ted a road through the rocks
with dynamite.

With its winding and mountainous streets and its polyglot population,
Matadi is a picturesque spot. It is the goal of every official through
the long years of his service in the bush for at this place he boards
the steamer that takes him to Europe. This is the pleasant side of the
picture. On the other hand, Matadi is where the incoming ocean traveller
first sets foot on Congo soil. If it happens to be the wet season the
foot is likely to be scorched for it is by common consent one of the
hottest spots in all the universe. That well-known fable about frying an
egg in the sun is an every-day reality here six months of the year.

Matadi is the administrative center of the Lower Congo railway which has
extensive yards, repair-shops, and hospitals for whites and blacks.
Nearby are the storage tanks and pumping station of the oil pipe line
that extends from Matadi to Kinshassa. It was installed just before the
Great War and has only been used for one shipment of fluid. With the
outbreak of hostilities it was impossible to get petroleum. Now that
peace has come, its operations will be resumed because it is planned to
convert many of the Congo River steamers into oil-burners.

Tied up at a Matadi quay was "The Schoodic," one of the United States
Shipping Board war-built freighters. The American flag at her stern gave
me a real thrill for with the exception of the solitary national emblem
I had seen at Tshikapa it was the first I had beheld since I left
Capetown. I lunched several times on board and found the international
personnel so frequent in our merchant marine. The captain was a native
of the West Indies, the first mate had been born in Scotland, the chief
engineer was a Connecticut Yankee, and the steward a Japanese. They were
a happy family though under the Stars and Stripes and we spent many
hours together spinning yarns and wishing we were back home.

In the Congo nothing ever moves on schedule time. I expected to board
the steamer immediately after my arrival at Matadi and proceed to
Antwerp. There was the usual delay, and I had to wait a week. Hence the
diversion provided by "The Schoodic" was a godsend.

The blessed day came when I got on "The Anversville" and changed from
the dirt and discomfort of the river boat and the colonial hotel to the
luxury of the ocean vessel. It was like stepping into paradise to get
settled once more in an immaculate cabin with its shin