DAWN IN DARKEST AFRICA

MUSHAMALENGI, “A ROYAL PRINCE” OF THE BAKUBA KINGDOM IN THE UPPER KASAI.

Frontispiece.

DAWN IN DARKEST
AFRICA

BY
JOHN H. HARRIS

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF CROMER
O.M., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., K.C.S.I.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP

LONDON
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE
1912

All rights reserved

PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED
LONDON AND BECCLES

INTRODUCTION

By the Earl of Cromer

I have been asked to write a short introduction to this book, and I have no hesitation in complying with the request.

Although the high motives and disinterested devotion which inspire missionary and philanthropic effort are very generally recognized, there is often a predisposition—more frequently felt than expressed—not only amongst responsible officials but also in the minds of no inconsiderable portion of the public to accept with some reserve both the accuracy of the facts and the soundness of the conclusions emanating wholly from these sources. This scepticism, provided it be not allowed to degenerate into unworthy prejudice, is not merely healthy but even commendable. I could mention cases within my own knowledge where missionary zeal was certainly allowed to outrun discretion. It is the duty of responsible officials to be sceptical in such matters. Whilst sympathizing with humanitarians they should endeavour to remedy whatever of quixotism is to be found in their suggestions; and to guide those from whom those suggestions emanate along a path calculated to ensure the achievement of their objects by the adoption of practical methods which will be consonant with the moral and material interests of the Empire at large.

Occasional errors, the result of unchecked enthusiasm in a noble cause, cannot, however, for one moment be allowed to outweigh the immense benefits conferred on civilization by missionary and philanthropic agencies. Nowhere have these benefits been more conspicuous than in the case of the Congo.

The fact that but a few years ago the administration of the Congo was a disgrace to civilized Europe is now so fully recognized, not only in this country, but also—to the honour of the Belgians be it said—in Belgium itself, that it is scarcely necessary to labour the point. One startling fact is sufficient to demonstrate its true character. According to an estimate made by Sir Reginald Wingate,[1] the population of the Soudan under the Mahdi’s rule was reduced from 8,525,000 to 1,870,500 persons; in other words over 75 per cent. of the inhabitants died from disease or were killed in external or internal wars. The civilized European who for some years presided over the destinies of the Congo was no more merciful, save as a matter of percentage, than the ignorant and fanatical Dervish at Khartoum. Mr. Harris states ([p. 208]) that, under the régime of King Leopold, the Congo population was reduced from 20,000,000 to 8,000,000.[2] More than this. It is generally impossible in the long run to pronounce a complete divorce between moral and material interests. It will, therefore, be no matter for surprise that the Leopoldian policy was as unsuccessful from an economic as it was from an humanitarian point of view. It is now clear that unbridled company-mongering has gone far to destroy the sources of wealth to which it owed its birth. Mr. Harris tells a piteous tale of the manner in which the rubber vines have been handled, and, generally of the condition of the plantations. Neither, having regard to the wanton destruction of elephants ([p. 213]) does ivory appear to have been much more tenderly treated than rubber.

Even the most hardened sceptic as regards the utility of missionary enterprise will not, I think, be prepared to deny that to the Missionaries, in conjunction with Mr. Morel, the main credit accrues of having brought home to the British public, and eventually to the public of Europe, the iniquities which, but a short time ago, were being practised under European sanction in the heart of Africa.

Amongst this devoted band, many of whom have paid with their lives the heavy toll which cruel Africa exacts, none have been more steadfast in their determination to insist on the reform of the Congo administration than the writer of this book—Mr. Harris. None, moreover, have brought a more evenly-balanced mind to bear on the numerous problems which perplex the African administrator. Mr. Harris may be an enthusiast, but of this I am well convinced—both by frequent personal intercourse and from a careful perusal of his work—that his enthusiasm is tempered by reason and by a solid appreciation of the difference between the ideal and the practical. He wisely ([p. 35]) deprecates undue Missionary interference with local customs. He has even something ([pp. 58-60]) to say in palliation of polygamy, and if I rightly understand his remarks on [p. 154], he does not utterly exclude a resort to forced labour under certain conditions and under certain circumstances.

Moreover, in so far as my experience enables me to form an opinion, Mr. Harris has acquired a firm grasp of the main principles which should guide Europeans who are called upon to rule over a backward and primitive society, and of the fact that prolonged neglect of those principles must sooner or later lead to failure or even disaster. He writes as a fair-minded and thoroughly well-informed observer. Throughout his pages may be found many acute observations on the various problems which, in forms more or less identical, tax the ingenuity of the governing race wherever the white and the coloured man meet as ruler and subject. Notably Mr. Harris dwells ([p. 67]) on the great influence exerted by the example set by officials; this example, he thinks—most rightly in my opinion—is more important than the issue of laws and decrees. Here, he says—and I quote the passage with regret—“is where the Belgian and French Congo officials have failed so utterly.” To put the matter in another, and somewhat mathematical, form, I have always held that 75 per cent. of the influence of British officials for good depends on character, and only 25 per cent. on brains. Mistakes arising from defective intelligence will generally admit to being rectified. Those which are due to defects of character are more often irremediable. My belief is that the great and well-deserved success which has attended Sir Reginald Wingate’s administration of the Soudan arises in no small degree from a recognition of this common-place, and from its practical application in the choice of officials. I am not sure that its importance is always adequately recognized in London. It is well to encourage the importation of cocoa and palm oil into the London market. But it is better to acquire the reputation, which ([p. 280]) Mr. Harris says has passed into a proverb in the Congo, that “the Englishman never lies.”

For these reasons I have no hesitation in recommending this book to the public. Mr. Harris’ facts may perhaps be called in question by others possessing greater local knowledge than any to which I can pretend. His conclusions—notably those in his final chapter in which he re-arranges the map of Africa in a somewhat daring spirit—manifestly admit of wide differences of opinion. But he speaks with a unique knowledge of his subject. The opportunities which, with praiseworthy zeal, he and his devoted companion made for themselves to acquire a real knowledge of African affairs has been exceptional. He has thus produced a book in which the ordinary reader cannot fail to be interested if it is only by reason of the vivid and picturesque account it gives of African life and travel, and in which those who have paid special attention to African administration will find many useful indications of the directions in which their efforts towards reform may best be applied. Whatever may be thought of some of Mr. Harris’ suggestions, it cannot but be an advantage, more especially now that attention is being more and more drawn to African affairs, that the Government, Parliament, and the general public should learn what one so eminently qualified as Mr. Harris to instruct them in the facts of the case has to say on the subject.

Mr. Harris is not sparing in his criticisms, neither does he withhold praise when he considers it is due. Whilst strongly condemning the slavery—for such it virtually is—that the Government of Portugal permits in its Colonies, he dwells ([p. 296]) on the “kindly nature” of the Portuguese themselves, and significantly adds “there is no colour-bar in the Portuguese dominions.”[3] He appears to find little to commend in French administration, and much ([pp. 90 and 91]) to condemn in their commercial policy. He does justice ([p. 88]) to the thoroughness and wisdom of the Germans in all matters connected with trade, and does not, as I venture to think, detract from the merits of the liberal policy which they have adopted by alluding to the fact that it is based on self-interested motives. On the other hand, he strongly condemns ([p. 142]) the German treatment of the natives. He dwells ([p. 92]) on the petty and vexatious obstacles placed in the way of a trade by the Belgian officials of the Congo, of which “even Belgian merchants complain,” and he has, of course, little to say in favor of Belgian administration in other respects. But he has the fairness to admit ([p. 209]) that since the annexation of the Congo by Belgium the death rate has diminished and the birth rate increased—a fact which, after the experiences of the Leopoldian régime, appears to me to be very eloquent, and to reflect much credit on the Belgian Government. Moreover, he tells us that “wherever the Belgian reforms have been most completely applied, there the ravages of sleeping sickness appear to be more or less checked.”

These observations are interesting, as they enable a comparison to be made with the results obtained under different systems of government, but they deal with matters for which—save to a limited degree in the Congo, and also perhaps to some slight extent as regards the continuance of slavery in the Portuguese possessions—neither the British Government nor the British nation are in any degree responsible. The internal policy to be adopted in the African territories possessed by France and Germany is a matter solely for the consideration of Frenchmen and Germans. But Mr. Harris has a good deal to say about the conduct of affairs in British African possessions, and it will be well if public attention is directed to his remarks in this connection, lest having preached to others we may ourselves become castaways.

Mr. Harris’ position is so completely detached that he may, without the least hesitation, be acquitted of any desire to exalt unduly the achievements of his own countrymen. The spirit in which he writes is not national, but cosmopolitan. Moreover, he is manifestly not greatly enamoured of the proceedings of some, at all events, of the British officials. For these reasons his testimony is all the more valuable when he speaks, as is frequently the case, in terms of warm praise of the successful results which have been attained under British administration. He says it is not only the best in West Central Africa, but that the natives themselves recognize that it is the best. This testimony is all the more satisfactory because the excellence of British rule has not been always fully recognized in those circles in which Mr. Harris principally moves. “With inherent instinct,” he says ([p. 257]), “the British Government recognizes that the real asset of the Colony (i.e. the Gold Coast Colony) is the indigenous inhabitant, whose material and moral progress is not only the first, but the truest interest of the State.” It is by proceeding on this sound principle that the natives have been kept in possession of the land. “The almost phenomenal success of the cocoa industry in the British Colony of the Gold Coast,” Mr. Harris says ([p. 161]), “is due entirely to the fact that the natives are the proprietors of the cocoa farms.” It is also by the adoption of this principle that it has been possible to solve the thorny labour question. “The native farmers of Southern Nigeria and the Gold Coast employ a good deal of native labour and generally speaking find little difficulty in obtaining all they want” ([p. 262]).[4] Mr. Harris claims ([p. 264]) that the economic will be no less satisfactory than the moral results of the liberal policy which has been adopted by Great Britain, and that “the indigenous industry of the British Colonies working in its own interests, unencumbered by the heavy cost of European supervision and the drawbacks of imported contract labour, will, under the guidance of a paternal and sympathetic administration, certainly outdistance and leave far behind in the race of supremacy such systems as those which prevail in San Thomé and Principe.” I trust, and I also believe, that Mr. Harris will prove to be a true prophet.

It is, moreover, the adoption of the principle to which I have alluded above which enabled an American Bishop ([p. 109]) to characterize as “just marvellous” the way in which the English are “covering the Continent with educated natives,” and I am particularly glad he was able to add “with carpenters, bricklayers, and engineers.”

In spite, however, of the unstinted praise which Mr. Harris has to bestow and which makes it clear that, broadly speaking, we may legitimately be proud of what our countrymen, both official and non-official, have accomplished in Western Africa, he indicates certain defects in the administration, some of which appear to me to be well worthy of the attention of the responsible authorities.

In the first place, he says ([p. 125]) that “between the British official class and the merchant community a great gulf is fixed.”[5] If this is the case, there would certainly appear to be something wrong. There ought to be no such gulf. But as I presume there is an official side to the case, which I have never heard, I do not presume to pronounce any opinion on the merits of the point at issue. Neither is it altogether pleasant to read the episode related on [p. 151]. It is clearly not right to march into a church whilst service is going on, impound a number of carriers and “insist on a native clergyman carrying a box containing whisky.” One may charitably hope that the facts of the case were not quite accurately reported to Mr. Harris.

In the absence of adequate local knowledge I cannot pursue the discussion of this branch of the subject any further, but there is one observation I should wish to make. There cannot be a greater mistake than to employ underpaid officials in the outlying dominions of the Crown. We do not want the worst, or even the second best of our race to prosecute the Imperial policy to which we are wedded as a necessity of our national existence. The work presents so many difficulties of various descriptions that if we are to succeed we must impound into the British service the best elements which our race can produce, and, as I am well aware, even when their services are obtained and every care has been taken, mistakes will sometimes occur in making appointments. And if we want the best material we must pay the best price for it. Men of the required type will not submit to all the privations and discomforts, not to speak of the dangers of an African career unless they are adequately remunerated. I know well from bitter experience the difficulties attendant on paying high salaries out of an impoverished, and even out of a semi-bankrupt Treasury. And I also know the criticisms to which, notably in these democratic days, the payment of high salaries is exposed. My answer to the first of these objections is that if the Treasury cannot afford to give adequate salaries to its European agents it is, on all grounds, wiser to diminish the amount of European agency, or even to dispense with it altogether. My own experience has led me to prefer infinitely the employment of two efficient men on £500 a year to that of four doubtfully efficient men on £250. My answer to the second objection is that those who plead against high salaries are generally very ill-informed of the facts with which they are dealing, and that, if ever there was a case when Government, being better informed, should resist a hasty expression of public opinion, it is this.

Are the British agents employed in subordinate positions in Africa adequately paid? From all I have heard I have considerable doubts whether they are so. In dealing with this subject, I have heard it sometimes said: “Candidates are plentiful. If we can get a man on £250 a year or less, why should we give him £500?” I consider this argument not merely pernicious but ridiculous. It would never be used by any one who has been brought face to face with the difficulties which have actually to be encountered. Its application in practice is liable to lead to very serious consequences in the shape of loss of national credit, and possibly in other and even more serious directions.

Turning to another point, I notice ([p. 120]) that Mr. Harris states that coloured men are practically debarred from entering the medical service in the West African Colonies, and absolutely in the Gold Coast. If so, I can only say that this regulation contrasts unfavourably with the procedure adopted in other British possessions of which the inhabitants are coloured, and adopted, moreover, without, so far as I am aware, the production of any inconvenience. Possibly there are some special reasons, with which I am unacquainted, which apply to West Africa, but they must be very strong to justify a course so little in harmony with the general practice and policy of the British Government elsewhere.

Mr. Harris deals fully with the subject of education, and in his fifth chapter chivalrously defends the cause of that much-abused individual the “educated native,” whose merits and demerits seem to present a striking identity of character whether his residence be on the banks of the Ganges, the Nile, or the Congo. The old complaint with which Indian administrators are so familiar, that the education afforded is too purely literary, re-appears in West Africa. Mr. Harris, however, dwells with justifiable pride ([p. 109]) on the number of carpenters, bricklayers and other mechanics turned out of the Mission Schools, and ([p. 112]) he most rightly insists on the importance of extending “that largely neglected branch of education—practical agriculture.” He suggests that a Commission should be appointed “to study the whole question of the education of the African peoples in British Equatorial possessions, with the object of ascertaining how far the Government may be able to secure a more even balance between the literary and technical training of natives, and how far it may be possible to so re-adjust existing systems as to avoid denationalization.”

My confidence in the results obtained by appointing Royal Commissions is limited, but they afford a useful machinery for classifying facts and sifting evidence, and thus provide some safeguard against the risk, which is nowhere more conspicuous than in dealing with educational subjects, of generalizing from imperfect or incorrect data. Mr. Harris’ suggestion on this point will, I trust, receive due consideration.

Mr. Harris also dwells ([pp. 113, 114]) on the results which ensue when young Africans are sent to England to obtain legal or medical education. “No strong and friendly hand is outstretched to help them, no responsible person comes forward to take them by the hand and bring them in touch with the better elements of our national life.... Who can be surprised if the only seeds they carry back to the Colonies are those evil ones which produce a crop of tares to the embarrassment of Governments?”

If the Colonial Office and the Missionary Societies, acting either independently or in unison with each other, can devise any satisfactory solution of this very important and also extremely difficult problem, they will earn the gratitude of all who are interested in the well-being of our Asiatic and African dominions. Palliatives for the evils which most assuredly arise under the existing system have been tried by the Governments of India and Egypt, but so far as I know the success of these efforts has not been very marked. I may mention that, so convinced was I that the harm done by sending young Egyptians to England for purposes of education more than counterbalanced the advantages which were obtained that at the cost of a good deal of misrepresentation—which was quite natural under the circumstances—I persistently discouraged the practice, and urged that a preferable system was so to improve higher and technical education on the spot as to render the despatch of students to Europe no longer necessary. I fear, however, my efforts in this respect were not altogether successful, for although higher education in Egypt has unquestionably been much improved, the idea that European attainments can best be cultivated in Europe itself has taken so strong a hold both on Egyptian parents and on the Egyptian governing classes, that it is well-nigh impossible to eradicate it.

By far, however, the most interesting and also the most important part of Mr. Harris’ work is that in which he deals with the future of the African possessions of Belgium and Portugal respectively. Even if I had at my disposal all the information necessary to a thorough treatment of these questions, it would not be possible to deal adequately with the grave issues raised by Mr. Harris within the limits of the present introduction. I confine myself, therefore, to a very few observations.

As regards the Congo, if I understand Mr. Harris’ view correctly, the situation, broadly speaking, is somewhat as follows. Reforms have been executed, and a serious effort, the sincerity of which he does not call in question, has been made to rectify abuses for which neither the Belgian Parliament nor the Belgian nation are in any degree responsible. But although abuses have been checked, the main cause from which they originally sprung has not yet been entirely removed. That cause is that the Government, whose functions should be mainly confined to administration, is still largely interested in commercial enterprises. The State has not yet completely divorced itself from the production of rubber for sale in the European markets. Moreover, the old officials, who are tainted with Leopoldian practices, are still employed. Mr. Harris even goes so far ([p. 221]) as to state that their presence acts as a deterrent to the employment of Belgian officials of a higher type.[6] Mr. Harris thinks—and, for my own part, I do not doubt rightly thinks—that so long as this defective system[7] exists, radical reform of the Congo administration will remain incomplete. But radical reform can only be carried out at a very heavy cost, which the Belgian taxpayers, more especially after the assurances which have been given to them, will be unwilling to bear, and possibly incapable of bearing. Mn Harris, therefore, thinks that the Belgian people will be unable to perform the heavy task which, from no fault of their own, has been thrust upon them. “There are reasons,” he says ([p. 298]), “for believing that the extensive Congo territories are too heavy a responsibility for Belgium.”

It is very possible that Mr. Harris’ diagnosis is correct. But what is to be the remedy? The remedy which he suggests is that Germany should take over the greater part of the Belgian and a portion of the French Congo, and ([p. 302]) should concede “an adequate quid pro quo” to France. I will not attempt to discuss fully this suggestion which, to the diplomatic mind, is somewhat startling. I will only say that I very greatly doubt the feasibility of arranging any such “adequate quid pro quo” for France as Mr. Harris seems to contemplate. The British attitude in connection with any transfer of the Congo State from its present rulers to Germany appears to me, however, to be abundantly clear. If any amicable arrangement could be made by which Germany should enter into possession of the Congo, we may regard it, from the point of view of British interests, without the least shadow of disfavour or jealousy, but—and this point appears to me to be essential—it must be of such a nature as will not in any degree impair the very friendly relations which now fortunately exist between our own country and France. The well-being of the Congo State, however deserving of consideration, must be rated second in importance to the steadfast maintenance of an arrangement fraught with the utmost benefit not merely to France and England, but to the world in general.

Failing any such rather heroic measures as those proposed by Mr. Harris, the only alternative would appear to be to rely on Belgian action, and to exercise continuous but steady and very friendly pressure in the direction of crowning the work of the Congo reformers. It would be unjust not to recognize the great difficulties which a series of untoward events has created for Belgium. It may well be that if this course is adopted the progress of reform will be relatively slow, and that in the end it will be less effective than that which would be secured by an immediate and radical change of system. But I rise from a perusal of Mr. Harris’ pages with a feeling that Congo reformers have no cause for despair, albeit their ideals may be impossible of realization in the immediate future.

The case of Portugal is, from the British point of view, if not less difficult, certainly far more simple than that of the Congo. If one-half of what Mr. Harris says is correct—and I see no reason whatever to doubt the accuracy of his facts—two points are abundantly clear. The first is that however it may be disguised by an euphemistic nomenclature, slavery virtually exists in the African possessions of Portugal. The second is that the methods adopted in the repatriation of the slaves are open to very strong and very legitimate criticism. The process of dumping down a number of starving blacks on the coast of the mainland and leaving them to find their own way to their distant homes in Central Africa can scarcely be justified.

Portugal is justly proud of her historical connection with Africa and wishes to retain her African possessions. We may heartily sympathize with this honourable wish. I know of no adequate reasons for supposing that the present political status of those possessions is threatened. But, I venture to think, it would be a mistaken kindness to leave the Portuguese under any delusion on one point. There are some things which no British Government, however powerful otherwise, can undertake to perform. First and foremost amongst those things is the use of the warlike strength of the British Empire to maintain a slave State. In spite of the long-standing friendship between the two countries, in spite of historical associations which are endeared to all Englishmen, and in spite of the apparently unequivocal nature of treaty engagements, it would, I feel assured, be quite impossible, should the African possessions of Portugal be seriously menaced, for British arms to be employed in order to retain them under the uncontrolled possession of Portugal, so long as slavery is permitted. It is earnestly to be hoped that, before any such contingency can arise, the Portuguese Government will have removed the barrier which now exists by totally abolishing a system which is worthy of condemnation alike on economic and on moral grounds.

One further incident in connection with the general question is worthy of notice. Mr. Harris says ([p. 200]) that a small number of the slaves now employed at San Thomé are British subjects. There ought surely to be no great difficulty in dealing with this class. African experts would probably be able to say whether the claim to British nationality was justified or the reverse. If justified, it seems to me that the British Government should send a ship to San Thomé, embark the men, and, after having landed them at the most convenient ports on the mainland, make suitable arrangements for despatching them to their respective homes.

CROMER.

36, Wimpole Street,
October, 1912.

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

It has become the custom in recent years for writers, particularly those recording their travels in semi-civilized regions, to disclaim in advance any title to literary merit. I do not propose to make any exception to this rule and would plead in lieu of literary style a sincerity of purpose, which I beg my literary critics and superiors to accept. If they feel that the facts and incidents set forth suffer from any lack of literary ability, I can only hope that they will take the information supplied upon some of the existing problems of West Africa and use it in their own skilful way with the object of helping forward the march of progress in West Central Africa.

The information contained in this book is drawn from an experience of West Africa dating back to the year 1898 and in particular during a recent journey of something like 5000 miles through the western Equatorial regions. The principal questions under review, are those which affect in the main the conventional basin of the Congo and the Colonies of the Gulf of Guinea.

It has always been my endeavour to get to know the mind of natives and merchants outside the circle of “the authorities,” a habit which I feel has sometimes entailed the appearance of discourtesy, but I know how reticent are the merchant communities, no less than the native tribes, even the most untutored of them, if they see a man or woman holding friendly relations with the powers that be. This method of investigation I have always pursued, with the result that information of the utmost value has frequently been supplied. Whilst, however, I have felt this to be the best course to follow I have, at the same time, tried to place myself in the position of a responsible minister of the Crown, a governor, an official and even a planter, in order that so far as possible I may look at things from their standpoint.

The question may be raised by some of my readers how a man who has spent so many years of his life in distinctly religious work can presume to write upon commercial and political problems. I would make no excuse for so doing, but in justification would say that prior to preparation for missionary work, it is well-known by many of my friends that I held a responsible position in one of the leading commercial houses of the city of London, which, amongst other advantages, gave me a large insight into foreign and colonial questions. My experience of the Congo and cognate questions early brought me into touch with eminent statesmen and well-known public men, including President Roosevelt, Lord Cromer, Sir Edward Grey, Lord Fitzmaurice, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sir Charles Dilke, Sir Francis Hyde Villiers, Sir Arthur Hardinge, Sir Harry Johnston, Sir Valentine Chirol, Mr. St. Loe Strachey, Dr. Thomas Hodgkin, and my friends Travers Buxton, E. D. Morel and Harold Spender. It is impossible to enjoy frequent discussions with men of such breadth of knowledge, wide experience and high ideals, without considerable profit, and at least some qualification for a responsible position. If there is one to whom I am more deeply indebted than another, it is to Lord Fitzmaurice, whose friendship and counsel I have been privileged to enjoy in an increasing measure for nearly twelve years.

My thanks are due to the Editors of The Times, The Manchester Guardian, The Nation, The Daily Chronicle, The Daily News and Leader, and the Contemporary Review for permission to use material which has already appeared in their columns. To Mr. Hamel Smith, the Editor of Tropical Life, the Liverpool Chamber of Commerce, Messrs. John Holt, F. A. Swanzy and Elder Dempster, for the information and help they have so kindly supplied to me, and also to my wife for the assistance rendered to me in the preparation of the manuscript.

October, 1912.

TO
MY DEVOTED COMPANION
WHO HAS SO PATIENTLY BORNE THE HARDSHIPS
OF TRAVEL AND THE LONG STRAIN OF OUR
LABOURS FOR THE NATIVE RACES
THESE PAGES ARE
DEDICATED

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FOREWORD
WEST AFRICA

West Africa, as some of us have known her, is rapidly changing. Within the memory of most men, there were deserts uncrossed, forests unexplored, tribes of people unknown. To-day every desert has been traversed; to-day we know not only the forests, but nearly every species of tree they contain; we know, and can locate, almost every African tribe, and almost every foot of territory has passed under the control, for the time being at least, of some alien Power.

At the present moment political boundaries are more or less fixed, but for how long? In Europe certain Powers are, for one reason or another, seeking opportunities somewhere for colonial expansion, and the moment seems opportune for a reshuffle of colonial possessions, but where, and how?

Looking into the Far East, the statesman sees nothing but trouble ahead in the Celestial Empire, to say nothing of Japan standing sentinel over the Orient. South America, with its vast resources and possibilities, might fall an easy prey to an energetic Power, but over every Republic, Monroe casts his protective declaration which, with the march of time, fastens itself ever more firmly upon the vitals of the body politic of the Republican States of South America.

Back to Africa, the searching eye of the statesman returns and rests to-day. There in the Dark Continent are great territories awaiting development, there weak administrations are “muddling along” doing themselves no good, and their neighbours irreparable harm. For those Powers the hand-writing is on the wall; they must either “get on, or get out,” otherwise “like a whirlwind” some other Power will come and without ceremony bundle them out of the path of progress.

In fifty years the map of Africa will bear little resemblance to that of to-day, but what of the natives? Are they to have no voice in their destiny? One listens with impatience to the cool and calculating discussions for a re-arrangement of the map of Africa, which are being carried on without any reference to the native tribes, without any reference to treaty obligations, and with little respect for the fundamental obligations of Christianity, the teaching of which the European Powers claim as their special monopoly.

Commerce, too, is changing; the kind-hearted merchant of West Africa going forth at his own charges, trudging from village to village founding branches, paddling up and down the rivers and planting factories, is disappearing, and the soulless corporation with directors who are mere machines for registering dividends, are taking his place. Commerce in West Africa is rapidly losing all the humanity which was once its driving force.

The natives are abandoning the old forms of warfare. Denied the weapons which would give them equal chances in mortal gage, they are astute enough to refuse to accept mere butchery. They are learning that there are powers mightier than the sword; education is advancing by leaps and bounds, and the more virile colonies are producing strong men who will make themselves felt before many years have passed over our heads. The African is shaking himself free from the shackles he has worn for so long and is at last beginning to realize his strength. At present Britain, with all her shortcomings, leads the way in giving the native the fullest scope for his abilities. In British and Portuguese Colonies alone in West Africa has the free native the chance of attaining the full stature of a man. In German and French tropical territories, the native is there, not as a citizen, but merely as a necessary adjunct to the production of wealth for the white man. How long he will be content with this position is a question, and evidences of a coming change are everywhere apparent.

Soon the Africa we have known—yea, and loved—will have been hustled away. Its forests, rivers and tribes will possess no more secrets; gone will be the simple old chief; gone the primitive village untouched by European; gone the old witch doctor, and gone too, perhaps, that beautiful faith and trust in the goodness and honesty of the white man—the pity of it all!

Before these changes come, it behoves us to examine closely the great problems before us—the problems of future political divisions, problems of labour, and of education in the largest and fullest sense—and so to readjust our conceptions and laws with an understanding of the natives as save ourselves from repeating the blunders of the past; blunders which have cost Africa millions of useful lives; blunders which have indelibly stained for time and eternity the escutcheon of Christian Europe; blunders for which recompense can never be adequately made, but which at least should serve as a warning for the future.

PART I

I
THE AFRICAN “PORTER”

It is almost impossible to exaggerate the part which the African “porter” or carrier, plays in the history of the Dark Continent. The hinterland of the vast tropical regions—a death-trap to every beast of burden—has been opened up by the carrier together with his brother transport worker—the paddler. The heavier burden has, beyond question, been borne by the former, by the countless thousands of hard woolly heads which have sweated under the weight of innumerable bales and cases too often receiving as a reward of their labour an endless stream of abuse. It seemed justifiable to murmur when crossing those swamps and fighting one’s way through impenetrable forest, but at a distance, and with time for calm reflection, there can surely be no other thought in the mind of any African traveller than that of admiration, as he pictures those sons of Africa with heavy and cumbersome loads upon their heads, floundering through swamps, or toiling up steep hills and along stony paths, cutting and blistering the feet, while the fierce rays of the tropical sun scorch every living thing. Yet on that carrier goes, footsore, often foodless, yet ever ready to renew the march of to-morrow.

Railways and bridges, steamboats and bungalows, engines of war, machinery for drilling into the bowels of the earth, lofty windmills, telegraph wires and poles—these and other European conquerors of African air, land and water have by the thousands of tons found themselves hundreds of miles in the interior of Africa owing to the infinite endurance of the African carrier. Abuse him who will, but be sure of one thing, history will yet give him his due.

The railways, bridges and steamboats, would, so we were told, lessen the need for carriers. That they have shortened distances we grant, but so far from the need of the carrier being lessened, economic expansion has increased the demand. The opening up of the country has brought an insatiable civilization into close touch with vast uncultivated tracts of land, with the result that a great impetus has everywhere been given to agricultural development, which in turns calls for an unceasing stream of carriers to feed the railways and steam craft.

THE CARRIER ON THE MARCH

Thirty years ago the British colony of the Gold Coast possessed no railways, nor was there any export of cocoa. To-day she exports annually over a million pounds’ worth of cocoa-beans, requiring in the season over 100,000 carriers to convey the cocoa harvests to the railways. True statesmanship must always aim at releasing labour from the unproductive task of transport, in order that it may till the soil, but it is doubtful whether the African carrier will ever completely disappear.

Their long procession is never without interest; every man has some distinguishing mark upon which the white traveller may meditate as he trudges along, now in front, now in the centre, now again in the rear of a caravan. What a medley yonder man carries upon his head! There is the traveller’s “chop” box or his bundle of bedding, to which perhaps is lashed by means of a piece of forest vine, the sundry goods and chattels of that simple-hearted carrier—an old salmon tin filled with odd little packages of salt, chili peppers, bits of string, possibly a piece of soap, an old knife and the end of a native candle. There is also the “Sunday best,” whose owner, while looking happy enough in that strip of loin cloth held in place by a cheap European strap, yet strides the firmer and prouder because of that old cotton shirt and the patched white trousers so carefully protected by a bundle of forest leaves. Provisions, too, are there, carefully pounded, cooked and flavoured by the good wife at home. Those unsavoury manioca puddings for “her man” are generously accompanied by her catches of fish, smoked and set aside that he might each day have an appetizing morsel for his meal.

A LIGHTHEARTED CARRIER.

THE CANOE SINGER.

Other carriers are distinguished by the wounds and bruises of their calling—one limps along with a sore foot, but on he goes until the journey’s end; others there are with sore skin or nasty wounds, caused by forest thorns or rough stones, others whose chafed shoulders of yesterday now gape and become a resting-place for the torment of flies; yet, with it all, the impatient traveller too frequently falls to scolding and even cursing them for their “laziness”!

No white man should be allowed to travel beyond a day’s journey with a caravan unless he has a few medical aids for such bruised and wounded helpers, and it will repay him if human gratitude can be called a reward. Cuts and wounds are both the inevitable price of African travel, and it is a necessity and a duty to carry a few spare bandages and healing ointments. There is satisfaction too in gathering the sick men round in the evening and giving them a soothing plaster, ointment or a bandage. A little human kindness of this nature helps to make the journey a happier one for all, but alas too often what the Germans call tropenkoller has no conception of a remedy for complaints beyond the whip or the boot.

The carrier is no more an angel than other human beings, no matter whether pink or black; he has all the imperfections and the love of self-preservation of the brother who calls himself white. I remember once having all the loads laid out ready for the start and then giving the order for each man to choose his load. It was evident the carriers had mentally marked the load each would like to seize, for a dash was made for a small box only about 18 inches square and having the appearance of a 20 lb. load—but it was a case of cartridges weighing 80 lbs.! How promptly they all discarded that box and dashed away for the larger but lighter loads!

Strangely enough the carrier seldom “pilfers” on a journey. The white man’s goods may suffer depredations on the steamer or on the train, but on the march there seems to be a sacred community of interest which safeguards the goods of most white men as effectively as if protected by the spirit-haunted herbs and parrot feathers of the witch doctor, but when civilization, in the shape of steamers and railway trains, enters barbarous regions away goes the eighth commandment. There is one respect in which every African traveller invariably suffers—hungry at the mid-day hour, he calls for “chop”; thirsty, he asks for filtered water; or at night, dead tired, he looks for his folding bed; he may call in vain, for either from set purpose with some definite object in view, or from stupidity, these essentials to the white man are generally “miles behind.”

THE CARRIER AND NATURE

Probably the carrier is at his best when travelling through the vast forests, where, shielded from the sun by the interlacing trees overhead, it is delightfully cool and the layers of dried leaves render the path as soft and springy as the richest carpet. Carriers and traveller are in high mood and as conversation flows freely the traveller realizes what great students of nature these sons of Africa are. As they walk along, they will name every tree and almost every plant; they will tell how many moons elapse before the trees begin to bear; they will give descriptions of edible fruits, the birds and animals which each kind of fruit attracts, varying these running comments by periodic dashes through the undergrowth in search of fruits to illustrate the conversation.

How closely, too, they watch the path for the footprints of animal life, never at a fault to identify the prints with their owners, or accurately gauge the time when the creature passed by, begging, if the traces are recent, to be allowed to track the “meat.” As time does not concern the hunter, it is generally wise, if there is any reasonable chance of obtaining food for the caravan, to camp for the night. This knowledge of forest life stands the natives in good stead, for not infrequently provisions run out on the long marches and in the absence of human habitations, the question of feeding the caravan becomes a serious matter.

At one time we had marched for days without any opportunity of obtaining a supply of food and the carriers were all suffering from hunger; in a whole day we seldom found more than a small handful of edible fruit. At last it became almost impossible to push on with the caravan so tired and hungry: I called together a few of the men and asked what we should do, whereupon one made the novel suggestion of “calling the meat.” The proposal was readily taken up and three of us pushed on ahead with guns. Arriving at a quiet spot, one of the men—a very son of the forest—fell on his knees, and, placing the tips of two fingers in his nostrils, emitted a series of calls which made that forest glen echo with, as it were, the joyous cries of a troop of monkeys! How anxiously the tops of trees were watched! After repeating these tactics in several places in the immediate vicinity for about half-an-hour, a man close to me whispered excitedly “here they come”! In the distance we could see the tree tops moving, and in a short time a score of monkeys could be seen skipping from tree to tree towards the inimitable monkey cries of our carrier. New life was infused into the whole caravan when they saw the gun bring down four monkeys for the evening meal; lowering countenances were wreathed with smiles, grumblings and cursings gave place to joyous songs in which even the sick and lame gladly joined. At dinner that night the men were so famished that they could not stop to cook the meat, but contented themselves with merely singeing off the skin and eating the uncooked flesh.

THE VINES OF THE TROPICAL FOREST.

THE CARRIER’S FRIENDS

To emerge from the forest is generally to enter once more into habitable country, and there the carriers, no matter how far from home, generally discover a relative—a brother or a sister, a father or a mother. Their relationships are strangely elastic, many an African laying claim to as many mothers as wives, in point of fact the father’s brothers and the mother’s sisters all rank as the fathers and mothers of the children. The roving British tar may have a wife in every port, but he is surpassed by the African carrier who may have not only a wife but a mother and sometimes a father too in every village!

II
THE PADDLER AND HIS CANOE

Central Africa, the unexplored land of our childhood, is vested with a charm that never ceases to allure, and reveals her deepest secrets only to those who dig deep and risk much to discover them. The rivers with their shifting sandbanks, their treacherous rapids and whirlpools, entice again and again those whom the miasma has threatened to slay, as the rushing current threatens the unwary navigator. The native alone is in any degree immune to the former, and it is he who, with his simple knowledge of the shoals and currents, may venture with his inimitable dug-out where scientific navigation is baffled. Inseparable from the African river is the dug-out, unthinkable are the thousands of miles of navigable waterway without this primitive, though astonishingly effective, craft.

Canoeing in Central Africa may be not unpleasant, providing both canoe and paddlers are amiably inclined. The number of canoes available is so restricted that there is little choice, and comfort aside it is wise always to sacrifice size to reputation, for a canoe with a bad name will dispirit the paddlers. The trimmest and most seasoned craft, capable of holding twenty to twenty-five paddlers, is the traveller’s ideal, but the equipment is incomplete without a small pilot boat for surplus baggage, manned with four or five paddlers, who will keep ahead, but always in sight, forewarning of rocks, snags, or sandbanks, and generally discharging the functions of a scout. No less important is the selection of the crew, and these to complete a harmonious group should be volunteers—the best plan being that of getting three or four cheery spirits to select the remainder from amongst their friends.

THE PADDLER AND MUSIC

The African paddler readily responds to an appeal for a co-operative canoe journey, but he dislikes any such undertaking as a mere hired paddler. Make him part and parcel of the journey and a host of potential difficulties vanish. Erect in the bows of the canoe a tiny rush shelter with a bamboo bed for the white man, and only the two final though most important elements remain—music and provisions—the absence of either being equally fatal. For the latter, an ample supply of dried fish and cassava can be stored in the canoe, while a currency in the shape of beads, salt, cloth, pins and needles will do the rest. Without music the African can neither live nor die, nor yet be buried; walking, riding, eating, digging, paddling or dancing, he must have the rhythm of his music, devoid of charm it may be to the European, but vital to the good spirits of the African. To the accompaniment of an old biscuit tin or a couple of sticks, the gunwale of the canoe, or the leaves of the forest, any or all of which can be made to give forth a sufficiency of barbaric sounds to set in rhythmic motion the voices and bodies of all within range.

With canoe packed, paddlers in position with their long spear-shaped paddles and musicians with their instruments, provisions piled high and carefully covered, the start is made. Farewells are shouted, and blessings pronounced which if measured by their volume should preserve the traveller for all time from hippos and snags, storms and mosquitos, sickness, accident and even death.

CANOE CHARACTERISTICS

One sees in the African canoe characteristics as distinct as those of the paddlers, for with a limited companionship comes a close acquaintance with nature and things inanimate. There is the leviathan among native craft shaped by the chief and his followers from a forest giant and bearing herself with the proud consciousness of regal ownership. In such a craft the passengers need have no fear for she rides majestically with her bows reared high, breasting the waves of the tornado-lashed river or lake, unmoved by the raging of the elements. She is seen at her best as she glides down stream under the combined influence of the current and the swinging impetus of her thirty stout paddlers. There is the rickety old canoe with broken stern and crippled sides, and her leaking bottom stuffed with clay, but there is life in her yet. She ships water fore and aft, and amidships too, soaking the traveller’s blankets and provisions, but her long experience gives her an ease in travel which her younger though stouter relatives cannot rival. Then there is the lumbering ungainly dug-out, with crooked nose and knotty sides, unreliable and ill-balanced, possessing an affinity for every submerged snag. “Hard on” she frequently goes and every effort to free her threatens to drown the occupants. Sandbanks she seeks out too and obstinately refuses to “jump” them. The paddlers will haul her off and curse her roundly for her crooked ways,—but as she was hewn so she will remain. At the other end of the scale is the tiny fishing dug-out of the Niger and the Congo, and their still smaller sister of Batanga in Spanish Guinea, the latter so small that the owner may with ease carry on his shoulder both canoe and fishing tackle, and whilst baiting hooks and catching fish he skilfully sits astride her and paddles with his feet.

MRS. HARRIS CANOEING ON THE ARUWIMI, UPPER CONGO.

A RICKETY DUG-OUT.

Inseparable again from the dug-out is the paddler. Who that travelled with him can forget him? Humorous as the London Jehu of the twentieth century, dexterous as his civilized confrères of the ocean, as adaptable to his surroundings as the clay to the potter’s art; at home everywhere and in all conditions in his native land, swimming or standing, sitting or lying, squatting or reclining, sleeping as soundly on the nose of the canoe or the river bank as we in our downiest of feather beds. He is ready and alert with the earliest peep of dawn, as the mists rise from the surface of the river, presenting the appearance of a huge boiling cauldron. Peeping from beneath your mosquito net you see his figure outlined against the dawning light as he keeps a sharp look-out for the hidden snag, and shivers with the clinging chilly mist. His powers of endurance are unequalled, as the rising sun dispels the mists and mounting higher in the heavens becomes increasingly fierce. He still swings his paddle with steady persistence till his body steams with the effort; then after a little halt and refreshment in the friendly shade of the riverside forest, he will go on until the sun is sinking, and if need be, still on in the moonlight, singing his monotonous boat song, occasionally varied by a running commentary from the leader on the incidents of the journey, the peculiarities of a certain paddler, or the ways of the white occupants of the canoe.

During the whole day long the paddler will pursue his task, I see him now almost unconsciously bending his body with each dip of the paddle, till a sudden slowing down followed by a profound stillness arrests the attention. I can again hear those whispered voices as the gentle lapping of the water against the canoe side ceases, and the boat is still. A monkey has perhaps been seen overhead springing from bough to bough, or sitting nibbling the fruit of some forest tree, or it may be an edible bird with flesh as tough as its plumage is gorgeous, that watches us till the gun booms out and the creature is brought down. For a moment it struggles in the river, then with a sudden splash, a man is swimming with powerful strokes towards the prey which he a moment later lands in the canoe, while the rest look approvingly on at their prospective meal. With spirits heartened, on they go, singing of their capture and the feast which is to follow, till turning a bend in the river the destination is at last in sight.

A CANOE RACE

And how they love a race! Let them but see a competitor ahead bound for the same goal, and despite their long day’s paddle they will redouble their strokes. Caution is thrown to the winds and the canoe springs in a mad gallop, rocking to and fro, pitching and tossing against the current until the rival ahead, scenting a race, enters the competition with keen zest. At such times I have found all warnings are in vain. With a rapid girding up of the loin cloths as the boats proceed, a rearranging of the cargo, children, dogs, fowls, baggage and all—the race begins in real earnest. With much shouting and good-natured banter the one or the other will take advantage of every prospect of an up-current; now out again in midstream to avoid a snag; a paddle breaks in the effort, but is quickly discarded and another seized without lessening the speed—and on they go, each determined to win or sink their rival. The boats ship water, but are made to right themselves with marvellous ingenuity and then both stop to bale out, while the paddlers exchange good-humoured threats, gibes, curses and defiance.

On again they go with little advantage to either side, and the word is passed for the “master stroke.” Madder than ever is the race; the white man may shout but they pay no heed, for young manhood has lost all sense of danger. At last the opportunity occurs for the final advantage for the river must be crossed at yonder point. Often have I tried to avoid this danger, proceeding first to command, then to plead, but in vain. I might as effectively have tried to control a hurricane with a feather! To clear the point with its snags, one canoe must fall behind or cross the rival’s bows—to give up and fall back is impossible. The attempt is generally made by the smaller boat to cross the bows of her more powerful rival and though occasionally successful she is more often struck amidships and disappears completely—canoe, paddlers and all!

A great shout goes up and the victors splash in to the rescue, seizing the mats, baskets, provisions and sundries, which float off in every direction. The crew, as much at home in the water as on land, come up one by one and others dive to seize the stern of the sunken canoe. With vigorous pulling and pushing, the water is swished out till she floats again, and in the vanquished spring, again baling out the remaining water with their feet, till it is once more fit for occupation, and every one is prepared for the last lap of the journey. The men take their beating well, enjoying the laugh against themselves. That night all sleep together in a friendly fishing encampment, while the white man curls up in his canoe, and listens to the merry paddlers as they recount with evident enjoyment the story of their five-mile race.

Who that has found a home and nightly shelter in an African canoe will not, as he quits it after many days, feel that he is leaving an old acquaintance behind him. Through the twenty-four hours of sleeping and waking, the canoe and the traveller have adapted themselves to each other’s limitations, and the recently vacated canoe speaks as eloquently of emptiness as the vacant chair.

III
THE AFRICAN FOREST

There can hardly be any experience more exquisitely luxurious than that of wandering on through the primeval forests of Central Africa. The traveller whose daily round confines him to the great cities of a hustling civilization finds himself in perfect solitude, perhaps for the first time in his life. Every step he takes brings before him some new wonder in nature’s garden; every hour in the day is alive with fresh experiences.

Surely there is no language which aptly befits the transcendent beauty of nature awaking to greet the new-born day. During the night, giant forms have roamed at will through the silent glades and recesses of the forests, but with the peep of day they have retired to their lair. Those feathered sentinels, whose hoarse cry rings through the night hours, have perforce veiled their eyes at the awakening of their comrades who strike the sweeter chords befitting the glad hours of day. Throughout the night the trees made monotonous music by the incessant drip drip of their tears, but with the morning, the warm sun has bidden those tears begone.

When daylight breaks through the tree tops, the boughs sway here and there as the monkeys, springing from tree to tree, gambol with their fellows, only ceasing for a momentary peep at the strange intruders of their sylvan preserve, as the undergrowth crackles beneath the travellers’ feet and the squirrels dart across the pathway seeking a safer retreat. The sight of the white clad figure, moving rapidly through the mass of undergrowth, startles the mother bird from her nest, and off she goes shrieking for her mate and warning her fellows. Yet over all, a silence broods and the traveller falls to constant musing as he wends his way.

For miles the dense forests will shut out the sun, and then perhaps where a lofty giant tree has fallen in decay, a slanting ray of sun will gleam through the leafy roof turning the pathway into a smiling track of iridescent moss and fern. A few yards further and the path descends abruptly into a woodland stream, bridged by rustic logs, only possible of fording in mid-current by creeping warily along the trunk of a tree which some thoughtful passer-by has felled. The logs and trees which lie rotting in all directions are the home of shimmering mosses and tiny fern. Beside the slippery and tottering causeway there shines many a filigree globe of purest opal and cunning design like a fairy’s incandescent light guiding the steps of the unwary traveller. They are but insects’ nests, as fragile as delightsome, crumbling at the touch.

THE BUSY ANTS

The traveller can never proceed many miles on his journey without meeting the dark lines of driver ants. At a distance of fifty yards, all one sees is a uniform brown line, sometimes two inches wide, sometimes as many feet. Drawing nearer they are seen to be well-ordered regiments, thousands strong, with scouts, baggage bearers, captains and field-marshals. Their enemies have fled at their approach and they are masters of the field. On they will march, in faultless array, their countless thousands obediently passing at a double their immovable field-marshals, and as they proceed every living thing flees before them. Now perhaps they disappear through some subterranean passage, tunnelled out by their indomitable energy, to reappear on the surface when it suits their plan. You may scatter them if you dare, but you can daunt them never. Sweep them into heaps, kill them by the hundred, burn them by the thousand, and tens of thousands surge forward, to fill up the ranks, and remove the dead. Then the regiments will grimly move once more on their way—an incentive to higher organisms.

WILD FOREST FRUIT.

The African forests teem with life, for the most part silent; even the great beasts glide along in perfect quietude—not till you are upon them do you realize the proximity of the elephants; then, unless the traveller be a Nimrod, his greatest concern is to avoid a possible encounter. They love most a quiet glen near the forest stream, where they will plough the earth in all directions and everywhere leave the impress of their giant limbs stretched in gymnastics all their own; here and there scattered over their playground lie scores of trees athwart each other, evidence of no woodman’s axe, but of the entwining grip of the monster’s trunk, who in his unrivalled strength delights thus to shew his power in his own domain. Everywhere, too, the great forest apples lie idle after their sport, and the natives tell how they spend hours hurling these great balls at their fellows.

The rivers which everywhere feed the African forest, coupled with the tropical sun, give luxuriance to all nature. Vines are there as much as three feet in circumference, moss-grown and gnarled with age, born perhaps when the parent acorns of our oldest oaks were yet unformed. Sometimes like huge serpents they coil themselves in a tortuous grip round two or three trees, each of which may be ten times their own size.

There is beauty too in these silent forests, when at intervals on the march the traveller, almost unconsciously at first, begins to inhale the fragrant odour of some delicious perfume sent forth by modest blooms that shun the gaze of man. A little searching beneath the undergrowth, or in the tree tops overhead, reveals a bloom upon which the eye gladly lingers—trails of waxen jasmine hanging from the bush in exquisite profusion.

BEAUTY IN DECAY

There is beauty, too, in the forest decay, in the fallen tree trunk, whose rotting bark and ugly torn stump are transformed by tufts of gracefully drooping fern, while tiny rootlets smile from out every crevice. There is beauty, too, in the fungus growths, tinted and white, or the perfection of coral, or blooms whose purple depths suggest some cherished hot-house flower.

The experienced traveller is quick to note signs of a change; the pathway leads uphill and the absence of giant tree trunks denotes that he is treading a once cleared and populated region. That hill, whose summit is capped with foliage, was once a village landmark, beneath it, myriad termites live and pursue their daily toils through tunnels and chambers that they have shaped by their countless thousands. Were man’s three-score years and ten twice told devoted to the study of the ways and purposes of the unheeded occupants of our earth, he had but then begun to learn the alphabet of nature’s infinite resources.

THE “ELEPHANT EAR” IN THE WET SEASON.

WILD FOREST FRUIT.

Close to the termite hills the half-buried foundations of primitive dwellings speak of departed life, and in the Congo, hundreds, yea thousands, of these mark the spot where once the children of nature lived out their simple life, till civilization strode through the land treading ruthlessly down the souls of men. They have gone and their haunts lie deserted, but their monuments remain. The discarded kernels of the housewives’ palm nuts have taken root and now rear their graceful fronds on faultless trunks like capitals of Corinthian pillars in some cathedral aisle. As if by design they ranged themselves thus. In these silent groves the traveller treads reverently upon the grassy floor; no monk is here; there is no echo of the choristers’ song, but nature has reared her temple where myriad voices rejoice and sing their song of praise, unfettered by the forms and creeds of man.

The long day’s tramp is now over; the sun is setting and the birds are carolling their evening song, as the traveller emerges into the open space beside the gleaming river, flowing swiftly onwards with its errand to the sea. The glow of the departing sun tints the clouds with purple and gold outshining in glory the loveliness of the morning. Surely the heavenly regions are not far beyond, and this is a glimpse behind the veil. The afterglow has departed and the world of man falls asleep till the twittering of the birds heralds the approach of another day with another march through the inexhaustible forests of tropical Africa, where verily

“Earth is crammed with Heaven

And every common bush ablaze with God.”

IV
A MEDLEY OF CUSTOMS

A lifetime spent amongst a single African tribe would scarcely exhaust its folklore and customs. Awaiting scientific investigation there is throughout the African continent a wealth of lore and superstition.

To him who would discover the hidden life of the African infinite patience is essential. It is useless to force information; the best plan is to wait until the “spirit moves” the old woman or chief to tell you something of the inner life of the tribe. Perhaps the time and conditions which most contribute to a flow of talk are a moonlight evening around the log fires and cooking pots.

I see them now—these simple Africans, seated around the great earthenware pot awaiting the meal of boiled cassava, pounded leaves or steamed Indian corn. I hear that grey-headed old chief, with low musical voice, passing on the traditions of past generations, so “that the boys may know something of the early history of their race.” All the old stories familiar to civilization are there. They all know that “man first went wrong through woman gathering fruit in the forest,” the only variation is that the kind of fruit differs in different parts of West Africa, but it is always a forest fruit, always the woman tempted the man; always man succumbed! Then the old chief will turn to the oft-told story—the sacrificial efficacy of the young kid. It is remarkable how closely this custom resembles even to-day that institution of the Pentateuch. The young kid must be free from all disease, a perfect animal in every respect. When killed the blood is carefully sprinkled on the lintel and on each door-post. Other familiar sacred institutions are passed under review. Then the animal kingdom comes under discussion, and the whole series of Uncle Remus, with but slight variations, secures the rapt attention of the listeners. It is at such times as these that the student gets beneath the surface of polygamy, burial and marriage dances, cicatrization and the more serious subjects of land tenure, tribal laws, social ties and domestic slavery.

Not all tribes are equally interesting, probably the Baketi tribes on the upper reaches of the Kasai river provide the greatest wealth of interesting customs and folklore. Their grotesque images, carved in wood, grin at the traveller from the door-posts of the houses, and passing through the villages one has to be extremely careful not to tread upon one of the fetishes which are scattered along the walks in great profusion. One day I saw three separate fetishes within a single square yard, and these, the father explained to us in his simple way, he had purchased at, to him, a heavy cost, hoping thereby to restore to health his only daughter. Not only does the Baketi fill his town with fetishes and wooden images, but in the forests which separate village from village, almost every tree along the pathway has rudely carved on its trunk the grinning face of some impossible human being.

THE BAKETI FETISH

The Baketi, too, is probably unique in his memorial grounds. Most African tribes bury the dead in the heart of the forest, but at the same time near the village a memorial ground is set apart on which are erected tiny memorial huts, which the restless spirits of the departed may inhabit if they so choose. There, when the spirit pays such visits—as all good spirits do nightly—he finds his loin cloth ready, the spoon with which he ate his food, the bottle from which he drank, his battle axe and cross bow which played havoc in many an affray; there is generally too a spread of Indian corn or other food, which the thoughtful and sorrowing wives have placed in readiness for his return visit to earth. How safe these memorial tombs are from desecration may be gathered from the fact that very frequently considerable sums of native currency are strewn upon the floor. These little tombs are also surrounded with numerous carved images erected on poles. The Baketi have another custom which is, I believe, quite unique in West Central Africa. Outside every village are large forest clearings covered with grass, and dotted over these meadow-like lands may be seen the strange sight of trees rooted up and planted upside down—the branches having been lopped off or the tree trunk cut through the middle and planted with the roots in the air. The sight of these clearings, involving a considerable expenditure of labour, covered with scores—sometimes hundreds—of these symbolic monuments, is most impressive.

THE “HEALING” FETISH.

THE BAKETI MEMORIAL GROUND. TREES UPROOTED AND PLANTED BRANCHES DOWNWARDS IN MEMORY OF THE DEAD.

The Baketi have elaborate ceremonials at births and marriages. A special house is always built for the birth of a child, the mother being conveyed to the dwelling an hour or so before the expected time, as is likewise the case with a dying person. Another curious custom which prevails amongst these people, and strangely enough we found precisely the same custom a thousand miles north amongst the Ngombe tribes of Bopoto, yet nowhere in the intervening territories, forbids any young woman to definitely enter into marriage relations until one end of the interior of her house is closely packed with neatly cut logs of firewood! This usually means about three hundred logs, measuring eighteen inches in length and two feet in circumference. The idea appears to be that of demonstrating the domestic capacity of the bride-elect.

With every West African tribe there are customs peculiar to the individual community, but they are generally trivial, or variations of customs prevailing amongst the surrounding tribes. Amongst Congo tribes only the Baketi apparently possess customs so completely unique.

(a) Cicatrization

CICATRIZATION

Cicatrizing is practised more or less over the whole of West Central Africa. In some parts like the Bangalla and Equatorial regions of the Congo, the patterns are extremely elaborate and involve much patient labour on the part of the artist and prolonged suffering by the individual.

THE SWASTIKA CICATRICE.

THE OYSTER SHELL CICATRICE.

Cicatrizing is often confounded with tattooing, but the latter process is entirely different, and is of course most largely in vogue amongst the Maoris and seafaring men. The word cicatrization is derived from the French medical term which designates the scars left by a healed wound and implies a raised portion of the flesh, whereas tattooing is an indentation coupled with the insertion of indelible dyes. Strangely enough the Baluba tribes south of the Congo tattoo themselves, and in this respect are unique in West Africa. Both men and women readily subject themselves to the cicatrizing knife, but generally speaking women are more liberally marked than men.

In the Bangalla regions of the Congo, the facial markings resemble the surface of a coarse rasp, whilst the women content themselves with large shell patterns on the lower part of the stomach. Along the main Congo and some of the tributaries, the marking which finds most favour is the “coxcomb” in the centre of the forehead; this is sometimes cut quite deeply. The hinterland tribes of the Equatorial rivers almost without exception adopt the oyster shell pattern just below the temple, but the women, in addition, are prodigally marked with “knobs,” small “oyster shells” and “bead strings” all over the body, particularly on the thighs. Amongst the Batetela, the forearm is usually covered with a pattern identical with the Cornish “one and all” motto, often also with a sunflower pattern running from the navel up to the shoulder, sometimes to the right, but more often to the left. In the Kasai territories there is first the one general cicatrice imposed on the people by the historic northern conqueror Wuta, a “white” chieftain of prodigious valour and energy, who, apparently more than five hundred years ago, swept through the whole region founding new dynasties and placing the tribes under tribute of soldiers and money. This hustling personage, it is said, reached what is now Rhodesia, but so great was, and is, the fear of his spirit that everyone to-day bears his cicatrice. The Bakuba, Bashilele, Baketi, Bushongos and Lulua, all bear their distinctive marks, many of the women having the whole thigh covered with a “herring bone,” and the men carrying a mark similar to the Grecian “key” pattern. In the Portuguese Enclave and the Mayumbe territory of the Congo, the whole of the back is frequently covered by a single pattern and on the back of one woman we found a marking which is clearly the Swastika.

THE ARTIST IN BLOOD

The operation is, of course, distinctly painful. The subject sits on the ground or on a log of wood, whilst the operator cuts deeply into the flesh with the knife held at such an angle that a considerable wound will result. Think of sitting still whilst this crude hand-made piece of native steel is dug into the flesh something like twenty or thirty times within half an hour! Once I was able to watch the process; the woman desired a “lace pattern” made from the shoulder blades to the waist, involving altogether four lines, which meant nearly two hundred cuts. She sat outside her hut, and bending down slightly to stretch the skin, the intended pattern was marked in chalk, and then the operator, taking his small cicatrizing knife in his right hand, proceeded to grasp between the thumb and forefinger of the left successive small portions of flesh, gashing each till the blood flowed freely. Then he started the other side of the body, returning again to cut the third line, and back to the second to link the pattern up with the fourth.

I watched the woman closely, and as the knife dipped into the flesh she made a grimace, but between the cuts, laughingly and with considerable spirit replied to my comments. At the conclusion of the operation, she calmly walked to the nearest tree and gathered a few leaves to wipe up the blood which by this time was streaming down her body. The operator, according to custom, threw over the wounds a handful of powdered camwood which, however, has less antiseptic than drying properties.

CICATRICED WOMEN OF EQUATORVILLE.

THE BANGALLA “RASP” CICATRICE.

It is not easy to light upon such operations, which are generally carried out more or less privately, and in all my years of residence in Africa, this was the only occasion on which I have been able to watch throughout an elaborate cicatrization. It is, however, a familiar sight to meet natives with their bodies newly cut. On the day after the incisions have been made the wounds swell and suppurate, greatly to the delight of the hosts of insect life which swarm everywhere in Central Africa. These surround the wounded body of the native and only by a continuous flicking of grass or twig brushes can the suffering victim obtain even comparative freedom from the tortures which every movement of the body imposes, but in the course of a few months the pattern originally cut in the body stands out firm and clear. In those cases where still more emphatic designs are desired, the cicatrice will be re-opened and raised higher still until the prominence is quite pronounced, in others, after a lapse of a few months, still more lines and still more “knobs” will be added until the age of twenty to thirty. After this the desire for adornment ceases and the body rests from its tortures.

What is it that attracts? What power is it which buoys up the spirit under these painful operations? What is the secret which gives this insatiable desire for fleshy adornment?—a desire firmly rooted in the breast of every section of the community and shared by young and old alike. I well remember an orphan child, of about three summers, standing in the roadway crying bitterly, and upon my asking the cause, she told me that being an orphan no one had enough interest in her to cut a “coxcomb” on her forehead. Secreting a small bottle of red ink, I told her to sit on the table, and by a series of pinchings and finger-nail marks on her forehead, coupled with a smearing of red ink over my white hands, calmed the little mite into the belief that her heart’s desire was being gratified. After about ten minutes she was supremely happy in the thought that she too possessed a “coxcomb.” Her delight was unbounded, until the little mischief caught sight of her natural forehead in a mirror!

MARRIAGE AND TRIBAL MARKINGS

No doubt the principal motive for this passion is the love of personal adornment, of which the African assuredly does not retain a monopoly. Hitherto the hinterland tribes have had no access to those artificial aids to personal adornment, which are laid so temptingly before the youth of civilization. They will tell you they have had no alternative but to “adorn” their only garb—nature’s dusky skin, and none would deny, that there is a certain beauty even in these barbarous forms of embellishment. The critic may observe that the beauty of womanhood is obviously not enhanced by the bold use of the cicatrizing knife, but I would remind that critic that the wife without a body fairly well covered with cicatrization finds but scant favour with the other sex. In Africa the European youths of fashion have their counterpart, and in the direction of the most daintily cicatrized maiden, are cast the most amorous glances, and offers of handsome dowries to the admiring parents for the hand of their captivating daughter.

Other reasons doubtless play a part, among them the question of tribal ownership of wives, and the necessity of placing a distinctive and indelible mark upon the body. Constant internecine warfare, too, demanded a mark which would make easy the task of discriminating the warriors of the respective combatants.

Patriotism, relationship and love of adornment, combine in giving to the African the extraordinary fortitude which this prolonged operation demands, but the disappearance of internal warfare, the increasing importation of cheap jewellery and gaudy clothing, and the advance of Christian civilization, is robbing this custom of its raison d’être, and in another generation the little African boys and girls will only learn from books of this curious custom of their grandfathers and grandmothers, for cicatrization, as practised to-day, will have perished within another twenty-five years.

(b) Personal Adornment

Left to nature, the African, dissatisfied with his personal charms, looks about him for some means for adding adornment to his body. In the absence of finely woven cloths and silks, he covers his person with ornamental markings, and his woolly hair he makes to take the place of head-gear. In two respects only his tastes accord with those of the European—metal ornaments and rouge powder.

Most African tribes wear some cloth. The wild Ngombe on the southern banks of the main Congo, skilled in ironwork but ignorant of weaving, wear a vegetable cloth which they strip from the inner side of the coarse bark of a forest tree. Many of their women content themselves with only a few cicatrized patterns, and this is most noticeable in the hinterland of Bangalla, north of the Congo. A peculiar feature, however, is that all these women, though completely nude, wear a thin piece of string round the loins. When photographing a group, I suggested the removal of these strings, because they seemed to imply that normally a cloth or leaf was thereby suspended; but the women, at this, to me, most innocent suggestion, all became exceedingly angry and threatened to run away. Finally, I managed to restore good relations, and we succeeded in obtaining an excellent photograph. It was evident that some deep significance attached to wearing this almost invisible cord, but what that significance was I could not discover.

HAIRDRESSING

Hairdressing ranks almost equal in importance with cicatrization, and practically any day the traveller passing through the villages may see some native stretched lazily upon a mat on the ground, the head resting on the lap of the hairdresser—generally one of the opposite sex. In Spanish Guinea, and on the islands off Batanga, the style of hairdressing is that of long plaits, sometimes a dozen in number, running out in all directions from the top of the head. In French and Belgian Congo the style most favoured is the helmet and in some cases the mitre form; in these the hair is braided up until it adds apparently about five or six inches to the stature. In many parts of the Cameroons, as well as in French and Belgian Congo, the hair thus built up is covered with a mixture of oil and camwood powder, and thus offers a solid protection against the fierce rays of the tropical sun.

BANGALLA CHIEF WITH HEAD TIGHTLY BOUND FROM BIRTH.

BANGALLA BABE WITH HEAD TIGHTLY BOUND.

Amongst the Boela people of Bangalla, the custom prevails of binding the crown of an infant’s head with tough cord soon after birth, and this head-binding is maintained throughout life. The effect is that of an elongated or sugar-loaf skull which is greatly emphasized when the hair is prominently braided around it. We observed men of all ages with their heads bound in this manner, but they did not appear to suffer any discomfort, and the mental powers of the tribe were in no sense below the average.

Rouge finds great favour in the personal adornment of the African. The powder is obtained from the camwood tree, and in almost every well-regulated household in the forest regions may be seen let into the ground a log of wood some eighteen inches in diameter, while a piece of smaller dimensions lies near at hand. The housewife, in order to obtain the colouring, rubs—or more correctly grinds—one piece on the other, which, with the aid of either water or oil, causes a thick red paste to exude, which is then made into cones and placed in the sun. When thoroughly dry, it is either pressed into a powder and sprinkled over the body, or the person is anointed with a mixture of the powder and palm oil; in either case imparting a bright red appearance.

In war times, at festivals, and on feast days, an enormous amount of rouge is used, and the red bodies of the tribes are rendered extremely grotesque by the addition of white clay markings which stand out very clearly on the red background.

A FIVE FOOT BEARD.

STYLES OF ARUWIMI HEAD-DRESS.

For the most part the West African tribes extract all the hair from the body with the exception of the head, the beard and moustache. The task is almost a daily one, and in the case of a man is generally undertaken by one or more of his wives. Little boys and girls submit willingly to the removal of their eyebrows and eyelashes.

Brass anklets and necklaces are much prized by the natives throughout West Africa. The Mongo tribes of the Congo wear anklets weighing sometimes 10 pounds on each ankle, and the whole set of ornaments, including the collar, will turn the scale at 35 pounds. In the Leopoldian régime these valuable ornaments were a contributory cause to the atrocities, for the rubber soldiery would always seek out the women in possession of such anklets and collars, and, as they were welded on the body, would not hesitate to chop off the foot, the hand, or even the head in order to obtain the ornaments.

THE PRICE OF ADORNMENT

I once heard a neat retort from an African woman. The questioner was a white lady who had been pointing out the pain caused by wearing these heavy articles of adornment. The dialogue ran as follows:—

White Woman: Why do you wear anklets which cause you so much pain? African Woman: Beauty is worth pain.

White Woman: Surely you do not suffer such torture in order to appear beautiful?

African Woman: Tell me then, white woman, why do you suffer pain by tying yourself so tightly in the waist, like a woman suffering the pangs of hunger?

How far these simple customs should be checked has always seemed to me a matter of doubt, but in the internal government of missions they cause serious dissensions among the staff. Not a few missionaries, and some government officials, seem to feel called upon to place these old-time customs almost on the level of criminal offences.

In one mission no natives may sit down to Holy Communion with their hair braided and oiled, nor may they enjoy the full privileges of Church membership if they use camwood powder on their bodies; this is the more outrageous when, within a few days’ canoe journey, there is another Christian mission where one lady missionary at least is evidently well acquainted with the use of delicately scented rouge. In another mission, cicatrizing, the extraction of the eyelashes, men dressing the hair of women or vice versâ, are sufficient to warrant suspension from Church membership.

In all conscience there is enough that is evil in humanity, both white and coloured, to make the decalogue sufficiently hard of attainment, without human agencies arbitrarily introducing non-essentials which make it grievous to be borne.

(c) “The Angel of Death”

THE DEATH OF THE AFRICAN

The wildness of the African hinterland, the frequency of bloody feuds, the ever present unhealthiness, almost daily materializes the hand of death. From the moment the traveller touches the coast of Sierra Leone, he is never far from the tragedy of early and violent deaths, accounts of which reach him at every port.

The native’s fear of death is immortalized in his many boat songs, his legends and traditions, as well as in those elaborate systems of fetishism which are used to ward off the imaginary proximity of Death’s angel.

This was the feature of African life which so impressed Du Chaillu on his first visit to West Africa. “Are you ready for death?” he sometimes asked the natives. “No,” would be the hasty reply, “never speak of that,” and then, says Du Chaillu, “a dark cloud settled on the poor fellow’s face; in his sleep that night he had horrid dreams, and for a few days he was suspicious of all about him, fearing for his poor life lest it should be attacked by a wizard.”

Cursing in West Africa, which almost invariably takes the form of invoking death upon some relative, is one of the most frequent causes of trouble. A curse hurled at himself, the African merely resents, and returns the compliment, but let a man invoke death upon another’s mother or sister, and the dagger leaps instantly from its scabbard, or the spear goes hurtling through the air with deadly precision.

“May you die” is the most common form of cursing, which brings the sharp retort, “And you also.” The curses, “May the leopard catch your mother,” “May the crocodile eat your sister,” call forth instant battle. The explanation of this strong resentment and intensity of feeling is found in the fact that the African firmly believes that when a curse is pronounced the unfortunate person is thereby accursed.

No man ever goes on a journey, no matter how short, without a string of charms about his neck, to ward off the grim form of death, which he believes lurks in every forest, along every river, in every home. There is one charm to protect from violent death through wild animals, there is one to protect from death at the hands of strangers, but chiefest of all is that little charm stuffed away in the ram’s horn, which is a perfect safeguard against the death curse of strangers whom the traveller may meet when on his way from village to village.

The traveller cannot escape the sorrow and despair of death which surely is nowhere so marked as at the death of the African. For days, maybe, the sufferer has lain without any perceptible change, either for better or worse; then, perhaps, the watcher observes a sign which shews that the end is not far off, and the word goes round the village that Bomolo cannot live long.

Silently, one after another, the relatives creep into the hut and sit upon cooking pots, mats, stools and logs of wood, until the hut is filled with men and women knit together with a common sorrow. The strong man they have remembered in the sylvan chase, the keen fisherman, or possibly the courageous warrior they have known and admired, and in their beautiful simplicity loved, is stretched upon the hard bamboo bed which his busy hands had made. The watchers can see that it is only a matter of hours and the general weeping is at first silent, occasionally ceasing when the sick one speaks or calls for something. The nearer relatives rub and bathe the limbs which begin to chill; one or two affectionately hold a foot, a hand, or a finger; the favourite wife, as her right and duty, tenderly nurses the head.

In proportion as the weakness increases, the crying becomes more audible; then louder still the women cry, invoking all the spirits of the other world to surrender their grip and restore to life and vigour their beloved tribesman. Some momentarily cease crying and call to Bomolo to “speak words of farewell,” and the fact that the dying man is unable to reply is a signal for louder wailing still. At last comes the dreadful moment when their friend ceases to breathe. For the space of a few seconds, a breathless and awful silence prevails, whilst brother and wife listen to the heart beat; then, with a terrible shriek which rends the air, the wife cries, “He is gone!”

Words fail to describe this scene! How can the pen adequately portray the bursting of the pent-up misery of these scores of relatives as, in their agony, they twist and writhe in the dust. Wildly despairing, they grasp in frenzy the corpse or the bed, and then releasing their hold, they throw up their arms and again roll in the dust, not infrequently into the log fire which smoulders on the floor of the hut, scattering the embers amongst the tumbling and twisting mass of wailing humanity. What matter those burning scars?—the frenzy of a terrible sorrow consumes reason and chases into oblivion the pains of cut, bruised, scalded and burnt bodies.

THE WITCH.

SLAVE GRAVEYARD ON THE ISLAND OF SAN THOMÉ.

An hour later, the storm having spent its fury, the body is washed and prepared for the grave, but the wailing still goes on rising and falling in a monotonous cadence like the moan of a dying gale at sea. There is no escape from that never-ceasing death wail until the body is buried, which, in most villages, is generally within forty-eight hours. Then the tide of weeping turns. A reaction sets in and the weird dancing to drive away the evil spirits continues throughout the night, until mourners and relatives revive sufficiently for the task of partitioning the wives and other worldly goods of the deceased.

The death customs differ with almost every tribe. In the watershed of the Lopori, Aruwimi and Maringa rivers of the Congo towards the Egyptian and Uganda borders, the corpse is frequently hung for weeks over a fire and thoroughly smoke dried. A similar custom prevails in certain parts of the middle and lower Congo. The corpse, however, is dressed in the best clothes and placed for a day or two in a life-like sitting posture—a gruesome and unnerving sight for the passing European. A hut in which a traveller was resting on his journey was seen to have suspended from the roof a deep wicker basket, from which a dark round object protruded. This, on inquiry, he found to be the head of a child whose body, after being smoke-dried, was hung there by the mother that she might look upon the features of her cherished infant. Amongst the Bakwala tribe, the custom prevails of smoking the body of a deceased wife who may be the daughter of a distant tribe, in order that she may be sent home and find burial amongst her own people.

Some of the Bakuba tribes on the Kasai, before life is actually extinct, seize the body, bundle it unceremoniously out of the hut, and then raising it shoulder high rush off to a distant and unoccupied hut that the spirit may there take flight, and not from the home which they believe the spirit would henceforward haunt. It is there prepared for burial, the whole village meanwhile gathering at the house of the deceased to take part in the general wailing.

(d) Peace and Arbitration

Most African tribes set the civilized world an example in their unwritten methods of preventing war, or, after war has been declared, of bringing it to an early termination. If it were possible to exile the Foreign Ministers of the Great Powers of Europe to the hinterland of their respective colonies—Sir Edward Grey to remote Barotseland, Baron von Kilderlen Waechter to the Sanga in German Cameroons, and Monsieur De Sélves to the Ubangi—where they could divide their time between fishing and studying the peace principles of barbarous tribes, I have little doubt they would return to civilization with more practical ideas upon peace than they will ever learn in the despatch encrusted offices of London, Berlin and Paris.

THE “PALAVER”

The African detests war and will make great sacrifices to prevent the outbreak of hostilities. The two principal causes of war are (1) land; (2) wives. Slave raiding does not belong to the African; the Arab imported it. Before war breaks out there is first the “palaver,” which may last many days or weeks. In palaver the debates differ but little from the parliaments of the world, except perhaps that custom keeps womanhood out of general debates, although where the particular interests of women are concerned, I have seen them throw themselves into the debates in a manner no whit less collected and impressive than the men.

THE WITCH DOCTOR WITH HIS CHARMS FOR EVERY ILL.

The African revels in debate, and possibly this accounts to some extent for the admitted passion for litigation which now animates the civilized centres of the African colonies. The orators of the primitive tribes are no less masters of the art than their eloquent compeers at Lagos and Freetown. I was once asked to visit a first-class palaver and found a huge semi-circle of people closely massed together. Soon after my arrival the chief took his seat and one could almost hear the policemen of St. Stephen’s calling out, “Speaker in the chair!” for a similar signal was given for the palaver to commence.

The chief, surrounded by his advisers, called upon the speakers in turn; first to the right, then to the left, so that all sides might be heard. The “palaver” had commenced about nine o’clock, and at mid-day sun only four speakers had been heard. The fifth, who was an orator of some repute, rose from his stool where he had been reclining, drank from the calabash of water handed him by his wife, and then adjusting his loin cloth and picking up his notes—a bundle of twigs as remembrancers of the various points—he stepped forward. With an air of complete mastery of his facts, he sped on quietly for the first quarter of an hour; at the close of every period he turned to his supporters for approving applause, which was given in a chorus of assenting “Oh’s.” From calm and reasoned recital of facts, he then passed on to his deductions, and for another quarter of an hour he drove his points home amid the now increasing interest and applause of his own side and the derisive laughter of the opposition.

At the end of half an hour, excitement was beginning to run high. The orator now threw himself into a final effort; gathering up his facts and deductions, he charged the other side with every species of deception and fraud, and as he did so he danced to and fro with his body bathed in perspiration. Every sentence now was punctuated by the almost frenzied applause of his supporters. In his concluding sentences he made a fervid appeal for justice, all the while moving backward towards his expectant friends and wives. He uttered his concluding sentence with arms waving aloft and then swooned into the arms of half a dozen wives who emptied their calabashes over that quivering perspiring body. This man had never read the trial of Warren Hastings, but I could not help recalling Sheridan as the African orator lay there apparently in a dead swoon—I knew of course that he was inwardly rejoicing in his great feat and in the applause which awoke the echo and re-echo in the great forests immediately behind us.

If this “full dress” palaver fails to secure an amicable settlement, the tribes in the Congo basin do not abandon their efforts. They surround the villages with sentinels and adopt various defensive measures, but before hostilities actually begin, they select a sort of “daysman,” who, to act in this capacity, must be of peculiar relationship to both tribes; that is to say he must be able to claim parentage in both dissentient communities.

The daysman goes forth wearing a fringed and partially dried plantain leaf sash thrown over the shoulder so that the sentinels of both tribes immediately recognize him and his sacred office. It is very seldom this arbitrator fails to secure a peaceful termination of the dispute. If he does fail and hostilities break out causing loss of life, he immediately renews his efforts; indeed he never ceases that constant passing to and fro on his errand of peace and goodwill.

PEACE CONFERENCE

The proposal to sheathe the sword, or, more accurately, to unstring the bows and cleanse the poisoned arrow heads, is followed by another palaver. It was once my good fortune to be invited to act as arbitrator at one of these interesting proceedings.

The drums in all the surrounding country were beaten at cockcrow and immediately the two tribes, under their respective chiefs and headmen, began marching towards the rendezvous—a clearing in the forest outside the village at which we were staying.

I was rather alarmed at the fact that though this was a peace conference, every member of that great concourse carried not only spears, but bows and arrows, and I knew that the slightest indiscretion would precipitate a bloody fight.

All the old history was retailed again through that long and burning hot day. Once or twice a speaker raised the devil in his opponents; spears were gripped and arrows snatched from their quivers, but at last better counsels prevailed and terms were agreed upon. The question at issue was a boundary dispute, but lives had been lost and prisoners taken on both sides. The boundary was readjusted to the apparent satisfaction of both parties, prisoners exchanged and compensation paid for the killed on either side—this latter surely an advance on “civilized” terms of peace by the way!

The ceremony of “signing the peace” is not the least interesting part. First a strip of leopard skin was secured and then a bunch of palm nuts. The skin was pinned to the ground by a dagger, and each chief and headman followed me in driving the dagger deeper into the earth. When it was firmly fixed the leopard skin was drawn first one way, then the other, until it had been completely severed. A half was given to a young chieftain of each tribe, and they were instructed to “haste to the river, young men, throw the separated skins upon the waters that all men may know the quarrel is now cut in pieces (i.e., is destroyed).” This done, the bunch of palm nuts was taken and a spear from each party driven into the head of nuts. Two more men were selected, again from each tribe, and instructed to “Carry that head of nuts carefully, young men, throw them into the river that all men may know that our spear heads are buried, that fighting is over and peace made for ever and for ever.”

In this exceptional case the “for ever and for ever” only lasted three months! but in the great majority of such cases peace though threatened is maintained for many a year.

V
THE NATIVE AS A MONEY MAKER

If the African woman is a prudent banker, the man is the money maker. The range of remuneration they receive for their labour is no less divergent than one finds in Europe. The Sierra Leone native will obligingly row you ashore to Freetown in fifteen minutes “for two bob, Sah”; but his brother paddler on the Chiloango, or the Congo, will paddle for you throughout a week for 5d. a day, coupled with a plump bat or the leg of a monkey by way of rations.

There is one form of money making which is fastening its fell grip ever more firmly upon the middle-class African—money lending. It is extremely difficult to deal with this question in West Africa by legislation, but a good deal can be accomplished in various directions by a watchful administration. One case brought to my notice was that of a cook who was compelled to pay £2 10s. interest on a loan of £4 for six months. Another one was that of a teacher who required a loan of £6, for which he had to pay 12s. per month interest. I was also assured that frequently 10s. a month interest is exacted for small loans of £1. In some parts of the Gold Coast borrowers find themselves in such straits that they are often compelled to pawn their children.

WAGES AND WIVES

The wages of agricultural labourers vary very considerably. In Southern Nigeria labourers working for native employers receive from 15s. to 20s. per month. The contracted labourers on the islands of the Gulf of Guinea—that is Fernando Po, San Thomé and Principe—are all “contracted” at paper wages, varying from 10s. to 15s. per month, but neither under the Spanish or Portuguese Administrations do they receive more than half their pay when it is due, the other half being placed in the hands of the Curador. In German Cameroons the wage is seldom more than 10s. a month, and more often the labourers only receive 8s. In the hinterland of Belgian and French Congo, the unskilled labourer receives from 6s. to 8s. per month. All these wages are exclusive of board and lodging, but generally a certain amount of clothing is supplied freely. In many parts of the various colonies, however, stores are opened by the plantation owners to tempt the labourer into purchasing goods which usually carry a respectable profit.

The hardest work and the poorest pay falls to the carrier; that patient burden bearer rarely gets, in any part of Africa, more than about 9d. per day for his heavy task. The Upper Congo was thrown open to the advance forces of civilization by a continuous stream of carriers, who occupied from a fortnight to three weeks reaching Stanley Pool from Matadi, a journey for which they seldom received more than a sovereign a load. “Big money,” however, is earned by the cocoa carriers of the Gold Coast, but the conditions are entirely abnormal. The cocoa carrying enterprise as at present organized cannot be other than a temporary expedient and the general army of African carriers will have to be content with a wage varying from 4s. 6d. to 7s. a week.

The African is by nature a trader, and no more honest than many Europeans in his business transactions, and on the whole I am afraid less honest than the reputable business houses of West Africa. It is only fair to say that the native merchants trained under the rigid standard of European firms—particularly the Basel Mission of the Gold Coast—maintain a standard of honest trading which does credit to the firms under which they received their commercial education.

The ambition of most young men on the Upper Congo is focussed upon wives. Without earthly possessions, their only hope of matrimonial bliss is in the death of a relative from whom they may “inherit” a partner, if there is a disparity in age an “exchange” is always possible, subject, of, course, to an additional dowry. But this chance is remote and the waiting time is always long, tedious, and full of social complications. One day a young man in the Congo endowed with more than the usual share of courage and trading instinct, hit upon a plan which has for years found increasing favour. The captains of steamers could only with difficulty work their boats up and down that 2000 miles of waterway between Stanley Pool and the great tributaries of the Upper Congo, for lack of wood fuel from the forests. Here, then, was the chance for the enterprising native. He bargained with the white man upon the following basis. To travel with him to Stanley Pool and back again, a journey occupying four weeks, to cut a square yard of wood every night on the journey, and to be allowed to sleep during the day. The wages for this enterprise to be ten francs payable at Stanley Pool, and the free transport back again of one bag of salt and one box of sundries. This suggestion, sound in its common-sense, giving the white man fuel without trouble, was promptly agreed upon, and with ten others on the same terms the contract was confirmed. The white man went to his bunk that night, happy in the thought that for one journey at least he would be saved the eternal “wooding palaver.” The native youths, too, went to sleep, and possibly dreamed of the wedded bliss which was now so unexpectedly within sight.

Four weeks later the “Stern Wheeler” returned and put the respective wood cutters ashore at their different villages, each with a bag of salt and a few sundries purchased at Stanley Pool with the 10 francs. The eyes of certain comely young African women shone brightly that night as they heard of the brilliant enterprise of their prospective mates. A few days later two or three parties in small canoes pushed away from the banks and started on a ten days’ journey up one of the small tributaries which abound everywhere on the Upper Congo. In each canoe were precious bags of salt and a tiny spoon for retailing the “white powder” to distant tribes. A fortnight later family palavers were held and a sufficient dowry laid at the feet of the damsel’s father. The nightly wood-chopping enterprise had produced 10 francs which had in turn obtained a bag of salt, a hundred common safety pins and a cheap mirror. The salt and pins had disappeared and there lay on the ground in their place the coveted dowry of £2 sterling in native money for the father, and a mirror for the mother of the native bride who now gladly joined her husband for better or for worse. There is your African trading instinct!

Since that day many a young man has followed that example, but with competition dowries have risen and the value of European produce fallen. Nevertheless, to-day, many a native on the Congo waterways is cutting firewood to and from the ports in the hope of raising the wherewithal to obtain his heart’s desire.

It is said of the Indian coolie that anywhere he will make two blades grow to the one blade the white man can produce. In this respect the African follows hard on the heels of his Indian rival. The white man will often select what seems a most promising piece of land, but for some reason his crops fail. The native will choose a little out-of-the-way patch and cultivate it in a style which calls forth a pitying, almost contemptuous smile from the white, but somehow that native has struck fertility and his crops flourish amazingly.

AGRICULTURAL WAGES

In Southern Nigeria I met several successful native farmers, who seem in some respects to outdo their friends in the neighbouring colony of the Gold Coast. One of these had some years ago bought 200 acres of land at 4s. per acre, and soon it was discovered that he had obtained a very fertile patch and he was offered no less than £5 an acre and his crops at valuation, but Mr. X. has a keen business head upon his shoulders and finds it more profitable to cultivate cocoa, palm nuts and rubber than to sell his land even at an enhanced price. Every time he makes a few pounds he extends his plantation, “pulls down his barns and builds greater.” This man has now a turnover of nearly £20,000 a year.

THE KEEN TRADER

There are scattered all down the coast in British colonies native traders pressing on to positions of dominating influence. These men can handle cargoes of four figures and pay at an hour’s notice. They receive regular cable information of the prices of different commodities on the European market, and several of them have branches which connect by telephone. Most of them conduct their business on modern principles with typists, cashiers, messenger boys and so forth. Not a few of them are frequently in a financial position to strike a bargain and settle a transaction before the European firm can get a cable reply from the home directors. They are up-to-date traders in being able to supply anything which may be demanded of them, or if not in stock they will promise it—and keep the promise—on a given day. If an order is specially urgent and has to come from Europe, a messenger will meet the ship, take off the package and deliver it to the client within an hour or two of the ship’s arrival. One of the most interesting transactions I know of occurred in a certain British colony. A chief, for some reason, was in great need of a large elephant’s tusk, and after fruitless endeavours to obtain one, a native trader relieved the old man’s anxiety by offering to deliver a tusk the required size, to cost about £80, within a month. Promptly to time the tusk was delivered—the cute trader had cabled to Europe for it! “Holts,” “Millers,” and other all-wise competitors in that town knew how imperative it was that this old chief should have a big tusk, and I was told they tried their “up country” stores, but it never occurred to them to order from Europe. There again is the African trading instinct, which put a clear £10 note in the trader’s pocket!

A NATIVE PLANTER IN HIS FUNTUMIA PLANTATION, SOUTHERN NIGERIA.

RUBBER COLLECTORS, KASAI RIVER, UPPER CONGO.

The legal profession is beyond question the most lucrative in West Africa, but this does not obtain in Africa alone. The mass of the people have not yet learned to settle their troubles without the aid of the legal community. The fees paid to the coast barristers are surprising. I was informed that in one colony more than one native barrister has an income of close on five figures. I had no reliable evidence upon this and should think it an exaggeration, but the style in which the coast barrister lives and moves must certainly require a substantial income. Certain it is too that none are more generous with their money.

Unlike the medical profession, no colour-bar stands between the barrister and the free exercise of his ability. Surely the position of these medical men calls loudly for redress, the profession which, above all others, is needed in the fever-haunted colonies of Africa, yet between the increase of these men and the countless sufferers there is firmly fixed the detestable colour-bar of prejudice.

Though the native has not yet become convinced of the safety of banking, the sums placed by them on deposit in the three British colonies—Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast and Nigeria, are nearly £80,000.

When we reflect upon these natives rising to positions of greater power and influence in British colonies, and when we are prone to criticize British administrations, it will not hurt any of us, either native or European, to remember that less than a century ago these centres were amongst the principal slave markets of the world.

VI
THE AFRICAN WOMAN

There is assuredly no country whose women are more interesting than those of Central Africa. Certainly there can be no place on the habitable globe where women are so continuously industrious. Amongst African women there are no unemployed and no unemployables. In all the hinterland, the women are the agriculturists. In the early morning, often before sunrise, they file out of the village to their plots, perhaps a mile away from the town, where there is always something to do; weeding and planting being almost an integral part of the daily routine. When the gardens have received attention, meals must be considered and the woman proceeds to dig up the manioca tubers, but only to bury them beneath the water in some forest stream or pool to extract the injurious element. In a few days hence the load of sodden tubers will be ready for the native culinary art.

DAILY BREAD

Ten minutes in the forest and the woman has gathered the fuel required for her cooking; then loading her basket with the manioca left to soak six days before, she places a layer of leaves between it and the firewood, and shoulders her burden. She steps out brightly for home, in company with perhaps another twenty matrons.

It is not every day that she is able to finish by noon, for in the planting season the gardens demand her labour for whole days at a stretch. Some weeks before the husband has perhaps started a new field by cutting down at immense labour hundreds of trees, which lie there scattered in all directions till the tropical sun dries up the leaves and smaller branches. Then a torch at one end of the clearing starts the whole area in a blaze.

It is at this stage that the wife comes along with her seeds and cuttings, digging little mounds all over the area and raising the soil by heaping upon it the cinders, dead leaves and ash, which provide the only manure these primitive folk possess. Between the rows of manioca she may plant gourds, Indian corn and ground nuts, and thus secure a general crop all over her cultivated field.

From Sierra Leone right away to the north bank of the Kasai, these domestic crops vary but little, but on arriving at the southern bank of the Kasai, the change becomes very marked, for the extensive fields of manioca and cassava give way to mealies as the staple food.

The field is the first charge, so to speak, upon the time of the African woman, but to her belongs also the major responsibility for providing the daily meals. The primitive African is almost a vegetarian, though he dearly loves meat. Trapping edible fish is by no means frequent, and the wife, knowing with her civilized sister how important it is to feed the man, will often snatch an hour or two from her busy life and run to the nearest stream and catch some “small fry,” with which to make savoury the evening meal of cassava and pottage. In season she will hunt through the forests for the caterpillars which abound on certain trees and which by some tribes are regarded as great delicacies, particularly those tribes inhabiting French and Belgian Congo and the Cameroons. The Gold Coast people substitute large snails, of which they appear inordinately fond.

There are four principal dishes which, with slight variations, prevail throughout Western Africa:—

1. There is the staple food of manioca, which is sometimes boiled and pounded into puddings, resembling a lump of glazier’s putty. Cassava or sweet manioca is never soaked, but cooked fresh from the ground and is much liked by Europeans.

2. The plantain, which is prepared in many forms by roasting, baking, frying and boiling.

3. There is pottage, the body of which is composed of pounded leaves from the manioca plant, closely resembling spinach. In most parts of the tropics, green Indian corn is introduced freely into this dish.

4. There is the palm oil chop, which, as I have shewn in another part of this book, is not a “chop” at all, but anything from a caterpillar or a beetle to the leg of a dog or buffalo.

Perhaps next in importance to the position of agriculturist is that of cook. Give the African woman a clay pot, a pestle and mortar and a few leaves, and she will produce in quick time a meal which even a European can relish. She is a trifle too fond of chili peppers and palm oil for a sensitive palate and fully believes that a fair proportion of earth and other etceteras add to the flavour and digestibility. Her husband, with a natural weakness for chili peppers and oil, and himself not averse to “foreign bodies” in his food, readily consumes nearly two pounds of prepared manioca and pottage at a single meal.

THE WOMAN IN THE HOME

With cockcrow, the woman rises, steps outside the hut and in lieu of washing herself, yawns two or three times, then stretches herself in several directions, and is ready for the day’s work. She will first sweep her hut, open the chicken-house, pluck a few dew-covered leaves to wipe over the faces of the children, and then pick up her basket and set out for the gardens. Returning, she will pull the fire logs together and again shoulder her basket and go off to catch fish, or to hunt caterpillars. Some of the older wives may stay in the village to fashion clay cooking pots, weave baskets and mats, or crack palm kernels.