Once Upon A Time | Page 2

choice,
was content to wait. His content was fortunate, as Miss Carey seemed
inclined to keep him waiting indefinitely.
Except in Europe, Everett had never travelled outside the limits of his
own country. But the new land toward which he was advancing held no

terrors. As he understood it, the Congo was at the mercy of a corrupt
"ring." In every part of the United States he had found a city in the
clutch of a corrupt ring. The conditions would be the same, the methods
he would use to get at the truth would be the same, the result for reform
would be the same.
The English steamer on which he sailed for Southampton was one
leased by the Independent State of the Congo, and, with a few
exceptions, her passengers were subjects of King Leopold. On board,
the language was French, at table the men sat according to the rank
they held in the administration of the jungle, and each in his buttonhole
wore the tiny silver star that showed that for three years, to fill the
storehouses of the King of the Belgians, he had gathered rubber and
ivory. In the smoking-room Everett soon discovered that passengers not
in the service of that king, the English and German officers and traders,
held aloof from the Belgians. Their attitude toward them seemed to be
one partly of contempt, partly of pity.
"Are your English protectorates on the coast, then, so much better
administered?" Everett asked.
The English Coaster, who for ten years in Nigeria had escaped fever
and sudden death, laughed evasively.
"I have never been in the Congo," he said. "Only know what they tell
one. But you'll see for yourself. That is," he added, "you'll see what
they want you to see."
They were leaning on the rail, with their eyes turned toward the coast
of Liberia, a gloomy green line against which the waves cast up
fountains of foam as high as the cocoanut palms. As a subject of
discussion, the coaster seemed anxious to avoid the Congo.
"It was there," he said, pointing, "the Three Castles struck on the rocks.
She was a total loss. So were her passengers," he added. "They ate
them."
Everett gazed suspiciously at the unmoved face of the veteran.

"Who ate them?" he asked guardedly. "Sharks?"
"The natives that live back of that shore-line in the lagoons."
Everett laughed with the assurance of one for whom a trap had been
laid and who had cleverly avoided it.
"Cannibals," he mocked. "Cannibals went out of date with pirates. But
perhaps," he added apologetically, "this happened some years ago?"
"Happened last month," said the trader.
"But Liberia is a perfectly good republic," protested Everett. "The
blacks there may not be as far advanced as in your colonies, but they're
not cannibals."
"Monrovia is a very small part of Liberia," said the trader dryly. "And
none of these protectorates, or crown colonies, on this coast pretends to
control much of the Hinterland. There is Sierra Leone, for instance,
about the oldest of them. Last year the governor celebrated the
hundredth anniversary of the year the British abolished slavery. They
had parades and tea-fights, and all the blacks were in the street in straw
hats with cricket ribbons, thanking God they were not as other men are,
not slaves like their grandfathers. Well, just at the height of the
jubilation, the tribes within twenty miles of the town sent in to say that
they, also, were holding a palaver, and it was to mark the fact that they
never had been slaves and never would be, and, if the governor doubted
it, to send out his fighting men and they'd prove it. It cast quite a gloom
over the celebration."
"Do you mean that only twenty miles from the coast--" began Everett.
"Ten miles," said the Coaster. "Wait till you see Calabar. That's our
Exhibit A. The cleanest, best administered. Everything there is model:
hospitals, barracks, golf links. Last year, ten miles from Calabar, Dr.
Stewart rode his bicycle into a native village. The king tortured him six
days, cut him up, and sent pieces of him to fifty villages with the
message: 'You eat each other. We eat white chop.' That was ten miles

from our model barracks."
For some moments the muckraker considered the statement
thoughtfully.
"You mean," he inquired, "that the atrocities are not all on the side of
the white men?"
"Atrocities?" exclaimed the trader. "I wasn't talking of atrocities. Are
you looking for them?"
"I'm not running away from them," laughed Everett. "_Lowell's
Weekly_ is sending me to the Congo to find out the truth, and to try to
help put an end to them."
In his turn the trader considered the statement carefully.
"Among the natives," he explained, painstakingly picking