CHAPTER II 
THE JOURNEY 
Lambarene, July, 1913. 
The church bells in my native Alsatian village of 
Giinsbach, in the Vosges, had just ceased ringing for 
the afternoon service on Good Friday, 1913, when the 
train appeared round the corner of the wood, and the 
journey to Africa began. We waved our farewells 
from the platform of the last coach, and for the last 
time saw the fleche on the church tower peeping up 
among the trees. When should we see them again ? 
When next day Strasbourg Cathedral sank out of sight 
we seemed to be already in a foreign land. 
On Easter Sunday we heard once more the dear old 
organ of S. Sulpice’s Church in Paris and the wonderful 
playing of our friend Widor. At two o’clock the 
Bordeaux train glided out of the underground station 
at the Quai d’Orsay, and we began a delightful journey. 
Everywhere we saw people in their holiday dress ; the 
sunshine was brilliant, and the warm spring breeze 
brought out of the distance the sound of the village 
church bells, which seemed to be greetings to the train 
that was hurrying past. It was an Easter Day which 
seemed a glorious dream. 
The Congo steamers do not start from Bordeaux 
but from Pauillac, which is an hour and a half by train 
nearer the sea. But I had to get my big packing case, 
which had been sent in advance by goods train, out of 
