* * *

So it goes. One reason why these men talk so much is that all their work
must be accompanied by some sound. Up in the diamond fields I watched a
native chopping wood. Every time the steel blade buried itself in the
log the man said: "Good axe. Cut deep." He talked to the weapon just as
he would speak to a human being. It all goes to show that the Congo
native is simply a child grown to man's stature.

The fact that I had to resort to the teapoy illustrates the
unreliability of mechanical transport in the wilds. I had tried in vain
to make progress with an automobile and a motor boat, and was forced as
a last resort to get back to the human being as carrier. He remains the
unfailing beast of burden despite all scientific progress.

I slept that night in a native house on the outskirts of a village. It
was what is called a _chitenda_, which is a grass structure open at all
the sides. The last white man to occupy this domicile was Louis Franck,
the Belgian Minister of the Colonies, who had gone up to the Forminiere
diamond fields a few weeks before. He used the same jitney that I had
started in, and it also broke down with him. Moody was his chauffeur.
They made their way on foot to this village. Moody told the chief that
he had the real _Bula Matadi_ with him. The chief solemnly looked at
Franck and said, "He is no _Bula Matadi_ because he does not wear any
medals." Most high Belgian officials wear orders and the native dotes on
shiny ornaments. The old savage refused to sell the travellers any food
and the Minister had to share the beans of the negro boys who
accompanied him.

Daybreak saw us on the move. For hours we swung through dense forest
which made one think of the beginnings of the world when the big trees
were king. The vastness and silence were only comparable to the brooding
mystery of the jungle nights. You have no feel of fear but oddly enough,
a strange sense of security.

I realized as never before, the truth that lay behind one of Stanley's
convictions. He once said, "No luxury of civilization can be equal to
the relief from the tyranny of custom. The wilds of a great city are
greater than the excruciating tyranny of a small village. The heart of
Africa is infinitely preferable to the heart of the world's largest
city. If the way were easier, millions would fly to it."

Despite this enthralling environment I kept wondering if that runner had
reached Doyle and if a car had been s