HOW MAGIC IS ACCEPTED IN NIGERIA.
ALTHOUGH from time, to time I have numbered amongst my customers many so called native "witch doctors," I have never experienced the pleasure--for a pleasure it undoubtedly is--of performing before natives in their own country. Dr. A. E. Neale, who is perhaps, the finest amateur conjurer in England, has told me of a most amusing experience which he had with an African audience.
Dr. Neale had been sent out to the West Coast on Government work in connection with the public health of the colony. Soon after his arrival, he was asked to give a performance in aid of a local charity, and this he readily agreed to do.
The show was well advertised, and an hour before the performance was due to begin, the little public hall was crowded with negroes of every class and condition. Most of the best seats had been booked for a prince, who attended with his full harem of forty wives. Then came the better class natives who wore top hats, shirts--no trousers, mark you--and spats, not to forget the little whangee that it's the ambition of most natives to possess. Last but not least, came the "mob" consisting of those natives whose uniform was the ubiquitous top hat, shirt, stick--but not spats!
At the beginning of the performance Dr. Neale created a mild sensation by borrowing the prince's turban, cutting it in two, apparently burning it, and restoring it to the owner in an undamaged condition. For his next trick, Dr. Neale asked if he could borrow a top hat from one of the audience.
To his surprise, he noticed that the natives grasped their hats firmly by the rims, and held them down to the ground.
"Come," he said, approaching to the front of the stage. "I promise to return any hat that I borrow quite undamaged." But there was no response.
At last he was compelled to beckon to a huge fellow with a face as black as ebony, who was sitting in the front of the hall.
"Come on, Jim," he invited. "Come and sit on the, platform. I shall need your help for my next illusion."
After a good deal of persuasion, the negro reluctantly made his way to the platform.
"Now," said Dr. Neale with a winning smile, "let me borrow your hat."
"No, massa," was the hasty reply. "Not ma hat. Dis am ma best one. Yo' can't hab dis."
"But I give you my word of honour I will give it back to you quite undamaged, or buy you a brand new one."
At these words Jim appeared to be less obstinate, and eventually handed over his hat. But his eyes opened wide as he followed the conjurer's movements. Without the slightest hesitation, Dr. Neale broke two eggs and poured the yolks into the hat. He then proceeded to add flour and spirits of wine before beating the mixture with a wooden spoon. Lastly, he took a match and set the sticky mass alight.
Jim's anxiety was most pitiable.
"Massa, Massa," he cried. "Yo' gone done ruined ma hat. Yo' set um alight wid de mess. Oh, ma hat, ma hat!"
Dr. Neale attempted to comfort the negro by assuring him that his hat was entirely undamaged, and would be restored to him in due course. But Jim took little notice. He pressed his hands to his ears and rocked his head dismally to and fro. "Ma hat! Ma hat!" he cried.
The poor fellow's discomfort was a source of great delight to the rest of the audience. They screamed and hooted, jeered and shouted. "Jim yo' is one big fool. Yo' hat am sure finished," they yelled.
The hubbub only ceased when Dr. Neale produced a beautiful home-made cake from the interior of the hat. Jim stared in wonderment, and then snatched hastily at his headwear to see what damage had been caused. As Dr. Neale had promised, it was entirely unharmed.
The conjurer then proceeded to cut the cake into several small portions, one of which he offered to his unwilling assistant. Jim took it, but shook his head sadly when assured that it was quite eatable.
"No can cat dis, Doc," he said. "Dis am magic cake. And dese here ain't currants, deys pieces of cloth."
"Rubbish," said the doctor. "Of course you can eat it. It's just an ordinary cake. You've seen me make it yourself."
"Ah'll tell, you in de morning whether it am magic or not," said the negro, regarding his slice with suspicion. And no amount of persuasion on the conjurer's part could induce the bewildered Jim to take a mouthful of the cake.
On the following day, Dr. Neale met Jim in the main street of the town.
"Yo's right, doc," said the negro. "Dat was no magic cake, it sure was fine to eat."
"Of course it was. But what made you change your mind?"
Jim explained. His test had been simple but effective. When he had reached home the previous night, he placed the cake under his pillow. In the morning, he had observed a stream of ants going to and from the doorway to his bed. On lifting up the pillow, he discovered the cake swarming with the insects, and without hesitation, had placed it in his mouth--ants and all.
"If ant eat dat cake so can Jim. Yo' can no fool ants," he explained, grinning from ear to ear.