Читать книгу The Quiver, 1/ 1900 - Anonymous - Страница 4

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By Our Special Commissioner.

MR. GOODMAN WITH TEACHERS AND CHILDREN OF DAY SCHOOL, TIKONKO.

(Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S.)

A terrible adventure befell the Rev. C. H. Goodman, missionary in the Mendi country, West Africa, in the summer of 1898. It is really surprising that he is alive to tell the tale, and, indeed, the marks of great suffering were still visible on his face when, a few months afterwards, he kindly told me the story.

THE REV. C. H. GOODMAN.

(Photo: Mr. Stephens, Harrogate.)

The peril came on him with startling suddenness. No bolt from the blue could dash from the heavens more unexpectedly. He was stationed at Tikonko, about two hundred miles inland from Freetown, Sierra Leone, and had been in charge of the United Methodist Free Church Mission there for about six years. Suddenly, one morning, he heard by chance that his life and the lives of his Mission-workers had been demanded by a neighbouring tribe.

"Is it really true," he asked his friends, the Tikonko Mendis, "that the Bompeh people wish me to be killed?"

"Yes, it is true."

"And you can give me no protection?"

"We fear not any."

"Then I must go back to the coast—to the English?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me carriers to accompany me and my helpers, and to take food for the journey?"

"Yes, we promise that."

But Mr. Goodman could not get the promise fulfilled—whether from insincerity or inability on the part of the Mendis to keep it he could not discover.

What was to be done? He was the only white man there: some coloured people, chiefly from Free Town, and associated with the Mission, were with him; but the tribes all round were in a state of terrible unrest and were ripe for war, while, indeed, hostilities had actually commenced in some districts.

MR. ROBERTS' RESIDENCE.

(Mr. Goodman's house is to be seen in the distance.)

(Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian. F.R.G.S.)

SITE OF MURDER OF MR. ROBERTS, MR. PRATT, AND OTHERS.

(The mark X indicates the well into which their bodies were thrown.)

Mr. Goodman had hoped that the Tikonkos would have been strong enough to keep out of the war, but he was disappointed; and it was now clear to him that he could not rely upon their protection, or upon any assistance to reach the coast. The children and several of the workers had left the Mission and had taken refuge in Tikonko town, which consists of a collection of mud-huts surrounded by a fence, while he remained quietly at the Mission premises and watched.

On Monday, May 2nd, he saw many strange men loitering about the farm in a suspicious manner. It was evident a crisis was impending, and he steeled himself to prepare for the worst.

Suddenly, in the afternoon, he heard a great noise. Rushing out, he found that a lad, named Johnson, who was carrying a box belonging to some of the Mission people, was surrounded by strange men, who were seizing the box and ill-treating the boy.

Johnson and his wife hurried to the rescue, but they were set upon by the "war-boys" and beaten; their clothes were torn off their backs, and Mr. Johnson received such a frightful gash across the face that his nose was nearly severed from his body and fell off next day.

Seizing his gun and calling to others, Mr. Goodman hurried out of the house, and with a yell the "war-boys" rushed to the Mission. Mr. Goodman's little party were hopelessly outnumbered; and Mr. Campbell, the native school teacher and Mr. Goodman, seeing that discretion was the better part of valour, turned to the bush and escaped in different directions.

Mr. Goodman did not proceed very far. Hurrying along, he was soon able to hide in the dense bush, his object being to work his way to the town and enter by the Bompeh road. If he could reach the town, he thought the nominal chief, Sandy, might secretly prove his friend.

Gradually, therefore, he made his way to the road, and then hurried to the gate, but it was shut in his face.

THEO. ROBERTS.

(Industrial Trainer.)

THE REV. J. C. JOHNSON.

(Mission Worker.)

T. T. CAMPBELL

(School Teacher.)

ISHMAEL PRATT.

(Carpenter.)

FOUR OF THE MARTYRS.

(From Photographs by the Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S.)

Back, then, to the friendly shelter of the bush he turned, and now even the elements seemed against him, for a terrible tornado burst, and in a minute he was drenched to the skin.

Alone, wet, weary, and foodless, with savage enemies around him seeking to kill him, his position might well have appalled the stoutest heart. But an Englishman, whether missionary or soldier, must never know when he is beaten; and so at night he made his way again to the town, and entered it through a hole in the fence and hurried up to the king's compound.

Now the old chief of Tikonko had died shortly before, and the "cry for the dead"—that is, the time of mourning—was not yet over, consequently the new chief or king—whom the missionary called Sandy—had not been fully invested with his new powers.

THE MISSION HOUSE BEFORE ITS DESTRUCTION.

(From a Drawing by Mrs. Vivian.)

"Oh, you have escaped," he cried, when Mr. Goodman came to him. "I am glad indeed. Yes, I will help you, but it is not safe for you to remain in the town. The 'war-boys' are eager to kill you. Where will you go? Ah! you shall appear as one of my wives."

Thus the palaver was short but decisive. Disguised as a woman—an expedient forced on him by urgent necessity—the missionary was conveyed that night out of the town to a hut in the bush belonging to Sandy. Silently through the darksome night the little party crept along, and the missionary was left there alone. He was supposed to be one of the chief's wives, who was ill. In the morning the imaginary wife sought once more the friendly protection of the dense bush, and at night he returned again to the hut.

Stealthily, one of his friendly boys brought him now and again a little food. The lad had secured one of the Mission boxes and procured from it a tin of cocoa, and this cocoa he brought to the missionary, with rice, and occasionally a little fish and meat.

MR. GOODMAN AND HIS MENDI "BOYS."

(Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S.)

Hiding thus, while the yells of the "war-boys" sounded far and near, the missionary lived through those terrible days. Tuesday came and went, also the Wednesday and the Thursday. But Friday morning heralded a change. A message was brought to him that Sandy desired to see him, and to this day Mr. Goodman does not know whether the message was treacherous or not. But, trusting to its honesty, he left the hut to visit the chief, and then, before he had gone far, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the yelling Bompeh "war-boys."

They caught him and shouted round him, but did not then hurt him. Resistance was useless, and with war-whoops and yells of triumph they led him forward as though to Tikonko. But when near the fence they altered their cry: "To Bompeh" they shouted, and to Bompeh he was turned.

For three and a half weary hours the missionary marched on in the blazing sun, and without his white helmet. He was fully surrounded by the yelling savages, and the leader of the party marched beside him with drawn sword. The shouts and excitement of his captors gradually calmed down as they walked along; but, presently, as they neared Bompeh town, his clothes were pulled off his back, and clad only in pants and vest, and without even shoes or stockings, he crept along the burning path with naked and bleeding feet.

But at length the weary march was over. Bompeh town was reached, and then the war-horns were blown, and amid much excitement Mr. Goodman was taken to an open space before the king's hut, where also the people assembled.

THE TRIAL.

The trial was to be held at once; the white man's fate was to be decided.

The chief, whose name was Gruburu, sat on a rude kind of chair in the middle of the people, his prime minister near, and men and women and "war-boys" grouped all round, chiefly according to families. Mr. Goodman, tired with his long journey, sat himself down on a log.

First, one of his captors spoke. The man came out from the group, and as he talked he walked up and down in the open space before the king. An account was being given of the missionary's capture. "And," said Mr. Goodman, "while this was going on, I prayed that God would bring about a division in their counsels."

When the man had finished, up rose an old man, and by his gestures and the anxiety he displayed, Mr. Goodman saw with pleasure that he was pleading for him.

This gleam of friendliness—the first that day, and met with in the stronghold of his enemies—fell like genial warmth upon his spirits and encouraged him to hope.

Then a woman arose. She was a relative of the king; and, advancing before him, she bent before him and took his foot in her hand as a sign of submission. "Do not let this man die," she said. "My son at Tikonko has sent me a message pleading for his life. 'Do not let the white man die,' says my son; 'he is a good man.'"

Indeed, many messages had come to the king in the missionary's favour. "When we were sick," said the messages, "he has mended us; he has done us good; we like the way he has walked"—i.e. they liked his manner of life.

It was the old story—conduct and character had impressed the natives after all, and they were not wholly ungrateful.

But, see! The king is about to give his judgment. The final decision is to be made. Is it to be death or life?

(From a Water-Colour Drawing by Mrs. Vivian.)

THE DEVIL HOUSE AT TIKONKO.

(Where the town fetish or devil is consulted and propitiated.)

The king said: "This white man is our friend. He has come to do us good, and to give our picken (children) sense. He has nothing to do with the Government. He shall not die in my town."

Bravo, King of Bompeh! Thou hast more common-sense and right feeling beneath thy sable skin than some people would have supposed.

"I was surprised," said Mr. Goodman modestly, "to find how the influence of the Mission had spread."

At once his clothes were returned to him—all save his waistcoat, which was given to the leader of his captors; he was sheltered in a hut and allowed a measure of freedom—more freedom, indeed, than some of the natives who were prisoners. But, alas! he had escaped one great danger only to fall into another. The hardships he had undergone, and the malaria from which he had suffered, induced severe illness. Dysentery and black-water fever seized him; they shook him in their fell grasp until, from their power and poor food, he became so weak that he could scarcely stand.

His bed was a sort of raised platform of beaten mud, about six inches above the floor, with a mat upon it. Sometimes he slept in his clothes. But he became so sore from lying so long on such a hard resting-place that wounds were formed which troubled him for long afterwards. Such requisites as soap and towel were wholly wanting. The prospect, indeed, became very dark, and it seemed as though he had only escaped the savages to fall a victim to fever.

At first a boy waited on him, then an English-speaking Mendi; but unfortunately the king wanted this man, and his place was taken by another.

The news of Mr. Goodman's illness and imprisonment travelled abroad. It came to Tikonko, and his Mission boy Boyma sent him some quinine, which proved very beneficial. Then one day, though he knew it not, a friendly chief looked in upon him as he lay there so ill, and sent word to the English that one of their countrymen was a captive up there at Bompeh town, and Colonel Cunninghame promptly sent a demand that he should be given up alive. A great force, said the Colonel, was coming, with plenty of guns, to rescue him. Curiously enough, a native declared that he had dreamed the same thing; he had seen in his dream a great English army with "plenty guns" coming for the captive Englishman. Let him, therefore, be sent to his countrymen.

But another cause was working in his favour. While Mr. Goodman had been ill a battle had been fought, and the Mendis had been disastrously beaten by those terrible English with their "plenty guns." The "war-boys" were sick of the war. "Send the white man down," they also said to the king, "to plead that the fighting may cease."

So it was decided that he should be sent. He was given boys to assist him in his journey, and by their help he made his way, though he could scarcely walk, down to the English camp. He arrived there on June 26th, eight weeks from that fateful day when he had seen the strange men loitering so suspiciously about his Mission farm.

Alas! he found that the Mission premises had been totally destroyed, and, worse still, that Mr. Campbell had been killed. Mr. Johnson, after being kept a prisoner, was also slain, as were some other members of the Mission, who were Sierra Leone men.

It was therefore with a chastened joy, and gratitude for his own escape, that Mr. Goodman slowly made his way to the coast. He remained at the camp but a short time, and was then sent on to Bonthe, Sherbro', where he recovered a measure of strength under the care of Commandant Alldridge. Finally, he reached Freetown on July 21st, and presently took ship for England.

When he returned home some of his friends scarcely knew him. His beard was marked with grey, his cheeks were hollow, and his bodily weakness very great. He looked like an old man. He has recovered wonderfully since then, and appears more like his natural age; but when I saw him he was still far from well. He suffered from the effects of malaria even yet, and from the evil results of the poison in his system. Four times in his nine years of missionary life has he suffered from the fell "black-water" scourge.

But since his return he has been manfully doing his duty in speaking to many audiences of his mission work; and, if the Committee should so decide, he is fully prepared to return to Africa and reinstate the Methodist Free Churches Mission in the heart of Mendiland.

SAMPLES OF WRITING BY TIKONKO SCHOOL CHILDREN.

(Arranged by Mrs. Vivian.)