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

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THINKING BLACK
way of testing the temper of my peace platitude. Press-
ing on, an armed escort emerges from the grass with a
roar, but these brimstone blacks acclaim us as brother cut-
throats and seem quite sure we will kill three negroes for
their one. Once, twice, and yet thrice I break in on them
with a disclaimer—no, they don't want my olive branch,
for when I'm for peace, like King David, then they are for
war. Tell them to mortify the flesh and they will indeed
agree to do so, but it is their enemy's flesh they mean
to mortify with a spear-thrust. Thus encircled by a ring
of rascals, we trudge on, only to encounter escort No. 2 on
the edge of their stockade den, the horrible huzzahs
suggesting that this out-at-elbows Missionary is reckoned
a staunch supporter of their war. Remember, all this is
a mere ovation to my white skin, not white character,
and it is not at all flattering to recall the fact that yonder
red-haired hobbledehoy of an Englishman, smoking his
short pipe at the corner of Seven Dials, would get as
royal a welcome. Besides, ovation notwithstanding, you
need not go away and fancy everybody in the town is
thinking of you :
nay, verily, he is like you, he is think-
ing of himself Not even a very tiny idea had they in
the back of their heads that Christ was versus Barabbas.
But in Africa I have long ago learned that you must
put up with a great deal if you would put down a great
deal, and here is no exception. Greeting the Chief, this
kindly man has the kindly idea that he should decorously
shake hands with me a la Uuropeen, so for the first
time in his life he experiments on a hand-shake. Then