"That Man, C'est Moi"

The surreal quality of the Congo's creeping rebellion often obscures the fact that slowly but surely the country is slipping out of the government's grasp. In the seven months since the current wave of revolt began in Kwilu province, various rebel bands--some Communist-backed, others leaderless but just as vicious--have captured fully a third of the nation. Last week the tide lapped at, and then inundated, the biggest rebel prize yet. Strategic Stanleyville, the Congo's third largest city and the old stronghold of its first Premier, Leftist Patrice Lumumba, fell after two days of hard fighting.

Up the road to Stan marched the "Popular Army of Liberation," a ragtag band of tribesmen carrying spears and an occasional captured rifle. But each rebel also carried a magic wand, which he fully believed would protect him from bullets, and the 1,000 Congolese soldiers and gendarmes who opposed the rebel force at Stanleyville last week shared that belief. By the time the angry, ragged rebels reached the city, all but 50 of its battle-weary defenders had thrown their arms into the Congo River and ducked out, many of them disguised as women.

The men who remained put on a good show--for a while at least. The fighting raged back and forth across the broad lawns of the U.S. Consulate in Stanleyville. From the windows of the long, low, white building on the river bank, Consul Michael P. E. Hoyt had a ringside view. A burly, cigar-chomping Chicagoan of 34, Hoyt calmly stood his ground and flashed progress reports back to Leopoldville on his single sideband radio.

Lions & Goats. "Organized bands entering city," Hoyt observed laconically as the battle began. "Firing into air and possibly on consulate. Just saw Congolese in tattered dress, presume Popular Army." As the rebels pushed past the consulate, he sent USIA Officer Philip R. Mayhew, 29, off on a "successful, courageous dash" to the airport with two American girl tourists. The firing intensified, and Hoyt messaged: "Pole shot and rope cut by gunfire, but consulate flag still flying." At one point, rebels actually broke into the consulate, and Hoyt prudently retired with his four assistants to the "strong room," leaving a bottle of whisky behind to preoccupy the invaders. The whisky proved more powerful than the rebels' wands: they soon reeled away. By early morning, the city seemed to have fallen, but Hoyt was not sure if the Stanleyville airport had fallen with it. "Report from control tower says 'fighting' at airport," he flashed Leopoldville. "Air Congo reports all quiet."

Any doubts as to who held the airport were cleared up later that day when a U.S. DC-3 carrying the commander of the Stanleyville garrison tried to land. It was met with gunfire, which wounded the American pilot and sent the plane winging hurriedly well out of range.

Tshombe & Cha-Cha-Cha. That evening the radio crackled a message of triumph: "All Stanleyville is in the hands of the Popular Army. Do not forget: we are the lions and you are the goats." Next morning a program of recorded cha-cha-cha music was interrupted by a strident voice advertised as that of Emile Soumialot, president of the Chinese Communist-backed National Liberation Committee. "I am the new Lumumba," the voice ranted. "Just before he left us, Lumumba let it be known that someone stronger than he would come to complete his work. That man, c'est moi."

He may very well be, for it seemed that nothing short of major military aid from the outside could stop the rebels and preserve the month-old "government of public salvation" led by Premier Moise Tshombe. Though the Congolese army, in a rare show of aggressiveness, had recaptured the river port of Bolobo some 200 miles northeast of Leopoldville and three other towns, rebel forces threatened Kivu Central province's highland capital of Bukavu. The rampaging insurgent forces reportedly captured the tin-mining town of Manono as well.

Bullets & Bird Watchers. The desperate military situation forced the U.S. into an ironic action quite in consonance with the topsy-turvy conditions of the Congo. Out of Washington to Brussels near week's end flew State Department Troubleshooter W. Averell Harriman. His mission: to persuade the Belgians to give increased military and technical aid to Tshombe's army. Just two years ago, the U.S. was trying to eliminate Belgian support for Tshombe, but that was in Katanga, where Tshombe was attempting his abortive secession. Now Belgium is reluctant to get involved, for fear that the rebels will retaliate by killing the Europeans who remain in the country. After hours of discussion, Harriman and Belgian Foreign Minister Paul-Henri Spaak reached a compromise: Belgium will double its number of advisers to 400, while the U.S. will increase shipments of trucks, planes and communications equipment to Tshombe's government. Spaak would not permit Belgian officers to engage in combat, but both men agreed that they would do nothing to keep Tshombe from hiring mercenaries (so long as they were not Belgians or Americans).

As word of the rebel successes filtered into Leopoldville's cites indigenes last week, Africans began muttering, "They are coming, they are coming." About the only people in Leo who were not concerned were a group of 30 American bird watchers who arrived from New York for a 21-day ornithological outing. The merry band made 60 "sightings" during its brief stay, the most exotic of which was a wattled plover.

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