750 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Dec. 13, 1913. 
THE HUNTING PREACHER AND SOME OF HIS TROPHIES 
Although it was not one of these perverse 
old recluses that attacked Dr. Maguire, it was a 
foe that was equally formidable. It is difficult to 
imagine what the feelings of the doctor must 
have been when he found himself on the ground, 
with a maddened buffalo a short distance off, and 
ready to renew its attack. Imagine, if you can, 
that you have come in contact with a herd of 
buffaloes on an African plateau; imagine that 
you have raised your rifle and fired and that be¬ 
fore you could recover yourself, you have been 
charged upon by the enraged leader of the herd 
and hurled to the ground; and that the only 
chance of escape rests on the accuracy of the 
aim of a native in hurling his bolo spear. Can 
you imagine what would be likely to happen un¬ 
der such circumstances? I could not, but after. 
1 had heard what actually did happen, my respect 
for the African native rose about fifty points. 
And my respect for the bolo spear experienced a 
corresponding increase. The bolo spear struck 
the buffalo in one of his three vulnerable spots 
•—I don’t recall which one—with the result that 
there was one buffalo less in Africa. 
As the doctor concluded his story, he paused 
for a moment, and, after a little reflection, took 
from its resting place a large string of wooden 
beads, which he handed to tire for my inspection. 
It appeared to me to be very ordinary as com¬ 
pared with his other African trophies, and I 
could not understand at the time why he should 
regard it as one of the most valuable of his 
possessions. I comprehended it . more clearly, 
however, after he had related the circumstances 
which had enabled him to acquire it. The beads 
represent the triumph of the doctor’s six years 
of work in Africa. And the doctor’s story, as 
nearly as I can recall it, is as follows: 
“I value that necklace, not because of its in¬ 
trinsic worth, but for what it represents. Every 
one of its several hundred wooden beads repre¬ 
sents a human heart. Could a higher valuation 
be placed upon it? It was in the village of 
Maduda that I procured the relic, and it is the 
gift of an African witch doctor. How did I 
come to go to Aladuda? Well, that is another 
story. I shall begin at the beginning: We 
reached Maduda after a long march through the 
jungle and across the first plateau. On my ar¬ 
rival at the village, I was greeted by Munkama- 
duda, the chief of the tribe. He was a sinewy 
fellow, seven feet in height. The chief had never 
before seen the face of a white man, and his 
questions were very amusing. At least they are 
amusing, as I now look back upon them. He 
first asked, through my interpreter, whether I 
was a white man. The reply is obvious. But 
the chief did not appear to be thoroughly satis¬ 
fied with it. He seemed to be under the impres¬ 
sion that I was a spirit. And he was very much 
concerned as to whether I had ever had a mother. 
When he had satisfied himself on this score, he 
asked if I had had a father. One would suppose 
that his curiosity in regard to my parentage 
would have been satisfied with the explanation 
that I had both father and mother. But not so. 
Having learned that I had a father, he wanted 
to know whether my father was as tall as I, and 
on being informed that he was about the same 
height, he was equally solicitous to ascertain the 
relative height of my mother as compared with 
that of my father. And even this information 
did not completely satisfy him. He asked my 
interpreter if 1 was not the great white spirit 
which men said would one day pass through his 
territory. I did not stop to explain that spirits 
are not usually supposed to have either father or 
mother; 1 simply replied that I was not a spirit. 
1 said that I had come to teach the black man 
about the Great Spirit. The result was hardly 
what I had anticipated. The chief gave a pro¬ 
digious leap into the air, and when he alighted, 
he started to run; and. to use the vernacular, 
his feet touched only the high places as he sped 
from my presence. My interpreter understood 
the meaning of this strange performance, and 
informed me that I had made a grave mistake. 
It seems that the African native regards spirits 
as being essentially evil. My attendant informed 
me that the chief had gone to get 'his foreman, 
and that he would be back directly. It wasn’t 
long before he returned, accompanied by his chief 
adviser. I saw at once that I was about to be 
put through another cross examination. The 
foreman was the first to come to a definite con¬ 
clusion regarding my dissimilarity to other men 
that he had seen. He made the remarkable dis¬ 
covery that ‘the feet of the white man were 
black,’ and that he did not have any toes. In 
order to disillusion him, I removed my shoes and 
stocking's, revealing five toes on each foot. Both 
the chief and the foreman, who had been holding 
a serious discussion as to my pedal extremities, 
seemed perfectly satisfied after having made a 
careful inspection. Having assured themselves 
that the rest of my physical makeup was all that 
it should be, the chief asked whether I had 
come in peace or for war. And, after being 
assured that my mission was a peaceable one, 
arrangements were made for eating the dish of 
peace. The following day was set as the time 
for this ceremony. I felt relieved at the prospect 
of peace, but I would not have felt so elated, 
had I known the ordeal that awaited me. At¬ 
tended by his followers, the chief made his ap¬ 
pearance at the appointed time, and, forming 
themselves in a circle around the chief and my¬ 
self, the natives waited with great solemnity for 
the ceremony to be consummated. The first 
glance at the ‘dish of peace’ was nearly enough 
to make me prefer war. One is apt to regard 
the dish of a monarch or ruler as likely to be 
composed of savory viands, delightful to look 
upon and equally pleasing to the palate. But, 
when I looked at the ‘dish of peace,’ any illusion 
I may have entertained respecting its attractive¬ 
ness immediately vanished. It was composed of 
cooked field rats, and they were not fresh field 
rats at that. They had grown putrid with age, 
and they were surrounded by a mess of beans 
that was almost equally uninviting. I steeled 
myself for the ordeal. The chief raised some of 
the beans to his mouth and smacked his lips with 
pleasure. He said something which my interpre¬ 
ter informed me meant ‘peace to the white man, 
peace, peace, peace.’ In sheer desperation I ate 
some of the beans and replied, ‘Peace to the black 
man, peace, peace, peace.’ The chief then ate 
some of the ‘meat,’ and waited for me to do the 
game. But it was a little more than I could 
