124 THE BONDS OF AFRICA 



not understand, of a penance they did not 

 know and a life they could not realize. Yet 

 when he held the cross before them they fumbled 

 with the bootlaces and elephant hairs which 

 secured those sacred symbols to their necks, and 

 gazed in savage admiration on the pretty play- 

 things the white man had given them. 



The missionary, for such he was, spoke their 

 language fluently, and presently he pronounced 

 a blessing on them, which was met with a series 

 of meaningless grunts, and then he turned towards 

 a well-built little hut and let himself into his 

 tropical manse. 



His was a character of great strength — fanatic 

 power. He had renounced the world outside 

 as much as Charles Reade's " Hermit of Gouda " 

 had renounced Holland; but instead of robins 

 to feed he sowed mealies for the sick of his 

 people, and instead of carving texts on the 

 hard rock he gave forth Bibles and crucifixes. 

 Years ago he had been an athlete and a boxer. 

 He was still a member of the Church militant 

 in the most literal sense of the term, as an old 

 trader who a month before had rated him for 

 his madness, insulted his teaching, and cursed 

 his methods had cause to remember. Now, his 

 object in life was not to act the sporting vicar 

 in far-away England, nor to brighten the slums 

 of great cities where words and acts of Christian 

 charity are so sorely needed, but to convert the 

 mind of the savage to the doctrine of the Church 

 and to bestow his charity on them. And they 

 needed neither his teaching nor his unselfishness. 



It was seven years now since he had first set 

 eyes on the waters of the lake. At first he had 

 worn clothes, but when he saw ten thousand 

 happy natives clad in calico — or in some instances 



