Almost before I could say that I would be delighted, we were within hailing distance of the post. An American voice with a Cleveland, Ohio, accent called out to me and asked my name. When I told him, he said, "I"ll give you three copies of the _Sat.u.r.day Evening Post_ if you will take us down to Dima. We have been stranded here for nearly three weeks and want to go home."
I yelled back that they were more than welcome for I not only wanted to help out a pair of countrymen in distress but I desired some companionship on the boat. They were Charles H. Davis and Henry Fairbairn, both Forminiere engineers who had made their way overland from the Angola diamond fields. Only one down-bound Belgian boat had pa.s.sed since their arrival and it was so crowded with Belgian officials on their way to Matadi to catch the August steamer for Europe, that there was no accommodation for them. By this time they were joined by a companion in misfortune, an American missionary, the Rev. Roy Fields Cleveland, who was attached to the Mission at Luebo. He had come to Basongo on the little missionary steamer, "The Lapsley," and sent it back, expecting to take the Belgian State boat. Like the engineers, he could get no pa.s.sage.
Davis showed his appreciation of my rescue of the party by immediately handing over the three copies of the Post, which were more than seven months old and which had beguiled his long nights in the field.
Cleveland did his bit in the way of grat.i.tude by providing hot griddle cakes every morning. He had some American cornmeal and he had taught his native servant how to produce the real article.
At Dima I had the final heart-throb of the trip. I had arranged to take the "Fumu N"Tangu," a sister ship of the "Madeleine," from this point to Kinsha.s.sa. When I arrived I found that she was stuck on a sandbank one hundred miles down the river. My whole race against time to catch the August steamer would have been futile if I could not push on to Kinsha.s.sa at once.
Happily, the "Yser," the State boat that had left Davis, Fairbairn, and Cleveland high and dry at Basongo, had put in at Dima the day before to repair a broken paddle-wheel and was about to start. I beat the "Madeleine"s" gangplank to the sh.o.r.e and tore over to the Captain of the "Yser." When I told him I had to go to Kinsha.s.sa he said, "I cannot take you. I only have accommodations for eight people and am carrying forty."
I flashed my royal credentials on him and he yielded. I got the sofa, or rather the bench called a sofa, in his cabin.
On the "Yser" I found Mr. and Mrs. Charles L. Crane, both Southerners, who were returning to the United States after eight years at service at one of the American Presbyterian Mission Stations. With them were their two youngest children, both born in the Congo. The eldest girl, who was five years old, could only speak the Baluba language. From her infancy her nurses had been natives and she was facing the problem of going to America for the first time without knowing a word of English. It was quaintly amusing to hear her jabber with the wood-boys and the firemen on board and with the people of the various villages where we stopped.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PARK AT BOMA]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A STREET IN MATADI]
The Cranes were splendid types of the American missionary workers for they were human and companionable. I had found Cleveland of the same calibre. Like many other men I had an innate prejudice against the foreign church worker before I went to Africa. I left with a strong admiration for him, and with it a profound respect.
Kinsha.s.sa looked good to me when we arrived after four days" travelling, but I did not tarry long. I was relieved to find that I was in ample time to catch the August steamer at Matadi. It was at Kinsha.s.sa that I learned of the nominations of c.o.x and Harding for the Presidency, although the news was months old.
The morning after I reached Stanley Pool I boarded a special car on the historic narrow-gauge railway that runs from Kinsha.s.sa to Matadi. At the station I was glad to meet Major and Mrs. Wallace, who like myself were bound for home. I invited them to share my car and we pulled out. On this railway, as on all other Congo lines, the pa.s.sengers provide their own food. The Wallaces had their servant whom I recognized as one of the staff at Alberta. Nelson still held the fort for me. Between us we mobilized an elaborate lunch fortified by fruit that we bought at one of the many stations where we halted.
We spent the night at the hotel at Thysville high in the mountains and where it was almost freezing cold. This place is named for General Albert Thys, who was attached to the colonial administration of King Leopold and who founded the Compagnie du Congo Pour le Commerce et l"Industrie, the "Queen-Dowager," as it is called, of all the Congo companies. His most enduring monument, however, is the Chemin de Fer du Congo Matadi-Stanley Pool. He felt with Stanley that there could be no development of the Congo without a railway between Matadi and Stanley Pool.
The necessity was apparent. At Matadi, which is about a hundred miles from the sea, navigation on the Congo River ceases because here begins a succession of cataracts that extend almost as far as Leopoldville. In the old days all merchandise had to be carried in sixty-pound loads to Stanley Pool on the heads of natives. The way is hard for it is up and down hill and traverses swamps and mora.s.ses. Every year ten thousand men literally died in their tracks. The human loss was only one detail of the larger loss of time.
Under the stimulating leadership of General Thys, the railway was started in 1890 and was opened for traffic eight and a half years later.
Perhaps no railway in the world took such heavy toll. It is two hundred and fifty miles in length and every kilometer cost a white life and every meter a black one. Only the graves of the whites are marked. You can see the unending procession of headstones along the right of way.
During its construction the project was bitterly a.s.sailed. The wiseacres contended that it was visionary, impracticable, and impossible. In this respect it suffered the same experience as all the other pioneering African railways and especially those of Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, Uganda, and the Soudan.
The scenery between Thysville and Matadi is n.o.ble and inspiring. The track winds through grim highlands and along lovely valleys. The hills are rich with colour, and occasionally you can see a frightened antelope scurrying into cover in the woods. As you approach Matadi the landscape takes on a new and more rugged beauty. Almost before you realize it, you emerge from a curve in the mountains and the little town so intimately linked with Stanley"s early trials as civilizer, lies before you.
Matadi is built on a solid piece of granite. The name is a version of the word _matari_ which means rock. In certain parts of Africa the letter "r" is often subst.i.tuted for "d." Stanley"s native name was in reality "Bula Matari," but on account of the license that I have indicated he is more frequently known as "Bula Matadi," the t.i.tle now bestowed on all officials in the Congo. It was at Matadi that Stanley received the designation because he blasted a road through the rocks with dynamite.
With its winding and mountainous streets and its polyglot population, Matadi is a picturesque spot. It is the goal of every official through the long years of his service in the bush for at this place he boards the steamer that takes him to Europe. This is the pleasant side of the picture. On the other hand, Matadi is where the incoming ocean traveller first sets foot on Congo soil. If it happens to be the wet season the foot is likely to be scorched for it is by common consent one of the hottest spots in all the universe. That well-known fable about frying an egg in the sun is an every-day reality here six months of the year.
Matadi is the administrative center of the Lower Congo railway which has extensive yards, repair-shops, and hospitals for whites and blacks.
Nearby are the storage tanks and pumping station of the oil pipe line that extends from Matadi to Kinsha.s.sa. It was installed just before the Great War and has only been used for one shipment of fluid. With the outbreak of hostilities it was impossible to get petroleum. Now that peace has come, its operations will be resumed because it is planned to convert many of the Congo River steamers into oil-burners.
Tied up at a Matadi quay was "The Schoodic," one of the United States Shipping Board war-built freighters. The American flag at her stern gave me a real thrill for with the exception of the solitary national emblem I had seen at Tshikapa it was the first I had beheld since I left Capetown. I lunched several times on board and found the international personnel so frequent in our merchant marine. The captain was a native of the West Indies, the first mate had been born in Scotland, the chief engineer was a Connecticut Yankee, and the steward a j.a.panese. They were a happy family though under the Stars and Stripes and we spent many hours together spinning yarns and wishing we were back home.
In the Congo nothing ever moves on schedule time. I expected to board the steamer immediately after my arrival at Matadi and proceed to Antwerp. There was the usual delay, and I had to wait a week. Hence the diversion provided by "The Schoodic" was a G.o.dsend.
The blessed day came when I got on "The Anversville" and changed from the dirt and discomfort of the river boat and the colonial hotel to the luxury of the ocean vessel. It was like stepping into paradise to get settled once more in an immaculate cabin with its shining bra.s.s bedstead and the inviting bathroom adjacent. I spent an hour calmly sitting on the divan and revelling in this welcome environment. It was almost too good to be true.
Nelson remained with me to the end. He helped the stewards place my luggage in the ship, which was the first liner he had ever seen. He was almost appalled at its magnitude. I asked him if he would like to accompany me to Europe. He shook his head solemnly and said, "No, master. The ship is too big and I am afraid of it. I want to go home to Elizabethville." As a parting gift I gave him more money than he had ever before seen in his life. It only elicited this laconic response, "Now I am rich enough to buy a wife." With these words he bade me farewell.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A GENERAL VIEW OF MATADI]
"The Anversville" was another agreeable surprise. She is one of three sister ships in the service of the Compagnie Belge Maritime du Congo.
The other two are "The Albertville" and "The Elizabethville." The original "Elizabethville" was sunk by a German submarine during the war off the coast of France. These vessels are big, clean, and comfortable and the service is excellent.
All vessels to and from Europe stop at Boma, the capital of the Congo, which is five hours steaming down river from Matadi. We remained here for a day and a half because the Minister of the Colonies was to go back on "The Anversville." I was glad of the opportunity for it enabled me to see this town, which is the mainspring of the colonial administration.
The palace of the Governor-General stands on a commanding hill and is a pretentious establishment. The original capital of the Congo was Vivi, established by Stanley at a point not far from Matadi. It was abandoned some year ago on account of its undesirable location. There is a strong sentiment that Leopoldville and not Boma should be the capital and it is not unlikely that this change will be made.
The Minister of the Colonies and Monsieur Henry, the Governor-General, who also went home on our boat, received a spectacular send-off. A thousand native troops provided the guard of honour which was drawn up on the bank of the river. Native bands played, flags waved, and the populace, which included hundreds of blacks, shouted a noisy farewell.
Slowly and majestically the vessel backed away from the pier and turned its prow downstream. With mingled feelings of relief and regret I watched the sh.o.r.es recede as the body of the river widened. Near the mouth it is twenty miles wide and hundreds of feet deep.
At Banana Point I looked my last on the Congo River. For months I had followed its winding way through a land that teems with hidden life and resists the inroads of man. I had been lulled to sleep by its dull roar; I had observed its varied caprice; I had caught the glamour of its subtle charm. Something of its vast and mysterious spirit laid hold of me. Now at parting the mighty stream seemed more than ever to be invested with a tenacious human quality. Sixty miles out at sea its sullen brown current still vies with the green and blue of the ocean swell. It lingers like the spell of all Africa.
The Congo is merely a phase of the larger lure.