“The Evangeline is a gig, twenty-two feet long, having four oars and requiring four oarsmen. Her lines are perfect, and for her size she is a remarkably fine sailing-boat, riding a rough sea with a steadiness and lightness that have drawn praise from old seamen. Before the strong sea-breeze she seems fairly animate and impelled by motive and purpose as she spreads her wings to the wind and speeds forward on her errand of mercy. I can think also of sultry days when her sails hung loose and heavy through the whole day while tired men pulled wearily at the oars, whistling vainly for the wind, which ever ‘bloweth where it listeth.’ I can think of toils long and hard when we wound wearily through mangrove swamps, by fetid banks, under the relentless heat of a tropical sun. But these experiences belong to the past and I can forget them now. For it is one of the touching frailties of human nature that as the past recedes into the obscure distance we magnify its fond and pleasant memories and forget the evils that we no longer feel.
“My long journeys in the Evangeline are probably past; for a naphtha launch, the Dorothy, has arrived, dispensing with the toil of oars and the aid of the fickle wind, perfectly protected from sun and rain and fitted with every comfort for day and night. But the Evangeline, though her name designates her as feminine, belongs to the ordained clergy of the Presbyterian Church and has not yet passed the dead-line. We will find for her some field in which a few years longer she may exercise her talents.
“This afternoon as I look at her I seem to see the faces of faithful boat-boys who journeyed with me by day and by night, and my mind is filled with recollections of experiences and incidents by the way. There are none in Africa whom I know better than those boat-boys; and through them I probably know all Africans better and love them more. For when sails are set before a good wind and the bow tosses the waves aside, the music of the plashing water, the mutual dependence and isolation from others,—the delight of it all makes social freedom and comradeship peculiar to such life; and again, when they toil at the oars hour after hour without complaint, sympathy breaks down all barriers. If you should laugh at these boys let your laughter be sympathetic; they are worthy of sympathy. Life is so hard for the African, so bare and comfortless! And when he would fain seek the road to the Better Land so many forces conspire against him that, apart for our faith in God and the love of God, one might think that the world around him was contrived for his defeat. In this dark land one catches only an occasional glimpse of the all-ruling and kindly Providence in which we believe. It would seem rather that the fabled goddess of fortune, blind and turning her wheel in the darkness, dispenses at random the destinies of men.”
The captain of the Evangeline was Makuba, a man of Benito, one hundred miles north, one of the Kombi tribe, the remnant of a proud and capable people who for many years have been in contact with the civilization of the coast. The Kombi know the sea and are excellent boatmen, strong and daring. In travelling in their own canoes even on the sea, they commonly stand up in the canoe, using long paddles. When there are five or six men in the canoe, or the sea is rough, it is interesting to watch them. Makuba was a man of splendid physique and very strong, and as bold as a lion. Shortly after I went to Africa, when for a while I lived entirely alone, at Angom Station, seventy miles up the Gaboon River, a serious palaver occurred in which Makuba took a prominent part.
The Fang of the adjacent village stole some goods from him. He and several other workmen, being coast men, were regarded by the interior Fang as natural enemies. I was morally responsible for the safety of these coast men and I regarded myself as responsible also for the stolen goods. Moreover there was a mission store at that station and the sight of our goods was a continual challenge to the passionate greed of the Fang, who therefore must not be allowed to think that they could steal anything from the premises with impunity. Indeed, our very reputation and evangelistic success were involved; for it was plain that the Fang had been mistaking forbearance for cowardice, and in their esteem there is nothing so contemptible as a coward.
On this occasion I followed strictly the native mode of obtaining justice, and that which the native, with his idea of the solidarity of a community, recognizes as fair. A few minutes after the theft a man from the same town to which the thief belonged passed through the mission premises. I gave the order to the workmen to capture him and take his gun. Makuba, without assistance, executed the order. The man fought him violently, but being overcome was at length reduced to cursing him and predicting the various horrible deaths by which he would die, not to speak of everlasting torment that would be sure to follow. The indignant Makuba in reply tore open the front of his shirt and exposed an ugly scar upon his breast.
“Am I afraid of the Fang?” he cried. “Do you see that scar? A Fang knife did that in an attack upon my tribe, and I alone killed the man who carried it and two of his friends.”
I then took charge of the gun and told the man that I would return it as soon as his people would bring me the stolen goods, and then I released him.
MAKUBA, CAPTAIN OF THE BOAT-CREW.