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MISSIONARIES in the LION COUNTRY
By A. WELLINGTON CLARKE

Hair-Breadth Experiences of God's Servants With the King of the Jungle

THE Reverend James Malinki, who related to me the following incidents of his missionary career with American missionaries, is a Seventh-day Adventist. He was born in Blantyre, Nyasaland, Africa, and at an early age was converted to Christianity. Now he is a successful evangelist among his people and an ardent worker for Christ. Here is his story:

Once, while traveling from Angola, Portuguese West Africa, to Elizabethville in the Belgian Congo, in company with two white missionaries, Pastor E. C. Boger, Superintendent of the Seventh-day Adventist Congo Mission, and W. H. Branson, President of the African Union Division of the same denomination, night overtook us in the wilds and we decided to stop and camp for the night. That day was an exceptionally hard one. During the early afternoon our gasoline gave out and Mr. Branson and I had to get out and push the Ford for miles, Pastor Boger at the wheel. I was tired in every muscle and welcomed the stop with much pleasure.

The night was dark. Instinctively I struck a match, looked on the ground, and to my surprise saw the ugly padded footprints of lions. "This place we are in is bad," I told the ministers; "I should think if we pushed ahead about a mile, we might come to a settlement." As was later to be seen my estimation was correct, and had they followed my suggestion we should have been spared a night of horror.

"What is the trouble, James?" inquired Pastor Boger. 

"We are in the path of lions." 

"How do you know?"

 "I struck a match and noticed the footprints, not of two or three, but many."

BOTH replied that they were tired and meant to spend the night where we were. The decision of the majority always wins, it did on this occasion.

The car was left to one side of the road and we crossed to the opposite side, made a clearing and proceeded to pitch camp. Pastor Boger began to build a fire by piling up an enormous quantity of wood. His object for building this fire was twofold. The first was to cook the meal, the second, to scare the animals away.

President Branson was preparing the food to be cooked; I was making the beds which consisted of two folding cots, one for each of the white men, one quilt, two sheets, a blanket and a pillow for each bed. I fixed none for myself for I was thinking of those ugly footprints and wondering if at any moment we might not be given an unexpected visit by those lions. My experience in the jungles had taught me that whatever so many footprints of animals are, that place is a beat for them, a path along which they are accustomed to travel. Get out of this beaten highway and you are on safe ground.

[[image - a lion]]

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for MAY, 1931     47

Supper was served by the light of our camp fire, which was burning brightly. We chatted for a few minutes about the day's experience. They were getting ready for bed when I heard the roar of lions miles and miles away.

"I hear the roar of lions," I told them.

"You hear wild turkeys," they replied. With that Pastor Branson proceeded to bed and the Reverend Mr. Boger piled the fire high with fresh wood; a few minutes after which he likewise crawled into his bed, but for safety first placed his rapid-fire rifle by his side on top of the cover.

"James, aren't you going to bed?" they both inquired.

"No, I believe we are in a very bad place to sleep."

THEY both smiled, said I mistook the gobbling of wild turkeys for the roaring of lions, bade me good night and pulled up their covers snugly around their necks. Mr. Branson's bed was on one side of the fire, Mr. Boger's on the opposite side, and I drew a log to a central position from both and sat upon it-the trio making a triangle about the fire. They were resting soundly and I from my seat was looking intently into the fire, when once more the roar was heard. Again I told them that I had heard the roar of lions, but this time they asked me kindly to allow them to get their much-needed sleep, for I only imagined I heard the roar of lions; assuring me with the twice repeated phrase: "You are mistaking the gobbling of wild turkeys for the roaring of lions." I proposed not to worry them any more and said to myself, "You won't need me to wake you if those lions come roaring our way."

They hadn't been in a doze very long when once more the roar was heard; this time by all of us, and then they were convinced that it was indeed the roar of lions and not the gobble of wild turkeys. Five minutes passed, and again the thunder of that roar drew nearer. The roar of a solitary lion in the jungles is terrifying, the roar of many lions is blood-curdling. I could see that there was uneasiness in our camp. To pull up and leave would be fatal in the event of an attack in the darkness. Our only safety, and that seemed as good as eaten, would be to remain where we were and face the outcome.

"How many lions do you suppose might be coming, James?" asked Pastor Boger.

"About seven."

He gave a wondering gaze at the stars, then at me, as if to say, "Woe to us if you are correct!"

IF the moon were shining, we might stand a good chance of seeing them at a distance and of shooting straight; but the darkness was so dense that it would be dangerous to attempt to shoot into it from our camp fire unless we were sure of our mark. While I was thinking what to do in the event of an attack, suddenly four large lions appeared out of the darkness in front of us. Others were beyond these, and with them two cubs.

"They are here," I whispered. But no one replied, save one of the lions with a roar that fairly shook the earth under us. I could hear the entrails of the beast rumbling within like the mutter of distant thunder. My blood seemed to be curdling, my limbs and joints felt like some one was pulling them through a pulley. My knees and spine were as cold as ice, my head as if it was in a whirl. "Am I in a trance, or am I dreaming?" I remembered seeing a group of lions appearing out of the darkness in front of us and of hearing one roar, that roar that almost lifted me from my seat by its vibrations.

When I gained my composure and fully realized the situation, I gave a deep sigh, but not of relief, for those monsters of the jungles, like impious sentinels, were still standing a few yards away from us. I rapidly glanced at the white men. They were as pale as death. Pastor Boger was about to raise his gun to fire, when Mr. Branson whispered, "Don't!"

Like a flash, the leader of those lions roared, and we were again deafened by its noise. He then made a quadrant about us, his eyes shining and reflecting the glow of the fire as he moved in terrible majesty facing us. Stopping at a point opposite Mr. Branson, he crouched with his fore-legs protruding and his hind legs doubled up beneath his body.

AGAIN he roared, moved from this spot still circling us and stopped in front of me, making a semi-circle from the point where he started. One of the others, not taking his eyes off us for a second, broke ranks, ran around and filled the vacancy of the leader. Again the leader roared, jumped up from this new spot, continued circling about us, and crouched in another place as before, lion number two taking the first lion's place and another one taking charge of two's vacancy. Again lion number one roared and moved, this time completing the circle, lion number two taking the leader's old place, three taking two's place and the last lion in line taking three's place. The circle is completed and now they all lie with their fore-legs out and heads erect and hind legs doubled under their bodies.

[[image]]
[[caption]] Dependent on the jungle for a considerable amount of his food, this tribesman of Portuguese West Africa takes to the lion trail with bow and arrow. In his skillfully trained hands the bow becomes a powerful weapon [[/caption]]