Great Falls High School - Roundup Yearbook (Great Falls, MT)

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ROUNDUP A Letter from David A. Hoffman 13 Village of Luibi, Congo Beige, Africa. Jan. 8, 1912. 1 believe I kept you informed of our trip as we came only from Ant- werp, as far as Sierre Leone on the west coast of Africa. The only place we touched after that was a French port in the province of Senegal; but as we were not allowed to go on shore, we saw no more of the land until we anchored at the mouth of the Congo, December 14. Banana, Congo Beige, is the town at the Congos mouth, but the steamer stopped only long enough to get her papers of health and then went up the river to Boma, the capital of this glorious country. Boma impressed me very much as I imagine old Fort Benton must have appeared to the pioneers when they landed there — only instead of Indians the shore was lined and perfumed with negroes. The cargo is dumped out on the river bank and one has to see to the un- loading of his cargo himself or else it is very liable to go up river. We were three or four days getting our stuff through the customs, or rather in getting the officials sufficiently awake to attend to business — they say one soon becomes inoculated with the germ of laziness in this country, and we have had ample proof that the Belgians are very susceptible. From Boma we went north, by rail fifty kilos. When I say, by rail, it means on a road of iron, whose rails are twenty-two inches apart and whose engine is stopped most of the time because the negro engineer has forgotten to get any water. We were eight hours traveling the fifty kilometers, which is considered ex- ceptionally fast time. Had we been in a hurrv we would have walked. The railroad ends at Lukula where we waited eight days more for the neigh- boring chiefs or Formus to send in enough men to transport our goods to the west. We needed about one- hundred men but only secured about thirty, so we started with what sup- plies we needed most. These porters would surprise you with the heavy loads they can carry. The average load for a hundred and ten pound man to carry fifteen miles a day, is thirty kilos, or about sixty-six pounds. This load is balanced on his head at six in the morning and by eleven o ' clock he is fifteen miles away. If he is paid by the trip he will cover twenty- five to thirty miles each twenty-four hours, but when working by the day he dislikes traveling in the afternoon when the sun is hot. We, ourselves, find it best to arise at half past five with the sun, work until eleven or twelve, and then rest until four o ' clock. After four it is cool and pleasant and it is then we figure on making our maps and reports. At half past six the sun sinks and in fifteen minutes it is intensely dark. There is neither dawn nor twilight in this part of the world. When the moon comes up though, one would imagine it were day. for, like the sun, it shines from directly over head and one could see for miles were it not for the dense foliage. The country we are in is not con sidered very fertile, but along all the si reams is a growth of brush and brambles so heavy as to be almost impassable. To force one ' s way through is impossible, for the vines appear alive, the way they reach out and grab one: but the natives are quite expert in thrusting their way through. The hills are covered with a coarse grass that comes as high a-

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ROUNDUP A Recipe for an Omelette. One morning ' , bright and early, Before the sun was up; I thought I ' d make an omelet Within a shining cup. The yolks of six fresh eggs I broke into a bowl. Gently sprinkled them with salt; Poured sweet cream upon the whole. The whites were added next. Beaten as white as snow. Then butter into the skillet put; Now hurry, don ' t be slow. Then into the nice hot butter I poured this mixture yellow. And for breakfast I had omelet Good enough for any fellow. — H. A.. ' 14. When cool they ' re placed within the tin cake-box, To which we hitch two brass pad- locks. — S. H., ' 14. A Recipe for Frying Doughnuts. To make these mystic dainties we re- quire Three pints of swine ' s oil placed above the fire. To this we add, when it is smoking hot. The rounds of dough placed gently in the pot; Then, as these disks take on a golden shade, The cooking fork comes quickly to their aid. Home-Made Fudge. A chunk of chocolate two inches round Cover with sugar finely ground: This with a cupful of water wet. And add a chunk of butter, you bet. Then put it on the stove to stew — ' Tis done when it is thick, like glue. Smear a pan with butter galore. And when it ' s done throw open the door. Then, if you want it nice and sweet, Good enough for a king to eat. Add a pinch of salt, and vanilla, too, And over and through it, fine nuts strew. Then begin to beat it hard Till at length it ' s smooth as lard; Pour it into the buttered pan And keep it there till hard, if you can. Of all the candy you ' ll ever eat. This kind you never can beat; But it might be well to look to your diet. If you really wish your sleep to be quiet. — M. B., ' 14. (Mm

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M ROUNDUP our heads, so we have great difficulty in keeping track of our directions. Trees are not plentiful but we have no trouble in finding palms of many varieties, mangoes and bananas. Limes and lemons are plentiful, and so are pineapples, but other fruit is almost unknown. We had supposed the country was full of all kinds of fruits but such is not the case. The natives cultivate little but a sort of sweet potato and a few peanuts. They plant the seed and leave it to nature to produce a crop. If the season be poor the na- tive starves, and right now the entire province of Mayumbe is suffering from a famine, for the little that last season yielded was soon destroyed for want of warehouses. They say the natives are dying in many places, though we have seen none of that as yet. We have found though that our maps are nearly worthless, for most of the villages they show have either been abandoned for more healthy places, or else the entire population has died of sleeping sickness. At present the few villages we come across are composed of about fifteen huts each, whereas we are told that ten and twenty years ago there were twice the number of villages and each village was very small if it had less than one hundred huts. The missionaries claim that gin and alco- hol have done much to kill the negro off. Each village is ruled over by a Fumu, who has almost unlimited power when he cares to exert him- self. He really is the head of a huge family, the rest of the village being- composed of his wives, slaves, sons- in-laws, and descendants. He is us- ually the oldest man in evidence (I believe they kill off all the other old people), but little revernce is paid to his years. His people will argue a point with him and show anything but re- spect. He endures a lot of abuse, but once he has asserted his regal will his word is final and obeyed absolute- ly. Besides these Fumus there is a Bula Matadi or big chief who is above the several Fumus and ' has jurisdiction over several villages. These latter are recognized as native princes by the Belgian government. They are dignified old fellows, but quite comical as they come marching into camp, always clad in long Prince Albert coats, that may be hanging to- gether by one thread only. In mak- ing a visit it is customary for them to carry a fowl or several eggs as a present to their host, and they always expect a present, or as they say matabish, in return. One old fel- low came into camp one day with a forty-year-old goat which we declined with thanks. He became highly in- dignant and would have nothing more to do with us for over a week. We finally won his heart with a pound of Virginia tobacco, but it taught us to refuse nothing that was offered us. Had he remained unpacified we could have secured no porters nor laborers in his province where we wished to work. Did you ever hear of mariguoi- uns? I never did before I landed on Africa ' s shore, but I now enjoy their acquaintance every morning and evening. It is a small sand fly, that hardly is large enough to have wings, but it must have an awful appetite for the white man ' s red cor- puscles. In the cool of the morning they swarm around one in millions and where they land they bite. They have not the song of the merry mos- quito to warn one of their approach, nor do they hurt at first, but after they have satiated themselves and de- parted one ' s hands and face are a sight to behold. My hands are like hams and I can not describe my face, for I have been unable to open my