It was not until 9 a.m. in the morning that we could make a start for all the baggage had to be fitted into the canoes and the paddlers arranged in their places. The first day with new crews is always a trouble but this is never repeated for the native has a good memory and every bale, bag, gun and even small articles like books are taken from the canoes each evening and put back in identically the same place in the morning. This is remarkable when one thinks that some hundreds of separate articles have to be placed in one of seven or eight different canoes in one particular place.
The river is heavily in flood for this is the end of the wet season and the current is very strong indeed. Soon we come to the first rapid and one of the men drops his pole overboard at the critical moment. The other two, however, hold the canoe up by pressing against the rocks while the water whirls past within an inch of the edge of the little craft. At a word from the capita one of the paddlers jumps into the rushing water, rescues the pole and lands safely with it on the bank, fifty or sixty yards below. All the Sangos swim like salmon but cannot of course leap up rapids. They however, swim so powerfully that they steer clear of the rocks and reach the side even in the swiftest current. On we go slowly struggling up rapid after rapid and when it is impossible to paddle and pole the canoes against the stream the crew stand on the rocks and lift them up. Sometimes the drop is three feet at one spot and it is perfectly marvellous how these men can thus stand waist deep in the water. Naturally we ship a good deal of water which wets everything through and through but the crew take this as a matter of course and bale it out at intervals while the boys take care the firearms are not injured. The amount of actual work the crew do must be enormous yet they never seem fatigued and sing as lustily at the end as at the beginning of the day. At length we pass the island of Mutemu and seek for a place for a camp. There is not much choice for the forest is very dense here and it is necessary in every place to clear the undergrowth before the tents can be pitched. Then fires are lighted and all are soon asleep.
We start again at daybreak and at once commence the fight with the rapids. Soon after a Chief appears in a canoe, and having explained that he is at war with a neighbouring tribe hopes it will not inconvenience the white man. On being asked why he is fighting he states that he has lost two women and thinks they have been stolen. I then told him war was a mistake and I hoped he would make peace as soon as possible, at which he looked a little surprised and answered that he expected to be successful and capture several women as well as men.
The navigation of the Uele at this part of its course is so difficult that there are very few villages on its banks for the native who lives near a stream hardly ever walks and he will not settle unless he can travel by canoe. For this reason there is often no pathway at all between villages only a mile or two apart on the river bank. The few people there are have probably never seen a white man for as far as one can ascertain no one has been up here for ten years. However, where there is a village the Chief comes on board and presents a chicken. About midday the kitchen canoe paddles by with fire alight and pot boiling. Soon after Chikaia shouts: Le cuisinier est tombé dans l'eau, and a little way ahead is seen a canoe apparently upside down close to the bank and twelve or fifteen black heads bobbing up and down in the water. Mountmorres is just ahead in his canoe and easily within reach but to my surprise his paddlers suddenly turn away from the bank and make for mid-stream evidently straining every muscle. Turning round I order my crew to pull rapidly to the rescue but to my disgust they also turn into mid-stream and take no notice of my command. Having asked Chikaia the meaning of this he replied: La petite bête qui mange l'homme. Chikaia's knowledge of zoology and French being somewhat limited every animal is for him either a «petite» or a «grande bête». The information was therefore not very valuable for it was impossible to imagine what small beast was in the habit of eating people. Thinking, however, of a crocodile I took my rifle but Chikaia laughed and said: «Non, non, la petite.» By this time we were well out in mid-stream opposite the kitchen canoe which—to add to the mystery—was not upset at all. The cook, the crew, the goats and the fowls were all, however, in the water. No danger was apparent for the crew were swimming at their ease and hoisting the live stock back into the canoe. It is useless being astonished at anything in Africa and there was obviously nothing to do but sit still while the crew raced along as fast as they could paddle. In a few minutes they pulled into the bank and there we waited for the kitchen which presently appeared with the cook reclining in the arms of one of the crew and moaning: «Je mart, je mort.» After a rapid examination, however, I could find nothing at all the matter. At length we discover the truth. His canoe had run into a large hornet's nest hanging from the branch of a tree and he had been stung in the head. To avoid further damage, he and the whole of the crew not only jumped into the water themselves but threw all the live stock overboard as well, for the natives believe that the sting of this insect kills and they fear it more than an encounter with a wild beast. The cook was therefore in a highly hysterical condition and no doubt in considerable pain also although no mark of a sting could be discovered, amidst his thick curly black hair. Still I took him into my canoe, gave him whisky internally and bathed his head with permanganate of potassium and he was quite well next day. After this delay we struggle on until just before dark we reached the worst rapid on the river the Kandoko Falls, up which the canoes are lifted inch by inch. Everything was already wet so the fact that a terrific tornado burst before we could pitch the tents added but little to our discomfort.
On again at daybreak and after one or two ineffectual attempts to negotiate the last strong rapid on this piece of the river we conquer it and reach smooth water. In the course of the morning a canoe intercepts us in which is a native dressed as a State capita and armed with a gun. He says he has been sent by a white man to tell us not to sound our tom-toms as it will attract the hostile tribe and they will attack our camp. We ask for the letter for white men never send verbal messages by natives and when it was not forthcoming became suspicious that our visitor was spying our strength. We told him that we were peaceful travellers, that we should beat our tom-toms as much as we liked and camp where we wished and that if the tribe attacked us we should defend ourselves. Probably our rifles made an impression for we were not molested at all during the day and at night camped in the village of the hostile tribe. Our paddlers indeed fraternised with the enemy, against whom they would have been fighting if they had not been employed by us.
THE SULTAN OF DJABIR.
The usual tornado burst in the night and we did not make a start until 7 a.m. when we continued up the river and passed several villages before 2 p.m. when Djabir came in sight. The view of the town from the distance is very pretty indeed. In the centre is an old fort with four towers now partly demolished and on each side the houses of the officials stretching along the river bank. Here we land two hours afterwards and feel that at last we shall have a night's rest without fear that our habitation will be blown away or soaked with water.