On August 10th, we leave Coquilhatville and steam down the river to Irebu, which we reach after a few hours hot journey. Mr. Jeniaux, the Commandant, has spared no pains to make the camp not only beautiful but attractive in every way and it has well earned its reputation as one of the show places of the Congo. Lord Mountmorres is lodged in a spare house used for guests and Lieutenant Hoyer kindly lends me his during our stay. The Mess is very comfortably arranged, and the dinner based on antelope and wild pig is excellent.
Next day I go hunting with Mr. Hoyer in a canoe propelled by twenty paddlers. These at first keep up a kind of chant to the time of the paddles which is quite musical and pleasant. As we approach the game grounds however, they become quite silent. After travelling up stream for about a mile, we land in a kind of bog which is full of a species of duck, somewhat resembling a wood-cock. A sergeant of the Force Publique acts as guide and hunter, and it soon becomes apparent that the native is in the habit of stalking even birds and shooting them sitting. This is natural enough for formerly they were armed with bows and arrows, and now the army of course use only rifles. Shot guns, therefore, are only known to the boys of the white men, some of whom are very good shots. The hunter seems quite annoyed because I only shoot at birds on the wing, but is delighted when one falls. So far indeed, the only enthusiasm a native has shown, has been while hunting after a successful shot. The paddlers at once re-enact the scene, put imaginary guns to their shoulders give a loud bang and then describe circles with their hands to give a dumb show of the bird falling, laughing and shouting all the time. They are really just like young children and are easily pleased by trifles. After walking some distance the sergeant becomes wildly excited and clutches me violently by the arm but makes no noise. Looking up I see a large monkey but signify that I will not shoot those beasts. He then asks permission to fire his rifle and brings it down with a shot through the head. After this we paddle on to the hippo ground. After the very first shot at a head fifty yards away, the canoe suddenly gives a great lurch and as nearly as possible capsizes. Another great beast had evidently chosen that moment to come up just under it and if we had not been a heavy load, would undoubtedly have thrown it high in the air. As it was, beyond a shaking, no one was damaged and we had excellent sport for a few minutes until the animals made for the bank and hid themselves in the long grass.
Behind Irebu is a plain, where the grass is really green, the green that is only seen in the tropics. Here and there are clumps of palms and patches of forest, the whole giving the appearance of a well kept park. There are antelope and wild pig here but they are very difficult to stalk owing to the open character of the ground. There are also a few red-legged partridges and many pigeons so that one always found something to shoot.
The native camp here consists of a large square shut off by a wooden fence. Inside are large huts in which the soldiers live, and oddly enough, they all prefer to have separate establishments, each woman preparing the food for her husband. These women also work in the plantation when they are not concerned with the business of maternity, which judging by the number of children about, must be very seldom. The native cemetery is a curious-looking place, for on each grave is placed the clothes of the dead one and any other belongings he has. No one knows the origin or object of this custom. They are not for the journey to the happy hunting ground apparently, for missionaries say they have never heard the natives speak of any kind of a future state. It may be that these articles are merely to show the wealth of the departed; they are however, all broken or torn to shreds, so that no robber should be tempted to take them. Many of the tribes are said to eat their dead, except those of high position and those who die of infectious diseases, and others used to throw the corpses in the river. Some tribes however, have a very elaborate funeral with much wailing and lamenting and the departed is interred beneath his own hut, which is never occupied again.
At Irebu, the narrow river from Lake Tumba joins the Congo, and from its small size is known usually as the canal. The current sometimes flows up and sometimes down, according to the height of water in the Congo, but it is obvious that the general direction must be down, as many small streams flow into the Lake, and all their water is certainly not dispersed by evaporation. Many crocodiles pass up and down the canal and it would be easy to shoot them from the windows or verandah of my house, but it seems to be rather a waste of cartridges which, like most other things, must be carried the whole tour, for none can be procured in the Congo. I do not therefore, care to run the risk of running short when the hunting grounds of Uele are reached.
Sunday is usually a very busy day in Irebu. No work is done, but all the Chiefs come in to call on the Commandant, who is evidently regarded as a species of parent. Indeed, the nickname of Commandant Jeniaux is the native word meaning Father. All the sick are brought in and receive treatment; children are vaccinated, and any little native disputes are brought before him to settle. These nearly always relate to women. One man will complain that his wife has not behaved herself properly at home, that she has not prepared his food nicely, or much more rarely, that she has run away with another. Sometimes a Chief complains that another one has stolen some of his women or goats, and then the other side is heard and the judgment pronounced. These are of course, not formal trials, and the judgment is more in the shape of advice. It is however, always acted upon, for the time being at least. Serious cases are left to the Courts, but this institution of friendly palavers is an excellent one and establishes confidence and good will among the natives. It is here indeed, that the personal character of the white man is put to the test. A calm, just, firm rule will win both the love and respect of these over-grown children, but an excitable, harsh, uncertain temper and manner, will only awaken distrust and hatred. The more popular the head of the Station, the easier it is for him to find workers in the villages, which in turn affect the general condition of the country around. Although the system of work is absolutely uniform and every official is tied in a particular groove, yet the whole welfare, work, and indeed, appearance of the country and villages, is good or bad according to the moral character and personality of the chief white man in the neighbourhood. I would therefore, say, with however some reserve, that when the natives are discontented and rebel, it is not because they dislike the system of Government, but are dissatisfied with the man who administers it.
NATIVE CHIEFS AT COQUILHATVILLE.
On August 16th, Inspecteur d'Etat Warnant, Commander in-chief of the Force Publique, arrives at Irebu. He is on a tour of inspection, and has every reason to be satisfied with the efficiency of the troops. Perfect discipline and harmony is maintained throughout all ranks and all the officers are agreed that the troops are perfectly steady when fighting and never show the least sign of cowardice. Many are very good shots and their drill certainly leaves nothing to be desired.