Peace—Bangala tribe—Panic in Bungundu towns—People become friendly—Driven away from Bokomela—Fierce and revengeful natives—Revisit Bokomela—A cordial welcome—Reason for warlike attitude—Shooting a native for a wager—Monsembe district—Bumba people stand to defend their women and children—Quietness dispels their fears.

During the early days of July, 1890, we were busy at Bolobo station, preparing for our long journey up-river in search of a new site for a mission station. The steamer Peace, a vessel 70 feet long by 10 feet 6 inches wide, and of very shallow draught, was placed at our disposal. The Rev. W. H. Stapleton, who had just arrived from England, was appointed to be my colleague; and as Mr. Silas Field had charge of the steamer and crew we were without responsibility respecting them, and were free to land at every available place and investigate its suitability as a centre for our work.

At this time the Baptist Missionary Society had three stations on the Upper Congo—one at Bolobo, about 200 miles above Stanley Pool, another at Lukolele, a little over 100 miles farther on, and the third at Bopoto, more than 400 miles beyond Lukolele, or 700 miles from Stanley Pool. It was thought desirable to plant a station among the Bangalas at a point somewhere midway between Lukolele and Bopoto, and thus occupy a part of that great unevangelized district inhabited by one of the finest tribes on the Congo.

The Bangalas were reported to be a strong, warlike, cannibal tribe of fierce habits, cruel customs, and independent spirit. They would demand patience, tact, and the facing of many dangers from those who, without arms and soldiers, went to live among them. Still, such splendid men were worth winning to better ways, notwithstanding the many possible risks to be encountered in the work. As savages they were feared by surrounding tribes, and if won to Christianity their indomitable courage warranted us in hoping they would become the intrepid heralds of their new faith.

By July 11th we had packed on board our little steamer the nails, provisions, tools, barter goods, and medicines that could be collected for our new project. A better outfit would have been welcome; but we thought it was wiser to start with what we could get together than to wait an indefinite period for larger supplies.

Two days after leaving Bolobo we arrived at Lukolele, and in due time Lulanga was reached. Lulanga was a large town at the mouth of the Lulongo River, a fine tributary of the Congo. There our search began. It took us fifty minutes to walk through the town, the houses of which were built closely together. We estimated the population at 3000 people. There was then less than a mile of bush, and another town of over 1000 inhabitants, and about an hour’s walk back from the river were other clumps of villages containing, we were informed, more than 2000 persons. It was a good centre for our purpose; but the Congo Bololo Mission had established some stations up the Lulongo River, and after consulting with their senior missionary at Bonginda (30 miles up the Lulongo), we decided that the town at the mouth of the river they were working should really be their base of operations, and as they promised to occupy it, if we did not build there, we left it to them.

At Lulanga we left the south bank of the Congo, and after two hours’ steaming and winding among the numerous islands we had the large district of Bungundu stretching before us on the north shore of the river. Picking out the biggest town we could see from the deck of our steamer, we steered our way towards it, and as we drew near we could see the women seizing hold of their children and their fowls, and scurrying away with them into the bush as fast as possible; the men also were tugging at their goats and sheep to hide them in the bush and woods that surrounded their town, for it was their unfortunate experience that the white men who came on steamers took fowls, goats, and sheep without paying for them.

When we landed we could not see a single person. We walked up and down the roads calling upon the people to come out of hiding, to come and talk with us, or sell us some fowls. After a considerable amount of shouting an old man put his head round a corner of a house and said: “White men, if you want to buy any fowls of us, sit down where you are, and send your boys; we will sell to them, but not to you.”

We thereupon handed some looking-glasses, knives, bells, beads, and cloth to our boys, and told them that after they had bartered for some fowls they were to try to persuade the people to have some conversation with us. After buying a few fowls our lads said: “Come and talk with our white men. See, they are perfectly harmless, for they are sitting down where you told them. They are not bula matadi (= State officers). They neither desire to fight you nor tie you up. They are mindele mia Njambi (= the white men of God, i.e. missionaries). Come and palaver with them.”

After much hesitation on the part of the native, and much persuasion by our lads, the old man drew near to us, and as he came closer he put out his hand to greet us; but on seeing our white hands approaching his, fear took possession of him, and he drew his hand quickly back. At last, however, we heartily shook his hand and his courage returned. He then went over to a large drum, and beating upon it the women quickly returned from the bush with their children and their fowls, the men came back with their goats and sheep, and the town resumed its usual lively appearance.

Directly they learned the purpose of our visit they begged us to live in their town; they took us up and down the various streets, and pointed out all the advantages we should enjoy if we would only build amongst them. We had to allay their importunity by telling them that we could not decide at once to live in their midst, as we wished to go higher up the river and visit other towns and tribes; but if we found their town the most central for our work, we would return to them. And we concluded by saying: “We do not desire, wherever we go in this district, that the people should run away from us as you did; cannot you therefore lend us one or two of your young men to go with us to reassure the people? We promise to return them safely in due time.”

It was astonishing to us that these nervous, fearful folk who had run helter-skelter from us about two hours before should bring two of their young men to us, and in their trustful simplicity place their hands in ours, saying: “Here are two of our people to accompany you, and when you have done with them bring them back again.”

After that, whenever we arrived opposite a town, these two men would go into the bows of the steamer and, shouting loudly to the people ashore, would tell them not to be afraid, not to run away, that we were good sort of white men, that we were buying fowls at a very good price, and if they only stayed they could make some profit out of us. For we were giving the enormous sum of about threepence each in barter goods for the fowls, instead of the usual price of twopence.

Throughout the rest of that district we received a hearty welcome from the people, and many pressing invitations to settle in their midst. We had no illusions about these invitations. We fully recognized that the people desired us to live in their towns for reasons quite different from those that actuated us: our presence would give prestige to their district, and especially to the town in which we built; we should be, more or less, a guarantee of security, and freedom from the lootings and raids of State soldiers who were already beginning to trouble the people on the Upper Congo; and it would be an immense advantage to them to be able to exchange their food-stuffs, etc., for barter goods at a store in their neighbourhood, rather than have such weary journeys to take in their canoes, or go without the needed articles. We understood perfectly well that we were not so boisterously invited because of our message, for of that they knew absolutely nothing, and in their then savage and ignorant state cared perhaps less than nothing for it.

Leaving the Bungundu district we steamed for many miles along a monotonous stretch of forest, and then reached the thickly populated line of Bokomela towns. Selecting the largest we could see, we turned our steamer towards it; and, putting our pretty little vessel along the beach in front of the chosen town, we prepared to go ashore. Through our glasses we had seen the women and children running hurriedly away, and the bustling activity of the men who lined the bank and stood on the trees overhanging the river. Just as we were about to step ashore we noticed that the men lining the bank above us had raised their spears in a very threatening attitude, and the old men on the trees had fitted their arrows to their bows ready to shoot at us. We recognized that we were in a tight corner; we wondered where the spears and arrows would strike us. A false movement would have been misunderstood, and a shower of sharp weapons would have been the result. Our pulses raced tumultuously, our hearts seemed to thump our ribs; but outwardly we were calm and self-possessed. We did not know until months later how near we were to a horrible catastrophe—to being, in fact, the principal dishes at a cannibal feast.

In the best “trade language” we could muster we told the excited savages who and what we were. “Go away,” they screamed, “or we will kill you. We want nothing to do with you white men.”

We tried to explain the purpose of our visit, and asked them to let the Bungundu men land and talk with them. And all the time we were standing unarmed within twenty feet of their upraised spears. There was a deadly silence on the little steamer, and the crew had taken refuge behind any and every thing that offered protection from those murderous lances and arrows.

“Go away,” they shouted more fiercely; “we will kill the men if they come ashore, and all of you afterwards. We’ll have nothing to do with white men.” And in frantic unison the excited mob took up the cry of their head-men.

There was nothing for it but to push off our steamer and leave the place. It was not until we were beyond the reach of their arrows that we breathed freely, and then fully realizing the whole meaning of the incident, and its possibilities of death to us and disaster to our plans, we bowed our heads in prayerful thanks to God for His protecting care.

Some months after our establishment at Monsembe, I went down to those districts in a canoe paddled by a few lads; and those same Bokomela people, hearing, from the song of the lads, that one of the Monsembe white men was approaching, hurried out in their canoes with fowls in their hands as tokens of their good-will, and begged me to go ashore. What was the reason for this strange and pleasant change respecting us? It was this: In the meantime they had heard of our peaceable lives and intentions; of our straightforward and honest dealings with the natives about us; that we neither stole things ourselves, nor allowed our people to steal; but always bought what we wanted at a proper market value. These facts coming to their knowledge had entirely altered their attitude towards us, and had turned former enemies into would-be friends.

On going ashore they gave me a most cordial welcome, and when quietness had been restored, I said: “Some months ago we came to you on our little steamer, and you drove us away with murderous threats of spearing us. Why was that? We were quiet, peaceable men; why were you in such a rage?”

An oldish man, sitting quietly on a stool near by, arose and said: “White man, just before you came to us on your steamer, the white men on a passing steamer shot our chief and some of our people for no reason at all. Shot them down while standing quietly on the bank, and for that reason we swore to kill the next white men that came our way, and you were the next to come.”

Undoubtedly they would have had their revenge upon us but that God placed His hand over theirs, so that neither spear nor arrow was hurled at us. More than once or twice have we seen the spears poised ready for the throw; and every time we have found that some cowardly, dastardly white men had been before us and, having shot down the natives for no reason whatever, had gone off and left the next unsuspecting white men who went that way to bear the brunt of the natives’ mad, but excusable, desire for revenge. Legacies of hatred have been unfortunately left by too many white men among savage peoples, who regard all white folk as belonging to one tribe, and as one or more of their kinsmen have been murdered by white men, then to retaliate by killing other white men will, they think, balance the account.

As illustrative of the preceding remarks the following unvarnished story is unfortunately too à propos: A State steamer in 1890 was proceeding up a tributary of the Congo, and on its upper deck two white officers were sitting holding a discussion on marksmanship, when they saw, at some distance in front of them, a native standing in his canoe paddling it from one side to the other of the river. The two officers instantly made a bet as to which of them could knock the man over. Guns were raised and fired, and Captain X. brought down the poor unsuspecting wretch and pocketed the stakes;^[4] but he left a heritage of hate that has lasted to this day, if there are still alive in that district any relatives of the murdered man, or witnesses of the foul murder.

It seemed to some of us a righteous retribution when a couple of years later Captain X. himself was shot by his native attendant, whether accidentally or purposely nobody knew. Let me say, once for all, that among the State officers there were gentlemen of fine, sterling character who acted fairly and honourably in all their dealings with the natives; men whose ideals were high, whose motives were good, and who desired nothing better than the amelioration of the tribes with which they came into contact. If such men had been in the majority, and had had a free hand, the pitiful, horrible story of Congo atrocities would never have been written.

About twenty-five miles above Bokomela we came upon the Monsembe district. There were three bays crowded with large towns, and only two miles beyond Monsembe was a long creek teeming with people. We reckoned also that Bungundu and Bokomela districts would come within the sphere of our influence; but before fixing on Monsembe as our centre we went still higher up-river to weigh the possibilities of other places. Town after town we passed of prosperous, healthy, fierce, and barbarous savages. Very often we were amongst them and shaking hands with them before they had decided whether to welcome or fight us; then seeing two friendly, unarmed white men in their midst they greeted us heartily and were soon bartering fowls, plantain, and various food-stuffs for empty bottles, old meat tins, and Manchester goods.

Diboko (or Nouvelles Anvers) was visited; and with our colleagues at Bopoto we spent a pleasant time. At Bumba we came upon a continuous stretch of villages for nearly two miles in length. As we steamed close to the bank we observed that the villages were divided by gullies which were bridged by old canoe planks. The folk were quiet, and as the place looked well populated with apparently prosperous people, we decided to land.

Arriving at the extreme upper end of the series of Bumba villages, we tied our steamer to a tree on the bank and went ashore. A few miserable, half-starved dogs barked at us; but there was no one to greet us, or object to our landing. We moved slowly forward, and then we noticed that the virile, young men, armed with spears and shields, were keeping about fifty yards ahead of us; that the old men and the sick were crouching over their fires warming their hands and keeping up a constant chatter; and that there was an absence of women and children in the villages. Now when there is an absence of women and children in an African town or village, you may be fairly certain that the men are up to mischief, or think a fight is to the fore. We walked warily to keep ourselves out of any possible ambush; and as we came to the gullies dividing the villages we found the planks had been removed, this necessitated our going down and up the sides of the gullies. Arriving at the last ditch we started to cross it as we had done the others, when we observed a rustle in the tall grass on the further side, and looking closely we saw that the bush was alive with armed men with spears gripped threateningly. Just beyond them in the forest were their women and children, and they were standing between them and possible death or capture as represented, so they thought, by the two white men on the opposite side of the gully.

To have run away would have meant a shower of spears hurtling through the air after us from the excited people, so we sat down and parleyed with them. “Did you ever know,” we asked, “white men coming to fight without soldiers?”

“No,” was their ready though surly reply.

“Well, we have no soldiers with us,” was our quick rejoinder. That was self-evident, for there were only a few of our personal lads about us.

With a little more hope in our heart of escaping from another difficult fix, we began again. “Did you ever know white men to come and fight without guns and swords?” was our next question.

“No,” again was their reply. This time a little more friendliness in their tone, for their fears of a fight were, like ours, passing away.

“Well,” we argued, “we are two white men without guns or soldiers, but with simply walking-sticks in our hands; and are all your men armed with spears afraid of two white men with walking-sticks? Come and put up the bridge and help us across.”

After a short consultation among themselves, some young men replaced the plank and helped us over; and the discreet distribution of a few beads, spoons, and penny looking-glasses won for us their eternal good-will.

Our return to the steamer was like a triumphal progress. The men shouted and danced in very revulsion of feeling to find it was a friendly visit and not a fight. Plank bridges were quickly rearranged, and outstretched, willing hands steadied us as we crossed them. The old and sick who had remained around the fires good humouredly chaffed those who had armed themselves for a battle that never came off. All’s well that ends well, and the people were as glad as we were that no blood had been shed and no wrong committed. They begged us very earnestly to come and live among them.

We went as far as Ngingiri on the River Luika, and then turned the nose of our steamer down-stream. Monsembe was the best centre for our work that we had seen in all the long stretch of river we had traversed above Lulanga. There we should have ample room for expansion, itineration, and out-posts along the north bank from Bungundu to Likunungu—a distance of 200 miles; we should also have the south bank in our parish from Bolombo to Bokatalaka Creek—a stretch of 80 miles; and the creek just above our proposed station site was said to communicate with the Mobangi River. We estimated the population near to Monsembe, among whom we should be able to itinerate on Sundays, at 7000, and throughout the district, lining the river, at 50,000 at the very least. Then there were the hinterland towns, whose populations were as yet unknown. It was a splendid sphere of immense possibilities. It was therefore with high hopes and undaunted hearts that my colleague and I entered upon our labours among the cannibals of Monsembe.

We returned the men we had borrowed from Bungundu. What a welcome they had on their arrival home! We had been absent so long that the folk had almost given up all hope of ever setting eyes again on their townsmen. They received a suitable reward, strutted about the town in their fine, brightly-coloured new cloths, and I suppose ever afterwards posed as widely travelled men whose words in future were to be taken on all matters relating to riverine geography, tribal marks, and other subjects. Leaving Bungundu we crossed to Lulanga and, picking up the goods we had left there in charge of a Dutch trader who treated us with much kindness and hospitality, we returned to our future home at Monsembe, which for the next fifteen years was to be the centre of our world and the scene of many joys and sorrows.