The marriage of Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week.
Of course the ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who
was also Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was
at the anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the
lieutenant who commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute
in honour of the event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him
accountable for every ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition,
for the wear and tear on every gun. The guns didn’t bear much tampering
with, and there was nothing so bad for them as firing them: it wore them
out, the Admiralty stated, and the practice must be put a stop to.
But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event,
there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular.
Dr Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of
Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on
the part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when
ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of
the evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman,
a human ear for which no owner could be found.
The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and
returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner’s
_ménage_, which had suffered materially through the absence of the
Commissioner’s daughter, was restored in all its former perfection.
Every night varied strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons
as were in the neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that
Major Minton’s banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of
from ten to five hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway
was every night paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder,
and kneecap to kneecap--they sat upon their haunches--to the fascinating
songs. They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom
obbligato to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance
would be complete.
The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse
with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,--a wheezy asthmatic
instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West
Coast, had never become fully acclimatised,--felt that his success was
seriously jeopardised by the Major’s secular melodies. When the flock
were privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he
knew that it was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their
attendance at the schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after
certain religious services had been forced on them.
He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of
introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed
that with such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps--but this was
optional--the bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the
outlying districts of Picotee.
Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for
some time after the marriage of the Commissioner’s daughter he was not
quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually,
however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only
person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton
at billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome
the prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he
entertained against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton
was becoming a first-class billiard-player, as any active person who
understands the game is likely to become after a few months’ residence
at a West Coast settlement.
“Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian,” Mrs Minton remarked one
day when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his
favourite topic--namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon
the most civilised savage.
“He’s a negro-gentleman, I admit,” said Letts.
“A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can’t be far wrong,”
remarked Major Minton.
“I have reasons--the best of reasons--for knowing that Dr Koomadhi is a
forgiving Christian gentleman,” said Gertrude. “Yes, he shall always be
my friend.”
She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, “I
would as soon marry----”
She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she
checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily.
But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them.
And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as
a gentleman and a Christian.