Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

OUR EASTERN EXODUS 327
the same time God's Missionary to the heathen. The
Central African equivalent this to one's next-door
neighbour in England shutting up house and leaving
you his key with a request to keep your eye on the
place. Only in this important instance your neighbour
happens to be the local Lord Kitchener, and the Fort
and garrison are all thrown on your shoulders— you,
a semi-saint, semi-soldier. Such is sad, bad, and mad
old Africa, the ex officio Commandant in you tugging
one way and the Missionary in the same " you " tugging the
other. The shrill call of the bugle and the soft voice
of the evening hymn—what a muddle of memories
A pile of regulations, all law, law, law; the pages of
the Gospel, all grace, grace, grace. Imprisoning a soldier
for insubordination at morning parade, and in the evening,
under the diamond stars, preaching deliverance to the
captives. The weary suspense, too, of it all. The night
alarms besides ; all the superficial feelings on the alert
on a moonless night. Then, the uncertainty—would
they ever come back, or would the Ara])s eat up the
column ? Must I defend the Fort to my last cartridge ?
All these thoughts come to me with the impact of a
blow, the man within the man fighting the man outside
the man. Missionary versus Commandant. Although
I did two years' soldiering in Scotland, be sure of it,
there is uttered much ungrammatical and unmilitary
nonsense in the shape of orders. My corporal, however,
is a Haussa gem and saves me much trouble. So
eminently and unaffectedly a gentleman, I can trust