This boy Amvama, who was rescued from savage bloodthirst in Angona’s town, was the very first of those African boys whom I gathered around me in the French Congo and was also with me the day that I left Africa, nearly six years afterwards. In that time he grew from a small boy to a young man of probably eighteen years. I used to say that he was the best-loved boy in Africa. Amvama never was a heathen. He was born close to Angom, and in his childhood never even saw the worst forms of heathenism. He was received into the church by Mr. Marling while he was still a child; altogether too young, some thought; but the years fully justified Mr. Marling’s judgment. Among the most impulsive people in the world, Amvama was peculiarly deliberate and thoughtful. I have seen him in many trying situations, but I never saw him angry. Among a people who live in the realm of emotion, Amvama’s distinguishing characteristic was common sense. In school he was not as quick to learn as many others, but such was his faithfulness and persistence that in the end he surpassed them all, and he had a saving sense of humour that always added gaiety to any company. On one occasion, on a journey up the river, when I was accompanied by a white man with an extremely bald head—the first that the crew had ever seen—Amvama caused the natives and one white man to smile by comparing it to a fresh-laid egg—a comparison that was quite new in Africa. In the early days before the _Dorothy_, Amvama was my “boy,” or personal attendant, when I travelled about in the _Evangeline_. He was always a cleanly boy, according to Fang ideals, but the Fang ideal leaves something to be desired. One day, in the _Evangeline_, the crew, after a long pull at the oars, were eating oranges, of which I had brought a supply from the orchard at Baraka. I gave them my table-knife to cut their oranges. While they were still eating I helped myself to an orange and asked for the knife. It was passed to Amvama who handed it to me; but, observing that it was dripping with the orange juice, he wiped it carefully on his bare leg. A short time before I left Africa I told Amvama of this incident, which he had forgotten. Looking at me in astonishment he said: “I? Did I do that?” It seemed incredible to him. In after years he would no more have done any such thing than a white man. However sincere the African Christian may be, the knowledge of Christian morality in minute particulars is a long, slow growth. One day, out on the bay in the _Evangeline_ and running before a fair wind, we sighted the sails of a schooner coming towards the harbour but still far out at sea. Amvama and Captain Makuba disputed as to the name of the schooner. Makuba became impatient and said to me: “Mr. Milligan, I wish you would tell Amvama that he must not contradict me; for he is a small boy and I am an old man.” I had always thought that Makuba was a very young man.