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 the _Evangeline_ to 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 great celebration (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 they sometimes 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 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 end of 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 the _Evangeline_. 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 surprise were 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 the _Evangeline_ Ndong 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 that he 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 the _Evangeline_, which I was towing behind
the _Dorothy_. We had gone about twenty miles when the engine of the
_Dorothy_ suddenly 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
the _Dorothy_ towing the _Evangeline_ we would return to port a few days
later with the little _Evangeline_ towing the _Dorothy_. But this time
I had first to take the boys to their homes leaving the _Dorothy_ at
anchor. The _Evangeline_ with 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 the _Dorothy_ had
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 the long 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 the _Evangeline_.
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 to persuade 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 the river 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 launch _Dorothy_ (which succeeded the _Evangeline_) 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 the quiet 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 separated from 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. Among other 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 the _Evangeline_
one 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 could
hot 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.