AMONG CONGO CANNIBALS

Boloki Man and his Wife
Notice the cicatrice on the man’s forehead and on the woman’s stomach. The brass ring round her neck in some cases weighs as much as 28 lbs. In her hand she is holding a paddle.

AMONG

CONGO CANNIBALS

EXPERIENCES, IMPRESSIONS, AND ADVENTURES

DURING A THIRTY YEARS’ SOJOURN AMONGST

THE BOLOKI AND OTHER CONGO TRIBES

WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THEIR

CURIOUS HABITS, CUSTOMS

RELIGION, & LAWS

BY

JOHN H. WEEKS

CORRESPONDENT TO THE ROYAL ANTHROPOLOGICAL INSTITUTE AND TO

THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY

AUTHOR OF “CONGO LIFE AND FOLK-LORE,” &C. &C.

WITH 54 ILLUSTRATIONS & A MAP

PHILADELPHIA

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

LONDON: SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. Ltd.

1913

PREFACE

The object of the author throughout these pages has been to give an account of his experiences among the Boloki (or Bangala), and a description of the manners, habits, customs, etc., of this interesting people amidst whom he lived in closest intimacy as a missionary. The author went to the Congo in 1881, hence his residence in what has been aptly called “Darkest Africa” covers a period of thirty years—fifteen of which were spent in other parts of the Congo, and fifteen amongst the Boloki people. These pages, however, are not a record of missionary life and work, but a description of primitive life and native organizations, of African mythology, superstition, and witchcraft, and of barbarities that are the natural outcome of the native’s view of life.

The writer, from the very first days of his life amongst the Boloki folk, kept extensive and careful notes of all that he saw and heard around him. The anthropology and folk-lore of the people have always been interesting subjects to him; and while reducing the language to writing, a task which demanded a clear understanding of the various words in use and the customs which they often describe, he was gaining an insight into the native life and mode of thought only vouchsafed to those who have won the confidence of a savage people, and are living in close and sympathetic touch with them.

The author has no particular anthropological axe to grind, but has tried to give in plain language what he has seen and heard, leaving to the reader the pleasure of forming his own theories. The reader of these pages may rest assured that nothing is exaggerated or overcoloured. Had the writer wished he could have described the appalling corruption of native morals, the lack of innocency even among the very young, the absence of virtue among the women, and the bestiality existing among the men. One often felt the need of a moral bath to cleanse away the filth. An intimate knowledge of the natives impresses one with this fact: that the golden age has not yet dawned for them; and that the unsophisticated savage living a dolce far niente existence in happy surroundings has not yet been discovered on the Congo.

Had this been a book dealing with missionary effort among the Boloki, the author would have made due mention of the honoured colleagues who so unstintingly shared his labours at Monsembe; but as it is an account of the people themselves, their customs, habits, etc., this must be his apology for an omission that is due not to forgetfulness of happy years of comradeship, spent amid many perils and hardships, but simply to the limited scope of the narrative.

The author is much indebted to the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland for permission to use his articles printed by them in their Journal; and for a similar kindness extended to him by the Council of the Folk-Lore Society. His best thanks are also due to his former colleagues, the Revs. C. J. Dodds and R. H. Kirkland, for their ready permission to use the photographs bearing their names; to Prof. F. Starr, of Chicago University, for permitting the cats’ cradles to be reproduced from the Proceedings of the Davenport Academy of Sciences; and to Baron Haulleville, Directeur du Musée du Congo Belge, for permission to reproduce here the plates of some of the Congo Fish which were made from specimens collected by the author. To A. R. Wright, Esq., Editor of Folk-Lore, and to the publishers’ Reader, the writer tenders his hearty thanks for useful criticisms and helpful suggestions.

John H. Weeks.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

APPENDIX

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AMONG

CONGO CANNIBALS

INTRODUCTION

When living at San Salvador, in what is now known as the Portuguese Congo, in the early eighties of last century, the writer frequently conversed with the natives about the inhabitants of the far interior who occupied the banks of the Great Congo River and its tributaries. The San Salvador folk assured him that the natives of the mysterious hinterland were “half fish and half human”; that “from the navel upwards they were human, and downwards they were fish.” No arguments would alter their opinion, and no amount of good-natured raillery would shift them from their position; and they generally clinched the matter by saying: “You have never seen these people; but some of our grandfathers saw them, and told our fathers about them.”

One night this general belief that up-river folk were “half fish and half human,” received a severe shock from which, I think, it never recovered. A caravan that had been trading towards Stanley Pool returned to San Salvador bringing with it a slave woman from far up the river. About midnight I was aroused to go and see this woman. No one understood her language; but she was making vigorous signs, and her owner was not sure whether the gestures indicated hunger, fatigue, or illness; so there was nothing for it but to “call the white man to interpret the signs,” or, perchance to talk with her, “for these white men know everything, therefore let us send for one residing in our town.”

On arriving at the hut we saw, by the flickering blaze of the fire, a fine, well-proportioned woman of splendid physique. Her hair was arranged in a coiffure, coloured, stiffened, and kept in shape by being plastered with palm-oil, and the powder of burnt pea-nuts, or soot. It looked as though she wore a shining black fez on her head, slightly tilted backwards. She was probably a Bambala, or a Kiteke woman of that branch of the tribe that lived behind the riverine folk three hundred miles above Stanley Pool.

The signs were interpreted as denoting some stomach trouble, and after a little medicine had been given we heard no more about it. During the short time she remained in the town she was the observed of all observers—a curiosity from afar; but her appearance killed once for all “the half human and half fish” theory the San Salvador natives had so fondly held respecting the inhabitants of the Upper Congo.

When in later years I went to live among the Bangalas on the Upper River, I found that they held as strange theories about the remoter peoples higher up, or north and south of them. They would tell of monsters down south whose chief was a woman[^[1]] with a white skin that shone so fiercely that the eyes of those who looked on her were scorched; or of people away north who lived in trees and ate raw flesh, etc., because they did not know how to make a fire; or of folk far away in the watery west who lived half their time in the water and had webbed feet like ducks. It would seem as though folk of all climes, of all ages, and of all degrees of civilization have amused themselves by peopling unknown regions with mythical monsters—Cyclops, men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders, centaurs, mermaids, etc., and that even the savages of barbarous Africa beguiled the long evenings around their fires by conjuring up freaks in nature, like the more learned ancients, to inhabit the countries beyond their ken.

[1]. Had the fact that some portions of South Africa were governed by a woman—Queen Victoria—filtered through the tribes in this distorted fashion?

There is another peculiarity of the natives, worthy, perhaps, of notice in this connection: those who live on the coast always refer to the hinterland folk in contemptuous terms as “bush-people,” i.e. ignorant, dull, slow in the up-take, or as we say, country yokels, clod-hoppers. When you arrive in the hinterland you find that dwellers in the large towns speak of those who live in the villages and hamlets as “bush-people,” and they put into their tones such contempt that one is surprised to find that they belong to the same tribe and speak the same language.

Arriving on the Upper River you find also that all riverine peoples speak of the interior folk—those living away from the river—as “bush-people,” and utterly beneath their notice. There is no more opprobrious phrase that can be flung at a native than to call him a “bush-man” in a language that he understands. He will resent it, and if there is the slightest chance of success he will fight over it.

In June, 1890, after having lived on the Lower Congo at San Salvador and Matadi for nine years, I started for the Upper Congo for the purpose of seeking out a new site for missionary effort amongst the natives of a new tribe and language. Between the last navigable point on the Lower Congo, Matadi, and the commencement of the navigable water on the Upper Congo, Stanley Pool, there were 240 miles of very bad, rough road.

Since those days a Belgian company has built a narrow-gauge railway running between Matadi and Stanley Pool. I cannot pay too high a tribute to the splendid courage, persistency and engineering skill exhibited by the Belgians who surveyed the land for the lines at the cost of many lives; and built the railway, conquering immense difficulties, and thus achieving for themselves a great and deserved financial success. If the Congo Free State had sent men of the same kind and class to govern the country that the railway company sent, and are sending, to build and control the railway, we should never have heard about the terrible atrocities that have taken place, nor should we have heard of mal-administration, cruel oppression, and the mutilation of wretched, unprotected natives.

The railway officials treat their native employees honourably and honestly; and although hundreds of our native Christians work on the railway as stokers, guards, brakesmen, storekeepers, and stationmasters, I have never heard a single complaint from them against their white masters. They have to work hard, but they are treated justly, and they are sure of their pay; and our native Christians are always ready to sign contracts with the railway authorities for one or more years.

In the early eighties the road from Matadi to Stanley Pool was thickly populated, and every hour or two brought the traveller to a large, decently-kept town; but in 1890 the people were mostly gone, and the few villages left on that long stretch of road were small and neglected, and the few remaining people had a wretched, poverty-stricken appearance. Why this change?

In the meantime the country had become the possession of the African International Association, which quickly changed into the Congo Free State with King Leopold II of Belgium as its ruler. Zanzibaris were imported during this period, armed with rifles, and sent up-country to found and occupy the State stations on the Upper Congo. These soldiers no doubt were liberally provided with brass rods to buy native food on their march to Stanley Pool; but they found a people practically unarmed, for what were flint-lock guns in the hands of natives—who depended more on the magic of their “medicine men” for straight shooting than on the accuracy of their aim—against weapons of precision in the hands of a trained and unscrupulous soldiery such as were the Zanzibaris? The results were constant raiding on the part of the Zanzibaris; looting of unprotected native huts; taking twenty rods’ worth of food and throwing down only two or three rods in payment; and often when there was a white officer in charge, and he was appealed to, no redress was obtained by the defrauded native, nor punishment meted out to the offender; but frequently the accuser was beaten from the white man’s presence, thus adding physical suffering and insult to the loss of goods.

There is a probability that the natives were turbulent and swaggering in their attitude; but it was not until after the first outrages had been committed by the Zanzibaris that the natives retaliated on every favourable occasion. From what I know of the folk from thirty years’ experience of them, I feel sure they were not the first aggressors—they had, and still have, too wholesome a fear of rifles to be that. It was only when they had been treated like rats, having no rights in their own country, that at last, like rats, they turned at bay with hearts inflamed by hatred and revenge. But flint-lock guns could not compete with rifles; and small, untrained bodies of men lacking leaders and cohesion could not contend against drilled soldiers who fired bullets that penetrated two or three men, so there was nothing for them but to leave their towns on the road, and build away in the forests and valleys at some distance from the main track running through the country.

Hence what was once a populous trade route, humming with life in the early eighties, had become by 1890 a desolate track that by its lack of people disappointed the new-comer, who in Europe had heard of the teeming millions of the Congo, but could not now in 240 miles of road find enough people to fill a decent-sized English village. “Where are the people?” was the frequent question on his lips.

“They have left the trade route, and have rebuilt their towns and villages in the woods, the valleys, and the bush-lands for peace and security,” was the repeated answer.

“Why?” was invariably the next question.

“Because the land was cursed with a plague of rascally Zanzibaris, and irresponsible white men who feared their soldiers more than they feared God, and who acted unjustly in their dealings with the people.”

Lest some of my readers should think that I am unduly prejudiced in the above statements of what took place on the Stanley Pool road, let me give the history of another trade route in practically the same part of the Congo along which people of the same tribe and language lived, and for the same period of time, viz. 1878-1890.

The pioneers of our Mission in 1878 penetrated the interior from Musuku, which is about fifteen miles below Matadi, and used that place as a base for nearly five years. In 1883 a better site for their purpose was found on the top of the hill at Tunduwa (about three miles below Matadi). Our early pioneers[^[2]] found the road between Musuku and San Salvador well populated with hospitable people, with plenty of food, so that there was no need to take rations for men, and very little provisions for themselves, and towns were so numerous that a tent was unnecessary.

[2]. Messrs. Comber, Bentley, Crudgington, Hartland, and Grenfell.

When we removed our base to Tunduwa the traveller to San Salvador dropped down to Noki in a boat, and in two or three hours from Noki he joined the Musuku to San Salvador route. It was generally a five-days’ journey.

When I left Musuku in January, 1882, for San Salvador, I found just what my predecessors had found—plenty of villages, abundance of supplies (fowls, eggs, goats, vegetables, native bread, etc.), and a hospitable people ever ready to lend us a house in which to pass the night; and for all the eight years I knew the road intimately, and traversed it, the supply of food, the number of villages, and the kindliness of the people remained the same. Yet during that time there was an increase of traffic on the road, for our transport grew as our Mission extended; and in the meantime two trading factories—one French and the other Portuguese—were started and maintained in San Salvador, necessitating a greater number of carriers on the road.

Photo by: Rev. A. Billington
A Meal “en route”
The carriers, tired with a four hours’ journey, on coming to a resting-place, drop their loads and stretch themselves for a good rest. The personal lads prepare a meal, and as there is a white lady in the party a white table-cloth is spread over the rough table in her honour.

Photo by: Rev. C. F. Dodds
A New Type of Native House
These large, airy wattle and daub houses are taking the place of the old-style grass huts that were formerly the usual structures throughout the district. They are more healthy, clean, and comfortable.

What made the striking difference between the two routes—depopulation and poverty on the one, continued prosperity on the other? I have already given the causes for the wretchedness and desolation found on the road to Stanley Pool in 1890 and the succeeding years; now let me state, clearly and briefly, the reasons for the flourishing condition of the San Salvador road. The men used for the transport service on the latter route were natives of San Salvador and district, Kroo boys and Loangos, they travelled unarmed, they bought their food, and so long as they observed the well-known courtesies of the road they moved freely and were unmolested. The carriers thus behaving themselves en route, the natives treated them fairly, and often supplied them with water—a by no means trifling kindness in a country where there are no water-taps in the houses, and the refreshing drink has often to be carried a mile or more.

The inhabitants of the various villages knew that if they overcharged the porters, were extortionate in their demands, and surly in their conduct, the carriers would give them a wide berth and, by making a detour, leave them severely alone; and thus a regular source of their village’s wealth would be cut off. Besides, the natives are fond of social intercourse, giving and receiving news, and these men who passed constantly to and fro between the centre of native life at San Salvador and the outside world as represented by the trading stations on the river, were always full of interesting news, and to turn them aside from a village by outrageous conduct was equal to cutting themselves off from the world, stopping as it were the daily papers and the weekly budgets. This was unthinkable, for natives are sociable folk and like to keep in touch with their fellows.

When any serious cases of dispute arose between the carriers and the natives on the road, they were brought to us at San Salvador, and we settled them impartially, justly, and amicably to the satisfaction of the parties concerned.

The natives who lived near the large rivers that were impassable by fording during the rainy season, built bridges across them, and kept them in repair. We white men at San Salvador acknowledged our indebtedness for this service by paying an understood sum in barter goods—the traders paying a much larger amount than the Missions[^[3]] because their transport was heavier—when we heard they had completed the bridges. It was no easy task to make these bridges long and strong enough, considering the materials and tools the workmen had at their disposal; but it meant for us that the road for our cases, bales, and mails was open all the year round, and also that our carriers and goods ran no risks from swollen, swirling rivers.

[3]. The Portuguese Roman Catholic Mission settled at San Salvador a year or more after we had begun our Mission.

It will be seen from the above that the natives on the San Salvador road were treated very differently from those on the other trade route under consideration, consequently the villagers of the former maintained the food supply, retained their character for hospitality, and continued to live and thrive on the transport line; while the people on the Stanley Pool route left the track, and starvation, depopulation, and desolation were the results. The Congo natives have a keen sense of justice, and they appreciate straight and honest dealing.

It was my first intention to add a chapter on the results of the Congo Free State’s régime. I refrain, however, from doing so, but desire to touch upon the subject in a few short paragraphs. The charges brought against the Congo Free State during recent years have, unfortunately for the natives, been proved too true. More than that, they were worse than could ever be published in the daily Press, for no self-respecting editor could, or would, have printed in his paper the outrageous and abominable details that were brought to light by those who were living in the midst of them.

We hope, and we trust not in vain, that by the accession of King Albert and his gracious consort, Queen Elizabeth, to the throne of Belgium a better day is dawning for the poor, oppressed and downtrodden natives of the Congo; and the news that has come to us from the reformed part of the Congo indicates greatly improved conditions.

It is tacitly understood just now that we should give the Belgian State an opportunity of carrying out its reforms; and although the agitation is not being prosecuted with its former activity, that does not mean that we are to relax our former vigilance, nor shall we do so until the natives enjoy those rights which are their proper heritage in their own country.

We missionaries are neither ashamed nor repentant, and never will be, of the humanitarian part we played in bringing to light the enormities that came to our notice. We had given up home, the comforts of civilization and, rightly or wrongly, we had devoted our lives to the amelioration of the natives, and we could not as men, as Englishmen, as Christian men, stand by and see those natives, for whom we had given up all, slowly oppressed to death for the sake of a clique of men in Europe who were in a hurry to get rich.

I was among the first to raise my voice against the horrible conditions that prevailed until recently in many parts of the Congo, and my mode of procedure was this: I sent my letter of protest, first to the “Commissaire” of my district; if no investigation into the charges was made, then I forwarded a copy of the letter to the Governor-General at Boma, and then, if after waiting the necessary length of time there was neither inquiry nor redress, the letter, with all particulars, was posted to Mr. Morel for publication in the English Press as the last resort. The State itself forced us to appeal to the public.

The Commission of Inquiry selected by King Leopold himself exonerated us from all blame and thanked us for the part we had taken in the agitation, for on investigation we were able to prove to the very hilt every charge we had brought against the administration of the now defunct Congo Free State. It is too late in the day for travellers to deny that atrocities were committed because natives do not talk to them about such things. Let such travellers thoroughly learn the language of the people and gain their confidence and then listen to their story.

The native does not wear his heart on his sleeve for every crow to peck at, and when he sees a white man, here to-day and gone to-morrow, who knows little or nothing of his language, hob-nobbing with State officials, he is not going to pour out his heart to such and tell what he has suffered at the hands of the traveller’s white friends.

What the Congo needs is a Government not seeking to enrich itself to-day, but with visions of a colony the inhabitants of which, in days to come, shall rise up and call it blessed; it needs civil officers swayed by honourable principles, and controlled by pure, conscientious motives that shall administer impartially righteous laws; it needs traders who shall deal fairly by the people (and some of them do that, we are glad to say), who will exchange the wares, the civilized conveniences (not fiery spirits) of Europe for the labour and produce of the natives as a further incentive for them to work, travel, and trade; it needs the agriculturist to introduce better methods of cultivating the soil and fostering the resources of the country; it needs the mechanic to teach various trades and industries; the educationalist and the Christian teacher to cultivate the mental and spiritual side of the natives—these all working harmoniously together, no one class sneering at the other, no one arrogating to himself the work of another, but respecting each other and co-operating for the uplifting, civilizing, and Christianizing of the Congo people. We shall then see a people not cursing the white man, but blessing him; not cringing before the white master in grovelling fear and hearts bursting with hatred, but standing erect as God intends men to stand; and not downtrodden and oppressed, their lives a misery to them, but free and happy with the joy of life pulsating through their veins.

CHAPTER I
IN SEARCH OF A NEW SITE

Peace—Bangala tribe—Panic in Bungundu towns—People become friendly—Driven away from Bokomela—Fierce and revengeful natives—Revisit Bokomela—A cordial welcome—Reason for warlike attitude—Shooting a native for a wager—Monsembe district—Bumba people stand to defend their women and children—Quietness dispels their fears.

During the early days of July, 1890, we were busy at Bolobo station, preparing for our long journey up-river in search of a new site for a mission station. The steamer Peace, a vessel 70 feet long by 10 feet 6 inches wide, and of very shallow draught, was placed at our disposal. The Rev. W. H. Stapleton, who had just arrived from England, was appointed to be my colleague; and as Mr. Silas Field had charge of the steamer and crew we were without responsibility respecting them, and were free to land at every available place and investigate its suitability as a centre for our work.

At this time the Baptist Missionary Society had three stations on the Upper Congo—one at Bolobo, about 200 miles above Stanley Pool, another at Lukolele, a little over 100 miles farther on, and the third at Bopoto, more than 400 miles beyond Lukolele, or 700 miles from Stanley Pool. It was thought desirable to plant a station among the Bangalas at a point somewhere midway between Lukolele and Bopoto, and thus occupy a part of that great unevangelized district inhabited by one of the finest tribes on the Congo.

The Bangalas were reported to be a strong, warlike, cannibal tribe of fierce habits, cruel customs, and independent spirit. They would demand patience, tact, and the facing of many dangers from those who, without arms and soldiers, went to live among them. Still, such splendid men were worth winning to better ways, notwithstanding the many possible risks to be encountered in the work. As savages they were feared by surrounding tribes, and if won to Christianity their indomitable courage warranted us in hoping they would become the intrepid heralds of their new faith.

By July 11th we had packed on board our little steamer the nails, provisions, tools, barter goods, and medicines that could be collected for our new project. A better outfit would have been welcome; but we thought it was wiser to start with what we could get together than to wait an indefinite period for larger supplies.

Two days after leaving Bolobo we arrived at Lukolele, and in due time Lulanga was reached. Lulanga was a large town at the mouth of the Lulongo River, a fine tributary of the Congo. There our search began. It took us fifty minutes to walk through the town, the houses of which were built closely together. We estimated the population at 3000 people. There was then less than a mile of bush, and another town of over 1000 inhabitants, and about an hour’s walk back from the river were other clumps of villages containing, we were informed, more than 2000 persons. It was a good centre for our purpose; but the Congo Bololo Mission had established some stations up the Lulongo River, and after consulting with their senior missionary at Bonginda (30 miles up the Lulongo), we decided that the town at the mouth of the river they were working should really be their base of operations, and as they promised to occupy it, if we did not build there, we left it to them.

At Lulanga we left the south bank of the Congo, and after two hours’ steaming and winding among the numerous islands we had the large district of Bungundu stretching before us on the north shore of the river. Picking out the biggest town we could see from the deck of our steamer, we steered our way towards it, and as we drew near we could see the women seizing hold of their children and their fowls, and scurrying away with them into the bush as fast as possible; the men also were tugging at their goats and sheep to hide them in the bush and woods that surrounded their town, for it was their unfortunate experience that the white men who came on steamers took fowls, goats, and sheep without paying for them.

When we landed we could not see a single person. We walked up and down the roads calling upon the people to come out of hiding, to come and talk with us, or sell us some fowls. After a considerable amount of shouting an old man put his head round a corner of a house and said: “White men, if you want to buy any fowls of us, sit down where you are, and send your boys; we will sell to them, but not to you.”

We thereupon handed some looking-glasses, knives, bells, beads, and cloth to our boys, and told them that after they had bartered for some fowls they were to try to persuade the people to have some conversation with us. After buying a few fowls our lads said: “Come and talk with our white men. See, they are perfectly harmless, for they are sitting down where you told them. They are not bula matadi (= State officers). They neither desire to fight you nor tie you up. They are mindele mia Njambi (= the white men of God, i.e. missionaries). Come and palaver with them.”

After much hesitation on the part of the native, and much persuasion by our lads, the old man drew near to us, and as he came closer he put out his hand to greet us; but on seeing our white hands approaching his, fear took possession of him, and he drew his hand quickly back. At last, however, we heartily shook his hand and his courage returned. He then went over to a large drum, and beating upon it the women quickly returned from the bush with their children and their fowls, the men came back with their goats and sheep, and the town resumed its usual lively appearance.

Directly they learned the purpose of our visit they begged us to live in their town; they took us up and down the various streets, and pointed out all the advantages we should enjoy if we would only build amongst them. We had to allay their importunity by telling them that we could not decide at once to live in their midst, as we wished to go higher up the river and visit other towns and tribes; but if we found their town the most central for our work, we would return to them. And we concluded by saying: “We do not desire, wherever we go in this district, that the people should run away from us as you did; cannot you therefore lend us one or two of your young men to go with us to reassure the people? We promise to return them safely in due time.”

It was astonishing to us that these nervous, fearful folk who had run helter-skelter from us about two hours before should bring two of their young men to us, and in their trustful simplicity place their hands in ours, saying: “Here are two of our people to accompany you, and when you have done with them bring them back again.”

After that, whenever we arrived opposite a town, these two men would go into the bows of the steamer and, shouting loudly to the people ashore, would tell them not to be afraid, not to run away, that we were good sort of white men, that we were buying fowls at a very good price, and if they only stayed they could make some profit out of us. For we were giving the enormous sum of about threepence each in barter goods for the fowls, instead of the usual price of twopence.

Throughout the rest of that district we received a hearty welcome from the people, and many pressing invitations to settle in their midst. We had no illusions about these invitations. We fully recognized that the people desired us to live in their towns for reasons quite different from those that actuated us: our presence would give prestige to their district, and especially to the town in which we built; we should be, more or less, a guarantee of security, and freedom from the lootings and raids of State soldiers who were already beginning to trouble the people on the Upper Congo; and it would be an immense advantage to them to be able to exchange their food-stuffs, etc., for barter goods at a store in their neighbourhood, rather than have such weary journeys to take in their canoes, or go without the needed articles. We understood perfectly well that we were not so boisterously invited because of our message, for of that they knew absolutely nothing, and in their then savage and ignorant state cared perhaps less than nothing for it.

Leaving the Bungundu district we steamed for many miles along a monotonous stretch of forest, and then reached the thickly populated line of Bokomela towns. Selecting the largest we could see, we turned our steamer towards it; and, putting our pretty little vessel along the beach in front of the chosen town, we prepared to go ashore. Through our glasses we had seen the women and children running hurriedly away, and the bustling activity of the men who lined the bank and stood on the trees overhanging the river. Just as we were about to step ashore we noticed that the men lining the bank above us had raised their spears in a very threatening attitude, and the old men on the trees had fitted their arrows to their bows ready to shoot at us. We recognized that we were in a tight corner; we wondered where the spears and arrows would strike us. A false movement would have been misunderstood, and a shower of sharp weapons would have been the result. Our pulses raced tumultuously, our hearts seemed to thump our ribs; but outwardly we were calm and self-possessed. We did not know until months later how near we were to a horrible catastrophe—to being, in fact, the principal dishes at a cannibal feast.

In the best “trade language” we could muster we told the excited savages who and what we were. “Go away,” they screamed, “or we will kill you. We want nothing to do with you white men.”

We tried to explain the purpose of our visit, and asked them to let the Bungundu men land and talk with them. And all the time we were standing unarmed within twenty feet of their upraised spears. There was a deadly silence on the little steamer, and the crew had taken refuge behind any and every thing that offered protection from those murderous lances and arrows.

“Go away,” they shouted more fiercely; “we will kill the men if they come ashore, and all of you afterwards. We’ll have nothing to do with white men.” And in frantic unison the excited mob took up the cry of their head-men.

There was nothing for it but to push off our steamer and leave the place. It was not until we were beyond the reach of their arrows that we breathed freely, and then fully realizing the whole meaning of the incident, and its possibilities of death to us and disaster to our plans, we bowed our heads in prayerful thanks to God for His protecting care.

Some months after our establishment at Monsembe, I went down to those districts in a canoe paddled by a few lads; and those same Bokomela people, hearing, from the song of the lads, that one of the Monsembe white men was approaching, hurried out in their canoes with fowls in their hands as tokens of their good-will, and begged me to go ashore. What was the reason for this strange and pleasant change respecting us? It was this: In the meantime they had heard of our peaceable lives and intentions; of our straightforward and honest dealings with the natives about us; that we neither stole things ourselves, nor allowed our people to steal; but always bought what we wanted at a proper market value. These facts coming to their knowledge had entirely altered their attitude towards us, and had turned former enemies into would-be friends.

On going ashore they gave me a most cordial welcome, and when quietness had been restored, I said: “Some months ago we came to you on our little steamer, and you drove us away with murderous threats of spearing us. Why was that? We were quiet, peaceable men; why were you in such a rage?”

An oldish man, sitting quietly on a stool near by, arose and said: “White man, just before you came to us on your steamer, the white men on a passing steamer shot our chief and some of our people for no reason at all. Shot them down while standing quietly on the bank, and for that reason we swore to kill the next white men that came our way, and you were the next to come.”

Undoubtedly they would have had their revenge upon us but that God placed His hand over theirs, so that neither spear nor arrow was hurled at us. More than once or twice have we seen the spears poised ready for the throw; and every time we have found that some cowardly, dastardly white men had been before us and, having shot down the natives for no reason whatever, had gone off and left the next unsuspecting white men who went that way to bear the brunt of the natives’ mad, but excusable, desire for revenge. Legacies of hatred have been unfortunately left by too many white men among savage peoples, who regard all white folk as belonging to one tribe, and as one or more of their kinsmen have been murdered by white men, then to retaliate by killing other white men will, they think, balance the account.

As illustrative of the preceding remarks the following unvarnished story is unfortunately too à propos: A State steamer in 1890 was proceeding up a tributary of the Congo, and on its upper deck two white officers were sitting holding a discussion on marksmanship, when they saw, at some distance in front of them, a native standing in his canoe paddling it from one side to the other of the river. The two officers instantly made a bet as to which of them could knock the man over. Guns were raised and fired, and Captain X. brought down the poor unsuspecting wretch and pocketed the stakes;[^[4]] but he left a heritage of hate that has lasted to this day, if there are still alive in that district any relatives of the murdered man, or witnesses of the foul murder.

[4]. In 1890 this incident was common talk in that district. Besides the two men who laid the wager, there were two other white men on board—captain of the steamer and the engineer. This incident was more frequently related as a joke than otherwise.

It seemed to some of us a righteous retribution when a couple of years later Captain X. himself was shot by his native attendant, whether accidentally or purposely nobody knew. Let me say, once for all, that among the State officers there were gentlemen of fine, sterling character who acted fairly and honourably in all their dealings with the natives; men whose ideals were high, whose motives were good, and who desired nothing better than the amelioration of the tribes with which they came into contact. If such men had been in the majority, and had had a free hand, the pitiful, horrible story of Congo atrocities would never have been written.

About twenty-five miles above Bokomela we came upon the Monsembe district. There were three bays crowded with large towns, and only two miles beyond Monsembe was a long creek teeming with people. We reckoned also that Bungundu and Bokomela districts would come within the sphere of our influence; but before fixing on Monsembe as our centre we went still higher up-river to weigh the possibilities of other places. Town after town we passed of prosperous, healthy, fierce, and barbarous savages. Very often we were amongst them and shaking hands with them before they had decided whether to welcome or fight us; then seeing two friendly, unarmed white men in their midst they greeted us heartily and were soon bartering fowls, plantain, and various food-stuffs for empty bottles, old meat tins, and Manchester goods.

Diboko (or Nouvelles Anvers) was visited; and with our colleagues at Bopoto we spent a pleasant time. At Bumba we came upon a continuous stretch of villages for nearly two miles in length. As we steamed close to the bank we observed that the villages were divided by gullies which were bridged by old canoe planks. The folk were quiet, and as the place looked well populated with apparently prosperous people, we decided to land.

Photo by: Rev. C. J. Dodds
A Village Street in Monsembe
This row of houses belongs to one man, and while he may have one for himself, he will also have a wife in each hut. Every marriage means an additional house, for the Congo native is too cute to put two women in one house.

Arriving at the extreme upper end of the series of Bumba villages, we tied our steamer to a tree on the bank and went ashore. A few miserable, half-starved dogs barked at us; but there was no one to greet us, or object to our landing. We moved slowly forward, and then we noticed that the virile, young men, armed with spears and shields, were keeping about fifty yards ahead of us; that the old men and the sick were crouching over their fires warming their hands and keeping up a constant chatter; and that there was an absence of women and children in the villages. Now when there is an absence of women and children in an African town or village, you may be fairly certain that the men are up to mischief, or think a fight is to the fore. We walked warily to keep ourselves out of any possible ambush; and as we came to the gullies dividing the villages we found the planks had been removed, this necessitated our going down and up the sides of the gullies. Arriving at the last ditch we started to cross it as we had done the others, when we observed a rustle in the tall grass on the further side, and looking closely we saw that the bush was alive with armed men with spears gripped threateningly. Just beyond them in the forest were their women and children, and they were standing between them and possible death or capture as represented, so they thought, by the two white men on the opposite side of the gully.

To have run away would have meant a shower of spears hurtling through the air after us from the excited people, so we sat down and parleyed with them. “Did you ever know,” we asked, “white men coming to fight without soldiers?”

“No,” was their ready though surly reply.

“Well, we have no soldiers with us,” was our quick rejoinder. That was self-evident, for there were only a few of our personal lads about us.

With a little more hope in our heart of escaping from another difficult fix, we began again. “Did you ever know white men to come and fight without guns and swords?” was our next question.

“No,” again was their reply. This time a little more friendliness in their tone, for their fears of a fight were, like ours, passing away.

“Well,” we argued, “we are two white men without guns or soldiers, but with simply walking-sticks in our hands; and are all your men armed with spears afraid of two white men with walking-sticks? Come and put up the bridge and help us across.”

After a short consultation among themselves, some young men replaced the plank and helped us over; and the discreet distribution of a few beads, spoons, and penny looking-glasses won for us their eternal good-will.

Our return to the steamer was like a triumphal progress. The men shouted and danced in very revulsion of feeling to find it was a friendly visit and not a fight. Plank bridges were quickly rearranged, and outstretched, willing hands steadied us as we crossed them. The old and sick who had remained around the fires good humouredly chaffed those who had armed themselves for a battle that never came off. All’s well that ends well, and the people were as glad as we were that no blood had been shed and no wrong committed. They begged us very earnestly to come and live among them.

We went as far as Ngingiri on the River Luika, and then turned the nose of our steamer down-stream. Monsembe was the best centre for our work that we had seen in all the long stretch of river we had traversed above Lulanga. There we should have ample room for expansion, itineration, and out-posts along the north bank from Bungundu to Likunungu—a distance of 200 miles; we should also have the south bank in our parish from Bolombo to Bokatalaka Creek—a stretch of 80 miles; and the creek just above our proposed station site was said to communicate with the Mobangi River. We estimated the population near to Monsembe, among whom we should be able to itinerate on Sundays, at 7000, and throughout the district, lining the river, at 50,000 at the very least. Then there were the hinterland towns, whose populations were as yet unknown. It was a splendid sphere of immense possibilities. It was therefore with high hopes and undaunted hearts that my colleague and I entered upon our labours among the cannibals of Monsembe.

We returned the men we had borrowed from Bungundu. What a welcome they had on their arrival home! We had been absent so long that the folk had almost given up all hope of ever setting eyes again on their townsmen. They received a suitable reward, strutted about the town in their fine, brightly-coloured new cloths, and I suppose ever afterwards posed as widely travelled men whose words in future were to be taken on all matters relating to riverine geography, tribal marks, and other subjects. Leaving Bungundu we crossed to Lulanga and, picking up the goods we had left there in charge of a Dutch trader who treated us with much kindness and hospitality, we returned to our future home at Monsembe, which for the next fifteen years was to be the centre of our world and the scene of many joys and sorrows.

CHAPTER II
SETTLING AT MONSEMBE

Moral way of procuring land—Ground measured—Price asked—Amount accepted—Signing the agreement—Buying a house—An exorbitant price—A house for five shillings and a penny—Well-populated hut—Making ourselves comfortable—Cooking difficulties overcome—Present of two goats—Inveterate thieves—Afraid of our “books.”

The authorities of the Congo Free State had informed us that we could take possession of any plot of land in the district that we cared to select. We did not, however, believe in accepting from a State that which they had no moral right to give, but in buying from the people the ground they only had a right to sell us for our station. A few hours after our return to Monsembe we measured out a piece of land one hundred paces along the river front by three hundred paces deep, and said that in the morning we would buy it of them.

Next morning at six o’clock we found a large crowd gathered to witness the novel transaction of buying and selling land. They formed a motley assemblage. Most of the men had two or more spears gripped tightly in their hands, and broad-bladed, ugly knives of various shapes were strapped in sheaths around their chests with the handles level with the breast-bone. Some wore gaudy cloths, while others had bark-cloth or rags that scarcely covered their nakedness. The women were dressed in petticoats made from palm fibres, and these fringes were so numerous and short that the wearers had every appearance of black ballet girls. Their faces were streaked with different coloured pigments, or dusted with camwood powder; and their bodies were rubbed with palm-oil. Beneath the paint, the powder, and the grease one found agreeable faces often lit up with really pleasant smiles.

We asked them how much they wanted for the piece of land, and without hesitation they replied, “Five thousand brass rods.”

“No,” we said, “we cannot pay you so large a sum as that, but we will give you one thousand rods now, and another five hundred in six months’ time, if you behave yourselves.”

The head-men consulted apart for a time, and then their spokesman said: “We will accept your offer of one thousand rods now and another five hundred in six months’ time, if you will put on top some bottles, some knives, spoons, tin plates, looking-glasses, forks, cowries, beads, cloth, fish-hooks,” etc. etc., in fact samples of everything they had either ever heard about or could recall to mind at so short a notice.

Unfortunately for them we had not such a variety of barter goods as they demanded, and we frankly told them so; but we promised to add some of the articles we did have with us. We cut and counted out the thousand rods,[^[5]] tied them up in bundles of one hundred each, and then raked out two empty pickle bottles from our store and, putting some fathoms of cloth, a packet of brass chair nails, a few iron spoons, some trade knives, a dozen zinc-framed looking-glasses, a few empty meat tins, the ground became the property of our Society for about 38s. worth of goods, reckoning them at invoice price.

[5]. Brass rods. A brass rod at Monsembe at that time was 15 inches long, and not quite so thick as a slate pencil. These rods were the currency of the district and, in fact, of the whole of the Upper Congo. Everything had its price in brass rods—one egg = one brass rod; a fowl = ten brass rods; two yards of cloth = twenty brass rods; a male slave = 600 brass rods; and a female slave = 2500 brass rods. The brass wire for these rods was originally melted down for their brass ornaments—anklets, necklaces, armlets, leg rings, hafts of spears, paddles, and handles of knives, etc. It was using the brass for this purpose that first gave it any real value to them; and then they exchanged certain lengths of the brass wire at a fixed price—so many fathoms for a goat, etc.; and gradually the lengths of brass wire became the medium of exchange, the unit of value, the currency of the country. In 1890 the brass rods still retained their value not so much as a medium of barter, although they were convenient for that purpose, but as the metal from which they made their most popular ornaments. It is quite possible that the rods changed hands in fathom lengths, and those who came into possession of these lengths, each cut off a little piece to procure a bit of brass for nothing, and hence the length was gradually shortened, until in 1890 it was 15 inches. The process of shortening continued, and in 1905 the standard length was only 11 inches. In Bolobo it was about 9½ inches, and on the Lower Congo, where brass wire was used long before it filtered through to the tribes on the Upper Congo, it was from four to five inches only in 1905. Of course, with the shortening of the rod, a larger number was given for the article to be purchased. Every white man imported his brass wire in coils, and cut the rod to the length used in the district where he resided. Brass rods are now almost a drug in the market, for not only have they been poured into the country in a steady stream for the last thirty years, but the custom of melting down brass for the manufacture of ornaments has been slowly dying out during the last ten years. They desire other things than simply ornaments now.

We then thought it wise to draw up a paper stating we had bought the land of the people, the price we had given, and the amount we had promised in six months’ time. The document was duly written out, and my colleague and I signed it on behalf of the B.M.S. We then asked two of their head-men to put their marks against their names on the paper as witnesses to the fact that we had purchased the ground, so that there could not be any future possible dispute about our possession of the site.

At first they demurred greatly to having anything to do with the white man’s “book”; they were extremely superstitious about the matter; it was something uncanny, and for all they knew some mysterious evil might be the result of touching that “book.” It needed much persuasion, and it was only when we pointed out to them that they would have no proof that we owed them five hundred rods that their cupidity overcame their fears, and they consented to put their marks.

Mata Bombo was the first head-man chosen for this onerous duty. He was the oldest head-man in the town, and had been foremost in the negotiations for the land, in counting the goods, and most clamorous for his share of them. The people therefore rightly thought that he should be the first to undertake the unpleasant duty of putting his mark on the “book,” so they laughingly pushed him forward much against his will. When he reached the table he was trembling all over from very fear of that “book” lying there upon it. His hand shook so much that I had to put my hand upon his and help him to make his mark. On finishing it he put the pen down with a dab, drew himself to his full height, carefully stretched out his arms, and finding that nothing had happened to him, he went away apparently satisfied that it was possible to have contact with that mysterious “book” of the white man’s and not suffer for it. The next witness was a much younger man, who, seeing that nothing had happened to the first, came forward without any urging, picked up the pen, made his mark and went his way as though he were used to signing contracts every day of his life. Thus the land became ours on behalf of our Society.

Having settled about the site, our next requirement was a house into which we could move our goods from the steamer, and in which we could live, for it was necessary that the Peace should return immediately to Bolobo. Looking over the ground we had bought, we saw a native hut that would suit us until we could build a larger and better one. We had purchased the land and the trees upon it; but we had arranged with the people that all the houses on our newly acquired site should be removed. To them this was a trifling affair: they ran a knife along a few strings, a dozen men got under the roof, and in a few minutes you would see it walking down the road; a few more men shook the walls, uprooted the posts, and in an hour or so the house was rebuilt on another site.

We called the owner of the house that we thought would temporarily answer our purpose, and asked him how much he wanted for it. “Five hundred brass rods,” was his quick reply. Natives generally ask about two or three times the value of an article, and I fancy this custom is not altogether peculiar to African people.

“That is too much,” was our answer to his extravagant demand. “We will give you two hundred rods for the house, and then you will be well paid.”

He cogitated on our offer for a few minutes, and then lifting his head, he said: “If you put a tin plate on top of the two hundred rods you can have the house.” So we paid him two hundred brass rods, and a penny tin plate; and for the first time in our lives became the owners of house property.

Directly we had paid the price the man called his wives (he was the happy (?) possessor of six) to remove their belongings. They brought out their saucepans, hoes, baskets, mats, drinking-pots, firewood, and the rest of their miscellaneous effects; the man carried out his paddles, spears, knives, shield, and a few precious glass bottles that had contained pickles, lime-juice, and drinks of stronger brew, and then told us the house was ready for us.

We really could not expect a mansion for the amount we had paid, viz. 5s. 1d.; and we found that in order to enter it we had to stoop low, lift our feet high, and, being unfortunately stout, we had to turn sideways to effect an entry. Arriving inside, by putting up the hand we could touch the ridge-pole, by spreading out the arms and swaying slightly we could touch both walls, a few paces took us from one end to the other of the central room, and if we had gone against the wall and wanted to stand upright we should have had to put our heads through the roof, for the walls were only just four feet high.

Photo by: a Dutch Trader
Group of Mobeka Men
Mobeka is situated at the mouth of the Mungala River, and the inhabitants of that and many other villages in the vicinity belong to the Boloki tribe.

Photo by: Rev. R. H. Kirkland
Looking up Lake Libinza from Bosisera
Lake Libinza is a large sheet of water in the hinterland of Nouvelles Anvers. It is studded with numerous islands, and is drained by the Ngiri River, which runs into the Mobangi tributary.

The house, however, had the advantage of two small rooms—one at either end of the larger central room. In one of these small rooms we stored our tools, nails, and various materials for building our station; into the other small room we put our barter goods and our scanty stock of provisions; and in the central room we arranged our two camp bedsteads, a table, a trunk or two, our chairs, and when we went in ourselves there was not very much room to spare. That night when we went to bed we discovered that although the women had removed their pots, hoes, mats, etc., they had left behind them a large population which we wished they had also taken with them.

To make our hut more habitable was our first object. We cut away the high door-sill of sticks, canes, and grass; then in the eaves above the doorway we made a gap in the roof by shortening a few rafters and removing the palm-frond thatch—this gave us an easy means of entrance and exit. Then we placed two poles about eight feet from the front of our hut, and six feet from each other; a small pole was tied to the posts about six feet from the ground, and other thin poles were run from the cross-piece to the roof, and on these we arranged and tied a large number of fronds from a small species of palm tree—this gave us a fine shady porch to our house, which we used as dining-room, study, pantry, and reception-room. We routed out a good percentage of the surplus population from our hut, and on fine days we were not so uncomfortable as to have any real ground for complaint.

But alas on wet days! The discomfort of them has left a lasting impression on my memory. With a tornado the temperature often dropped from 90° down to 65° in less than two hours; the strong, stormy winds whistled through the grass walls of our hut; and the rain that fell in torrents percolated through our roof, and in some places, along the ridge especially, it ran in gentle cascades, anything but pleasant to the owners of such house property to behold. To have made a fire in the house to warm ourselves, as the natives did, would have meant being more than half choked and blinded by the smoke that would have filled the chimneyless house. We eventually found that the best way to weather the storms comfortably was to lie on our camp beds, pull a waterproof sheet over us, light a candle, and putting it on a dry spot read until the tornado had spent itself.

There was another difficulty that we had to meet, viz. cooking. It was easy enough to boil and fry our food; but boiled meat and fowls after a few weeks somewhat pall; and we had not sufficient fat or lard to fry much. There was palm-oil in abundance to be bought for a few brass rods, but we had too frequently watched the natives make it to relish food fried in it. We therefore bought two native saucepans for a penny each; these were about 10 inches in diameter, 6 inches deep, and semicircular in shape. One we stood on three stones, placed an empty sardine tin in the bottom, and, laying a fowl on a tin dish, arranged it on the sardine tin, and then turned the second saucepan upside down on the first, fitting their edges together. Our fowls baked beautifully in this improvised oven; but the saucepan had a tendency to crack.

Later on we procured an empty paraffin-oil drum, cut out the top with a hammer and chisel, laid the drum down, and put in a layer of clay along the bottom side. This clay not only gave us a level surface on which to stand our dishes, but also kept the food from burning, and retained the heat. We then nailed some tin, procured by flattening out a few empty meat tins, over some pieces of wood, and there we had an admirable door for our new oven. It cooked fowls, puddings, and bread[^[6]] splendidly. No patent has yet been sought for these inventions, so all those placed in a similar predicament are free to use them.

[6]. See Appendix, Note 1, p. 335.

Fowls were plentiful, such as they were; but fresh meat (beef, mutton, or goat) was a rarity. Consequently we were not at all sorry when two head-men brought us, one day, a goat each as a present. Up to that time we had not received a single present from them, not because the natives had not brought any to us—they would have loaded us with their so-called gifts—but we had persistently refused them on principle, knowing as we did that the offerings were simply presented that the givers might receive two or three times their value in return presents, and we had no desire to foster such a spirit of selfishness, and no money to waste on foolish amenities. We had refused so many “gifts” that when these two head-men brought their goats and offered one to Mr. Stapleton and the other to myself, we decided to accept them. We had, however, no enclosure in which to keep goats, so putting a private mark on them we sent them to herd with the other goats of the town.

We arranged that as the goats were of the same size, we would give exactly the same return presents. We reckoned the goats at fifty brass rods each—the market value of them; but we decided to give in barter goods the equivalents of one hundred rods each, which we thought was sufficiently generous for the occasion.

Mr. Stapleton called Dintela, the head-man who had presented him with his goat, and spreading out the goods he made the usual speech of good-will, etc., that the event demanded.

Dintela gave him to understand that the present was too small, that white men who were so rich should give a much larger quantity of goods, and that he could not accept such a paltry present. As Mr. Stapleton would not increase the offering, Dintela demanded the return of the goat, and tying a string round its neck he led it away, much disgusted that he had not made so good a bargain out of his present to the white man as he had anticipated.

A few days later as Bololi, the head-man who had given me the other goat, was passing across the station I called him into the house, and spreading out the goods identically the same as my colleague had offered to his head-man, I asked him to accept them as a token of our friendliness, etc., in return for his goat. He made some gestures expressive of his depreciation of the gift, and after a haggling attempt to procure an increase of goods, he, to my surprise in view of the action of Dintela, collected the articles, put them in his shoulder pouch, and went off apparently satisfied. The next day when we wanted to kill the goat it had disappeared, and we never again set eyes upon it. Dintela refused the goods and took his goat away; but evidently they had talked over the matter with the other men in the town, and the result was that Bololi accepted the articles and afterwards stole the goat, which in the eyes of the natives was much the smarter action of the two. After this, when head-men were too pressing in their offers of friendly presents, we related the story of the two goats, and it never failed to cure them of their fits of generosity.

We found them at that time, as the above incident of the goats indicates, most inveterate thieves; but a few years later when three young men of the town broke into our store and stole goods to the value of sixteen thousand brass rods, the mass of the people arose in such indignation on learning the facts that they tied up the thieves, although they were free men and not slaves, and, bringing them to us ignominiously bound, laid them at our feet. And public opinion was so unmistakable in denouncing the act, that the young men and their families disgorged the whole of what they had stolen from us to the last brass rod.

At first they absolutely refused to trust us even with the value of an egg—we had to put the price in their hands as we took the article; but gradually they became less suspicious of us. During the early months at Monsembe our steamer failed to arrive at the expected time, consequently our small supply of barter goods became exhausted; and to be without these articles of exchange in such a country was like being a foreigner in a strange land without money. Food, however, was necessary, both for ourselves and those dependent on us. We told the natives that our store was practically empty, and that we could not pay them then, but would do so when we received our goods from down-river. We offered them papers stating what we had bought, the price agreed upon, the date, and the seller’s name—a kind of promissory note which we promised to redeem on the arrival of our steamer.

The natives said: “We will let you have the food supplies that you need, but we will not accept your books.” They called any piece of paper at that time a “book.”

“Why will you not take our books?” we inquired; “for we may forget how much we owe, and to whom we owe it.”

“Oh, you will not forget your debts,” they replied; “and if there were any fear of that we should not even then accept your books, but should refuse to let you have the food without the money.”

“Why will you not take our books, then?” we again asked in amazement.

“Well,” they said, “if we were to accept your books, and put them in our houses, no rain would fall on our farms, and we should all be starved to death.”

Argue as we would, we could not move them from their superstitious position in relation to our poor little pieces of paper. By that time they knew our intentions towards them were good, or they would not have trusted us with their fowls, eggs, plantain, and native bread without receiving the barter goods at once, yet they were afraid of the evil effects our “books” would have on their farms. They thought the magic was in the “book,” and in spite of our good motives that that magic would work against them directly the “books” had passed from us into their possession. While the “books” were in our house we controlled or nullified their evil magic, but when they had passed out of our hands we had no further power over their wicked forces, and the natives were afraid of not being able to counteract their black art, hence their continued refusal to accept them. It was a curious belief that obsessed them: that men who they firmly believed were kindly disposed towards them should yet have in their possession such “books” as would work mischief to those for whom they had nothing but friendly feelings. We therefore entered their names in a notebook as we bought the food supplies, and thus keeping an account of what money we owed, and to whom, we were able to settle our accounts with them at a later date.

CHAPTER III
STRUGGLES WITH THE LANGUAGE

“Trade” and “Bangala” languages—Making a vocabulary—Housekeeper and master of works—Natives tell us words—Elements of difficulty—Glib translations—Natives deceive us—Head-men offer us wines—We are a conundrum to our neighbours—Confidence gained at last—Collect nearly seven thousand root words—A mode of making derivations—Native figures of speech.

On the main river there was a mixed language, commonly called among us the “trade language”; by means of this lingua franca we were able to make ourselves understood at the various places at which we touched on our search for a new site, and it stood us in good stead during our early days among the Monsembe people. There was a large element of Bobangi in it, some Kiswahili words, and a few Lower Congo words and phrases. This “trade language” has now been supplanted by what is called the “Bangala language,” which is a mixture of the languages already mentioned, with a smattering of Bangala words thrown in.

For a considerable time Diboko (Nouvelles Anvers), or as it is most frequently called by white men generally when speaking to natives, Bangala, was the largest State station above Stanley Pool. A large number of natives were imported there from all the tribes on the Upper Congo, and this heterogeneous mass of humanity, often numbering over two thousand soldiers, workmen, and women, held communication with each other by means of the “trade language.” The smartest of the natives in the towns adjacent to Diboko quickly learned this jargon, and used it more or less fluently when communicating with the State soldiers and workmen; and the white men hearing the natives of the neighbourhood talking this lingo jumped to the conclusion that it was their own tongue in which they were conversing, and thus called it the Bangala language, and by that name it is now generally known on the Upper Congo.

As it was with the “trade language” so it is with the “Bangala”; it varies considerably with the tribe using it. A Bobangi man when in difficulty for a word or phrase while speaking “Bangala” will fill up the hiatus with a word from his mother-tongue; the Bangalas, Bopoto, and Bosoko peoples will fill up the gaps, each from their own language, so that the “Bangala” spoken differs according to the district in which the traveller may be sojourning. A crew running a steamer, or a gang of men working on a station, though they may come from half a dozen different tribes, will quickly arrange a lingo of their own, and the white man running the steamer, or in charge of the station, will easily acquire the resulting patter, and up to a certain point make himself fairly well understood in all matters relating to the ordinary affairs of steamer or station life. In the near future there will be, no doubt, a language formed by a gradual selection of words and phrases from all the great languages on the river from Stanley Pool to Stanley Falls. Such a means of intercommunication will be a great boon to all concerned—black and white alike—a better understanding will result, and, as a consequence, a greater respect for each other.

Directly we settled at Monsembe we began to learn the language of the people amongst whom we were living. The “trade language” was all that was necessary to a passer-by; it answered the purpose of bartering for food and dealing with the trivialities of life; but was absolutely inadequate for conveying our message as missionaries, or for dealing with the finer and deeper affairs of the minds, hearts, and souls of our parishioners. We had therefore to learn the language, and we had no desire to shirk the drudgery, nor avoid the arduous, persistent effort such a study demanded, for we regarded it as a part of our work, and not the least interesting part either.

My colleague, Mr. Stapleton, and I arranged that one should take charge of the house, buy the food brought for sale, and prepare the meals; while the other should look after the workmen, clear the grass away, mark out the ground, collect materials for building, and start the erection of a larger and more comfortable house than our poor hut. We were to alternate these duties—one was to be housekeeper one week, and head of the works department the next week.

As I had been in the country nine years the heavier end of the stick fell naturally to my lot. I had brought two men and a lad with me from the Lower Congo, one Cameroons man capable of doing rough carpentry had joined us at Bolobo, and we had hired two men at Lukolele, so we had some help; but more was necessary, and we were able to engage a few natives—as many as we required—at twenty rods per month as pay, five rods per week rations, and one fathom of cloth per month to wear, which came in all to about two shillings, invoice price. This seems very small, but we were in the heart of Africa where brass rods and cloth were worth, at that period, many times their invoice value, for their buying power was very great, and food was so plentiful and cheap that 12 lbs. of native bread could be bought for a single brass rod, and a large-size fish for another rod. The men often requested that we would reduce their ration rods and proportionately increase their monthly pay, which we did.

While we were digging the holes for the posts of our larger house, the natives who were curiously watching us, said: “Oh, to do that sort of thing,” imitating a scooping action with the words, “is tima.” So we wrote down tima = to dig; when we had finished the hole, they said it was, “lifoko,” hence we put down lifoko = hole; when we procured a post, they told us its name was mwete, and that we recorded as mwete = a post; on standing the post in the hole they informed us that that was suma mwete, and we wrote that down as suma mwete = to stand a post in a hole. When we placed the wall-plate on they gave us a word for that; when we brought hammer and nails out of our tool-house they acquainted us with the names for those things; when we hammered a nail to hold the wall-plate in position they gave us an expression for nailing; and if by any accident we hit our finger instead of the nail, they found a suitable expletive for that action also. Night by night my colleague and I added the words together we had procured during the day and counted them as eagerly as any miser might his gold, for we recognized in them a means by which we should eventually be able to deliver our message.

It was very difficult to acquire words for abstract ideas, as courage, faith, love, recklessness, etc.; and it was not easy to procure words for tangible objects—things that we could point to and touch. I remember on one occasion wanting the word for table. There were five or six boys standing around, and tapping the table with my forefinger I asked: “What is this?” One boy said it was dodela, another that it was etanda, a third stated it was bokali, a fourth that it was elamba, and the fifth said it was meza. These various words we wrote in our notebook, and congratulated ourselves that we were working among a people who possessed so rich a language that they had five words for one article.

By and by we wanted a table brought to us, and selecting a word at random from our list of five words, each one of which we supposed meant table, we said: “Benga bokali” = fetch the table. The boys looked at us with considerable astonishment, and, noticing their embarrassment, we checked the list of words and found that one lad had thought we wanted the word for tapping, so he told us dodela = to tap; another understood we were seeking the word for the material of which the table was made, and he gave us etanda = plank; another had an idea that we required the word for hardness, that which caused the noise as we tapped with our finger, and he told us bokali, and that is what we had told them to bring: benga bokali = fetch the hardness, a feat they could not possibly accomplish; another thought we wished for a name for that which covered the table, and his contribution was elamba = cloth; and the last lad, not being able, perhaps, to think of anything else, gave us the word meza = table—the very word we were seeking. We had to scratch out the first four words, leave the word meza, and pass on, having learned a good lesson on the evil results of jumping too quickly to conclusions. If the reader knows no German, and should ever happen to be in the company of some five or six Germans who do not understand a single word of English, let him ask: “What is this?” in indifferent German, and write down their several answers.

In learning and reducing to writing an unwritten language there are always several elements that increase and complicate the difficulties. There is what is in your own mind as the object for which you are seeking a word, and there is what the native thinks is the object for which you are wanting the word, which two things may be very different; again, when you are searching for a word to embody an abstract quality there is, on the one hand, the meaning you attach to the words you use as illustrative of the idea for which you want the word; and there is, on the other hand, the meaning which your native lad attaches to the words you employ, and the two sets of meanings may widely vary. You may unknowingly employ a wrong phrase in your description of the quality you are wanting a word to express, and your teacher is either puzzled or thrown entirely off the scent, and the result leads to a disastrous mistake and, unless corrected later, to a false, misleading translation. Suppose you want a word for healthiness; you say that a man walks well every day, paddles for long distances without fatigue, eats his food heartily, has no pains in his body, and never needs to go to a medicine-man. “What do you call that?” Your helper will consider for a moment, and then reply: “Abe na bonganga.”

By and by you go over the description with another person, and he says of such a man: “Abe na nkonjo.” A few days later, in order to check the former teachers, you try another young man, and he tells you: “Abe na nkasu.”

In due time, however, you discover that abe na bonganga means: he has a powerful charm; that abe na nkonjo = he has good luck; and abe na nkasu = he is very strong; and that nkuli is the proper word for healthiness.

Your helpers have not purposely led you astray, for they have simply stated from their point of view how they would regard such a fortunate man who can walk, paddle, eat well, has no pains in his body, and never needs medicine—he must possess a powerful charm, or have wonderful luck, or be exceedingly strong. When you know the natives better you find they rarely talk about their health, hence abe na nkuli = he has healthiness, would not come readily to their minds.

The difference between our point of view and that of our teachers accounts for many of the difficulties we experience in learning a native language; and I am afraid that a real appreciation of those difficulties has rendered me somewhat suspicious of those travellers who, after a very short acquaintance with the native language, translate glibly their interviews with the people. Just recently I have been reading a book on the Congo in which the following occurs: “Bikei yonsono, malami be na Mputu. Sola è koye.” This the author, who frequently takes credit to himself for his knowledge of the native language, translates as follows: “All I say is true, you say I lie. It is finished. I have seen those things; you have not.” Whereas it should be: All things are very good in Mputu (white man’s country). Truly friend! And the sentence in Bangala should have been written: Bike binso bilamu be na Mputu. Solo koye! No Congo native would have been guilty of the grammatical blunders perpetrated in the sentence as written by the author. I have frequently noticed that the less a person knows about a native language the more fluently and beautifully he will translate it, as he is bound only by the limitations of his own imagination.

When we had been living at Monsembe a few months we were much vexed and disgusted to find that the people had been deceiving us considerably over their language. One day, while working with the men, I heard a native workman shout out a request to another native labourer. From the nature of the work being done I could easily guess what the phrase really meant; but the wording of the sentence was entirely different from that which they had given us to express the same idea. Going into the house, I brought out my notebook and said: “Just now you called out so and so,” repeating the short sentence that was still fresh in my memory. “How is it we have another set of words in our book?”

A broad smile gradually spread over the native’s face as he replied: “White man, when you came first to live amongst us we could not understand the purpose of your coming. We brought you rubber and ivory; but you said, ‘We do not trade in such things.’ We then brought you male and female slaves, and asked you to buy them, and you replied, ‘We do not trade in slaves.’ We then brought you a large jar of sugar-cane wine, but you said that you did not drink wine, and we answered that we would drink it for you, and even then you would not buy it. After that we came to the conclusion that there was some wicked reason for your presence in our town, some bad purpose we could not understand, and we therefore arranged among ourselves not to teach you our language, but to tell you as many words and phrases as we could belonging to other languages.”

We found they had kept their agreement far too well, and as a result we discovered that a large percentage of the words that we counted as good coin of the realm were nothing but base metal, and had to be thrown out of our notebook as utterly useless. Undoubtedly our presence was a great mystery to the natives. They could easily understand the reasons why traders and State officers were living in the country; but why men who neither traded nor governed should live in their midst was a problem discussed repeatedly around their evening fires. They had asked us more than once: “Were you bad men in your country that you had to leave it to come and live here in this land?” Or: “Is there no food in your country that you come here and buy only fowls and vegetables of us?” Fowls were plentiful and very cheap, costing us often less than twopence each, and as it was the only fresh meat we could procure regularly, scarcely a day passed without our having a fowl for dinner, hence the point and purpose of their question. These inquiries we answered as fully as we could; but, notwithstanding our replies, we remained a puzzle to our neighbours and the subjects of many a long and heated talk.

One day some of the head-men came to us, and after solemnly taking their seats on the stools their wives had brought for the purpose, they said: “White men, we have come to talk a palaver with you.”

Our minds quickly ran over our actions during the last few days, for we wondered what offence we had committed to cause such a visit from so many serious-looking head-men. We could not recall any action or any words that were likely to have given umbrage to the natives, so we waited to hear from their lips of some breach of etiquette of which, all unknowingly, we had been guilty.

Old Mata Bombo, a tall, straight man of over sixty years, was spokesman for the deputation. “We have noticed,” he said, “that you have no wives, and we think it would be well for you two white men to marry two of our women; and we have brought some from which you can make your selection.” And as he finished speaking he pointed to a row of giggling girls and women, who while he was talking had lined up a few yards away.

As seriously as we could, we expressed our thanks for their concern on our behalf, and also for their generosity in giving us such a fine array from which to choose our wives; but continuing, I said: “I have a wife in Mputu (white man’s country); and my friend, Mr. Stapleton, has a lady there waiting to become his wife as soon as he returns home. We cannot therefore accept your offer.”

“That is no difficulty,” they all answered in chorus. “You can marry two of these now, and when your white wives come you can send these back to their families, and there will be no palaver.”

We, however, persisted in declining with thanks, and at last it dawned upon them that we were quite serious in our refusal. The head-men went off in a huff, as they expected to make some profit out of the alliance; and the women moved away chagrined that their charms had had so little effect on us, and, possibly, they were also vexed by the knowledge that they would be, for many a day to come, the butts of much ridicule and chaff from the other women of the town and district.

Doubtless this incident added much to the problem concerning us that was exercising the native mind. Here are two strong, healthy white men, rich like other white men (the poorest white man is a millionaire in the eyes of the natives), building houses in our town, working hard from sunrise to sunset, refusing our ivory, and rubber, our slaves, our women, and our drink. What are they? They say they have “come to tell us about God.” But would white men leave home, wives, family, and work in the sun as they do just to tell us about God? They say they have “come to help us, to teach us many things and to do us good”; and they offer us medicine when we are sick. How can they help us? What can they teach us? How will they do us good? And as for their medicine, who would be foolish enough to drink it? It might bewitch us. Such were the questions surging through their minds (as we learned later); and there was no one sufficiently in their confidence to help to the proper solution of this difficult conundrum. Is it any wonder that they came to the conclusion that we were bad men living in their district for some ulterior motive; and the best way to treat us was to humour us in building, keep their eyes alert to thwart any wicked designs, avoid teaching us their language, which we seemed particularly eager to learn, and in the meantime make as much money out of us as they could, either by fair or dishonest means, it did not matter which?

Many of these thoughts we surmised from their actions, but their whole course of reasoning we did not fully learn until very many months had passed away, in fact, not until we had gained their entire confidence. In the meantime we tried, in our poor way, to live the life of our Master, Jesus Christ, among our barbarous neighbours, and their suspicions about us gradually melted away. They would come and chat freely with us, and by and by it was no uncommon thing to have three or four lads sitting with us teaching us their language and helping us to a right understanding of the rules that govern it; and men passing by would stop, and, listening to the lads for a time, aid in elucidating some knotty point. Patience, love, and straight dealing won their confidence, their disinterested assistance, and at last their love.

Eventually, by the help of the people—old and young, for all became interested in the work—we were able to collect close upon seven thousand root words which, with their derivatives, give us a vocabulary of nearly forty thousand words.

These derivatives are produced by very regular rules, which when once understood, the learner possesses the key to a large treasury of words, e.g.:

Another set of derivatives is made from the reversive form of the word, as kanga = to tie, mokangi = a tier, kangola = to untie, mokangoli = an untier; and this reversive form can give us derivatives built on its idea, as from kangolela = to untie for another, comes mokangoleli = one who unties for another; and from the causative kangolija = to cause to untie, comes mokangoliji = one who causes to untie; and, again, from the causative of its prepositional form kangolelija = to cause to untie something for someone, comes mokangoleliji = one who causes a person to untie something for or on behalf of another.

One could mention the stative and the passive forms of the verb with their respective prepositional and causative suffixes, each supplying their own series of derivatives; but I fear the reader would weary of them, and the student of African languages has now at his disposal many grammars of Bantu tongues that will fully satisfy his love for comparative language study. My only desire in these few paragraphs is to show that the natives of the Congo do not talk a gibberish like a lot of monkeys, but have at their disposal a magnificent language that excites the admiration of every student. And it will be seen that such complex languages are not to be mastered in a few weeks or months by any globe-trotter who has a fancy for African travel, for they demand time and constant study to appreciate their finesse, and special linguistic ability to master their details and accurately define the words collected, and the various derivatives discovered.

It must not be thought that for every verb all the various derivatives can be found, as for obvious reasons some derivatives are not required from some verbs, and other derivatives are not required from other verbs, e.g. the reversive verb tulola = to undo smithing, can be built on tula = to do smithing; but as such an idea as to undo smithing is ridiculous, hence no derivatives founded on the reversive form tulola are to be met with in the language. Smithing can be spoilt, and for that they have a word, but when once a knife is forged it cannot be unforged, i.e. it cannot be returned to iron ore like a knot that can be untied and the string resume its original form.

Neither do the natives add to every verb all the prefixes and suffixes that can grammatically be affixed to them. It is very apparent that some verbs are complicated with causative, prepositional, tense, and other forms, and it is necessary to know for what the polysyllabic word stands as a phrase, as there is no time to dissect it while a speech is in progress. This is what I think the native does. He has no words for the parts of speech as we have in grammar, he does not know that bakamokangelela ntaba nxinga is made up of the nominative pronominal prefix ba = they, the present tense progressive ka = ing, the objective pronominal prefix mo = him, the verb kanga = tie, the two prepositional suffixes ela = for, and ela = with (the “a” elides before “e”), and two objective nouns ntaba = goat, and nxinga = string; but he knows that bakamokangelela ntaba nxinga means “they are tying the goat for him with string.” And if you, as a white man, while speaking and translating, try to make new polysyllabic words by a new combination of prefixes and suffixes, then you confuse your hearers (or readers) to such an extent that they do not readily follow you. You will have to educate them to a proper understanding of your new phrases, as English folk had to learn Carlyle’s picture-phrases a generation ago before they could appreciate their force and beauty.

It seems that in the course of time the various dialects have become more or less stereotyped in the use of certain verbal suffixes, and if a speaker now creates new combinations the hearers do not at once follow him; or it may be that at some period in the past when a dialect was in the making the minds of the people were very active, and the combinations they formed are fixed and remembered, and no new ones are being made, as the minds of the present generation are less gymnastic; or, again, it may be that a man with some pretensions to intellectual power created new combinations of verbal suffixes, and impressed them on his generation, and thus superseded other word-phrases as Chaucer’s English has been succeeded by a later form, and that by a still later, and the forms of speech used by his characters have given place to later forms that would have been scarcely understood in his day. However, in the Bantu languages there are such possibilities of infinite combinations that as the natives are now being educated it is impossible to foretell what subtleties of thought they will be able to express accurately with so plastic and beautiful a language.

The Boloki dialect, like all the Bantu languages, is alliterative in construction, i.e. the prefix of the nominative of the sentence becomes the prefix of all the words dependent on it, e.g.:

matoko mana mabale manene mamansombela we malaba,

(literally)

spoons those two large (which me/bought for) you they are lost

= those two large spoons which you bought for me, they are lost. The plural prefix ma of the first word which is the nominative is prefixed to all the other words because they are dependent on it. If it had been in the singular it would have been litoko lina, etc. This alliterative concord, as it is called, is very helpful to clearness of meaning.

In the Boloki language there are eight classes of alliterative concord,[^[7]] i.e. all the nouns in the language belong to one or other of these eight classes, and directly the class of a noun is decided its pronominal prefixes, its possessive and demonstrative pronouns, etc., are at once known also by the fixed rules of usage, or, as we should say, by the grammar of the language, and its plural form is also easily ascertainable.

[7]. On the Lower Congo there are fifteen classes.

Collective noun, nke = a lot of eggs, and this makes its plural in manke = lots, as manke mabale = two lots of eggs, as a noun of Class 2.

It took us a considerable time to work out this classification, as it meant the collecting of a very large number of words and the writing down of their singular and plural forms. It was easy enough to see that all nouns beginning with “e” made their plurals by turning the “e” into “bi”; but it was not so easy to decide about the “lo,” for we found that some plurals were made by changing the “lo” into “ma,” and others by turning “lo” into “m”; and when it is remembered that there are sixteen ways of using every adjective, according as it is singular or plural and belongs to one or other of the classes, it will be recognized by the reader that an African language is something to study and not despise as being “only a nigger’s language.” Of course, it is easy to pick up a few words and phrases for ordinary daily use which, when eked out with gestures, will carry the traveller a long way if he has a factotum quick at sign and thought-reading; but for expressing the finer shades of meaning, and also for receiving the same, an intimate knowledge of the language is necessary. I have heard more than one white man blame the missionary for “making a grammar for the nigger”; whereas the missionary has simply found out the rules by which the “niggers” talk, and written them down in such grammatical terms that others might understand them.

I have inserted a short note on the verb[^[8]] in the Appendix, and also a note on the Boloki method of counting.[^[9]] But before closing this chapter I wish to write a few lines on the figurative mode of speaking which is peculiar to all Bantu languages, and by no means confined to the Boloki people. The phrases in italics are literal translations of the native terms for expressing their emotions, etc.

[8]. See Appendix, Note 2, p. 336.

[9]. See Appendix, Note 3, p. 339.

When a native is worried his heart is let down, and should he have a choice of two equally pleasant things his heart is pulled in opposite directions; but when the heart has recovered its normal condition after some violent outbreak it is said to be stopped, or after some perturbing grief they say the heart is stuck to the ribs, as there are no longer any flutterings.

A greedy, selfish person has a heart of leaves, and a person who is recklessly indifferent to all the consequences of his action has lost his heart, and one who is lying and treacherous in his ways has a heart that has broken loose, over which the owner has no proper control. Should you be kind enough to comfort a person in a great sorrow, your action will be described as sticking the heart to the ribs, and thus keeping it from moving about inside; or if you have soothed a person in distress you are regarded as having pushed his heart down into its place. When a person is irresolute in mind, and undecided as to the best course to pursue, he describes his state by saying, “My heart is rolling from side to side,” and the word used describes a canoe rocking in a storm.

The moon, as its light begins to appear above the horizon, is said to be kicking out with its legs, and when it shows itself above the sky-line it is then unstuck from the earth. Sunset is called either the sun has become black, or the sun has entered, or when the fowls go to roost; and the Pleiades are spoken of as a crowd of young women; and the bright star Venus as it draws near the moon is named the wife of the moon.

When you desire to warn a person you tell him to throw his eyes about, and a person who frowns is said to tie his eyebrows. A conceited person who wants the whole path to himself is scornfully asked, “Did you plant the earth?” (i.e. Did you create the world?), as though it were a pumpkin over which he had sole rights of ownership. A lad who gives an impertinent answer is described as having a sharp mouth, while one who is not good at repartee is looked upon as having no mouth at all.

A person who frequently reverts to the cause of a quarrel, or a woman who is constantly nagging, has a word applied to her which means the bubbling up of boiling water; and one who does not contribute his share to the general talk around the evening fire is likened to the useless fibrous core of a cassava root, only fit to be thrown away; while a person who answers a question not addressed to him is picking up something before it is lost.

The native word for an umbrella means a large bat. When the eyes are dimmed from any cause they are said to be covered with cobwebs; and a man suffering from hunger says, “My waist is stuck to my back”; i.e. I am so empty of food that there is nothing to keep the front of the stomach from sticking to the backbone. A foolish, credulous person is likened to a squirrel constantly nodding its head in assent to everything that is said. To become conscious of someone behind looking at you is expressed in the phrase: to feel the back heavy. The Congo crow has a broad white band round its neck, and when the river is dark with the reflection of the frowning storm-clouds above, and the wind is blowing up-river, covering the water with white-crested waves, such waves are called by the natives a flock of crows.

CHAPTER IV
EARLY DAYS AT MONSEMBE

Building our house—Armed natives—Their ruse to discover our strength—The reason of their proffered help—A tribal war—Cannibal feast—Taunt us with being cowards and women—We defend some visitors—Blood-brotherhood—Inquisitive Congo boys—Medicine and “books”—Mental powers of Congo lads—Native view of women.

We were about a fortnight erecting the framework of our house and finishing the walls; and then it took us over two months to collect and dry local materials for the roof; but in the meantime we made doors and windows, and cut a large number of nine-inch blocks for paving the floor. I thought that these blocks would raise us above the damp earth, and would also help to keep away some of the insect and reptile pests that invade a house built on the ground. We did not square the blocks, but simply laid them evenly bedded in puddled clay; and with some native mats spread over them they formed a fairly comfortable floor. The blocks lasted for more than three years, by which time they began to rot at the bottom and sink; but they served their purpose, and then became useful as firewood.

The house that we ran up so quickly was 40 feet long by 18 feet wide. This gave us each a bed-sitting-room 15 feet by 18 feet, a store-room 10 feet by 12 feet, and a six-foot passage communicating between the two principal rooms, and into this passage the front doors opened. In the front of the house we built a large open porch 14 feet by 14 feet, which served the purpose of dining, drawing and reception-room. Thus we had a large airy house, rain, wind, and sun-tight, which undoubtedly greatly conduced to health and comfort during the building of more permanent dwellings in anticipation of the coming of our wives.

At that time the natives never moved many yards from their houses without three or four spears in their hands, ugly knives in their sheaths, and shields on their arms. Armed in this manner they would frequently congregate on the bank, and, shading their eyes with their hands, they would look earnestly down the river; and then coming to us they would say, “White men, the people in the lower towns are coming up to fight you; get out your guns ready and we will help you.”

Looking down the river we could see in the distance many canoes darting about, but as we had given the natives of those towns no reason for attacking us, and as we were the guests of another town we knew they would not assail us without collusion with our neighbours; and as our neighbours had every opportunity of easily killing two unarmed men if they desired so to do without calling in outsiders to share the loot, we thought that the staring down-river, their statements regarding the evil designs of the lower towns, and their offers of help were simply attempts to fleece us of barter goods in payment for their proffered aid; so we used to get out our binoculars, look down-river, and making some laughing remark, go on with our work.

This laughter and brave show were more often forced than not, for we were at times puzzled by the apparent earnestness of our neighbours, and their repeated assurances that they would help us if we would only bring out our guns and properly prepare to support them when the attack was made. As a matter of fact, we had only one gun between us, and that was in pieces at the bottom of one of my trunks. We had no cartridges, and although we had cartridge cases, shots, balls, caps, and outfit for making cartridges, yet we had not a grain of gunpowder; but all this we kept to ourselves and refused to make preparations until we were certain the enemy really intended to attack us.

It was not until some years later that I heard the reason for these frequent demonstrations on our beach; there was a large party, composed of the principal head-men in the town, who wanted to kill and rob us of our goods, but they were not sure of our resources. “What have they in those cases and trunks? Are they full of guns and cartridges?” These were the questions discussed around their fires, hence they hit on the ruse of pretending the other towns were coming to fight us that we might make a show of such weapons of defence as were in our possession. They were nonplussed by our apparent indifference and calmness, and were as much puzzled by our quiet attitude as we were by their warlike demonstrations.

After their unsuccessful attempts to make us exhibit our force, other questions were agitated: “Why are the white men so calm and quiet? Have they some wonderful magic or powerful ‘medicine’ that will kill us all directly we begin to fight them? What have they behind them that they are not afraid when we tell them the people are coming to attack them? Have they little guns (revolvers) concealed about their clothes?” Doubtless our very calmness not only mystified them, but saved us from an attack that would have been disastrous to us, and would have frustrated our plans on behalf of the people. Some nine years before our arrival at Monsembe I had been told by an old German missionary with whom I was travelling, that a display of force often incited the natives to try issues with the sojourner in their midst; and while the above incident is a confirmation of the soundness of his advice, we have a better example of it in Dr. Livingstone, who travelled among the wildest tribes and won their confidence and friendship because he moved freely amongst them unarmed, and unaccompanied by any exhibition of physical force.

One evening in November (1890), soon after we entered our new house, the whole town was thrown into a state of confusion by the report that some of the up-river towns were coming to attack Monsembe on the morrow. Women hurried by with their children, their fowls, and their most treasured belongings, and, putting them in canoes, they paddled away in the darkness to hide them and themselves on the numerous islands opposite and below Monsembe; men gathered their spears, knives, and shields, and stood in groups near the various roads that connected their town with the upper towns; the bigger lads sharpened sticks and hardened the points in the fire so as to embarrass and annoy the enemy with them even if they could not kill; and all through the long night they sounded drums and gongs not only to keep up their own spirits, but to warn the foe that they were on the alert.

As the sun next morning began to creep above the eastern line of trees that bounded our horizon there was great activity in the town. Men ran by with their faces daubed with a thick coating of oil and soot, or painted with red, blue or white streaks, their heads adorned with feather caps, and their waists bound tightly with closely woven cotton belts; others had cuirasses of hippopotamus hide protecting their backs, and all were in a greatly excited state, waving their spears, shields, and knives, and boasting of what they would do to the enemy. The women who had no children, and consequently had not left the town, gathered near our mission house, feeling perhaps more secure there than anywhere else.

Soon we heard the shouts of the combatants, and the occasional bang of a gun (there were only three or four flint-locks in the whole town); and in came a man with a deep spear wound. He gave an account of the battle, and the women screamed in anger, or shouted in derision as his narrative either told of a friend wounded or an enemy killed. We dressed his wound, and his wives led him away. For nearly two hours we were busy dressing wounds to a chorus of screaming and shouting women; and then we heard that the attackers had given way, and were in full retreat. By this time the natives of the lower towns had arrived to support their neighbours, and they too joined in the pursuit of the beaten foes, whom they followed to their towns, where the fight was renewed until the Monsembe people took possession of them.

For a time the only sounds heard in the town were the low wails of the women mourning for the slain, or weeping over those who were badly wounded; and the songs and shouts of the women whose husbands and relatives had escaped death and wounds. Before sunset the victorious party returned with their loot of goods and prisoners. Goats, sheep, and fowls were led or carried by our house; men laden with bunches of plantains and bananas, or carrying heavy baskets of peanuts, cassava, and native bread; others were weighted down with fish-nets, animal nets, doors, paddles, saucepans, and jars; for anything that would fetch a few brass rods was stolen and formed a part of the procession of miscellaneous oddments that streamed by our house. After raiding the enemies’ towns they set fire to the houses, and some told us with glee of old and sick folk who had hidden themselves in the dark corners of their huts who were burnt to death, preferring, apparently, the tender mercies of the fire to the cruel death that awaited them if they fell into the savage hands of their ferocious victors.

While we were sitting at our tea the last party of returning warriors filed past our house, carrying the limbs of those who had been slain in the fight. Some had human legs over their shoulders, others had threaded arms through slits in the stomachs of their dismembered foes, had tied the ends of the arms together, thus forming loops, and through these ghastly loops they had thrust their own living arms and were carrying them thus with the gory trunks dangling to and fro. The horrible sight was too much for us, and retching badly we had to abandon our meal, and it was some days before we could again eat with any relish. The sight worked on our nerves, and in the night we would start from our sleep, having seen in our dreams exaggerated processions passing before us burdened with sanguinary loads of slain and dismembered bodies.

That night Monsembe and the neighbouring towns were given up to cannibal feasts, and the next morning they brought some of the cooked meat to the station, and thinking they were doing us a favour, they offered to share it with us—the meat looked like black boiled pork. We refused their offering with disgust, and told them what we thought of their horrible custom. Long before we settled amongst them we had heard rumours of their cannibalism, but we regarded the tales as more or less mythical; we could no longer now disbelieve the stories we had heard. And later still there came to our ears a very circumstantial report that the folk of the lower part of our district were procuring for their cannibal orgies the natives of a tributary of the Congo. They gave ivory and received human beings in exchange, who quickly found their way to the saucepan; and a white trader was the intermediary. However, as soon as the white folk of the district had gathered such evidence as was irrefutable they brought such pressure to bear on that white trader and his company (the company was not implicated) that the horrible traffic was stopped. That an educated white man could sink so low as to become a wholesale dealer in human flesh to a tribe of African savages is a psychological mystery that I must leave others to solve.

After the fighting and feasting were over the Monsembe folk lived in constant fear of reprisals. Night after night groups of men were posted near the roads leading from the enemies’ towns, and frequently the gongs and drums broke on the night’s silence with their rapid beats, awakening the sleepers who, hastily picking up their spears, knives, and shields, hurried by to the scene of the alarm only to find that the sentries “thought they saw or heard something” in the adjacent bush. The women sometimes came screaming in from the farms avowing they had been chased by the enemy. Every rustle of the grass, leaves, or bush was interpreted into a lurking foe; and the nerves of the victors became so jumpy that a voice raised in angry conversation would set the whole town agog with expectation that the enemy had come seeking revenge.

When these alarms took place during the day, the fighters would demonstrate before our house, and ask us to bring out our guns and help them to keep off the foe. “You are living in our town, and you are our white men. We offered to help you against the lower towns if they came to attack you, and now get out your guns and aid us. Why, if you were only to show yourselves the people of the upper towns would run away. Come on, our white men, and help us!”

We pointed out to them that all the people of the district were our friends, and consequently we could not assist one town to fight against another.

Then, finding that arguments and persuasion failed to move us, they took to taunting us. “You are not white men,” they shouted, “you are women! You are cowards!” And with curled lips and gestures of scorn they pointed their spears and knives at us.

Their taunts and gestures of contempt stung us, making the blood surge through our veins and causing us to go hot and cold by turns. With pale faces, compressed lips, and hands gripping tightly whatever came within our grasp, we listened patiently to their sneers. How easy it would have been to have taken our gun and made some display of helping them! To have walked among them, and to have fired a shot into the bush would probably have satisfied them and would have stopped their sneers; but we were there on behalf of the “Prince of Peace.” How could we, then, consistently help them in their fights? We were there professing that all the peoples of the neighbouring towns and surrounding districts were our friends; how could we then take up arms against any of them and expect them to believe our professions of good-will or trust again in our word? We were hoping to make our station a centre of peace, the meeting-place for all factions; how could we, then, with our hopes and prayers, embroil ourselves in their hatreds and wars, or join sides with them even in pretending to shoot down our other parishioners? It was very difficult, but strength was given to meet the emergency, to bear calmly the taunts, the sneers, and the contempt; and from that time we were regarded by all the towns of the district as belonging to no one place, but to all of them, as impartial in our judgments, and just in our dealings with all alike.

About three weeks after the first outbreak of war the natives of the upper towns came to talk over the terms of peace. They landed at our beach as the only neutral spot, and tied their canoes to our posts. The deliberations were long, boisterous, and from the noise that came to our ears we thought two or three times that they were on the point of starting fresh hostilities. At last the palavering was over and the visitors returned to our station, and bidding us good-bye, they entered their canoes; but just as they were pushing off the Monsembe people became excited and threatening in their attitude, and seeing that a fight on our beach was imminent, my colleague and I picked up sticks and drove the Monsembe people back from the river front. We insisted on the neutrality of our station; we had bought and paid for the land, consequently it was ours, and we would have no fighting on it; if they wanted to fight they must go to another part of the beach.

This attitude of ours was a revelation to our Monsembe neighbours. Here were two white men whom they had taunted with being cowards, women, etc., standing with simply sticks in their hands to oppose a crowd armed with spears and knives. Two white men with sticks only throwing themselves between them and their enemies, and demanding that no blood should be shed on their land. What power had these white men behind them? So astonished were they that they halted in their treacherous attack on their visitors, who, taking advantage of the lull, paddled beyond reach of the uplifted spears, and arrived safely home.

After this failure to settle the terms of peace, a go-between (molekaleku) was appointed and approved by both parties. He was an outsider of importance and had the confidence of the clans concerned. He arranged the terms of peace: all loot and slaves should be retained by the conquerors; but all the free folk captured should be set at liberty. This go-between selected a neutral place for the ceremony of blood-brotherhood, and was pledged that the meeting should take place without a renewal of hostilities by either party.

All the preliminaries having been settled the parties met at the place and time appointed; and then a stick called ndeko was procured and carefully scraped, and these scrapings were mixed with salt. The contracting parties—the head-man of each side—clasped each other’s right hand with the ndeko between the palms; some incisions were then made on the arms and the mixture of ndeko scrapings and salt was rubbed on the cuts; each then put his mouth to the incisions on the other’s arm and sucked for a few moments, after which one of the contracting parties took the ndeko stick and struck the wrists and knees of the other, saying: “If ever I break this covenant may I be cursed by having my nose rot off.”[^[10]] Then the other took the ndeko stick, and, performing the same ceremony, he called down the same curse on himself should he ever break the contract. These rites were accompanied by the drinking of much sugar-cane wine, and the whole ceremony was called tena ndeko = to cut the ndeko stick.

[10]. Probably lupus. There were a few cases of this disease, and it was regarded as a punishment for faithlessness in observing the oath of blood-brotherhood.