INTRODUCTION 



The Congolese as I saw them were more often than 

 not a cadaverous people to gaze at, bloodthirsty, and 

 often enough cannibalistic, but I found that almost 

 without exception they possessed a good point, which 

 rarely failed to show itself, provided that they were 

 treated patiently and honourably. 



The years which preceded my travels in Central Africa 

 were spent in a variety of different ways and under the 

 skies of many countries. 



I have been cyanide worker on the Rand gold mines, 

 typist, post-master in Basutoland, learner foreman on 

 the Central South African Railways, mason, saddler, 

 bioscope operator, motor driver, clerk, actor, and so on 

 in various parts of the world. 



I have done farm work, made coffins, assisted at 

 burials and weddings, and I went through the Zulu trouble 

 in 1906. More recently I have been charged by elephants 

 and wounded by cannibals in ambush, and my last but 

 by no means least adventure was a fight with a madman 

 at sea. 



I have travelled pretty extensively in and around 

 Australasia. I retain countless memories of far eastern 

 temples, the tea and cinnamon gardens of Ceylon, cane 

 forests, the coral strands and lagoons of southern seas, 

 and Indian bazaars, whose narrow streets reek of the 

 jostling motley throng garbed in multi-coloured raiment. 



Wherever I find myself I go off the highways into the 

 byways, to the unbeaten track, so that my knowledge of 

 the world and its people is not merely what I have seen 

 from hotel steps or the interior of a sleeping car, or the 

 deck of a sumptuously appointed steamer. 



Circumstances have placed me among people of 

 practically every race under the sun, against whose 

 shoulders I have rubbed in work and in play. 



With regard to Mission work in Africa I have little 

 to say, except that I hold a decided opinion that the 



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