Angola and the River Congo, vol. 2

by Joachim John Monteiro

On the beach we found the dead trunk of a large tree that had evidently been cast ashore by the waves, and had been considered a “fetish;” for what reason, in this case, I know not, as trees stranded in this way are common. It was hung all over with strips of cloth and rags of all kinds, shells, &c. As it was dry, it was quickly chopped up for firewood by the soldiers and blacks.

The following morning our road lay along the beach till we reached the dry mouth of the River Lifune, a small stream that only runs during the rainy season. We then struck due inland for about three miles to reach the Portuguese post of Libongo, consisting of a small force commanded by a lieutenant. This officer (Loforte) I had known at Bembe, and he gave us a cordial welcome.

The “Residencia,” or residence of the “Chefe,” as the commandants are called, was a large, rambling old house of only one floor, and it contained the greatest number of rats that I have ever seen in any one place.

One large room was assigned to the use of Major Gamboa, two officers, and myself, a bed being made in each corner of the room. We had taken the precaution of leaving the candle burning on the floor in the middle of the room, but we had scarcely lain down when we began to hear lively squeaks and rustlings that seemed to come from walls, roof, and floor. In a few minutes the rats issued boldly from all parts, running down the walls and dropping in numbers from the roof on to the beds, and attacking the candle. We shouted, and threw our boots, sticks, and everything else that was available at them, but it was of no use, and we could hardly save the candle. It was useless to think of sleep under these circumstances, for we considered that if the rats were so bold with a light in the room, they would no doubt eat us up alive in the dark, so we dressed ourselves, and pitched our hammocks in the open air, under some magnificent tamarind-trees, and there slept in comfort.

Libongo is celebrated for its mineral pitch, which was formerly much used at Loanda for tarring ships and boats. The inhabitants of the district used to pay their dues or taxes to government in this pitch. It is not collected at the present time, but I do not know the reason why.

I was curious to see the locality in which it was found, as it had not been visited before by a white man, so Lieutenant Loforte supplied me with an old man as guide, and Major Gamboa and myself started one morning at daybreak.

We had been told that we might reach the place and return in good time for dinner in the evening, and consequently only provided a small basket of provisions for breakfast and lunch; we travelled about six miles, and reached a place where we found half-a-dozen huts of blacks belonging to Libongo, engaged in their mandioca plantations. These tried hard to dissuade us from proceeding farther, saying that we should only reach the pitch springs next morning. I, of course, decided to proceed, but Major Gamboa, who did not take the interest in the exploration that I did, determined to return to breakfast at Libongo at once, leaving me the provisions for my supposed two days’ journey.

After a short rest I started off again, and about mid-day arrived at the place I was in search of. It was the head of a small valley or gully, worn by the waters from the plain on their way to the sea, which was not far off, as although it could not be seen from where I stood, the roll of the surf on the beach could just be heard. It must have been close inland to the place where we had bivouacked a few nights before, and had burnt the “fetish” tree for firewood.

The rock was a friable fine sandstone, so impregnated with the bitumen or pitch, that it oozed out from the sides of the horizontal beds and formed little cakes on the steps or ledges, from an ounce or two in weight to masses of a couple of pounds or more.

Although it was very interesting to see a rock so impregnated with pitch as to melt out with the heat of the sun, I was disappointed, as from the reports of the natives I had been led to believe that it was a regular spring or lake. My guide was most anxious that I should return, and as I was preparing to shoot a bird, begged me not to fire my gun and attract the attention of the natives of the town of Quiengue, close by, whom we could hear beating drums and firing off muskets. Next day we knew at Libongo that these demonstrations had been for the purpose of calling together the natives, to attack the factories at Mossulo Bay.