my life is to be saved I guess it is up to you to do it.”
There was no need to speak to him. He sprang over the heads of several boys and into the water after me, and catching me by the shoulder, fought the sea with the other arm. The canoe came to the surface bottom upwards. The natives old and young swim marvellously, and are at home in the roughest water. We tried to get to the canoe but a wave swept it away; then another dashed it towards us and against us. We clung to it as best we could but again and again we were separatedfrom it, and again dashed against it. There was a canoe with several natives in the distance; but they either did not see us, or they were disposed to let nature take its course. We might have been devoured by sharks but for the fact that there were a number of us, and we were making plenty of noise. But some men on the shore saw us, and calling loudly for help they at last pushed off a large canoe and came towards us, the captain yelling at the men to pull and pull harder. When they reached us we had been twenty minutes in the water, and were taken out not so much the worse except Ndong Koni, who was exhausted and bruised by the canoe striking him, from which he had each time saved me.
When we reached the beach I am sure no one will wonder that I said to him: “Ndong Koni, if I had a son of my own I could only wish that he were as brave and unselfish as you are.”
I asked him what he would have as salvage for saving my life.
He replied: “A tin of corned beef for supper.” He seemed to think that was enough.
While we were struggling in the sea fifty schoolboys had reached the beach in a state of panic. The crying of the smaller boys was hysterical and they could not stop even when I was safe on land. They continued to cry, saying the while, “O Mr. Milligan, what would we have done? For you are our father.”
At last I dried their tears by saying: “Look here, boys, I know what you are crying for: you are sorry that I was not drowned.” Every face was for a moment transfixed with amazement, as they stared at one another. Then they all laughed.
Next day they dragged for my trunk which contained most of the useful things that I had in Africa. At last when the tide was at the ebb they found it. Amongother things which lay in the sea over night was a French Testament that I used to carry with me. I still have this relic.
The kindness of such a boy as Ndong Koni is only appreciated when contrasted with the awful cruelty which is the outstanding feature of all heathenism. And the cruelty of anger or fear is not so revolting as that of their deliberate practice and ordinary customs, dissociated from passion. In a certain town at which we anchored theEvangelineone day while we waited for the turn of the tide, we found a woman sick and evidently dying, whose wasted form suggested long suffering. Ndong Koni knew her history and repeated it to me. She did not belong to the town, but had been a prisoner there for five years. A petty war had taken place between this town and the one to which she had belonged. A woman, I believe, had been stolen, and then some killing followed. At the close of the war the people of her town had to pay a dowry and they agreed to send a woman as hostage until it should be paid. This poor woman who had nothing whatever to do with the palaver, was taken from her family and given as a prisoner to the other town, while the guilty man and woman enjoyed themselves and paid no penalty. Her husband had probably married other wives and had ceased to care for her, and he was willing that she should be sent. They never ransomed her, but left her there, a prisoner and slave in the town, with no protection and no rights, until at the end of five years she died. To many such have I tried to tell the story of the Son of Man, who came to give His life “a ransom for many.”
One day we visited a certain town which was not far away. Expecting that we would return that evening I took no extra clothing. On the way we were caught in a storm and my clothes were drenched with rain. I couldhot spend the afternoon in these wet clothes, and the town possessed no clothes that I could wear. But the chief had a table and a table-cloth. He kindly loaned me the latter and a pair of shoes that had perhaps been discarded by some white man. I did not preach in a table-cloth and a pair of shoes, but I sat and visited with the people.
Mb’Obam, Ndong Koni’s uncle, died not long after the visit to his town, the incidents of which I have recounted. He and his wife, Sara, had for a long time lived a pure and exemplary life in the midst of the darkest heathenism. When he died the people accused Sara of having made medicine to kill him. This medicine is a fetish and acts supernaturally: it is not necessary that it should come in physical contact with the victim. Mb’Obam had died of a lingering disease well known to them. But such is the mental degradation incident to the belief in magic and witchcraft that effects are referred to a supernatural cause even when the natural and physical cause is before their eyes. Every death is attributed to magic or witchcraft, and if they are not forward in avenging it the spirit of the dead one will inflict misfortune and even death upon them. Mb’Obam had completely broken with fetishism and had discarded all these beliefs and had bravely defended the victims of native cruelty. At his approaching death he charged the people not to touch Sara nor to charge her with witchcraft, reminding them what a faithful wife she had been and how differently they both had lived since they became Christians. But though they had regarded him with respect and reverence during his life, yet at his death old customs and beliefs asserted tyrannous authority, and they charged Sara with having killed him. It fell to Esona, the succeeding chief, to decree the punishment of Sara. In the vicinity of the French government he would notdare to kill her. So he led her into the middle of the street before all the people, placed her on her hands and knees, and bound upon her back a heavy load of plantain-stocks. Then two men sat upon the load, on her back, and all the men of the town drove her thus up and down the street on her hands and knees until they nearly killed her. As soon as she had sufficiently recovered from the effect of the awful ordeal they repeated the performance, and repeated it again, until Sara managed through a Christian boy to get a message to me. Leaving the school I made ready theEvangelineand went with all haste to the town, thirty miles distant, where I arrived just in time to stop another repetition of the outrage. The sight was too much for me. Mb’Obam and Sara had been the very first of my Fang friends. Whether the impulse was noble indignation or a very mortal temper, the reader may decide. With a stick which I carried I flogged Esona the chief before all the people, and there was blood on the stick when I got through.
One may wonder how a white man could do this in a town of savages without sacrificing his own life. I may say that there was perhaps not another town on the river in which I could have done any such thing and have escaped with my life. Safety in such a situation depends upon the extent of a man’s influence and personal authority in the particular town. It is the part of wisdom for him to know the extent of his influence in each town and the part of discretion never to overreach it. In this instance Esona, breaking away from me like an animal frantic with rage, shouted for his gun and ran towards his house to get it. But a cry of alarm was raised, as I expected, and half a dozen men rushing upon him, held him fast. He broke loose from them and others joined him. For a moment it looked as if my own life and that of the crew (except Ndong Koni, who was related in thetown) were forfeited, and the fate of theEvangelinewere like that of the famous ship which was left—