“You lie,” says Obianga (the current form of polite contradiction), “we like the Bekeli people better than the Kombi; there is more salt in the Bekeli.” Do not conclude from this that Obianga himself is a cannibal. He probably never tasted human flesh; but it is not so long since his fathers emerged from cannibalism but that tradition still distinguishes between the flesh of the surrounding tribes; nor was Obianga at this moment disposed to admit that Makuba would make a more savoury dish than any of the rest of us. In spite of Makuba’s anger it strikes him as very funny that his intended insult should fall so wide of the mark, and he laughs “in linked thunder long drawn out.” There is nothing more contagious in Africa than laughter, and Obianga joins in it; and then of course he obeys the order. Soon after this, the storm having passed, they are singing together “I have a Father in the Promised Land,” singing it well, too; and while they sing I fall asleep. But if a tornado should swoop down upon us, as it happens so often, or a drenching rain should catch us, the half child nature in Makuba would disappear immediately and reveal a whole man, strong, fearless and resourceful. In a tornado no man knew better than he just what to do for safety; and in a rain-storm his only anxiety seemed to be for the health of the white man—lest he should get wet, while at such times it was almost a matter of politeness with him not to protect himself. Once on a journey of three days on the open sea, from Benito to Gaboon, I was miserably sick the second day and could not eat. Neither would Makuba eat, because I did not. The wind was contrary, and he sat at the stroke oar pulling hard until two o’clock in the afternoon without food. At last almost in tears (speaking in Kru English in which he and I always conversed) he said: “Mr. Milligan, hunger no catch you? All this day I look you and you never chop. Suppose you no chop you go die.” Observing for the first time that his own food had not been touched, I said in surprise: “What for all them chop live same as morning-time? Yourself you never chop all this day?” He replied: “Suppose you no be fit for chop then I no chop; I wait you, Mr. Milligan.” “But Makuba,” I said, “suppose me and you, all two, be sick, then what man go take care of me? I no want other man; I want you.” “Ah, Mr. Milligan,” he replied with a smile, “white man have plenty sense all same as God; black man be same as piccaninny.” Thereupon he took food and ate heartily, for he was very hungry.