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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 each word；
〃what you call 'atrocities' are customs of warfare； forms of
punishment。 When they go to war they EXPECT to be tortured； they
KNOW； if they're killed； they'll be eaten。 The white man comes
here and finds these customs have existed for centuries。 He adopts
them； because〃
〃One moment！〃 interrupted Everett warmly。 〃That does not excuse
HIM。 The point is； that with him they have NOT existed。 To him
they should be against his conscience； indecent； horrible！ He has
a greater knowledge； a much higher intelligence； he should lift the
native； not sink to him。〃
The Coaster took his pipe from his mouth； and twice opened his lips
to speak。 Finally； he blew the smoke into the air； and shook his
head。
〃What's the use！〃 he exclaimed。
〃Try；〃 laughed Everett。 〃Maybe I'm not as unintelligent as I
talk。〃
〃You must get this right；〃 protested the Coaster。 〃It doesn't
matter a damn what a man BRINGS here； what his training WAS； what
HE IS。 The thing is too strong for him。〃
〃What thing？〃
〃That！〃 said the Coaster。 He threw out his arm at the brooding
mountains； the dark lagoons； the glaring coast…line against which
the waves shot into the air with the shock and roar of twelve…inch
guns。
〃The first white man came to Sierra Leone five hundred years before
Christ；〃 said the Coaster。 〃And； in twenty…two hundred years； he's
got just twenty miles inland。 The native didn't need forts； or a
navy； to stop him。 He had three allies： those waves； the fever；
and the sun。 Especially the sun。 The black man goes bare…headed；
and the sun lets him pass。 The white man covers his head with an
inch of cork； and the sun strikes through it and kills him。 When
Jameson came down the river from Yambuya； the natives fired on his
boat。 He waved his helmet at them for three minutes； to show them
there was a white man in the canoe。 Three minutes was all the sun
wanted。 Jameson died in two days。 Where you are going； the sun
does worse things to a man than kill him： it drives him mad。 It
keeps the fear of death in his heart； and THAT takes away his nerve
and his sense of proportion。 He flies into murderous fits； over
silly； imaginary slights； he grows morbid； suspicious； he becomes a
coward； and because he is a coward with authority； he becomes a
bully。
〃He is alone； we will suppose； at a station three hundred miles
from any other white man。 One morning his house…boy spills a cup
of coffee on him； and in a rage he half kills the boy。 He broods
over that； until he discovers； or his crazy mind makes him think he
has discovered； that in revenge the boy is plotting to poison him。
So he punishes him again。 Only this time he punishes him as the
black man has taught him to punish； in the only way the black man
seems to understand； that is； he tortures him。 From that moment
the fall of that man is rapid。 The heat； the loneliness； the
fever； the fear of the black faces； keep him on edge； rob him of
sleep； rob him of his physical strength； of his moral strength。 He
loses shame； loses reason； becomes cruel； weak； degenerate。 He
invents new； bestial tortures； commits new； unspeakable
'atrocities；' until； one day； the natives turn and kill him； or he
sticks his gun in his mouth and blows the top of his head off。〃
The Coaster smiled tolerantly at the wide…eyed eager young man at
his side。
〃And you；〃 he mocked； 〃think you can reform that man； and that hell
above ground called the Congo； with an article in Lowell's Weekly？〃
Undismayed； Everett grinned cheerfully。
〃That's what I'm here for！〃 he said。
By the time Everett reached the mouth of the Congo； he had learned
that in everything he must depend upon himself； that he would be
accepted only as the kind of man that； at the moment； he showed
himself to be。 This attitude of independence was not chosen； but
forced on him by the men with whom he came in contact。
Associations and traditions； that in every part of the United
States had served as letters of introduction； and enabled strangers
to identify and label him； were to the white men on the steamer and
at the ports of call without meaning or value。 That he was an
Everett of Boston conveyed little to those who had not heard even
of Boston。 That he was the correspondent of Lowell's Weekly meant
less to those who did not know that Lowell's Weekly existed。 And
when； in confusion； he proffered his letter of credit； the very
fact that it called for a thousand pounds was； in the eyes of a
〃Palm Oil Ruffian；〃 sufficient evidence that it had been forged or
stolen。 He soon saw that solely as a white man was he accepted and
made welcome。 That he was respectable； few believed； and no one
cared。 To be taken at his face value； to be refused at the start
the benefit of the doubt； was a novel sensation； and yet not
unpleasant。 It was a relief not to be accepted only as Everett the
Muckraker； as a professional reformer； as one holier than others。
It afforded his soul the same relaxation that his body received
when； in his shirt…sleeves in the sweltering smoking…room； he drank
beer with a chef de poste who had been thrice tried for murder。
Not only to every one was he a stranger； but to him everything was
strange； so strange as to appear unreal。 This did not prevent him
from at once recognizing those things that were not strange； such
as corrupt officials； incompetence； mismanagement。 He did not need
the missionaries to point out to him that the Independent State of
the Congo was not a colony administered for the benefit of many；
but a vast rubber plantation worked by slaves to fill the pockets
of one man。 It was not in his work that Everett found himself
confused。 It was in his attitude of mind toward almost every other
question。
At first； when he could not make everything fit his rule of thumb；
he excused the country tolerantly as a 〃topsy…turvy〃 land。 He
wished to move and act quickly； to make others move quickly。 He
did not understand that men who had sentenced themselves to exile
for the official term of three years； or for life； measured time
only by the date of their release。 When he learned that even a
cablegram could not reach his home in less than eighteen days； that
the missionaries to whom he brought letters were a three months'
journey from the coast and from each other； his impatience was
chastened to wonder； and； later； to awe。
His education began at Matadi； where he waited until the river
steamer was ready to start for Leopoldville。 Of the two places he
was assured Matadi was the better； for the reason