Truly am I enthusiastic over our prospects in Africa. I believe that God is opening up to us a most wonderful opportunity. When world maps are changing, Europeans becoming very familiar with all other races (for I saw thousands of black troops in France) and the present war making men more cognizant of the conditions of other people and giving at the same time a sense of responsibility—I say should we not count these evidences of God’s hand as warning us to get ready for service?1
As if illustrating the spiritual vision he had shared with Moorland, when he landed in Mombasa Yergan wrote home with a fever of 102 degrees. Even so, he managed to convey much useful information to his Colored Work Department mentor. The inspired new arrival wrote that coming down with malaria was inevitable and reassured Moorland that it was “nothing to cause serious alarm.” Then he let his great friend know that he was chafing at the bit, longing to be back in the fray once more: “I am more than anxious to get out for there are at present ‘some where in Africa,’ some unusually bright opportunities to serve. You would be interested in knowing the details, but I cannot give them, for military reasons.”2
Three weeks later, Max wrote Moorland that on Thursday, November 16, he had sailed from Mombasa southward down the coast to Dar es Salaam, lately in German East Africa but now in Allied hands. By Saturday, November 25, he had had his initial chance to speak with “a group of Natives.” Yergan compared the setting to a Quaker meeting, though he conversed only briefly, since he had limited vernacular language skills, being unfamiliar with Kiswahili, the lingua franca of the coastal region, which he would have encountered in Mombasa earlier and to which all military field workers were gradually being introduced.3 Max did let Moorland know, however, that “once one gets these natives started they are keen for everything.” Adopting a relaxed, conversational tone, he then eagerly went on:
You would have been interested in an experience I had last week.
I gave a moving picture show to about three thousand men and boys, most of whom had never seen such before. Their expressions and ejaculations during the show were most fitting and gave evidence of their appreciative powers. Their day is coming.4
A month later Yergan waxed enthusiastic about reinforcements from the Caribbean, Western and Southern Africa, India, and the far reaches of Britain’s empire. But Max also reported having his hands full, ministering to a flock unfamiliar with Christianity. Detailing bouts of fever, insects, and venomous snakes, he prayed to elude illness. He described the situation graphically, in prose not meant for readers with squeamish hearts, recounting horrific scenes of battle:
Diseases are as destructive of life and perhaps, at present, more so than bullets. For this reason and many others we shall all be glad when the struggle here is over. Men are becoming so hardened by it. Life is so cheap that it sometimes seems useless to try to save it. Even now as I write I can hear the boom of cannon; stray bullets have pierced our tent in half a dozen places. As the men come in from the battle lines tired and wounded, swearing, drunk with blood, one realizes too clearly what a heartless thing it all is. One soon becomes accustomed to the stench of decayed bodies. Yes, one must handle half rotten human bodies. The sight of it will be with me forever. A few days ago I pulled a body out of the hot sands which had been there for days. Rats and vermin fall from the food which such a condition affords.… And yet out of all this there are occasions when one finds out that the big thing in life is not dead in the hearts of men. Last Sunday I saw big men who had just returned from killing other men weep when during the course of my talk they took the opportunity to reflect. Censorship prevents my writing more.5
Max wrote Moorland again, as the Christmas holidays approached. Exhausted, he confessed that “I need help badly.” Letting his dean know that he had “absolutely poured myself out trying to meet the needs of men in the camps,” Yergan added that “physically, I am far from myself. Yet there can be no let up for the needs of the troops are constantly increasing with the thousands of new ones coming in.” He went on to regale his tutor with news of a projected Sunday sabbath selection geared to rein in some three thousand souls. The spiritual value of the gathering and its attendant recreational activities was clear to Max. Profoundly moved, the younger man reported seeing a delegation that had journeyed a great distance “through the tropical sun to ask me to start something for them,” as he “silently prayed that God would hasten the men who are coming out from America to help,” noting that despite danger, “I shall be ever thankful to God that He gave me this opportunity.”6
By late February Moorland eagerly informed Yergan that two fellow African-American colleagues, Thomas H. Lloyd and Fred D. Ballou, had sailed on February 15 amid perilous seas, further noting that “they made a good impression upon all of us and upon the Committee in New York. They were carefully scrutinized, thoroughly examined, physical[ly] as well as otherwise and have so far, met the test. I am sure they will be a source of strength to you.”7 A fortnight later Moorland asked after them, expressing hope that Yergan would “find both of them willing to bear any burden which may be placed upon them.”8 Max then wrote Frank Sanders that he was “looking forward with joy to meeting the two men who are coming out from America to help in this particular work,” adding that he knew both of them, “having met them during my visits to their colleges.” He summed up his joy by saying, “Without question I feel that they should render good service. There is an opportunity here for service which none of us could afford to miss.”9
Thomas Hezekiah Lloyd, a Howard University–educated railway porter-fireman, and Frederick Douglass Ballou, a Knoxville College printer and a native of neighboring Richmond, Kentucky, proved great assets to the Y’s work. Ballou was an American Expeditionary Forces secretary. He, Yergan, and Lloyd were photographed with Major C. R. Webster, who wrote tersely but truthfully of the trio that “the men are doing admirable work among the African troops and carriers, especially in the hospital where these noble and devoted Christians bring a ray of divine light into the terrible wards.”10 By mid-July Philadelphia minister Robert S. Pritchett joined Max and company in Dar es Salaam.
Yergan’s experience in the field of battle produced letters that had the searing intensity of Goya’s sketches of the hideousness of war. He wrote of walking over rotting corpses, smelling the acrid stench of death, eating vermin-infested rations, and facing other horrors. These nightmarish visions and privations served to strengthen his faith in Christianity as a source of uplift and his posting to the East African war theater as a golden opportunity. Thus in his letter to Moorland describing his state of mind Yergan wrote the following:
In our work with the Natives, we are from the outset confronted by the strong claims of Islam upon those along the coast and in many and growing instances among those in the interior. However, through our work with the men and boys in hospital and through our efforts to prove ourselves friends to them in more ways than their Mohammedan brothers, we have managed to get the Christian message to large numbers of them. You can get an idea of the possibilities when I tell you that there are several large camps of Natives brought together for military purposes. In one close there are five thousand men and boys; while in a hospital and convalescent camp a few miles away there are always one thousand or more. I could quite profitably spend all of my time with these needy ones.11
For seven months in 1917, Herbert Stuart toured YMCA facilities in and around Dar on a visit to historic Tanganyika, commenting in passing on the American Negro secretaries he encountered holding games, leading Bible study classes, and managing educational work. Without mentioning names, English Y official Vernon Nash sketched a portrait of a black team leader strongly resembling Yergan. Employing the literary device of an officer called “Colonel Newcome,” Stuart described the hut scene this way:
Next, Colonel Newcome and the secretary motored some miles to see the five great camps of African troops and “carriers” and labour boys. These camps are looked after by another Negro secretary, who does e
ducational work besides similar work to what we have described elsewhere. This enormous African work is all done by one single Negro secretary, and Colonel Newcome was immediately impressed by it. He was told that on the cinema nights the amusement of the vast squatting hosts of spectators finds vent in shrieks and yells of laughter, as the cinema scenes are shewn. Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to wait to see the sight. These shows are given in a huge banda; the congregation are from every part of Africa. On a Sunday evening they meet to worship God, and that is still a greater sight. Colonel Newcome was pleased to hear that more American Negro secretaries are on their way across the ocean to help these two, who are so keenly carrying out their faith in daily service to the lowest of their brothers. The Commander-in-Chief himself urged the YMCA to send them.12
And it was not always the larger struggles that left an impression upon him. As much as he strove to contain and process the damage being done to his psyche from the events of the war, he also had to confront the day-to-day encounters that characterized the missionary life. One of these worked its way into a later fund-raising brochure. It was a tale based on an encounter between himself and a young African who, upon hearing him speak raised a question that would ring resoundingly in his ears for years afterward:
When I was through, I went outside and sat on the trunk of a tree. Presently one of our boys came out and said, “You say back in America you have schools and colleges and churches.… And you say you are literally our brothers and sisters, that the same blood which flows through you flows through us here. If that is the case, why have so many of you remained in America so long? Why are you alone here?”13
Nothing about this assignment was easy. Yergan’s mettle was being tested every day, along with his endurance, and whatever certitude he may have brought with him was also under siege. This is why faith was so vital to him in his effort to come to terms with the world of war-torn East Africa and his historical, racial, and present-day relationship to it.
Fortunately Max had his fellow Colored Work Department cronies to help him work through this, and from a distance he had Dean J. E. Moorland and Channing H. Tobias. Even so, the reality could not bear much resemblance to grandfather Frederick’s dream.
Nevertheless, others wrote the larger story of both Yergan and his fellow countrymen. Herbert Stuart stressed the spiritual value of the labors of the African-American auxiliaries working in British service. Of their contribution he offered this appreciation:
From the Christian point of view, this work is intensely valuable, for in these camps there are crowds of young Christian boys from their simple homes, who, without the help of these Negro YMCA men, would have none to understand or to care for their spirits or their minds during their exile from home. It is a hard life for them, plucked out of Christian influences and suddenly pitched into military life. In all Dar-es-Salaam these are the men who most need our help and love.14
Vernon Nash summed up the events of 1917, detailing scenarios in YMCA huts, tents, and camps in Dar and upcountry. He told of how Major Webster was incapacitated from July to August, only to be replaced by A. Perry Park, who was himself “invalided” to India in very short order. Nash also took time to devote special praise to someone else:
The most distinctive work of the YMCA in East Africa is probably that carried on among the King’s African Rifles and the natives of the Carrier and Labour Corps by five American coloured secretaries, led by an American Rhodes scholar. Three other Negroes are on their way from New York now, and the permanence of this work seems assured. Plans are already well matured for carrying on the work for Africans, not only for the garrisons of coloured troops, but among the civilian population after the close of the campaign. Chief credit for the growth of this work is given to Max Yergan, the first Negro to arrive in the field. He is a coloured secretary for the International Committee among the Negro colleges of America, and has just returned to his work there. He hopes to arouse the coloured churches, and particularly Christian students of the coloured race, in the United States to a sense of responsibility for Africa, and to return with a party to Africa within the next year.15
The duties of these black mentors may have seemed modest. They showed slides and films, led prayers, served meals, and ministered to the troubled, lonely, depressed, infirm, frightened, wounded, and dying. But their presence made a great difference. For Yergan and his colleagues, the experience of “an African return” was highly emotional. That fact, combined with the trying circumstances of war, made the experience that much more poignant. And it was as dangerous for them as for the carriers and troops whose needs they served. In March 1917, Yergan was evacuated to Bombay suffering from acute appendicitis.16
December 1, 1917, marked the end of Yergan’s British East African YMCA service. That same month, however, Moorland published an article in Crisis lionizing black troops. Glossing over their considerable race-specific privations, a matter of import to Crisis editor Dr. Du Bois, who received scores of complaints about the treatment meted out to Negro recruits, Moorland talked up the exploits of brown men in khaki, especially Max. Quoting E. C. Carter, Moorland retold Yergan’s heroic saga melodramatically:
Max Yergan, the youngest member of my staff, student secretary for the Southwest, graduate of Shaw University, only 25 years old, strong, courageous, devout, faithful in caring for every detail of responsibility entrusted to him, heard the call and went to India. Not a question was raised by our Committee regarding his race. The reports of his service to troops and of his splendid addresses at mission stations in India are most encouraging. After some months, at his own request, he went with a number of troops to British East Africa, where he had been serving East Indian, West Indian, British troops and South African troops and native troops from many parts of Africa. He suffered with fever, surrounded by every danger known to man in that region. He is now broken in health, and is on his way home; let his story be like that of Livingstone.17
His destination was stateside, where he looked forward to reuniting with family members and to getting some much-needed rest. Max was home just long enough to find himself wanted back in uniform in France, in American service, assisting in the demobilization of Black doughboys in Paris. February 1, 1918, thus marked the beginning of his overseas service in the city of light. Representing the Y’s War Work Council, he was a recruiting officer for Black workers.
On April 21, 1918, Max regaled Hampton Institute with tales of wartime East Africa’s trials.18 He left audience members enraptured as he told of his travails and his valiant comrades, their tragedies and triumphs, exhorting his hearers to do something meaningful in life. Not for the last time, he told of battlefield horrors, as they had made their mark on him like so many others who experienced combat, though few in an African theater. But he also shared with them a message of redemption and deliverance. Leaving behind rows of admiring students, in May he returned to post, now in France.
One day, in September 1918, back in East Africa, where a few of his fellow African-American compatriots remained, Fred D. Ballou fell overboard into the Indian Ocean; his buddy, R. S. Pritchett, vainly attempting to rescue him, drowned along with his countryman. The recovered remains of both men were interred in Upanga Cemetery in Dar es Salaam.19 News of their tragic loss would be recalled for years afterward.
The Negro troops’ herculean effort almost instantly became the stuff of “Colored YMCA” legend. This is how their sacrifices were commemorated in one official record:
The troops engaged in East Africa were by no means so numerous as in most other fields, but there was a pathos in the suffering of the ignorant African peoples, in their perplexity and confusion which was unsurpassed. Members of the colored Associations here in America responded to the needs of these Africans, and 7 American Negro secretaries were sent out to serve especially with the porters attached to the British forces. En route, two of these men were shipwrecked but rescued. Again, two of the seven were drowned, near Dar es Salaam, 1 came back s
o shaken by fever that he has not yet fully recovered. Of the seven, only two came back but little the worse in health for their experience. Among men whose life was reduced to its elements—where the great question of the day was whether a man might eat or go hungry, or whether he might have the comparative comfort of a single blanket against one midnight drill, luxuries do not come into consideration; but the secretary, who went about among the sick bringing scriptural comfort to those who knew something of the Bible through mission teaching, and helping in any way possible those who were in need, experienced a reward of gratitude which made life itself seem a small thing to exchange for such an opportunity.20
At the conclusion of his East African service Moorland himself used the pages of Crisis to elevate Yergan’s stature to that of a missionary race hero.
Last Christmas he went from hospital to hospital in his little Ford machine in the spirit of Christ—sometimes near the coast, sometimes far in the interior under the shelter of Kilima-Njaro, the tallest mountain in Africa, the summit of which is covered with eternal snow. Many nights he was without shelter, with small quantities of unhealthful food—yet the ring of his letters never showed any sign of dissatisfaction with the discomforts, but joy at the privilege of service.21
In the Christian Herald, an interdenominational paper based in the United Kingdom, Torrey Stearns also lionized the African-derived Max as a “missionary to his own people.” Borrowing generously from official YMCA prose, he painted Yergan as a humanitarian hero in the Livingstonian mold, soon to become a familiar analogy for him:
There is a bright and encouraging side to this picture. These men are being irresistibly swept into wider and higher realms of thinking and living. They are learning to understand and appreciate each other. They are learning the dignity and usefulness of labor and the joys of unselfish service. The spirit and principles of Jesus Christ implanted in the lives of these men will be scattered far and wide as an answer to Living-stone’s dying prayer.22
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