In the Heart of Africa: A Missionary's Journey

Charles Blair Banks was born 14 May 1857 in Edinburgh Parish, Midlothian, Scotland, the second youngest of eight children of George W. Banks and Janet Black. Charles’ father, George had a lucrative business as a shoemaker, employing six men, according to the 1851 Scotland Census. But he apparently was not very good with money because between 1856 and 1860 he appeared before the Edinburgh Bankruptcy Court five times. Then, in 1861 the court issued a warrant for his arrest for failure to appear.  The 1861 Scotland Census shows Janet living alone with her children, with her eldest son, John Alexander, listed as the head of the household, his occupation being listed as “classical tutor.” George was boarding with his brother and working as a journeyman boot maker. Charles was living with his mother’s sister, Agnes Black.  

On January 27, 1864, Charles’ mother passed away at the age of 46, followed six years later by his father on June 28,1870. After the loss of both parents, Charles and his siblings faced a period of upheaval, scattered among relatives and forced to grow up quickly.  In 1871 he was living with his sisters, Margaret and Jessie, and his younger brother, Francis, in Midlothian. But a year later, on January 15, 1872, he was taken in by his aunt, Janet Laws, who signed Charles and his brother Thomas into Indentured Apprenticeship in the Merchant Navy. Charles’ indenture was for 4 years and Thomas’ for 3 aboard the Stornoway, a British tea clipper under Captain J. Waugh. (The Stornoway would eventually wreck at the mouth of the Thames on June 7, 1873, under Capt. G. Greener.) In 19th century United Kingdom boys between the ages of 14 and 16 years were indentured, or bound by contract, to be an apprentice on merchant vessels for a fixed period of time to be trained as seamen for the merchant navy. These “training ships” were partially funded by the government to maintain a strong Royal Naval Reserve. The Stornoway was one of these training vessels, making voyages through the Mediterranean. 

Charles ended his indenture on February 25, 1876, at the age of 18, having served on the Stornoway, Marion, Valparaiso, Henrietta, Southern Cross, Cumberland, Ella, and Buda. On July 12, 1880, he applied for the position of 2nd Mate, making him third in command on the Buda. He was approved for this position on July 14, 1880. On January 22, 1881, he applied for and received his certification as Only Mate, placing him in command should the Master Mate (2nd behind the captain) be incapacitated. By this time, he had served five years at sea and had become an accomplished seaman. 

He followed the sea for about eleven years during which time, according to great-grandmother Emily, he sailed around the world seven times and was once shipwrecked in the treacherous Bay of Biscay.  It is said that his brothers eventually jumped ship in New Zealand.

After his baptism in 1882, Charles felt called to the mission field and he joined the American Baptist Mission Union (ABMU) who sent him to the Belgian Congo where he witnessed firsthand the urgent medical needs of the local people.

 In 1883 he returned to England to study medicine at the University of London. In 1885 Charles attended a religious meeting at Dame Agnes Weston’s Royal Sailors Rest in London with a friend, Jack Murphy. While there, Jack introduced him to a charming woman by the name of Fanny Tiptaft. At a later meeting he spotted Miss Tiptaft again and greeted her, but when she turned to him it was not Fanny but her twin sister Emily! “Sir,” she said, “I believe you have mistaken me for my sister!” His error was his good fortune, as their friendship turned into a courtship and they were married in Hackney, England on 30 Dec 1886. Emily, who had planned to serve as a missionary in China, found that the Lord’s plan was for her to accompany her new husband to Africa.

Charles and Emily left England April 30, 1887, to return to Africa, arriving at Wangata, Etat Independent du Congo many weeks later, on September 13, 1887, once again under the ABMU where they would serve for the next 13 years.

It was a most unusual honeymoon for the young, married couple. 

They first lived in Wangata, the most advanced station on the Upper Congo, in a native clay hut. The conditions of life there would have daunted any ordinary worker.  The unrest in the region was deeply challenging, and just then the difficulties of the position were accentuated by the fact that one of the chiefs of the place had recently been killed by the Belgians.  Ironically, their lack of military protection may have spared them, as it distinguished them from the Belgian forces 

When they landed in Wangata, the natives thought Emily was a ghost.  They had never seen a white woman before, and she was particularly fair and dressed in white.  They eventually accepted Emily and treated her with much reverence.  Her uniqueness inspired both awe and concern, and the villagers worried about her safety. Together, Charles and Emily began a life of service marked by resilience, faith, and a deep commitment to the people of the Congo.

The Banks soon moved the station to Bolengi, a few miles away.  For the next 12 years in Bolenge, with only one furlough, Charles faced every challenge head-on.  Though still unfamiliar with white women, the villagers were especially unsettled by Emily’s pale complexion and white attire…and they were suspicious and frightened of her. But Emily's tender ways toward them soon earned her the name "White Mama." They called Charles “Mondele”or ‘Banksisi” and believed him to be a great hunter due to his skill with his rifle when he would accompany the tribesmen hunting for game.

In the midst of building houses and planting all kinds of fruit trees, Charles translated Mark’s gospel, Romans, 1 and 2 Peter, 1, 2, and 3 John and Jude, as well as several songs, to the Lonkundo language. Emily taught the natives English while learning their native tongue and taught them to read.

 Crowds of villagers came to Charles seeking help with their ailments, with sleeping sickness being especially rampant. Of a hundred cases of hemorrhagic fever, he did not lose one. His experience in dealing with the disease was so appreciated back home in England that, only a few weeks before his death, the Journal of Tropical Medicine published a lengthy paper by him on the subject. 

Charles was an expert marksman and a skilled hunter.  If the natives were hungry, he would go out and shoot something for them to eat.  A group of men who had come with hostile intentions  saw him shoot a bird on the wing with his rifle from a moving canoe and let drop their spears.  “If that man’s stick looks at us, we are dead men,” they said. 

Charles and Emily welcomed their first child, Marguerite on September 13, 1888. The natives adored Marguerite, calling her Bona Owa Wangata—child of Wangata, and marveled at her whiteness and beauty. In June 1889, after a period of illness that would not seem to abate, Emily and Marguerite returned to England to her family while Charles remained behind on the Congo. It took her many months of care and treatment before she recovered enough to return to Charles and their work with the natives of the Congo. In 1890 she left Marguerite in the care of her parents and sisters and returned to Wangata. Upon meeting Charles, she found that he had built a home in the village of Bolenge, four miles down the river from Wangata. He built it by hand, surrounded it with gardens and cleared land, and even crafted her furniture.

After settling in Charles and Emily invited their tribespeople to come in and see the new “hut” that their Mondele had built for his wife. While the crowd milled about looking at this and that, a strange man entered the house and approached Emily, saying something to her that she did not understand. A young native woman was standing nearby and turned on the man saying, “How dare you talk to our White Woman in such words! Go away!” Later Emily found Charles at the top of the steps leading to the seven-foot veranda. The same stranger was coming up the steps and speaking to Charles. A hush came over the crowd, and the tanned face of their White Man turned pale. His hand shot out, and he took the intruder by the throat and shook him violently, then he kicked the man down the steps with his heavily booted foot. The man picked himself up and slunk away, and one of the natives asked Charles, “What would you do, White Man, if he had taken her?” Charles gave a look at his gun and made a gesture as if firing it, as his only reply. The crowd began murmuring, both inside and outside the house—it was just one word said repeatedly: “Ekila, Ekila, Ekila.” It meant forbidden, sacred. It was used to describe only things to be feared; thus, the White Woman was sacred and safe for all the years that followed. Emily never dared ask Charles what the man had said. Whatever it was remained a mystery—one Emily chose never to uncover.  The tribe was in awe of the love the White Man had for his White Woman. In the eyes of the villagers, the love between Charles and Emily was not just rare—it was sacred. And in that sacredness, they found protection, reverence, and a bond that would endure for years to come.

In March 1891 Charles and Emily welcomed their second child, Charles Sidney James Banks, to their family and then in May 1892 a second son, Alan Herbert. With Charles due for furlough, and both sons in fragile health, the family returned to England. Upon their return to London, they found their little Marguerite, in the care of Emily’s family, had grown into a lovely little girl. They went to North Weald on the East Coast of England to rest, as Charles and Emily were both worn down from recurrent attacks of fever. While there, a daughter Emmaline Frances, was born in August 1894.

Charles returned to Bolenge when his furlough was over, and when Emmaline was 8 months old Emily followed. They continued their work until their last child, Kenneth Alexander, was born in February 1898. Emily visited the villages one last time to say goodbye and then returned to England with Charles several months later after he prepared the mission for its successor. When he left Africa he knew it was for the last time as the hard life, fevers, and climate had taken their toll. He arrived home in May and spent the summer and autumn reacquainting himself with his children. Though distance had marked much of their early years, the children’s love for their father was fierce and unwavering.

Both Emily and Charles had suffered many fevers during their years in the Congo.  In December 1900 Charles took a train to London to seek the help of doctors, but they could give him no help.  On the train to Bournemouth, he slept by an open window and got a chill that brought on yet another fever.  On December 29, Charles passed away leaving Emily with five children, the oldest 12.  Knowing the end was near, he told a friend, "I long to go, I am so weary; but it does seem selfish to go away and leave Mrs. Banks alone with five children. I must get well to help her." But it was too late. Following 24 hours of unconsciousness, Charles Blair Banks died at the age of 43.

In the years that followed, Emily moved with her children to the United States where she lived in the vicinity of Portland, Oregon until her death at the age of 87.  


Charles Blair Banks lived a life of service, courage, and devotion—both to his mission and to his family. Though his years were few, his impact was lasting. Emily, steadfast and resilient, carried their legacy forward in a new land, raising their children with the same quiet strength that had once earned her the name “White Mama.” Their story, rooted in faith and sacrifice, continues to be told through generations.

 

 

Who Shot Ammon Grice?

Ammon Grice 1899-1958
Every family has its legends, stories of notorious family members who beat the odds, took part in a historical event, or made the headlines through some nefarious act. Sometimes the stories are true but most times the stories have been exaggerated with each telling through the generations until its more fiction than true. And my family is no exception. There's the story of Wyatt Earp, my 3rd cousin 4 times removed. There's Elizabeth Bathory, the famous Blood Countess of Hungary, my 9th great-grandmother. And there's Robert the Bruce, 32nd King of the Scots, my 21st great-grandfather. Each has historical accounts of their lives and the parts they played in history, but they also are embroidered with threads of fiction, making the historical accounts so much more fantastic than they probably really were.

While I was growing up the story that titillated my generation of cousins was the story of our great uncle Ammon Grice, our great-grandmother's baby brother. Shot to death when he was just 59, the story of his death took on many facades, the most common being that he was having an affair with a neighbor's wife and that the husband took his jealous revenge out on Uncle Ammon during a hunting trip in one of the local cherry orchards. Now, since his nephew (my paternal grandfather) was a well-known womanizer, it didn't seem too much of a stretch that this trait might have been passed down the family tree from Uncle Ammon. But there were other intriguing suggestions that had been made. He was the president of the local cherry growers' association and Blue Pack Canners. Was it possible he was killed because of his political position?

While my paternal grandmother was still living, at the age of 95, I was just getting involved in genealogy. My sister-in-law and I were visiting Grandma one afternoon when my sister-in-law, Sharon, suggested that we dig into the story and find out the truth about Uncle Ammon. My normally reserved grandmother got very upset and said, "Leave it alone!  It's in the past and it's done!  Do not go stirring up trouble!"  She was so upset that we promised we would leave it be, but now we were even more intrigued. What about this case would cause her to be that upset about finding the truth?  After she passed away, I could wait no longer. I wanted to know, who shot Uncle Ammon, and why?

AMMON SAMUEL GRICE

Larkin Grice and his wife, Martha and children: (Back) Nannie, Flora, Minnie, & Osie. (Front) Hattie & Rose. (Center) Ammon

Ammon Grice was the 7th child and only son of Larkin and Amanda Grice. Larkin and Amanda immigrated to Oregon from Roanoke, Virginia, in about 1890, settling in West Salem, Oregon. To say that Ammon was doted upon by his 6 older sisters would not be a gross exaggeration. The son of a successful farmer and pillar of their church and community, he participated in work and events that lent him respect and admiration as he grew into a young man. His family hosted annual Thanksgiving dinners for their entire  community, filling their home with young and old. He was said to have had an extraordinary singing voice, singing bass in the church choir as well as in his high school cadet band. He played baseball for Salem High School and was said to be able to "connect with the ball whenever it was within his reach."  And, as with the local farmers at that time, he helped in his father's orchards as well as with his neighbors' orchards during the harvest seasons.

Salem High School 1919
When Ammon was 19, he married his high school sweetheart, Florence May Keefe. They lived with Ammon's family on Orchard Heights Road in an area called "Chapman Corners" and continued to live there after the death of his mother three years later. They had a daughter, Irene, and both were involved with her education at Mountain View School, with Ammon serving on the school board. After the death of his father, he acquired his father's 200-acre farm and continued raising cherries and prunes as his father had. He was a member of the Marion County Farmers Union and served as their state president from 1942 to 1944, also serving on their executive board from 1948 through 1958. He was on the Blue Lake Co-op board of directors from 1944 through 1958 and was appointed by the State of Oregon to serve on a farm advisory council to the state employment service in 1948. Likewise, his wife was involved with the Orchard Heights Women’s Club, the Valley View Club, as well as the Mountain View PTA and the Popcorn Methodist Church.

 A HUNTING PARTY GONE WRONG

The morning of Tuesday, October 21, 1958, dawned partly cloudy with the promise of warmer than usual temperatures for that time of year. Rain was expected the following day, so the farmers of Chapman Corners decided it would be a good time to try and thin out the deer herds that had been causing so much damage to the prune and cherry trees. Ervin Simmon's orchards had been particularly plagued by the hungry deer, so it was decided to begin there. The party of eight included Ervin and his 24-year-old son, Wayne, their neighbor, Ammon, along with Glen Southwick and his hired hand 36-year-old David McGee. There were three other local farmers whose names I do not know but may have included Robert Adams, Mr. Schroeder and Mr. Doran, other neighboring farmers. The eight men trudged up Grice Hill along Winslow Gulch, spread out in the brushy back acres of the Simmon's farm to try and flush out the deer. According to Wayne[i], a shot suddenly rang out along with a yell. As the men all ran to where they had heard the shot, they found Ammon leaning against a tree, his octagon-barreled 0.32 caliber rifle on the ground at his side. "I've gone and accidentally shot myself!" he exclaimed. An ambulance was called and soon arrived, but the two attendants had to pack him out nearly a mile on a stretcher before they could take him to Salem General Hospital where he was admitted in critical condition. 

“Leading Salem Farmer Wounds Self While Hunting, Near Death.” The Capital Journal, 22 Oct. 1958, p 1.

When he was admitted, the doctors believed Ammon had somehow shot himself in the left abdomen with the bullet exiting his right hip, shattering his right elbow. On investigating the scene, State Police Sgt. Jim Darby was having difficulty understanding how Ammon could have fired his own gun to achieve the wounds he had. Could the shot have come from a different gun? On questioning the other hunters, Sgt. Darby asked David McGee if he had fired his gun. David replied that he didn't know if his gun had fired or not, but he had been on Ammon's right and it appeared the shot had come from the left.

Back at Salem General, surgeons found a 0.30-caliber bullet lodged just under the skin in Ammon's abdomen near what they had previously thought was the entrance wound. Based on his wounds they now determined that the shot had come from Ammon's right, hitting his right elbow first, then entering and shattering his right hip and lodging in his left abdomen. The velocity had left a hole in his abdomen the size of a baseball and his condition was grave.

Now that the determination had been made that the bullet had come from the right, Sgt. Darby suspected the shot had come from David McGee's gun. The bullet was sent to the Oregon State ballistics laboratory for verification.

On October 24, three days after he was shot, Ammon succumbed to the fatal bullet wound. An autopsy was performed which verified what the surgeons had already suspected. The ballistics report came back with the confirmation:  The shot had come from the rifle belonging to David McGee. David was arrested on charges of manslaughter. He was arraigned and held in the Polk County Jail with bail set at $5,000 (about $50,000 value in 2023). The following day, David's bail was paid, and he was allowed to return to Glen Southwick's residence and obtain an attorney before entering a plea.

DAVID MICHAEL MCGEE

In researching the man thought to have fired the fatal shot ending my Uncle Ammon's life, I only found one David Michael McGee in the Salem area in 1958. His birthdate corresponded with his age at the time of the shooting, as did his occupation. 

“David Michael McGee and his wife Lois.” Photo courtesy Kevn McGee, Ancestry.com
David was the fifth of seven children born to Richard and Theresa McGee. His mother was a member of the Calapooya Indian. U.S. Indian Census records indicate that he had at least a grade school education through the Salem Indian School, and US Federal Census Records indicate that he worked as a logger and a farm laborer. In 1957 he married Elois Durling in Washington State, and it is presumed they lived together at the residence of Glen Southwick. While available records are incomplete, it is speculated that this is indeed the David McGee who participated in the hunting party in October 1958. Based on my conversation with Wayne Simmons, David was well-liked by everyone, and like the other farmers in the area was always available to lend a hand when needed. His employer, Glen Southwick, had previously raised his own grandchildren, so perhaps he felt that taking in David and his wife was his way of being able to help them also get a start in their newlywed life.

On November 25, 1958, the Polk County Grand Jury indicted David Michael McGee on a charge of manslaughter, wanton disregard, and culpable negligence. He pleaded not guilty. Trial was set for February 2, 1959.

THE FINAL VERDICT

On the day of David's trial, the judge who had been scheduled to hear the case, Circuit Court Judge Arlie G. Walker, was absent. In his place Pro Tem Judge Fred McHenry of Corvallis, Oregon, was to hear the case. Before the trial began, David changed his plea to guilty, and Judge McHenry sentenced him to a suspended one-year sentence during which time he was not allowed to drive, use firearms, or leave the Salem area. 

David and Elois McGee continued to live and raise their family in Salem, Oregon. In August of 1973 at the age of 51, David stopped to help a stranded motorist near the Warm Springs Reservation. The vehicle exploded, and David was killed. 

A LEGEND LAID TO REST

For all the exaggeration in the telling of the story of the death of my Uncle Ammon, the final truth is that it was simply a very unfortunate accident. Ammon, wanting to shift any blame away from his neighbor's young farm hand, simply told everyone that he had accidentally shot himself. Court records indicate that David became startled at hearing the winter brush rattle and shot prematurely before verifying what he was shooting at, something he would have to live with the rest of his short life. It is likely also that Uncle Ammon was afraid of the prejudice resulting from an uneducated Indian shooting a prominent farmer in 1958. We will never know these finer details as they were laid to rest with both Ammon and David. For myself, I am glad to have ferreted out the truth and laid the legend to rest!

 



[i] Simmons, Wayne, personal interview. Dec. 2023.