with them, or to attempt to eradicate them, because
you regard them as superstitious; and never, never
shoot too soon. I have never had to shoot, and
hope never to have to; because in such a situation,
one white alone with no troops to back him means a
clean finish. But this would not discourage me
if I had to start, only it makes me more inclined
to walk round the obstacle, than to become a mere
blood splotch against it, if this can be done without
losing your self-respect, which is the mainspring of
your power in West Africa.
As for flourishing about a revolver and threatening
to fire, I hold it utter idiocy. I have never
tried it, however, so I speak from prejudice which
arises from the feeling that there is something cowardly
in it. Always have your revolver ready loaded
in good order, and have your hand on it when things
are getting warm, and in addition have an exceedingly
good bowie knife, not a hinge knife, because with
a hinge knife you have got to get it open—hard
work in a country where all things go rusty in the
joints—and hinge knives are liable to close
on your own fingers. The best form of knife is
the bowie, with a shallow half moon cut out of the
back at the point end, and this depression sharpened
to a cutting edge. A knife is essential, because
after wading neck deep in a swamp your revolver is
neither use nor ornament until you have had time to
clean it. But the chances are you may go across
Africa, or live years in it, and require neither.
It is just the case of the gentleman who asked if
one required a revolver in Carolina and was answered,
“You may be here one year, and you may be here
two and never want it; but when you do want it you’ll
want it very bad.”
The cannibalism of the Fans, although a prevalent
habit, is no danger, I think, to white people, except
as regards the bother it gives one in preventing one’s
black companions from getting eaten. The Fan
is not a cannibal from sacrificial motives like the
negro. He does it in his common sense way.
Man’s flesh, he says, is good to eat, very
good, and he wishes you would try it. Oh dear
no, he never eats it himself, but the next door town
does. He is always very much abused for eating
his relations, but he really does not do this.
He will eat his next door neighbour’s relations
and sell his own deceased to his next door neighbour
in return; but he does not buy slaves and fatten them
up for his table as some of the Middle Congo tribes
I know of do. He has no slaves, no prisoners
of war, no cemeteries, so you must draw your own conclusions.
No, my friend, I will not tell you any cannibal stories.
I have heard how good M. du Chaillu fared after telling
you some beauties, and now you come away from the
Fan village and down the Rembwe river.
CHAPTER XI. DOWN THE REMBWE.
Setting forth how the Voyager descends the Rembwe
River, with divers excursions and alarms, in the company
of a black trader, and returns safely to the Coast.
