The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Truth About the Congo, by Frederick Starr This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Truth About the Congo The Chicago Tribune Articles Author: Frederick Starr Release Date: November 28, 2015 [EBook #50567] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CONGO *** Produced by Larry Harrison, Cindy Beyer and the online Project Gutenberg team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net with images provided by The Internet Archives-US THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CONGO CHIEF NDOMBE WITH FAMILY GROUP, IN HIS TOWN THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CONGO W THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE ARTICLES BY FREDERICK STARR CHICAGO FORBES & COMPANY 1907 COPYRIGHT 1907 BY THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MANUEL GONZALES, MY COMPANION AND PHOTOGRAPHER UPON MY CONGO EXPEDITION AND TO OUR BLACK BOYS, MANOELI AND TUMBA PREFACE HEN I returned to America, I had decided to express no opinion upon the public and political questions of the Congo Free State. Having found conditions there quite different from what I had expected, it was impossible for me to state my actual impressions without danger of antagonizing or offending some whom I valued as friends. Hence, on landing at New York, I refused to say anything upon those matters to several reporters who interviewed me. A little later, the Chicago Tribune asked me to write upon these subjects, urging the importance of the whole matter to our nation, and leaving me entire freedom in viewpoint and mode of treatment. In response to its request, I prepared a series of articles, which appeared in successive issues from January 20 to February 3, 1907. M The articles were received with general interest, and many asked that they should be reprinted in book form. I felt that they were of momentary interest only, and as I have much other Congo matter for books and pamphlets—more directly in the line of my professional work—I was inclined not to reprint them. But I soon found myself the subject of bitter attack. Malicious and untrue statements were made regarding me and my motives. I have concluded, therefore, that it is best that my articles should be accessible to all who are interested. What I wrote, I am ready to defend. I am not ready to be judged from misquotations, or condemned for what I never wrote. Hence this book. I am not personally responsible for the title—The Truth about the Congo. Although I believe all my statements are true, I should not have selected that title for my articles. No man can say all that is true on any subject, and I do not arrogate to myself a monopoly in truth-telling, either about the Congo or any other topic. But after my announcement under that heading, I decided to let it stand. I preferred some less assertive title, but I am content. So I use the same title for this book. The headlines of the articles, however, I have suppressed. They were not of my preparation and did not adequately suggest the matter or the treatment. The articles are reprinted with no changes except corrections in spelling, punctuation, or mistaken words. No man more desires the happiness and progress of the Congo natives than do I. I know them pretty well. I am their friend; they are my friends. I shall be glad if what I here present makes them and their cause better known to thoughtful and sympathetic men and women, Mere emotion, however violent, will not help them. Stubborn refusal to recognize and encourage reforms, which have been seriously undertaken for their betterment, will only harm them. THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CONGO I. January 20, 1907. Y own interest in the Congo Free State began at the St. Louis exposition. As is well known, that exposition made a special feature of groups of representatives of tribes from various parts of the world. These natives dressed in native dress, lived in native houses, and so far as possible reproduced an accurate picture of the daily life to which they were accustomed in their homes. Among the groups there brought together was one of Congo natives. This group was commonly known as the pygmy group, though but four out of the nine members composing it made claims to be such. The group was brought by Mr. S. P. Verner, at one time missionary to the Congo, who was engaged by the exposition to make a special journey into central Africa to procure it. Four members of the group were Batua, the others were large blacks representing the Bakuba and Baluba. The idea of visiting Africa was one which I had never seriously entertained, but in the study of these Congolese it seemed to me that there were interesting questions the solution of which would well repay a visit. The consequence was, that I determined to visit the Congo Free State—and specifically that part of the state from which these natives had been brought. About this time I received considerable literature from the Congo Reform Association at Boston, the reading of which had its influence in deciding me to undertake the expedition. After reading this literature I started for the Congo, fully prepared to see all kinds of horrors. I supposed that mutilations, cruelties, and atrocities of the most frightful kinds would everywhere present themselves. I expected to find a people everywhere suffering, mourning, and in unhappiness. My errand, however, was not that of a searcher after all these dreadful things, but purely that of a student of human races, with definite questions for investigation. I may say that my opportunities for forming an opinion of conditions in the Congo have been exceptional. Mine was no hasty journey, but a tarry in the country extending over more than one year. While my original plan was to spend the greater portion of my time in the district ruled by the Bakuba chief, Ndombe, with but a short period in other parts of the state, I had decided before reaching the mouth of the Congo to more evenly distribute my time, and to see far more of the Congo proper than I at first intended. As a consequence, I went first into the Kasai district, where I spent four months, after which, returning to Leopoldville, I went up the main river to the head of navigation, and even beyond, to Ponthierville, the terminus of the newly built line of railroad. We also went up the Aruwimi, to the famous Yambuya camp, where the navigation of that river is interrupted by cataracts. I have, therefore, seen not only the lower Congo, which has been so frequently visited in recent years, but traveled thousands of miles upon the great river and two of its most important tributaries. In this extended journey I came into constant contact with representatives of the three groups of white men who live in the Congo Free State—state officials, missionaries, and traders. I had repeated conversations with them all, and have heard opinions upon the Congo State from these diverse points of view. My position with reference to Congo matters is peculiar, doubly so. I may even say it is unique. My journey was made at my own expense; I was not the representative of any institution, society, or body. I was without instructions, and my observations were untrammeled by any demands or conditions from outside. While I am under many and weighty obligations to scores of state officials, missionaries, and traders, I am not prevented from speaking my mind in regard to any and every matter. Both to the missionaries, state officials, and traders I paid board and lodging at every stopping point—with the single exception of one American mission station—a fact which leaves me freedom. While the state facilitated my visit and my work in many ways, I was not, at any time, in relations with it of such a kind as to interfere with free observations or free expression. I made this entirely clear on my first visit to the state authorities at Brussels, and it was understood by them that I should speak freely and frankly of everything which I should see. On their part, the state authorities expressed the liveliest satisfaction that an independent American traveler should visit the Congo Free State, and said that they did not wish anything concealed or attenuated, as they felt sure that such a visit as mine could only do them good. I have said that my position was doubly peculiar. I was not only independent and untrammeled in observation and expression, but my personal attitude to the whole question of colonization and administration by a foreign power, of natives, is radical. Personally I dislike the effort to elevate, civilize, remake a people. I should prefer to leave the African as he was before white contact. It is my belief that there is no people so weak or so degraded as to be incapable of self- government. I believe that every people is happier and better with self-government, no matter how unlike our own form that government may be. I feel that no nation is good enough, or wise enough, or sufficiently advanced to undertake the elevation and civilization of a “lower” people. Still less do I approve the exploitation of a native population by outsiders for their own benefit. Nor do I feel that even the development of British trade warrants interference with native life, customs, laws, and lands. I know, however, that these views are unpopular and heretical. In the series of articles, then, which I have been asked to prepare, I shall try to take the standpoint of the practical man, the business man, the man of affairs, the philanthropist, the missionary. All these agree that civilized folk have a perfect right to interfere with any native tribe too weak to resist their encroachment. They agree that it is perfectly right to trample under foot native customs, institutions, ideas—to change and modify, to introduce innovations, either to develop trade, to exploit a country, to elevate a race, or to save souls. I am forced, then, to look at Congo matters from the point of view of these eminently practical men. Of course, I saw much to criticise. It is true that there are floggings, and chain-gangs, and prisons. I have seen them all repeatedly. But there are floggings, chain-gangs, and prisons in the United States. Mutilations are so rare that one must seek for them; and I had too much else to do. There is taxation—yes, heavy taxation—a matter which I shall discuss quite fully further on. And in connection with taxation there is forced labor, a matter which, of course, I disapprove, but it appears as just to all the groups of eminently practical men to whom I have referred. There are, no doubt, hostages in numbers, but I saw less than a dozen. And the whole matter of hostages is one which merits careful and candid discussion. And I know that in many a large district the population is much smaller than in former times. The causes of this diminution in numbers are many and various, and to them I shall return. Flogging, chain-gang, prison, mutilation, heavy taxation, hostages, depopulation—all these I saw, but at no time and at no place were they so flagrant as to force themselves upon attention. And of frightful outrages, such as I had expected to meet everywhere, I may almost say there was nothing. It is, of course, but fair to state that I was not in the district of the A. B. I. R. I cannot believe, however, that conditions in that district are so appalling as the newspaper reports would indicate. On the contrary, I found at many places a condition of the negro population far happier than I had dreamed it possible. The negro of the Congo—or Bantu, if you please—is a born trader. He is imitative to a degree. He is acquisitive, and charmed with novelties. He is bright and quick, remarkably intelligent. He readily acquires new languages, and it is no uncommon thing to find a Congo Bantu who can speak six or seven languages besides his own. In disposition variable and emotional, he quickly forgets his sorrow. I saw hundreds of natives who were working happily, living in good houses, dressing in good clothes of European stuff and pattern, and saving property. That this number will rapidly increase I have no doubt. And now, on my return, after having many of my preconceived ideas completely shattered, and feeling on the whole that things in Congoland are not so bad, and that improvement is the order of the day, I am startled to find the greatest excitement. Pages of newspapers are filled with stories of atrocities, many of which never happened, some of which are ancient, and a part of which, recent in date, are true. I find a fierce excitement about the Belgium lobby, vigorous resolutions presented in the senate, and the President of the United States outrunning his most urgent supporters and advisers, ready to take some drastic action to ameliorate the conditions of the suffering millions in the Congo Free State. The surprise is so much the greater, as my latest information regarding the American official attitude had been gained from the letter written by Secretary Root some months ago. What can be the reason of such prodigious and sudden change? What has happened in the Congo since April to produce the present state of mind? What is the motive underlying the bitter attacks upon Leopold and the Free State which he established? Is it truly humanitarian? Or are the laudable impulses and praiseworthy sympathies of two great people being used for hidden and sinister ends of politics? I do not claim infallibility. I do claim that my having spent a year in the Congo Free State, independently, should qualify me to express opinions on the conditions. I have heard both sides. I have traveled thousands of miles in Congo territory. I have visited natives of twenty-eight different tribes. No interference has been placed in my way. I have gone where I pleased, and when and how I pleased. No preparations have been made with reference to my visits. I believe no changes in practice have been produced by my presence. In the series of articles before us it is my intention to present in detail what I have seen, and much of what I have heard, in the Congo Independent State. I may make errors, but I shall tell no intentional falsehoods. I shall criticise what deserves criticism. I shall praise what is praiseworthy. I trust that those who are interested in forming a true idea of Congo conditions may find something useful in my observations. At this point it is necessary for us to know something of the Congo native himself. In Dark Africa—for northern Africa is and always has been a white man’s country—there are three negro or negroid masses. There is little doubt that the original inhabitants of the continent were dwarf people, ancestors of the pygmies of the high Ituri forest, and the Batua of the upper Kasai. To-day the pygmies are mere fragments, scattered and separated, but retaining with tenacity their ancient life. They are the same to-day as they were 5,000 years ago, when they were objects of interest to the old Egyptians. Little in stature, scrawny in form, with a face shrewd, cunning, and sly, the pygmy is a hunter. With his bows and poisoned arrows he kills the game of the forests and makes no pretense of doing aught in agriculture. He is universally feared by the large blacks in the neighborhood of whose towns he settles. He trades his game for agricultural products with his large neighbors. In the Soudan and neighboring parts of western Africa live the true negroes, notable for their thick lips, projecting lower faces, and dark skin. Throughout southern Africa we find a group of populations much lighter in color, and on the whole more attractive in appearance, than the true negro. These tribes, plainly related in language, are no doubt of one blood, and are called Bantu. The name is unfortunate, as the word bantu simply means “men” in that group of languages. Practically the whole of the Congo population are Bantu—there being almost no true negroes and but few pygmies in the area. It would seem as if the Congo native should be so well known by this time that the current description of him in the text-books would be accurate; yet, at least in two respects, these stereotyped accounts are wrong. The Congo Bantu are not long-headed, and it is not true that they differ from the real negro in the absence of a characteristic and disagreeable odor. There are scores of Bantu tribes, each with its own language and minor peculiarities in appearance and life. It would be untrue to say that all smell badly, but I have often wished the writers of the books could be shut up a while in the same room with, for example, a group of Bobangi. It is certain that no type of African smells worse. It would be, however, a mistake to think that the Bantu are dirty. Far from it. I have repeatedly observed my carriers, when we came to some brook in the forest, set their loads aside, strip themselves when necessary, and bathe in the fresh cool water. They are scrupulous in attention to their teeth, and use, often several times a day, a little stick of wood, somewhat larger than a lead-pencil, shredded at one end, to clean their teeth. The instrument, by the way, serves its purpose far better than our own toothbrushes. According to his tribe, the Bantu may be short, medium, or tall. King Ndombe of the Bakuba measures six feet three in stature, and is well-built, though not heavy. Among the Bakuba, Baluba, Batetela, and Bakete, tall statures are common. It is rare, however, that the Bantu present what we would call finely developed forms; their chest is often flat and sunken; their shoulders not well thrown backward; and the musculature of their back, their chest, arms, and legs, is poor. Of course, there are exceptions, and one sometimes sees magnificently developed specimens. In the lower Congo, where on the whole the men are shorter, they make excellent carriers. In the old caravan days the standard burden was sixty or seventy pounds, and a man would carry it without difficulty all the working day. The Kasai tribes are poor carriers and indifferent workers. The chopbox of sixty pounds weight, which the lower Congo man shoulders easily and carries without complaint, will be slung to a pole to be borne by two carriers among the Baluba. In life the Bantu populations, so far as the Congo is concerned, present notable general uniformity. The general pattern is the same everywhere, though there are local and tribal differences of minor sort. Thus, almost every tribe has its own tribal marks cut into the flesh of face or body. Similarly, the members of one tribe may be distinguished by their mode of dressing the hair. To a less degree, the form to which the teeth are chipped and broken mark tribal differences. It may almost be said that no two tribes in all the Congo build houses that are just alike, and almost every tribe has its characteristic mode of arranging the houses in a group. Thus, in one tribe the houses will be arranged in continuous lines, one on each side of a straight road; in another the houses may be grouped around the three sides of a square, the group belonging to a single chieftain and being succeeded in the village by other similar groups of buildings; in another the houses will be arranged in two curved lines, leaving the open space in the center of the village oval or elliptical. The chairs or stools of one tribe will differ in form and decoration from those of another; so will the wooden spoons, the stirring-sticks, the combs, the dress and ornaments. The Congo natives for the most part still lead a tribal life. A chief is the head of a little community clustered about him. He may not be the chief of a whole village; for example, at Bomanih, on the Aruwimi, there are three chiefs. Each one has his own cluster of houses, and though the three clusters are arranged continuously in two, parallel, straight lines, every native of the village knows precisely where the domain of the individual chief ends or begins. The power and authority of the chief has been greatly weakened by contact with the whites, but he still retains great influence. At least over the members of his own household, including, of course, his slaves, he had the power of life and death. In large affairs, interesting a considerable number of people, he usually acted on the advice and opinion of his fellows as expressed in a village or tribal palaver. The chief was, and still is, distinguished from the common people by his dress and ornaments. He is usually a man of wealth, and has a considerable number of people actually dependent upon him, subject to his orders, and a force upon which he can depend in case of war or trouble. When I first entered the Congo my heart sank, for it seemed as if the native life was gone. In fact, in letters written from Matadi I doubted whether I had not come too late for aught of interest. My spirits began to revive, however, with the railroad journey from Matadi to Leopoldville. Groups of natives, with scanty dress and barbaric ornaments, replaced those who at Matadi and its neighborhood gathered at the station to see the train pass. In my first walk from the mission house where I lodged at Leo, within three minutes’ walk of the mission I found a little cluster of Bateke houses which, with its inhabitants, much delighted me. Almost naked women, with abundance of beads and teeth hung at their necks as ornaments, with hair elaborately dressed and bodies smeared with red camwood powder, squatted on the ground, were making native pottery in graceful forms. In the shade in front of the door of one of the houses was a true barbarian, lord of the place. By rare good luck he spoke a little English, so that we were able to carry on a conversation. When I asked him who the women were, he replied that they were his wives. I think there were three of them, and it was my first introduction to African polygamy. Each of L these women occupied a separate house. Each of them had a garden patch in which she worked. All of them contributed to the importance and support of their husband. Polygamy, of course, prevails throughout Dark Africa. But do not misunderstand me. I do not use the word “dark” to characterize polygamy. It is a settled institution which seems to work quite well. Later on I saw the wives of Ndombe, thirty-four in number. Ndombe is a really important chief, but compared with some whom we met or of whom we heard in the Upper Congo, he was but scantily equipped. Sixty, seventy, a hundred, or hundreds of wives and female slaves, which count for much the same, are in possession of great chieftains. There is, of course, always one favorite or principal wife. When Ndombe used to come, as he frequently did, to my house to see the stereoscopic pictures, he frequently brought his favorite wife with him. She was a pretty creature—young and plump, graceful and modest. She wore good cloth and any quantity of beads and brass arm and leg rings. In every case the women of a chief or rich man live in separate houses, each having her own. Until a man is married he is but little thought of. The greater the number of his wives, the more important he becomes. As each one cultivates a field and does other productive labor, it will be seen that the man with the most wives is the richest man. The man has his own house, but visits and lives in the houses of his wives in turn. The child in Africa is rarely weaned before it is two or three years old, and during the period of time when a child is unweaned the father has no marital relations with the woman. On the whole, there is less quarreling among the wives of a polygamic husband than one would expect. Bantu women, however, are often termagants, as women elsewhere, and at times the chief’s house group is lively. Domestic slavery still flourishes. The state, of course, has done much to end the actual slave trade for supplying white men and Arabs. It is, however, difficult to deal with the matter of domestic slavery, and in fact is scarcely worth the candle. Every chief or man of any consequence has slaves. Calamba, my interpreter, at Ndombe, though a young fellow, probably not more than 25, had two. It is rare that the lot of the domestic slave is unhappy. It is usually women or children who are bought, and they are treated in all respects as if members of the family. Little is required of them in the way of work and service, and they must absolutely be provided for by the master, who is also frequently responsible before the public for their misdeeds. Formerly, of course, there was the possibility of being killed upon a festal occasion, the accession of the chief to increased power, or to grace his funeral. Within those districts where the state has a firm hold and strong influence this possibility is done away with, and the most serious disadvantage in being a slave is thus removed. Slaves may become rich men, and not infrequently themselves hold slaves. Perhaps the most striking characteristic of the Bantu, as of the true negro, is his emotionality—one instant joyous, the next in tears. Vowing vengeance for an injury to-day, he is on the happiest terms with his injurer to-morrow. He laughs, sings, dances. Of all the introductions of the white man, perhaps the accordion is the favorite. Men use it, but women play it constantly. Most of them play one song piece only, and one may hear it from one end of the state to the other at every hour of the day and night. Of course, there are native instruments in plenty, drums of every size and form, from the small hand drum, made by stretching a skin across an earthen pot three or four inches in diameter, up to the great cylindrical, horizontal drum made by hollowing logs a yard in diameter and ten feet long. There are horns, fifes, pipes, and whistles, and a great series of stringed instruments, ranging from the musical bow with but one cord to lutes with ten or twelve. Of course, the instrumental music goes with the dancing. The native is born to dance. Babies, two or three years old, dance with their elders. Men dance together; women have their special forms; but in the majority of cases the two sexes dance together. There is, however, nothing like our waltzes or round dancing, individuals keeping themselves separate. The dances are most frequent and lively when the moon is growing. On moonlight nights hundreds of people—men, women, and children—gather at dusk, and to the noise of drums dance wildly, often till morning. It is no uncommon thing for people working on plantations to work all day and dance almost all night, and this day after day. While some of the dances are extremely graceful, most of them are obscene and are followed often by frightful orgies. One thing greatly interested me. Had I been asked before my trip to Africa about the cake-walk—a form of amusement which I love to see—I should have said that it originated in America among the black folk of our southern states. But no, the cake-walk is no American invention. In every part of the Congo one may see it—even in regions where white influence has seldom penetrated. The American cake-walk is an immigrant. The Bantu child is wonderfully precocious. This precocity displays itself in everything. The children run about with perfect freedom, instead of tottering along, one unsteady step after another, as our children of the same age. They speak astonishingly soon. A babe in arms eats solid food—notwithstanding the fact that it is not weaned until two or three years of age—shockingly early. The little child imitates the every action of its older friends. Children of four or five, in shrewdness, comprehension, and intelligence, are like our ten-year-olds. This precocity suggests the fact of early ripening. As a fact, boys of sixteen and girls of thirteen are frequently ready for marriage. A man of twenty-five is in the prime of life, a man of thirty aged, and on the whole the term of life closes at thirty-five. II. January 21, 1907. IFE is easy in the tropics. Wants are few. A house to live in can be built in a few hours. Food can be gathered or produced with little labor. Dress is needless. Where life is easy there is little impulse to labor. The chief incentive to the Bantu to work is to secure the wherewithal to buy a wife. The boy, who, through a careless, happy childhood, has done naught but play, begins to think of settling down. But to have a wife he must have money or its equivalent. So he goes to work. It may require a year or more before he has the pieces of cloth which are necessary for the purchase of his desired loved one. The same stimulus which impelled him to labor for one wife may prod him to efforts for others. But with the establishment of a home, and the purchase of two or three wives to care for him and produce him wealth, his work is done. From fourteen years to twenty-five is his working period. Before that time a child, after that time he is a man of means. What wealth comes later comes through the women and their labor, and through trade. We have already stated that the Bantu is notably acquisitive. Wealth, apart from women and slaves, is counted mostly in cloth. One of the chief aims in life is to accumulate cloth, not for use as clothing, but as evidence of wealth and for the final display when the man dies and is buried. Among the Lower Congo tribes the dead body is wrapped in piece after piece of cloth, until the body disappears in a mass of wrappings made of scores of pieces, each piece consisting of eight or sixteen yards, as the case may be. Young men have cloth, and it is most interesting to look through the boxes of the “boys.” At Basoko we were robbed, and the authorities instituted a search. I was asked to inspect the boxes of all the workmen on the place. Without warning, every man and boy had to open his trunk, chest, tin box, or other store. I saw young fellows of no more than sixteen or seventeen years who had a dozen pieces of good cloth carefully folded away, watches, jewelry, ornaments, knives, dishes—every kind of white man’s tradestuff that could be imagined. When they are thirty those “boys” will be rich men, with women, slaves, and piles of stuff. The government of the Free State has issued coins for native use. There are large coppers of the value of one, two, five, and ten centimes. There are silver coins of half-franc, franc, two franc, and five franc value. But these coins have no circulation beyond Leopoldville. In the Kasai district and the Upper Congo every commercial transaction is done by barter. Certain things are so constantly in use as to have fixed values. For articles of trifling value nothing is so good as salt. A standard which varies from place to place is the brass rod, or mitaku. This is simply a piece of brass wire of certain length. The mitaku in the Lower Congo are short, those in the Upper Congo much longer. Beads have ever been used in trade, but the wise traveler avoids them, as their value has dwindled, and the taste not only varies from place to place, but from time to time. The bead which one traveler found useful in a given district may have lost its attractiveness before the next traveler, loaded with a large supply, comes that way. At Ndombe the brass rod has no vogue. There the cowries (sea shells) are the standard in small transactions. Cowries were once used in many parts of Africa, but in most places have ceased to have value. Ndombe, however, arrogates to himself and family the sole right of wearing brass arm and leg rings. Hence mitaku are not used, and the old-fashioned cowry remains. But the chief tradestuff, of course, is cloth. With it you may buy chickens or goats, pigs or wives. In the Upper Kasai a piece of cloth means eight yards—“four fathoms.” In the Upper Congo a piece of cloth is sixteen yards, or eight fathoms. Formerly at Ndombe eight or ten chickens were given for a piece of cloth, value five francs, or one dollar in our currency. To-day one must pay a fathom for each fowl. The attempt to introduce the use of corn among the natives was unsatisfactory alike to the people and the trader. It has, however, taken hold strongly in the Lower Congo, and in time the use of true money must push its way up the river. Curious is the contempt of all for coppers. Ten centimes in Belgium would give delight to many a boy of twelve or fifteen years. The Congo native frequently throws it away or returns it to the person who gave it to him. Nothing less than a half- franc piece—ten cents—is valued. I have seen this illustrated many, many times, the first time in my own case. We were visiting a miserable fishing village of poor Bakongo. As I entered the village a naked child, no more than two or three years old, met me. I smiled at him and he at me. I extended my hand, which he clasped and accompanied me for half an hour as I wandered from house to house, never once relaxing his hold upon my fingers. It caused great amusement to the adult portion of the village, as apparently the little one rarely made such friendships. When I was about to leave I took a ten centime piece from my pocket and gave it to him. Such a look of disgust as came over his face would not be expected in any one short of adult years. It was the last time that I gave a copper to a native. Unquestionably one of the most striking characteristics of the Congo people is loquacity. Their tongues hang loosely, and wag incessantly. Anything will do to talk about. Start one and he will talk until you stop him. Quarrels, troubles, friendships, joys, plans, and achievements, all are retailed at any hour of the day or night. When excited, several will talk together with great vivacity, though it is plain that no one knows what any other is saying. One of the chief occupations of the man is the palaver. The Portuguese term applies to any serious consultation on any subject, pleasant or otherwise. A palaver may be confined to chiefs or it may include practically all the men of one or more villages. In many towns there is a place for gathering for palavers under a tree known as the palaver tree. Those who participate in a palaver bring their chairs or stools or a roll of skin, which they place upon the ground to sit upon. At the beginning there is more or less formality, and each one presents his view decently and in order; sometimes, however, hubbub ensues, disturbance arises, and the palaver breaks up in disorder. In these palavers frequently speeches of great length and finished oratory are delivered. Not only are the emotions played upon by the speaker, but keen argument is employed, and the appeal is made to the intelligence. All matters of consequence—tribal, inter-tribal, and dealings with the white man—are settled in palavers. The white man who knows the natives is wise to conform to native customs. If he has some difficulty to settle, some favor to ask, some business to arrange, he will do well to have a formal palaver called in which he himself participates. On the occasion of my second visit to Ndombe I found the town in great excitement. Going to the chief’s headquarters, we found a great palaver in progress. Our coming was looked upon as a favorable omen, and with much formality chairs were brought and placed for us in the midst of the gathering. The remarks were translated to me as they were made. Ndombe’s town is really an aggregation of villages. Not one but four different tribes are represented in the population. The central town, walled and of Bakuba style, was Ndombe’s own. Three or four Bakete towns were clustered near it. In another direction were several Baluba towns, and close by them small villages of Batua. These four populations, though living by themselves, were all subject to Ndombe, and the group of villages taken together made a town of some pretension. The day before our visit, there had been a battle with the Bakete in which several men had been wounded, though none were killed. The trouble was taxes. The state demanded increased payments. The proud Bakuba decided that the Bakete should pay the new tax, and so informed them. Against this there had been a feeling of rebellion, and the Bakete refused to pay the tax. Hence the battle. All were greatly excited. The speeches were full of fire. The men—Bakuba— challenged each other to show mighty deeds of valor; they belittled and derided the unfortunate Bakete; they drew unpleasant contrasts between themselves and their vassals. Many of the speeches were fine efforts, and the words were emphasized by the most graceful and vigorous gesticulation. Finally an old woman crowded in from one side where she had been listening to the speeches. In impassioned language she described the heavy labors which the women of the tribe already endured. They could stand no more. If the Bakuba were men let them prove it now or forever after remain silent. Force the Bakete to work. Put no more heavy tasks upon your mothers, wives, and sisters. The old woman’s speech stirred the audience, and the meeting broke up, the men hurrying to prepare themselves for a new battle. The market was among the most important institutions of the Congo native. It retains importance to the present day. In the Lower Congo a week consisted of four days, and market was held at each market-place once a week. The markets were named from the day of the week on which they were held. Thus, a Nsona market was a market held on the day of that name. To these markets people came in numbers from all the country round, and it was no uncommon thing to see thousands thus gathered. There were special places for certain products. Thus, women who brought pottery for sale occupied a set place; those who brought bananas would be grouped together in their section; sellers of camwood, sweet potatoes, kwanga (native cassava bread), palm wine, oil, salt, fowls, pigs, goats—all occupied places well known to the frequenters of the market. In the olden times, of course, there was a section devoted to the sale of slaves. Such a market presented a scene of active life and movement. Yet order was preserved. No crime was considered more serious than the disturbance of a market. Such an act deserved severest punishment, and those in whose hands the maintenance of order lay never hesitated to kill the offender at once, and to make a public display of his punishment as a warning to all. There is no question that the Congo native is cruel, and this cruelty shows itself in many ways. The killing of slaves was extremely common. It is true that it was never carried to the extreme in Congoland that it reached in some true negro kingdoms, as Dahomey and Benin. It was, however, customary to kill slaves on the occasion of the death of a man of any consequence. The body of one of the slaves thus killed was placed first in the grave to serve as a pillow for the dead man. It was a common practice to preserve the skulls of victims sacrificed on such occasions as memorials. Not only were slaves sacrificed to grace the funeral ceremony of chiefs, but often one or more were killed upon occasions of festivity and joy. King Ndombe once presented me a skull. It was that of a Batua slave who had been killed upon the occasion of the chief’s coming into power. In this case, apparently, judging by the condition of the skull, the victim had been killed by simply knocking in his head. Until lately all through the Congo public executions were of a more formal character than this. At Lake Mantumba we were shown the exact mode of procedure. A sort of stool or seat was set upon the ground and sticks were tightly driven in around it, in such a way as to limit the motions of the victim after he was seated; in fact, to almost prevent all movement. A sapling was then thrust in the ground. A sort of cage or framework made of pliant branches was fixed about the head of the victim. The sapling was then bent over in an arch and firmly fastened to the cage, thus holding the head firmly and stretching the neck tense and hard. The hands were tied together, as were the feet. When all was ready the executioner with his great knife at a single blow struck off the head. Enemies killed in battle were often mutilated, and fingers, nails, bones, or the skulls were treasured as trophies. When the white men first visited the villages of the Upper Congo there was scarce a house without its ghastly trophy, and the houses of great chiefs displayed baskets filled with skulls. It is doubtful whether the Congo native has as keen a sense of physical suffering as ourselves. In almost every tribe men and sometimes women, are marked with tribal marks upon the face or body; thus, among the Bangala each member of the tribe bears a projection like a cock’s comb running vertically across the forehead from the nose root to the hair line. This excrescence is frequently three-quarters of an inch in breadth and of the same elevation. Its development begins in childhood, when a series of short but deep horizontal lines are cut in the child’s forehead; these are irritated to produce swelling; later on they are cut again, and again, and again, until the full development is produced. We should certainly find such an operation painful in the extreme. I have seen women whose entire bodies were masses of raised patterns, produced by cutting and irritating. When being operated upon the subject usually squats or lies in front of the operator, who sits cross-legged on the ground. The head or other portion of the body which is being cut rests upon the lap or knees of the cutter. No particular pain is shown by the subject, though the cuts are often deep and blood flows copiously. A few minutes after the operation, smeared with fresh oil on the wounds, the scarred person walks about as if nothing had happened. The first subject that I saw treated for rheumatism was a young woman. She was standing before her house door, while the old woman who was treating her was squatted on the ground before her. In her hand the old woman had a sharp, native razor, and with it she cut lines several inches long and to good depth in the fleshy part of the leg of her standing patient. Not once nor twice, but a dozen times the old woman cut, and rubbed in medicine in the open wounds. The patient gave but little signs of pain. Once or twice she winced as the knife went a little deeper than usual; she held a long staff in her hand, and in the most serious moments of the cutting she clutched it a little the tighter. But there were no groans, no cries, nor tears. I have never seen a white person who could have stood the operation with so little evidence of N suffering. Part of the time that we were in Ndombe’s district we had charge of an establishment employing 140 natives, more or less. Among these natives was one Casati. I think he was a Zappo Zap. Originally a man of quickness and intelligence, he had become a complete physical wreck through drink and other forms of dissipation. He boarded with a girl named Tumba. One afternoon they presented themselves before me with a palaver. It was some question in regard to payment and service. Like most Bantu difficulties, its beginning seemed to extend backwards to the world’s creation. I knew Tumba to be a worthy and industrious girl; Casati was a miserable and worthless wretch. I therefore refused to decide the difficulty, stating that the parties interested must wait until the return of the true owner of the establishment, who would decide their question. This was not at all to the satisfaction of Casati, who, merely to show his dissatisfaction, took a sharp knife and cut three big gashes in his own shoulder. It seems plain to me, from this apparent lack of pain under scarring, medical treatment, and self-infliction, that there is a notable difference between the Bantu and ourselves. BAKUMU AT EASE: STEAMER CHAIRS AND PIPES FOR THREE III. January 22, 1907. ATURALLY, in the Congo there is little need of dress. Before the white man’s influence most native men wore nothing but a breech-clout—a long strip of cloth passed between the legs and fastened as a belt around the waist—or else a piece of native cloth made from palm fiber, perhaps a yard in width and long enough to go around the body. This latter garment, technically called a cloth, is still the dress of almost all the workmen and workwomen on white men’s places, but European stuff has replaced the old palm cloth. The women were usually much less clad than the men, but the style of dress varied from tribe to tribe. The Bangala woman wore, and still wears, a girdle at the waist, from which hung a fringe of grass or vegetable fiber reaching to the knees. The women of some Aruwimi tribes wear a simple cord, from which hangs in front a bit of grass cloth no more than three or four inches square. On occasion, the Bakuba woman wears nothing but one string of beads around her waist, from which hang in front several large brass or copper rings. The Ngombe women regularly go naked. Where white influence has become pronounced every one wears white man’s cloth, and many have this cloth made up in form similar to those of the Europeans. After a Bantu has begun to be imbued with white man’s ideas he is unhappy until he has a jacket, trousers, and hat. In form and material these are frequently so startling as to cause surprise to the person really accustomed to white men’s clothes. Thus, a man may be dressed in loose and flowing trousers made of the most brilliant calicoes in gaudy pattern. He may have a jacket made of a strip of handkerchiefing which never was meant to be used as material for clothes, but to be cut or torn into kerchiefs. But happiness is not complete for the Bantu in transformation until he has a white man’s umbrella. Not that he needs it for rain, because when it rains the Bantu always goes into his house and at once falls into a profound slumber which lasts until the rain is over. It is merely fashion, or for protection against the sun, a thing of which the Bantu really has no need. Two boys who were in our employ at Ndombe accompanied us afterwards as personal servants on our long journey up and down the Congo. When the time came to leave them at Leopoldville we took them to the white man’s store and asked them what they wanted as a parting gift. Their selections were eminently characteristic. My companion’s boy at once declared his wish for an umbrella, while my own, of a far livelier and more sportive disposition, wished an accordion. It is a common complaint among the white men that the native is ungrateful. Many and many a time have we listened to such tirades. You will hear them from everybody who has had dealings with the Bantu. The missionary complains of it as bitterly as does the trader or the state official. All of them unite in declaring that gratitude does not exist in native character. This seems to us a baseless claim. The African is the shrewdest of traders. It is true that frequently he lets things go to white men for what seems to us a mere nothing. But he gets what he wants in return for his goods. He enjoys bickering. His first price is always greatly in excess of what he actually expects to receive. He will spend hours in debating the value of his wares. No one need seriously fear for the outcome to the black man in open trade with whites. The purpose of the white man in visiting him and dealing with him is a mystery to the native mind. He can understand the value of palm oil and ivory, for palm oil and ivory he uses himself. Why rubber and copal should be so precious is beyond his understanding. He but dimly grasps the purpose of the state and of the missionary. On the whole, he lends himself to all alike, and being naturally kind, tries to please all and do what is expected of him. Still, he knows that he is being exploited by the foreigner, and it is but fair that he should exploit in return—a thing at which he is an adept. Why, then, should he be grateful for what is done for him? He naturally believes that missionaries, government officials, and traders all gain some advantage from their dealings with him; it is his duty to gain all he can in return in his dealings with them. And there is no especial ground for thanks. There is no reason for gratitude. I presume it is true that on one occasion—perhaps it has been true on many—a native who had been carefully and lovingly cared for through a long and trying sickness, when restored wished to know what the missionary was going to give him. He had taken all the bad medicines and all the invalid’s slops without complaint, but naturally he expected some sort of compensation at the end. Yet the missionary would quote the incident as an example of ingratitude. It is common to call black Africans dishonest. Here, again, the judgment is undeserved and arises from miscomprehension. The African knows, as well as we do, what constitutes truth, yet he lies, especially to white folk. He has as clear a knowledge of mine and thine as we, and yet he steals from his employer. The explanation lies in the same idea precisely. He thinks we are constantly getting something from him; he in turn must exploit us. The white man is a stranger. Throughout tribal life the stranger is a menace; he is a being to be plundered because he is a being who plunders. Among themselves, lying is not commended and truth is appreciated; but to deceive a stranger or a white man is commen...