Jungle gold : the amazing story of Sammy Morris and true stories of African life 9780880193146, 088019314X

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Jungle Gold The Amazing Story of Sammy Morris AND

True Stories of African Life By Wilbur Konkel Author of:

Living Hymn Stories Stories of Children’s Hymns More Living Hymn Stories Amazing Grace Hymn Stories Love Divine Hymn Stories

Treasury of Hymn Stories

ANY WBE AGI c@v “ &) v

Sixth CRASS oe

OS

«Os

ISBN 0-88019-314-X

Wesleyan Book Club

1993

& Salem, Ohio

Rev. Wilbur Konkel

. . was Director for West African Missions of the Pillar of Fire Church. Born in Boston, Colorado, he attended Denver University as a pre-law student and Belleview College before he was called to the ministry. He received his B.A. from Alma White College, Zarephath, New Jersey, and was graduated from seminary the same year. After graduation, he went to Great Britain to assume his first assignment in Hendon, London, and subsequently earned

his Certificate in Education at Christ College, Oxford University. During his twenty years as a clergyman and missionary in Great Britain, he has travelled throughout the British Isles and Europe gathering material for three books on hymn stories, and he has made several missionary visits to Africa among the Kru and Bassa people of Liberia.

Foreword Sammy Morris was an uncouth, unlettered lad when the Lord spoke to him in the African jungle, but through God he was able to do more for the cause of Christ than many who have had much greater talent and education. How was this possible? Sammy was completely emptied of self and filled and possessed with the Spirit of Christ. My prayer is that God will use this story of Sammy’s life to bring others to the knowledge of Jesus Christ as Saviour and to inspire young men and women to dedicate their lives to the cause of Christ, and, like Sammy, be emptied of self and be filled with all the fullness of God. I have been asked by a number of friends to put this story of Sammy and of our own work among the Kru and Bassa people of West Africa in book form. I have omitted many of my own experiences and articles that have been printed in various magazines and church papers to give first place to the inspiring story of Sammy Morris. I wish to thank Taylor University of Upland, Indiana for supplying me with the valuable material on Sammy Morris and permission to use it in this book. I also wish to thank Mr. R. G. LeTourneau and his staff at Tournata for the valuable assistance they have given us in our Missionary work in Liberia. Rev. Walter Knowles and his staff at Tournata have been a tower of strength to us in launching our mission work among the Kru and Bassa people. Nurse Maxine Snyder treated me for days when I had infection in my legs from tsetse fly bites. We should not wish to forget Rev. and Mrs. Robert Welsh, Nurse Grace Miller, Miss Anna Staffsholt, our own Rev. Tobias McQueen, Mrs. Wilma Stolz, and other missionaries in Africa who have helped. May God bless the work they are doing for Him. Cover Art design is by Mr. Geoffrey Lincoln. Bishop Konkel was Director of Pillar of Fire Missions International from 1960 through 1992 when he was called home by his Saviour.

Affectionately dedicated to those Elect Ladies: the Churches of Hendon, England; Oakland, California; Omaha, Nebraska; and Carmel

in Denver, Colorado; where it has been my joy to hold Pastorates. And to the Church of Jesus Christ among every Tribe and Nation.

Printed by Old Paths Tract Society Shoals, IN 47581

Contents PAGE

EEET Baga Peo SERRE I TE eoale IR ca Plt pe NO Chapter 1—The Amazing Story of Sammy Morris ................. tCnapter 2—Prisoner Of the Grebo s.iesessseviceosess.cseecetecccseeeasensans Ls SEE DES ea Gi il UR os EMR ya Om TTS,Fege See 0010 pe ne nite de a Chapter 5—Sammy Goes to New York ............cccssccsssceseceeeens Chapter 6—Sammy Changes Crew and Ship .............ccseeeees STE STSCPSsCer me BES ite ee, eee re ene ener Carer 2— sammy Goes to Colege ic... .spetssecssscosenccoonesssvevess ter 9 ——An Atheist PIndS JESUS .......0..s Rie NAL LEY coca cases arat cv cranes sh cen gasmseaeyencenopansarnd 7—How Much Is She Worth ?........:...cccsssssssessrssasaes

43 46 49 53 =H! 60 62

Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2023 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation

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JUNGLE GOLD The Amazing Story of Sammy Morris and True Stories of African Life This is a story to thrill your heart. It is a story of jungle terror and nightmare, of the cruelty of men and the kindness of God. This story of Kaboo, the little African Prince, who later was to be known as Sammy Morris, is without parallel in modern Christian annals. In West Africa, just north of the Equator, is the country of Liberia. The country was founded by ex-slaves from the United States and the West Indies. The name Liberia means liberty. This was to be a land where people would be free and God would be King. It was a land of vast, dangerous, alluring jungles. For a time all went well, but it was not many years until these men who had so recently risen from slavery, were themselves enslaving their fellow men. This is one of the saddest stories in the history of man. The natives of Liberia did not take kindly to those who came in from a strange world to seize their land and to rule them with a rod of iron. A bitter hatred burned between them that has blazed and smouldered. The present administration is dissolving this hatred. President Tubman is loved and respected. It was in the jungles of this beautiful and fascinating land that Prince Kaboo was born about the year 1873. It was in that year, 1873, that the great Scottish Missionary, David Livingstone, died while on his knees in prayer for that great continent of Africa. Kaboo’s father was chief of the Kru tribe. The Kru people inhabit a long strip of land along the Atlantic coast and stretching back into the jungle less than a hundred miles. They are tall for people of that part of Africa and very strong. For the

ee tae

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most part the men are fishers and hunters. For many years the

Kru people had lived in fear of their warlike neighbours the Grebos. At that time the Grebos were among the most savage and cruel of all the land. After defeating their neighbours it was not uncommon for them to hold a great feast and gorge themselves on the cattle and rice and even the flesh of their captives. When Kaboo was about nine years old, his happy carefree childhood was to end. We say about nine years old, because at this time no records were kept of births or deaths and so Kaboo did not know the exact date of his birth. Indeed even today it is rarely that a person in the Liberian bush country will know his age unless his parents were Christians. When I visited the Kru country recently I met many people who did not know their own ages or the ages of their children. The chief of the Grebos saw the Kru chief becoming strong and prosperous and so planned a raid. In the lonely hours of the jungle night, when all were asleep in their mud and grass huts, these fierce raiders struck. With terrifying shrieks they swooped into the house of the chief and seized him, but fortunately, he was able to escape and with his family and many of the other Kru people, he was able to hide in the bush. Soon there was the smell of smoke and the crackle of flames. Their village was being burned to the ground. But not only their village, the whole countryside seemed to be a mass of flames. It was soon apparent what was happening. The Grebos were making sure that their rivals would never again be a prosperous people. They were burning their crops. It was the scorched earth policy of war at its worst. The cattle and goats and some of the men, women and children were led or driven away captive, as the spoils of the victor.

As Kaboo watched the village in flames and the plundering of their goods, he was entering one of the most terrifying ordeals that any living human being was ever submitted to. After a day or two in hiding, Chief Kaboo, and his people who remained, ventured back to what had been their village. They were cowed

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and subdued. There was nothing to do but start afresh. Mud and grass and palm leaves for thatching were plentiful, and in a matter of weeks a new village had been built. Meantime, there was great rejoicing in the villages of the Grebos. They roasted the animals they had stolen and started a feast of debauchery and dancing that lasted for days. Such is the darkness and misery of people who have no Saviour, who have never even heard the name of Jesus Christ. Such was the condition in those far-off days. Things are different now. Many Christian missionaries have gone in to take the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ to these benighted people. But many more missionaries are needed. There are still millions in Africa who have never heard the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER

TWO

Prisoner of the Grebos For a moment let me prepare you for the shocking story to come by telling you a little about the customs of the people in Equatorial Africa. When a baby is born it is a time of rejoicing. About four out of five babies died in infancy at the time Prince Kaboo was born, and little wonder. In fact, when one learns the

customs that prevailed, he may wonder how so many survived. A baby boy was an evidence of the favour of the gods. Rice, palm butter, and chunks of meat were crammed down the child’s throat. This was strong man’s food and was meant to make the child strong. If he survived this ordeal, and many did not, his body might be rubbed with sand or coconut bark to toughen him. Apart from his own mother’s milk the child would never have another drop of milk. Even to this day children in the bush country of Liberia have no milk. Their food may include elephant or monkey or an occasional bush rat. Today they cook most of their food but Kaboo said theirs was mostly eaten raw. Kaboo, his father and the Kru people had hungry times after their village was raided. They ate the bush rats, snails and slugs. When they could they killed a hippo or bush cow, as they called them, or supplemented their diet with snakes and ants. They planted new crops and eventually these began to grow. In less

than two years the Grebos struck again. Again Kaboo tried to escape, but he was captured and taken prisoner. Many of his young friends and their parents were also taken prisoner. The

Chief was again fortunate to escape capture. The Grebos kept their captives as hostages and demanded pay for their release. As there was no money, the pay they expected was rice, a food staple in West Africa, palm oil, obtained from the nut of a palm tree, and sugar cane. The sweet

peo | Yaa

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juice of the sugar cane is fermented and a very potent liquor called rum is obtained. Intoxicating liquor is a curse to the black man as well as the white man. They drink this vile stuff and horrible atrocities are committed while they are under the influence. The white trader offers it to the black man in exchange for his rice, palm oil and ivory, as well as sugar cane. This was one reason the Grebos demanded these commodities so that they could sell them to the white trader. Chief Kaboo loved his son but he had nothing to pay. He promised that if they would have patience he would pay. But the demand for ransom was so great that any possibility of paying

was almost out of the question. The Grebo Chief felt the Kru Chief was holding back on him deliberately, so he was determined to bring Chief Kaboo to time. A plan of torture was devised. Each morning young Kaboo was dragged out to a clearing and thrashed with ropes made of palm and bamboo. When he would fall in a faint, his body bleeding, as a result of this torture a prisoner was allowed to escape. The Grebos well knew that Chief Kaboo would hear by evening of the torture his little son was going through and would endeavour much harder to pay his

ransom. Kaboo was about eleven years old and small for his age. During the past two years since the first great Grebo raid, he had hardly known what it was to have a full meal. The Kru Chief longed for his son and the day came when he gathered the provisions they had saved, and went to pay the ransom for his son. The Grebo Chief looked over the supplies that were offered for ransom and saw a source of far greater income. They refused to negotiate, and demanded more, much more, before they would again agree to release the lad. The Chief, broken in spirit, offered his daughter, a younger sister of Kaboo as additional barter. The Grebos were inclined to accept, but when little Kaboo heard of his father’s intentions he pleaded with him not to do anything so rash. He told his father he was older and stronger than his sister

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and more able to stand the beatings and slavery to which he was submitted. When we think of an eleven-year-old boy who had been beaten for weeks or possibly months every day until he fell under the lashes; then tempted with food that was offered and

denied him, our hearts go out to him in sympathy. But in spite of his beatings and hunger he pleaded with his father not to submit his sister to this torture. Knowing this we feel that here was surely no usual boy. Girls were not valued so highly as boys and doubtless Kaboo would have been recaptured anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

Escape The Kru people were starving but the Grebos did not believe this. They were sure they were holding out on the demanded price because they were preparing for war. At last they decided to wait no longer, but they would kill Kaboo. The method they devised for his death was cruel almost beyond comparison. Let us read the description of the ordeal in Kaboo’s own words as he told it to Rev. T. C. Reade of Taylor University. “This cruel man whipped me every day on my naked body. Every day the whippings got harder and harder. At last he tied me to a tree, a grave was dug to put me in. They were going to bury me up to my neck. My mouth was to be propped open so that the flies and driver ants would come and eat me alive.” During this last beating Kaboo saw a great flash of light and he heard a voice telling him to run, to escape. Kaboo had not had any food that day. He had been so badly beaten the past few days that his flesh was torn and infection had set in in many places. His captors had used a poison vine to beat him. The devil is a cruel slave master and the men who had been so brutally torturing this young innocent lad were themselves the pawns of Satan. What happened now to Kaboo was one of those amazing miracles that God alone can completely understand. The great missionary, St. Paul, often told of his experience on the road to

Damascus. He has told us that all the people round about on that memorable occasion saw the great light which blinded him but that none heard the voice of Jesus Christ speaking to him: “Saul,

Saul, why persecutest thou me?” (The Acts 9:4). Kaboo was instantly healed. When he had been tied up that day to be flogged for the last time, he could hardly stand. He had to be dragged part of the way. When a voice called to him: Ahe pe

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‘“Kaboo, rise and flee!” he seemed to be given supernatural

strength. He broke free and ran. He did not know how long he ran or how far he travelled. At night he found shelter in a hollow tree and curled up to sleep the sleep of the just. When he awakened, fully refreshed with sleep, it was still dark. Kaboo was in a

thick dark jungle. The black cobra, the puff adder, the boa hanging from the trees, were all very deadly enemies. The leopard, the lion and the crocodile in the waters, were all lurking enemies. But fiercer and worse than all these enemies was his fellow man. Less than 100 years ago when this experience took place, cannibalism was still very prevalent in the West African Jungle. Indeed, even as late as 1934 the League of Nations investigation committee reported that slavery and even cannibalism were still practised in remote jungles of West Africa. We read in the 13th chapter of Exodus that God sent a Pillar of Fire by night to lead the children of Israel and give them light. The same God who led the Israelites of old was leading this uncouth son of an African Chief through one of the blackest jungles of Africa. Kaboo feared to travel by day, he knew his enemies would recapture him if they could. He also feared to travel by night because of the animals. But God caused a friendly light to shine around him at night so that he was able to sleep by day and travel through the jungle by night. There were no paths. Kaboo did not know where to go or where to flee. But the God who cared for Elijah as he fled from the wicked Queen Jezebel, was also mindful of a young savage lad who had never even heard the name of Jesus. Remember, that up to this time, Kaboo was still a jungle

prince, a black savage, we might say. He had lived among people who had never heard a missionary and who had never heard of the true and living God. We sit in our lovely churches and sing: “Jesus loves the little children, All the children of the world.

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Red and yellow, black and white, All are precious in His sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

As we sing this and other lovely hymns we are prone to forget that far off in the jungles of Africa, South America and Asia there are still those who have not heard the name of Jesus. Kaboo slept in hollow logs or trees by day and the kindly Light led him by night. He did not know how long he had been travelling, but it must have been several days. He came to a clearing and saw a sight strange to his eyes. It was some kind of foreign settlement. In fact it was a coffee plantation owned by

Christian white people. To Kaboo it was the beginning of a new life. As he peered through the trees at the strange buildings, the orderliness and cleanliness of everything, he saw a young boy about his own size and age. Dare he speak to this boy? Would the boy understand him, or would he turn him over to men who would again send him back to his tormentors? This boy was so clean-looking; he wore clothes (a pair of shorts) that Kaboo felt impressed to risk recapture. He called to the boy and you can imagine his amazement when the boy answered his call in his own Kru tongue. God had led this lad through miles of jungle forest, miles from his own Kru tribe, miles from his captors, the

Grebos, to a coffee plantation and another Kru boy!

CHAPTER

FOUR

Conversion Kaboo learned that his newfound

friend, a Kru boy, was

working for some white foreigners. It was harvest time and his new companion assured him he could also get work helping to pick the coffee berries. These coffee berries are in size and appearance like cherries. The seed or stone of this berry in its characteristic two halves is coffee as one sees it on sale in the shops after a process of drying and roasting. One day after their morning rice, Kaboo saw his companion on his knees talking. Kaboo asked the lad who he was talking with. The lad replied: “I talk with God.” Kaboo had heard of many gods, but all were powerless. None of the gods Kaboo knew could speak or hear. “Who is your God?” the young prince asked™ Hes my Father, “was the simple reply. iiren. © exclaimed Kaboo in delight, “you are talking to your Father.” Always after this experience he was to refer to prayer as “Talking with my Father.” On Sunday Kaboo attended the first Christian service of his life. An American missionary from Fort Wayne, Indiana, was to

give one of her first lessons or sermons in the mission field of Africa. Her name was Miss Anna Knolls. Miss Knolls chose to

tell the people that wonderful story of Saul’s conversion. As she

spoke of the light that shone from heaven, and the voice that he heard, Kaboo cried in amazement. “That is exactly what happened to me. It must have been God who spoke to me too.” Like Saul of old who was led in his blindness to a street called Straight; and was instructed by one of God’s disciples called

Ananias, Prince Kaboo was led to a plantation where Jesus was known and served. Another boy of his own tribe had been showing him how to talk with his Father, and then God sent His disciple to explain the way of God more fully.

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For the next few days Kaboo spent all his spare time “talking” alone with his Father. Like Pilgrim in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the burden of his sins was a heavy weight to bear. As he cried to God for deliverance, he tells us he suddenly felt as

light as a feather. Here is his experience as he told it to Rev. T. C. Reade. “My body felt as light as a feather. I was filled with a power that made me feel I could almost fly. I could not contain my joy, but shouted until everyone in the barracks was awakened. There was no more sleep there that night. Some thought I had gone crazy; others that a devil had got me. But I knew my own heart. This was my adoption. I was now a son of the Heavenly King. I knew then that my Father had saved me for a purpose, and that He would work with me.”

Previous to this experience that came to him in the hall where he slept with the other work-people, Kaboo had been warned to stop that “Loud talking.” So he went into the woods to pray. The jungle was kind and there was none there to disturb. One night he remained in the jungle until almost midnight. He crept back to the large room, or barracks as he called it, and lay down. “My tongue was still but my heart went on praying. All at once my room grew light. At first I thought the sun was rising; but all the others around me were fast asleep. The room grew lighter until it was full of glory. The burden of my heart lifted and I was filled with a sense of inner joy.” Kaboo, who only a few days previously had heard of Jesus and His Love from another Kru boy, was now rejoicing in his newfound experience. He asked the missionary, Miss Knolls, many questions and spent much time talking with his Father. Miss Knolls told him he was ready to join the church. It is customary

even

today, when

a heathen

becomes

a Christian

in

Africa; to adopt a Bible name. Miss Knolls had received her education in Fort Wayne, near where he was born. Her parents did not have enough money to send her to Bible school. A Christian businessman, a banker, of

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Fort Wayne, heard of Miss Knolls. As a young man he wanted to be a missionary. It appeared that circumstances had closed the way. The banker’s name was Samuel Morris. He told Miss Knolls he would pay for her education and that she should go to the mission field in his place. Little did he realise by this act of Christian benevolence,

his name

would be given to a black

prince in Africa, and that lad would make the name of Samuel Morris beloved to future generations. Miss Knolls gave Kaboo the name Samuel Morris. Like Samuel of old, who heard the voice of God, Sammy had heard the voice of God and knew not that it was the Eternal God who spoke to him. But when he learned who had spoken, he was quick to respond: “Speak Lord, for Thy servant heareth.” After his joyful conversion Sammy moved to Monrovia, the capital of Liberia. There he worked at odd jobs, learning house painting, among other things. Sammy attended the Methodist church there and felt that God was calling him also to preach the Gospel. One day he went to speak with the Pastor, Rev. C. E. Smirl, and confided in him all that was in his heart. He knew

now that God had given him a definite call to preach to his own people of the Kru tribe. What was an uneducated and uncouth lad to do? How was he to become a missionary? Pastor Smirl told him that he would need a lot of education. “You should go to New York to study,” he was told. “Then I am going,” was the simple reply. “But it will cost you one hundred dollars,” he was

told. A hundred dollars or a hundred pence, it made no difference to this lad who had nothing, yet possessed all things. “I knew my Father would provide,” he told friends later. Three women were meeting at set times in the church in Monrovia to pray for God to save souls. Sammy, then about 15

years old, crept into the church one evening when these ladies were praying and joined in prayer that God would save souls. The women, who were faithful in prayer, had never known such intercession as this before. As Sammy prayed and cried to God to save souls, it seemed that all the glory of heaven came down into that chapel and into the hearts of these intercessors.

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At the next public service conviction filled the hearts of all present. Many began to cry to God for deliverance and as a result fifty young people came to a definite knowledge of sin, forgiven, through our Lord Jesus Christ. It was from the lips of a lady that Sammy first heard the simple story of Jesus and His love. That lady had put a thirst in his heart which resulted in his conversion. It was another lady missionary who first told Sammy of the Holy Spirit. She read to him the 14th chapter of St. John. Sammy was thrilled. He had never before heard of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter. His soul was thirsting for God. He determined to be filled with His Spirit. He made frequent visits to missionaries and asked them many hard questions. He was determined to know more about the Holy Spirit. Oh, that young people today would have such a hunger! Whether he ate or slept or worked his constant thought was on the Holy Spirit. One day as he was begging the lady missionary, who had first read to him that 14th chapter of John, to tell him more; she replied that she had told him all she knew about the

Holy Spirit, and if he wished to learn more he must see Stephen Merritt who lived in New York. She said it was he who had told her all she knew of the Comforter. Rev. Stephen Merritt was a Methodist minister in New York City. He had told a young lady preparing to go to the mission field in Africa that if she would receive the Holy Spirit into her heart she would be a success in Africa, and that God would make her life a great channel of blessing. She asked Him to come into her heart and she received Him. It was her Pentecost.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sammy Goes to New York Sammy had walked more than 14 miles that day to learn more of God’s Holy Spirit. When he heard of Stephen Merritt in New York he did not wait for any more instructions. He did not even know what an address was, so he did not learn any more of the whereabouts of this man who could tell him more of the Holy Spirit, only that he lived in New York. It was not the first time Sammy had been told to go to New York. The first time he was told by Rev. Smirl that it would take 100 dollars to get there. Now on hearing that Stephen Merritt could tell him more of the Comforter, he turned and started running to the coast. At that time there was not a proper harbour in Monrovia as there is today. When Sammy reached the coast he saw a ship. He said “Thank You, Father,” and ran to the ship. Sammy asked to see the captain and was told to get out. At that moment the captain himself came along. “My Father told me that you would take me to New York to see Stephen Merritt,”

he told the captain. “Who is your father?” the sea captain who hated “niggers” asked in scorn. “And where is He ?” “My Father is in Heaven,” Sammy replied. “My ship does not carry passen-

gers. You must be crazy.” That ended the conversation and the captain stormed off. Sammy remained near the boat all day until the captain returned the worse for drink. This was Sammy’s second encounter with the evils of drink. The first occasion was when

the Grebo chief had refused to accept the ransom payment which Sammy’s father had brought to redeem his son. This cruel chief had refused to accept the ivory, rice, oil and kola nuts offered as ransom payment because of his thirst for drink. He must be constantly supplied with the means to purchase the demon rum.

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Traders would give him rum in exchange for any of these articles mentioned. They would even buy the sugar cane, from which their rum was made. He was no longer interested in a fair price for a hostage of war, he now wanted more goods to purchase more and more rum. When Sammy saw the captain he again asked him to take him to New York. The drunken captain threatened to kick him down if he did not get out of the way. That night the lad stayed on the beach praying for God to open this captain’s heart. Morning came and the captain again got off the ship to go into town. Again he refused to take Sammy, who stayed on without food, water or sleep. On the third day something happened. “My Father told me you would take me this time,” Sammy said confidently. One of the cabin boys had failed to return to the

ship. “How much pay do you want?” the captain asked. “Just take me to New York to see Stephen Merritt.” “Take him on the ship,” was the reply. Sammy was bubbling over with joy. His Father was giving him a trip across the great Atlantic Ocean. His prayers were answered. The captain assumed that Sammy, being a Kru boy, would be used to the sea. But Sammy had lived in the jungle forest and knew nothing of seafaring and certainly nothing of sea sickness. This ship was what is known as a tramp ship. Such ships were usually owned by their captain. They stopped at almost every port along the coast and bought and sold their merchandise. This type of business was usually greatly to the advantage of the trader. The native gave his products to the traders for#such

worthless pay as rum, trinkets and bright chéap cloth. When Sammy got sick his first day at Sea the captain was exploding with anger. Sammy was the only African on the ship. The crew, largely Asiatic, looked on this African lad with contempt. They showed theirSen with kicks and curses and threats. It has been said that truth is stranger than fiction: Surely the story of Sammy Morris is one of the strangest stories ever told,

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and yet it is all true. On the first day out, when Sammy was so sick he could hardly hold his head up, he saw another boy, slightly older than he, lying on the deck. He had been seriously wounded in a fall. The crew, thinking he was dying, left him to his misery. Sammy, seeing the boy, forgot his own distressing seasickness and went to the aid of one of another race and colour. _ Imagine this boy’s surprise to see a black boy kneeling beside him, praying in a strange tongue. Sammy prayed for God . to heal this boy and then helped him to his feet. Soon he was walking about as well as ever. God had instantly healed him in answer to Sammy’s prayers. When he learned that Sammy had had nothing to eat for several days he took him to the cook and asked for food. Perhaps Sammy was the wrong colour. The cook refused to give him any food; however, he gave some to the other boy who shared his with Sammy. Again Sammy became seasick. One day the captain found him lying in the gunwale too sick to do his work. The captain kicked him and cursed him. All the members of the crew kicked and cuffed and cursed him, with the exception of the cabin boy, who had been healed in answer to Sammy’s prayers. Sammy said later of this experience, that he had never been so sick before in all his life. He prayed: “Father, you know I promised to work for this man every day until I get to America, but I can’t do my work properly if I am sick. Please take away this sickness.” From that moment he was well and never suffered any more from sickness the rest of the voyage.

CHAPTER SIX

Sammy Changes Crew and Ship One day the ship was caught in a violent storm. Sammy was ordered to work on the mast. He prayed that God would give him some other work and again God answered his prayer. The cabin boy did not like working way down in the captain’s cabin. He would much rather be on the mast. He offered to change places with Sammy, who gladly accepted his proposal. When Sammy went below to report to the captain, that gentleman was much the worse for drink. Upon seeing Sammy he landed him a blow which knocked the lad unconscious. When Sammy revived the captain had sobered somewhat and the poor lad went about his duties as cheerfully as possible. Sammy decided to ask the captain if he knew the Lord Jesus, and proceeded to pray for him so earnestly, the man was deeply touched. It seemed that years before he had run away from home to go to sea, determined to get away from his mother’s prayers. In this storm at sea the ship was damaged and a great deal of water entered before its sides could be patched. Every member of the crew was ordered to help with the pumps, bailing the water out of the ship. When the water was cleared out and the ship safely caulked, or repaired, the captain issued extra rum to his men as a reward. One member of the crew was a Malayan. More than once he threatened to kill Sammy. Becoming maddened and crazed with the extra rum, the Malayan seized a cutlass and threatened to

hew Sammy to pieces. Without fear, Sammy looked straight into the man’s eyes, and he lowered his weapon and with head lowered, went to his bunk. Just as this episode was taking place, the captain came on the scene and saw what was happening. Even the captain had respect for this Malayan’s strength. He realised

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that this burly man, crazed with rum, had met a force stronger than himself. The captain took Sammy down to the cabin to protect him. Immediately after entering the cabin, the lad fell on his knees and began to pray for God to save every member of the crew. The captain knelt and joined in the prayer. Seeing the wickedness of his own heart, he cried to God for deliverance, and

before rising to his feet he had the assurance that God had forgiven him, and that he was born again. The Captain was a new creature in Christ Jesus. Now, the captain’s quarters were very dirty. It was filled with old weapons and junk, and all the junk was covered with the dirt and filth of years of neglect. “The Spirit will NOT DWELL WHERE THERE IS FILTH,” Sammy explained simply and proceeded to clean things up with soap and water. The captain was so pleased that he called all the ship’s officers to see his new quarters. After the captain’s conversion a great change came over the whole crew. They did not need to be told the captain was different. He stopped cursing and was even kind to the men. The men listened when Sammy told them of the Lord Jesus and sang to them the hymns he had learned from the missionaries in Monrovia. One day the Malayan took violently ill. Everyone expected him to die. Sammy went to his bunk and prayed for him and he recovered. As wonderful as his physical recovery, was his change of heart toward the African boy, whom he had hated. He became most devoted to Sammy, and would have laid down his life for him. There was not a member of that strange crew that was not deeply affected by this godly African boy. As one after another of the crew was converted, they became happier and differences of race were completely forgotten. Years before, John Newton, an English sea captain, found the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour (see “Next Hymn, Please!”’).

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He had been engaged in the slave trade along this same coast from which Sammy had come. After his marvellous conversion be wrote a lovely hymn: “How Sweet the Name of Jesus Sounds.” It was said that all the members of the crew were able to sing together: “Jesus, our Shepherd, Brother, Friend,

Our Prophet, Priest and King, Our Lord, our Life, our Way, our End,

Accept the praise we bring.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

New York at Last From the time they left Monrovia it was five months before they reached New York. When Sammy boarded the ship he had been wearing overalls and a jumper similar to a tee shirt. These clothes had worn to shreds, so the crew supplied Sammy with things from their own lockers. These clothes were old also, but all were quite proud of Sammy’s “new clothes.” The crew had become so attached to the African boy that it was a sad parting for all at New York. As soon as Sammy got off the ship he set out in quest of Stephen Merritt. The first man Sammy met was a drunken tramp. “Where is Stephen Merritt?” he asked. The man, a confirmed drunkard, had apparently made the rounds of some of New York’s churches and chapels begging money for drink. “Ill take you to him for a dollar,” was his ready reply. Sammy agreed and off they went on foot. It was three miles across town to the St. James Methodist church, where Rev. Stephen Merritt was pastor.

No doubt the pastor was somewhat surprised to see a coalblack African boy, who could speak only a little English, extend his hand and say: “Mr. Merritt, my name is Samuel Morris, I have just come from West Africa to talk with you about the Holy Spirit.” “Have you a letter of introduction?” asked the minister. Sammy replied: “No, I did not have time to wait.” Rev. Merritt, who was just going out, told his odd-looking guest be could wait for him in the mission hall. The tramp, who had been so amazed by this strange conversation, now interrupted with: “Say, where is my dollar?” Sammy smiled, turned to the pastor, and said: “Stephen Merritt pays all my bills now.” Mr. Merritt chuckled and paid up.

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Mr. Merritt was rather longer than he expected, and when he returned he was speechless at what he saw. Sammy was kneeling in prayer with 17 young men around him all crying to God to forgive them. Mr. Merritt said later that he felt strangely humbled at the sight of this plain-looking African boy, in his old clothes, leading almost a score of young men to the throne of grace for mercy and pardon. One must remember too, that Sammy’s English was the Pidgen English of Africa, so different from the mother tongue, that upon hearing it for the first time myself I did not at first realise that I was being addressed in English. One reason Mr. Merritt was so late returning for his guest was that he had forgotten him. He had got all the way home and then realised that he had forgotten the lad, so back he went to fetch him. It was on a Friday that Sammy had had his miraculous escape from the Grebo captors, and it was Friday when he first set foot on American soil. For the rest of his short life Sammy celebrated Friday as deliverance day. On that day he fasted and prayed. When Sammy saw the coach and horses that were to take him to the minister’s home he was thrilled. He loved animals and so before getting in beside Mr. Merritt, he first made friends with they at last arrived home, almost one a.m.,

the horses. When

Mrs. Merritt was anxiously waiting for her husband. “What have you there?” she asked in shocked surprise, on seeing the black boy. “An angel in ebony,” was her husband’s reply. Mrs. Merritt,

being a practical lady, asked: “And what are you going to do with him?” Her husband again had a ready reply: “I’m going to put him in the Bishop’s bed,” and he did. Sammy had to see the horses properly fed and watered before he would consider going to bed himself. Sammy had never seen a proper bed before in his life, much less slept in one. Mr. Merritt showed him how to turn down the sheets and get into the bed. Sammy’s bed had been the ground or

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a straw mat, or as on the ship, the hard wood floor. The pastor,

feeling that Sammy should be provided with something to sleep in, found a nightshirt of the bishop. (Mr. Merritt was the special mission aid of Bishop Taylor of Africa.) Now the venerable bishop was rather large around the hull. Sammy, black as coal, was a comical sight in the bishop’s white nightshirt. Mr. Merritt had a hearty laugh when he stood back and looked at him. As he started to leave Sammy for the night, the African boy reached up one arm out of the big, long sleeve, and drew his host back. “Let us pray,” he said. He then poured out his heart in thankfulness to God for the marvellous way be had been preserved from death in the bands of his cruel captors in Africa,

then for his protection in the jungle and for a safe trip to America, for the kindness of this dear man and his wife whom,

he

hoped, would tell him more of the Holy Spirit. Next morning Mr. Merritt went to call Sammy for breakfast. But Sammy had been up long before. He was not in his room and was later found helping groom the horses out at the stable. Sammy was indeed ready for a meal as he had not had anything to eat since leaving the ship. Sammy had never used a knife and fork and had never sat at the table with white people. If this was a new experience for him, it was also a new experience for his hosts. Sammy, in his shabby clothes, made a striking contrast to the elegance of this beautifully furnished home. Mrs. Merritt had been brought up in an aristocratic family and looked a bit apprehensive at the rough black boy at the table with them. But both she and her husband were soon to learn that this rough looking lad was the brightest jewel they had ever seen in their lives. That morning Mr. Merritt had to conduct the funeral service of a gentleman who had died in Harlem. He decided to take Sammy with him. On the way he had to pick up two other ministers who were to help officiate at the service. These two gentlemen peered into the coach in astonishment when they saw a common-looking roughly-dressed negro lad sitting beside the

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minister. They waited with proper dignity for him to alight, but when they realised he was indeed going with them in the same coach to the funeral, it was just too much for their pride. They openly showed their displeasure and Mr. Merritt, sensing their bad manners, tried to divert Sammy’s attention away from this insult. “That is Central Park, and that is the Grand Opera House and this is a large bank,” he pointed out to Sammy as they rode along. Sammy placed his small hand on Mr. Merritt’s knee and asked: “Mr. Merritt, did you ever pray in a coach?” The minister replied that he had had some blessed times holding sweet communion with his Lord while riding along in New York. Sammy replied: “We will pray.” He drew the pastor down on his knees and began to pray: “Father, I have been five months coming to New York so that I could talk with Mr. Merritt about the Holy Spirit. Now that I am here he shows me the harbour, the banks, the churches, the

parks, and other things, but does not say a word about this Spirit I am so anxious to learn about. Fill him with Thyself so that he will not think or talk or write or preach about anything but Thee and Thy Holy Spirit.” This was a prayer service that Mr. Merritt was never to forget. He had participated in consecration services for missionaries, the ordination of ministers, and the installation of bishops;

but never had he witnessed such a moving of the Holy Spirit before in his life. Here they were, three well educated clergymen, being led in prayer by a member of a despised race, dressed in tattered cast-off clothing, a lad whose command of the

English language was extremely limited. A few moments before, these colleagues of Mr. Merritt had felt a bit ashamed to be seen riding in a fine coach with this

black boy in his ragged clothes. After his prayer they began to feel their own spiritual shabbiness and felt that Sammy’s outer apparel should be more in keeping with his inner grace. At Mr. Merritt’s suggestion they stopped at a men’s store to supply

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Sammy with a complete new wardrobe. Mr. Merritt left the other two ministers with Sammy for a few minutes telling them that they should see he had the best. When he returned he chuckled

to himself to see how thoroughly these two worthies had carried out his wishes. He said later that where two or more Methodists are gathered together, they would spare no expense so long as another was paying the bill. However, Sammy did look very nice in his new clothes. He was somewhat amused with his appearance in this new finery. But he would nave been just as content to go on in his old clothes indefinitely. Mr. Merritt took the old togs home with him and years later he was to exhibit them in his office and cherish their meaning. Although Sammy took no part in the funeral service, he was profoundly interested. Never in his life had he attended a Christian buria!. He remembered the orgies that prevailed at the burial of the dead in his own land. He remembered how, at the suggestion of the witch doctor, innocent victims were sacrificed to appease the angry spirits. As for Rev. Merritt, it seemed that he

had been freshly anointed with God’s Spirit in that coach ride. As he spoke, such conviction seized the congregation, that one after another came forward without invitation. This indeed was a funeral service where many who were dead in trespasses and sins, found life and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost. On the first Sunday after Sammy had arrived in New York Mr. Merritt asked him if he would like to go to Sunday school. Sammy replied that he had never been to Sunday school but he would like to go. The pastor was superintendent of Sunday school. He announced that they had a visitor from West Africa who had come all the way to New York to visit him and that he was going to say a word to them. The children thought it funny that this lad was to speak to them and they all began to laugh. Sammy by nature was very quiet, we are told by Rev. T. C. Reade, who knew him well. He spoke softly, but every word he said seemed to have a meaning. He rose and started to speak.

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The pastor left the room for a few minutes and when he returned Sammy was standing at the front of the hall praying and a large group of young people were kneeling all round him in agonised prayer for God to forgive their sins. Sammy, apparently, had said only a few words of introduction and then began to pray. The Holy Spirit working through this youth so stirred these 600 young people in Sunday school that they were brought to their knees in supplication to God.

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Rev. Paul Blue, his wife June, and their children, Martha 15, Barry 13, and Paula 11. Pillar of Fire Missionaries in Liberia.

Dr. Arthur K. White, Bishop and General Superintendent, interviewing Rev. Wilbur Konkel, Director for West African Missions, over Pillar of Fire Broadcasting Station, WAWZ, Zarephath, New Jersey.

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Left above: Clan Chief Soloman of Kru Tribe. Right: “Country Bridge” across jungle river, Liberia. Below: Clan Chief Wegbeh of Bassa Tribe. Right: Young girl of secret devil bush society.

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Nurse Wilma Stolz,

.

Missionary in Liberia

Pastor John Tequah, his wife Frances, and their children Mary and Rachel. Kru interpreter for P.O.F. Mission.

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A Youth Group, Poe River Beach Mission

Below: Rev. and Mrs. Elwain McKeen and children, Pillar of Fire Missionaries in Liberia.

3b.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sammy Goes to College Some of the older people, quite spontaneously, organised a Sammy Morris Fund to send him to the University. They gave enough money for Sammy’s car fare to Fort Wayne, Indiana, and they filled several trunks with books, clothing and other supplies to aid him on his way. After Sunday school, when Sammy and Rev. Merritt had returned to the parsonage, Mrs. Merritt asked Sammy to return thanks at the table. The young lad’s heart was so full that he could not help pouring out his gratitude to his Heavenly Father in prayer. Mrs. Merritt, who guarded against showing any emotion, was moved to tears. She said to the African lad: “Make this

your home. Whatever we have we will share with you.” This was a promise she kept, and never did she have reason to regret having made it. Rev. S. Merritt wrote to Rev. C. W. Stemen, of Fort Wayne, stating that his congregation at Jane Street would clothe and feed Sammy if the Methodists and University of the City of Fort Wayne would see to his education. Mr. Stemen took this letter before the University Board the day he received it. The University was new, having a great debt, and was struggling to keep from going under. Dr. Reade wrote later: “For years I had felt anxious to help poor young men who were preparing for the ministry, to acquire an education. I had fondly hoped that some day God would open up my way to that work; but it never entered my mind that this work was to be done at Taylor University, and that it was to he introduced so suddenly, and in such an unheard-of-way. Truly the work was thrust upon us. But we had faith in the God who had fed Elijah by the brook, and multiplied the meal and the oil of the poor

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widow of Zarephath, and we wrote to Brother Merritt: “Send him on, and God will take care of him.” Sammy reached Fort Wayne on a Friday. Now Friday had always been a very special day with Sammy. It was on Friday that he had first heard the voice commanding him to flee for his life, and it was on a Friday that he landed in America. The rest of his life Sammy set Friday aside as a day of fasting, special prayer and thanksgiving. Dr. Reade met Sammy and took him to choose a room. When asked what room he would like Sammy said: “If there is a room nobody wants give it to me.” In describing the incident Dr. Reade said: “I turned away, as my eyes were full of tears. I asked myself whether I was willing to take what no one else wanted. In my experience as a teacher, I have had

occasion to assign rooms to more than a thousand students. Most of them were noble young Christian ladies and gentlemen, but Sammy was the only one who said: ‘If there is a room no one else wants give it to me.’ ” Sammy was unable to read and write so special classes had to be provided for him. In their morning prayers one morning Dr. Reade appealed for volunteers to assist with Sammy’s special instruction. Many were eager to help but two ladies were chosen: Harriet Stemen, daughter of a medical doctor, and Dr. Reade’s

daughter. Harriet Stemen was chiefly responsible for Sammy’s training and her father took such a keen interest that he also helped Sammy in tutoring and financially. As a young man Dr. Stemen had wanted to be a missionary, but circumstances had prevented this, so by helping Sammy he felt he was in a measure also fulfilling his own lifetime ambition. Although Sammy never failed to show his gratitude to all who helped him in his ‘training, he looked upon the Holy Spirit as his Chief Teacher. Sammy’s first Sunday in Fort Wayne was an outstanding event, not only to the young African lad but also to the church he chose to attend. Sammy walked across town to a Negro Methodist church. Although he arrived late for the service due to

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the distance he had to walk, he went straight up to the platform. The minister was surprised and a bit alarmed at this stranger walking right up to the platform during the service. The minister motioned to Sammy to sit down in the congregation. “I am Sammy Morris. I just came from Africa. I have a message for your people,” he said. “Have you a sermon prepared?” he was asked. “No, but I have a message,” he replied. Sammy’s face was so radiant that the minister felt sure he had something unusual to relate. The pastor motioned the young African to the pulpit and took a seat in the congregation himself. Sammy knelt and began to pray. The congregation fell to their knees and many began to weep. Later the pastor described this occasion: “I did not listen to hear what he was saying. I was seized with an overpowering desire to pray. What I prayed and what Sammy prayed I do not remember. I know my soul was on fire as never before. The light that brought Sammy Morris out of bondage there in Africa was surely shining into the hearts of our brethren there in Fort Wayne. No such visitation of the Holy Spirit had ever been witnessed by our congregation.” No one seemed to realise that the meeting had gone long over time and all went on their way rejoicing in the knowledge that the Holy Spirit had met with them in a marvellous way.

CHAPTER

NINE

An Atheist Finds Jesus Most of the students at Taylor University were Christians. There were some however, who were unbelievers. One notable exception boasted in his atheist teaching of no God. He was anxious to meet Sammy and prove to him the folly of his belief. Although Sammy was polite he never believed in wasting time, as he felt his time was given him by God. When a visitor came in to visit him he politely greeted the visitor and then handed him his Bible and showed him the place to begin reading. He kept them reading as long as they could stay. When the young atheist came into his room Sammy handed him his Bible and showed him where to begin reading. Instead of reading he threw the Bible down and said: “I don’t read that book any more. It is full of love stories and wars and big fish stories.” The young African had never before met an atheist. In Africa there are many pagans and idolaters but all believe in a god. Sammy was stunned. “My dear brother,” he said quietly, “Your Father speaks to you and you do not believe Him? Your Brother speaks and you do not believe Him? The Sun shines and you do not believe it? God is your Father; Christ is your Brother, the Holy Spirit is your Sun.” Sammy asked the young man to kneel in prayer, which he did. He left the room strangely shaken. Before the end of the term the young atheist yielded to the pleadings of the Holy Spirit and became a true Christian. Although the fact to some might sound like a page of fiction, that young atheist became a Methodist Bishop.

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Mr. Lindley J. Baldwin, who later wrote a pamphlet on Morris, stated: “He electrified the whole university from the President down to the newest freshman. The whole student body was lifted to a higher plane spiritually. They were not merely ‘saved’ but received spiritual strength to save others.” Sammy was thrilled with everything here in his new surroundings. He found the flowers, the trees and the birds different

than those he knew in Africa. He had lived in the tropics. He knew a land of perpetual summer. How thrilled he was when he saw the trees turning to golden and auburn in the autumn coolness. “God is surely good to you all here in Indiana,” he said. What a thrill he experienced when he saw that first snowfall. There was not even a word for snow in the Kru language the African language the African lad had spoken as a boy. In great excitement he ran out into the snow and tried to catch the flakes in his hands. He thought the flakes were messages from heaven. “God alone could make such patterns,” he said. “A year in America is worth a life time in Africa,” he shouted.

CHAPTER TEN

Death of an Angel in Ebony Sammy caught a cold that winter and soon after the temperature dropped to twenty degrees below zero. Dr. Stemen became alarmed when he found Sammy with a high fever. The good doctor nursed Sammy like he was his own son. Sammy got more fever and his condition became serious. He could not understand why God did not heal him. Why, indeed? This young man under the leading of the Holy Spirit had been the means of bringing Christ to many in his own native Africa and in the United States; a land of great riches, education and churches. All who met this young radiant firebrand were warmed and brought closer to Christ and His Holy Spirit. He was only twenty years old. He was possessed of

a burning desire to take the Gospel back to his people, the Krues and the Grebos in Liberia. But God said, “Son, come up higher.”

One day when some friends came to visit Sammy in hospital, where he had been taken, he beamed

and said: “I am so

happy. I have seen the angels. They are coming for me soon. The light my Father in Heaven sent to save me when I was hanging helpless on that tree in Africa was for a purpose. Now I have fulfilled that purpose. My work here on earth is finished.” Dr. Reade went to the hospital and asked Sammy about Liberia. “It is not my work; it is Christ’s work. He must choose

His own workers. Others can do it better,” he beamed. His last morning in hospital Sammy felt some better. He got up and called to Dr. Stemen, who was mowing the lawn: “Don’t work too hard, Dr. Stemen.” A few minutes later a hospital sister called the doctor and said Sammy seemed helpless. When the doctor reached Sammy’s room he was beyond the need of doctors.

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He had gone to join the Great Physician. On his face there was an expression of peace and joy. The death of this young shining African Christian shook the University, staff and students as nothing before had ever done. His body lay in state in the College chapel and hundreds filed past it or came to kneel there to rededicate their lives to God and His service. The church was crowded and many stood outside during the funeral service. On his monument were written the words:

SAMUEL MORRIS, DIED 1893 PRINCE KABOO Native of West Africa Famous Christian Mystic Apostle of Simple Faith

Exponent of the Spirit-filled life. Three of his fellow students at Taylor volunteered to go to Liberia in Sammy’s place. Later many more were to hear the call and go forth for Christ and His cause, not only to Africa but to many parts of the earth. As you read Sammy’s story perhaps God is calling you too. He may want to use you among the Krues or the Grebos or the Bassas or other tribes of Africa, Asia or South America. He surely wants you to witness for Him somewhere. He has said: “Ye shall be witnesses unto me.” If you are not ready or not willing will you ask God for Christ’s sake to fill you, and thrill you, with His Holy Spirit, then send you where He will? God loves to answer that kind of prayer.

PART TWO—CHAPTER

ONE

All the Way My Saviour Leads Me I have been asked to make some explanation about my trips to Africa. Some have wondered how I was able to fly almost 8,000 miles, go through wild bush and jungle and visit native churches in Liberia, where none of our missionaries had ever been. To this question I can only answer that it was the marvellous grace and love of God that led me all the way. At Conference

time, at our International Headquarters in

New Jersey, U.S.A., this mission to Africa was first suggested to me. Bishop White read a conference report from Pastor John Potee, of our Churches in Liberia. Pastor Potee made a plea for Bishop White to visit Africa. At that time Bishop White suggested to me that he should like for me to plan on going to Africa to see what could be done for those peorle. When I arrived in London I made enquiries about fares and visa requirements. I was told that a visa was required for Ghana and one for Liberia. Two vaccinations were required. One must be vaccinated for smallpox and yellow fever. Because I had to make the trip while Rev. Edward Frenkiel was still in London, there

would not be enough time for a sea trip, which takes ten days each way. The fare by plane was very high. There were no funds available. Some people felt that it was not the time to go, others thought it far too expensive a venture, even to contemplate. But God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. As we prayed, the Lord seemed to impress upon me that I must make haste. I obtained my visas, and vaccinations. Then I felt impressed to make a definite date. The travel agency told me there was only one flight a week, each Friday. It was Thursday. I said to the young man at the ticket agency: “A week from tomorrow will suit me fine. There is just one little difficulty, however, I do not have my fare.” I explained the situation to him and told

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him I was trusting the Lord to send the fare. Friday, Saturday and Sunday passed and still no money came in. “What shall I do, Lord?” I prayed. The assurance came: “You’re taking that plane on Friday.” I sent word to our Pastor Potee in Liberia that I was coming. “Shall I borrow the money at the bank?” I wondered. I was assured this was impractical and impossible. Sunday night came. Time was running out. Friday was flying day. Sunday night my wife and I spent much of the night in prayer about the need. We prayed: “Father, You have ordered this trip. Thou dost know where the finances are coming from.” The wonderful thing about this night of prayer was, that I did not know my wife was praying and she did not know I was praying. We were praying in separate rooms. Monday morning we attended early morning prayers at six. Mrs. Lillian Kendall, a very dear friend of ours, was giving a Bible lesson. She was reading one of the Psalms, when she stopped, and addressed me: “How much is the fare to Liberia?” It was about £200, or 550 dollars. She answered: “Praise the Lord. I have £200 in my possession, and the Lord wants you to have it. I will get it for you today.” Praise the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, praise His Holy name. The next day I went down to get my ticket. The young man with whom I had spoken previously at the travel agency, had told me it would take ten days to a fortnight to get a visa. I had them both, ticket and visa, in two days. The Lord Himself had removed all obstacles. The young man seemed quite impressed when I told him of this marvellous answer to prayer. I arrived at the airport in Liberia fully expecting Pastor Potee and some of his men to meet me. The airport, although it is called Roberts Field, Monrovia, is, in actual fact, 50 miles from the capital city of Monrovia. I waited two hours and no one came. Not knowing what to do I enquired about transportation to Monrovia. There were two buses, and a taxi service was available. I chose the bus. There were only two a day. I was happy I had chosen the bus, not only because of the saving in money but because of the lovely drive through the delightful countryside. In Liberia one sees some of the most beautiful scenery on earth.

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A Christian gentleman, Mr. Malcolm Dizer, travelling with the Billy Graham team, whom I had met in Accra, had given me the name of an American missionary whom he had met in Monrovia. He said: “You had better write down her name and address in case your people should not be able to meet you for any reason.” How thankful I was later for this, another proof of God’s guidance. I went to see this lady missionary, who lived on a little island called Bushrod, some five or six miles out of the city. Although she had never heard of me before, she took me into her

home and treated me as one of the family for several days. She was moving, which made my presence most inconvenient. In spite of all this, Miss Anna Staffsholt, rendered me invaluable assistance. She took me to Dr. Wickstrum, of the Methodist mis-

sions who contacted the Le Tourneau missionaries some 100 or 150 miles away. The Le Tourneau missionaries took me to their station, then flew me to another mission station, the Open-Bible Mission, some 30 miles from their own. All of these missionar-

ies gave me valuable advice and information that would have taken me months, perhaps a year to learn on my own, with the local people. These missionaries had lent me a boy to carry my supplies and a interpreter-guide. Without this marvellous interpreter my trip would have been almost a complete failure. He testified to his people later of what a blessing it had been to him to spend this time in my company. Since Pastor Francis spoke both the Kru and Bassa dialects he was able to translate my sermons and messages quite easily. We had meetings two or three times every day and what a faithful friend and interpreter Pastor Francis proved to be. It was he who told me much of the customs of the demon worshippers. It was Pastor Francis again who told me of the conversion of our Pastor John Potee. As I think of the marvellous way the Lord led me in these trips through Africa, I can attest to the truth of that wonderful promise of our Saviour: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (Heb. 13:5).

PART TWO—CHAPTER

TWO

I Need Jesus ‘Do it satisfy yoh haht?” That was the question David, the boy, who carried my pack through the bush, asked me. That is the question I wish to put to you now: Does it satisfy your heart? Now read about little David. Little David is a Kru boy. He attends a Mission school in Liberia, and he is a bright lad, perhaps fifteen years old. David was very faithful doing what he could to help in the village of Poe River Beach, where I was the only white man. David noticed that I did not drink tea or coffee or cocoa, and he was troubled. He asked: “Pa, why do you drink all the time coconut milk? You no like other drinks?” I explained to David that I do like some drinks, but I added, we do not have

these lovely coconuts in America and Britain, and I am enjoying them. David pondered this answer, then he asked the question in our title: “But do it satisfy yoh haht?” What a question! David’s knowledge of English was limited, but no doctor of letters, psychiatrist, or clergyman, could have phrased the question better. I often think of David’s question when I watch the throngs of people in busy London. David is a Kru boy. There is not one word of Scripture in his language. They had no written language ~ until a Kru primer was printed by Frank Laubach Foundations. David has learned some of the Scriptures at the Open Bible Mission School he attends, and how he drank in my messages at the five o’clock prayer meetings and the Gospel services every evening. When I spoke on the Lord’s Prayer, David lingered to speak with me after the prayer service. He heard the comments of the people and he was anxious to tell me. “Pa,” he asked, “do you know what the people say?” “They say,” he continued, “we always like the Lord’s Prayer, but no one ever tell us what it

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mean before.” Then David added his own comments: “It was very good, what you say.” The British and American people are perhaps the greatest readers in the world. When I see the filth displayed in may of the book shops and magazine racks, I want to ask the readers: “But does it satisfy your heart?” In every man there is a desire for the very best in life. What man or woman has not longed to be truly great and good? But as men drift away from a simple faith in Christ and in God, they become frustrated and, as they may say, “soured on religion.” They are not soured on Christ; it is the froth and dregs of sin and unbelief they become soured on. They are diseased and sick. They may say they are sick of religion. They are right. It is their own religion, and the religion of countless such people, that is making them sick. If your religion, your faith, your creed, does not centre around Christ, you have a false

religion. If Jesus is not your chief joy, you are missing the mark; you have lost the way. King David said: “As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God” (Psalm 42:2). There is the secret of the satisfied heart. There is a thirst that can only be satisfied with the Living Water, with Christ. He is the only One who can satisfy the heart. Whatever you read, it will always leave an empty void there in the heart until you begin to feast on God’s Word. God’s Word will strengthen your heart, and as the health of a strong person is portrayed in his countenance, so the child of God shows his heart’s condition by his countenance. David ended his Forty-second Psalm with these words: ‘Hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health

of my countenance, and my God.” The fact is I need Jesus, and you need Jesus. The Great

Physician has the only sure remedy for your heart trouble: “Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: Wait, I say on the Lord” (Psalm 27:14).

George Webster, the hymn writer, has expressed this thought so aptly in these words:

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I need Jesus, my need I now confess;

No Friend like Him in times of deep distress; I need Jesus, the need I gladly own; Tho’ some may bear their load alone, Yet I need Jesus. I need Jesus, I need a Friend like Him,

A Friend to guide when paths of life are dim; I need Jesus when foes my soul assail; Alone I know I can but fail, So, I need Jesus.

I need Jesus, I need Him to the end; No one like Him—He is the sinner’s Friend; I need Jesus, no other friend will do;

So constant, kind, so strong, and true, Yes, I need Jesus.

PART TWO—CHAPTER

THREE

Where Africa’s Sunny Fountains The Le Tourneau missionary plane touched down on the strip that has been cleared away for a commercial landing field, near River Cess. After buzzing the mission, which consisted of

circling the station in the plane and dropping a note, we waited at the plane for the missionaries to come in their jeep. There is only one road in this territory, and it is little more than a trail, becoming impassable during the rainy season. A large crowd soon gathered to see the white missionaries. When the jeep arrived I was delighted to meet Rev. Harold Crossman and his wife. They are American missionaries of the Open Bible Mission who were starting their second term in Africa. Mrs. Crossman is a nurse and is called upon to be nurse,

surgeon and general practitioner, as there is no doctor in the area. Rev. Crossman is an engineer-evangelist. Rev. Welsh was out on trek in the bush, ministering to those who have no Bible

and no missionary. It was a great joy to meet him and his good wife on my return. These consecrated missionaries did everything possible to assist me in my efforts to find Pastor Potee. They took me into their hearts and into their homes and surely it was God who led me to them, and who led me every step of the way in Africa. Mr. Crossman asked me to speak at the evening service. There was no time to prepare, but God gave the message. I spoke through an interpreter and the people were very attentive. My text was the familiar question: “How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation?” The thought has come to me that many in dark Africa have never been privileged to read even this scripture in their own language. John 3:16 can only be known to them if it is quoted to them by a missionary or local pastor. At

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home we have the Gospel: indeed we can buy a New Testament for a few pence, or cents. But how shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation? There is no escape! Yet people try many escapes. They try the escape of education, of work and of pleasure. But there is no way to escape the damnation of hell if we neglect our soul’s salvation. Early Monday morning Pa Crossman, as he is affectionately called by the natives, helped me prepare for my trek into the bush. He supplied me with his own interpreter-evangelist, a boy to carry my load, and his own metal box to carry my supplies. He also supplied me with a lantern, a knife, fork and spoon, and a pot to boil my water. Every drop of drinking water must be boiled. We rode in the jeep, driven by a missionary, Miss Jenkins, who has spent over 30 years in Africa; and says these are her people and it is not hard to see how she loves them. The jeep could only take us to the town of River Cess. Here our trek began. We hired a canoe, or Kanue, as the natives call them, to take us across the River Cess, which is quite wide at this point near the Atlantic. Pastor Francis showed me where to sit, seated David and then took an oar and helped to row. I was impressed how fast this boat went through the water. It is a hollowed out tree trunk, very skilfully shaped and balanced. The work is done by the native with a long bladed cutlass and knives; requiring a

great deal of skill and hard work. When we crossed the river Pastor Francis told me how much to pay the boatman (about 9 pence or 10 cents) and we started into the bush or small jungle. As it was the dry season the ground was dry and the walking was easy. Pastor Francis led the way and walked rapidly. David followed behind me carrying my large metal box of provisions on his head. David was between 10 and 14 years old. No one knows his age in Liberian bush country unless his parents were Christian. It is amazing what large burdens men, women and children are able to carry on their heads. David carried the load without a stop or a break for two hours,

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walking rapidly all the time. I seriously doubt if many British or

American boys the size of David could carry the box so far in his arms without a break. But David had no shoes. Our way led across streams and after an hour or more in the jungle or small bush our trail led on to the beach and we walked on the sands for some distance. Walking on the sand was very difficult, but Dr. Wickstrum in Monrovia had lent me some walking shoes, which

made the going easier. The golden sands of Africa; how beautiful they are! Coconut palms lined the beach with an abundant

supply for the thirsty traveller. As the waters of the Atlantic rolled up onto the sands I recalled and hummed those words of Heber’s: “From many an ancient river, from many a palmy plane, they call us to deliver

their land from error’s chain.” How true of this land. Pastor Francis took off his shoes in the sand and walked barefoot. This I could not have done, as the sand would have blistered my feet. What an experience. On one side the mighty Atlantic rolling up on to the golden sands. On the other side the jungle with all its mysteries, wild creatures and dangerous allurements. The birds and crickets and frogs kept up a continual chorus. Pastor Francis pointed to the sea, and there, quite near the shore, were three whales following one after the other. They swam lazily along, often coming out of the water so that we could get a good view of them. They were in the neighbourhood of 15 or 20 feet long. We met but few people on our journey and soon the trail led back into the bush. Word was passed along that we were coming and when we reached the first village the people came running to greet us. Some of these people were members of the Pillar of Fire Church in the next village of Poe River Beach. How delighted they were to see us. They embraced us and danced for joy. At long last their prayers had been answered. A missionary had come! We had met the chief of this village as we were walking on the beach. His daughter had just died and he was waiting for a

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canoe from Monrovia to give him more news. The chief was grief-stricken and we had an opportunity to witness to him of the saving grace of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and to present him to the throne of grace. Oh, the joy of knowing Christ as one’s personal Saviour. In Poe River Beach there was great rejoicing as word was passed around that the missionary had arrived from London. After shaking hands and snapping fingers with everyone, chairs were placed for us under a huge breadfruit tree and the ladies went to prepare refreshments; as the young men knocked coconuts from the trees to satisfy our thirst. Here I was the only white man. There was no doctor to call if one got sick, there were no roads, no cars, and no radio; indeed, no modern conven-

ience of any kind. Here the people live much the same as in the days of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. We had prayer meetings every morning at 5 a.m.

PART TWO—CHAPTER

FOUR

Four Men in an African Canoe This was the day for which I had long looked forward. I was going again to Poe River Beach. This beautiful village is the headquarters of our West African Missions, and it was the first

village in Liberia to have a Pillar of Fire Church. Two of our churches had been built in Sierra Leone some years before. When I had visited Poe River Beach the first time I had trekked through the bush with Pastor Francis as my guide and interpreter, and David, my boy, to carry my pack and boil my drinking water. Today I was to have a new experience in African transportation. I was going by native canoe, or kay’nu as it is called there.

A man had agreed to take me. He is Kru, and the

Kru tribesmen are fishermen and experienced with the use of both oar and sail. Mr. Clemmens, of Tournata, drove up in front of our house.

We were still eating breakfast but Mrs. Smallridge, who had been watching for him, went to the door and told him I would be right out. Mr. Clemmens (no connection with Samuel L. that he knows of) went to the end of the road that had been built by Le Tourneau’s, approximately five miles, then went another two miles or so on the sand to Balmytown village. Some of the boys of the village ran and found the owner of the canoe and soon he

was preparing his small craft for our 25-mile ocean voyage. Mr. Clemmens had to return to work. The sail was carried down to the canoe and a board was placed in the centre for me. I

had no cushion and the board was not even soft pine, but there was a strong binding of bamboo across the centre of the boat that was to serve as a back-rest for me. I was very thankful for this

bit of luxury as the boatman and his son had no such back support.

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After I had taken my place in the boat, father and son watched the waves for an opportune time to launch their craft. They watch for a large wave then push the canoe out. The young lad got into the boat, then his father waded out a little further

before entering.

At first the boat was rocking and was tossed by the waves. Many of the waves went higher than the little canoe, but some way that tiny craft rode the waves and only a few times did we get a soaking as the breakers came over the side of our little bark.

NOW WE WERE FOUR For half-an-hour or so the men rowed. The Kru people have an oar designed for their particular way of rowing. Their oar is rather short and tapered to a point. Their boats are made of mahogany. They take one tree and trim it and shape it and skilfully balance it so that it does not easily capsize even in the rough waves of the Atlantic. The canoe, being made of only one large tree, does not come apart and in this way leaks are minimised. After half-an-hour or so of rowing the men were ready to put up the sail. I thought of the little fishing boats that Jesus went in with His disciples and wondered if any of them were

similar to this. I felt no fear as George stood up to hoist the sail. Some of the white men, when they heard that I was making the trip by canoe, remarked that I was brave. I am not particularly courageous, nor am I a good swimmer. I can do the dog paddle, the Indian side stroke and swim a bit on my back and that is all. But I had a calm assurance that we were no longer three, but now we were four. The Lord Himself was with us. This was not

an illusion or presumption. Had we not asked Him to go with us? Why should it seem strange to us if in answer to our prayers the Lord gets into the boat, the ship, the motor car, or the airplane and goes with us? He has promised: “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee” Joshua 1:5.

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LIVINGSTONE’S TEXT One one occasion when David Livingstone was being honoured with a doctorate at Glasgow University, he addressed the professors and students in this manner: “I return (to Africa)

without misgivings and with great gladness. For would you like for me to tell you what supported me through all the years of exile among people whose language I could not understand, and whose attitude toward me was always uncertain and often hostile? It was this: ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world!’ On those words I stake everything and they never failed!” In his journal of January 14th, 1856, Livingstone wrote: “Felt much turmoil of spirit in prospect of having all my plans for the welfare of this great region and this teeming population knocked on the head by savages tomorrow. But I read that Jesus said: “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore and teach all nations, and lo I am with you alway, even

unto the end of the world.” It is the word of a Gentleman of the most strict and sacred honour, so there’s an end of it! I will not

cross furtively tonight as I intended. Should such a man as I flee? Nay, verily, I shall take observations for latitude and longitude tonight, though they may be the last. I feel quite calm now, thank God.” After about two hours on the sea we spotted another sail in the distance coming our way. As we drew nearer to each other, I wondered if this other canoe was coming for me. It was not long before we could distinguish the passengers and there was no doubt, it was indeed coming for me. This other canoe was much

larger and heavier. The boat belonged to our Sunday school superintendent at Poe River Beach, Jacob Tequah. He had brought Pastor Joba Potee and Pastor Matthew Nab with others to greet me. The larger boat pulled alongside ours. There were greetings of “Totua, totua, welcome, welcome.” Strong hands held the two

canoes together while I stood up and stepped from one small

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canoe into another, there off the shore of the Atlantic. It was as simple as that. I paid the canoeman and his son who had brought me thus far, and after farewells were exchanged, we resumed our

journey in a larger and faster craft. When we neared the village of Poe River Beach we could see the shore lined with friends to greet me. Many of the faces were familiar, but others were new and some I had forgotten in the lapse of three years since my last visit to this place of exquisite beauty and friendly people. There were more greetings of “nowana? How are you?” “Nafuwa? How is your body,” and “ahbesea Nyensawah, Praise the Lord!’’ How happy the people were as old and young, little children, dressed in less than minimum, and men and women in lappas and an interesting assortment of dress, danced up from the shore to the native house of

bamboo and wattle, where I was to sleep during my sojourn with them. Never was a missionary more royally received and treated. What a time of rejoicing we had in the service that evening. Who would not be a missionary? His service is joy unspeakable and full of glory: I have peace and joy and gladness in the service of the King.

PART TWO—CHAPTER

FIVE

African Leopards and Sin People of Africa love a story and a story-teller. There are many natives of Liberia who are very good story-tellers. Every evening, the year round, our hot tropical sun sets at a few minutes past six. This is because Liberia is so near to the Equator. We had our evening service at 7:30 every evening. After the service people would gather in front of the large house where I slept. It was a mud and wattle house, thatched with palm leaves for a good rain shedding roof. A bamboo chair would be placed for me and for some of the other men. Everyone else sat on the ground. Children were quiet and listened to the adults talking. At first the women spoke with one another in undertones, or whispered to each other of the day’s happenings, much as their sisters might do in the villages of Pennsylvania, Missouri or Great Britain. But there is a difference here, because this is Africa. The different customs cannot be understood unless one sees and observes them himself. In this tropical land women do much of the hard work. It is they who do the planting of the crops, and until the rice is harvested women must be out in the fields from sun up until sunset. They cannot take any chances on rice birds stealing the grain and causing their labours to be in vain. Women carry water and heavy supplies sometimes for long distances on their heads. Women prepare cassava and rice for their meals. These African women work hard. That was why when everyone was relaxed evenings at the visiting hour or story time, women and girls one

by one would lie down and go to sleep. It would not be long before most of the women and girls would be fast asleep. I enjoyed these pleasant evenings when the sun had set, the evening worship had ended, and all gathered round to enjoy the

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evening coolness after a scorching hot day; and to talk with one another. One man related the story well known in the Pillar of Fire village around Poe River Beach. Leopards are feared all over Africa. When a leopard is killed its skin will often be taken by someone to wear as a garment. Sometimes this will become the prorerty of a witch doctor or medicine man. The teeth of leopards are worn around the necks of those who worship spirits, to keep all evil spirits away. A tooth or sometimes more than one tooth is tied on a string and worn around the neck as a kind of magic charm. Jacob, one of our Kru tribesmen, told how people of his vil- | lage had killed the largest leopard they had ever seen. A leopard had been stealing their chickens. Jacob and the other men lost many of their hens to this wily creature. What could they do? Although their chickens are small (bantams) they are hardy and can forage for themselves and provide welcome eggs and meat to supplement meagre or inadequate diet. Jacob and the other men resolved on a plan. They built a strong pen for their hens of bamboo sticks and poles. They wove in strands of raffia that grows along the streams. Then they waited for Mr. Leopard. Many nights, no sign of leopard. Then at last he came. An alarm was given and the men were ready. They watched the leopard as he walked stealthily around that chicken pen. He would touch the bamboo with his paw or his nose, then back away. Finally he leapt inside and crawled under to get his supper-chicken. At that moment all the men with spears rushed out and surrounded the frightened animal. While Mr. Leopard was seeking a way of escape, many spears went home to their mark. The great animal fell, dead. He was big, he was beautiful, but he was a killer leopard. No one said: “What a beautiful leopard. What an exquisite coat he has! Poor animal, don’t kill him.” All were agreed that

Mr. Leopard was a killer and must therefore be killed, his beauty notwithstanding. If the people of Poe River Beach had failed to

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kill that leopard the day might have come when he would have killed one or more of the villagers themselves. There was one verdict, the leopard was a killer, and must therefore die. Sin, like

Mr. Leopard, creeps up and seeks an entrance into your heart. If he finds a way in he proceeds to destroy all that is good. Sin will destroy the life of every heart it enters if it is not properly dealt with. Sin will turn and rend you and destroy all that is good and pure in your life and mock you for your efforts at being good, or, to reform. Is there any hope? Yes, there is One, only One. Jesus died on the Cross to destroy sin. By trusting in His blood, your sins are forgiven, and your heart is cleansed from all sin. When you discover a sin in your heart you must confess it, and ask God’s Holy Spirit to destroy it. Sin is a killer and will destroy your life unless you confess sin, and make sure that it is properly destroyed by God’s Holy Spirit. Sin cannot be successfully suppressed. It will break out in all Satan’s wicked fury and rend and destroy all that is good, and beautiful and pure in your life. Will you pray:

Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole; I want Thee forever to live in my soul;

Break down every idol, cast out every foe; Now, wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

If you will seek God and His holiness with all your heart, He will answer your prayer. “For the Son of Man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them” (Luke 9:56).

PART TWO—CHAPTER

SIX

Moses Teh I met Moses Teh in the African jungle. He was the first man that I met in Africa who was able to give me definite information about our pastor and friend, John Potee. The Le Tourneau

missionary plane, with pilot Ken at the controls, had taken me from Monrovia to the Le Tourneau mission deep in the jungle of Liberia. I was most cordially received and entertained by Rev. and Mrs. Walter Knowles

and their two daughters, Carol and

Mary, and son, Stephen, who recently visited us at our London Headquarters. Rev. Knowles took me around to see Moses, who

is chief evangelist at the mission. It was Moses who told me that Pastor Potee was in a jungle village some 30 miles from there. He also told me that Pastor Potee is “a very reliable man.” This was most encouraging. Later, I was flown across the 30 or more miles of jungle to River Cess, and after a trek through the jungle on foot with Pastor Francis for my guide and interpreter, and little David to carry my pack, I finally met the pastors and many friends of our Pillar of Fire churches out there. Moses became a pastor in a large denomination in Africa, but he had never truly been born again. The members and others who attended his services practised juju, and polygamy was common among most of the men and unfaithfulness among almost all. As Moses was not truly Christian, he condoned these practices and never spoke against the sins of the flesh. For a time Moses left his church and community and went to another district. Here he came face to face with his own evil heart and hypocrisy. He repented, pled the blood of Jesus to cleanse him from all sin, and was marvellously changed. He was truly born again. With Moses, who had been preaching for years without knowing Christ as his own personal Saviour, it was indeed a miracle. He became a new creature in Christ Jesus. Moses went back to the church in the jungle where he had first preached. This time it was a new Moses and a new message. He

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preached that the people must give up their sins and be converted. He told them that they must repent. That juju was evil, that polygamy and fornication are wicked. But these sons of Belial would not hear his new message. The men of the village, with iron staves and wooden clubs, knocked Moses to the ground. They battered his face until it was a mass of raw flesh, then they took hot peppers and ground them into the mass of pulp that had been his face. But the God who stood by St. Paul at his many stonings and beatings did not desert this little giant of the Gospel of God’s saving grace. With God’s help he recovered and went forth again to preach the unsearchable riches of God’s grace. Eventually he was chosen to be the chief evangelist of the great Le Tourneau mission at Baffu Bay. But today Moses bears on his face the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ. Part of his nose is missing. His features are so greatly marred that one’s first feeling is one of shock, seeing such a disfigured countenance. But when one knows his story, one develops a special love for this

disciple of Christ, who refused to compromise with sin. What a rebuke this story of Moses is to so many of our prim and proper clergymen. They never drop an H and their grammar is flawless. Their dress is right and every hair is in place. They have studied psychology and they know how to make friends and influence people. They preach against the politicians, especially the foreign ones. They may even preach against Communism. But, preach against the sins of those in their congregation? Not likely! That sir, would not be using tact. One must never offend. So these classroom Christians go merrily on their way, sending their members, who seem to be the most concerned about their sins, to psychiatrists instead of interceding for them

before the throne of grace. Oh, the shame of it all. We sit in our easy chairs and over-

look the sins of the rich and influential. The drunkard and prostitute are spurned and written off as anti-social. God wants us, His messengers, to “Cry aloud, and spare not, lift up thy voice like a trumpet, and shew my people their transgressions . . .” (Isa. 58:1). He is inviting all to “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Yes, our God is merciful.

PART TWO—CHAPTER

SEVEN

How Much Is She Worth? No doubt there have been times when you have been tempted to sell your little girl to the first bidder, but then when it comes right down to it, you know you would not part with her; not even for a million dollars. In West Africa I learned that people feel quite differently about women and girls. A girl belongs to her parents until they sell her and get the full price. She can later be sold by the new owner, and woe to the girl or woman who refuses to go to the man or the woman who buys her. A girl is worth twelve dollars or more to her parents. Twelve dollars or one cow and one goat. Let us say that I have some girls; some that I have bought and some of my own flesh and blood. A young man comes along and I say to him: “Why you no marry?” The young man answers: “I no got money, I no got cow, I no got goat.” Here is where I come in with the shrewdness of Lucifer himself. “I have a girl that will make you a good wife. You take her and work for me until you can pay the bride price.” The young man agrees because this is the only means he has of getting a wife, since he has no money and no property. You may think from the sound of it that that is fair enough, He made the agreement and he should stick by it. But in actual fact, things are much more complicated than they would sound. Here is the rest of the story. The young man who buys the girl from me and agrees to work for me is virtually my slave until he pays me the full purchase price agreed upon. He must pay the full price even if it takes him ten, twenty or thirty years. If I die that does not release him of the debt, oh no. When I die, my daughters belong to my eldest son or my eldest brother, and he collects the full price. But what happens if the young woman dies? When a man’s wife dies

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there is always a wife or woman palaver held, usually at the house of the chief. The chief hears the case and invariably decides that the young man must pay the full price for the wife he bought even though she passed away the same year. I was sitting with my interpreter one evening after the evening service when a young man came up and introduced himself. After we shook hands and snapped fingers. he told me he had been that day to the funeral of his sister-in-law. He said: “There was a short palaver, but thank God there was no trouble.” My interpreter replied: That’s good, everything was paid up.” When the young man went away I asked my interpreter the meaning of the conversation. He explained that when a girl dies her father or brothers will often try to collect from the bereaved husband. If he cannot prove that he has paid in full the price of the girl who was his wife, he is ordered to pay. Happy is that man who can prove that he has paid. Now I can imagine that some women and girls will heave a sigh of relief and say: “ Thank God I was not born in Africa.” How much we owe to the Lord Jesus Christ. He has purchased us all with His own blood, and He has set us free from the bondage of sin and death. Under the heathen religions a woman is little more than a slave. The property of some other, she is not free to choose for herself. She must work, work, work and bear children. She must have lots of children. She must prove herself a good farm worker and a good provider. If she does not work hard enough she is kicked and thrashed plenty, plenty. Before we condemn those poor people in their blindness for such wicked practices let us ask ourselves a few pertinent questions. What have I done to help those who know no better, or to teach them a better way? Have I ever prayed for them? Have I ever given any of my time and money to help them? We cannot shrug our shoulders and say: “It’s nothing to do with me.” As

long as there are people who do not know the Lord Jesus Christ we have responsibility towards those people. Jesus commanded His disciples: “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to

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every creature” Mark 16:15. This command is still binding upon all who profess the name of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. If you cannot go, you may send. If you cannot be a missionary you may pray for those who are, and pray that the Lord of the harvest will send labourers into His harvest field. Our pastors are mostly first generation Christians. They need training. The people who attend these churches for the most part are in desperate need of the Gospel. Our Pastor Potee and his fellow pastors are begging for us to send them more missionaries. We must not fail them. Is there someone who will say: “I will go: or if I cannot go I will help to send someone else’? We can all pray. May God bless you, every one.

Rev. Wilbur Konkel

Sammy Morris was an uncouth, unlettered lad when the Lord spoke to him in the African jungle, but through God he was

able to do more for the cause of Christ than many who have had much greater talent and education. How was this possible? Sammy was completely emptied of self and filled and possessed with the Spirit of Christ. My prayer is that God will use this story of Sammy’s life to

bring others to the knowledge of Jesus Christ as Saviour and to inspire young men and women to dedicate their lives to the cause of Christ, and, like Sammy, be emptied of self and be

filled with all the fullness of God. I have been asked by a number of friends to put this story of Sammy and of our own work among the Kru and Bassa people of West Africa in book form. I have omitted many of my own experiences and articles that have been printed in various magazines and church papers to give first place to the inspiring story of Sammy Morris. I wish to thank Taylor University of Upland, Indiana for supplying me with the valuable material on Sammy Morris and permission to use it in this book. Bishop Konkel was Director of Pillar of Fire Mission: International from 1960 through 1992 when he was called home by his Saviour.

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