“I know it,” he replied; “but I shall procure a very young wife and I am going to beg you to take her to Baraka and raise her for me.” His heart was so set upon this project that I had some difficulty in persuading him that training wives for other men was not exactly my specialty. At last he consented to take Nze back once more. “But,” he said, “I know she will not keep her promise.” He was right. It was only a little while until Nze was living as badly as ever. He put her away and remained single for some time. Then he married a woman who had become a Christian under his teaching, and they lived most happily together. Shortly before I left Africa I went to his town and baptized their infant daughter. That service is still a sweet memory. It was not a great move for Nze. She married a man in the same town and lived next door to Onjoga. Onjoga was a natural leader of men, and the influence of his life transformed that town. Each time I visited him he told me of men and women who had renounced their fetishes, together with their cruelties and adulteries, and had confessed the Christian faith. But the last time I visited his town he came walking down the street to greet me, leading by the hand none other than Nze, whom he presented saying: “She is now a Christian; and she is in the class that I am teaching.” When I left Africa Nze was still a faithful member of Onjoga’s class. He was a man of evangelistic fervour. He regarded himself as a debtor to all his people to make known the gospel of Christ crucified, which was always the burden of his preaching. There were but few towns on the Gaboon where his voice was not heard. Ndong Koni was gentle and winsome; but Onjoga was aggressive and forceful. They represented extreme types; and there are other types among the Fang equally pronounced. For Christ lifted up upon the cross draws all men unto Him. Onjoga’s own town instead of being one of the worst became one of the best towns on the Gaboon. In the early days when I first visited it the characteristic sound which greeted me as I approached it (usually in the early night) was perhaps the bitter cry of a woman who was being tortured for witchcraft; or the uncouth howling of a leopard-man whom women and children may not see lest they die; or the weird wail of their mourning for the dead; or the noise of war-drums and the savage shouts of warriors who were keeping an expected enemy warned that they were on the watch. Such were the sounds that ascended in the darkness like the smoke of their torment. A few years later, in that town one would hear every evening at a regular hour the people, young and old, singing hymns, and singing them as they ought to be sung, from the heart. Nor was there any cry of torture, nor any howl of a leopard-man, nor beating of war-drums, nor any other sound that would strike fear into the heart or quench the laughter of children at play.