“These people here are very partic’lar ’bout their fetish. If they was to see you now they would kill you p’raps.”
I said—“Bosh: this town belongs to the English.”
“I tell you for true, Sir. Myself I’m Christian like you: I follow the Lord; I don’t care for fetish. But these people here are very bad people, very partic’lar. If they see you, you will catch plenty trouble.”
I suffered myself to be persuaded and went away to have lunch with the Commandant. During the meal I said what a pity it was I could not get some of those arrows and spear-heads out of the inclosure. He seemed surprised and asked:
“What is there to prevent you?”
“Why, the natives would make a row.”
“They? Why they wouldn’t care if you carted the whole lot out.”
I thought I had been hearing rather contradictory evidence, so I told him about my interview with the Christian negro who had hindered me from committing sacrilege. He listened with great attention, and finally asked:
“Was this man tall?”