ABSTRACT
As we paddled away into the mist a constant clanging of winches and roar of exhaust steam rose on every hand, until one seemed to be in a reach of the busy Thames instead of an African river; and yet not far away there stood a native village where the J u-Ju reigns supreme, and, it is rumoured, horrible rites of fetiche cruelty are performed. Few white men care to visit it, and a brave deed was done there once when two officials landed for a conference with the sable headman. They brought him a peremptory warning that he must discontinue his evil ways; and as 110 African ruler appreciates being dictated to in his own stronghold, one of
the white men was struck bleeding to the earth. The least sign of fear or irresolution would have been fatal to them both, but his uninjured comrade was equal to the occasion. Felling the dusky monarch with his fist, he held the villagers off with menacing revolver until their Krooboys helped the other to his feet, and, facing the furious Jakkeries, who knew his skill with the weapon, retired towards the boat. It was an old storythe quiet determination of one man against the uncertain purpose of a mob. The J akkeries would gladly have made an end of both, but they knew that the first who struck a blow would die-and no one cared to be that first. Nevertheless, all white men are not capable of work like this.
