In 1879 a Member of Parliament, an extremely _rara avis_ on the West Coast of Africa, visited Bonny in his yacht, and the traders still narrate the following harrowing tale about him. They say that one morning, being on shore, he strolled into old Oko Jumbo’s house about 11 a.m., and found that veteran warrior at breakfast. He was asked to partake of the meal, and, being anxious to try the native cookery, acquiesced. A black clay dish full of some oleaginous stew was set before him, which he eyed askance, and finally tasted with doubt. A little fiery perhaps, owing to the native liking for red peppers, but otherwise not bad: so he plunged his spoon in and fell to like a man. After a few mouthfuls he unearthed from the bottom of the dish a curious-looking object. A cold shudder convulsed his frame, and he looked closely. He could distinguish what seemed like five fingers and the palm of a hand, and, seized with a violent nervous contraction of the diaphragm, he leaped from the table and leaned out of a window. After a little he looked back into the room with brimming eyes, a haggard brow, and a mind full of the tales of the cannibal propensities of the natives of Bonny. He approached the old chief with tottering limbs, and one hand pressed upon the abdominal region, and inquired:-- “What’s in that dish?” “Me no _sabe_--no eat him dish yet.” “You old scoundrel, it’s ’long pig’:” and again he rushed with exceeding swiftness to look at the prospect out of the window. When he had recovered, he took his hat and stick sorrowfully, and staggered down the steps. Just as he was stepping into the boat, one of Oko Jumbo’s slaves came running up with the identical black dish that had been the cause of all this woe. The enraged legislator brandished his stick and said:-- “What do you want? What do you mean by bringing that here?” “Master said he thought you wanted it.” “No, I don’t--take it out of my sight.” Just as the boy was going he thought he might as well add a little to his stock of information, and added:-- “I suppose that’s one of Ja Ja’s babies, eh?” “Which, Master?” “Why that in the stew, you fool.” A serene smile broke out over the interesting countenance of the youth as he replied:-- “Piccin? This no piccin chop. No war palaver live now. Him Guana.” CHAPTER VIII. Old Calabar--Duke Town--Capital Punishments--Moistening the Ancestral Clay--A Surgeon’s Liabilities--Man-eaters--A Mongrel Consul--Curious Judgments.