Chapter II: My Journey up the Congo

Our captain and tyrant--River scenes--We camp at a
trading-station--Native riddles.

When my senses returned I found my box was piled on deck with many other boxes like it, and thus I had a fine view. The sun was rising, flooding the river with its brightness, lighting up the distant hills and throwing into sombre shadow the mangrove trees that lined the banks. There was much hustling and shouting on board as the ropes were cast loose; and I soon began to feel the throb of the engines, and hear the rush of the water as the small steamer pushed its way against the strong current that was hurrying the mighty volume of the Congo to the sea.

On reaching mid-channel I could see that the trading-houses of Banana were built on a narrow tongue of sand, having on one side the Atlantic Ocean constantly rolling and sometimes madly rushing as though it desired to tear the very tongue out of the mouth of the river; and on the other side the gentle lap, lap of a back current of the river itself.

The Congo is said to be fifteen miles wide at the mouth--from hills to hills; but it does not look so wide because of the islands and mangrove swamps that hinder a clear view of the whole width, and narrow one’s vision to the channel in which you are steaming.

From my position I had an easy view of the deck of our small steamer. There were only two white men on board--a captain and an engineer; the former was a short man, who never spoke without swearing, and never gave an order without punching or kicking one of the black crew. He had a large rubicund nose, hideously coloured by frequent applications to the bottles that were always on his table. He was privately nicknamed by his crew as Red-nose, and was thoroughly feared and hated by them all. Many of them were slaves and could not get away from him, and others had contracted for one or two years’ service, and if they ran away they would have lost their pay; but notwithstanding this some did escape, preferring loss of pay to constant brutal treatment.

The current was too strong to remain long in mid-channel, so the steamer went near to the bank and pushed and fought its way, with much rattling, throbbing and panting, from point to point of the various bays. When the water was too swift to be conquered at one place, the steamer, snorting with defeat, crossed the channel and worked its way up-river on the other side.

There was not much to be seen--no hippopotami, no crocodiles, and very few natives in canoes, and only an occasional trading-station on low-lying, swampy land surrounded by palm-trees, plantain groves and vegetable gardens. Here and there men were to be seen fishing with large oval nets. They stood on the rocks by which the water rushed tumbling and foaming in its hurry to reach the sea, and dipped in their nets with the mouths up-stream, and, pulling up the whitebait thus caught, laid them on the rocks to dry. Others made small fences by the river’s bank about eighteen inches apart and three feet long, and into these they put small scoop-shaped nets, and drew up the small fish that had passed between the fences.

By sunset we reached a trading-station belonging to my owners. Our steamer was quickly tied to the bank, and all made secure for the night. The men soon had some fires lighted along the beach, and saucepans of food boiling on them, and pieces of meat roasting in the ashes. Groups gathered round the fires, and after a hearty meal of rice, ship-biscuits and meat, they became very talkative, and soon started asking riddles. Some of these riddles I still remember after all these changeful years; and I will try to tell you a few of them.

A Loango man named Tati seemed to know most riddles,[5] and he was called upon to make a start. After much persuasion he asked: “What is this? _The stick is very little; but it has a number of leaves on it._” One after another attempted to give the answer, but as they all failed, Tati said: “The answer is--_Market_, because it is a small place, but has a lot of people on it.” They chuckled with delight over the neatness of the riddle, and demanded Tati to give them another.

Footnote 5:

See note 4, p. 343.

Tati sat in a brown study for a few minutes, and then, looking up, said: “_There were five buffaloes; but only four tracks._” Semo, who was Tati’s rival in this game, instantly cried out: “_Fingers_” as the answer, because while there are five fingers on a hand there are only four tracks, _i. e._ spaces between them.

Semo was then asked to give one, and without a moment’s thought he cried out: “_My father’s fowls laid their eggs under the leaves._” All kinds of guesses were made; but at last admitting their failure, Semo said: “_Peanuts_,” and of course they all saw it at once--peanuts grow under the ground beneath their own leaves.

Semo was called upon for another riddle, and after a short pause he said: “_I went to a strange town, and they gave me one-legged fowls to eat._” This one also was too difficult for them to guess, and after many attempts Semo had to give the answer, viz. _Mushrooms_, which have only one stalk (_i. e._ one leg) on which to stand.

Soon after this the talk became general, and gradually died away as one by one they rolled themselves in their mats and went to sleep, leaving the fires brightly burning to throw out warmth to the sleepers and to frighten away hippopotami, crocodiles and sundry other creatures. During the night the snorting of hippopotami could be heard as they gambolled in the shallow water near the bank; and occasionally the switch of a crocodile became audible as it hurried by in search of food for its cruel but never-satiated jaws; many noises also came from the dark forest just beyond the settlement, that filled the night with weirdness and made the first glow of dawn welcome to men, birds and beasts.

Just as the sun peeped above the eastern horizon bells began to ring, and the whole station awoke to life. My friends, the crew, hurriedly came from their mats, and were soon carrying bales, boxes and bottles ashore, under the directions of a white man, and in an hour or so all the goods for that station were discharged, and the steamer was pushing its nose against the strong current of brown, oily-looking water to the next up-river station.

The higher we ascended the river the narrower it became, and the more powerful was the rush of water on its ever-scurrying way to the sea. Whirlpools opened up at the most unexpected places, making the steamer roll and pitch, and straining the engines until they panted and groaned in their never-ceasing struggle with the giant current. Twice we were twisted round in a place called the Devil’s Cauldron and carried down-river, but at the third attempt the giant was conquered, and an hour or so later we were tied up to a wharf at the highest point on the Lower River.

Just below us the river narrows between steep hills to a mile and a quarter in width, and through that funnel more than twenty thousand miles of rivers empty themselves into the “cauldron” which constantly seethes, bubbles and boils with the rush of water tearing over its rough, rocky bottom.