what you think them man he go do? Well he go lef’ all them other sheep
and he go find them sheep he live for bush. He go find him, find him,
and no tire till he look him. S’pose he find him four or three days and
never look him, well, he no tire; and s’pose he find him seven or six
days and never look him he no tire; ten or nine days and never look him,
he no tire; he go find him, find him, find him, all time till he look
him. And s’pose he look him, well, he take them sheep on him shoulder,
so⸺ He carry him for house and give him plenty chop, and he be glad too
much. Then he go call all him friends, plenty man, plenty wife, and
small piccaninny, and he say to them: “Say, you sabey them sheep that
done loss for bush? Well, this day I look him. Then all people they make
palaver and be happy too much. So, s’pose man go lef’ all him sins and
do God-fashion; well, all them people, what live for top, they make fine
palaver, and be happy too much.”
There may be inaccuracies in this, but it is tolerably correct; and I am
sure that my African audience understood it. There is Kru English and
Kru-er English, and Kru-est English. In the latter, “that” and “them”
become “dat” and “dem.” But even if many natives use this form they
perfectly understand the white man when he uses the correct form; and
it is execrably bad taste to exaggerate either the pronunciation or the
idiom, and to outdo the native himself in departing from the correct
form. It also seems to me to be bad taste for white people to use Kru
English when it is not necessary, as some do. And when a white woman
deliberately adopts in her own household the word “chop,” and other such
words, she puts a strain upon my respect.
Once when I was living at Gaboon, a north-coast man from Accra called
on me, with whom I conversed in Kru English. That evening I received a
letter from him which I kept for a long time as one of my souvenirs of
Gaboon. I venture to reproduce it from memory:
_Right Reverend Father in God_:
This day I done look gold toof what live for your mouf. All my
life I never look so fine toof. Berra well. I like toof for my
own mouf all same as them toof. I no like white toof again.
S’pose you go buy me one toof all same as yours; s’pose you buy
him for your country; berra well; I be fit for pay you cash and
I be your fren all time. Please, Mister Milgan, do this for
God’s sake.
Your fren,
(Signed) JOSEPH ACCRA.
For trade and commerce between Africa and the civilized nations the
Kruboy is at present more important than any other African, and is almost
indispensable. For, owing to the heavy surf the open coast is nearly
inaccessible for the landing of cargo and can only be worked by the
most skillful and daring boatmen, and the Kruboy excels all Africans in
these qualities. They received their first training from the slavers of
early days, in whose service they learned both beach work and ship work.
The slavers finding them useful allies and wishing to maintain friendly
relations with them persuaded them to put a distinguishing mark upon
themselves so that none of them might be taken and enslaved by mistake.
This mark is a tattooed band, with an open pattern, running down the
middle of the forehead and to the tip of the nose. The fashion, when once
established, remained, and they are all tattooed in this way. The Kruboy
also until late years hired with traders all along the coast to do beach
work, that is, handle boats and cargo, sample rubber and oil, prepare
copra, and do the variety of work of a trading-house. He is willing to
serve an apprenticeship almost for nothing, during which time, he says,
he “live for learn sense.” He is paid largely in goods.
On his return to his country (and he will not stay away longer than a
year) the Liberian government exacts a portion of his goods. A large
part of the remainder goes to the elders of his tribe who have protected
his wives in his absence. If he refuses this demand, which is usually
exorbitant, or if he stays away too long from his country, the wives
themselves are confiscated. Goods, however, that are made up into
clothing are never demanded; and this accounts for a habit of the Kruboy
which sometimes amazes ship-passengers. On his return as a deck-passenger
after serving a year down the coast he turns tailor and employs all his
time in making clothes, cutting them out and sewing them, on the deck. If
there are many Kruboys thus travelling the lower deck presents an aspect
of fantastic activity. In late years they have not gone far down the
coast except as ship-hands.
The Kru people are peculiarly inaccessible to Christian influence. This
is in part owing to the fact that they are away so much of the time. The
life that they live when thus separated from their people and the nature
of their contact with white men are not conducive to their moral welfare.
But, as a matter of fact, very little missionary work has been done among
them. They are extremely superstitious. The surf, with which the Kruboy
fights desperate battles for his life, is full of malignant spirits; and
so of everything that opposes or hurts him. His soul leaves him when he
sleeps, and often some witch catches it in a trap; whereupon he takes
sick and soon dies. Sometimes the witch inflicts a fatal wound upon the
soul; and sometimes he hangs the trap over the fire and the soul shrinks
and dies, himself failing and dying at the same time. Occasionally,
however, the wandering soul stays away of its own accord. A witch-doctor
may catch it and put it back into him for a consideration. Sometimes when
the soul of the sleeper would return in the morning it finds its place
taken by some malicious spirit which inflicts sickness. The witch-doctor
must first expel this spirit before restoring the man’s soul.
When a person of any importance dies the Kru custom is to kill a number
of others to accompany him to the underworld. The underworld is somewhat
like this, and the inhabitants there pass their time somewhat as we do
here; much of it is therefore spent in talking palavers. Sometimes they
even talk palavers which began in this life and were not settled or were
decided unjustly. For this purpose they often need the testimony of
persons still living, and such persons immediately die in order to go to
the underworld and give testimony. This is a common explanation when a
number of persons die about the same time.
I like the Kruboy so well and I admire his bravery so much that I am
reluctant to admit his glaring deficiency of morals,—that he lies,
steals, commits adultery, and kills his neighbours with a good-natured or
perhaps stupid indifference to right and wrong scarcely paralleled even
in Africa.
The treatment that the natives receive at the hands of the ship’s
officers is often the very opposite of brave. Many of these officers are
pleasant gentlemen. Some of them will later be captains, and as a rule
none but the best ever reach that position. The captains of the coast
steamers are a fine class of men and delightful to travel with. I have
never witnessed cruelty on their part towards the natives; though I have
sometimes wondered that they did not interfere and restrain the angry
passions of their officers. Yet, it must be added that the officers have
not so much need of restraint when the captain is standing by.
Not to touch upon the doubtful propriety of swearing under any
circumstances; no one but a fool will habitually swear at a Kruboy.
For the Kruboy is as indifferent to a curse as to a blessing, and
thus it reacts upon the man himself, exasperating him and putting him
into such a rage as to threaten him with a fit of apoplexy or at least
a _brain-storm_. The cursing of one or another of the officers at the
Kruboys is both loud and continuous, and if it should suddenly cease one
might be justified in supposing that the ship had sprung a leak and was
about to go to the bottom and the officers to certain death.
On the homeward voyage there are always, among the deck-passengers, a
number of Accra or Lagos men who have been working on the south coast and
are returning home with their pay, a large portion of which is in the
shape of various goods. There is no harbour in either of these places and
the steamer anchors far out, in rough water, the passengers going ashore
in boats. Some officers when in charge of native passengers are careful
of their baggage; but occasionally—and not seldom—it is flung down into
the boat below without the slightest care and even with the apparent
intention of causing as much breakage and other damage as possible. The
officer casts an occasional glance towards the upper deck, quite sure
that the white passengers are enjoying the joke. But he is mistaken:
both the missionary and the trader are indignant. For they both know the
native better than he does, and they also know that those goods were
earned by the hard labour of at least a year, and perhaps three years,
during which time he has not seen his home or his friends. And only those
who know them intimately can understand this sacrifice; for the African
can die of homesickness.
[Illustration: THE DEBARKATION OF A DECK PASSENGER.]
It is in accord with native etiquette that these men coming home should
arrive very much dressed, in new clothes, starched linen and infinite
jewelry. This dressing is done on the open deck and occupies sometimes
the entire day before the arrival, to the delight of the white
passengers, who also give much kindly and gratuitous advice, which the
native takes in good part. But in spite of their assistance there is
nearly always something a little “off” in the completed toilet. One
individual, grandly dressed, had his new shoes on the wrong feet. They
had been made on a very crooked last and the effect was more grotesque
than one would suppose. He looked as if he expected to walk with his
legs crossed. Well, we may enjoy all this with very kindly feelings
towards the native. But the fun is all spoiled when the ship’s officer
perpetrates a practical joke apparently for our amusement. These
passengers, men and women, in places where the sea is rough, are lowered
into the boat by a chair, which is fastened to the end of a long rope
suspended from a crane. The chair looks perfectly safe and comfortable
as it sits on the deck. The native gets into it without hesitation. The
rope is then drawn up by the crane till the chair is raised from the
deck and goes swinging out over the bounding main. Its occupant, if it
be a woman with a baby, for instance, screams with fright, and perhaps
as the chair moves off flings her baby back on the deck, trusting to
Providence for its landing; but the African baby leads a charmed life.
Meanwhile the woman shuts her eyes and resigns herself to her fate. The
chair is lowered to the boat below, and if the sea be rough and the boat
heaving and tossing there is a very dangerous moment as the chair first
comes in contact with it. The women are always lowered with care. But
in lowering these much-dressed men—usually several at once—the officer
in charge frequently makes it a point to “capsize” them, by letting the
chair come down on the gunwale of the surf-boat, or on a thwart, so as to
spill the occupants into the boat and into the six inches of very dirty
water in the bottom of it, head first, or on their backs. Not to speak
of the bruised and bleeding condition which sometimes results from this
treatment, the native’s toilet is deranged, his clothes perhaps torn,
and he goes ashore in woeful dishabille. No one enjoys this joke but the
officer himself.
At Lagos, on the homeward voyage, in these late years natives come on
board with large basket-coops of chickens which they take to Sekondi
and sell to the white men connected with the mines. In each of these
baskets there are three or four dozen chickens, which will sell for three
shillings each; and surely this is an industry that ought to receive
every encouragement. It is good for the natives and good for the miners.
Yet, on certain steamers, such is the carelessness in loading them that
sometimes not half the chickens reach Sekondi alive. There is not the
least necessity for this large loss, nor for any loss. One day a trader
of Fernando Po and I standing together watched a native, who had just
come on board with his chickens, while he took out of one basket sixteen
dead ones, exactly a third of the whole number, and he probably lost as
many in landing them. We both thought that if the owner had been a white
man in all probability not a chicken would have been lost.
The Kruboys are divided into deck-boys and boat-boys. The more
intelligent and experienced of the deck-boys run the steam-winches and
cranes, used in raising cargo from the hold, and in loading and stowing.
Above the unceasing and relentless creaking of these three or four
machines is heard the loud voice of one or several natives who stand at
the open hatches and transmit orders from those in the hold below to
those at the machines, the orders being always accompanied by appropriate
gestures, which are also signals, so well understood that words would
not be necessary for the common orders. Those at the hatches repeat
from early morning till late at night the following calls: “Heave a
link—half a link—half a link—lower away. Lower a link—half a link—lower
a link—heave away.” Except between ports this goes on incessantly above
the noise of the several winches. On one occasion when I had been feeling
miserable for several days I said to the captain: “If ever I go mad I
am sure I shall go on saying as long as I live: ‘Half a link—half a
link—heave away.’” The captain replied: “That is precisely the end to
which I myself am looking forward.” But when I am well I never weary of
watching them at work.
A great variety of cargo is discharged, but more salt and gin than
anything else. We take on rubber, ivory, mahogany, ebony, camwood,
palm-oil and kernels. The palm-oil and kernels are used for the
manufacture of soap and candles. The camwood, also called _barwood_,
was more in demand before the use of analine dyes, but is still used in
dyeing bandannas.
But the work of loading mahogany is of greatest interest to the
passengers. At Gaboon many hundreds of these logs are always lying on the
beach (or “in” the beach, as the disgusted captain frequently reports)
awaiting shipment. African mahogany in these days is being shipped even
to America where it is used for furniture. It is not nearly so valuable
as the mahogany of Cuba and South America. But when it is figured with
the “roe” it brings an enormous price. The roe of the mahogany is
formed in the grain by one ring overlapping the other, making mottled
ringlets of light and shade, sometimes very pronounced and exquisitely
beautiful. Only those trees are cut which are close to the river, for
the native has no mechanical means of transporting it and no mechanical
aptitude to invent such means. They cut it into logs about twenty feet
long, the average diameter being three feet. Such a log weighs about a
ton and sometimes much more. They slide the logs down into the river
on improvised rollers. Then in one or several canoes they tow from two
to eight logs at a time to the coast where they are sold to the white
trader for about five dollars each, in goods. This is the average value
at Gaboon. The trader puts the house-mark on them and then leaves them on
the beach until they are shipped. At high tide most of them are afloat
but they cannot drift away, as the waves are stronger than the current
and drive them back on the beach. The German traders usually have their
logs squared before shipping whereby much is saved on the freight to
Europe. But others say that it costs more to have them squared by the
native using an adz than to pay the extra freight and have them squared
in the mills of Europe.
The Kruboys are sent ashore from the ship to raft the logs, having first
rolled them down the beach or dug them out of it. A spike with a ring
attached, called a _dog_, is driven into an end of each log, through
which a rope is passed. Then they are towed, ten or twelve at a time, to
the steamer, usually anchored half a mile, or even a mile from the shore.
The Kruboys with surf-boats and paddles tow them well away from the shore
and then they are taken by the steam launch, if the launch happens to be
in order, which is once in a while. It is only in late years that the
English steamers have carried launches. The first of these were evidently
such as had been discarded by more favoured lines. They had ways past
finding out. One of these, from its characteristic habit, a trader named
the _Sudden Jerk_, following native custom. Another which was _sound_
only in the whistle I named the _Piercing Scream_.
The work of unbeaching the logs and towing them to the steamer is very
hard, but the danger and the excitement is in getting them loaded and
stowed. They are made fast at the ship’s side. Several of the Kruboys
remain in the water. They first knock the “dog” out of the last log;
then they pass a chain around it which is made fast to the steel cable
of the deck-winch. A signal, always accompanied by a shout, is passed
up to one on deck who transmits it to the man at the winch and the log
is lifted out of the water. The Kruboy rises with it a part of the
way, then leaps into the water and prepares the next log. This may not
seem so very difficult to men who are as much at home in the water as
on shore. But these logs weighing a ton each are all the while dashing
against each other or against the ship’s side with a deep boom that
echoes through the ship. They are pitching and tossing and spinning,
while the Kruboy tries to balance himself on top, keeps his eye on every
log that is near, and at the same time does his work. But however it
pitches and plunges he rides it as easily as a cowboy rides a pitching
broncho. At first I looked on not only with interest, as always, but
with a horrible fascination that I had never before experienced. All the
passengers, from the upper deck, are watching the Kruboy lying across a
log that heaves and rolls while he passes the chain beneath it, and at
that moment another log is driven towards it with its full ton weight,
the two colliding broadside. The passengers shout; if there is a lady
aboard she screams. But somehow, when those logs meet, the Kruboy is not
between them. He is underneath, and quite out of sight. At last he comes
up somewhere, and shaking the water from his woolly head, looks up with a
smile full of white teeth and says: “He nebber catch me.” And this goes
on all day long, whenever logs are loaded. Occasionally an arm is broken,
more often a leg, and sometimes a life is lost.
When the log is raised to the height of the lower deck it is passed from
one spar to another which is over the hatch, and sweeps across the deck,
all the Kruboys at the same moment shouting for everybody to get out of
the way; but no time is lost in waiting for them to obey the order. They
dodge skillfully, however; for one is always dodging something in Africa,
and there is seldom any accident. But terrible accidents have sometimes
occurred down in the hold, during the hard work of stowing the logs so
that every cubic foot of space may be occupied. I have also seen the
steel cable break when a log weighing nearly two tons was suspended over
the hatch. One thinks, of course, that all the Kruboys down in that dark
hold are directly under the falling log, which is never the case, and the
volume of vocal noise which ascends immediately afterwards is a great
relief to the blood-curdled feelings of the spectator, for it indicates
that nobody is missing. But the fright extends beyond one’s solicitude
for the Kruboys. For it looks as if that log would plunge right through
the bottom of the ship. One will discover, however, that it fell upon a
bed of several logs carefully placed there against such an accident.
But I have not yet told of the hardest and the bravest work of the
Kruboy, a work for which few men anywhere in the world would have
sufficient daring, namely, his landing of cargo through the surf in the
season of the “calemma,” or great wave of the southwest coast. Twice I
have gone far south of Gaboon when the sea was at the worst. Once I went
as far as Benguela, in Angola, and again I visited the Congo. On the
latter journey I was nearly five weeks on shipboard.
The boat-boys are divided into crews according to the number of
surf-boats in use. In a good sea a crew usually consists of seven men,
six of whom use paddles, while the seventh, the headman, stands erect in
the stern of the boat and steers with an oar attached to the stern. In a
rough sea fewer boats are lowered and the crew is increased to as many
as thirteen men. However long the day’s work or hard the battle with the
sea, they sing to the last stroke, keeping time with their paddles to one
of their strange, wild boat-songs. Sometimes the song has only rhythm
and no melody, being a monotonous repetition of several notes: “So sah,
so sooh, so sah, so sooh, so sah, so sooh, ad—zh! So sah, so sooh,” etc.
The man who sings at his work will do more work in a given time and do it
better. Not that the African is always a great worker. He is seldom that;
but he does more work singing than he would do not singing. And he sings
because, however wronged and oppressed, there is a freedom within him
which the white man can never take away; a lightness of heart, a buoyancy
of spirit intractable to tyranny.
West Africa is notorious in all the world for its paucity of harbours,
and its heavy surf, which at certain seasons rages like a battle, the
roar of it like many voices defying the white man that would approach
its shores. The surf at one place where we called was so bad that we
were seven days discharging one day’s cargo. The sea rolled in with a
tremendous swell—the calemma—like a wall of water that looked three
stories high, which, as it approached the land, burst into a succession
of breakers that raced towards the shore, and striking with the boom
of cannon, tossed the white surf high into the air. One always feels,
in going through it, that he is fighting a personal foe; there is even
something human in the sound of it. The Kruboy says it is full of
spirits. Savage spirits, they must be, and drunken, which leap and tumble
and shout in mad carousal.
At each place the first venture in the surf-boats was watched eagerly
from the ship. Three or four boats set out together with a light cargo.
Near the surf they stop, landing one at a time, and waiting for the right
moment. They wait perhaps as long as half an hour. Then, in the first
boat, at the word of the headman, they throw their weight on the paddles
and pull for their lives, not looking to either side, nor speaking a
word. Now they are in the breakers, borne forward upon the racing waves
with violent speed, a roaring monster before them and another more
ferocious one pursuing. At this moment the safety of all depends upon the
skill of the headman in keeping the boat placed right to the wave. And
in any case, if the boat, upon reaching the beach, strike the ground at
a moment when the water has receded, the breaker following will be upon
it before they can drag it up the beach, and catching it up will perhaps
stand it straight on end, and hurl it backward upon the beach; or, if it
be not straight to the wave, it will be whirled about and flung up the
beach, rolling over and over, with all its freight of boxes and barrels,
the boys escaping I know not how—but not always escaping.