I was unable to count the audience, for the lamps shed a dim light which was not reflected from the faces of the company. A row of boys led the singing, a young man “turned the word” of those who spoke in English, and several led in brief prayers which we could not understand, but which sounded sensible and devotional.
In the morning we took a more particular view of the premises. Mr. Williams’ house stands just in front of the site of the old residence of Mr. Raymond and Mr. Thompson, a slight hollow and small bank being the only things to mark the place where it stood. While twenty years had crumbled to mother earth, buildings and fences, and produced a jungle that made it almost impossible to identify the site, the cashew, orange and bread-fruit trees had been going on with their steady growth, and are now doing good service with their fruit and shade. The flats along the banks of the river, that had much to do with the unhealthfulness of the location, on account of which it was abandoned, are probably the same now that they were then.
At our request, the two surviving Amistad captives came to see us, Mr. Parn and Mr. Smith. The former had a pleasant smiling face, but was too deaf to converse. The latter wore a rugged-looking countenance, and after a little coaxing told us something of his early life, dwelling especially upon the reason why the Amistads rose up and killed the officers of the vessel on which they were being carried to America. He said the cook told them that they were to be killed and eaten, and showed them a huge kettle in which they were to be boiled. So they rescued themselves from the sad fate that seemed to await them by slaying their captors, acting on the same principle that Stanley did when the natives on the Congo tried to make “meat” of him and his companions.
Chief Geo. Thompson Tucker came to pay his respects. He was educated in the mission and was a pupil of Geo. Thompson. He is not a Christian, but favors Mr. Williams’ work, and renders him much assistance. He wore pants and shoes, and a frock made of country cloth in a country fashion. He converses in English fluently, and sometimes interprets for Mr. Williams.
We desired to visit the cemetery, which Mr. Thompson had removed to some distance, that the sight of so many graves of fallen missionaries might not depress the living. The dew being heavy and the “road” having grown up somewhat, Chief Tucker had two of his men go on in advance, and trim off the overhanging branches with their cutlasses, which they used with wonderful dexterity. The cemetery is partly surrounded by a ditch and bank, Mr. Thompson having concluded that this was more permanent than any fence that could be erected. After a little search by the Chief and old Mr. Smith, three graves were found, ranged side by side at the foot of a mango tree—those of Mr. and Mrs. Tefft and Jane Winters. The wood of which Mr. Thompson made head boards, and which he said did not “know how to rot,” has in some way obtained that undesirable knowledge, and even the planks laid on the graves by some later visitor have crumbled nearly into dust. The other graves that were identified were those of Mr. Garnick, Mr. Carter, Mrs. Arnold and Mr. Thompson’s son George, who died June 6, 1853, at the age of six years. Seven mango trees between one and two feet in diameter mark these resting places. To me there was a strange fascination about this consecrated spot, and words cannot express the feelings I experienced as I walked there among the sainted dead in that distant, strange land.
We next visited the arrow-root farm and saw the boys dig the bulbs, which resemble the sweet potato in shape. Then we went to the little mill where the bulbs are grated and strained, ready for drying and packing. Mr. Williams finds the cultivation and manufacture of arrow-root reasonably profitable, and he deserves encouragement in teaching the natives this and other industries, for the great need of West Africa, apart from the Gospel, is a knowledge of remunerative agriculture.
The church bell had a strange sound, and we learned that it was an old gun-barrel that had been planted in the ground in a native’s door-yard to keep witches out of the house, but upon the conversion of the owner, had been given up to Mr. Williams, and had thus been converted from a profane to a sacred use.
Fifteen church members, twelve inquirers, one hundred attendants upon Sunday service, twenty-three family and nine day pupils, the house and barrie, a clearing of three or four acres, the cultivation of various crops, the manufacture of arrow-root and frequent visits to neighboring towns, give some idea of the industry, perseverance and Christian zeal of this devoted laborer during the past three years, and seem to make it possible to continue the work on this spot of so many hallowed associations and memories.