“The second reason is this: all we people who live on the earth have curly hair; but all you white folk, because you live under the sea, have straight hair. That is because the action of the water has taken all the curl out of your hair.”
The white man with much difficulty suppressed his laughter, and proceeded to give them a simple lesson on the rotundity of the earth. They had all seen eclipses of the moon, and starting from that fact, and using his candle and various articles on the table as his apparatus, he tried to show them that only round objects threw round shadows on the wall of the adjacent house. They were interested, and pretended to be convinced, but how many of them went to bed that night still believing in the flatness of the earth he never knew.
Then came a series of questions, not prompted by impertinence, but by a healthy and natural curiosity. Questions such as: “Is there plenty of food in your country? How many wives have you in Mputu? Were you once as little as our babies? Have you a mother, father, brothers and sisters? Did they turn you out of your country because you are a bad man? How do you make matches? Who makes the cloth and the different articles we see in the traders’ stores? How do you make candles, soap, boots, and from what are they made? Why are you white and we black?” The white man patiently answered these questions to the best of his ability; but I noticed that whenever possible he worked his answers round to God’s palaver--he told them how a thing was made, that they themselves could make it, and would, by this time, have found out how to make it, only their witch-doctors taught them that anything new, anything out of the ordinary, anything that showed skill, was the result of witchcraft, and hence they killed off their wise and clever men; and lastly, "God’s palaver, when it enters the heart, sets them free from all their superstitious fear of the ngangas, and gives true wisdom and guidance."
It was now far into the night, and Satu was about to rise when the white man said: “It is very late, and I have attempted to answer your many questions. Now I am going to ask you all as a favour to stay while we have prayers.”
Satu very courteously thanked the white man for taking so much trouble and for telling them so many wonderful things. They would willingly stay to prayers and listen while the white man talked to God; but “Excuse us now, we are tired, and must go to sleep.” The white man looked sadly disappointed, but bade us “to go and sleep well.”
As we were returning to our quarters some one asked Satu: “Why did you not stay for prayers?”
“I was afraid the white man’s God would bewitch me; or that the white man himself might do so,” answered Satu. That night Bakula could not sleep, but frequently I heard him murmur: “He dressed my wound with the same hand I tried to strike.”
During the next morning Bakula and a few of the young men went to greet the white man, whom they found busy washing and dressing sores, and dispensing medicine to the sick. Bakula shyly went forward to have his wound dressed, and when it was finished the white man asked his name; but Bakula, filled with fear, gave his Santu name[[35]]--Dom Pedro. “No, I don’t want your Santu,” said the white man, “but your proper name. Do you still distrust me? Never mind, tell me when you know me better.”
“I will tell you now,” he replied. “I will not doubt you any more. My name is Bakula.”
When the white man had finished his medical work we all sat down for another talk, and I noticed that Bakula sat very close to his white friend’s chair, and hesitatingly he put the following question: “You tell us your country is very beautiful; that there is plenty to eat; that your parents and brothers and sisters are living there; that you were not turned out for being a bad man. Why, therefore, have you come to this country, with its rough roads, its swamps, and its fevers?”