missionaries (A.B.M.U.) that foreigners were approaching, and they came
out to meet and greet us. We were soon hurried into their cool and
comfortable mud houses. Our faithful cook was dismissed, for we were to
take our meals with the missionaries.
Mr. Hoste, who is at the head of this station, came into our room and
mentioned that the numerous spiders, half the size of your hand, on the
walls were harmless. "But," said he, as he raised his hand and pointed
to a hole over the door, "there is a nest of scorpions; you must be
careful in moving in or out, for they will spring upon you."
Well, you ought to have seen us dodging in and out that door. After
supper, not discrediting the veracity of the gentleman, we set to work,
and for an hour we spoiled the walls by smashing spiders with slippers.
The next morning the mission station was excited over the loss of their
only donkey. The donkey had been feeding in the field and a
boa-constrictor had captured him, squeezed him into pulp, dragged him a
hundred yards down to the river bank, and was preparing to swallow him.
The missionaries, all with guns, took aim and fired, killing the
twenty-five-foot boa-constrictor. The boa was turned over to the natives
and they had a great feast. The missionaries told us many tales about
how the boa-constrictor would come by night and steal away their goats,
hogs, and dogs.
The sand around Lukunga is a hot-bed for miniature fleas, or "jiggers."
The second day of our stay at Lukunga our feet had swollen and itched
terribly, and on examination we found that these "jiggers" had entered
under our toe nails and had grown to the size of a pea. A native was
called and with a small sharpened stick they were cut out. We saw
natives with toes and fingers eaten entirely off by these pests. Mr.
Hoste told us to keep our toes well greased with palm oil. We followed
his instructions, but grease with sand and sun made our socks rather
"heavy."
The native church here is very strong spiritually. The church bell, a
real big brass bell, begins to ring at 8 A. M. and continues for an
hour. The natives in the neighborhood come teeming by every trail, take
their seats quietly, and listen attentively to the preaching of God's
word. No excitement, no shouting, but an intelligent interest shown by
looking and listening from start to finish.
In the evening you can hear from every quarter our hymns sung by the
natives in their own language. They are having their family devotions
before retiring.
Our second day's march brought us to a large river. Our loads and men
were ferried over in canoes. Mr. Lapsley and I decided to swim it, and
so we jumped in and struck out for the opposite shore. On landing we
were told by a native watchman that we had done a very daring thing. He
explained with much excitement and many gestures that the river was
filled with crocodiles, and that he did not expect to see us land alive
on his side. We camped on the top of the hill overlooking N'Kissy and
the wild rushing Congo Rapids. It was in one of these whirlpools that
young Pocock, Stanley's last survivor, perished.
In the "Pool" we saw many hippopotami, and longed to go out in a canoe
and shoot one, but being warned of the danger from the hippopotami and
also of the treacherous current of the Congo River, which might take us
over the rapids and to death, we were afraid to venture. A native Bateke
fisherman, just a few days before our arrival, had been crushed in his
canoe by a bull-hippopotamus. Many stories of hippopotami horrors were
told us.
One day Chief N'Galiama with his attendant came to the mission and told
Dr. Simms that the people in the village were very hungry and to see if
it were possible for him to get some meat to eat.
Dr. Simms called me and explained how the people were on the verge of a
famine and if I could kill them a hippopotamus it would help greatly. He
continued to explain that the meat and hide would be dried by the people
and, using but a little at each meal, would last them a long time. Dr.
Simms mentioned that he had never hunted, but he knew where the game
was. He said, "I will give you a native guide, you go with him around
the first cataract about two miles from here and you will find the
hippopotami." I was delighted at the idea, and being anxious to use my
"Martini Henry" rifle and to help the hungry people, I consented to go.
In an hour and a half we had walked around the rapids, across the big
boulders, and right before us were at least a dozen big hippopotami.
Some were frightened, ducked their heads and made off; others showed
signs of fight and defiance.
At about fifty yards distant I raised my rifle and let fly at one of the
exposed heads. My guide told me that the hippopotamus was shot and
killed. In a few minutes another head appeared above the surface of the
water and again taking aim I fired with the same result. The guide, who
was a subject of the Chief N'Galiama, sprang upon a big boulder and
cried to me to look at the big bubbles which were appearing on the
water; then explained in detail that the hippopotami had drowned and
would rise to the top of the water within an hour.
The guide asked to go to a fishing camp nearby and call some men to
secure the hippopotami when they rose, or else they would go out with
the current and over the rapids. In a very short time about fifty men,
bringing native rope with them, were on the scene and truly, as the
guide had said, up came the first hippopotamus, his big back showing
first. A number of the men were off swimming with the long rope which
was tied to the hippopotamus' foot. A signal was given and every man did
his best. No sooner had we secured the one near shore than there was a
wild shout to untie and hasten for the other. These two were securely
tied by their feet and big boulders were rolled on the rope to keep them
from drifting out into the current.
The short tails of both of them were cut off and we started home. We
reported to Dr. Simms that we had about four or five tons of meat down
on the river bank. The native town ran wild with delight. Many natives
came to examine my gun which had sent the big bullets crashing through
the brain of the hippopotami. Early the next morning N'Galiama sent his
son Nzelie with a long caravan of men to complete the work. They leaped
upon the backs of the hippopotami, wrestled with each other for a while,
and then with knives and axes fell to work. The missionaries enjoyed a
hippopotamus steak that day also.
Before the chickens began to crow for dawn I was alarmed by a band of
big, broad-headed, determined driver ants. They filled the cabin, the
bed, the yard. There were millions. They were in my head, my eyes, my
nose, and pulling at my toes. When I found it was not a dream, I didn't
tarry long.
Some of our native boys came with torches of fire to my rescue. They are
the largest and the most ferocious ant we know anything about. In an
incredibly short space of time they can kill any goat, chicken, duck,
hog or dog on the place. In a few hours there is not a rat, mouse,
snake, centipede, spider, or scorpion in your house, as they are chased,
killed and carried away. We built a fire and slept inside of the circle
until day.
We scraped the acquaintance of these soldier ants by being severely
bitten and stung. They are near the size of a wasp and use both ends
with splendid effect. They live deep down in the ground and come out of
a smoothly cut hole, following each other single file, and when they
reach a damp spot in the forest and hear the white ants cutting away on
the fallen leaves, the leader stops until all the soldiers have caught
up. A circle is formed, a peculiar hissing is the order to raid, and
down under the leaves they dart, and in a few minutes they come out with
their pinchers filled with white ants. The line, without the least
excitement, is again formed and they march back home stepping high with
their prey.
The small White Ants have a blue head and a white, soft body and are
everywhere in the ground and on the surface. They live by eating dead
wood and leaves.
We got rid of the driver ants by keeping up a big fire in their cave for
a week. We dug up the homes of the big black ants and they moved off.
But there was no way possible to rid the place of the billions of white
ants. They ate our dry goods boxes, our books, our trunks, our beds,
shoes, hats and clothing. The natives make holes in the ground,
entrapping the ants, and use them for food.
The dogs look like ordinary curs, with but little hair on them, and they
never bark or bite. I asked the people to explain why their dogs didn't
bark. So they told me that once they did bark, but long ago the dogs and
leopards had a big fight, the dogs whipped the leopards, and after that
the leopards were very mad, so the mothers of the little dogs told them
not to bark any more, and they hadn't barked since.
The natives tie wooden bells around their dogs to know where they are.
Every man knows the sound of his bell just as we would know the bark of
our dog.
There are many, many kinds of birds of the air, all known and called by
name, and the food they eat, their mode of building nests, etc., were
familiar to the people. They knew the customs and habits of the
elephant, hippopotamus, buffalo, leopard, hyena, jackal, wildcat,
monkey, mouse, and every animal which roams the great forest and
plain,--from the thirty-foot boa-constrictor to a tiny tulu their names
and nature were well known.
The little children could tell you the native names of all insects, such
as caterpillars, crickets, cockroaches, grasshoppers, locusts, mantis,
honey bees, bumble bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, goliath
beetles, stage beetles, ants, etc.
The many species of fish, eels and terrapins were on the end of their
tongues, and these were all gathered and used for food. All the trees of
the forest and plain, the flowers, fruits, nuts and berries were known
and named. Roots which are good for all maladies were not only known to
the medicine man, but the common people knew them also.
CO-OPERATION AND THE LATIN CLASS
LILLIAN B. WITTEN
The few minutes that intervened between the devotionals and the
beginning of the first period were always eagerly seized by the Senior
class in the L---- high school for those last furious attempts at
learning the date of the battle of Marathon, the duties of the President
of the United States, and other pieces of information that the faculty
set so much store by.
Bored indifference was the sole notice they gave to the antics of the
freshmen boys who were trying to get a Webster's unabridged dictionary
on the floor of the aisle without attracting the attention of the
guardian of the room.
One little group of seniors was especially busy, cooperatively busy one
might say. This was one of the overflow divisions of eight students
which made up a class in Virgil. In all of the athletics of their three
years in school they had been taught the value of team work and
cooperation. One bright student had conceived the idea of bringing this
same team work into the Virgil class. It worked beautifully. Sixty lines
of Virgil was their customary assignment. Sixty lines divided among
eight students, as everybody could see, was about eight lines per
student. Each pupil had his number and studied correspondingly: number
one translated the first seven lines with great care, number two the
second seven, et cetera down the line. Then during the study period
which preceded the Latin recitation each one translated his lines for
the benefit of the other seven, while they attentively followed his
translation with the Latin text.
Busy over those vindictive lines in which Queen Dido, spurned by Aeneas,
pronounces a curse upon his head and all his generation, the eight
seniors on this particular morning translated one for the other, "Hate,
with a never-ceasing hate." All of the savage beauty of the lines was
lost on them, floundering in the maze of ablatives, subjunctives and the
like. But they managed between them all to make out some sort of
translation.
The composition work lent itself to team work much more effectively.
There were ten sentences given them each day to be translated from
English into Latin. They were divided among the eight in the same manner
as the Virgil, each one taking turns in doing the two extra sentences.
Passed around from one to the other and carefully copied they made up a
carefully done composition lesson. The beauty of it was that the Latin
teacher called upon them to put these sentences upon the board, each one
being given a different sentence. Thus the similarity of the work could
not be a subject of unpleasant comment by the teacher who never presumed
to collect the notebooks.
The gong sounded for second period; noise and bustle commenced, the
Virgil class made for the Latin recitation room with all the enthusiasm
of prepared lessons. Time dragged today of all days, the day of the
annual football game between the Juniors and the Seniors, so much more
vivid than the wanderings of Aeneas. Red and orange, the colors of the
Senior and Junior classes respectively, were everywhere conspicuous.
But lessons had to be gotten through somehow so with open books, making
the final attempt to gather up loose ends in the translation, they
waited for the recitation to commence. Miss Rhodes, the young Latin
teacher, had observed the class during the three weeks of the new term.
She had noted the fact that none of the class excelled the others, that
all of them sometimes made brilliant recitations, all sometimes stumbled
through passages in a way to cause the long deceased Virgil to blush
with shame. The students could have explained that if she would always
call upon them for the particular seven lines which had been their
portion they could always be brilliant. However, they maintained a wise
and discreet silence. Scientific observation and analysis is never
wasted, however.
"Will the class please pass their Latin sentences to me?" Miss Rhodes
requested at the beginning of the hour.
Eight pairs of eyes were instantly fixed on her in amazed
consternation. Eight pairs of unwilling hands fumbled among papers and
slowly gave up the one paper, which was the exact duplicate of every
other paper. "Hurry, please, class. You may now write your translations
of today's lesson for twenty minutes."
The clock ticked, eight industrious students concentrated and slaved
over Dido's curse. Translations which sounded plausible enough when
orally stumbled through did not look well when written. In the meantime
Miss Rhodes looked through the sentences which they had given her. Her
suspicions were confirmed. The class, unaware that they were harming
only themselves, were daily copying their sentences from each other.
Stolen glances at the young and pretty teacher informed the students
that her mouth had tightened, her chin had suddenly become terrifyingly
firm. After an eternity had passed the period came to an end.
"Class is dismissed. Please reassemble in this room this afternoon at
2.30," Miss Rhodes succinctly stated. Did they hear aright? Why, this
afternoon was the afternoon of the game. It was incredible. Eight
seniors and one of them the crack halfback of the senior team, not to be
at their own game. It was not to be dreamed of. In vain they protested.
"If you expect to graduate, you will be here at 2.30. Cheaters deserve
no consideration."
Half past two found the eight sad and wiser seniors again in the Latin
room. Again they applied themselves to translating Latin into English,
English into Latin, while in the distance they could hear the shouts of
the football fans. The hours ticked by. The game was over, the Juniors
winners in one of the closest games of years over the Seniors, who lost
because of the absence of their halfback who sat translating Latin,
failing his class in their need. He would never live down the shame.
Just before dismissing this extra session of the class, Miss Rhodes
quietly said, "Let me tell you from experience that the ability to make
a good bluff is a rare gift. Good bluffs are always founded on
consistent hard work."
Slowly and sadly the Virgil class passed out of the room; realizing that
the days of cooperative Virgil were relegated to the dim, suffering
past.
THE BAND OF GIDEON
JOSEPH S. COTTER
The Band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder's roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning's flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live, in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
The band of Gideon roam the sky
And view the earth with baleful eye;
In holy wrath they scourge the land
With earthquake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,
And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,
In agony searching for their God.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
And men repent and then forget
That heavenly wrath they ever met,
The band of Gideon yet will come
And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strong deed,
"The sword of the Lord and Gideon."
THE HOME OF THE COLORED GIRL BEAUTIFUL
AZALIA HACKLEY
The Home of the Colored Girl Beautiful will reflect her. She will help
her parents to buy a home that it may give her family more standing in
the civic community. Taste and simplicity will rule, for the home will
harmonize with the girl. If her parents are not particular about the
trifles in the way of curtains, fences, and yards, then it must be her
special task to make the home represent the beautiful in her, the God,
for all that is beautiful and good comes from God.
Windows generally express the character of the occupants of a house. The
day has passed when soiled or ragged lace curtains are tolerated. The
cheaper simpler scrims and cheese cloths which are easily laundered are
now used by the best people.
The Colored Girl Beautiful will study the possibilities of her home and
will attempt to secure the restful effects for the eye. Too much
furniture is bad taste. The less one has, the cleaner houses may be
kept.
The ornate heavy furniture and the upholstered parlor sets are passing
away because they are no longer considered good taste, besides they are
too heavy for cleanliness and are harmful to the health of women who do
their own work.
Furniture of less expensive model, with simple lines and of less weight
is being selected. This may be paid for in cash instead of "on time," as
has been the custom of many people in smaller towns and in the country
districts.
The furniture sold by the payment houses always shows its source in its
heaviness and shininess.
The wall paper should be selected as one would select a color for
clothes, to harmonize with the color of the skin in all lights, and for
service. Color schemes in decoration are being followed and we have no
more stuffy parlors, often closed for days. Instead we have living
rooms, with cleanable furniture, strong but light, entirely suitable for
winter, and cool in summer. No one has a parlor now-a-days. The best
room is generally a living room for the whole family. No more do we see
enlarged pictures which good taste demands should be placed in bedrooms
and private sitting rooms. The ten-cent stores have done a great deal of
good in educating the poor, white and black alike. These stores have
everywhere sold small brown art prints of many of the great paintings,
to take the place of the gaudy dust-laden chromos and family pictures.
Pictures are hung low that they may be thoroughly dusted, as well as to
give a near view of the subject.
Expensive carpets are also things of the past. Painted and stained
floors with light weight rugs are more generally used. These may be
cleaned and handled without giving the backache to women. Many colored
girls boast of having painted their own floors and woodwork. Much of
this has been learned in the boarding school.
A tawdry home expresses its mistress as do her clothes. Next to the
kitchen a fully equipped bath room is now the most important room in the
house. Health and sanitation are the topics of the hour and a colored
girl should know how to put a washer on a faucet as well as her father
or brother.
A house without books is indeed an unfurnished home. Good books are the
fad now. They are everywhere in evidence in the up-to-date colored home.
They are exhibited almost as hand-painted china was. In every inventory
or collection one finds a Bible, a dictionary, and an atlas.
The times are changing and the colored people are changing with the
times. Cleanliness and health are the watchwords, and "Order" is
Heaven's first law.
THE KNIGHTING OF DONALD
LILLIAN B. WITTEN
"With spear drawn Sir Cedric rode steadily through the forest, while
ever nearer and nearer came the dragon. Swift and sudden was the
onslaught and great was the struggle, until finally Sir Cedric
dismounted from his black charger and stood victor over the huge monster
who had committed so many depredations against the country side."
Slowly and lingeringly Donald closed the book. The many-branched tree
under which he lay changed into a grey stone castle with moat and
drawbridge upon which through the day armored knights on prancing steeds
rode from castle to village, always on missions of good to the towns and
hamlets. Never did Donald tire of reading about Arthur, Galahad, Merlin
and the others, but Launcelot, the Bold, was his favorite knight. As he
read of their deeds his black eyes flashed, his nervous slim body
quivered, the deep rich red flooded his brown cheeks. He was one of
them, took part in their tournaments, rescued the lovely ladies and
overcame wicked monsters for his king.
Of all the stories a never-to-be-forgotten one was of a little boy like
himself who lived in a small cottage near a castle which harbored many
knights. This little boy idolized them even as Donald did. One day as
the knights were returning from a strenuous day's work, one, weary and
worn, stopped at the cottage and asked for a drink of water. Eagerly the
boy ran, filled his cup at the brimming spring, and gave it to the
knight.
"Thank you, my little boy," smiled the man. "Already you are a knight
for you have learned the lesson of service."
How Donald envied the boy. To serve a knight, he dreamed, even to see
one. Would he had lived in the olden times when knighthood was in
flower. But having been born centuries too late he tried in every way to
live as the knights had lived. Daily he exercised, practiced physical
feats, restrained himself from over indulgence, following out the
program of those who would be knights. With shining eyes he would often
repeat his motto, the motto of Arthur's knights: "Live pure, speak the
truth, right the wrong, follow the Christ."
Thus dreaming Donald grew and everybody loved him. Dreamer though he
was, he ever kept before him the ideal of service. Tense with interest
in the exploits of the black knight, he was often tempted not to answer
when his mother called him from his reading to go on errands. Only a
second, however, would temptation last. Launcelot could never approve of
a boy who acted dishonestly.