e American Indian.

Another secret society in the Congo is the Lubuki, whose initiation
makes riding the goat seem like a childish amusement. The candidate is
tied to a tree and a nest of black ants is distributed over his body. He
is released only after he is nearly stung to death. A repetition of this
jungle third degree is threatened for violation of any of the secrets of
the order, the main purpose of which is to graft on non-members for food
and other necessities.

In civilized life the members of a fraternal society are summoned to a
meeting by telephone or letter. In the Congo they are haled by the
tom-tom, which is the wireless of the woods. These huge drums have an
uncanny carrying power. The beats are like the dots and dashes of
telegraphy. All the native news of Central Africa is transmitted from
village to village in this way.

I could continue this narrative of native habits and customs
indefinitely but we must get back to the "Lusanga." On board was a real
character. He was Peter the capita. In the Congo every group of native
workmen is in charge of a capita, who would be designated a foreman in
this country. Life and varied experience had battered Peter sadly. He
spoke English, French, German, Portuguese, and half a dozen of the Congo
dialects. He learned German while a member of an African dancing team
that performed at the Winter Garden in Berlin. His German almost had a
Potsdam flavour. He told me that he had danced before the former Kaiser
and had met many members of the Teutonic nobility. Yet the thing that
stood out most vividly in his memory was the taste of German beer. He
sighed for it daily.

Six days after leaving Kinshassa I reluctantly bade farewell to Peter
and the "Lusanga" at Dima. Here I had the first piece of hard luck on
the whole trip. The little steamer that was to take me up the Kasai
River to Djoko Punda had departed five days before and I was forced to
wait until she returned. Fifteen years ago Dima was the wildest kind of
jungle. I found it a model, tropical post with dozens of brick houses, a
shipyard and machine shops, avenues of palm trees and a farm. It is the
headquarters of the Kasai Company in the Congo.

I had a brick bungalow to myself and ate with the Managing Director,
Monsieur Adrian Van den Hove. He knew no English and my alleged French
was pretty bad. Yet we met three times a day at the table and carried
on spirited conversations. There was only one English-spea