My Journey up the Congo
Our captain and tyrant--River scenes--We camp at a
trading-station--Native riddles.
When my senses returned I found my box was piled on deck with many other
boxes like it, and thus I had a fine view. The sun was rising, flooding
the river with its brightness, lighting up the distant hills and
throwing into sombre shadow the mangrove trees that lined the banks.
There was much hustling and shouting on board as the ropes were cast
loose; and I soon began to feel the throb of the engines, and hear the
rush of the water as the small steamer pushed its way against the strong
current that was hurrying the mighty volume of the Congo to the sea.
On reaching mid-channel I could see that the trading-houses of Banana
were built on a narrow tongue of sand, having on one side the Atlantic
Ocean constantly rolling and sometimes madly rushing as though it
desired to tear the very tongue out of the mouth of the river; and on
the other side the gentle lap, lap of a back current of the river
itself.
The Congo is said to be fifteen miles wide at the mouth--from hills to
hills; but it does not look so wide because of the islands and mangrove
swamps that hinder a clear view of the whole width, and narrow one’s
vision to the channel in which you are steaming.
From my position I had an easy view of the deck of our small steamer.
There were only two white men on board--a captain and an engineer; the
former was a short man, who never spoke without swearing, and never gave
an order without punching or kicking one of the black crew. He had a
large rubicund nose, hideously coloured by frequent applications to the
bottles that were always on his table. He was privately nicknamed by his
crew as Red-nose, and was thoroughly feared and hated by them all. Many
of them were slaves and could not get away from him, and others had
contracted for one or two years’ service, and if they ran away they
would have lost their pay; but notwithstanding this some did escape,
preferring loss of pay to constant brutal treatment.
The current was too strong to remain long in mid-channel, so the steamer
went near to the bank and pushed and fought its way, with much rattling,
throbbing and panting, from point to point of the various bays. When the
water was too swift to be conquered at one place, the steamer, snorting
with defeat, crossed the channel and worked its way up-river on the
other side.
There was not much to be seen--no hippopotami, no crocodiles, and very
few natives in canoes, and only an occasional trading-station on
low-lying, swampy land surrounded by palm-trees, plantain groves and
vegetable gardens. Here and there men were to be seen fishing with large
oval nets. They stood on the rocks by which the water rushed tumbling
and foaming in its hurry to reach the sea, and dipped in their nets with
the mouths up-stream, and, pulling up the whitebait thus caught, laid
them on the rocks to dry. Others made small fences by the river’s bank
about eighteen inches apart and three feet long, and into these they put
small scoop-shaped nets, and drew up the small fish that had passed
between the fences.
By sunset we reached a trading-station belonging to my owners. Our
steamer was quickly tied to the bank, and all made secure for the night.
The men soon had some fires lighted along the beach, and saucepans of
food boiling on them, and pieces of meat roasting in the ashes. Groups
gathered round the fires, and after a hearty meal of rice, ship-biscuits
and meat, they became very talkative, and soon started asking riddles.
Some of these riddles I still remember after all these changeful years;
and I will try to tell you a few of them.
A Loango man named Tati seemed to know most riddles,[5] and he was
called upon to make a start. After much persuasion he asked: “What is
this? _The stick is very little; but it has a number of leaves on it._”
One after another attempted to give the answer, but as they all failed,
Tati said: “The answer is--_Market_, because it is a small place, but
has a lot of people on it.” They chuckled with delight over the neatness
of the riddle, and demanded Tati to give them another.
Footnote 5:
See note 4, p. 343.
Tati sat in a brown study for a few minutes, and then, looking up, said:
“_There were five buffaloes; but only four tracks._” Semo, who was
Tati’s rival in this game, instantly cried out: “_Fingers_” as the
answer, because while there are five fingers on a hand there are only
four tracks, _i. e._ spaces between them.
Semo was then asked to give one, and without a moment’s thought he cried
out: “_My father’s fowls laid their eggs under the leaves._” All kinds
of guesses were made; but at last admitting their failure, Semo said:
“_Peanuts_,” and of course they all saw it at once--peanuts grow under
the ground beneath their own leaves.
Semo was called upon for another riddle, and after a short pause he
said: “_I went to a strange town, and they gave me one-legged fowls to
eat._” This one also was too difficult for them to guess, and after many
attempts Semo had to give the answer, viz. _Mushrooms_, which have only
one stalk (_i. e._ one leg) on which to stand.
Soon after this the talk became general, and gradually died away as one
by one they rolled themselves in their mats and went to sleep, leaving
the fires brightly burning to throw out warmth to the sleepers and to
frighten away hippopotami, crocodiles and sundry other creatures. During
the night the snorting of hippopotami could be heard as they gambolled
in the shallow water near the bank; and occasionally the switch of a
crocodile became audible as it hurried by in search of food for its
cruel but never-satiated jaws; many noises also came from the dark
forest just beyond the settlement, that filled the night with weirdness
and made the first glow of dawn welcome to men, birds and beasts.
[Illustration: A CONGO HUT.]
[Illustration: THE LOWER CONGO RIVER ABOUT 90 MILES FROM THE SEA.]
Just as the sun peeped above the eastern horizon bells began to ring,
and the whole station awoke to life. My friends, the crew, hurriedly
came from their mats, and were soon carrying bales, boxes and bottles
ashore, under the directions of a white man, and in an hour or so all
the goods for that station were discharged, and the steamer was pushing
its nose against the strong current of brown, oily-looking water to the
next up-river station.
The higher we ascended the river the narrower it became, and the more
powerful was the rush of water on its ever-scurrying way to the sea.
Whirlpools opened up at the most unexpected places, making the steamer
roll and pitch, and straining the engines until they panted and groaned
in their never-ceasing struggle with the giant current. Twice we were
twisted round in a place called the Devil’s Cauldron and carried
down-river, but at the third attempt the giant was conquered, and an
hour or so later we were tied up to a wharf at the highest point on the
Lower River.
Just below us the river narrows between steep hills to a mile and a
quarter in width, and through that funnel more than twenty thousand
miles of rivers empty themselves into the “cauldron” which constantly
seethes, bubbles and boils with the rush of water tearing over its
rough, rocky bottom.