NYASALAND AND LOWER ZAMBESI 123 



Do you imagine that the native appreciates 

 the efforts of missionaries who endeavour to 

 teach him the dangerous ethics of the doctrine 

 of equaUty? Do you imagine that such a 

 gospel should receive our sane and reasoned 

 endorsement? I have another picture in my 

 mind's eye, and as it may illustrate my points 

 far better than any long-drawn-out denunciations 

 of missions and mission work, I shall endeavour 

 to portray it on the canvas of this chapter, for 

 it is a representative picture of Nyasaland — our 

 Mission Colony. 



A man stood bare-headed on one of the little 

 islets of the Lake — bareheaded, though the sun 

 was high in the heavens and the heat seemed 

 to wither the very trees and scorch the stubbles 

 of the rank grass which had survived the fury 

 of a bush fire. There was no shade to protect 

 the thin gray hairs, or the stern, wearied face, 

 or the muscular chest, arms and legs. For this 

 man was naked save for a piece of white calico 

 wrapped round his loins. A silver crucifix hung 

 round his bronzed neck and a pair of well-worn 

 boots covered his feet; otherwise you might 

 have thought he was a raw African savage, whose 

 skin had been bleached in the scintillating rays 

 which shot off the face of the waters. 



Around him seated, legs akimbo, were a score 

 of natives clad as he was save the boots, for 

 they all wore calico and crucifixes. The white 

 man was speaking to them earnestly and fervently. 

 He pointed to the east and to the west, and 

 then to the fire in heaven which glowed above 

 him. The natives gazed on him with looks 

 half-curious; awe, doubt and amazement were 

 mingled with respect and poor appreciation. 

 For he spoke to them of a salvation they could 



