llel
with his American brother. A Bangala, for example, will talk for a week
about five centimes. One day at Dima I heard a terrific shouting and
exhorting down at the native market which is held twice a week. I was
certain that someone was being murdered. When I arrived on the scene I
saw a hundred men and women gesticulating wildly and in a great state of
excitement. I learned that the wife of a wood-boy on a boat had either
secreted or sold a scrap of soap, and her husband was not only berating
her with his tongue but telling the whole community about it.

The chief function of most Belgian officials in the Congo is to preside
at what is technically known as a "palaver." This word means conference
but it actually develops into a free-for-all riotous protestation by the
natives involved. They all want to talk at the same time and it is like
an Irish debating society. Years ago each village had a "palaver
ground," where the chief sat in solemn judgment on the disputes of his
henchmen. Now the "palavers" are held before Government officers. Most
of the "palavers" that I heard related to elopements. No matter how
grievous was the offense of the male he invariably shifted the entire
responsibility to the woman. He was merely emulating the ways of
civilization.

Between Stanleyville and Kinshassa we not only stopped every night
according to custom, but halted at not less than a dozen settlements to
take on or deliver cargo. These stations resemble each other in that
they are mainly a cluster of stores owned or operated by agents of
various trading companies. Practically every post in the Congo has, in
addition, a shop owned by a Portuguese. You find these traders
everywhere. They have something of the spirit of adventure and the
hardihood of their doughty ancestors who planted the flag of Portugal on
the high seas back in that era when the little kingdom was a world
power.

Some of them have been in the Congo for fifteen and twenty years without
ever stirring outside its confines. On the steamer that took me to
Europe from the Congo was a Portuguese who had lived in the bush for
twenty-two years. When he got on the big steamer he was frightened at
the noise and practically remained in his cabin throughout the entire
voyage. As we neared France he told me that if he had realized
beforehand the terror and tumult of the civilization that he had
forgotten, he never would have departed from his jungle home. He was as
shy as