It would be my duty to show that Miss Kingsley received most of her so-called facts directly from the traders, and that all that came under her own observation she saw through the medium of their opinions. But Miss Kingsley has forestalled the necessity by the following frank confession: “All I know that is true regarding West Africa, I owe to the traders.”[[13]] Miss Kingsley must have felt that she owed an enormous debt of gratitude to the traders: for through two large volumes she sings a continual pæan to the trader’s praise. I might by the citation of facts within my own knowledge show that in some instances Miss Kingsley was mistaken; but I have not the least disposition to do so. For the life of the trader on the far-away beaches of West Africa is so cheerless and loveless—sometimes, indeed, an unremitting and lonely fight with temptation, fever, delirium and death—that sympathy is more becoming than criticism.
[13]. Travels in West Africa, p. 7.
But my deepest sympathy and highest praise must be for those who have gone to Africa not for gold, but at the sacrifice of gold and other interests; who left home and social pleasures not indifferently and impatient of restraint, but with tears and aching hearts, that they might carry the Gospel of peace to the most miserable of human beings; whom they are not ashamed to call brethren. Many such are now working in the unwholesome jungles; but a far greater number lie in the grass-grown cemeteries, who fell in the fight with a deadly but invisible foe, a foe which became visible only in the incarnations of delirium, when the fever like fire was coursing through their veins. To them belongs the greater praise, for they died not in seeking their own interest, but for others.
XVIII
SAINTS AMONG SAVAGES
Carlyle remarks: “If there are depths in man as deep as hell, there are also heights as high as heaven; are not both heaven and hell made out of him?”
The final argument and the best apologetic for missions in Africa is the native Christian. He is not much on exhibition but he is there. The traveller does not find him; for his voice is not heard in the streets. Many a white resident in Africa is unaware of him and is incredulous when he is pointed out; even as the people of Nazareth did not know that there was any essential difference between themselves and Jesus though He had lived thirty years in their midst. But the spiritual eye of John the Baptist discerned in Him one who had no need of repentance. And the “seeing eye” will easily discover the native Christian in Africa; and it is really worth while, for at his best he is as much like his Master as any that can be found anywhere, and particularly in that gentleness that would not break the bruised reed.
The first elder of the Fang Church was Mba Obam (shortened to Mb’Obam), chief of Makweña, and uncle of Ndong Koni. He was tall, good looking, very quiet and of strong personality.
On one occasion when I was staying in his town over night it happened that there was a great celebration. A month before this a big man of the town, more important than popular, had died; and having mourned for him every night for a whole month, the people thought they had done their full duty. It remained only to give him a good “send-off” in a great dance and feast, which released all his friends and relations from further obligation of mourning. All the men from the neighbouring towns had been invited and there was a great crowd and infinite noise. In the midst of the furious dancing of the men some untoward incident occurred that precipitated a general row, in which every man drew his sword, and they instantly divided, according to their tribal relationships, into two lines of glaring, dangerous savages. Before I had fully comprehended the situation Mb’Obam, who had taken no part in the celebration, came from his house down the street in long strides, every inch a chief, as much so as the last of the Mohicans, but carrying no sword. At the extreme risk of his life, as it seemed to me, he pushed into the middle, between the lines of thrusting and parrying swords, and commanded silence. To my surprise, they obeyed him and became quiet, the sudden silence contrasting strangely with the former uproar and confusion.
Mb’Obam, with the gentleness of a father, reminded them that they were no longer savages, but brothers, and that if they should hastily shed each other’s blood they would be sure to regret it afterwards. There was no more quarrelling that night.
Mb’Obam and his wife, Sara, had lived at Angom in the time of Mr. Marling and had there become Christians. After Mr. Marling’s death they had moved down the river to Makweña. Ndong Koni and Mb’Obam built a beautiful chapel at Makweña. I have already told how that Ndong Koni paid for the windows and doors by working in the yard at Baraka. In this chapel Mb’Obam held a service every Sunday, besides early morning prayers each day, at which all the people assembled before going away to their gardens and their various occupations of work or pleasure.