The black crew of the launch and the black soldiers on board, some seventy head all told, they had little trouble in dragooning into obedience.  The Central African native never troubles himself much about niceties of loyalty, and as the sway of the Congo Free State (or “Buli Matdi,” as it is named by the woolly aboriginal), had been brutally tyrannous, the change of allegiance had worried them little.  Besides, they had been in contact with Captain Kettle before, and knew him to be that admirable thing, a Man, and worthy of being served; while Clay, whom they also knew, amused them with his banjo, and held powerful ju-ju in the shape of drugs; and so they went blithely enough where they were led or driven, and described themselves as soldiers or slaves, whichever word happened to come handiest.  The African of the interior never worries his head about the terms of his service.  So long as he has plenty of food, and a master to do all the thinking for him, he is quite content to work, or steal, or fight, or be killed, as that master sees fit to direct.

The progress of the little stern-wheel steamer on her return journey up the Haut Congo might also give rise to misapprehension here at home, if it were described exactly as it happened.  There are no ship’s chandlers in Central Africa, and it is the custom there, when you lack stores, to go to a village on the bank and requisition anything that is available.  The Arab slave-traders who once held the country did this; the prehistoric people before them founded the custom; and the Free State authorities, their lineal descendants, have not seen fit to change the policy.  At least, they may have done so in theory at Brussels, but out there, in practice, they have left this matter in statu quo.

There is a massive conservatism about the heart of Africa with which it is dangerous to tamper.  If you rob a man in that region, he merely respects your superior power.  If you offer him payments, he promptly suspects you of weakness, and sets his clumsy mind at work to find the method by which you may be robbed of whatever you have not voluntarily surrendered.

“Of course,” said Kettle, taking up the thread of his tale again, “it’s understood that we run this country for our own advantage first.”

“What other object should white men have up-country in Africa?” said Clay.  “We don’t come here merely for our health.”

“But I’ve got a great notion of treating the people well besides.  When we have made a sufficient pile—­and, mark you, it must be all in ivory, as there’s nothing else of value that can be easy enough handled—­we shall clear out for the Coast, one-time.  And then we must realize on the ivory, and then we can go home and live as Christians again.”  He stared through the doorway of the hut at the aching sunshine beyond.  “Oh, Lord!  Think of it, Doc—­Home!  England!  Decent clothes!  Regular attendance in chapel on Sundays, and your soul well cared for and put into safe going order again!”