nights at a time, and on these occasions her only accommodation was a
mud hut and her only bed a bundle of filthy rags.

A larger venture was made at the instance of a chief named Okon, a
political refugee whom she knew. He had settled at a spot on the
western bank of the estuary, then called Ibaka, now James Town, and had
long urged her to pay the place a visit. It was only some thirty miles
away, but thirty miles to the African is more than two hundred to a
European, and Old Town was in a state of excitement for days before she
left. Nine A.M. was the hour fixed for departure, but Mary knew local
ways, and forenoon found her calmly cooking the dinner. The house was
crowded with visitors begging her to be careful, and threatening
vengeance if anything happened to their "Ma." At 6 P.M. came word that
all was ready, and, followed by a retinue comprising half the
population, she made her way to the beach. Women who were not
ordinarily permitted to be viewed by the public eye waited at every
yard to embrace hers and to charge all concerned to look well alter her
comfort.

A State canoe sent by the King lay at the water-side. It had been
repainted for the occasion in the gayest of colours, while thoughtful
hands had erected a little arch of matting to seclude her from the
paddlers and afford protection from the dew, and had arranged some
rice-bags as a couch. The pathos of the tribute touched her, and with a
smile and a word of thanks she stepped into her place and settled the
four house-children about the feet of the paddlers. More hours were
lost in one way or another. Darkness fell, and only the red gleam of
the torches lit up the scene. Alligators and snakes haunted the spot,
but she had no fear so long as the clamour of the crowd continued.