On the sixteenth day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand
eight hundred and sixty-nine, I was in Madrid, fresh from the carnage at
Valencia. At 10 A.M. Jacopo, at No.— Calle de la Cruz, handed me a
telegram: It read, “Come to Paris on important business.” The telegram was
from Mr. James Gordon Bennett, jun., the young manager of the ‘New York
Herald.’

Down came my pictures from the walls of my apartments on the second floor;
into my trunks went my books and souvenirs, my clothes were hastily
collected, some half washed, some from the clothes-line half dry, and
after a couple of hours of hasty hard work my portmanteaus were strapped
up and labelled “Paris.”

At 3 P.M. I was on my way, and being obliged to stop at Bayonne a few
hours, did not arrive at Paris until the following night. I went straight
to the ‘Grand Hotel,’ and knocked at the door of Mr. Bennett’s room.

“Come in,” I heard a voice say. Entering, I found Mr. Bennett in bed. “Who
are you?” he asked.

“My name is Stanley,” I answered.

“Ah, yes! sit down; I have important business on hand for you.”

After throwing over his shoulders his robe-de-chambre Mr. Bennett asked,
“Where do you think Livingstone is?”

“I really do not know, sir.”

“Do you think he is alive?”

“He may be, and he may not be,” I answered.

“Well, I think he is alive, and that he can be found, and I am going to
send you to find him.”

“What!” said I, “do you really think I can find Dr Livingstone? Do you
mean me to go to Central Africa?”

“Yes; I mean that you shall go, and find him wherever you may hear that he
is, and to get what news you can of him, and perhaps”—delivering
himself thoughtfully and deliberately—”the old man may be in want:—take
enough with you to help him should he require it. Of course you will act
according to your own plans, and do what you think best—BUT FIND
LIVINGSTONE!”

Said I, wondering at the cool order of sending one to Central Africa to
search for a man whom I, in common with almost all other men, believed to
be dead, “Have you considered seriously the great expense you are likely,
to incur on account of this little journey?”

“What will it cost?” he asked abruptly.

“Burton and Speke’s journey to Central Africa cost between £3,000 and
£5,000, and I fear it cannot be done under £2,500.”

“Well, I will tell you what you will do. Draw a thousand pounds now; and
when you have gone through that, draw another thousand, and when that is
spent, draw another thousand, and when you have finished that, draw
another thousand, and so on; but, FIND LIVINGSTONE.”

Surprised but not confused at the order—for I knew that Mr. Bennett
when once he had made up his mind was not easily drawn aside from his
purpose—I yet thought, seeing it was such a gigantic scheme, that he
had not quite considered in his own mind the pros and cons of the case; I
said, “I have heard that should your father die you would sell the
‘Herald’ and retire from business.”

“Whoever told you that is wrong, for there is not, money enough in New
York city to buy the ‘New York Herald.’ My father has made it a great
paper, but I mean to make it greater. I mean that it shall be a newspaper
in the true sense of the word. I mean that it shall publish whatever news
will be interesting to the world at no matter what cost.”

“After that,” said I, “I have nothing more to say. Do you mean me to go
straight on to Africa to search for Dr. Livingstone?”

“No! I wish you to go to the inauguration of the Suez Canal first, and
then proceed up the Nile. I hear Baker is about starting for Upper Egypt.
Find out what you can about his expedition, and as you go up describe as
well as possible whatever is interesting for tourists; and then write up a
guide—a practical one—for Lower Egypt; tell us about whatever
is worth seeing and how to see it.

“Then you might as well go to Jerusalem; I hear Captain Warren is making
some interesting discoveries there. Then visit Constantinople, and find
out about that trouble between the Khedive and the Sultan.

“Then—let me see—you might as well visit the Crimea and those
old battle-grounds, Then go across the Caucasus to the Caspian Sea; I hear
there is a Russian expedition bound for Khiva. From thence you may get
through Persia to India; you could write an interesting letter from
Persepolis.

“Bagdad will be close on your way to India; suppose you go there, and
write up something about the Euphrates Valley Railway. Then, when you have
come to India, you can go after Livingstone. Probably you will hear by
that time that Livingstone is on his way to Zanzibar; but if not, go into
the interior and find him. If alive, get what news of his discoveries you
can; and if you find he is dead, bring all possible proofs of his being
dead. That is all. Good-night, and God be with you.”

“Good-night, Sir,” I said, “what it is in the power of human nature to do
I will do; and on such an errand as I go upon, God will be with me.”

I lodged with young Edward King, who is making such a name in New England.
He was just the man who would have delighted to tell the journal he was
engaged upon what young Mr. Bennett was doing, and what errand I was bound
upon.

I should have liked to exchange opinions with him upon the probable
results of my journey, but I dared not do so. Though oppressed with the
great task before me, I had to appear as if only going to be present at
the Suez Canal. Young King followed me to the express train bound for
Marseilles, and at the station we parted: he to go and read the newspapers
at Bowles’ Reading-room—I to Central Africa and—who knows?

There is no need to recapitulate what I did before going to Central
Africa.

I went up the Nile and saw Mr. Higginbotham, chief engineer in Baker’s
Expedition, at Philae, and was the means of preventing a duel between him
and a mad young Frenchman, who wanted to fight Mr. Higginbotham with
pistols, because that gentleman resented the idea of being taken for an
Egyptian, through wearing a fez cap. I had a talk with Capt. Warren at
Jerusalem, and descended one of the pits with a sergeant of engineers to
see the marks of the Tyrian workmen on the foundation-stones of the Temple
of Solomon. I visited the mosques of Stamboul with the Minister Resident
of the United States, and the American Consul-General. I travelled over
the Crimean battle-grounds with Kinglake’s glorious books for reference in
my hand. I dined with the widow of General Liprandi at Odessa. I saw the
Arabian traveller Palgrave at Trebizond, and Baron Nicolay, the Civil
Governor of the Caucasus, at Tiflis. I lived with the Russian Ambassador
while at Teheran, and wherever I went through Persia I received the most
hospitable welcome from the gentlemen of the Indo-European Telegraph
Company; and following the examples of many illustrious men, I wrote my
name upon one of the Persepolitan monuments. In the month of August, 1870,
I arrived in India.

On the 12th of October I sailed on the barque ‘Polly’ from Bombay to
Mauritius. As the ‘Polly’ was a slow sailer, the passage lasted
thirty-seven days. On board this barque was a William Lawrence Farquhar—hailing
from Leith, Scotland—in the capacity of first-mate. He was an
excellent navigator, and thinking he might be useful to me, I employed
him; his pay to begin from the date we should leave Zanzibar for Bagamoyo.
As there was no opportunity of getting, to Zanzibar direct, I took ship to
Seychelles. Three or four days after arriving at Mahe, one of the
Seychelles group, I was fortunate enough to get a passage for myself,
William Lawrence Farquhar, and an Arab boy from Jerusalem, who was to act
as interpreter—on board an American whaling vessel, bound for
Zanzibar; at which port we arrived on the 6th of January, 1871.

I have skimmed over my travels thus far, because these do not concern the
reader. They led over many lands, but this book is only a narrative of my
search after Livingstone, the great African traveller. It is an Icarian
flight of journalism, I confess; some even have called it Quixotic; but
this is a word I can now refute, as will be seen before the reader arrives
at the “Finis.”

I have used the word “soldiers” in this book. The armed escort a traveller
engages to accompany him into East Africa is composed of free black men,
natives of Zanzibar, or freed slaves from the interior, who call
themselves “askari,” an Indian name which, translated, means “soldiers.”
They are armed and equipped like soldiers, though they engage themselves
also as servants; but it would be more pretentious in me to call them
servants, than to use the word “soldiers;” and as I have been more in the
habit of calling them soldiers than “my watuma”—servants—this
habit has proved too much to be overcome. I have therefore allowed the
word “soldiers” to appear, accompanied, however, with this apology.

But it must be remembered that I am writing a narrative of my own
adventures and travels, and that until I meet Livingstone, I presume the
greatest interest is attached to myself, my marches, my troubles, my
thoughts, and my impressions. Yet though I may sometimes write, “my
expedition,” or “my caravan,” it by no means follows that I arrogate to
myself this right. For it must be distinctly understood that it is the
“‘New York Herald’ Expedition,” and that I am only charged with its
command by Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the proprietor of the ‘New York
Herald,’ as a salaried employ of that gentleman.

One thing more; I have adopted the narrative form of relating the story of
the search, on account of the greater interest it appears to possess over
the diary form, and I think that in this manner I avoid the great fault of
repetition for which some travellers have been severely criticised.

CHAPTER II. — ZANZIBAR.

On the morning of the 6th January, 1871, we were sailing through the
channel that separates the fruitful island of Zanzibar from Africa. The
high lands of the continent loomed like a lengthening shadow in the grey
of dawn. The island lay on our left, distant but a mile, coming out of its
shroud of foggy folds bit by bit as the day advanced, until it finally
rose clearly into view, as fair in appearance as the fairest of the gems
of creation. It appeared low, but not flat; there were gentle elevations
cropping hither and yon above the languid but graceful tops of the
cocoa-trees that lined the margin of the island, and there were
depressions visible at agreeable intervals, to indicate where a cool gloom
might be found by those who sought relief from a hot sun. With the
exception of the thin line of sand, over which the sap-green water rolled
itself with a constant murmur and moan, the island seemed buried under one
deep stratum of verdure.

The noble bosom of the strait bore several dhows speeding in and out of
the bay of Zanzibar with bellying sails. Towards the south, above the sea
line of the horizon, there appeared the naked masts of several large
ships, and to the east of these a dense mass of white, flat-topped houses.
This was Zanzibar, the capital of the island;—which soon resolved
itself into a pretty large and compact city, with all the characteristics
of Arab architecture. Above some of the largest houses lining the bay
front of the city streamed the blood-red banner of the Sultan, Seyd
Burghash, and the flags of the American, English, North German
Confederation, and French Consulates. In the harbor were thirteen large
ships, four Zanzibar men-of-war, one English man-of-war—the
‘Nymphe,’ two American, one French, one Portuguese, two English, and two
German merchantmen, besides numerous dhows hailing from Johanna and
Mayotte of the Comoro Islands, dhows from Muscat and Cutch—traders
between India, the Persian Gulf, and Zanzibar.

It was with the spirit of true hospitality and courtesy that Capt. Francis
R. Webb, United States Consul, (formerly of the United States Navy),
received me. Had this gentleman not rendered me such needful service, I
must have condescended to take board and lodging at a house known as
“Charley’s,” called after the proprietor, a Frenchman, who has won
considerable local notoriety for harboring penniless itinerants, and
manifesting a kindly spirit always, though hidden under such a rugged
front; or I should have been obliged to pitch my double-clothed American
drill tent on the sandbeach of this tropical island, which was by no means
a desirable thing.

But Capt. Webb’s opportune proposal to make his commodious and comfortable
house my own; to enjoy myself, with the request that I would call for
whatever I might require, obviated all unpleasant alternatives.

One day’s life at Zanzibar made me thoroughly conscious of my ignorance
respecting African people and things in general. I imagined I had read
Burton and Speke through, fairly well, and that consequently I had
penetrated the meaning, the full importance and grandeur, of the work I
was about to be engaged upon. But my estimates, for instance, based upon
book information, were simply ridiculous, fanciful images of African
attractions were soon dissipated, anticipated pleasures vanished, and all
crude ideas began to resolve themselves into shape.

I strolled through the city. My general impressions are of crooked, narrow
lanes, white-washed houses, mortar-plastered streets, in the clean
quarter;—of seeing alcoves on each side, with deep recesses, with a
fore-ground of red-turbaned Banyans, and a back-ground of flimsy cottons,
prints, calicoes, domestics and what not; or of floors crowded with ivory
tusks; or of dark corners with a pile of unginned and loose cotton; or of
stores of crockery, nails, cheap Brummagem ware, tools, &c., in what I
call the Banyan quarter;—of streets smelling very strong—in
fact, exceedingly, malodorous, with steaming yellow and black bodies, and
woolly heads, sitting at the doors of miserable huts, chatting, laughing,
bargaining, scolding, with a compound smell of hides, tar, filth, and
vegetable refuse, in the negro quarter;—of streets lined with tall,
solid-looking houses, flat roofed, of great carved doors with large brass
knockers, with baabs sitting cross-legged watching the dark entrance to
their masters’ houses; of a shallow sea-inlet, with some dhows, canoes,
boats, an odd steam-tub or two, leaning over on their sides in a sea of
mud which the tide has just left behind it; of a place called
“M’nazi-Moya,” “One Cocoa-tree,” whither Europeans wend on evenings with
most languid steps, to inhale the sweet air that glides over the sea,
while the day is dying and the red sun is sinking westward; of a few
graves of dead sailors, who paid the forfeit of their lives upon arrival
in this land; of a tall house wherein lives Dr. Tozer, “Missionary Bishop
of Central Africa,” and his school of little Africans; and of many other
things, which got together into such a tangle, that I had to go to sleep,
lest I should never be able to separate the moving images, the Arab from
the African; the African from the Banyan; the Banyan from the Hindi; the
Hindi from the European, &c.

Zanzibar is the Bagdad, the Ispahan, the Stamboul, if you like, of East
Africa. It is the great mart which invites the ivory traders from the
African interior. To this market come the gum-copal, the hides, the
orchilla weed, the timber, and the black slaves from Africa. Bagdad had
great silk bazaars, Zanzibar has her ivory bazaars; Bagdad once traded in
jewels, Zanzibar trades in gum-copal; Stamboul imported Circassian and
Georgian slaves; Zanzibar imports black beauties from Uhiyow, Ugindo,
Ugogo, Unyamwezi and Galla.

The same mode of commerce obtains here as in all Mohammedan countries—nay,
the mode was in vogue long before Moses was born. The Arab never changes.
He brought the custom of his forefathers with him when he came to live on
this island. He is as much of an Arab here as at Muscat or Bagdad;
wherever he goes to live he carries with him his harem, his religion, his
long robe, his shirt, his slippers, and his dagger. If he penetrates
Africa, not all the ridicule of the negroes can make him change his modes
of life. Yet the land has not become Oriental; the Arab has not been able
to change the atmosphere. The land is semi-African in aspect; the city is
but semi-Arabian.

To a new-comer into Africa, the Muscat Arabs of Zanzibar are studies.
There is a certain empressement about them which we must admire. They are
mostly all travellers. There are but few of them who have not been in many
dangerous positions, as they penetrated Central Africa in search of the
precious ivory; and their various experiences have given their features a
certain unmistakable air of-self-reliance, or of self-sufficiency; there
is a calm, resolute, defiant, independent air about them, which wins
unconsciously one’s respect. The stories that some of these men could
tell, I have often thought, would fill many a book of thrilling
adventures.

For the half-castes I have great contempt. They are neither black nor
white, neither good nor bad, neither to be admired nor hated. They are all
things, at all times; they are always fawning on the great Arabs, and
always cruel to those unfortunates brought under their yoke. If I saw a
miserable, half-starved negro, I was always sure to be told he belonged to
a half-caste. Cringing and hypocritical, cowardly and debased, treacherous
and mean, I have always found him. He seems to be for ever ready to fall
down and worship a rich Arab, but is relentless to a poor black slave.
When he swears most, you may be sure he lies most, and yet this is the
breed which is multiplied most at Zanzibar.

The Banyan is a born trader, the beau-ideal of a sharp money-making man.
Money flows to his pockets as naturally as water down a steep. No pang of
conscience will prevent him from cheating his fellow man. He excels a Jew,
and his only rival in a market is a Parsee; an Arab is a babe to him. It
is worth money to see him labor with all his energy, soul and body, to get
advantage by the smallest fraction of a coin over a native. Possibly the
native has a tusk, and it may weigh a couple of frasilahs, but, though the
scales indicate the weight, and the native declares solemnly that it must
be more than two frasilahs, yet our Banyan will asseverate and vow that
the native knows nothing whatever about it, and that the scales are wrong;
he musters up courage to lift it—it is a mere song, not much more
than a frasilah. “Come,” he will say, “close, man, take the money and go
thy way. Art thou mad?” If the native hesitates, he will scream in a fury;
he pushes him about, spurns the ivory with contemptuous indifference,—never
was such ado about nothing; but though he tells the astounded native to be
up and going, he never intends the ivory shall leave his shop.

The Banyans exercise, of all other classes, most influence on the trade of
Central Africa. With the exception of a very few rich Arabs, almost all
other traders are subject to the pains and penalties which usury imposes.
A trader desirous to make a journey into the interior, whether for slaves
or ivory, gum-copal, or orchilla weed, proposes to a Banyan to advance him
$5,000, at 50, 60, or 70 per cent. interest. The Banyan is safe enough not
to lose, whether the speculation the trader is engaged upon pays or not.
An experienced trader seldom loses, or if he has been unfortunate, through
no deed of his own, he does not lose credit; with the help of the Banyan,
he is easily set on his feet again.

We will suppose, for the sake of illustrating how trade with the interior
is managed, that the Arab conveys by his caravan $5,000’s worth of goods
into the interior. At Unyanyembe the goods are worth $10,000; at Ujiji,
they are worth $15,000: they have trebled in price. Five doti, or $7.50,
will purchase a slave in the markets of Ujiji that will fetch in Zanzibar
$30. Ordinary menslaves may be purchased for $6 which would sell for $25
on the coast. We will say he purchases slaves to the full extent of his
means—after deducting $1,500 expenses of carriage to Ujiji and back—viz.
$3,500, the slaves—464 in number, at $7-50 per head—would
realize $13,920 at Zanzibar! Again, let us illustrate trade in ivory. A
merchant takes $5,000 to Ujiji, and after deducting $1,500 for expenses to
Ujiji, and back to Zanzibar, has still remaining $3,500 in cloth and
beads, with which he purchases ivory. At Ujiji ivory is bought at $20 the
frasilah, or 35 lbs., by which he is enabled with $3,500 to collect 175
frasilahs, which, if good ivory, is worth about $60 per frasilah at
Zanzibar. The merchant thus finds that he has realized $10,500 net profit!
Arab traders have often done better than this, but they almost always have
come back with an enormous margin of profit.

The next people to the Banyans in power in Zanzibar are the Mohammedan
Hindis. Really it has been a debateable subject in my mind whether the
Hindis are not as wickedly determined to cheat in trade as the Banyans.
But, if I have conceded the palm to the latter, it has been done very
reluctantly. This tribe of Indians can produce scores of unconscionable
rascals where they can show but one honest merchant. One of the honestest
among men, white or black, red or yellow, is a Mohammedan Hindi called
Tarya Topan. Among the Europeans at Zanzibar, he has become a proverb for
honesty, and strict business integrity. He is enormously wealthy, owns
several ships and dhows, and is a prominent man in the councils of Seyd
Burghash. Tarya has many children, two or three of whom are grown-up sons,
whom he has reared up even as he is himself. But Tarya is but a
representative of an exceedingly small minority.

The Arabs, the Banyans, and the Mohammedan Hindis, represent the higher
and the middle classes. These classes own the estates, the ships, and the
trade. To these classes bow the half-caste and the negro.

The next most important people who go to make up the mixed population of
this island are the negroes. They consist of the aborigines, Wasawahili,
Somalis, Comorines, Wanyamwezi, and a host of tribal representatives of
Inner Africa.

To a white stranger about penetrating Africa, it is a most interesting
walk through the negro quarters of the Wanyamwezi and the Wasawahili. For
here he begins to learn the necessity of admitting that negroes are men,
like himself, though of a different colour; that they have passions and
prejudices, likes and dislikes, sympathies and antipathies, tastes and
feelings, in common with all human nature. The sooner he perceives this
fact, and adapts himself accordingly, the easier will be his journey among
the several races of the interior. The more plastic his nature, the more
prosperous will be his travels.

Though I had lived some time among the negroes of our Southern States, my
education was Northern, and I had met in the United States black men whom
I was proud to call friends. I was thus prepared to admit any black man,
possessing the attributes of true manhood or any good qualities, to my
friendship, even to a brotherhood with myself; and to respect him for
such, as much as if he were of my own colour and race. Neither his colour,
nor any peculiarities of physiognomy should debar him with me from any
rights he could fairly claim as a man. “Have these men—these black
savages from pagan Africa,” I asked myself, “the qualities which make man
loveable among his fellows? Can these men—these barbarians—appreciate
kindness or feel resentment like myself?” was my mental question as I
travelled through their quarters and observed their actions. Need I say,
that I was much comforted in observing that they were as ready to be
influenced by passions, by loves and hates, as I was myself; that the
keenest observation failed to detect any great difference between their
nature and my own?

The negroes of the island probably number two-thirds of the entire
population. They compose the working-class, whether enslaved or free.
Those enslaved perform the work required on the plantations, the estates,
and gardens of the landed proprietors, or perform the work of carriers,
whether in the country or in the city. Outside the city they may be seen
carrying huge loads on their heads, as happy as possible, not because they
are kindly treated or that their work is light, but because it is their
nature to be gay and light-hearted, because they, have conceived neither
joys nor hopes which may not be gratified at will, nor cherished any
ambition beyond their reach, and therefore have not been baffled in their
hopes nor known disappointment.

Within the city, negro carriers may be heard at all hours, in couples,
engaged in the transportation of clove-bags, boxes of merchandise, &c.,
from store to “godown” and from “go-down” to the beach, singing a kind of
monotone chant for the encouragement of each other, and for the guiding of
their pace as they shuffle through the streets with bare feet. You may
recognise these men readily, before long, as old acquaintances, by the
consistency with which they sing the tunes they have adopted. Several
times during a day have I heard the same couple pass beneath the windows
of the Consulate, delivering themselves of the same invariable tune and
words. Some might possibly deem the songs foolish and silly, but they had
a certain attraction for me, and I considered that they were as useful as
anything else for the purposes they were intended.

The town of Zanzibar, situate on the south-western shore of the island,
contains a population of nearly one hundred thousand inhabitants; that of
the island altogether I would estimate at not more than two hundred
thousand inhabitants, including all races.

The greatest number of foreign vessels trading with this port are
American, principally from New York and Salem. After the American come the
German, then come the French and English. They arrive loaded with American
sheeting, brandy, gunpowder, muskets, beads, English cottons, brass-wire,
china-ware, and other notions, and depart with ivory, gum-copal, cloves,
hides, cowries, sesamum, pepper, and cocoa-nut oil.

The value of the exports from this port is estimated at $3,000,000, and
the imports from all countries at $3,500,000.

The Europeans and Americans residing in the town of Zanzibar are either
Government officials, independent merchants, or agents for a few great
mercantile houses in Europe and America.

The climate of Zanzibar is not the most agreeable in the world. I have
heard Americans and Europeans condemn it most heartily. I have also seen
nearly one-half of the white colony laid up in one day from sickness. A
noxious malaria is exhaled from the shallow inlet of Malagash, and the
undrained filth, the garbage, offal, dead mollusks, dead pariah dogs, dead
cats, all species of carrion, remains of men and beasts unburied, assist
to make Zanzibar a most unhealthy city; and considering that it it ought
to be most healthy, nature having pointed out to man the means, and having
assisted him so far, it is most wonderful that the ruling prince does not
obey the dictates of reason.

The bay of Zanzibar is in the form of a crescent, and on the south-western
horn of it is built the city. On the east Zanzibar is bounded almost
entirely by the Malagash Lagoon, an inlet of the sea. It penetrates to at
least two hundred and fifty yards of the sea behind or south of Shangani
Point. Were these two hundred and fifty yards cut through by a ten foot
ditch, and the inlet deepened slightly, Zanzibar would become an island of
itself, and what wonders would it not effect as to health and salubrity! I
have never heard this suggestion made, but it struck me that the foreign
consuls resident at Zanzibar might suggest this work to the Sultan, and so
get the credit of having made it as healthy a place to live in as any near
the equator. But apropos of this, I remember what Capt. Webb, the American
Consul, told me on my first arrival, when I expressed to him my wonder at
the apathy and inertness of men born with the indomitable energy which
characterises Europeans and Americans, of men imbued with the progressive
and stirring instincts of the white people, who yet allow themselves to
dwindle into pallid phantoms of their kind, into hypochondriacal invalids,
into hopeless believers in the deadliness of the climate, with hardly a
trace of that daring and invincible spirit which rules the world.

“Oh,” said Capt. Webb, “it is all very well for you to talk about energy
and all that kind of thing, but I assure you that a residence of four or
five years on this island, among such people as are here, would make you
feel that it was a hopeless task to resist the influence of the example by
which the most energetic spirits are subdued, and to which they must
submit in time, sooner or later. We were all terribly energetic when we
first came here, and struggled bravely to make things go on as we were
accustomed to have them at home, but we have found that we were knocking
our heads against granite walls to no purpose whatever. These fellows—the
Arabs, the Banyans, and the Hindis—you can’t make them go faster by
ever so much scolding and praying, and in a very short time you see the
folly of fighting against the unconquerable. Be patient, and don’t fret,
that is my advice, or you won’t live long here.”

There were three or four intensely busy men, though, at Zanzibar, who were
out at all hours of the day. I know one, an American; I fancy I hear the
quick pit-pat of his feet on the pavement beneath the Consulate, his
cheery voice ringing the salutation, “Yambo!” to every one he met; and he
had lived at Zanzibar twelve years.

I know another, one of the sturdiest of Scotchmen, a most
pleasant-mannered and unaffected man, sincere in whatever he did or said,
who has lived at Zanzibar several years, subject to the infructuosities of
the business he has been engaged in, as well as to the calor and ennui of
the climate, who yet presents as formidable a front as ever to the
apathetic native of Zanzibar. No man can charge Capt. H. C. Fraser,
formerly of the Indian Navy, with being apathetic.

I might with ease give evidence of the industry of others, but they are
all my friends, and they are all good. The American, English, German, and
French residents have ever treated me with a courtesy and kindness I am
not disposed to forget. Taken as a body, it would be hard to find a more
generous or hospitable colony of white men in any part of the world.

CHAPTER III. — ORGANIZATION OF THE EXPEDITION.

I was totally ignorant of the interior, and it was difficult at first to
know, what I needed, in order to take an Expedition into Central Africa.
Time was precious, also, and much of it could not be devoted to inquiry
and investigation. In a case like this, it would have been a godsend, I
thought, had either of the three gentlemen, Captains Burton, Speke, or
Grant, given some information on these points; had they devoted a chapter
upon, “How to get ready an Expedition for Central Africa.” The purpose of
this chapter, then, is to relate how I set about it, that other travellers
coming after me may have the benefit of my experience.

These are some of the questions I asked myself, as I tossed on my bed at
night:—

“How much money is required?”

“How many pagazis, or carriers?

“How many soldiers?”

“How much cloth?”

“How many beads?”

“How much wire?”

“What kinds of cloth are required for the different tribes?”

Ever so many questions to myself brought me no clearer the exact point I
wished to arrive at. I scribbled over scores of sheets of paper, made
estimates, drew out lists of material, calculated the cost of keeping one
hundred men for one year, at so many yards of different kinds of cloth,
etc. I studied Burton, Speke, and Grant in vain. A good deal of
geographical, ethnological, and other information appertaining to the
study of Inner Africa was obtainable, but information respecting the
organization of an expedition requisite before proceeding to Africa, was
not in any book. The Europeans at Zanzibar knew as little as possible
about this particular point. There was not one white man at Zanzibar who
could tell how many dotis a day a force of one hundred men required to buy
food for one day on the road. Neither, indeed, was it their business to
know. But what should I do at all, at all? This was a grand question.

I decided it were best to hunt up an Arab merchant who had been engaged in
the ivory trade, or who was fresh from the interior.

Sheikh Hashid was a man of note and of wealth in Zanzibar. He had himself
despatched several caravans into the interior, and was necessarily
acquainted with several prominent traders who came to his house to gossip
about their adventures and gains. He was also the proprietor of the large
house Capt. Webb occupied; besides, he lived across the narrow street
which separated his house from the Consulate. Of all men Sheikh Hashid was
the man to be consulted, and he was accordingly invited to visit me at the
Consulate.

From the grey-bearded and venerable-looking Sheikh, I elicited more
information about African currency, the mode of procedure, the quantity
and quality of stuffs I required, than I had obtained from three months’
study of books upon Central Africa; and from other Arab merchants to whom
the ancient Sheikh introduced me, I received most valuable suggestions and
hints, which enabled me at last to organize an Expedition.

The reader must bear in mind that a traveller requires only that which is
sufficient for travel and exploration that a superfluity of goods or means
will prove as fatal to him as poverty of supplies. It is on this question
of quality and quantity that the traveller has first to exercise his
judgment and discretion.

My informants gave me to understand that for one hundred men, 10 doti, or
40 yards of cloth per diem, would suffice for food. The proper course to
pursue, I found, was to purchase 2,000 doti of American sheeting, 1,000
doti of Kaniki, and 650 doti of the coloured cloths, such as Barsati, a
great favourite in Unyamwezi; Sohari, taken in Ugogo; Ismahili, Taujiri,
Joho, Shash, Rehani, Jamdani or Kunguru-Cutch, blue and pink. These were
deemed amply sufficient for the subsistence of one hundred men for twelve
months. Two years at this rate would require 4,000 doti = 16,000 yards of
American sheeting; 2,000 doti = 8,000 yards of Kaniki; 1,300 doti = 5,200
yards of mixed coloured cloths. This was definite and valuable information
to me, and excepting the lack of some suggestions as to the quality of the
sheeting, Kaniki, and coloured cloths, I had obtained all I desired upon
this point.

Second in importance to the amount of cloth required was the quantity and
quality of the beads necessary. Beads, I was told, took the place of cloth
currency among some tribes of the interior. One tribe preferred white to
black beads, brown to yellow, red to green, green to white, and so on.
Thus, in Unyamwezi, red (sami-sami) beads would readily be taken, where
all other kinds would be refused; black (bubu) beads, though currency in
Ugogo, were positively worthless with all other tribes; the egg
(sungomazzi) beads, though valuable in Ujiji and Uguhha, would be refused
in all other countries; the white (Merikani) beads though good in Ufipa,
and some parts of Usagara and Ugogo, would certainly be despised in
Useguhha and Ukonongo. Such being the case, I was obliged to study
closely, and calculate the probable stay of an expedition in the several
countries, so as to be sure to provide a sufficiency of each kind, and
guard against any great overplus. Burton and Speke, for instance, were
obliged to throw away as worthless several hundred fundo of beads.

For example, supposing the several nations of Europe had each its own
currency, without the means of exchange, and supposing a man was about to
travel through Europe on foot, before starting he would be apt to
calculate how many days it would take him to travel through France; how
many through Prussia, Austria, and Russia, then to reckon the expense he
would be likely to incur per day. If the expense be set down at a napoleon
per day, and his journey through France would occupy thirty days, the sum
required forgoing and returning might be properly set down at sixty
napoleons, in which case, napoleons not being current money in Prussia,
Austria, or Russia, it would be utterly useless for him to burden himself
with the weight of a couple of thousand napoleons in gold.

My anxiety on this point was most excruciating. Over and over I studied
the hard names and measures, conned again and again the polysyllables;
hoping to be able to arrive some time at an intelligible definition of the
terms. I revolved in my mind the words Mukunguru, Ghulabio, Sungomazzi,
Kadunduguru, Mutunda, Samisami, Bubu, Merikani, Hafde, Lunghio-Rega, and
Lakhio, until I was fairly beside myself. Finally, however, I came to the
conclusion that if I reckoned my requirements at fifty khete, or five
fundo per day, for two years, and if I purchased only eleven varieties, I
might consider myself safe enough. The purchase was accordingly made, and
twenty-two sacks of the best species were packed and brought to Capt.
Webb’s house, ready for transportation to Bagamoyo.

After the beads came the wire question. I discovered, after considerable
trouble, that Nos. 5 and 6—almost of the thickness of telegraph wire—were
considered the best numbers for trading purposes. While beads stand for
copper coins in Africa, cloth measures for silver; wire is reckoned as
gold in the countries beyond the Tan-ga-ni-ka.* Ten frasilah, or 350 lbs.,
of brass-wire, my Arab adviser thought, would be ample.

Having purchased the cloth, the beads, and the wire, it was with no little
pride that I surveyed the comely bales and packages lying piled up, row
above row, in Capt. Webb’s capacious store-room. Yet my work was not
ended, it was but beginning; there were provisions, cooking-utensils,
boats, rope, twine, tents, donkeys, saddles, bagging, canvas, tar,
needles, tools, ammunition, guns, equipments, hatchets, medicines,
bedding, presents for chiefs—in short, a thousand things not yet
purchased. The ordeal of chaffering and haggling with steel-hearted
Banyans, Hindis, Arabs, and half-castes was most trying. For instance, I
purchased twenty-two donkeys at Zanzibar. $40 and $50 were asked, which I
had to reduce to $15 or $20 by an infinite amount of argument worthy, I
think, of a nobler cause. As was my experience with the ass-dealers so was
it with the petty merchants; even a paper of pins was not purchased
without a five per cent. reduction from the price demanded, involving, of
course, a loss of much time and patience.

After collecting the donkeys, I discovered there were no pack-saddles to
be obtained in Zanzibar. Donkeys without pack-saddles were of no use
whatever. I invented a saddle to be manufactured by myself and my white
man Farquhar, wholly from canvas, rope, and cotton.

Three or four frasilahs of cotton, and ten bolts of canvas were required
for the saddles. A specimen saddle was made by myself in order to test its
efficiency. A donkey was taken and saddled, and a load of 140 lbs. was
fastened to it, and though the animal—a wild creature of Unyamwezi—struggled
and reared frantic ally, not a particle gave way. After this experiment,
Farquhar was set to work to manufacture twenty-one more after the same
pattern. Woollen pads were also purchased to protect the animals from
being galled. It ought to be mentioned here, perhaps, that the idea of
such a saddle as I manufactured, was first derived from the Otago saddle,
in use among the transport-trains of the English army in Abyssinia.

A man named John William Shaw—a native of London, England, lately
third-mate of the American ship ‘Nevada’—applied to me for work.
Though his discharge from the ‘Nevada’ was rather suspicious, yet he
possessed all the requirements of such a man as I needed, and was an
experienced hand with the palm and needle, could cut canvas to fit
anything, was a pretty good navigator, ready and willing, so far as his
professions went.. I saw no reason to refuse his services, and he was
accordingly engaged at $300 per annum, to rank second to William L.
Farquhar. Farquhar was a capital navigator and excellent mathematician;
was strong, energetic, and clever.

The next thing I was engaged upon was to enlist, arm, and equip, a
faithful escort of twenty men for the road. Johari, the chief dragoman of
the American Consulate, informed me that he knew where certain of Speke’s
“Faithfuls” were yet to be found. The idea had struck me before, that if I
could obtain the services of a few men acquainted with the ways of white
men, and who could induce other good men to join the expedition I was
organizing, I might consider myself fortunate. More especially had I
thought of Seedy Mbarak Mombay, commonly called “Bombay,” who though his
head was “woodeny,” and his hands “clumsy,” was considered to be the
“faithfulest” of the “Faithfuls.”

With the aid of the dragoman Johari, I secured in a few hours the services
of Uledi (Capt. Grant’s former valet), Ulimengo, Baruti, Ambari, Mabruki
(Muinyi Mabruki—Bull-headed Mabruki, Capt. Burton’s former unhappy
valet)—five of Speke’s “Faithfuls.” When I asked them if they were
willing to join another white man’s expedition to Ujiji, they replied very
readily that they were willing to join any brother of “Speke’s.” Dr. John
Kirk, Her Majesty’s Consul at Zanzibar, who was present, told them that
though I was no brother of “Speke’s,” I spoke his language. This
distinction mattered little to them: and I heard them, with great delight,
declare their readiness to go anywhere with me, or do anything I wished.

Mombay, as they called him, or Bombay, as we know him, had gone to Pemba,
an island lying north of Zanzibar. Uledi was sure Mombay would jump with
joy at the prospect of another expedition. Johari was therefore
commissioned to write to him at Pemba, to inform him of the good fortune
in store for him.

On the fourth morning after the letter had been despatched, the famous
Bombay made his appearance, followed in decent order and due rank by the
“Faithfuls” of “Speke.” I looked in vain for the “woodeny head” and
“alligator teeth” with which his former master had endowed him. I saw a
slender short man of fifty or thereabouts, with a grizzled head, an
uncommonly high, narrow forehead, with a very large mouth, showing teeth
very irregular, and wide apart. An ugly rent in the upper front row of
Bombay’s teeth was made with the clenched fist of Capt. Speke in Uganda
when his master’s patience was worn out, and prompt punishment became
necessary. That Capt. Speke had spoiled him with kindness was evident,
from the fact that Bombay had the audacity to stand up for a boxing-match
with him. But these things I only found out, when, months afterwards, I
was called upon to administer punishment to him myself. But, at his first
appearance, I was favourably impressed with Bombay, though his face was
rugged, his mouth large, his eyes small, and his nose flat.

“Salaam aliekum,” were the words he greeted me with. “Aliekum salaam,” I
replied, with all the gravity I could muster. I then informed him I
required him as captain of my soldiers to Ujiji. His reply was that he was
ready to do whatever I told him, go wherever I liked in short, be a
pattern to servants, and a model to soldiers. He hoped I would give him a
uniform, and a good gun, both of which were promised.

Upon inquiring for the rest of the “Faithfuls” who accompanied Speke into
Egypt, I was told that at Zanzibar there were but six. Ferrajji, Maktub,
Sadik, Sunguru, Manyu, Matajari, Mkata, and Almas, were dead; Uledi and
Mtamani were in Unyanyembe; Hassan had gone to Kilwa, and Ferahan was
supposed to be in Ujiji.

Out of the six “Faithfuls,” each of whom still retained his medal for
assisting in the “Discovery of the Sources of the Nile,” one, poor
Mabruki, had met with a sad misfortune, which I feared would incapacitate
him from active usefulness.

Mabruki the “Bull-headed,” owned a shamba (or a house with a garden
attached to it), of which he was very proud. Close to him lived a
neighbour in similar circumstances, who was a soldier of Seyd Majid, with
whom Mabruki, who was of a quarrelsome disposition, had a feud, which
culminated in the soldier inducing two or three of his comrades to assist
him in punishing the malevolent Mabruki, and this was done in a manner
that only the heart of an African could conceive. They tied the
unfortunate fellow by his wrists to a branch of a tree, and after
indulging their brutal appetite for revenge in torturing him, left him to
hang in that position for two days. At the expiration of the second day,
he was accidentally discovered in a most pitiable condition. His hands had
swollen to an immense size, and the veins of one hand having been
ruptured, he had lost its use. It is needless to say that, when the affair
came to Seyd Majid’s ears, the miscreants were severely punished. Dr.
Kirk, who attended the poor fellow, succeeded in restoring one hand to
something of a resemblance of its former shape, but the other hand is
sadly marred, and its former usefulness gone for ever.

However, I engaged Mabruki, despite his deformed hands, his ugliness and
vanity, because he was one of Speke’s “Faithfuls.” For if he but wagged
his tongue in my service, kept his eyes open, and opened his mouth at the
proper time, I assured myself I could make him useful.

Bombay, my captain of escort, succeeded in getting eighteen more free men
to volunteer as “askari” (soldiers), men whom he knew would not desert,
and for whom he declared himself responsible. They were an exceedingly
fine-looking body of men, far more intelligent in appearance than I could
ever have believed African barbarians could be. They hailed principally
from Uhiyow, others from Unyamwezi, some came from Useguhha and Ugindo.

Their wages were set down at $36 each man per annum, or $3 each per month.
Each soldier was provided with a flintlock musket, powder horn,
bullet-pouch, knife, and hatchet, besides enough powder and ball for 200
rounds.

Bombay, in consideration of his rank, and previous faithful services to
Burton, Speke and Grant, was engaged at $80 a year, half that sum in
advance, a good muzzle-loading rifle, besides, a pistol, knife, and
hatchet were given to him, while the other five “Faithfuls,” Ambari,
Mabruki, Ulimengo, Baruti, and Uledi, were engaged at $40 a year, with
proper equipments as soldiers.

Having studied fairly well all the East African travellers’ books
regarding Eastern and Central Africa, my mind had conceived the
difficulties which would present themselves during the prosecution of my
search after Dr. Livingstone.

To obviate all of these, as well as human wit could suggest, was my
constant thought and aim.

“Shall I permit myself, while looking from Ujiji over the waters of the
Tanganika Lake to the other side, to be balked on the threshold of success
by the insolence of a King Kannena or the caprice of a Hamed bin
Sulayyam?” was a question I asked myself. To guard against such a
contingency I determined to carry my own boats. “Then,” I thought, “if I
hear of Livingstone being on the Tanganika, I can launch my boat and
proceed after him.”

I procured one large boat, capable of carrying twenty persons, with stores
and goods sufficient for a cruise, from the American Consul, for the sum
of $80, and a smaller one from another American gentleman for $40. The
latter would hold comfortably six men, with suitable stores.

I did not intend to carry the boats whole or bodily, but to strip them of
their boards, and carry the timbers and thwarts only. As a substitute for
the boards, I proposed to cover each boat with a double canvas skin well
tarred. The work of stripping them and taking them to pieces fell to me.
This little job occupied me five days.

I also packed them up, for the pagazis. Each load was carefully weighed,
and none exceeded 68 lbs. in weight. John Shaw excelled himself in the
workmanship displayed on the canvas boats; when finished, they fitted
their frames admirably. The canvas—six bolts of English hemp, No. 3—was
procured from Ludha Damji, who furnished it from the Sultan’s storeroom.

An insuperable obstacle to rapid transit in Africa is the want of
carriers, and as speed was the main object of the Expedition under my
command, my duty was to lessen this difficulty as much as possible. My
carriers could only be engaged after arriving at Bagamoyo, on the
mainland. I had over twenty good donkeys ready, and I thought a cart
adapted for the footpaths of Africa might prove an advantage. Accordingly
I had a cart constructed, eighteen inches wide and five feet long,
supplied with two fore-wheels of a light American wagon, more for the
purpose of conveying the narrow ammunition-boxes. I estimated that if a
donkey could carry to Unyanyembe a load of four frasilahs, or 140 lbs., he
ought to be able to draw eight frasilahs on such a cart, which would be
equal to the carrying capacity of four stout pagazis or carriers. Events
will prove, how my theories were borne out by practice.

When my purchases were completed, and I beheld them piled up, tier after
tier, row upon row, here a mass of cooking-utensils, there bundles of
rope, tents, saddles, a pile of portmanteaus and boxes, containing every
imaginable thing, I confess I was rather abashed at my own temerity. Here
were at least six tons of material! “How will it ever be possible,” I
thought, “to move all this inert mass across the wilderness stretching
between the sea, and the great lakes of Africa? Bah, cast all doubts away,
man, and have at them! ‘Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,’
without borrowing from the morrow.”

The traveller must needs make his way into the African interior after a
fashion very different from that to which he has been accustomed in other
countries. He requires to take with him just what a ship must have when
about to sail on a long voyage. He must have his slop chest, his little
store of canned dainties, and his medicines, besides which, he must have
enough guns, powder, and ball to be able to make a series of good fights
if necessary. He must have men to convey these miscellaneous articles; and
as a man’s maximum load does not exceed 70 lbs., to convey 11,000 lbs.
requires nearly 160 men.

Europe and the Orient, even Arabia and Turkestan, have royal ways of
travelling compared to Africa. Specie is received in all those countries,
by which a traveller may carry his means about with him on his own person.
Eastern and Central Africa, however, demand a necklace, instead of a cent;
two yards of American sheeting, instead of half a dollar, or a florin, and
a kitindi of thick brass-wire, in place of a gold piece.

The African traveller can hire neither wagons nor camels, neither horses
nor mules, to proceed with him into the interior. His means of conveyance
are limited to black and naked men, who demand at least $15 a head for
every 70 lbs. weight carried only as far as Unyanyembe.

One thing amongst others my predecessors omitted to inform men bound for
Africa, which is of importance, and that is, that no traveller should ever
think of coming to Zanzibar with his money in any other shape than gold
coin. Letters of credit, circular notes, and such civilized things I have
found to be a century ahead of Zanzibar people.

Twenty and twenty-five cents deducted out of every dollar I drew on paper
is one of the unpleasant, if not unpleasantest things I have committed to
lasting memory. For Zanzibar is a spot far removed from all avenues of
European commerce, and coin is at a high premium. A man may talk and
entreat, but though he may have drafts, cheques, circular notes, letters
of credit, a carte blanche to get what he wants, out of every dollar must,
be deducted twenty, twenty-five and thirty cents, so I was told, and so
was my experience. What a pity there is no branch-bank here!

I had intended to have gone into Africa incognito. But the fact that a
white man, even an American, was about to enter Africa was soon known all
over Zanzibar. This fact was repeated a thousand times in the streets,
proclaimed in all shop alcoves, and at the custom-house. The native bazaar
laid hold of it, and agitated it day and night until my departure. The
foreigners, including the Europeans, wished to know the pros and cons of
my coming in and going out.

My answer to all questions, pertinent and impertinent, was, I am going to
Africa. Though my card bore the words

very few, I believe, ever coupled the words ‘New York Herald’ with a
search after “Doctor Livingstone.” It was not my fault, was it?

Ah, me! what hard work it is to start an expedition alone! What with
hurrying through the baking heat of the fierce relentless sun from shop to
shop, strengthening myself with far-reaching and enduring patience far the
haggling contest with the livid-faced Hindi, summoning courage and wit to
brow-beat the villainous Goanese, and match the foxy Banyan, talking
volumes throughout the day, correcting estimates, making up accounts,
superintending the delivery of purchased articles, measuring and weighing
them, to see that everything was of full measure and weight, overseeing
the white men Farquhar and Shaw, who were busy on donkey saddles, sails,
tents, and boats for the Expedition, I felt, when the day was over, as
though limbs and brain well deserved their rest. Such labours were mine
unremittingly for a month.

Having bartered drafts on Mr. James Gordon Bennett to the amount of
several thousand dollars for cloth, beads, wire, donkeys, and a thousand
necessaries, having advanced pay to the white men, and black escort of the
Expedition, having fretted Capt. Webb and his family more than enough with
the din of preparation, and filled his house with my goods, there was
nothing further to do but to leave my formal adieus with the Europeans,
and thank the Sultan and those gentlemen who had assisted me, before
embarking for Bagamoyo.

The day before my departure from Zanzibar the American Consul, having just
habited himself in his black coat, and taking with him an extra black hat,
in order to be in state apparel, proceeded with me to the Sultan’s palace.
The prince had been generous to me; he had presented me with an Arab
horse, had furnished me with letters of introduction to his agents, his
chief men, and representatives in the interior, and in many other ways had
shown himself well disposed towards me.

The palace is a large, roomy, lofty, square house close to the fort, built
of coral, and plastered thickly with lime mortar. In appearance it is half
Arabic and half Italian. The shutters are Venetian blinds painted a vivid
green, and presenting a striking contrast to the whitewashed walls. Before
the great, lofty, wide door were ranged in two crescents several Baluch
and Persian mercenaries, armed with curved swords and targes of rhinoceros
hide. Their dress consisted of a muddy-white cotton shirt, reaching to the
ancles, girdled with a leather belt thickly studded with silver bosses.

As we came in sight a signal was passed to some person inside the
entrance. When within twenty yards of the door, the Sultan, who was
standing waiting, came down the steps, and, passing through the ranks,
advanced toward us, with his right hand stretched out, and a genial smile
of welcome on his face. On our side we raised our hats, and shook hands
with him, after which, doing according as he bade us, we passed forward,
and arrived on the highest step near the entrance door. He pointed
forward; we bowed and arrived at the foot of an unpainted and narrow
staircase to turn once more to the Sultan. The Consul, I perceived, was
ascending sideways, a mode of progression which I saw was intended for a
compromise with decency and dignity. At the top of the stairs we waited,
with our faces towards the up-coming Prince. Again we were waved
magnanimously forward, for before us was the reception-hall and
throne-room. I noticed, as I marched forward to the furthest end, that the
room was high, and painted in the Arabic style, that the carpet was thick
and of Persian fabric, that the furniture consisted of a dozen gilt chairs
and a chandelier,

We were seated; Ludha Damji, the Banyan collector of customs, a
venerable-looking old man, with a shrewd intelligent face, sat on the
right of the Sultan; next to him was the great Mohammedan merchant Tarya
Topan who had come to be present at the interview, not only because he was
one of the councillors of His Highness, but because he also took a lively
interest in this American Expedition. Opposite to Ludha sat Capt. Webb,
and next to him I was seated, opposite Tarya Topan. The Sultan sat in a
gilt chair between the Americans and the councillors. Johari the dragoman
stood humbly before the Sultan, expectant and ready to interpret what we
had to communicate to the Prince.

The Sultan, so far as dress goes, might be taken for a Mingrelian
gentleman, excepting, indeed, for the turban, whose ample folds in
alternate colours of red, yellow, brown, and white, encircled his head.
His long robe was of dark cloth, cinctured round the waist with his rich
sword-belt, from which was suspended a gold-hilted scimitar, encased in a
scabbard also enriched with gold: His legs and feet were bare, and had a
ponderous look about them, since he suffered from that strange curse of
Zanzibar—elephantiasis. His feet were slipped into a pair of watta
(Arabic for slippers), with thick soles and a strong leathern band over
the instep. His light complexion and his correct features, which are
intelligent and regular, bespeak the Arab patrician. They indicate,
however, nothing except his high descent and blood; no traits of character
are visible unless there is just a trace of amiability, and perfect
contentment with himself and all around.

Such is Prince, or Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar and Pemba, and the
East coast of Africa, from Somali Land to the Mozambique, as he appeared
to me.

Coffee was served in cups supported by golden finjans, also some cocoa-nut
milk, and rich sweet sherbet.

The conversation began with the question addressed to the Consul.

“Are you well?”

Consul.—”Yes, thank you. How is His Highness?”

Highness.—”Quite well!”

Highness to me.—”Are you well?”

Answer.—”Quite well, thanks!”

The Consul now introduces business; and questions about my travels follow
from His Highness—

“How do you like Persia?”

“Have you seen Kerbela, Bagdad, Masr, Stamboul?”

“Have the Turks many soldiers?”

“How many has Persia?”

“Is Persia fertile?”

“How do you like Zanzibar?”

Having answered each question to his Highness’ satisfaction, he handed me
letters of introduction to his officers at Bagamoyo and Kaole, and a
general introductory letter to all Arab merchants whom I might meet on the
road, and concluded his remarks to me, with the expressed hope, that on
whatever mission I was bound, I should be perfectly successful.

We bowed ourselves out of his presence in much the same manner that we had
bowed ourselves in, he accompanying us to the great entrance door.

Mr. Goodhue of Salem, an American merchant long resident in Zanzibar,
presented me, as I gave him my adieu, with a blooded bay horse, imported
from the Cape of Good Hope, and worth, at least at Zanzibar, $500.

Feb. 4.—By the 4th of February, twenty-eight days from the date of
my arrival at Zanzibar, the organization and equipment of the “‘New York
Herald’ Expedition” was complete; tents and saddles had been manufactured,
boats and sails were ready. The donkeys brayed, and the horses neighed
impatiently for the road.

Etiquette demanded that I should once more present my card to the European
and American Consuls at Zanzibar, and the word “farewell” was said to
everybody.

On the fifth day, four dhows were anchored before the American Consulate.
Into one were lifted the two horses, into two others the donkeys, into the
fourth, the largest, the black escort, and bulky moneys of the Expedition.

A little before noon we set sail. The American flag, a present to the
Expedition by that kind-hearted lady, Mrs. Webb, was raised to the
mast-head; the Consul, his lady, and exuberant little children, Mary and
Charley, were on the housetop waving the starry banner, hats, and
handkerchiefs, a token of farewell to me and mine. Happy people, and good!
may their course and ours be prosperous, and may God’s blessing rest on us
all!

CHAPTER IV. — LIFE AT BAGAMOYO.

The isle of Zanzibar with its groves of cocoa-nut, mango, clove, and
cinnamon, and its sentinel islets of Chumbi and French, with its
whitewashed city and jack-fruit odor, with its harbor and ships that tread
the deep, faded slowly from view, and looking westward, the African
continent rose, a similar bank of green verdure to that which had just
receded till it was a mere sinuous line above the horizon, looming in a
northerly direction to the sublimity of a mountain chain. The distance
across from Zanzibar to Bagamoyo may be about twenty-five miles, yet it
took the dull and lazy dhows ten hours before they dropped anchor on the
top of the coral reef plainly visible a few feet below the surface of the
water, within a hundred yards of the beach.

The newly-enlisted soldiers, fond of noise and excitement, discharged
repeated salvos by way of a salute to the mixed crowd of Arabs, Banyans,
and Wasawahili, who stood on the beach to receive the Musungu (white man),
which they did with a general stare and a chorus of “Yambo, bana?” (how
are you, master?)

In our own land the meeting with a large crowd is rather a tedious
operation, as our independent citizens insist on an interlacing of
fingers, and a vigorous shaking thereof before their pride is satisfied,
and the peaceful manifestation endorsed; but on this beach, well lined
with spectators, a response of “Yambo, bana!” sufficed, except with one
who of all there was acknowledged the greatest, and who, claiming, like
all great men, individual attention, came forward to exchange another
“Yambo!” on his own behalf, and to shake hands. This personage with a long
trailing turban, was Jemadar Esau, commander of the Zanzibar force of
soldiers, police, or Baluch gendarmes stationed at Bagamoyo. He had
accompanied Speke and Grant a good distance into the interior, and they
had rewarded him liberally. He took upon himself the responsibility of
assisting in the debarkation of the Expedition, and unworthy as was his
appearance, disgraceful as he was in his filth, I here commend him for his
influence over the rabble to all future East African travellers.

Foremost among those who welcomed us was a Father of the Society of
St.-Esprit, who with other Jesuits, under Father Superior Horner, have
established a missionary post of considerable influence and merit at
Bagamoyo. We were invited to partake of the hospitality of the Mission, to
take our meals there, and, should we desire it, to pitch our camp on their
grounds. But however strong the geniality of the welcome and sincere the
heartiness of the invitation, I am one of those who prefer independence to
dependence if it is possible. Besides, my sense of the obligation between
host and guest had just had a fine edge put upon it by the delicate
forbearance of my kind host at Zanzibar, who had betrayed no sign of
impatience at the trouble I was only too conscious of having caused him. I
therefore informed the hospitable Padre, that only for one night could I
suffer myself to be enticed from my camp.

I selected a house near the western outskirts of the town, where there is
a large open square through which the road from Unyanyembe enters. Had I
been at Bagamoyo a month, I could not have bettered my location. My tents
were pitched fronting the tembe (house) I had chosen, enclosing a small
square, where business could be transacted, bales looked over, examined,
and marked, free from the intrusion of curious sightseers. After driving
the twenty-seven animals of the Expedition into the enclosure in the rear
of the house, storing the bales of goods, and placing a cordon of soldiers
round, I proceeded to the Jesuit Mission, to a late dinner, being tired
and ravenous, leaving the newly-formed camp in charge of the white men and
Capt. Bombay.

The Mission is distant from the town a good half mile, to the north of it;
it is quite a village of itself, numbering some fifteen or sixteen houses.
There are more than ten padres engaged in the establishment, and as many
sisters, and all find plenty of occupation in educing from native crania
the fire of intelligence. Truth compels me to state that they are very
successful, having over two hundred pupils, boys and girls, in the
Mission, and, from the oldest to the youngest, they show the impress of
the useful education they have received.

The dinner furnished to the padres and their guest consisted of as many
plats as a first-class hotel in Paris usually supplies, and cooked with
nearly as much skill, though the surroundings were by no means equal. I
feel assured also that the padres, besides being tasteful in their potages
and entrees, do not stultify their ideas for lack of that element which
Horace, Hafiz, and Byron have praised so much. The champagne—think
of champagne Cliquot in East Africa!—Lafitte, La Rose, Burgundy, and
Bordeaux were of first-rate quality, and the meek and lowly eyes of the
fathers were not a little brightened under the vinous influence. Ah! those
fathers understand life, and appreciate its duration. Their festive board
drives the African jungle fever from their doors, while it soothes the
gloom and isolation which strike one with awe, as one emerges from the
lighted room and plunges into the depths of the darkness of an African
night, enlivened only by the wearying monotone of the frogs and crickets,
and the distant ululation of the hyena. It requires somewhat above human
effort, unaided by the ruby liquid that cheers, to be always suave and
polite amid the dismalities of native life in Africa.

After the evening meal, which replenished my failing strength, and for
which I felt the intensest gratitude, the most advanced of the pupils came
forward, to the number of twenty, with brass instruments, thus forming a
full band of music. It rather astonished me to hear instrumental sounds
issue forth in harmony from such woolly-headed youngsters; to hear
well-known French music at this isolated port, to hear negro boys, that a
few months ago knew nothing beyond the traditions of their ignorant
mothers, stand forth and chant Parisian songs about French valor and
glory, with all the sangfroid of gamins from the purlieus of
Saint-Antoine.

I had a most refreshing night’s rest, and at dawn I sought out my camp,
with a will to enjoy the new life now commencing. On counting the animals,
two donkeys were missing; and on taking notes of my African moneys, one
coil of No. 6 wire was not to be found. Everybody had evidently fallen on
the ground to sleep, oblivious of the fact that on the coast there are
many dishonest prowlers at night. Soldiers were despatched to search
through the town and neighbourhood, and Jemadar Esau was apprised of our
loss, and stimulated to discover the animals by the promise of a reward.
Before night one of the missing donkeys was found outside the town
nibbling at manioc-leaves, but the other animal and the coil of wire were
never found.

Among my visitors this first day at Bagamoyo was Ali bin Salim, a brother
of the famous Sayd bin Salim, formerly Ras Kafilah to Burton and Speke,
and subsequently to Speke and Grant. His salaams were very profuse, and
moreover, his brother was to be my agent in Unyamwezi, so that I did not
hesitate to accept his offer of assistance. But, alas, for my white face
and too trustful nature! this Ali bin Salim turned out to be a snake in
the grass, a very sore thorn in my side. I was invited to his comfortable
house to partake of coffee. I went there: the coffee was good though
sugarless, his promises were many, but they proved valueless. Said he to
me, “I am your friend; I wish to serve you., what can I do for you?”
Replied I, “I am obliged to you, I need a good friend who, knowing the
language and Customs of the Wanyamwezi, can procure me the pagazis I need
and send me off quickly. Your brother is acquainted with the Wasungu
(white men), and knows that what they promise they make good. Get me a
hundred and forty pagazis and I will pay you your price.” With unctuous
courtesy, the reptile I was now warmly nourishing; said, “I do not want
anything from you, my friend, for such a slight service, rest content and
quiet; you shall not stop here fifteen days. To-morrow morning I will come
and overhaul your bales to see what is needed.” I bade him good morning,
elated with the happy thought that I was soon to tread the Unyanyembe
road.

The reader must be made acquainted with two good and sufficient reasons
why I was to devote all my energy to lead the Expedition as quickly as
possible from Bagamoyo.

First, I wished to reach Ujiji before the news reached Livingstone that I
was in search of him, for my impression of him was that he was a man who
would try to put as much distance as possible between us, rather than make
an effort to shorten it, and I should have my long journey for nothing.

Second, the Masika, or rainy season, would soon be on me, which, if it
caught me at Bagamoyo, would prevent my departure until it was over, which
meant a delay of forty days, and exaggerated as the rains were by all men
with whom I came in contact, it rained every day for forty days without
intermission. This I knew was a thing to dread; for I had my memory stored
with all kinds of rainy unpleasantnesses. For instance, there was the rain
of Virginia and its concomitant horrors—wetness, mildew, agues,
rheumatics, and such like; then there were the English rains, a miserable
drizzle causing the blue devils; then the rainy season of Abyssinia with
the flood-gates of the firmament opened, and an universal down-pour of
rain, enough to submerge half a continent in a few hours; lastly, there
was the pelting monsoon of India, a steady shut-in-house kind of rain. To
which of these rains should I compare this dreadful Masika of East Africa?
Did not Burton write much about black mud in Uzaramo? Well, a country
whose surface soil is called black mud in fine weather, what can it be
called when forty days’ rain beat on it, and feet of pagazis and donkeys
make paste of it? These were natural reflections, induced by the
circumstances of the hour, and I found myself much exercised in mind in
consequence.

Ali bin Salim, true to his promise, visited my camp on the morrow, with a
very important air, and after looking at the pile of cloth bales, informed
me that I must have them covered with mat-bags. He said he would send a
man to have them measured, but he enjoined me not to make any bargain for
the bags, as he would make it all right.

While awaiting with commendable patience the 140 pagazis promised by Ali
bin Salim we were all employed upon everything that thought could suggest
needful for crossing the sickly maritime region, so that we might make the
transit before the terrible fever could unnerve us, and make us joyless. A
short experience at Bagamoya showed us what we lacked, what was
superfluous, and what was necessary. We were visited one night by a
squall, accompanied by furious rain. I had $1,500 worth of pagazi cloth in
my tent. In the morning I looked and lo! the drilling had let in rain like
a sieve, and every yard of cloth was wet. It occupied two days afterwards
to dry the cloths, and fold them again. The drill-tent was condemned, and
a No. 5 hemp-canvas tent at onto prepared. After which I felt convinced
that my cloth bales, and one year’s ammunition, were safe, and that I
could defy the Masika.

In the hurry of departure from Zanzibar, and in my ignorance of how bales
should be made, I had submitted to the better judgment and ripe experience
of one Jetta, a commission merchant, to prepare my bales for carriage.
Jetta did not weigh the bales as he made them up, but piled the Merikani,
Kaniki, Barsati, Jamdani, Joho, Ismahili, in alternate layers, and roped
the same into bales. One or two pagazis came to my camp and began to
chaffer; they wished to see the bales first, before they would make a
final bargain. They tried to raise them up—ugh! ugh! it was of no
use, and withdrew. A fine Salter’s spring balance was hung up, and a bale
suspended to the hook; the finger indicated 105 lbs. or 3 frasilah, which
was just 35 lbs. or one frasilah overweight. Upon putting all the bales to
this test, I perceived that Jetta’s guess-work, with all his experience,
had caused considerable trouble to me.

The soldiers were set to work to reopen and repack, which latter task is
performed in the following manner:—We cut a doti, or four yards of
Merikani, ordinarily sold at Zanzibar for $2.75 the piece of thirty yards,
and spread out. We take a piece or bolt of good Merikani, and instead of
the double fold given it by the Nashua and Salem mills, we fold it into
three parts, by which the folds have a breadth of a foot; this piece forms
the first layer, and will weigh nine pounds; the second layer consists of
six pieces of Kaniki, a blue stuff similar to the blouse stuff of France,
and the blue jeans of America, though much lighter; the third layer is
formed of the second piece of Merikani, the fourth of six more pieces of
Kaniki, the fifth of Merikani, the sixth of Kaniki as before, and the
seventh and last of Merikani. We have thus four pieces of Merikani, which
weigh 36 lbs., and 18 pieces of Kaniki weighing also 36 lbs., making a
total of 72 lbs., or a little more than two frasilahs; the cloth is then
folded singly over these layers, each corner tied to another. A bundle of
coir-rope is then brought, and two men, provided with a wooden mallet for
beating and pressing the bale, proceed to tie it up with as much nicety as
sailors serve down rigging.

When complete, a bale is a solid mass three feet and a half long, a foot
deep, and a foot wide. Of these bales I had to convey eighty-two to
Unyanyembe, forty of which consisted solely of the Merikani and Kaniki.
The other forty-two contained the Merikani and coloured cloths, which
latter were to serve as honga or tribute cloths, and to engage another set
of pagazis from Unyanyembe to Ujiji, and from Ujiji to the regions beyond.

The fifteenth day asked of me by Ali bin Salim for the procuring of the
pagazis passed by, and there was not the ghost of a pagazi in my camp. I
sent Mabruki the Bullheaded to Ali bin Salim, to convey my salaams and
express a hope that he had kept his word. In half an hour’s time Mabruki
returned with the reply of the Arab, that in a few days he would be able
to collect them all; but, added Mabruki, slyly, “Bana, I don’t believe
him. He said aloud to himself, in my hearing, ‘Why should I get the
Musungu pagazis? Seyd Burghash did not send a letter to me, but to the
Jemadar. Why should I trouble myself about him? Let Seyd Burghash write me
a letter to that purpose, and I will procure them within two days.”‘

To my mind this was a time for action: Ali bin Salim should see that it
was ill trifling with a white man in earnest to start. I rode down to his
house to ask him what he meant.

His reply was, Mabruki had told a lie as black as his face. He had never
said anything approaching to such a thing. He was willing to become my
slave—to become a pagazi himself. But here I stopped the voluble
Ali, and informed him that I could not think of employing him in the
capacity of a pagazi, neither could I find it in my heart to trouble Seyd
Burghash to write a direct letter to him, or to require of a man who had
deceived me once, as Ali bin Salim had, any service of any nature
whatsoever. It would be better, therefore, if Ali bin Salim would stay
away from my camp, and not enter it either in person or by proxy.

I had lost fifteen days, for Jemadar Sadur, at Kaole, had never stirred
from his fortified house in that village in my service, save to pay a
visit, after the receipt of the Sultan’s letter. Naranji, custom-house
agent at Kaoie, solely under the thumb of the great Ludha Damji, had not
responded to Ludha’s worded request that he would procure pagazis, except
with winks, nods, and promises, and it is but just stated how I fared at
the hands of Ali bin Salim. In this extremity I remembered the promise
made to me by the great merchant of Zanzibar—Tarya Topan—a
Mohammedan Hindi—that he would furnish me with a letter to a young
man named Soor Hadji Palloo, who was said to be the best man in Bagamoyo
to procure a supply of pagazis.

I despatched my Arab interpreter by a dhow to Zanzibar, with a very
earnest request to Capt. Webb that he would procure from Tarya Topan the
introductory letter so long delayed. It was the last card in my hand.

On the third day the Arab returned, bringing with him not only the letter
to Soor Hadji Palloo, but an abundance of good things from the
ever-hospitable house of Mr. Webb. In a very short time after the receipt
of his letter, the eminent young man Soor Hadji Palloo came to visit me,
and informed me he had been requested by Tarya Topan to hire for me one
hundred and forty pagazis to Unyanyembe in the shortest time possible.
This he said would be very expensive, for there were scores of Arabs and
Wasawabili merchants on the look out for every caravan that came in from
the interior, and they paid 20 doti, or 80 yards of cloth, to each pagazi.
Not willing or able to pay more, many of these merchants had been waiting
as long as six months before they could get their quota. “If you,”
continued he, “desire to depart quickly, you must pay from 25 to 40 doti,
and I can send you off before one month is ended.” In reply, I said, “Here
are my cloths for pagazis to the amount of $1,750, or 3,500 doti,
sufficient to give one hundred and forty men 25 doti each. The most I am
willing to pay is 25 doti: send one hundred and forty pagazis to
Unyanyembe with my cloth and wire, and I will make your heart glad with
the richest present you have ever received.” With a refreshing naivete,
the “young man” said he did not want any present, he would get me my quota
of pagazis, and then I could tell the “Wasungu” what a good “young man” he
was, and consequently the benefit he would receive would be an increase of
business. He closed his reply with the astounding remark that he had ten
pagazis at his house already, and if I would be good enough to have four
bales of cloth, two bags of beads, and twenty coils of wire carried to his
house, the pagazis could leave Bagamoyo the next day, under charge of
three soldiers.

“For,” he remarked, “it is much better and cheaper to send many small
caravans than one large one. Large caravans invite attack, or are delayed
by avaricious chiefs upon the most trivial pretexts, while small ones pass
by without notice.”

The bales and the beads were duly carried to Soor Hadji Palloo’s house,
and the day passed with me in mentally congratulating myself upon my good
fortune, in complimenting the young Hindi’s talents for business, the
greatness and influence of Tarya Topan, and the goodness of Mr. Webb in
thus hastening my departure from Bagamoyo. I mentally vowed a handsome
present, and a great puff in my book, to Soor Hadji Palloo, and it was
with a glad heart that I prepared these soldiers for their march to
Unyayembe.

The task of preparing the first caravan for the Unyanyembe road informed
me upon several things that have escaped the notice of my predecessors in
East Africa, a timely knowledge of which would have been of infinite
service to me at Zanzibar, in the purchase and selection of sufficient and
proper cloth.

The setting out of the first caravan enlightened me also on the subject of
honga, or tribute. Tribute had to be packed by itself, all of choice
cloth; for the chiefs, besides being avaricious, are also very fastidious.
They will not accept the flimsy cloth of the pagazi, but a royal and
exceedingly high-priced dabwani, Ismahili, Rehani, or a Sohari, or dotis
of crimson broad cloth. The tribute for the first caravan cost $25. Having
more than one hundred and forty pagazis to despatch, this tribute money
would finally amount to $330 in gold, with a minimum of 25c. on each
dollar. Ponder on this, O traveller! I lay bare these facts for your
special instruction.

But before my first caravan was destined to part company with me, Soor
Hadji Palloo—worthy young man—and I were to come to a definite
understanding about money matters. The morning appointed for departure
Soor Hadji Palloo came to my hut and presented his bill, with all the
gravity of innocence, for supplying the pagazis with twenty-five doti each
as their hire to Unyanyembe, begging immediate payment in money. Words
fail to express the astonishment I naturally felt, that this sharp-looking
young man should so soon have forgotten the verbal contract entered into
between him and myself the morning previous, which was to the effect that
out of the three thousand doti stored in my tent, and bought expressly for
pagazi hire, each and every man hired for me as carriers from Bagamoyo to
Unyanyembe, should be paid out of the store there in my tent, when I asked
if he remembered the contract, he replied in the affirmative: his reasons
for breaking it so soon were, that he wished to sell his cloths, not mine,
and for his cloths he should want money, not an exchange. But I gave him
to comprehend that as he was procuring pagazis for me, he was to pay my
pagazis with my cloths; that all the money I expected to pay him, should
be just such a sum I thought adequate for his trouble as my agent, and
that only on those terms should he act for me in this or any other matter,
and that the “Musungu” was not accustomed to eat his words.

The preceding paragraph embodies many more words than are contained in it.
It embodies a dialogue of an hour, an angry altercation of half-an-hour’s
duration, a vow taken on the part of Soor Hadji Palloo, that if I did not
take his cloths he should not touch my business, many tears, entreaties,
woeful penitence, and much else, all of which were responded to with, “Do
as I want you to do, or do nothing.” Finally came relief, and a happy
ending. Soor Hadji Palloo went away with a bright face, taking with him
the three soldiers’ posho (food), and honga (tribute) for the caravan.
Well for me that it ended so, and that subsequent quarrels of a similar
nature terminated so peaceably, otherwise I doubt whether my departure
from Bagamoyo would have happened so early as it did. While I am on this
theme, and as it really engrossed every moment of my time at Bagamoyo, I
may as well be more explicit regarding Boor Hadji Palloo and his
connection with my business.

Boor Hadji Palloo was a smart young man of business, energetic, quick at
mental calculation, and seemed to be born for a successful salesman. His
eyes were never idle; they wandered over every part of my person, over the
tent, the bed, the guns, the clothes, and having swung clear round, began
the silent circle over again. His fingers were never at rest, they had a
fidgety, nervous action at their tips, constantly in the act of feeling
something; while in the act of talking to me, he would lean over and feel
the texture of the cloth of my trousers, my coat, or my shoes or socks:
then he would feel his own light jamdani shirt or dabwain loin-cloth,
until his eyes casually resting upon a novelty, his body would lean
forward, and his arm was stretched out with the willing fingers. His jaws
also were in perpetual motion, caused by vile habits he had acquired of
chewing betel-nut and lime, and sometimes tobacco and lime. They gave out
a sound similar to that of a young shoat, in the act of sucking. He was a
pious Mohammedan, and observed the external courtesies and ceremonies of
the true believers. He would affably greet me, take off his shoes, enter
my tent protesting he was not fit to sit in my presence, and after being
seated, would begin his ever-crooked errand. Of honesty, literal and
practical honesty, this youth knew nothing; to the pure truth he was an
utter stranger; the falsehoods he had uttered during his short life seemed
already to have quenched the bold gaze of innocence from his eyes, to have
banished the colour of truthfulness from his features, to have transformed
him—yet a stripling of twenty—into a most accomplished rascal,
and consummate expert in dishonesty.

During the six weeks I encamped at Bagamoyo, waiting for my quota of men,
this lad of twenty gave me very much trouble. He was found out half a
dozen times a day in dishonesty, yet was in no way abashed by it. He would
send in his account of the cloths supplied to the pagazis, stating them to
be 25 paid to each; on sending a man to inquire I would find the greatest
number to have been 20, and the smallest 12. Soor Hadji Palloo described
the cloths to be of first-class quality, Ulyah cloths, worth in the market
four times more than the ordinary quality given to the pagazis, yet a
personal examination would prove them to be the flimsiest goods sold, such
as American sheeting 2 1/2 feet broad, and worth $2.75 per 30 yards a
piece at Zanzibar, or the most inferior Kaniki, which is generally sold at
$9 per score. He would personally come to my camp and demand 40 lbs. of
Sami-Sami, Merikani, and Bubu beads for posho, or caravan rations; an
inspection of their store before departure from their first camp from
Bagamoyo would show a deficiency ranging from 5 to 30 lbs. Moreover, he
cheated in cash-money, such as demanding $4 for crossing the Kingani Ferry
for every ten pagazis, when the fare was $2 for the same number; and an
unconscionable number of pice (copper coins equal in value to 3/4 of a
cent) were required for posho. It was every day for four weeks that this
system of roguery was carried out. Each day conceived a dozen new schemes;
every instant of his time he seemed to be devising how to plunder, until I
was fairly at my wits’ end how to thwart him. Exposure before a crowd of
his fellows brought no blush of shame to his sallow cheeks; he would
listen with a mere shrug of the shoulders and that was all, which I might
interpret any way it pleased me. A threat to reduce his present had no
effect; a bird in the hand was certainly worth two in the bush for him, so
ten dollars’ worth of goods stolen and in his actual possession was of
more intrinsic value than the promise of $20 in a few days, though it was
that of a white man.

Readers will of course ask themselves why I did not, after the first
discovery of these shameless proceedings, close my business with him, to
which I make reply, that I could not do without him unless his equal were
forthcoming, that I never felt so thoroughly dependent on any one man as I
did upon him; without his or his duplicate’s aid, I must have stayed at
Bagamoyo at least six months, at the end of which time the Expedition
would have become valueless, the rumour of it having been blown abroad to
the four winds. It was immediate departure that was essential to my
success—departure from Bagamoyo—after which it might be
possible for me to control my own future in a great measure.

These troubles were the greatest that I could at this time imagine. I have
already stated that I had $1,750 worth of pagazis’ clothes, or 3,500 doti,
stored in my tent, and above what my bales contained. Calculating one
hundred and forty pagazis at 25 doti each, I supposed I had enough, yet,
though I had been trying to teach the young Hindi that the Musungu was not
a fool, nor blind to his pilfering tricks, though the 3,500 doti were all
spent; though I had only obtained one hundred and thirty pagazis at 25
doti each, which in the aggregate amounted to 3,200 doti: Soor Hadji
Palloo’s bill was $1,400 cash extra. His plea was that he had furnished
Ulyah clothes for Muhongo 240 doti, equal in value to 960 of my doti, that
the money was spent in ferry pice, in presents to chiefs of caravans of
tents, guns, red broad cloth, in presents to people on the Mrima (coast)
to induce them to hunt up pagazis. Upon this exhibition of most ruthless
cheating I waxed indignant, and declared to him that if he did not run
over his bill and correct it, he should go without a pice.

But before the bill could be put into proper shape, my words, threats, and
promises falling heedlessly on a stony brain, a man, Kanjee by name, from
the store of Tarya Topan, of Zanzibar, had to come over, when the bill was
finally reduced to $738. Without any disrespect to Tarya Topan, I am
unable to decide which is the most accomplished rascal, Kanjee, or young
Soor Hadji Palloo; in the words of a white man who knows them both, “there
is not the splitting of a straw between them.” Kanjee is deep and sly,
Soor Hadji Palloo is bold and incorrigible. But peace be to them both, may
their shaven heads never be covered with the troublous crown I wore at
Bagamoyo!

My dear friendly reader, do not think, if I speak out my mind in this or
in any other chapter upon matters seemingly trivial and unimportant, that
seeming such they should be left unmentioned. Every tittle related is a
fact, and to knew facts is to receive knowledge.

How could I ever recite my experience to you if I did not enter upon these
miserable details, which sorely distract the stranger upon his first
arrival? Had I been a Government official, I had but wagged my finger and
my quota of pagazis had been furnished me within a week; but as an
individual arriving without the graces of official recognition, armed with
no Government influence, I had to be patient, bide my time, and chew the
cud of irritation quietly, but the bread I ate was not all sour, as this
was.

The white men, Farquhar and Shaw, were kept steadily at work upon
water-proof tents of hemp canvas, for I perceived, by the premonitory
showers of rain that marked the approach of the Masika that an ordinary
tent of light cloth would subject myself to damp and my goods to mildew,
and while there was time to rectify all errors that had crept into my
plans through ignorance or over haste, I thought it was not wise to permit
things to rectify themselves. Now that I have returned uninjured in
health, though I have suffered the attacks of twenty-three fevers within
the short space of thirteen months; I must confess I owe my life, first,
to the mercy of God; secondly, to the enthusiasm for my work, which
animated me from the beginning to the end; thirdly, to having never ruined
my constitution by indulgence in vice and intemperance; fourthly, to the
energy of my nature; fifthly, to a native hopefulness which never died;
and, sixthly, to having furnished myself with a capacious water and damp
proof canvas house. And here, if my experience may be of value, I would
suggest that travellers, instead of submitting their better judgment to
the caprices of a tent-maker, who will endeavour to pass off a handsomely
made fabric of his own, which is unsuited to all climes, to use his own
judgment, and get the best and strongest that money will buy. In the end
it will prove the cheapest, and perhaps be the means of saving his life.

On one point I failed, and lest new and young travellers fall into the
same error which marred much of my enjoyment, this paragraph is written.
One must be extremely careful in his choice of weapons, whether for sport
or defence. A traveller should have at least three different kinds of
guns. One should be a fowling-piece, the second should be a
double-barrelled rifle, No. 10 or 12, the third should be a
magazine-rifle, for defence. For the fowling-piece I would suggest No. 12
bore, with barrels at least four feet in length. For the rifle for larger
game, I would point out, with due deference to old sportsmen, of course,
that the best guns for African game are the English Lancaster and Reilly
rifles; and for a fighting weapon, I maintain that the best yet invented
is the American Winchester repeating rifle, or the “sixteen, shooter” as
it is called, supplied with the London Eley’s ammunition. If I suggest as
a fighting weapon the American Winchester, I do not mean that the
traveller need take it for the purpose of offence, but as the beat means
of efficient defence, to save his own life against African banditti, when
attacked, a thing likely to happen any time.

I met a young man soon after returning from the interior, who declared his
conviction that the “Express,” rifle was the most perfect weapon ever
invented to destroy African game. Very possibly the young man may be
right, and that the “Express” rifle is all he declares it to be, but he
had never practised with it against African game, and as I had never tried
it, I could not combat his assertion: but I could relate my experiences
with weapons, having all the penetrating powers of the “Express,” and
could inform him that though the bullets penetrated through the animals,
they almost always failed to bring down the game at the first fire. On the
other hand, I could inform him, that during the time I travelled with Dr.
Livingstone the Doctor lent me his heavy Reilly rifle with which I seldom
failed to bring an animal or two home to the camp, and that I found the
Fraser shell answer all purposes for which it was intended. The feats
related by Capt. Speke and Sir Samuel Baker are no longer matter of
wonderment to the young sportsman, when he has a Lancaster or a Reilly in
his hand. After very few trials he can imitate them, if not excel their
Leeds, provided he has a steady hand. And it is to forward this end that
this paragraph is written. African game require “bone-crushers;” for any
ordinary carbine possesses sufficient penetrative qualities, yet has not
he disabling qualities which a gun must possess to be useful in the hands
of an African explorer.

I had not been long at Bagamoyo before I went over to Mussoudi’s camp, to
visit the “Livingstone caravan” which the British Consul had despatched on
the first day of November, 1870, to the relief of Livingstone. The number
of packages was thirty-five, which required as many men to convey them to
Unyanyembe. The men chosen to escort this caravan were composed of
Johannese and Wahiyow, seven in number. Out of the seven, four were
slaves. They lived in clover here—thoughtless of the errand they had
been sent upon, and careless of the consequences. What these men were
doing at Bagamoyo all this time I never could conceive, except indulging
their own vicious propensities. It would be nonsense to say there were no
pagazis; because I know there were at least fifteen caravans which had
started for the interior since the Ramadan (December 15th, 1870). Yet
Livingstone’s caravan had arrived at this little town of Bagamoyo November
2nd, and here it had been lying until the 10th February, in all, 100 days,
for lack of the limited number of thirty-five pagazis, a number that might
be procured within two days through consular influence.

Bagamoyo has a most enjoyable climate. It is far preferable in every sense
to that of Zanzibar. We were able to sleep in the open air, and rose
refreshed and healthy each morning, to enjoy our matutinal bath in the
sea; and by the time the sun had risen we were engaged in various
preparations for our departure for the interior. Our days were enlivened
by visits from the Arabs who were also bound for Unyanyembe; by comical
scenes in the camp; sometimes by court-martials held on the refractory; by
a boxing-match between Farquhar and Shaw, necessitating my prudent
interference when they waxed too wroth; by a hunting excursion now and
then to the Kingani plain and river; by social conversation with the old
Jemadar and his band of Baluches, who were never tired of warning me that
the Masika was at hand, and of advising me that my best course was to
hurry on before the season for travelling expired.

Among the employees with the Expedition were two Hindi and two Goanese.
They had conceived the idea that the African interior was an El Dorado,
the ground of which was strewn over with ivory tusks, and they had clubbed
together; while their imaginations were thus heated, to embark in a little
enterprise of their own. Their names were Jako, Abdul Kader, Bunder
Salaam, and Aranselar; Jako engaged in my service, as carpenter and
general help; Abdul Kader as a tailor, Bunder Salaam as cook, and
Aranselar as chief butler.

But Aranselar, with an intuitive eye, foresaw that I was likely to prove a
vigorous employer, and while there was yet time he devoted most of it to
conceive how it were possible to withdraw from the engagement. He received
permission upon asking for it to go to Zanzibar to visit his friends. Two
days afterwards I was informed he had blown his right eye out, and
received a medical confirmation of the fact, and note of the extent of the
injury, from Dr. Christie, the physician to His Highness Seyd Burghash.
His compatriots I imagined were about planning the same thing, but a
peremptory command to abstain from such folly, issued after they had
received their advance-pay, sufficed to check any sinister designs they
may have formed.

A groom was caught stealing from the bales, one night, and the chase after
him into the country until he vanished out of sight into the jungle, was
one of the most agreeable diversions which occurred to wear away the
interval employed in preparing for the march.

I had now despatched four caravans into the interior, and the fifth, which
was to carry the boats and boxes, personal luggage, and a few cloth and
bead loads, was ready to be led by myself. The following is the order of
departure of the caravans.

1871. Feb. 6.—Expedition arrived at Bagamoyo.

1871. Feb. 18.—First caravan departs with twenty-four pagazis and
three soldiers.

1871. Feb. 21.—Second caravan departs with twenty-eight pagazis, two
chiefs, and two soldiers.

1871. Feb. 25.—Third caravan departs with twenty-two pagazis, ten
donkeys, one white man, one cook, and three soldiers.

1871. March. 11.—Fourth caravan departs with fifty-five pagazis, two
chiefs, and three soldiers.

1871. March. 21.—Fifth caravan departs with twenty-eight pagazis,
twelve soldiers, two white men, one tailor, one cook, one interpreter, one
gun-bearer, seventeen asses, two horses, and one dog.

Total number, inclusive of all souls, comprised in caravans connected with
the “New York Herald’ Expedition,” 192.

CHAPTER V. — THROUGH UKWERE, UKAMI, AND UDOE TO USEGUHHA.

On the 21st of March, exactly seventy-three days after my arrival at
Zanzibar, the fifth caravan, led by myself, left the town of Bagamoyo for
our first journey westward, with “Forward!” for its mot du guet. As the
kirangozi unrolled the American flag, and put himself at the head of the
caravan, and the pagazis, animals, soldiers, and idlers were lined for the
march, we bade a long farewell to the dolce far niente of civilised life,
to the blue ocean, and to its open road to home, to the hundreds of dusky
spectators who were there to celebrate our departure with repeated salvoes
of musketry.

Our caravan is composed of twenty-eight pagazis, including the kirangozi,
or guide; twelve soldiers under Capt. Mbarak Bombay, in charge of
seventeen donkeys and their loads; Selim, my interpreter, in charge of the
donkey and cart and its load; one cook and sub, who is also to be tailor
and ready hand for all, and leads the grey horse; Shaw, once mate of a
ship, now transformed into rearguard and overseer for the caravan, who is
mounted on a good riding-donkey, and wearing a canoe-like tepee and
sea-boots; and lastly, on, the splendid bay horse presented to me by Mr.
Goodhue, myself, called Bana Mkuba, “the big master,” by my people—the
vanguard, the reporter, the thinker, and leader of the Expedition.

Altogether the Expedition numbers on the day of departure three white men,
twenty-three soldiers, four supernumeraries, four chiefs, and one hundred
and fifty-three pagazis, twenty-seven donkeys, and one cart, conveying
cloth, beads, and wire, boat-fixings, tents, cooking utensils and dishes,
medicine, powder, small shot, musket-balls, and metallic cartridges;
instruments and small necessaries, such as soap, sugar, tea, coffee,
Liebig’s extract of meat, pemmican, candles, &c., which make a total
of 153 loads. The weapons of defence which the Expedition possesses
consist of one double-barrel breech-loading gun, smooth bore; one American
Winchester rifle, or “sixteen-shooter;” one Henry rifle, or
“sixteen-shooter;” two Starr’s breech-loaders, one Jocelyn breech-loader,
one elephant rifle, carrying balls eight to the pound; two breech-loading
revolvers, twenty-four muskets (flint locks), six single-barrelled
pistols, one battle-axe, two swords, two daggers (Persian kummers,
purchased at Shiraz by myself), one boar-spear, two American axes 4 lbs.
each, twenty-four hatchets, and twenty-four butcher-knives.

The Expedition has been fitted with care; whatever it needed was not
stinted; everything was provided. Nothing was done too hurriedly, yet
everything was purchased, manufactured, collected, and compounded with the
utmost despatch consistent with efficiency and means. Should it fail of
success in its errand of rapid transit to Ujiji and back, it must simply
happen from an accident which could not be controlled. So much for the personnel
of the Expedition and its purpose, until its point de mire be
reached.

We left Bagamoyo the attraction of all the curious, with much eclat, and
defiled up a narrow lane shaded almost to twilight by the dense umbrage of
two parallel hedges of mimosas. We were all in the highest spirits. The
soldiers sang, the kirangozi lifted his voice into a loud bellowing note,
and fluttered the American flag, which told all on-lookers, “Lo, a
Musungu’s caravan!” and my heart, I thought, palpitated much too quickly
for the sober face of a leader. But I could not check it; the enthusiasm
of youth still clung to me—despite my travels; my pulses bounded
with the full glow of staple health; behind me were the troubles which had
harassed me for over two months. With that dishonest son of a Hindi, Soor
Hadji Palloo, I had said my last word; of the blatant rabble, of Arabs,
Banyans, and Baluches I had taken my last look; with the Jesuits of the
French Mission I had exchanged farewells, and before me beamed the sun of
promise as he sped towards the Occident. Loveliness glowed around me. I
saw fertile fields, riant vegetation, strange trees—I heard the cry
of cricket and pee-wit, and sibilant sound of many insects, all of which
seemed to tell me, “At last you are started.” What could I do but lift my
face toward the pure-glowing sky, and cry, “God be thanked!”

The first camp, Shamba Gonera, we arrived at in 1 hour 30 minutes, equal
to 3 1/4 miles. This first, or “little journey,” was performed very well,
“considering,” as the Irishman says. The boy Selim upset the cart not more
than three times. Zaidi, the soldier, only once let his donkey, which
carried one bag of my clothes and a box of ammunition, lie in a puddle of
black water. The clothes have to be re-washed; the ammunition-box, thanks
to my provision, was waterproof. Kamna perhaps knew the art of
donkey-driving, but, overjoyful at the departure, had sung himself into
oblivion of the difficulties with which an animal of the pure asinine
breed has naturally to contend against, such as not knowing the right
road, and inability to resist the temptation of straying into the depths
of a manioc field; and the donkey, ignorant of the custom in vogue amongst
ass-drivers of flourishing sticks before an animal’s nose, and
misunderstanding the direction in which he was required to go, ran off at
full speed along an opposite road, until his pack got unbalanced, and he
was fain to come to the earth. But these incidents were trivial, of no
importance, and natural to the first “little journey” in East Africa.

The soldiers’ point of character leaked out just a little. Bombay turned
out to be honest and trusty, but slightly disposed to be dilatory. Uledi
did more talking than work; while the runaway Ferajji and the
useless-handed Mabruki Burton turned out to be true men and staunch,
carrying loads the sight of which would have caused the strong-limbed
hamals of Stamboul to sigh.

The saddles were excellent, surpassing expectation. The strong hemp canvas
bore its one hundred and fifty-pounds’ burden with the strength of bull
hide, and the loading and unloading of miscellaneous baggage was performed
with systematic despatch. In brief, there was nothing to regret—the
success of the journey proved our departure to be anything but premature.

The next three days were employed in putting the finishing touches to our
preparations for the long land journey and our precautions against the
Masika, which was now ominously near, and in settling accounts.

Shamba Gonera means Gonera’s Field. Gonera is a wealthy Indian widow, well
disposed towards the Wasungu (whites). She exports much cloth, beads, and
wire into the far interior, and imports in return much ivory. Her house is
after the model of the town houses, with long sloping roof and projecting
eaves, affording a cool shade, under which the pagazis love to loiter. On
its southern and eastern side stretch the cultivated fields which supply
Bagamoyo with the staple grain, matama, of East Africa; on the left grow
Indian corn, and muhogo, a yam-like root of whitish colour, called by some
manioc; when dry, it is ground and compounded into cakes similar to army
slapjacks. On the north, just behind the house, winds a black quagmire, a
sinuous hollow, which in its deepest parts always contains water—the
muddy home of the brake-and-rush-loving “kiboko” or hippopotamus. Its
banks, crowded with dwarf fan-palm, tall water-reeds, acacias, and
tiger-grass, afford shelter to numerous aquatic birds, pelicans, &c.
After following a course north-easterly, it conflows with the Kingani,
which, at distance of four miles from Gonera’s country-house; bends
eastward into the sea. To the west, after a mile of cultivation, fall and
recede in succession the sea-beach of old in lengthy parallel waves,
overgrown densely with forest grass and marsh reeds. On the spines of
these land-swells flourish ebony, calabash, and mango.

“Sofari—sofari leo! Pakia, pakia!”—”A journey—a journey
to day! Set out!—set out!” rang the cheery voice of the kirangozi,
echoed by that of my servant Selim, on the morning of the fourth day,
which was fixed for our departure in earnest. As I hurried my men to their
work, and lent a hand with energy to drop the tents, I mentally resolved
that, if my caravans a should give me clear space, Unyanyembe should be
our resting-place before three months expired. By 6 A.M. our early
breakfast was despatched, and the donkeys and pagazis were defiling from
Camp Gonera. Even at this early hour, and in this country place, there was
quite a collection of curious natives, to whom we gave the parting
“Kwaheri” with sincerity. My bay horse was found to be invaluable for the
service of a quarter-master of a transport-train; for to such was I
compelled to compare myself. I could stay behind until the last donkey had
quitted the camp, and, by a few minutes’ gallop, I could put myself at the
head, leaving Shaw to bring up the rear.

The road was a mere footpath, and led over a soil which, though sandy, was
of surprising fertility, producing grain and vegetables a hundredfold, the
sowing and planting of which was done in the most unskilful manner. In
their fields, at heedless labor, were men and women in the scantiest
costumes, compared to which Adam and Eve, in their fig-tree apparel, must
have been en grande tenue. We passed them with serious faces, while
they laughed and giggled, and pointed their index fingers at this and
that, which to them seemed so strange and bizarre.

In about half an hour we had left the tall matama and fields of
water-melons, cucumbers, and manioc; and, crossing a reedy slough, were in
an open forest of ebony and calabash. In its depths are deer in plentiful
numbers, and at night it is visited by the hippopotami of the Kingani for
the sake of its grass. In another hour we had emerged from the woods, and
were looking down upon the broad valley of the Kingani, and a scene
presented itself so utterly different from what my foolish imagination had
drawn, that I felt quite relieved by the pleasing disappointment. Here was
a valley stretching four miles east and west, and about eight miles north
and south, left with the richest soil to its own wild growth of grass—which
in civilization would have been a most valuable meadow for the rearing of
cattle—invested as it was by dense forests, darkening the horizon at
all points of the compass, and folded in by tree-clad ridges.

At the sound of our caravan the red antelope bounded away to our right and
the left, and frogs hushed their croak. The sun shone hot, and while
traversing the valley we experienced a little of its real African fervour.
About half way across we came to a sluice of stagnant water which,
directly in the road of the caravan, had settled down into an oozy pond.
The pagazis crossed a hastily-constructed bridge, thrown up a long time
ago by some Washensi Samaritans. It was an extraordinary affair; rugged
tree limbs resting on very unsteady forked piles, and it had evidently
tested the patience of many a loaded Mnyamwezi, as it did those porters of
our caravan. Our weaker animals were unloaded, the puddle between Bagamoyo
and Genera having taught us prudence. But this did not occasion much
delay; the men worked smartly under Shaw’s supervision.

The turbid Kingani, famous for its hippopotami, was reached in a short
time, and we began to thread the jungle along its right bank until we were
halted point-blank by a narrow sluice having an immeasurable depth of
black mud. The difficulty presented by this was very grave, though its
breadth was barely eight feet; the donkeys, and least of all the horses,
could not be made to traverse two poles like our biped carriers, neither
could they be driven into the sluice, where they would quickly founder.
The only available way of crossing it in safety was by means of a bridge,
to endure in this conservative land for generations as the handiwork of
the Wasungu. So we set to work, there being no help for it, with American
axes—the first of their kind the strokes of which ever rang in this
part of the world—to build a bridge. Be sure it was made quickly,
for where the civilized white is found, a difficulty must vanish. The
bridge was composed of six stout trees thrown across, over these were laid
crosswise fifteen pack saddles, covered again with a thick layer of grass.
All the animals crossed it safely, and then for a third time that morning
the process of wading was performed. The Kingani flowed northerly here,
and our course lay down its right bank. A half mile in that direction
through a jungle of giant reeds and extravagant climbers brought us to the
ferry, where the animals had to be again unloaded—verily, I wished
when I saw its deep muddy waters that I possessed the power of Moses with
his magic rod, or what would have answered my purpose as well, Aladdin’s
ring, for then I could have found myself and party on the opposite side
without further trouble; but not having either of these gifts I issued
orders for an immediate crossing, for it was ill wishing sublime things
before this most mundane prospect.

Kingwere, the canoe paddler, espying us from his brake covert, on the
opposite side, civilly responded to our halloos, and brought his huge
hollowed tree skilfully over the whirling eddies of the river to where we
stood waiting for him. While one party loaded the canoe with our goods,
others got ready a long rape to fasten around the animals’ necks,
wherewith to haul them through the river to the other bank. After seeing
the work properly commenced, I sat down on a condemned canoe to amuse
myself with the hippopotami by peppering their thick skulls with my No. 12
smooth-bore. The Winchester rifle (calibre 44), a present from the Hon.
Edward Joy Morris—our minister at Constantinople—did no more
than slightly tap them, causing about as much injury as a boy’s sling; it
was perfect in its accuracy of fire, for ten times in succession I struck
the tops of their heads between the ears. One old fellow, with the look of
a sage, was tapped close to the right ear by one of these bullets. Instead
of submerging himself as others had done he coolly turned round his head
as if to ask, “Why this waste of valuable cartridges on us?” The response
to the mute inquiry of his sageship was an ounce-and-a-quarter bullet from
the smooth-bore, which made him bellow with pain, and in a few moments he
rose up again, tumbling in his death agonies. As his groans were so
piteous, I refrained from a useless sacrifice of life, and left the
amphibious horde in peace.

A little knowledge concerning these uncouth inmates of the African waters
was gained even during the few minutes we were delayed at the ferry. When
undisturbed by foreign sounds, they congregate in shallow water on the
sand bars, with the fore half of their bodies exposed to the warm
sunshine, and are in appearance, when thus somnolently reposing, very like
a herd of enormous swine. When startled by the noise of an intruder, they
plunge hastily into the depths, lashing the waters into a yellowish foam,
and scatter themselves below the surface, when presently the heads of a
few reappear, snorting the water from their nostrils, to take a fresh
breath and a cautious scrutiny around them; when thus, we see but their
ears, forehead, eyes and nostrils, and as they hastily submerge again it
requires a steady wrist and a quick hand to shoot them. I have heard
several comparisons made of their appearance while floating in this
manner: some Arabs told me before I had seen them that they looked like
dead trees carried down the river; others, who in some country had seen
hogs, thought they resembled them, but to my mind they look more like
horses when swimming their curved necks and pointed ears, their wide eyes
and expanded nostrils, favor greatly this comparison.

At night they seek the shore, and wander several miles over the country,
luxuriating among its rank grasses. To within four miles of the town of
Bagamoyo (the Kingani is eight miles distant) their wide tracks are seen.
Frequently, if not disturbed by the startling human voice, they make a
raid on the rich corn-stalks of the native cultivators, and a dozen of
them will in a few minutes make a frightful havoc in a large field of this
plant. Consequently, we were not surprised, while delayed at the ferry, to
hear the owners of the corn venting loud halloos, like the rosy-cheeked
farmer boys in England when scaring the crows away from the young wheat.

The caravan in the meanwhile had crossed safely—bales, baggage,
donkeys, and men. I had thought to have camped on the bank, so as to amuse
myself with shooting antelope, and also for the sake of procuring their
meat, in order to save my goats, of which I had a number constituting my
live stock of provisions; but, thanks to the awe and dread which my men
entertained of the hippopotami, I was hurried on to the outpost of the
Baluch garrison at Bagamoyo, a small village called Kikoka, distant four
miles from the river.

The western side of the river was a considerable improvement upon the
eastern. The plain, slowly heaving upwards, as smoothly as the beach of a
watering-place, for the distance of a mile, until it culminated in a
gentle and rounded ridge, presented none of those difficulties which
troubled us on the other side. There were none of those cataclysms of mire
and sloughs of black mud and over-tall grasses, none of that miasmatic
jungle with its noxious emissions; it was just such a scene as one may
find before an English mansion—a noble expanse of lawn and sward,
with boscage sufficient to agreeably diversify it. After traversing the
open plain, the road led through a grove of young ebony trees, where
guinea-fowls and a hartebeest were seen; it then wound, with all the
characteristic eccentric curves of a goat-path, up and down a succession
of land-waves crested by the dark green foliage of the mango, and the
scantier and lighter-coloured leaves of the enormous calabash. The
depressions were filled with jungle of more or less density, while here
and there opened glades, shadowed even during noon by thin groves of
towering trees. At our approach fled in terror flocks of green pigeons,
jays, ibis, turtledoves, golden pheasants, quails and moorhens, with crows
and hawks, while now and then a solitary pelican winged its way to the
distance.

Nor was this enlivening prospect without its pairs of antelope, and
monkeys which hopped away like Australian kangaroos; these latter were of
good size, with round bullet heads, white breasts, and long tails tufted
at the end.

We arrived at Kikoka by 5 P.M., having loaded and unloaded our pack
animals four times, crossing one deep puddle, a mud sluice, and a river,
and performed a journey of eleven miles.

The settlement of Kikoka is a collection of straw huts; not built after
any architectural style, but after a bastard form, invented by indolent
settlers from the Mrima and Zanzibar for the purpose of excluding as much
sunshine as possible from the eaves and interior. A sluice and some wells
provide them with water, which though sweet is not particularly wholesome
or appetizing, owing to the large quantities of decayed matter which is
washed into it by the rains, and is then left to corrupt in it. A weak
effort has been made to clear the neighbourhood for providing a place for
cultivation, but to the dire task of wood-chopping and jungle-clearing the
settlers prefer occupying an open glade, which they clear of grass, so as
to be able to hoe up two or three inches of soil, into which they cast
their seed, confident of return.

The next day was a halt at Kikoka; the fourth caravan, consisting solely
of Wanyamwezi, proving a sore obstacle to a rapid advance. Maganga, its
chief, devised several methods of extorting more cloth and presents from
me, he having cost already more than any three chiefs together; but his
efforts were of no avail further than obtaining promises of reward if he
would hurry on to Unyanyembe so that I might find my road clear.

On the 2(7?)th, the Wanyamwezi having started, we broke camp soon after at
7 am. The country was of the same nature as that lying between the Kingani
and Kikokaa park land, attractive and beautiful in every feature.

I rode in advance to secure meat should a chance present itself, but not
the shadow of vert or venison did I see. Ever in our front—westerly—rolled
the land-waves, now rising, now subsiding, parallel one with the other,
like a ploughed field many times magnified. Each ridge had its knot of
jungle or its thin combing of heavily foliaged trees, until we arrived
close to Rosako, our next halting place, when the monotonous wavure of the
land underwent a change, breaking into independent hummocks clad with
dense jungle. On one of these, veiled by an impenetrable jungle of thorny
acacia, rested Rosako; girt round by its natural fortification,
neighbouring another village to the north of it similarly protected.
Between them sank a valley extremely fertile and bountiful in its
productions, bisected by a small stream, which serves as a drain to the
valley or low hills surrounding it.

Rosako is the frontier village of Ukwere, while Kikoka is the
north-western extremity of Uzaramo. We entered this village, and occupied
its central portion with our tents and animals. A kitanda, or square light
bedstead, without valance, fringe, or any superfluity whatever, but
nevertheless quite as comfortable as with them, was brought to my tent for
my use by the village chief. The animals were, immediately after being
unloaded, driven out to feed, and the soldiers to a man set to work to
pile the baggage up, lest the rain, which during the Masika season always
appears imminent, might cause irreparable damage.

Among other experiments which I was about to try in Africa was that of a
good watch-dog on any unmannerly people who would insist upon coming into
my tent at untimely hours and endangering valuables. Especially did I wish
to try the effect of its bark on the mighty Wagogo, who, I was told by
certain Arabs, would lift the door of the tent and enter whether you
wished them or not; who would chuckle at the fear they inspired, and say
to you, “Hi, hi, white man, I never saw the like of you before; are there
many more like you? where do you come from?” Also would they take hold of
your watch and ask you with a cheerful curiosity, “What is this for, white
man?” to which you of course would reply that it was to tell you the hour
and minute. But the Mgogo, proud of his prowess, and more unmannerly than
a brute, would answer you with a snort of insult. I thought of a
watch-dog, and procured a good one at Bombay not only as a faithful
companion, but to threaten the heels of just such gentry.

But soon after our arrival at Rosako it was found that the dog, whose name
was “Omar,” given him from his Turkish origin, was missing; he had strayed
away from the soldiers during a rain-squall and had got lost. I despatched
Mabruki Burton back to Kikoka to search for him. On the following morning,
just as we were about to leave Rosako, the faithful fellow returned with
the lost dog, having found him at Kikoka.

Previous to our departure on the morning after this, Maganga, chief of the
fourth caravan, brought me the unhappy report that three of his pagazis
were sick, and he would like to have some “dowa”—medicine. Though
not a doctor, or in any way connected with the profession, I had a
well-supplied medicine chest—without which no traveller in Africa
could live—for just such a contingency as was now present. On
visiting Maganga’s sick men, I found one suffering from inflammation of
the lungs, another from the mukunguru (African intermittent). They all
imagined themselves about to die, and called loudly for “Mama!” “Mama!”
though they were all grown men. It was evident that the fourth caravan
could not stir that day, so leaving word with Magauga to hurry after me as
soon as possible, I issued orders for the march of my own.

Excepting in the neighbourhood of the villages which we have passed there
were no traces of cultivation. The country extending between the several
stations is as much a wilderness as the desert of Sahara, though it
possesses a far more pleasing aspect. Indeed, had the first man at the
time of the Creation gazed at his world and perceived it of the beauty
which belongs to this part of Africa, he would have had no cause of
complaint. In the deep thickets, set like islets amid a sea of grassy
verdure, he would have found shelter from the noonday heat, and a safe
retirement for himself and spouse during the awesome darkness. In the
morning he could have walked forth on the sloping sward, enjoyed its
freshness, and performed his ablutions in one of the many small streams
flowing at its foot. His garden of fruit-trees is all that is required;
the noble forests, deep and cool, are round about him, and in their shade
walk as many animals as one can desire. For days and days let a man walk
in any direction, north, south, east, and west, and he will behold the
same scene.

Earnestly as I wished to hurry on to Unyanyembe, still a heart-felt
anxiety about the arrival of my goods carried by the fourth caravan,
served as a drag upon me and before my caravan had marched nine miles my
anxiety had risen to the highest pitch, and caused me to order a camp
there and then. The place selected for it was near a long straggling
sluice, having an abundance of water during the rainy season, draining as
it does two extensive slopes. No sooner had we pitched our camp, built a
boma of thorny acacia, and other tree branches, by stacking them round our
camp, and driven our animals to grass; than we were made aware of the
formidable number and variety of the insect tribe, which for a time was
another source of anxiety, until a diligent examination of the several
species dispelled it.

As it was a most interesting hunt which I instituted for the several
specimens of the insects, I here append the record of it for what it is
worth. My object in obtaining these specimens was to determine whether the
genus Glossina morsitans of the naturalist, or the tsetse
(sometimes called setse) of Livingstone, Vardon, and Gumming, said to be
deadly to horses, was amongst them. Up to this date I had been nearly two
months in East Africa, and had as yet seen no tsetse; and my horses,
instead of becoming emaciated—for such is one of the symptoms of a
tsetse bite—had considerably improved in condition. There were three
different species of flies which sought shelter in my tent, which,
unitedly, kept up a continual chorus of sounds—one performed the
basso profondo, another a tenor, and the third a weak contralto. The first
emanated from a voracious and fierce fly, an inch long, having a ventral
capacity for blood quite astonishing.

This larger fly was the one chosen for the first inspection, which was of
the intensest. I permitted one to alight on my flannel pyjamas, which I
wore while en deshabille in camp. No sooner had he alighted than his
posterior was raised, his head lowered, and his weapons, consisting of
four hair-like styles, unsheathed from the proboscis-like bag which
concealed them, and immediately I felt pain like that caused by a
dexterous lancet-cut or the probe of a fine needle. I permitted him to
gorge himself, though my patience and naturalistic interest were sorely
tried. I saw his abdominal parts distend with the plenitude of the repast
until it had swollen to three times its former shrunken girth, when he
flew away of his own accord laden with blood. On rolling up my flannel
pyjamas to see the fountain whence the fly had drawn the fluid, I
discovered it to be a little above the left knee, by a crimson bead
resting over the incision. After wiping the blood the wound was similar to
that caused by a deep thrust of a fine needle, but all pain had vanished
with the departure of the fly.

Having caught a specimen of this fly, I next proceeded to institute a
comparison between it and the tsetse, as described by Dr. Livingstone on
pp. 56-57, ‘Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa’ (Murray’s
edition of 1868). The points of disagreement are many, and such as to make
it entirely improbable that this fly is the true tsetse, though my men
unanimously stated that its bite was fatal to horses as well as to
donkeys. A descriptive abstract of the tsetse would read thus: “Not much
larger than a common house-fly, nearly of the same brown colour as the
honey-bee. After-part of the body has yellow bars across it. It has a
peculiar buzz, and its bite is death to the horse, ox, and dog. On man the
bite has no effect, neither has it on wild animals. When allowed to feed
on the hand, it inserts the middle prong of three portions into which the
proboscis divides, it then draws the prong out a little way, and it
assumes a crimson colour as the mandibles come into brisk operation; a
slight itching irritation follows the bite.”

The fly which I had under inspection is called mabunga by the natives. It
is much larger than the common housefly, fully a third larger than the
common honey-bee, and its colour more distinctly marked; its head is
black, with a greenish gloss to it; the after-part of the body is marked
by a white line running lengthwise from its junction with the trunk, and
on each side of this white line are two other lines, one of a crimson
colour, the other of a light brown. As for its buzz, there is no
peculiarity in it, it might be mistaken for that of a honey-bee. When
caught it made desperate efforts to get away, but never attempted to bite.
This fly, along with a score of others, attacked my grey horse, and bit it
so sorely in the legs that they appeared as if bathed in blood. Hence, I
might have been a little vengeful if, with more than the zeal of an
entomologist, I caused it to disclose whatever peculiarities its biting
parts possessed.

In order to bring this fly as life-like as possible before my readers, I
may compare its head to most tiny miniature of an elephant’s, because it
has a black proboscis and a pair of horny antennae, which in colour and
curve resemble tusks. The black proboscis, however, the simply a hollow
sheath, which encloses, when not in the act of biting, four reddish and
sharp lancets. Under the microscope these four lancets differ in
thickness, two are very thick, the third is slender, but the fourth, of an
opal colour and almost transparent, is exceedingly fine. This last must be
the sucker. When the fly is about to wound, the two horny antennae are
made to embrace the part, the lancets are unsheathed, and on the instant
the incision is performed. This I consider to be the African “horse-fly.”

The second fly, which sang the tenor notes more nearly resembled in size
and description the tsetse. It was exceedingly nimble, and it occupied
three soldiers nearly an hour to capture a specimen; and, when it was
finally caught, it stung most ravenously the hand, and never ceased its
efforts to attack until it was pinned through. It had three or four white
marks across the after-part of its body; but the biting parts of this fly
consisted of two black antennae and an opal coloured style, which folded
away under the neck. When about to bite, this style was shot out straight,
and the antennae embraced it closely. After death the fly lost its
distinctive white marks. Only one of this species did we see at this camp.
The third fly, called “chufwa,” pitched a weak alto-crescendo note, was a
third larger than the house fly, and had long wings. If this insect sang
the feeblest note, it certainly did the most work, and inflicted the most
injury. Horses and donkeys streamed with blood, and reared and kicked
through the pain. So determined was it not to be driven before it obtained
its fill, that it was easily despatched; but this dreadful enemy to cattle
constantly increased in numbers. The three species above named are,
according to natives, fatal to cattle; and this may perhaps be the reason
why such a vast expanse of first-class pasture is without domestic cattle
of any kind, a few goats only being kept by the villagers. This fly I
subsequently found to be the “tsetse.”

On the second morning, instead of proceeding, I deemed it more prudent to
await the fourth caravan. Burton experimented sufficiently for me on the
promised word of the Banyans of Kaole and Zanzibar, and waited eleven
months before he received the promised articles. As I did not expect to be
much over that time on my errand altogether, it would be ruin, absolute
and irremediable, should I be detained at Unyanyembe so long a time by my
caravan. Pending its arrival, I sought the pleasures of the chase. I was
but a tyro in hunting, I confess, though I had shot a little on the plains
of America and Persia; yet I considered myself a fair shot, and on game
ground, and within a reasonable proximity to game, I doubted not but I
could bring some to camp.

After a march of a mile through the tall grass of the open, we gained the
glades between the jungles. Unsuccessful here, after ever so much prying
into fine hiding-places and lurking corners, I struck a trail well
traversed by small antelope and hartebeest, which we followed. It led me
into a jungle, and down a watercourse bisecting it; but, after following
it for an hour, I lost it, and, in endeavouring to retrace it, lost my
way. However, my pocket-compass stood me in good stead; and by it I
steered for the open plain, in the centre of which stood the camp. But it
was terribly hard work—this of plunging through an African jungle,
ruinous to clothes, and trying to the cuticle. In order to travel quickly,
I had donned a pair of flannel pyjamas, and my feet were encased in canvas
shoes. As might be expected, before I had gone a few paces a branch of the
acacia horrida—only one of a hundred such annoyances—caught
the right leg of my pyjamas at the knee, and ripped it almost clean off;
succeeding which a stumpy kolquall caught me by the shoulder, and another
rip was the inevitable consequence. A few yards farther on, a prickly
aloetic plant disfigured by a wide tear the other leg of my pyjamas, and
almost immediately I tripped against a convolvulus strong as ratline, and
was made to measure my length on a bed of thorns. It was on all fours,
like a hound on a scent, that I was compelled to travel; my solar topee
getting the worse for wear every minute; my skin getting more and more
wounded; my clothes at each step becoming more and more tattered. Besides
these discomforts, there was a pungent, acrid plant which, apart from its
strong odorous emissions, struck me smartly on the face, leaving a burning
effect similar to cayenne; and the atmosphere, pent in by the density of
the jungle, was hot and stifling, and the perspiration transuded through
every pore, making my flannel tatters feel as if I had been through a
shower. When I had finally regained the plain, and could breathe free, I
mentally vowed that the penetralia of an African jungle should not be
visited by me again, save under most urgent necessity.

The second and third day passed without any news of Maganga. Accordingly,
Shaw and Bombay were sent to hurry him up by all means. On the fourth
morning Shaw and Bombay returned, followed by the procrastinating Maganga
and his laggard people. Questions only elicited an excuse that his men had
been too sick, and he had feared to tax their strength before they were
quite equal to stand the fatigue. Moreover he suggested that as they would
be compelled to stay one day more at the camp, I might push on to Kingaru
and camp there, until his arrival. Acting upon which suggestion I broke
camp and started for Kingaru, distant five miles.

On this march the land was more broken, and the caravan first encountered
jungle, which gave considerable trouble to our cart. Pisolitic limestone
cropped out in boulders and sheets, and we began to imagine ourselves
approaching healthy highlands, and as if to give confirmation to the
thought, to the north and north-west loomed the purple cones of Udoe, and
topmost of all Dilima Peak, about 1,500 feet in height above the sea
level. But soon after sinking into a bowl-like valley, green with tall
corn, the road slightly deviated from north-west to west, the country
still rolling before us in wavy undulations.

In one of the depressions between these lengthy land-swells stood the
village of Kingaru, with surroundings significant in their aspect of ague
and fever. Perhaps the clouds surcharged with rain, and the overhanging
ridges and their dense forests dulled by the gloom, made the place more
than usually disagreeable, but my first impressions of the sodden hollow,
pent in by those dull woods, with the deep gully close by containing pools
of stagnant water, were by no means agreeable.

Before we could arrange our camp and set the tents up, down poured the
furious harbinger of the Masika season in torrents sufficient to damp the
ardor and newborn love for East Africa I had lately manifested. However,
despite rain, we worked on until our camp was finished and the property
was safely stored from weather and thieves, and we could regard with
resignation the raindrops beating the soil into mud of a very tenacious
kind, and forming lakelets and rivers of our camp-ground.

Towards night, the scene having reached its acme of unpleasantness, the
rain ceased, and the natives poured into camp from the villages in the
woods with their vendibles. Foremost among these, as if in duty bound,
came the village sultan—lord, chief, or head—bearing three
measures of matama and half a measure of rice, of which he begged, with
paternal smiles, my acceptance. But under his smiling mask, bleared eyes,
and wrinkled front was visible the soul of trickery, which was of the
cunningest kind. Responding under the same mask adopted by this knavish
elder, I said, “The chief of Kingaru has called me a rich sultan. If I am
a rich sultan why comes not the chief with a rich present to me, that he
might get a rich return?” Said he, with another leer of his wrinkled
visage, “Kingaru is poor, there is no matama in the village.” To which I
replied that since there was no matama in the village I would pay him half
a shukka, or a yard of cloth, which would be exactly equivalent to his
present; that if he preferred to call his small basketful a present, I
should be content to call my yard of cloth a present. With which logic he
was fain to be satisfied.

April 1st.—To-day the Expedition suffered a loss in the death of the
grey Arab horse presented by Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar. The night
previous I had noticed that the horse was suffering. Bearing in mind what
has been so frequently asserted, namely, that no horses could live in the
interior of Africa because of the tsetse, I had him opened, and the
stomach, which I believed to be diseased, examined. Besides much
undigested matama and grass there were found twenty-five short, thick,
white worms, sticking like leeches into the coating of the stomach, while
the intestines were almost alive with the numbers of long white worms. I
was satisfied that neither man nor beast could long exist with such a mass
of corrupting life within him.

In order that the dead carcase might not taint the valley, I had it buried
deep in the ground, about a score of yards from the encampment. From such
a slight cause ensued a tremendous uproar from Kingaru—chief of the
village—who, with his brother-chiefs of neighbouring villages,
numbering in the aggregate two dozen wattled huts, had taken counsel upon
the best means of mulcting the Musungu of a full doti or two of Merikani,
and finally had arrived at the conviction that the act of burying a dead
horse in their soil without “By your leave, sir,” was a grievous and
fineable fault. Affecting great indignation at the unpardonable omission,
he, Kingaru, concluded to send to the Musungu four of his young men to say
to him that “since you have buried your horse in my ground, it is well;
let him remain there; but you must pay me two doti of Merikani.” For reply
the messengers were told to say to the chief that I would prefer talking
the matter over with himself face to face, if he would condescend to visit
me in my tent once again. As the village was but a stone’s throw from our
encampment, before many minutes had elapsed the wrinkled elder made his
appearance at the door of my tent with about half the village behind him.

The following dialogue which took place will serve to illustrate the
tempers of the people with whom I was about to have a year’s trading
intercourse:

White Man.—”Are you the great chief of Kingaru?”

Kingaru.—”Huh-uh. Yes.”

W. M.—”The great, great chief?”

Kingaru.—”Huh-uh. Yes.”

W. M.—”How many soldiers have you?”

Kingaru.—” Why?”

W. M.—”How many fighting men have you?”

Kingaru.—”None.”

W. M.—”Oh! I thought you might have a thousand men with you, by your
going to fine a strong white man, who has plenty of guns and soldiers, two
doti for burying a dead horse.”

Kingaru (rather perplexed).—”No; I have no soldiers. I have only a
few young men.”

W. M.—”Why do you come and make trouble, then?”

Kingaru.—”It was not I; it was my brothers who said to me, ‘Come
here, come here, Kingaru, see what the white man has done! Has he not
taken possession of your soil, in that he has put his horse into your
ground without your permission? Come, go to him and see by what right.’
Therefore have I come to ask you, who gave you permission to use my soil
for a burying-ground?”

W. M. “I want no man’s permission to do what is right. My horse died; had
I left him to fester and stink in your valley, sickness would visit your
village, your water would become unwholesome, and caravans would not stop
here for trade; for they would say, ‘This is an unlucky spot, let us go
away.’ But enough said: I understand you to say that you do not want him
buried in your ground; the error I have fallen into is easily put right.
This minute my soldiers shall dig him out again, and cover up the soil as
it was before; and the horse shall be left where he died.” (Then shouting
to Bombay.) “Ho! Bombay, take soldiers with jembes to dig my horse out of
the ground, drag him to where he died, and make everything ready for a
march to-morrow morning.”

Kingaru, his voice considerably higher, and his head moving to and fro
with emotion, cries out, “Akuna, akuna, bana!”—”No, no, master! Let
not the white man get angry. The horse is dead, and now lies buried; let
him remain so, since he is already there, and let us be friends again.”

The Sheikh of Kingaru being thus brought to his senses, we bid each other
the friendly “Kwaheri,” and I was left alone to ruminate over my loss.
Barely half an hour had elapsed, it was 9 P.M., the camp was in a
semi-doze, when I heard deep groans issuing from one of the animals. Upon
inquiry as to what animal was suffering, I was surprised to hear that it
was my bay horse. With a bull’s-eye lantern, I visited him, and perceived
that the pain was located in the stomach, but whether it was from some
poisonous plant he had eaten while out grazing, or from some equine
disease, I did not know. He discharged copious quantities of loose matter,
but there was nothing peculiar in its colour. The pain was evidently very
great, for his struggles were very violent. I was up all night, hoping
that it was but a temporary effect of some strange and noxious plant; but
at 6 o’clock the next morning, after a short period of great agony, he
also died; exactly fifteen hours after his companion. When the stomach was
opened, it was found that death was caused by the internal rupture of a
large cancer, which had affected the larger half of the coating of his
stomach, and had extended an inch or two up the larynx. The contents of
the stomach and intestines were deluged with the yellow viscous efflux
from the cancer.

I was thus deprived of both my horses, and that within the short space of
fifteen hours. With my limited knowledge of veterinary science, however,
strengthened by the actual and positive proofs obtained by the dissection
of the two stomachs, I can scarcely state that horses can live to reach
Unyanyembe, or that they can travel with ease through this part of East
Africa. But should I have occasion at some future day, I should not
hesitate to take four horses with me, though I should certainly endeavour
to ascertain previous to purchase whether they, were perfectly sound and
healthy, and to those travellers who cherish a good horse I would say,
“Try one,” and be not discouraged by my unfortunate experiences.

The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of April passed, and nothing had we heard or seen of
the ever-lagging fourth caravan. In the meanwhile the list of casualties
was being augmented. Besides the loss of this precious time, through the
perverseness of the chief of the other caravan, and the loss of my two
horses, a pagazi carrying boat-fixtures improved the opportunity, and
deserted. Selim was struck down with a severe attack of ague and fever,
and was soon after followed by the cook, then by the assistant cook and
tailor, Abdul Kader. Finally, before the third day was over, Bombay had
rheumatism, Uledi (Grant’s old valet) had a swollen throat, Zaidi had the
flux, Kingaru had the mukunguru; Khamisi, a pagazi, suffered from a
weakness of the loins; Farjalla had a bilious fever; and before night
closed Makoviga was very ill. Out of a force of twenty-five men one had
deserted, and ten were on the sick list, and the presentiment that the
ill-looking neighbourhood of Kingaru would prove calamitous to me was
verified.

On the 4th April Maganga and his people appeared, after being heralded by
musketry-shots and horn-blowing, the usual signs of an approaching caravan
in this land. His sick men were considerably improved, but they required
one more day of rest at Kingaru. In the afternoon he came to lay siege to
my generosity, by giving details of Soor Hadji Palloo’s heartless cheats
upon him; but I informed him, that since I had left Bagamoyo, I could no
longer be generous; we were now in a land where cloth was at a high
premium; that I had no more cloth than I should need to furnish food for
myself and men; that he and his caravan had cost me more money and trouble
than any three caravans I had, as indeed was the case. With this
counter-statement he was obliged to be content. But I again solved his
pecuniary doubts by promising that, if he hurried his caravan on to
Unyanyembe, he should have no cause of complaint.

The 5th of April saw the fourth caravan vanish for once in our front, with
a fair promise that, however fast we should follow, we should not see them
the hither side of Sinbamwenni.

The following morning, in order to rouse my people from the sickened
torpitude they had lapsed into, I beat an exhilarating alarum on a tin pan
with an iron ladle, intimating that a sofari was about to be undertaken.
This had a very good effect, judging from the extraordinary alacrity with
which it was responded to. Before the sun rose we started. The Kingaru
villagers were out with the velocity of hawks for any rags or refuse left
behind us.

The long march to Imbiki, fifteen miles, proved that our protracted stay
at Kingaru had completely demoralized my soldiers and pagazis. Only a few
of them had strength enough to reach Imbiki before night. The others,
attending the laden donkeys, put in an appearance next morning, in a
lamentable state of mind and body. Khamisi—the pagazi with the weak
loins—had deserted, taking with him two goats, the property tent,
and the whole of Uledi’s personal wealth, consisting of his visiting
dish-dasheh—a long shirt of the Arabic pattern, 10 lbs. of beads,
and a few fine cloths, which Uledi, in a generous fit, had intrusted to
him, while he carried the pagazi’s load, 70 lbs. of Bubu beads. This
defalcation was not to be overlooked, nor should Khamisi be permitted to
return without an effort to apprehend him. Accordingly Uledi and Ferajji
were despatched in pursuit while we rested at Imbiki, in order to give the
dilapidated soldiers and animals time to recruit.

On the 8th we continued our journey, and arrived at Msuwa. This march will
be remembered by our caravan as the most fatiguing of all, though the
distance was but ten miles. It was one continuous jungle, except three
interjacent glades of narrow limits, which gave us three breathing pauses
in the dire task of jungle travelling. The odour emitted from its fell
plants was so rank, so pungently acrid, and the miasma from its decayed
vegetation so dense, that I expected every moment to see myself and men
drop down in paroxysms of acute fever. Happily this evil was not added to
that of loading and unloading the frequently falling packs. Seven soldiers
to attend seventeen laden donkeys were entirely too small a number while
passing through a jungle; for while the path is but a foot wide, with a
wall of thorny plants and creepers bristling on each side, and projecting
branches darting across it, with knots of spikey twigs stiff as
spike-nails, ready to catch and hold anything above four feet in height,
it is but reasonable to suppose that donkeys standing four feet high, with
loads measuring across from bale to bale four feet, would come to grief.
This grief was of frequent recurrence here, causing us to pause every few
minutes for re-arrangements. So often had this task to be performed, that
the men got perfectly discouraged, and had to bespoken to sharply before
they set to work. By the time I reached Msuwa there was nobody with me and
the ten donkeys I drove but Mabruk the Little, who, though generally
stolid, stood to his work like a man. Bombay and Uledi were far behind,
with the most jaded donkeys. Shaw was in charge of the cart, and his
experiences were most bitter, as he informed me he had expended a whole
vocabulary of stormy abuse known to sailors, and a new one which he had
invented ex tempore. He did not arrive until two o’clock next morning, and
was completely worn out.

Another halt was fixed at Msuwa, that we and our animals might recuperate.
The chief of the village, a white man in everything but colour, sent me
and mine the fattest broad-tailed sheep of his flock, with five measures
of matama grain. The mutton was excellent, unapproachable. For his timely
and needful present I gave him two doti, and amused him with an exhibition
of the wonderful mechanism of the Winchester rifle, and my breechloading
revolvers.

He and his people were intelligent enough to comprehend the utility of
these weapons at an emergency, and illustrated in expressive pantomime the
powers they possessed against numbers of people armed only with spears and
bows, by extending their arms with an imaginary gun and describing a clear
circle. “Verily,” said they, “the Wasungu are far wiser than the Washensi.
What heads they have! What wonderful things they make! Look at their
tents, their guns, their time-pieces, their clothes, and that little
rolling thing (the cart) which carries more than five men,—-que!”

On the 10th, recovered from the excessive strain of the last march, the
caravan marched out of Msuwa, accompanied by the hospitable villagers as
far as their stake defence, receiving their unanimous “Kwaheris.” Outside
the village the march promised to be less arduous than between Imbiki and
Msuwa. After crossing a beautiful little plain intersected by a dry gully
or mtoni, the route led by a few cultivated fields, where the tillers
greeted us with one grand unwinking stare, as if fascinated.

Soon after we met one of those sights common in part of the world, to wit
a chain slave-gang, bound east. The slaves did not appear to be in any way
down-hearted on the contrary, they seemed imbued with the philosophic
jollity of the jolly servant of Martin Chuzzlewit. Were it not for their
chains, it would have been difficult to discover master from slave; the
physiognomic traits were alike—the mild benignity with which we were
regarded was equally visible on all faces. The chains were ponderous—they
might have held elephants captive; but as the slaves carried nothing but
themselves, their weight could not have been insupportable.

The jungle was scant on this march, and though in some places the packs
met with accidents, they were not such as seriously to retard progress. By
10 A.M. we were in camp in the midst of an imposing view of green sward
and forest domed by a cloudless sky. We had again pitched our camp in the
wilderness, and, as is the custom of caravans, fired two shots to warn any
Washensi having grain to sell, that we were willing to trade.

Our next halting-place was Kisemo, distant but eleven miles from Msuwa, a
village situated in a populous district, having in its vicinity no less
than five other villages, each fortified by stakes and thorny abattis,
with as much fierce independence as if their petty lords were so many
Percys and Douglasses. Each topped a ridge, or a low hummock, with an
assumption of defiance of the cock-on-its-own-dunghill type. Between these
humble eminences and low ridges of land wind narrow vales which are
favored with the cultivation of matama and Indian corn. Behind the village
flows the Ungerengeri River, an impetuous stream during the Masika season,
capable of overflowing its steep banks, but in the dry season it subsides
into its proper status, which is that of a small stream of very clear
sweet water. Its course from Kisemo is south-west, then easterly; it is
the main feeder of the Kingani River.

The belles of Kisemo are noted for their vanity in brass wire, which is
wound in spiral rings round their wrists and ankles, and the varieties of
style which their hispid heads exhibit; while their poor lords, obliged to
be contented with dingy torn clouts and split ears, show what wide sway
Asmodeus holds over this terrestrial sphere—for it must have been an
unhappy time when the hard-besieged husbands finally gave way before their
spouses. Besides these brassy ornaments on their extremities, and the
various hair-dressing styles, the women of Kisemo frequently wear lengthy
necklaces, which run in rivers of colours down their bodies.

A more comical picture is seldom presented than that of one of these
highly-dressed females engaged in the homely and necessary task of
grinding corn for herself and family. The grinding apparatus consists of
two portions: one, a thick pole of hard wood about six feet long,
answering for a pestle; the other, a capacious wooden mortar, three feet
in height.

While engaged in setting his tent, Shaw was obliged to move a small flat
stone, to drive a peg into the ground. The village chief, who saw him do
it, rushed up in a breathless fashion, and replaced the stone instantly,
then stood on it in an impressive manner, indicative of the great
importance attached to that stone and location. Bombay, seeing Shaw
standing in silent wonder at the act, volunteered to ask the chief what
was the matter. The Sheikh solemnly answered, with a finger pointing
downward, “Uganga!” Whereupon I implored him to let me see what was under
the stone. With a graciousness quite affecting he complied. My curiosity
was gratified with the sight of a small whittled stick, which pinned fast
to the ground an insect, the cause of a miscarriage to a young female of
the village.

During the afternoon, Uledi and Ferajji, who had been despatched after the
truant Khamisi, returned with him and all the missing articles. Khamisi,
soon after leaving the road and plunging into the jungle, where he was
mentally triumphing in his booty, was met by some of the plundering
Washensi, who are always on the qui vive for stragglers, and
unceremoniously taken to their village in the woods, and bound to a tree
preparatory, to being killed. Khamisi said that he asked them why they
tied him up, to which they answered, that they were about to kill him,
because he was a Mgwana, whom they were accustomed to kill as soon as they
were caught. But Uledi and Ferajji shortly after coming upon the scene,
both well armed, put an end to the debates upon Khamisi’s fate, by
claiming him as an absconding pagazi from the Musungu’s camp, as well as
all the articles he possessed at the time of capture. The robbers did not
dispute the claim for the pagazi, goats, tent, or any other valuable found
with him, but intimated that they deserved a reward for apprehending him.
The demand being considered just, a reward to the extent of two doti and a
fundo, or ten necklaces of beads, was given.

Khamisi, for his desertion and attempted robbery, could not be pardoned
without first suffering punishment. He had asked at Bagamoyo, before
enlisting in my service, an advance of $5 in money, and had received it,
and a load of Bubu beads, no heavier than a pagazis load, had been given
him to carry; he had, therefore, no excuse for desertion. Lest I should
overstep prudence, however, in punishing him, I convened a court of eight
pagazis and four soldiers to sit in judgment, and asked them to give me
their decision as to what should be done. Their unanimous verdict was that
he was guilty of a crime almost unknown among the Wanyamwezi pagazis, and
as it was likely to give bad repute to the Wanyamwezi carriers, they
therefore sentenced him to be flogged with the “Great Master’s” donkey
whip, which was accordingly carried out, to poor Khamisi’s crying sorrow.

On the 12th the caravan reached Mussoudi, on the Ungerengeri river.
Happily for our patient donkeys this march was free from all the annoying
troubles of the jungle. Happily for ourselves also, for we had no more the
care of the packs and the anxiety about arriving at camp before night. The
packs once put firmly on the backs of our good donkeys, they marched into
camp—the road being excellent—without a single displacement or
cause for one impatient word, soon after leaving Kisemo. A beautiful
prospect, glorious in its wild nature, fragrant with its numerous flowers
and variety of sweetly-smelling shrubs, among which I recognised the wild
sage, the indigo plant, &c., terminated only at the foot of Kira Peak
and sister cones, which mark the boundaries between Udoe and Ukami, yet
distant twenty miles. Those distant mountains formed a not unfit
background to this magnificent picture of open plain, forest patches, and
sloping lawns—there was enough of picturesqueness and sublimity in
the blue mountains to render it one complete whole. Suppose a Byron saw
some of these scenes, he would be inclined to poetize in this manner:

Morn dawns, and with it stern Udoe’s hills, Dark Urrugum’s rocks, and
Kira’s peak, Robed half in mist, bedewed with various rills, Arrayed in
many a dun and purple streak.

When drawing near the valley of Ungerengeri, granite knobs and
protuberances of dazzling quartz showed their heads above the reddish
soil. Descending the ridge where these rocks were prominent, we found
ourselves in the sable loam deposit of the Ungerengeri, and in the midst
of teeming fields of sugar-cane and matama, Indian corn, muhogo, and
gardens of curry, egg, and cucumber plants. On the banks of the
Ungerengeri flourished the banana, and overtopping it by seventy feet and
more, shot up the stately mparamusi, the rival in beauty of the Persian
chenar and Abyssinian plane. Its trunk is straight and comely enough for
the mainmast of a first, class frigate, while its expanding crown of
leafage is distinguished from all others by its density and vivid
greenness. There were a score of varieties of the larger kind of trees,
whose far-extending branches embraced across the narrow but swift river.
The depressions of the valley and the immediate neighbourhood of the river
were choked with young forests of tiger-grass and stiff reeds.

Mussoudi is situated on a higher elevation than the average level of the
village, and consequently looks down upon its neighbours, which number a
hundred and more. It is the western extremity of Ukwere. On the western
bank of the Ungerengeri the territory of the Wakami commences. We had to
halt one day at Mussoudi because the poverty of the people prevented us
from procuring the needful amount of grain. The cause of this scantiness
in such a fertile and populous valley was, that the numerous caravans
which had preceded us had drawn heavily for their stores for the
upmarches.

On the 14th we crossed the Ungerengeri, which here flows southerly to the
southern extremity of the valley, where it bends easterly as far as
Kisemo. After crossing the river here, fordable at all times and only
twenty yards in breadth, we had another mile of the valley with its
excessively moist soil and rank growth of grass. It then ascended into a
higher elevation, and led through a forest of mparamusi, tamarind,
tamarisk, acacia, and the blooming mimosa. This ascent was continued for
two hours, when we stood upon the spine of the largest ridge, where we
could obtain free views of the wooded plain below and the distant ridges
of Kisemo, which we had but lately left. A descent of a few hundred feet
terminated in a deep but dry mtoni with a sandy bed, on the other side of
which we had to regain the elevation we had lost, and a similar country
opened into view until we found a newly-made boma with well-built huts of
grass rear a pool of water, which we at once occupied as a halting-place
for the night. The cart gave us considerable trouble; not even our
strongest donkey, though it carried with ease on its back 196 lbs., could
draw the cart with a load of only 225 lbs. weight.

Early on the morning of the 15th we broke camp and started for Mikeseh. By
8.30 A.M. we were ascending the southern face of the Kira Peak. When we
had gained the height of two hundred feet above the level of the
surrounding country, we were gratified with a magnificent view of a land
whose soil knows no Sabbath.

After travelling the spine of a ridge abutting against the southern slope
of Kira we again descended into the little valley of Kiwrima, the first
settlement we meet in Udoe, where there is always an abundant supply of
water. Two miles west of Kiwrima is Mikiseh.

On the 16th we reached Ulagalla after a few hours’ march. Ulagalla is the
name of a district, or a portion of a district, lying between the
mountains of Uruguru, which bound it southerly, and the mountains of Udoe,
lying northerly and parallel with them, and but ten miles apart. The
principal part of the basin thus formed is called Ulagalla.

Muhalleh is the next settlement, and here we found ourselves in the
territory of the Waseguhha. On this march we were hemmed in by mountains—on
our left by those of Uruguru, on our right by those of Udoe and Useguhha—a
most agreeable and welcome change to us after the long miles of monotonous
level we had hitherto seen. When tired of looking into the depths of the
forest that still ran on either side of the road, we had but to look up to
the mountain’s base, to note its strange trees, its plants and
vari-coloured flowers, we had but to raise our heads to vary this pleasant
occupation by observing the lengthy and sinuous spine of the mountains,
and mentally report upon their outline, their spurs, their projections and
ravines, their bulging rocks and deep clefts, and, above all, the dark
green woods clothing them from summit to base. And when our attention was
not required for the mundane task of regarding the donkeys’ packs, or the
pace of the cautious-stepping pagazis, it was gratifying to watch the
vapours play about the mountain summits—to see them fold into fleecy
crowns and fantastic clusters, dissolve, gather together into a pall that
threatened rain, and sail away again before the brightening sun.

At Muhalleh was the fourth caravan under Maganga with three more sick men,
who turned with eager eyes to myself, “the dispenser of medicine,” as I
approached. Salvos of small arms greeted me, and a present of rice and
ears of Indian corn for roasting were awaiting my acceptance; but, as I
told Maganga, I would have preferred to hear that his party were eight or
ten marches ahead. At this camp, also, we met Salim bin Rashid, bound
eastward, with a huge caravan carrying three hundred ivory tusks. This
good Arab, besides welcoming the new comer with a present of rice, gave me
news of Livingstone. He had met the old traveller at Ujiji, had lived in
the next but to him for two weeks, described him as looking old, with long
grey moustaches and beard, just recovered from severe illness, looking
very wan; when fully recovered Livingstone intended to visit a country
called Manyema by way of Marungu.

The valley of the Ungerengeri with Muhalleh exhibits wonderful fertility.
Its crops of matama were of the tallest, and its Indian corn would rival
the best crops ever seen in the Arkansas bottoms. The numerous
mountain-fed streams rendered the great depth of loam very sloppy, in
consequence of which several accidents occurred before we reached the
camp, such as wetting cloth, mildewing tea, watering sugar, and rusting
tools; but prompt attention to these necessary things saved us from
considerable loss.

There was a slight difference noticed in the demeanour and bearing of the
Waseguhha compared with the Wadoe, Wakami, and Wakwere heretofore seen.
There was none of that civility we had been until now pleased to note:
their express desire to barter was accompanied with insolent hints that we
ought to take their produce at their own prices. If we remonstrated they
became angry; retorting fiercely, impatient of opposition, they flew into
a passion, and were glib in threats. This strange conduct, so opposite to
that of the calm and gentle Wakwere, may be excellently illustrated by
comparing the manner of the hot-headed Greek with that of the cool and
collected German. Necessity compelled us to purchase eatables of them,
and, to the credit of the country and its productions, be it said, their
honey had the peculiar flavour of that of famed Hymettus.

Following the latitudinal valley of the Ungerengeri, within two hours on
the following morning we passed close under the wall of the capital of
Useguhha—Simbamwenni. The first view of the walled town at the
western foot of the Uruguru mountains, with its fine valley abundantly
beautiful, watered by two rivers, and several pellucid streams of water
distilled by the dew and cloud-enriched heights around, was one that we
did not anticipate to meet in Eastern Africa. In Mazanderan, Persia, such
a scene would have answered our expectations, but here it was totally
unexpected. The town may contain a population of 3,000, having about 1,000
houses; being so densely crowded, perhaps 5,000 would more closely
approximate. The houses in the town are eminently African, but of the best
type of construction. The fortifications are on an Arabic Persic model—combining
Arab neatness with Persian plan. Through a ride of 950 miles in Persia I
never met a town outside of the great cities better fortified than
Simbamwenni. In Persia the fortifications were of mud, even those of
Kasvin, Teheran, Ispahan, and Shiraz; those of Simbamwenni are of stone,
pierced with two rows of loopholes for musketry. The area of the town is
about half a square mile, its plan being quadrangular. Well-built towers
of stone guard each corner; four gates, one facing each cardinal point,
and set half way between the several towers, permit ingress and egress for
its inhabitants. The gates are closed with solid square doors made of
African teak, and carved with the infinitesimally fine and complicated
devices of the Arabs, from which I suspect that the doors were made either
at Zanzibar or on the coast, and conveyed to Simbamwenni plank by plank;
yet as there is much communication between Bagamoyo and Simbamwenni, it is
just possible that native artisans are the authors of this ornate
workmanship, as several doors chiselled and carved in the same manner,
though not quite so elaborately, were visible in the largest houses. The
palace of the Sultan is after the style of those on the coast, with long
sloping roof, wide eaves, and veranda in front.

The Sultana is the eldest daughter of the famous Kisabengo, a name
infamous throughout the neighbouring countries of Udoe, Ukami, Ukwere,
Kingaru, Ukwenni, and Kiranga-Wanna, for his kidnapping propensities.
Kisabengo was another Theodore on a small scale. Sprung from humble
ancestry, he acquired distinction for his personal strength, his powers of
harangue, and his amusing and versatile address, by which he gained great
ascendency over fugitive slaves, and was chosen a leader among them.
Fleeing from justice, which awaited him at the hands of the Zanzibar
Sultan, he arrived in Ukami, which extended at that time from Ukwere to
Usagara, and here he commenced a career of conquest, the result of which
was the cession by the Wakami of an immense tract of fertile country, in
the valley of the Ungerengeri. On its most desirable site, with the river
flowing close under the walls, he built his capital, and called it
Simbamwenni, which means “The Lion,” or the strongest, City. In old age
the successful robber and kidnapper changed his name of Kisabengo, which
had gained such a notoriety, to Simbamwenni, after his town; and when
dying, after desiring that his eldest daughter should succeed him, he
bestowed the name of the town upon her also, which name of Simbamwenni the
Sultana now retains and is known by.

While crossing a rapid stream, which, as I said before flowed close to the
walls, the inhabitants of Simbamwenni had a fine chance of gratifying
their curiosity of seeing the “Great Musungu,” whose several caravans had
preceded him, and who unpardonably, because unlicensed, had spread a
report of his great wealth and power. I was thus the object of a universal
stare. At one time on the banks there were considerably over a thousand
natives going through the several tenses and moods of the verb “to stare,”
or exhibiting every phase of the substantive, viz.—the stare
peremptory, insolent, sly, cunning, modest, and casual. The warriors of
the Sultana, holding in one hand the spear, the bow, and sheaf or musket,
embraced with the other their respective friends, like so many models of
Nisus and Euryalus, Theseus and Pirithous, Damon and Pythias, or Achilles
and Patroclus, to whom they confidentially related their divers opinions
upon my dress and colour. The words “Musungu kuba” had as much charm for
these people as the music of the Pied Piper had for the rats of Hamelin,
since they served to draw from within the walls across their stream so
large a portion of the population; and when I continued the journey to the
Ungerengeri, distant four miles, I feared that the Hamelin catastrophe
might have to be repeated before I could rid myself of them. But
fortunately for my peace of mind, they finally proved vincible under the
hot sun, and the distance we had to go to camp.

As we were obliged to overhaul the luggage, and repair saddles, as well as
to doctor a few of the animals, whose backs had by this time become very
sore, I determined to halt here two days. Provisions were very plentiful
also at Simbamwenni, though comparatively dear.

On the second day I was, for the first time, made aware that my
acclimatization in the ague-breeding swamps of Arkansas was powerless
against the mukunguru of East Africa. The premonitory symptoms of the
African type were felt in my system at 10 A.M. First, general lassitude
prevailed, with a disposition to drowsiness; secondly, came the spinal
ache which, commencing from the loins, ascended the vertebrae, and
extended around the ribs, until it reached the shoulders, where it settled
into a weary pain; thirdly came a chilliness over the whole body, which
was quickly followed by a heavy head, swimming eyes, and throbbing
temples, with vague vision, which distorted and transformed all objects of
sight. This lasted until 10 P.M., and the mukunguru left me, much
prostrated in strength.

The remedy, applied for three mornings in succession after the attack, was
such as my experience in Arkansas had taught me was the most powerful
corrective, viz., a quantum of fifteen grains of quinine, taken in three
doses of five grains each, every other hour from dawn to meridian—the
first dose to be taken immediately after the first effect of the purging
medicine taken at bedtime the night previous. I may add that this
treatment was perfectly successful in my case, and in all others which
occurred in my camp. After the mukunguru had declared itself, there was no
fear, with such a treatment of it, of a second attack, until at least some
days afterwards.

On the third day the camp was visited by the ambassadors of Her Highness
the Sultana of Simbamwenni, who came as her representatives to receive the
tribute which she regards herself as powerful enough to enforce. But they,
as well as Madame Simbamwenni, were informed, that as we knew it was their
custom to charge owners of caravans but one tribute, and as they
remembered the Musungu (Farquhar) had paid already, it was not fair that I
should have to pay again. The ambassadors replied with a “Ngema” (very
well), and promised to carry my answer back to their mistress. Though it
was by no means “very well” in fact, as it will be seen in a subsequent
chapter how the female Simbamwenni took advantage of an adverse fortune
which befell me to pay herself. With this I close the chapter of incidents
experienced during our transit across the maritime region.

CHAPTER VI. — TO UGOGO.

The distance from Bagamoyo to Simbamwenni we found to be 119 miles, and
was accomplished in fourteen marches. But these marches, owing to
difficulties arising from the Masika season, and more especially to the
lagging of the fourth caravan under Maganga, extended to twenty-nine days,
thus rendering our progress very slow indeed—but a little more than
four miles a-day. I infer, from what I have seen of the travelling, that
had I not been encumbered by the sick Wanyamwezi porters, I could have
accomplished the distance in sixteen days. For it was not the donkeys that
proved recreant to my confidence; they, poor animals, carrying a weight of
150 lbs. each, arrived at Simbamwenni in first-rate order; but it was
Maganga, composed of greed and laziness, and his weakly-bodied tribe, who
were ever falling sick. In dry weather the number of marches might have
been much reduced. Of the half-dozen of Arabs or so who preceded this
Expedition along this route, two accomplished the entire distance in eight
days. From the brief descriptions given of the country, as it day by day
expanded to our view, enough may be gleaned to give readers a fair idea of
it. The elevation of Simbamwenni cannot be much over 1,000 feet above the
level, the rise of the land having been gradual. It being the rainy
season, about which so many ominous statements were doled out to us by
those ignorant of the character of the country, we naturally saw it under
its worst aspect; but, even in this adverse phase of it, with all its
depth of black mud, its excessive dew, its dripping and chill grass, its
density of rank jungle, and its fevers, I look back upon the scene with
pleasure, for the wealth and prosperity it promises to some civilized
nation, which in some future time will come and take possession of it. A
railroad from Bagamoyo to Simbamwenni might be constructed with as much
ease and rapidity as, and at far less cost than the Union Pacific Railway,
whose rapid strides day by day towards completion the world heard of and
admired. A residence in this part of Africa, after a thorough system of
drainage had been carried out, would not be attended with more discomfort
than generally follows upon the occupation of new land. The temperature at
this season during the day never exceeded 85 degrees Fahrenheit. The
nights were pleasant—too cold without a pair of blankets for
covering; and, as far as Simbamwenni, they were without that pest which is
so dreadful on the Nebraska and Kansas prairies, the mosquito. The only
annoyances I know of that would tell hard on the settler is the determined
ferocity of the mabungu, or horse-fly; the chufwa, &c., already
described, which, until the dense forests and jungles were cleared, would
be certain to render the keeping of domestic cattle unremunerative.

Contrary to expectation the Expedition was not able to start at the end of
two days; the third and the fourth days were passed miserably enough in
the desponding valley of Ungerengeri. This river, small as it is in the
dry seasons, becomes of considerable volume and power during the Masika,
as we experienced to our sorrow. It serves as a drain to a score of peaks
and two long ranges of mountains; winding along their base, it is the
recipient of the cascades seen flashing during the few intervals of
sunlight, of all the nullahs and ravines which render the lengthy frontage
of the mountain slopes so rugged and irregular, until it glides into the
valley of Simbamwenni a formidable body of water, opposing a serious
obstacle to caravans without means to build bridges; added to which was an
incessant downfall of rain—such a rain as shuts people in-doors and
renders them miserable and unamiable—a real London rain—an
eternal drizzle accompanied with mist and fog. When the sun shone it
appeared but a pale image of itself, and old pagazis, wise in their
traditions as old whaling captains, shook their heads ominously at the
dull spectre, and declared it was doubtful if the rain would cease for
three weeks yet.

The site of the caravan camp on the hither side of the Ungerengeri was a
hot-bed of malaria, unpleasant to witness—an abomination to memory.
The filth of generations of pagazis had gathered innumerable hosts of
creeping things. Armies of black, white, and red ants infest the stricken
soil; centipedes, like worms, of every hue, clamber over shrubs and
plants; hanging to the undergrowth are the honey-combed nests of
yellow-headed wasps with stings as harmful as scorpions; enormous beetles,
as large as full-grown mice, roll dunghills over the ground; of all sorts,
shapes, sizes, and hues are the myriad-fold vermin with which the ground
teems; in short, the richest entomological collection could not vie in
variety and numbers with the species which the four walls of my tent
enclosed from morning until night.

On the fifth morning, or the 23rd April, the rain gave us a few hours’
respite, during which we managed to wade through the Stygian quagmire
reeking with noisomeness to the inundated river-bank. The soldiers
commenced at 5 A.M. to convey the baggage across from bank to bank over a
bridge which was the most rustic of the rustic kind. Only an ignorant
African would have been satisfied with its small utility as a means to
cross a deep and rapid body of water. Even for light-footed Wanyamwezi
pagazis it was anything but comfortable to traverse. Only a professional
tight-rope performer could have carried a load across with ease. To travel
over an African bridge requires, first, a long leap from land to the limb
of a tree (which may or may not be covered by water), followed by a long
jump ashore. With 70 lbs. weight on his back, the carrier finds it
difficult enough. Sometimes he is assisted by ropes extemporized from the
long convolvuli which hang from almost every tree, but not always, these
being deemed superfluities by the Washensi.

Fortunately the baggage was transferred without a single accident, and
though the torrent was strong, the donkeys were dragged through the flood
by vigorous efforts and much objurgation without a casualty. This
performance of crossing the Ungerengeri occupied fully five hours, though
energy, abuse, and fury enough were expended for an army.

Reloading and wringing our clothes dry, we set out from the horrible
neighbourhood of the river, with its reek and filth, in a northerly
direction, following a road which led up to easy and level ground. Two
obtruding hills were thus avoided on our left, and after passing them we
had shut out the view of the hateful valley.

I always found myself more comfortable and lighthearted while travelling
than when chafing and fretting in camp at delays which no effort could
avoid, and consequently I fear that some things, while on a march, may be
tinted somewhat stronger than their appearance or merit may properly
warrant. But I thought that the view opening before us was much more
agreeable than the valley of Simbamwenni with all its indescribable
fertility. It was a series of glades opening one after another between
forest clumps of young trees, hemmed in distantly by isolated peaks and
scattered mountains. Now and again, as we crested low eminences we caught
sight of the blue Usagara mountains, bounding the horizon westerly and
northerly, and looked down upon a vast expanse of plain which lay between.

At the foot of the lengthy slope, well-watered by bubbling springs and
mountain rills, we found a comfortable khambi with well-made huts, which
the natives call Simbo. It lies just two hours or five miles north-west of
the Ungerengeri crossing. The ground is rocky, composed principally of
quartzose detritus swept down by the constant streams. In the
neighbourhood of these grow bamboo, the thickest of which was about two
and a half inches in diameter; the “myombo,” a very shapely tree, with a
clean trunk like an ash, the “imbite,” with large, fleshy leaves like the
“mtamba,” sycamore, plum-tree, the “ugaza,” ortamarisk, and the “mgungu,”
a tree containing several wide branches with small leaves clustered
together in a clump, and the silk-cotton tree.

Though there are no villages or settlements in view of Simbo Khambi, there
are several clustered within the mountain folds, inhabited by Waseguhha
somewhat prone to dishonest acts and murder.

The long broad plain visible from the eminences crossed between the
Ungerengeri and Simbo was now before us, and became known to sorrowful
memory subsequently, as the Makata Valley. The initial march was from
Simbo, its terminus at Rehenneko, at the base of the Usagara mountains,
six marches distant. The valley commences with broad undulations, covered
with young forests of bamboo, which grow thickly along the streams, the
dwarf fan-palm, the stately Palmyra, and the mgungu. These undulations
soon become broken by gullies containing water, nourishing dense crops of
cane reeds and broad-bladed grass, and, emerging from this district, wide
savannah covered with tall grass open into view, with an isolated tree
here and there agreeably breaking the monotony of the scene. The Makata is
a wilderness containing but one village of the Waseguhha throughout its
broad expanse. Venison, consequently, abounds within the forest clumps,
and the kudu, hartebeest, antelope, and zebra may be seen at early dawn
emerging into the open savannahs to feed. At night, the cyn-hyaena prowls
about with its hideous clamour seeking for sleeping prey, man or beast.

The slushy mire of the savannahs rendered marching a work of great
difficulty; its tenacious hold of the feet told terribly on men and
animals. A ten-mile march required ten hours, we were therefore compelled
to camp in the middle of this wilderness, and construct a new khambi, a
measure which was afterwards adopted by half a dozen caravans.

The cart did not arrive until nearly midnight, and with it, besides three
or four broken-down pagazis, came Bombay with the dolorous tale, that
having put his load—consisting of the property tent, one large
American axe, his two uniform coats, his shirts, beads and cloth, powder,
pistol, and hatchet—on the ground, to go and assist the cart out of
a quagmire, he had returned to the place where he had left it and could
not find it, that he believed that some thieving Washensi, who always lurk
in the rear of caravans to pick up stragglers, had decamped with it. Which
dismal tale told me at black midnight was not received at all graciously,
but rather with most wrathful words, all of which the penitent captain
received as his proper due. Working myself into a fury, I enumerated his
sins to him; he had lost a goat at Muhalleh, he had permitted Khamisi to
desert with valuable property at Imbiki; he had frequently shown culpable
negligence in not looking after the donkeys, permitting them to be tied up
at night without seeing that they had water, and in the mornings, when
about to march, he preferred to sleep until 7 o’clock, rather than wake up
early and saddle the donkeys, that we might start at 6 o’clock; he had
shown of late great love for the fire, cowering like a bloodless man
before it, torpid and apathetic; he had now lost the property-tent in the
middle of the Masika season, by which carelessness the cloth bales would
rot and become valueless; he had lost the axe which I should want at Ujiji
to construct my boat; and finally, he had lost a pistol and hatchet, and a
flaskful of the best powder. Considering all these things, how utterly
incompetent he was to be captain, I would degrade him from his office and
appoint Mabruki Burton instead. Uledi, also, following the example of
Bombay, instead of being second captain, should give no orders to any
soldiers in future, but should himself obey those given by Mabruki—the
said Mabruki being worth a dozen Bombays, and two dozen Uledis; and so he
was dismissed with orders to return at daylight to find the tent, axe,
pistol, powder, and hatchet.

The next morning the caravan, thoroughly fatigued with the last day’s
exertions, was obliged to halt. Bombay was despatched after the lost
goods; Kingaru, Mabruki the Great, and Mabruki the Little were despatched
to bring back three doti-worth of grain, on which we were to subsist in
the wilderness.

Three days passed away and we were still at camp, awaiting, with what
patience we possessed, the return of the soldiers. In the meantime
provisions ran very low, no game could be procured, the birds were so
wild. Two days shooting procured but two potfuls of birds, consisting of
grouse, quail, and pigeons. Bombay returned unsuccessfully from his search
after the missing property, and suffered deep disgrace.

On the fourth day I despatched Shaw with two more soldiers, to see what
had become of Kingaru and the two Mabrukis. Towards night he returned
completely prostrated, with a violent attack of the mukunguru, or ague;
but bringing the missing soldiers, who were thus left to report for
themselves.

With most thankful hearts did we quit our camp, where so much anxiety of
mind and fretfulness had been suffered, not heeding a furious rain, which,
after drenching us all night, might have somewhat damped our ardor for the
march under other circumstances. The road for the first mile led over
reddish ground, and was drained by gentle slopes falling east and west;
but, leaving the cover of the friendly woods, on whose eastern margin we
had been delayed so long, we emerged into one of the savannahs, whose soil
during the rain is as soft as slush and tenacious as thick mortar, where
we were all threatened with the fate of the famous Arkansas traveller, who
had sunk so low in one of the many quagmires in Arkansas county, that
nothing but his tall “stove-pipe” hat was left visible.

Shaw was sick, and the whole duty of driving the foundering caravan
devolved upon myself. The Wanyamwezi donkeys stuck in the mire as if they
were rooted to it. As fast as one was flogged from his stubborn position,
prone to the depths fell another, giving me a Sisyphean labour, which was
maddening trader pelting rain, assisted by such men as Bombay and Uledi,
who could not for a whole skin’s sake stomach the storm and mire. Two
hours of such a task enabled me to drag my caravan over a savannah one
mile and a half broad; and barely had I finished congratulating myself
over my success before I was halted by a deep ditch, which, filled with
rain-water from the inundated savannahs, had become a considerable stream,
breast-deep, flowing swiftly into the Makata. Donkeys had to be unloaded,
led through a torrent, and loaded again on the other bank—an
operation which consumed a full hour.

Presently, after straggling through a wood clump, barring our progress was
another stream, swollen into a river. The bridge being swept away, we were
obliged to swim and float our baggage over, which delayed us two hours
more. Leaving this second river-bank, we splashed, waded, occasionally
half-swimming, and reeled through mire, water-dripping grass and matama
stalks, along the left bank of the Makata proper, until farther progress
was effectually prevented for that day by a deep bend of the river, which
we should be obliged to cross the next day.

Though but six miles were traversed during that miserable day, the march
occupied ten hours.

Half dead with fatigue, I yet could feel thankful that it was not
accompanied by fever, which it seemed a miracle to avoid; for if ever a
district was cursed with the ague, the Makata wilderness ranks foremost of
those afflicted. Surely the sight of the dripping woods enveloped in
opaque mist, of the inundated country with lengthy swathes of tiger-grass
laid low by the turbid flood, of mounds of decaying trees and canes, of
the swollen river and the weeping sky, was enough to engender the
mukunguru! The well-used khambi, and the heaps of filth surrounding it,
were enough to create a cholera!

The Makata, a river whose breadth during the dry season is but forty feet,
in the Masika season assumes the breadth, depth, and force of an important
river. Should it happen to be an unusually rainy season, it inundates the
great plain which stretches on either side, and converts it into a great
lake. It is the main feeder of the Wami river, which empties into the sea
between the ports of Saadani and Whinde. About ten miles north-east of the
Makata crossing, the Great Makata, the Little Makata, a nameless creek,
and the Rudewa river unite; and the river thus formed becomes known as the
Wami. Throughout Usagara the Wami is known as the Mukondokwa. Three of
these streams take their rise from the crescent-like Usagara range, which
bounds the Makata plain south and south-westerly; while the Rudewa rises
in the northern horn of the same range.

So swift was the flow of the Makata, and so much did its unsteady bridge,
half buried in the water, imperil the safety of the property, that its
transfer from bank to bank occupied fully five hours. No sooner had we
landed every article on the other side, undamaged by the water, than the
rain poured down in torrents that drenched them all, as if they had been
dragged through the river. To proceed through the swamp which an hour’s
rain had formed was utterly out of the question. We were accordingly
compelled to camp in a place where every hour furnished its quota of
annoyance. One of the Wangwana soldiers engaged at Bagamoyo, named
Kingaru, improved an opportunity to desert with another Mgwana’s kit. My
two detectives, Uledi (Grant’s valet), and Sarmean, were immediately
despatched in pursuit, both being armed with American breech-loaders. They
went about their task with an adroitness and celerity which augured well
for their success. In an hour they returned with the runaway, having found
him hidden in the house of a Mseguhha chief called Kigondo, who lived
about a mile from the eastern bank of the river, and who had accompanied
Uledi and Sarmean to receive his reward, and render an account of the
incident.

Kigondo said, when he had been seated, “I saw this man carrying a bundle,
and running hard, by which I knew that he was deserting you. We (my wife
and 1) were sitting in our little watch-hut, watching our corn; and, as
the road runs close by, this man was obliged to come close to us. We
called to him when he was near, saying, ‘Master, where are you going so
fast? Are you deserting the Musungu, for we know you belong to him, since
you bought from us yesterday two doti worth of meat?’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I
am running away; I want to get to Simbamwenni. If you will take me there,
I will give you a doti.’ We said to him then, ‘Come into our house, and we
will talk it over quietly. When he was in our house in an inner room, we
locked him up, and went out again to the watch; but leaving word with the
women to look out for him. We knew that, if you wanted him, you would send
askari (soldiers) after him. We had but lit our pipes when we saw two men
armed with short guns, and having no loads, coming along the road, looking
now and then on the ground, as if they were looking at footmarks. We knew
them to be the men we were expecting; so we hailed them, and said,
‘Masters, what are ye looking for?’ \ They said, ‘We are looking for a man
who has deserted our master. Here are his footsteps. If you have been long
in your hut you must have seen him, Can you tell us where he is?’ We said,
‘yes; he is in our house. If you will come with us, we will give him up to
you; but your master must give us something for catching him.'”

As Kigondo had promised to deliver Kingaru up, there remained nothing
further to do for Uledi and Sarmean but to take charge of their prisoner,
and bring him and his captors to my camp on the western bank of the
Makata. Kingaru received two dozen lashes, and was chained; his captor a
doti, besides five khete of red coral beads for his wife.

That down-pour of rain which visited us the day we crossed the Makata
proved the last of the Masika season. As the first rainfall which we had
experienced occurred on the 23rd March, and the last on the 30th April,
its duration was thirty-nine days. The seers of Bagamoyo had delivered
their vaticinations concerning this same Masika with solemnity. “For forty
days,” said they, “rain would fall incessantly;” whereas we had but
experienced eighteen days’ rain. Nevertheless, we were glad that it was
over, for we were tired of stopping day after day to dry the bales and
grease the tools and ironware, and of seeing all things of cloth and
leather rot visibly before our eyes.

The 1st of May found us struggling through the mire and water of the
Makata with a caravan bodily sick, from the exertion and fatigue of
crossing so many rivers and wading through marshes. Shaw was still
suffering from his first mukunguru; Zaidi, a soldier, was critically ill
with the small-pox; the kichuma-chuma, “little irons,” had hold of Bombay
across the chest, rendering him the most useless of the unserviceables;
Mabruk Saleem, a youth of lusty frame, following the example of Bombay,
laid himself down on the marshy ground, professing his total inability to
breast the Makata swamp; Abdul Kader, the Hindi tailor and adventurer—the
weakliest of mortal bodies—was ever ailing for lack of “force,” as
he expressed it in French, i.e. “strength,” ever indisposed to work,
shiftless, mock-sick, but ever hungry. “Oh! God,” was the cry of my tired
soul, “were all the men of my Expedition like this man I should be
compelled to return.” Solomon was wise perhaps from inspiration, perhaps
from observation; I was becoming wise by experience, and I was compelled
to observe that when mud and wet sapped the physical energy of the
lazily-inclined, a dog-whip became their backs, restoring them to a sound—some-times
to an extravagant activity.

For thirty miles from our camp was the Makata plain an extensive swamp.
The water was on an average one foot in depth; in some places we plunged
into holes three, four, and even five feet deep. Plash, splash, plash,
splash, were the only sounds we heard from the commencement of the march
until we found the bomas occupying the only dry spots along the line of
march. This kind of work continued for two days, until we came in sight of
the Rudewa river, another powerful stream with banks brimful of rushing
rain-water. Crossing a branch of the Rudewa, and emerging from the dank
reedy grass crowding the western bank, the view consisted of an immense
sheet of water topped by clumps of grass tufts and foliage of thinly
scattered trees, bounded ten or twelve miles off by the eastern front of
the Usagara mountain range. The acme of discomfort and vexation was
realized on the five-mile march from the Rudewa branch. As myself and the
Wangwana appeared with the loaded donkeys, the pagazis were observed
huddled on a mound. When asked if the mound was the camp, they replied
“No.” “Why, then, do you stop here?”—”Ugh! water plenty!!” One drew
a line across his loins to indicate the depth of water before us, another
drew a line across his chest, another across his throat another held his
hand over his head, by which he meant that we should have to swim. Swim
five miles through a reedy marsh! It was impossible; it was also
impossible that such varied accounts could all be correct. Without
hesitation, therefore, I ordered the Wangwana to proceed with the animals.
After three hours of splashing through four feet of water we reached dry
land, and had traversed the swamp of Makata. But not without the swamp
with its horrors having left a durable impression upon our minds; no one
was disposed to forget its fatigues, nor the nausea of travel which it
almost engendered. Subsequently, we had to remember its passage still more
vividly, and to regret that we had undertaken the journey during the
Masika season, when the animals died from this date by twos and threes,
almost every day, until but five sickly worn-out beasts remained; when the
Wangwana, soldiers, and pagazis sickened of diseases innumerable; when I
myself was finally compelled to lie a-bed with an attack of acute
dysentery which brought me to the verge of the grave. I suffered more,
perhaps, than I might have done had I taken the proper medicine, but my
over-confidence in that compound, called “Collis Brown’s Chlorodyne,”
delayed the cure which ultimately resulted from a judicious use of Dover’s
powder. In no one single case of diarrhoea or acute dysentery had this
“Chlorodyne,” about which so much has been said, and written, any effect
of lessening the attack whatever, though I used three bottles. To the
dysentery contracted during, the transit of the Makata swamp, only two
fell victims, and those were a pagazi and my poor little dog “Omar,” my
companion from India.

The only tree of any prominence in the Makata valley was the Palmyra palm
(Borassus flabelliformis), and this grew in some places in numbers
sufficient to be called a grove; the fruit was not ripe while we passed,
otherwise we might have enjoyed it as a novelty. The other vegetation
consisted of the several species of thorn bush, and the graceful
parachute-topped and ever-green mimosa.

The 4th of May we were ascending a gentle slope towards the important
village of Rehenneko, the first village near to which we encamped in
Usagara. It lay at the foot of the mountain, and its plenitude and
mountain air promised us comfort and health. It was a square, compact
village, surrounded by a thick wall of mud, enclosing cone-topped huts,
roofed with bamboo and holcus-stalks; and contained a population of about
a thousand souls. It has several wealthy and populous neighbours, whose
inhabitants are independent enough in their manner, but not unpleasantly
so. The streams are of the purest water, fresh, and pellucid as crystal,
bubbling over round pebbles and clean gravel, with a music delightful to
hear to the traveller in search of such a sweetly potable element.

The bamboo grows to serviceable size in the neighbourhood of Rehenneko,
strong enough for tent and banghy poles; and in numbers sufficient to
supply an army. The mountain slopes are densely wooded with trees that
might supply very good timber for building purposes.

We rested four days at this pleasant spot, to recruit ourselves, and to
allow the sick and feeble time to recover a little before testing their
ability in the ascent of the Usagara mountains.

The 8th of May saw us with our terribly jaded men and animals winding up
the steep slopes of the first line of hills; gaining the summit of which
we obtained a view remarkably grand, which exhibited as in a master
picture the broad valley of the Makata, with its swift streams like so
many cords of silver, as the sunshine played on the unshadowed reaches of
water, with its thousands of graceful palms adding not a little to the
charm of the scene, with the great wall of the Uruguru and Uswapanga
mountains dimly blue, but sublime in their loftiness and immensity—forming
a fit background to such an extensive, far-embracing prospect.

Turning our faces west, we found ourselves in a mountain world, fold
rising above fold, peak behind peak, cone jostling cone; away to the
north, to the west, to the south, the mountain tops rolled like so many
vitrified waves; not one adust or arid spot was visible in all this scene.
The diorama had no sudden changes or striking contrasts, for a universal
forest of green trees clothed every peak, cone, and summit.

To the men this first day’s march through the mountain region of Usagara
was an agreeable interlude after the successive journey over the flats and
heavy undulations of the maritime region, but to the loaded and enfeebled
animals it was most trying. We were minus two by the time we had arrived
at our camp, but seven miles from Rehenneko, our first instalment of the
debt we owed to Makata. Water, sweet and clear, was abundant in the deep
hollows of the mountains, flowing sometimes over beds of solid granite,
sometimes over a rich red sandstone, whose soft substance was soon
penetrated by the aqueous element, and whose particles were swept away
constantly to enrich the valley below; and in other ravines it dashed, and
roared, miniature thunder, as it leaped over granite boulders and quartz
rock.

The 9th of May, after another such an up-and-down course, ascending hills
and descending into the twilight depths of deepening valleys, we came
suddenly upon the Mukondokwa, and its narrow pent-up valley crowded with
rank reedy grass, cane, and thorny bushes; and rugged tamarisk which
grappled for existence with monster convolvuli, winding their coils around
their trunks with such tenacity and strength that the tamarisk seemed
grown but for their support.

The valley was barely a quarter of a mile broad in some places—at
others it widened to about a mile. The hills on either side shot up into
precipitous slopes, clothed with mimosa, acacia, and tamarisk, enclosing a
river and valley whose curves and folds were as various as a serpent’s.

Shortly after debouching into the Mukondokwa valley, we struck the road
traversed by Captains Buxton and Speke in 1857, between Mbumi and
Kadetamare (the latter place should be called Misonghi, Kadetamare being
but the name of a chief). After following the left bank of the Mukondokwa,
during which our route diverged to every point from south-east to west,
north and northeast, for about an hour, we came to the ford. Beyond the
ford, a short half-hour’s march, we came to Kiora.

At this filthy village of Kiora, which was well-grounded with goat-dung,
and peopled with a wonderful number of children for a hamlet that did not
number twenty families, with a hot sun pouring on the limited open space,
with a fury that exceeded 128 degrees Fahrenheit; which swarmed with flies
and insects of known and unknown species; I found, as I had been
previously informed, the third caravan, which had started out of Bagamoyo
so well fitted and supplied. The leader, who was no other than the white
man Farquhar, was sick-a-bed with swollen legs (Bright’s disease), unable
to move.

As he heard my voice, Farquhar staggered out of his tent, so changed from
my spruce mate who started from Bagamoyo, that I hardly knew him at first.
His legs were ponderous, elephantine, since his leg-illness was of
elephantiasis, or dropsy. His face was of a deathly pallor, for he had not
been out of his tent for two weeks.

A breezy hill, overlooking the village of Kiora, was chosen by me for my
camping-ground, and as soon as the tents were pitched, the animals
attended to, and a boma made of thorn bushes, Farquhar was carried up by
four men into my tent. Upon being questioned as to the cause of his
illness, he said he did not know what had caused it. He had no pain, he
thought, anywhere. I asked, “Do you not sometimes feel pain on the right
side?”—”Yes, I think I do; but I don’t know.”—”Nor over the
left nipple sometimes—a quick throbbing, with a shortness of
breath?”—”Yes, I think I have. I know I breathe quick sometimes.” He
said his only trouble was in the legs, which were swollen to an immense
size. Though he had a sound appetite, he yet felt weak in the legs.

From the scant information of the disease and its peculiarities, as given
by Farquhar himself, I could only make out, by studying a little medical
book I had with me, that “a swelling of the legs, and sometimes of the
body, might result from either heart, liver, or kidney disease.” But I did
not know to what to ascribe the disease, unless it was to elephantiasis—a
disease most common in Zanzibar; nor did I know how to treat it in a man
who, could not tell me whether he felt pain in his head or in his back, in
his feet or in his chest.

It was therefore fortunate for me that I overtook him at Kiora; though he
was about to prove a sore incumbrance to me, for he was not able to walk,
and the donkey-carriage, after the rough experience of the Makata valley,
was failing. I could not possibly leave him at Kiora, death would soon
overtake him there; but how long I could convey a man in such a state,
through a country devoid of carriage, was a question to be resolved by
circumstances.

On the 11th of May, the third and fifth caravans, now united, followed up
the right bank of the Mukondokwa, through fields of holcus, the great
Mukondokwa ranges rising in higher altitude as we proceeded west, and
enfolding us in the narrow river valley round about. We left Muniyi
Usagara on our right, and soon after found hill-spurs athwart our road,
which we were obliged to ascend and descend.

A march of eight miles from the ford of Misonghi brought us to another
ford of the Mukondokwa, where we bid a long adieu to Burton’s road, which
led up to the Goma pass and up the steep slopes of Rubeho. Our road left
the right bank and followed the left over a country quite the reverse of
the Mukondokwa Valley, enclosed between mountain ranges. Fertile soils and
spontaneous vegetation, reeking with miasma and overpowering from their
odour, we had exchanged for a drouthy wilderness of aloetic and cactaceous
plants, where the kolquall and several thorn bushes grew paramount.

Instead of the tree-clad heights, slopes and valleys, instead of
cultivated fields, we saw now the confines of uninhabited wilderness. The
hill-tops were bared of their bosky crowns, and revealed their rocky
natures bleached white by rain and sun. Nguru Peak, the loftiest of the
Usagara cones, stood right shoulderwards of us as we ascended the long
slope of dun-grey soil which rose beyond the brown Mukondokwa on the left.

At the distance of two miles from the last ford, we found a neat khambi,
situated close to the river, where it first broke into a furious rapid.

The next morning the caravan was preparing for the march, when I was
informed that the “Bana Mdogo”—little master—Shaw, had not yet
arrived with the cart, and the men in charge of it. Late the previous
night I had despatched one donkey for Shaw, who had said he was too ill to
walk, and another for the load that was on the cart; and had retired
satisfied that they would soon arrive. My conclusion, when I learned in
the morning that the people had not yet come in, was that Shaw was not
aware that for five days we should have to march through a wilderness
totally uninhabited. I therefore despatched Chowpereh, a Mgwana soldier,
with the following note to him:—”You will, upon receipt of this
order pitch the cart into the nearest ravine, gully, or river, as well as
all the extra pack saddles; and come at once, for God’s sake, for we must
not starve here!”

One, two, three, and four hours were passed by me in the utmost
impatience, waiting, but in vain, for Shaw. Having a long march before us,
I could wait no longer, but went to meet his party myself. About a quarter
of mile from the ford I met the van of the laggards—stout burly
Chowpereh—and, O cartmakers, listen! he carried the cart on his head—wheels,
shafts, body, axle, and all complete; he having found that carrying it was
much easier than drawing it. The sight was such a damper to my regard for
it as an experiment, that the cart was wheeled into the depths of the tall
reeds, and there left. The central figure was Shaw himself, riding at a
gait which seemed to leave it doubtful on my mind whether he or his animal
felt most sleepy. Upon expostulating with him for keeping the caravan so
long waiting when there was a march on hand, in a most peculiar voice—which
he always assumed when disposed to be ugly-tempered—he said he had
done the best he could; but as I had seen the solemn pace at which he
rode, I felt dubious about his best endeavours; and of course there was a
little scene, but the young European mtongi of an East African expedition
must needs sup with the fellows he has chosen.

We arrived at Madete at 4 P.M., minus two donkeys, which had stretched
their weary limbs in death. We had crossed the Mukondokwa about 3 P.M.,
and after taking its bearings and course, I made sure that its rise took
place near a group of mountains about forty miles north by west of Nguru
Peak. Our road led W.N.W., and at this place finally diverged from the
river.

On the 14th, after a march of seven miles over hills whose sandstone and
granite formation cropped visibly here and there above the surface, whose
stony and dry aspect seemed reflected in every bush and plant, and having
gained an altitude of about eight hundred feet above the flow of the
Mukondokwa, we sighted the Lake of Ugombo—a grey sheet of water
lying directly at the foot of the hill, from whose summit we gazed at the
scene. The view was neither beautiful nor pretty, but what I should call
refreshing; it afforded a pleasant relief to the eyes fatigued from
dwelling on the bleak country around. Besides, the immediate neighbourhood
of the lake was too tame to call forth any enthusiasm; there were no
grandly swelling mountains, no smiling landscapes—nothing but a
dun-brown peak, about one thousand feet high above the surface of the lake
at its western extremity, from which the lake derived its name, Ugombo;
nothing but a low dun-brown irregular range, running parallel with its
northern shore at the distance of a mile; nothing but a low plain
stretching from its western shore far away towards the Mpwapwa Mountains
and Marenga Mkali, then apparent to us from our coign of vantage, from
which extensive scene of dun-brownness we were glad to rest our eyes on
the quiet grey water beneath.

Descending from the summit of the range, which bounded the lake east for
about four hundred feet, we travelled along the northern shore. The time
occupied in the journey from the eastern to the western extremity was
exactly one hour and thirty minutes.

As this side represents its greatest length I conclude that the lake is
three miles long by two miles greatest breadth. The immediate shores of
the lake on all sides, for at least fifty feet from the water’s edge, is
one impassable morass nourishing rank reeds and rushes, where the
hippopotamus’ ponderous form has crushed into watery trails the soft
composition of the morass as he passes from the lake on his nocturnal
excursions; the lesser animals; such as the “mbogo” (buffalo), the
“punda-terra” (zebra); the “twiga” (giraffe), the boar, the kudu, the
hyrax or coney and the antelope; come here also to quench their thirst by
night. The surface of the lake swarms with an astonishing variety of
water-fowl; such as black swan, duck, ibis sacra cranes, pelicans; and
soaring above on the look-out for their prey are fish-eagles and hawks,
while the neighbourhood is resonant with the loud chirps of the
guinea-fowls calling for their young, with the harsh cry of the toucan,
the cooing of the pigeon, and the “to-whit, to-whoo” of the owl. From the
long grass in its vicinity also issue the grating and loud cry of the
florican, woodcock, and grouse.

Being obliged to halt here two days, owing to the desertion of the Hindi
cooper Jako with one of my best carbines, I improved the opportunity of
exploring the northern and southern shores of the lake. At the rocky foot
of a low, humpy hill on the northern side, about fifteen feet above the
present surface of the water I detected in most distinct and definite
lines the agency of waves. From its base could be traced clear to the edge
of the dank morass tiny lines of comminuted shell as plainly marked as the
small particles which lie in rows on a beech after a receding tide. There
is no doubt that the wave-marks on the sandstone might have been traced
much higher by one skilled in geology; it was only its elementary
character that was visible to me. Nor do I entertain the least doubt,
after a two days’ exploration of the neighbourhood, especially of the low
plain at the western end, that this Lake of Ugombo is but the tail of what
was once a large body of water equal in extent to the Tanganika; and,
after ascending half way up Ugombo Peak, this opinion was confirmed when I
saw the long-depressed line of plain at its base stretching towards the
Mpwapwa Mountains thirty miles off, and thence round to Marenga Mkali, and
covering all that extensive surface of forty miles in breadth, and an
unknown length. A depth of twelve feet more, I thought, as I gazed upon
it, would give the lake a length of thirty miles, and a breadth of ten. A
depth of thirty feet would increase its length over a hundred miles, and
give it a breadth of fifty, for such was the level nature of the plain
that stretched west of Ugombo, and north of Marenga Mkali. Besides the
water of the lake partook slightly of the bitter nature of the Matamombo
creek, distant fifteen miles, and in a still lesser degree of that of
Marenga Mkali, forty miles off.

Towards the end of the first day of our halt the Hindi cooper Jako arrived
in camp, alleging as an excuse, that feeling fatigued he had fallen asleep
in some bushes a few feet from the roadside. Having been the cause of our
detention in the hungry wilderness of Ugombo, I was not in a frame of mind
to forgive him; so, to prevent any future truant tricks on his part, I was
under the necessity of including him with the chained gangs of runaways.

Two more of our donkeys died, and to prevent any of the valuable baggage
being left behind, I was obliged to send Farquhar off on my own riding-ass
to the village of Mpwapwa, thirty miles off, under charge of Mabruki
Burton.

To save the Expedition from ruin, I was reluctantly compelled to come to
the conclusion that it were better for me, for him, and concerned, that he
be left with some kind chief of a village, with a six months’ supply of
cloth and beads, until he got well, than that he make his own recovery
impossible.

The 16th of May saw us journeying over the plain which lies between Ugombo
and Mpwapwa, skirting close, at intervals, a low range of trap-rock, out
of which had become displaced by some violent agency several immense
boulders. On its slopes grew the kolquall to a size which I had not seen
in Abyssinia. In the plain grew baobab, and immense tamarind, and a
variety of thorn.

Within five hours from Ugombo the mountain range deflected towards the
north-east, while we continued on a north-westerly course, heading for the
lofty mountain-line of the Mpwapwa. To our left towered to the blue clouds
the gigantic Rubeho. The adoption of this new road to Unyanyembe by which
we were travelling was now explained—we were enabled to avoid the
passes and stiff steeps of Rubeho, and had nothing worse to encounter than
a broad smooth plain, which sloped gently to Ugogo.

After a march of fifteen miles we camped at a dry mtoni, called Matamombo,
celebrated for its pools of bitter water of the colour of ochre. Monkeys
and rhinoceroses, besides kudus, steinboks, and antelopes, were numerous
in the vicinity. At this camp my little dog “Omar” died of inflammation of
the bowels, almost on the threshold of the country—Ugogo—where
his faithful watchfulness would have been invaluable to me.

The next day’s march was also fifteen miles in length, through one
interminable jungle of thorn-bushes. Within two miles of the camp, the
road led up a small river bed, broad as an avenue, clear to the khambi of
Mpwapwa; which was situated close to a number of streams of the purest
water.

The following morning found us much fatigued after the long marches from
Ugombo, and generally disposed to take advantage of the precious luxuries
Mpwapwa offered to caravans fresh from the fly-plagued lands of the
Waseguhha and Wadoe. Sheikh Thani—clever but innocently-speaking old
Arab—was encamped under the grateful umbrage of a huge Mtamba
sycamore, and had been regaling himself with fresh milk, luscious mutton,
and rich bullock humps, ever since his arrival here, two days before; and,
as he informed me, it did not suit his views to quit such a happy
abundance so soon for the saline nitrous water of Marenga Mkali, with its
several terekezas, and manifold disagreeables. “No!” said he to me,
emphatically, “better stop here two or three days, give your tired animals
some rest; collect all the pagazis you can, fill your inside with fresh
milk, sweet potatoes, beef, mutton, ghee, honey, beans, matama, maweri,
and nuts;—then, Inshallah! we shall go together through Ugogo
without stopping anywhere.” As the advice tallied accurately with my own
desired and keen appetite for the good things he named, he had not long to
wait for my assent to his counsel. “Ugogo,” continued he, “is rich with
milk and honey—rich in flour, beans and almost every eatable thing;
and, Inshallah! before another week is gone we shall be in Ugogo!”

I had heard from passing caravans so many extremely favourable reports
respecting Ugogo and its productions that it appeared to me a very Land of
Promise, and I was most anxious to refresh my jaded stomach with some of
the precious esculents raised in Ugogo; but when I heard that Mpwapwa also
furnished some of those delicate eatables, and good things, most of the
morning hours were spent in inducing the slow-witted people to part with
them; and when, finally, eggs, milk, honey, mutton, ghee, ground matama
and beans had been collected in sufficient quantities to produce a
respectable meal, my keenest attention and best culinary talents were
occupied for a couple of hours in converting this crude supply into a
breakfast which could be accepted by and befit a stomach at once
fastidious and famished, such as mine was. The subsequent healthy
digestion of it proved my endeavours to have been eminently successful. At
the termination of this eventful day, the following remark was jotted down
in my diary: “Thank God! After fifty-seven days of living upon matama
porridge and tough goat, I have enjoyed with unctuous satisfaction a real
breakfast and dinner.”

It was in one of the many small villages which are situated upon the
slopes of the Mpwapwa that a refuge and a home for Farquhar was found
until he should be enabled by restored health to start to join us at
Unyanyembe.

Food was plentiful and of sufficient variety to suit the most fastidious—cheap
also, much cheaper than we had experienced for many a day. Leucole, the
chief of the village, with whom arrangements for Farquhar’s protection and
comfort were made, was a little old man of mild eye and very pleasing
face, and on being informed that it was intended to leave the Musungu
entirely under his charge, suggested that some man should be left to wait
on him, and interpret his wishes to his people.

As Jako was the only one who could speak English, except Bombay and Selim,
Jako was appointed, and the chief Leucole was satisfied. Six months’
provisions of white beads, Merikani and Kaniki cloth, together with two
doti of handsome cloth to serve as a present to Leucole after his
recovery, were taken to Farquhar by Bombay, together with a Starr’s
carbine, 300 rounds of cartridge, a set of cooking pots, and 3 lbs. of
tea.

Abdullah bin Nasib, who was found encamped here with five hundred pagazis,
and a train of Arab and Wasawahili satellites, who revolved around his
importance, treated me in somewhat the same manner that Hamed bin Sulayman
treated Speke at Kasenge. Followed by his satellites, he came (a tall
nervous-looking man, of fifty or thereabouts) to see me in my camp, and
asked me if I wished to purchase donkeys. As all my animals were either
sick or moribund, I replied very readily in the affirmative, upon which he
graciously said he would sell me as many as I wanted, and for payment I
could give him a draft on Zanzibar. I thought him a very considerate and
kind person, fully justifying the encomiums lavished on him in Burton’s
‘Lake Regions of Central Africa,’ and accordingly I treated him with the
consideration due to so great and good a man. The morrow came, and with it
went Abdullah bin Nasib, or “Kisesa,” as he is called by the Wanyamwezi,
with all his pagazis, his train of followers, and each and every one of
his donkeys, towards Bagamoyo, without so much as giving a “Kwaheri,” or
good-bye.

At this place there are generally to be found from ten to thirty pagazis
awaiting up-caravans. I was fortunate enough to secure twelve good people,
who, upon my arrival at Unyanyembe, without an exception, voluntarily
engaged themselves as carriers to Ujiji. With the formidable marches of
Marenga Mkali in front, I felt thankful for this happy windfall, which
resolved the difficulties I had been anticipating; for I had but ten
donkeys left, and four of these were so enfeebled that they were worthless
as baggage animals.

Mpwapwa—so called by the Arabs, who have managed to corrupt almost
every native word—is called “Mbambwa” by the Wasagara. It is a
mountain range rising over 6,000 feet above the sea, bounding on the north
the extensive plain which commences at Ugombo lake, and on the east that
part of the plain which is called Marenga Mkali, which stretches away
beyond the borders of Uhumba. Opposite Mpwapwa, at the distance of thirty
miles or so, rises the Anak peak of Rubeho, with several other ambitious
and tall brethren cresting long lines of rectilinear scarps, which ascend
from the plain of Ugombo and Marenga Mkali as regularly as if they had
been chiselled out by the hands of generations of masons and stonecutters.

Upon looking at Mpwapwa’s greenly-tinted slopes, dark with many a
densely-foliaged tree; its many rills flowing sweet and clear, nourishing
besides thick patches of gum and thorn bush, giant sycamore and
parachute-topped mimosa, and permitting my imagination to picture sweet
views behind the tall cones above, I was tempted to brave the fatigue of
an ascent to the summit. Nor was my love for the picturesque disappointed.
One sweep of the eyes embraced hundreds of square miles of plain and
mountain, from Ugombo Peak away to distant Ugogo, and from Rubeho and
Ugogo to the dim and purple pasture lands of the wild, untamable Wahumba.
The plain of Ugombo and its neighbour of Marenga Mkali, apparently level
as a sea, was dotted here and there with “hillocks dropt in Nature’s
careless haste,” which appeared like islands amid the dun and green
expanse. Where the jungle was dense the colour was green, alternating with
dark brown; where the plain appeared denuded of bush and brake it had a
whity-brown appearance, on which the passing clouds now and again cast
their deep shadows. Altogether this side of the picture was not inviting;
it exhibited too plainly the true wilderness in its sternest aspect; but
perhaps the knowledge that in the bosom of the vast plain before me there
was not one drop of water but was bitter as nitre, and undrinkable as
urine, prejudiced me against it, The hunter might consider it a paradise,
for in its depths were all kinds of game to attract his keenest instincts;
but to the mere traveller it had a stern outlook. Nearer, however, to the
base of the Mpwapwa the aspect of the plain altered. At first the jungle
thinned, openings in the wood appeared, then wide and naked clearings,
then extensive fields of the hardy holcus, Indian corn, and maweri or
bajri, with here and there a square tembe or village. Still nearer ran
thin lines of fresh young grass, great trees surrounded a patch of
alluvial meadow. A broad river-bed, containing several rivulets of water,
ran through the thirsty fields, conveying the vivifying element which in
this part of Usagara was so scarce and precious. Down to the river-bed
sloped the Mpwapwa, roughened in some places by great boulders of basalt,
or by rock masses, which had parted from a precipitous scarp, where clung
the kolquall with a sure hold, drawing nourishment where every other green
thing failed; clad in others by the hardy mimosa, which rose like a
sloping bank of green verdure almost to the summit. And, happy sight to me
so long a stranger to it, there were hundreds of cattle grazing, imparting
a pleasing animation to the solitude of the deep folds of the mountain
range.

But the fairest view was obtained by looking northward towards the dense
group of mountains which buttressed the front range, facing towards
Rubeho. It was the home of the winds, which starting here and sweeping
down the precipitous slopes and solitary peaks on the western side, and
gathering strength as they rushed through the prairie-like Marenga Mkali,
howled through Ugogo and Unyamwezi with the force of a storm, It was also
the home of the dews, where sprang the clear springs which cheered by
their music the bosky dells below, and enriched the populous district of
Mpwapwa. One felt better, stronger, on this breezy height, drinking in the
pure air and feasting the eyes on such a varied landscape as it presented,
on spreading plateaus green as lawns, on smooth rounded tops, on mountain
vales containing recesses which might charm a hermit’s soul, on deep and
awful ravines where reigned a twilight gloom, on fractured and riven
precipices, on huge fantastically-worn boulders which overtopped them, on
picturesque tracts which embraced all that was wild, and all that was
poetical in Nature.

Mpwapwa, though the traveller from the coast will feel grateful for the
milk it furnished after being so long deprived of it, will be kept in mind
as a most remarkable place for earwigs. In my tent they might be counted
by thousands; in my slung cot they were by hundreds; on my clothes they
were by fifties; on my neck and head they were by scores. The several
plagues of locusts, fleas, and lice sink into utter insignificance
compared with this fearful one of earwigs. It is true they did not bite,
and they did not irritate the cuticle, but what their presence and numbers
suggested was something so horrible that it drove one nearly insane to
think of it. Who will come to East Africa without reading the experiences
of Burton and Speke? Who is he that having read them will not remember
with horror the dreadful account given by Speke of his encounters with
these pests? My intense nervous watchfulness alone, I believe, saved me
from a like calamity.

Second to the earwigs in importance and in numbers were the white ants,
whose powers of destructiveness were simply awful. Mats, cloth,
portmanteaus, clothes, in short, every article I possessed, seemed on the
verge of destruction, and, as I witnessed their voracity, I felt anxious
lest my tent should be devoured while I slept. This was the first khambi
since leaving the coast where their presence became a matter of anxiety;
at all other camping places hitherto the red and black ants had usurped
our attention, but at Mpwapwa the red species were not seen, while the
black were also very scarce.

After a three days’ halt at Mpwapwa I decided of a march to Marenga Mkali,
which should be uninterrupted until we reached Mvumi in Ugogo, where I
should be inducted into the art of paying tribute to the Wagogo chiefs.
The first march to Kisokweh was purposely made short, being barely four
miles, in order to enable Sheikh Thani, Sheikh Hamed, and five or six
Wasawahili caravans to come up with me at Chunyo on the confines of
Marenga Mkali.

CHAPTER VII. — MARENGA MKALI, UGOGO, AND UYANZI, TO UNYANYEMBE.

The 22nd of May saw Thani and Hamed’s caravans united with my own at
Chunyo, three and a half hours’ march from Mpwapwa. The road from the
latter place ran along the skirts of the Mpwapwa range; at three or four
places it crossed outlying spurs that stood isolated from the main body of
the range. The last of these hill spurs, joined by an elevated cross ridge
to the Mpwapwa, shelters the tembe of Chunyo, situated on the western
face, from the stormy gusts that come roaring down the steep slopes. The
water of Chunyo is eminently bad, in fact it is its saline-nitrous nature
which has given the name Marenga Mkali—bitter water—to the
wilderness which separates Usagara from Ugogo. Though extremely offensive
to the palate, Arabs and the natives drink it without fear, and without
any bad results; but they are careful to withhold their baggage animals
from the pits. Being ignorant of its nature, and not exactly understanding
what precise location was meant by Marenga Mkali, I permitted the donkeys
to be taken to water, as usual after a march; and the consequence was
calamitous in the extreme. What the fearful swamp of Makata had spared,
the waters of Marenga Mkali destroyed. In less than five days after our
departure from Chunyo or Marenga Mali, five out of the nine donkeys left
to me at the time—the five healthiest animals—fell victims.

We formed quite an imposing caravan as we emerged from inhospitable
Chunyo, in number amounting to about four hundred souls. We were strong in
guns, flags, horns, sounding drums and noise. To Sheikh Hamed, by
permission of Sheikh Thani, and myself was allotted the task of guiding
and leading this great caravan through dreaded Ugogo; which was a most
unhappy selection, as will be seen hereafter.

Marenga Mali, over thirty miles across, was at last before us. This
distance had to be traversed within thirty-six hours, so that the fatigue
of the ordinary march would be more than doubled by this. From Chunyo to
Ugogo not one drop of water was to be found. As a large caravan, say over
two hundred souls, seldom travels over one and three-quarter miles per
hour, a march of thirty miles would require seventeen hours of endurance
without water and but little rest. East Africa generally possessing
unlimited quantities of water, caravans have not been compelled for lack
of the element to have recourse to the mushok of India and the khirbeh of
Egypt. Being able to cross the waterless districts by a couple of long
marches, they content themselves for the time with a small gourdful, and
with keeping their imaginations dwelling upon the copious quantities they
will drink upon arrival at the watering-place.

The march through this waterless district was most monotonous, and a
dangerous fever attacked me, which seemed to eat into my very vitals. The
wonders of Africa that bodied themselves forth in the shape of flocks of
zebras, giraffes, elands, or antelopes, galloping over the jungleless
plain, had no charm for me; nor could they serve to draw my attention from
the severe fit of sickness which possessed me. Towards the end of the
first march I was not able to sit upon the donkey’s back; nor would it do,
when but a third of the way across the wilderness, to halt until the next
day; soldiers were therefore detailed to carry me in a hammock, and, when
the terekeza was performed in the afternoon, I lay in a lethargic state,
unconscious of all things. With the night passed the fever, and, at 3
o’clock in the morning, when the march was resumed, I was booted and
spurred, and the recognized mtongi of my caravan once more. At 8 A.M. we
had performed the thirty-two miles. The wilderness of Marenga Mkali had
been passed and we had entered Ugogo, which was at once a dreaded land to
my caravan, and a Land of Promise to myself.

The transition from the wilderness into this Promised Land was very
gradual and easy. Very slowly the jungle thinned, the cleared land was a
long time appearing, and when it had finally appeared, there were no signs
of cultivation until we could clearly make out the herbage and vegetation
on some hill slopes to our right running parallel with our route, then we
saw timber on the hills, and broad acreage under cultivation—and,
lo! as we ascended a wave of reddish earth covered with tall weeds and
cane, but a few feet from us, and directly across our path, were the
fields of matama and grain we had been looking for, and Ugogo had been
entered an hour before.

The view was not such as I expected. I had imagined a plateau several
hundred feet higher than Marenga Mkali, and an expansive view which should
reveal Ugogo and its characteristics at once. But instead, while
travelling from the tall weeds which covered the clearing which had
preceded the cultivated parts, we had entered into the depths of the
taller matama stalks, and, excepting some distant hills near Mvumi, where
the Great Sultan lived—the first of the tribe to whom we should pay
tribute—the view was extremely limited.

However, in the neighbourhood of the first village a glimpse at some of
the peculiar features of Ugogo was obtained, and there was a vast plain—now
flat, now heaving upwards, here level as a table, there tilted up into
rugged knolls bristling with scores of rough boulders of immense size,
which lay piled one above another as if the children of a Titanic race had
been playing at house-building. Indeed, these piles of rounded, angular,
and riven rock formed miniature hills of themselves; and appeared as if
each body had been ejected upwards by some violent agency beneath. There
was one of these in particular, near Mvumi, which was so large, and being
slightly obscured from view by the outspreading branches of a gigantic
baobab, bore such a strong resemblance to a square tower of massive
dimensions, that for a long time I cherished the idea that I had
discovered something most interesting which had strangely escaped the
notice of my predecessors in East Africa. A nearer view dispelled the
illusion, and proved it to be a huge cube of rock, measuring about forty
feet each way. The baobabs were also particularly conspicuous on this
scene, no other kind of tree being visible in the cultivated parts. These
had probably been left for two reasons: first, want of proper axes for
felling trees of such enormous growth; secondly, because during a famine
the fruit of the baobab furnishes a flour which, in the absence of
anything better, is said to be eatable and nourishing.

The first words I heard in Ugogo were from a Wagogo elder, of sturdy form,
who in an indolent way tended the flocks, but showed a marked interest in
the stranger clad in white flannels, with a Hawkes’ patent cork solar
topee on his head, a most unusual thing in Ugogo, who came walking past
him, and there were “Yambo, Musungu, Yambo, bana, bana,” delivered with a
voice loud enough to make itself heard a full mile away. No sooner had the
greeting been delivered than the word “Musungu” seemed to electrify his
entire village; and the people of other villages, situated at intervals
near the road, noting the excitement that reigned at the first, also
participated in the general frenzy which seemed suddenly to have possessed
them. I consider my progress from the first village to Mvumi to have been
most triumphant; for I was accompanied by a furious mob of men, women, and
children, all almost as naked as Mother Eve when the world first dawned
upon her in the garden of Eden, fighting, quarrelling, jostling,
staggering against each other for the best view of the white man, the like
of whom was now seen for the first time in this part of Ugogo. The cries
of admiration, such as “Hi-le!” which broke often and in confused uproar
upon my ear, were not gratefully accepted, inasmuch as I deemed many of
them impertinent. A respectful silence and more reserved behaviour would
have won my esteem; but, ye powers, who cause etiquette to be observed in
Usungu,* respectful silence, reserved behaviour, and esteem are terms
unknown in savage Ugogo. Hitherto I had compared myself to a merchant of
Bagdad travelling among the Kurds of Kurdistan, selling his wares of
Damascus silk, kefiyehs, &c.; but now I was compelled to lower my
standard, and thought myself not much better than a monkey in a zoological
collection. One of my soldiers requested them to lessen their vociferous
noise; but the evil-minded race ordered him to shut up, as a thing
unworthy to speak to the Wagogo! When I imploringly turned to the Arabs
for counsel in this strait, old Sheikh Thani, always worldly wise, said,
“Heed them not; they are dogs who bite besides barking.” ————
* White man’s land. ————

At 9 A.M. we were in our boma, near Mvumi village; but here also crowds of
Wagogo came to catch a glimpse of the Musungu, whose presence was soon
made known throughout the district of Mvumi. But two hours later I was
oblivious of their endeavours to see me; for, despite repeated doses of
quinine, the mukunguru had sure hold of me.

The next day was a march of eight miles, from East Mvumi to West Mvumi,
where lived the Sultan of the district. The quantity and variety of
provisions which arrived at our boma did not belie the reports respecting
the productions of Ugogo. Milk, sour and sweet, honey, beans, matama,
maweri, Indian corn, ghee, pea-nuts, and a species of bean-nut very like a
large pistachio or an almond, water-melons, pumpkins, mush-melons, and
cucumbers were brought, and readily exchanged for Merikani, Kaniki, and
for the white Merikani beads and Sami-Sami, or Sam-Sam. The trade and
barter which progressed in the camp from morning till night reminded me of
the customs existing among the Gallas and Abyssinians. Eastward, caravans
were obliged to despatch men with cloth, to purchase from the villagers.
This was unnecessary in Ugogo, where the people voluntarily brought every
vendible they possessed to the camp. The smallest breadth of white or blue
cloth became saleable and useful in purchasing provisions—even a
loin-cloth worn threadbare.

The day after our march was a halt. We had fixed this day for bearing the
tribute to the Great Sultan of Mvumi. Prudent and cautious Sheikh Thani
early began this important duty, the omission of which would have been a
signal for war. Hamed and Thani sent two faithful slaves, well up to the
eccentricities of the Wagogo sultans—well spoken, having glib
tongues and the real instinct for trade as carried on amongst Orientals.
They bore six doti of cloths, viz., one doti of Dabwani Ulyah contributed
by myself, also one doti of Barsati from me, two doti Merikani Satine from
Sheikh Thani, and two doti of Kaniki from Sheikh Hamed, as a first
instalment of the tribute. The slaves were absent a full hour, but having
wasted their powers of pleading, in vain, they returned with the demand
for more, which Sheikh Thani communicated to me in this wise:

“Auf! this Sultan is a very bad man—a very bad man indeed; he says,
the Musungu is a great man, I call him a sultan; the Musungu is very rich,
for he has several caravans already gone past; the Musungu must pay forty
doti, and the Arabs must pay twelve doti each, for they have rich
caravans. It is of no use for you to tell me you are all one caravan,
otherwise why so many flags and tents? Go and bring me sixty doti, with
less I will not be satisfied.”

I suggested to Sheikh Thani, upon hearing this exorbitant demand, that had
I twenty Wasungu* armed with Winchester repeating rifles, the Sultan might
be obliged to pay tribute to me; but Thani prayed and begged me to be
cautious lest angry words might irritate the Sultan and cause him to
demand a double tribute, as he was quite capable of doing so; “and if you
preferred war,” said he, “your pagazis would all desert, and leave you and
your cloth to the small mercy of the Wagogo.” But I hastened to allay his
fears by telling Bombay, in his presence, that I had foreseen such demands
on the part of the Wagogo, and that having set aside one hundred and
twenty doti of honga cloths, I should not consider myself a sufferer if
the Sultan demanded and I paid forty cloths to him; that he must therefore
open the honga bale, and permit Sheikh Thani to extract such cloths as the
Sultan might like.

Sheikh Thani, having put on the cap of consideration and joined heads with
Hamed and the faithful serviles, thought if I paid twelve doti, out of
which three should be of Ulyah+ quality, that the Sultan might possibly
condescend to accept our tribute; supposing he was persuaded by the
oratorical words of the “Faithfuls,” that the Musungu had nothing with him
but the mashiwa (boat), which would be of no use to him, come what might,—with
which prudent suggestion the Musungu concurred, seeing its wisdom.

The slaves departed, bearing this time from our boma thirty doti, with our
best wishes for their success. In an hour they returned with empty hands,
but yet unsuccessful. The Sultan demanded six doti of Merikani, and a
fundo of bubu, from the Musungu; and from the Arabs and other caravans,
twelve doti more. For the third time the slaves departed for the Sultan’s
tembe, carrying with them six doti Merikani and a fundo of bubu from
myself, and ten doti from the Arabs. Again they returned to us with the
Sultan’s words, “That, as the doti of the Musungu were short measure, and
the cloths of the Arabs of miserable quality, the Musungu must send three
doti full measure, and the Arabs five doti of Kaniki.” My three doti were
at once measured out with the longest fore-arm—according to Kigogo
measure—and sent off by Bombay; but the Arabs, almost in despair,
declared they would be ruined if they gave way to such demands, and out of
the five doti demanded sent only two, with a pleading to the Sultan that
he would consider what was paid as just and fair Muhongo, and not ask any
more. But the Sultan of Mvumi was by no means disposed to consider any
such proposition, but declared he must have three doti, and these to be
two of Ulyah cloth, and one Kitambi Barsati, which, as he was determined
to obtain, were sent to him heavy with the deep maledictions of Sheikh
Hamed and the despairing sighs of sheikh Thani.

Altogether the sultanship of a district in Ugogo must be very
remunerative, besides being a delightful sinecure, so long as the Sultan
has to deal with timid Arab merchants who fear to exhibit anything
approaching to independence and self-reliance, lest they might be mulcted
in cloth. In one day from one camp the sultan received forty-seven doti,
consisting of Merikani, Kaniki, Barsati, and Dabwani, equal to $35.25,
besides seven doti of superior cloths, consisting of Rehani, Sohari, and
Daobwani Ulyah, and one fundo of Bubu, equal to $14.00, making a total of
$49.25—a most handsome revenue for a Mgogo chief.

On the 27th May we gladly shook the dust of Mvumi from our feet, and
continued on our route—ever westward. Five of my donkeys had died
the night before, from the effects of the water of Marenga Mkali. Before
leaving the camp of Mvumi, I went to look at their carcases; but found
them to have been clean picked by the hyaenas, and the bones taken
possession of by an army of white-necked crows.

As we passed the numerous villages, and perceived the entire face of the
land to be one vast field of grain, and counted the people halted by
scores on the roadside to feast their eyes with a greedy stare on the
Musungu, I no longer wondered at the extortionate demands of the Wagogo.
For it was manifest that they had but to stretch out their hands to
possess whatever the wealth of a caravan consisted of; and I began to
think better of the people who, knowing well their strength, did not use
it—of people who were intellectual enough to comprehend that their
interest lay in permitting the caravans to pass on without attempting any
outrage.

Between Mvumi and the nest Sultan’s district, that of Matamburu, I counted
no less than twenty-five villages, scattered over the clayey, coloured
plain. Despite the inhospitable nature of the plain, it was better
cultivated than any part of any other country we had seen since leaving
Bagamoyo.

When we had at last arrived at our boma of Matamburu, the same groups of
curious people, the same eager looks, the same exclamations of surprise,
the same, peals of laughter, at something they deemed ludicrous in the
Musungu’s dress or manner, awaited us, as at Mvumi. The Arabs being
“Wakonongo” travellers, whom they saw every day, enjoyed a complete
immunity from the vexations which we had to endure.

The Sultan of Matamburu, a man of herculean form, and massive head well
set on shoulders that might vie with those of Milo, proved to be a very
reasonable person. Not quite so powerful as the Sultan of Mvumi, he yet
owned a fair share of Ugogo and about forty villages, and could, if he
chose, have oppressed the mercantile souls of my Arab companions, in the
same way as he of Mvumi. Four doti of cloth were taken to him as a
preliminary offering to his greatness, which he said he would accept, if
the Arabs and Musungu would send him four more. As his demands were so
reasonable, this little affair was soon terminated to everybody’s
satisfaction; and soon after, the kirangozi of Sheikh Hamed sounded the
signal for the morrow’s march.

At the orders of the same Sheikh, the kirangozi stood up to speak before
the assembled caravans. “Words, words, from the Bana,” he shouted. “Give
ear, kirangozis! Listen, children of Unyamwezi! The journey is for
to-morrow! The road is crooked and bad, bad! The jungle is there, and many
Wagogo lie hidden within it! Wagogo spear the pagazis, and cut the throats
of those who carry mutumba (bales) and ushanga (beads)! The Wagogo have
been to our camp, they have seen your bales; to-night they seek the
jungle: to-morrow watch well, O Wanyamwezi! Keep close together, lag not
behind! Kirangozis walk slow, that the weak, the sick, and the young may
keep up with the strong! Take two rests on the journey! These are the
words of the Bana (master). Do you hear them, Wanyamwezi? (A loud shout in
the affirmative from all.) Do you understand them well? (another chorus);
then Bas;” having said which, the eloquent kirangozi retired into the dark
night, and his straw hut.

The march to Bihawana, our next camp, was rugged and long, through a
continuous jungle of gums and thorns, up steep hills and finally over a
fervid plain, while the sun waxed hotter and hotter as it drew near the
meridian, until it seemed to scorch all vitality from inanimate nature,
while the view was one white blaze, unbearable to the pained sight, which
sought relief from the glare in vain. Several sandy watercourses, on which
were impressed many a trail of elephants, were also passed on this march.
The slope of these stream-beds trended south-east and south.

In the middle of this scorching plain stood the villages of Bihawana,
almost undistinguishable, from the extreme lowness of the huts, which did
not reach the height of the tall bleached grass which stood smoking in the
untempered heat.

Our camp was in a large boma, about a quarter of a mile from the Sultan’s
tembe. Soon after arriving at the camp, I was visited by three Wagogo, who
asked me if I had seen a Mgogo on the road with a woman and child. I was
about to answer, very innocently, “Yes,” when Mabruki—cautious and
watchful always for the interests of the master—requested me not to
answer, as the Wagogo, as customary, would charge me with having done away
with them, and would require their price from me. Indignant at the
imposition they were about to practise upon me, I was about to raise my
whip to flog them out of the camp, when again Mabruki, with a roaring
voice, bade me beware, for every blow would cost me three or four doti of
cloth. As I did not care to gratify my anger at such an expense, I was
compelled to swallow my wrath, and consequently the Wagogo escaped
chastisement.

We halted for one day at this place, which was a great relief to me, as I
was suffering severely from intermittent fever, which lasted in this case
two weeks, and entirely prevented my posting my diary in full, as was my
custom every evening after a march.

The Sultan of Bihawana, though his subjects were evil-disposed, and
ready-handed at theft and murder, contented himself with three doti as
honga. From this chief I received news of my fourth caravan, which had
distinguished itself in a fight with some outlawed subjects of his; my
soldiers had killed two who had attempted, after waylaying a couple of my
pagazis, to carry away a bale of cloth and a bag of beads; coming up in
time, the soldiers decisively frustrated the attempt. The Sultan thought
that if all caravans were as well guarded as mine were, there would be
less depredations committed on them while on the road; with which I
heartily agreed.

The next sultan’s tembe through whose territory we marched, this being on
the 30th May, was at Kididimo, but four miles from Bihawna. The road led
through a flat elongated plain, lying between two lengthy hilly ridges,
thickly dotted with the giant forms of the baobab. Kididimo is exceedingly
bleak in aspect. Even the faces of the Wagogo seemed to have contracted a
bleak hue from the general bleakness around. The water of the pits
obtained in the neighbourhood had an execrable flavor, and two donkeys
sickened and died in less than an hour from its effects. Man suffered
nausea and a general irritability of the system, and accordingly revenged
himself by cursing the country and its imbecile ruler most heartily. The
climax came, however, when Bombay reported, after an attempt to settle the
Muhongo, that the chief’s head had grown big since he heard that the
Musungu had come, and that its “bigness” could not be reduced unless he
could extract ten doti as tribute. Though the demand was large, I was not
in a humour—being feeble, and almost nerveless, from repeated
attacks of the Mukunguru—to dispute the sum: consequently it was
paid without many words. But the Arabs continued the whole afternoon
negotiating, and at the end had to pay eight doti each.

Between Kididimo and Nyambwa, the district of the Sultan Pembera Pereh,
was a broad and lengthy forest and jungle inhabited by the elephant,
rhinoceros, zebra, deer, antelope, and giraffe. Starting at dawn of the
31st; we entered the jungle, whose dark lines and bosky banks were clearly
visible from our bower at Kididimo; and, travelling for two hours, halted
for rest and breakfast, at pools of sweet water surrounded by tracts of
vivid green verdure, which were a great resort for the wild animals of the
jungle, whose tracks were numerous and recent. A narrow nullah, shaded
deeply with foliage, afforded excellent retreats from the glaring
sunshine. At meridian, our thirst quenched, our hunger satisfied, our
gourds refilled, we set out from the shade into the heated blaze of hot
noon. The path serpentined in and out of jungle, and thin forest, into
open tracts of grass bleached white as stubble, into thickets of gums and
thorns, which emitted an odour as rank as a stable; through clumps of
wide-spreading mimosa and colonies of baobab, through a country teeming
with noble game, which, though we saw them frequently, were yet as safe
from our rifles as if we had been on the Indian Ocean. A terekeza, such as
we were now making, admits of no delay. Water we had left behind at noon:
until noon of the next day not a drop was to be obtained; and unless we
marched fast and long on this day, raging thirst would demoralize
everybody. So for six long weary hours we toiled bravely; and at sunset we
camped, and still a march of two hours, to be done before the sun was an
hour high, intervened between us and our camp at Nyambwa. That night the
men bivouacked under the trees, surrounded by many miles of dense forest,
enjoying the cool night unprotected by hat or tent, while I groaned and
tossed throughout the night in a paroxysm of fever.

The morn came; and, while it was yet young, the long caravan, or string of
caravans, was under way. It was the same forest, admitting, on the narrow
line which we threaded, but one man at a time. Its view was as limited. To
our right and left the forest was dark and deep. Above was a riband of
glassy sky flecked by the floating nimbus. We heard nothing save a few
stray notes from a flying bird, or the din of the caravans as the men
sang, or hummed, or conversed, or shouted, as the thought struck them that
we were nearing water. One of my pagazis, wearied and sick, fell, and
never rose again. The last of the caravan passed him before he died.

At 7 A.M. we were encamped at Nyambwa, drinking the excellent water found
here with the avidity of thirsty camels. Extensive fields of grain had
heralded the neighbourhood of the villages, at the sight of which we were
conscious that the caravan was quickening its pace, as approaching its
halting-place. As the Wasungu drew within the populated area, crowds of
Wagogo used their utmost haste to see them before they passed by. Young
and old of both genders pressed about us in a multitude—a very
howling mob. This excessive demonstrativeness elicited from my sailor
overseer the characteristic remark, “Well, I declare, these must be the
genuine Ugogians, for they stare! stare—there is no end to their
staring. I’m almost tempted to slap ’em in the face!” In fact, the conduct
of the Wagogo of Nyambwa was an exaggeration of the general conduct of
Wagogo. Hitherto, those we had met had contented themselves with staring
and shouting; but these outstepped all bounds, and my growing anger at
their excessive insolence vented itself in gripping the rowdiest of them
by the neck, and before he could recover from his astonishment
administering a sound thrashing with my dog-whip, which he little
relished. This proceeding educed from the tribe of starers all their
native power of vituperation and abuse, in expressing which they were
peculiar. Approaching in manner to angry tom-cats, they jerked their words
with something of a splitting hiss and a half bark. The ejaculation, as
near as I can spell it phonetically, was “hahcht” uttered in a shrill
crescendo tone. They paced backwards and forwards, asking themselves, “Are
the Wagoga to be beaten like slaves by this Musungu? A Mgogo is a Mgwana
(a free man); he is not used to be beaten,—hahcht.” But whenever I
made motion, flourishing my whip, towards them, these mighty braggarts
found it convenient to move to respectable distances from the irritated
Musungu.

Perceiving that a little manliness and show of power was something which
the Wagogo long needed, and that in this instance it relieved me from
annoyance, I had recourse to my whip, whose long lash cracked like a
pistol shot, whenever they overstepped moderation. So long as they
continued to confine their obtrusiveness to staring, and communicating to
each other their opinions respecting my complexion, and dress, and
accoutrements, I philosophically resigned myself in silence for their
amusement; but when they pressed on me, barely allowing me to proceed, a
few vigorous and rapid slashes right and left with my serviceable thong,
soon cleared the track.

Pembera Pereh is a queer old man, very small, and would be very
insignificant were he not the greatest sultan in Ugogo; and enjoying a
sort of dimediate power over many other tribes. Though such an important
chief, he is the meanest dressed of his subjects,—is always filthy,—ever
greasy—eternally foul about the mouth; but these are mere
eccentricities: as a wise judge, he is without parallel, always has a
dodge ever ready for the abstraction of cloth from the spiritless Arab
merchants, who trade with Unyanyembe every year; and disposes with ease of
a judicial case which would overtask ordinary men.

Sheikh Hamed, who was elected guider of the united caravans now travelling
through Ugogo, was of such a fragile and small make, that he might be
taken for an imitation of his famous prototype “Dapper.” Being of such
dimensions, what he lacked for weight and size he made up by activity. No
sooner had he arrived in camp than his trim dapper form was seen frisking
about from side to side of the great boma, fidgeting, arranging,
disturbing everything and everybody. He permitted no bales or packs to be
intermingled, or to come into too close proximity to his own; he had a
favourite mode of stacking his goods, which he would see carried out; he
had a special eye for the best place for his tent, and no one else must
trespass on that ground. One would imagine that walking ten or fifteen
miles a day, he would leave such trivialities to his servants, but no,
nothing could be right unless he had personally superintended it; in which
work he was tireless and knew no fatigue.

Another not uncommon peculiarity pertained to Sheikh Hamed; as he was not
a rich man, he laboured hard to make the most of every shukka and doti
expended, and each fresh expenditure seemed to gnaw his very vitals: he
was ready to weep, as he himself expressed it, at the high prices of
Ugogo, and the extortionate demands of its sultans. For this reason, being
the leader of the caravans, so far as he was able we were very sure not to
be delayed in Ugogo, where food was so dear.

The day we arrived at Nyambwa will be remembered by Hamed as long as he
lives, for the trouble and vexation which he suffered. His misfortunes
arose from the fact that, being too busily engaged in fidgeting about the
camp, he permitted his donkeys to stray into the matama fields of Pembera
Pereh, the Sultan. For hours he and his servants sought for the stray
donkeys, returning towards evening utterly unsuccessful, Hamed bewailing,
as only an Oriental can do, when hard fate visits him with its
inflictions, the loss of a hundred do dollars worth of Muscat donkeys.
Sheikh Thani, older, more experienced, and wiser, suggested to him that he
should notify the Sultan of his loss. Acting upon the sagacious advice,
Hamed sent an embassy of two slaves, and the information they brought back
was, that Pembera Pereh’s servants had found the two donkeys eating the
unripened matama, and that unless the Arab who owned them would pay nine
doti of first-class cloths, he, Pembera Pereh, would surely keep them to
remunerate him for the matama they had eaten. Hamed was in despair. Nine
doti of first-class cloths, worth $25 in Unyanyembe, for half a chukka’s
worth of grain, was, as he thought, an absurd demand; but then if he did
not pay it, what would become of the hundred dollars’ worth of donkeys? He
proceeded to the Sultan to show him the absurdity of the damage claim, and
to endeavour to make him accept one chukka, which would be more than
double the worth of what grain the donkeys had consumed. But the Sultan
was sitting on pombe; he was drunk, which I believe to be his normal state—too
drunk to attend to business, consequently his deputy, a renegade
Mnyamwezi, gave ear to the business. With most of the Wagogo chiefs lives
a Mnyamwezi, as their right-hand man, prime minister, counsellor,
executioner, ready man at all things save the general good; a sort of
harlequin Unyamwezi, who is such an intriguing, restless, unsatisfied
person, that as soon as one hears that this kind of man forms one of and
the chief of a Mgogo sultan’s council, one feels very much tempted to do
damage to his person. Most of the extortions practised upon the Arabs are
suggested by these crafty renegades. Sheikh Hamed found that the Mnyamwezi
was far more obdurate than the Sultan—nothing under nine doti
first-class cloths would redeem the donkeys. The business that day
remained unsettled, and the night following was, as one may imagine, a
very sleepless one to Hamed. As it turned out, however, the loss of the
donkeys, the after heavy fine, and the sleepless night, proved to be
blessings in disguise; for, towards midnight, a robber Mgogo visited his
camp, and while attempting to steal a bale of cloth, was detected in the
act by the wide-awake and irritated Arab, and was made to vanish instantly
with a bullet whistling in close proximity to his ear.

From each of the principals of the caravans, the Mnyamwezi had received as
tribute for his drunken master fifteen doti, and from the other six
caravans six doti each, altogether fifty-one doti, yet on the next morning
when we took the road he was not a whit disposed to deduct a single cloth
from the fine imposed on Hamed, and the unfortunate Sheikh was therefore
obliged to liquidate the claim, or leave his donkeys behind.

After travelling through the corn-fields of Pembera Pereh we emerged upon
a broad flat plain, as level as the still surface of a pond, whence the
salt of the Wagogo is obtained. From Kanyenyi on the southern road, to
beyond the confines of Uhumba and Ubanarama, this saline field extends,
containing many large ponds of salt bitter water whose low banks are
covered with an effervescence partaking of the nature of nitrate.
Subsequently, two days afterwards, having ascended the elevated ridge
which separates Ugogo from Uyanzi, I obtained a view of this immense
saline plain, embracing over a hundred square miles. I may have been
deceived, but I imagined I saw large expanses of greyish-blue water, which
causes me to believe that this salina is but a corner of a great salt
lake. The Wahumba, who are numerous, from Nyambwa to the Uyanzi border,
informed my soldiers that there was a “Maji Kuba” away to the north.

Mizanza, our next camp after Nyambwa, is situated in a grove of palms,
about thirteen miles from the latter place. Soon after arriving I had to
bury myself under blankets, plagued with the same intermittent fever which
first attacked me during the transit of Marenga Mkali. Feeling certain
that one day’s halt, which would enable me to take regular doses of the
invaluable sulphate of quinine, would cure me, I requested Sheikh Thani to
tell Hamed to halt on the morrow, as I should be utterly unable to
continue thus long, under repeated attacks of a virulent disease which was
fast reducing me into a mere frame of skin and bone. Hamed, in a hurry to
arrive at Unyanyembe in order to dispose of his cloth before other
caravans appeared in the market, replied at first that he would not, that
he could not, stop for the Musungu. Upon Thani’s reporting his answer to
me, I requested him to inform Hamed that, as the Musungu did not wish to
detain him, or any other caravan, it was his express wish that Hamed would
march and leave him, as he was quite strong enough in guns to march
through Ugogo alone. Whatever cause modified the Sheikh’s resolution and
his anxiety to depart, Hamed’s horn signal for the march was not heard
that night, and on the morrow he had not gone.

Early in the morning I commenced on my quinine doses; at 6 A.M. I took a
second dose; before noon I had taken four more—altogether, fifty
measured grains-the effect of which was manifest in the copious
perspiration which drenched flannels, linen, and blankets. After noon I
arose, devoutly thankful that the disease which had clung to me for the
last fourteen days had at last succumbed to quinine.

On this day the lofty tent, and the American flag which ever flew from the
centre pole, attracted the Sultan of Mizanza towards it, and was the cause
of a visit with which he honoured me. As he was notorious among the Arabs
for having assisted Manwa Sera in his war against Sheikh Sny bin Amer,
high eulogies upon whom have been written by Burton, and subsequently by
Speke, and as he was the second most powerful chief in Ugogo, of course he
was quite a curiosity to me. As the tent-door was uplifted that he might
enter, the ancient gentleman was so struck with astonishment at the lofty
apex, and internal arrangements, that the greasy Barsati cloth which
formed his sole and only protection against the chills of night and the
heat of noon, in a fit of abstraction was permitted to fall down to his
feet, exposing to the Musungu’s unhallowed gaze the sad and aged wreck of
what must once have been a towering form. His son, a youth of about
fifteen, attentive to the infirmities of his father, hastened with filial
duty to remind him of his condition, upon which, with an idiotic titter at
the incident, he resumed his scanty apparel and sat down to wonder and
gibber out his admiration at the tent and the strange things which formed
the Musungu’s personal baggage and furniture. After gazing in stupid
wonder at the table, on which was placed some crockery and the few books I
carried with me; at the slung hammock, which he believed was suspended by
some magical contrivance; at the portmanteaus which contained my stock of
clothes, he ejaculated, “Hi-le! the Musungu is a great sultan, who has
come from his country to see Ugogo.” He then noticed me, and was again
wonder-struck at my pale complexion and straight hair, and the question
now propounded was, “How on earth was I white when the sun had burned his
people’s skins into blackness?” Whereupon he was shown my cork topee,
which he tried on his woolly head, much to his own and to our amusement.
The guns were next shown to him; the wonderful repeating rifle of the
Winchester Company, which was fired thirteen times in rapid succession to
demonstrate its remarkable murderous powers. If he was astonished before
he was a thousand times more so now, and expressed his belief that the
Wagogo could not stand before the Musungu in battle, for wherever a Mgogo
was seen such a gun would surely kill him. Then the other firearms were
brought forth, each with its peculiar mechanism explained, until, in, a
burst of enthusiasm at my riches and power, he said he would send me a
sheep or goat, and that he would be my brother. I thanked him for the
honour, and promised to accept whatever he was pleased to send me. At the
instigation of Sheikh Thani, who acted as interpreter, who said that
Wagogo chiefs must not depart with empty hands, I cut off a shukka of
Kaniki and presented it to him, which, after being examined and measured,
was refused upon the ground that, the Musungu being a great sultan should
not demean himself so much as to give him only a shukka. This, after the
twelve doti received as muhongo from the caravans, I thought, was rather
sore; but as he was about to present me with a sheep or goat another
shukka would not matter much.

Shortly after he departed, and true to his promise, I received a large,
fine sheep, with a broad tail, heavy with fat; but with the words: “That
being now his brother, I must send him three doti of good cloth.” As the
price of a sheep is but a doti and a half, I refused the sheep and the
fraternal honour, upon the ground that the gifts were all on one side; and
that, as I had paid muhongo, and given him a doti of Kaniki as a present,
I could not, afford to part with any more cloth without an adequate
return.

During the afternoon one more of my donkeys died, and at night the hyaenas
came in great numbers to feast upon the carcase. Ulimengo, the chasseur,
and best shot of my Wangwana, stole out and succeeded in shooting two,
which turned out to be some of the largest of their kind.. One of them
measured six feet from the tip of the nose to the extremity of the tail,
and three feet around the girth.

On the 4th. June we struck camp, and after travelling westward for about
three miles, passing several ponds of salt water, we headed north by west,
skirting the range of low hills which separates Ugogo from Uyanzi.

After a three hours’ march, we halted for a short time at Little
Mukondoku, to settle tribute with the brother of him who rules at
Mukondoku Proper. Three doti satisfied the Sultan, whose district contains
but two villages, mostly occupied by pastoral Wahumba and renegade Wahehe.
The Wahumba live in plastered (cow-dung) cone huts, shaped like the tartar
tents of Turkestan.

The Wahumba, so far as I have seen them, are a fine and well-formed race.
The men are positively handsome, tall, with small heads, the posterior
parts of which project considerably. One will look in vain for a thick lip
or a flat nose amongst them; on the contrary, the mouth is exceedingly
well cut, delicately small; the nose is that of the Greeks, and so
universal was the peculiar feature, that I at once named them the Greeks
of Africa. Their lower limbs have not the heaviness of the Wagogo and
other tribes, but are long and shapely, clean as those of an antelope.
Their necks are long and slender, on which their small heads are poised
most gracefully. Athletes from their youth, shepherd bred, and
intermarrying among themselves, thus keeping the race pure, any of them
would form a fit subject for the sculptor who would wish to immortalize in
marble an Antinous, a Hylas, a Daphnis, or an Apollo. The women are as
beautiful as the men are handsome. They have clear ebon skins, not
coal-black, but of an inky hue. Their ornaments consist of spiral rings of
brass pendent from the ears, brass ring collars about the necks, and a
spiral cincture of brass wire about their loins for the purpose of
retaining their calf and goat skins, which are folded about their bodies,
and, depending from the shoulder, shade one half of the bosom, and fall to
the knees.

The Wahehe may be styled the Romans of Africa. Resuming our march, after a
halt of an hour, in foul hours more we arrived at Mukondoku Proper. This
extremity of Ugogo is most populous, The villages which surround the
central tembe, where the Sultan Swaruru lives, amount to thirty-six. The
people who flocked from these to see the wonderful men whose faces were
white, who wore the most wonderful things on their persons, and possessed
the most wonderful weapons; guns which “bum-bummed” as fast as you could
count on your fingers, formed such a mob of howling savages, that I for an
instant thought there was something besides mere curiosity which caused
such commotion, and attracted such numbers to the roadside. Halting, I
asked what was the matter, and what they wanted, and why they made such
noise? One burly rascal, taking my words for a declaration of hostilities,
promptly drew his bow, but as prompt as he had fixed his arrow my faithful
Winchester with thirteen shots in the magazine was ready and at the
shoulder, and but waited to see the arrow fly to pour the leaden
messengers of death into the crowd. But the crowd vanished as quickly as
they had come, leaving the burly Thersites, and two or three irresolute
fellows of his tribe, standing within pistol range of my levelled rifle.
Such a sudden dispersion of the mob which, but a moment before, was
overwhelming in numbers, caused me to lower my rifle, and to indulge in a
hearty laugh at the disgraceful flight of the men-destroyers. The Arabs,
who were as much alarmed at their boisterous obtrusiveness, now came up to
patch a truce, in which they succeeded to everybody’s satisfaction. A few
words of explanation, and the mob came back in greater numbers than
before; and the Thersites who had been the cause of the momentary
disturbance was obliged to retire abashed before the pressure of public
opinion. A chief now came up, whom I afterwards learned was the second man
to Swaruru, and lectured the people upon their treatment of the “White
Stranger.”

“Know ye not, Wagogo,” shouted he, “that this Musungu is a sultan (mtemi—a
most high title). He has not come to Ugogo like the Wakonongo (Arabs), to
trade in ivory, but to see us, and give presents. Why do you molest him
and his people? Let them pass in peace. If you wish to see him, draw near,
but do not mock him. The first of you who creates a disturbance, let him
beware; our great mtemi shall know how you treat his friends.” This little
bit of oratorical effort on the part of the chief was translated to me
there and then by the old Sheik Thani; which having understood, I bade the
Sheikh inform the chief that, after I had rested, I should like him to
visit me in my tent.

Having arrived at the khambi, which always surrounds some great baobab in
Ugogo, at the distance of about half a mile from the tembe of the Sultan,
the Wagogo pressed in such great numbers to the camp that Sheikh Thani
resolved to make an effort to stop or mitigate the nuisance. Dressing
himself in his best clothes, he went to appeal to the Sultan for
protection against his people. The Sultan was very much inebriated, and
was pleased to say, “What is it you want, you thief? You have come to
steal my ivory or my cloth. Go away, thief!” But the sensible chief, whose
voice had just been heard reproaching the people for their treatment of
the Wasungu, beckoned to Thani to come out of the tembe, and then
proceeded with him towards the khambi.

The camp was in a great uproar; the curious Wagogo monopolized almost
every foot of ground; there was no room to turn anywhere. The Wanyamwezi
were quarreling with the Wagogo, the Wasawahili servants were clamoring
loud that the Wagogo pressed down their tents, and that the property of
the masters was in danger; while I, busy on my diary within my tent, cared
not how great was the noise and confusion outside as long as it confined
itself to the Wagogo, Wanyamwezi, and Wangwana.

The presence of the chief in the camp was followed by a deep silence that
I was prevailed upon to go outside to see what had caused it. The chief’s
words were few, and to the point. He said, “To your tembes, Wagogo—to
your tembes! Why, do you come to trouble the Wakonongo: What have you to
do with them? To your tembes: go! Each Mgogo found in the khambi without
meal, without cattle to sell, shall pay to the mtemi cloth or cows. Away
with you!” Saying which, he snatched up a stick and drove the hundreds out
of the khambi, who were as obedient to him as so many children. During the
two days we halted at Mukondoku we saw no more of the mob, and there was
peace.

The muhongo of the Sultan Swaruru was settled with few words. The chief
who acted for the Sultan as his prime minister having been “made glad”
with a doti of Rehani Ulyah from me, accepted the usual tribute of six
doti, only one of which was of first-class cloth.

There remained but one more sultan to whom muhongo must be paid after
Mukondoku, and this was the Sultan of Kiwyeh, whose reputation was so bad
that owners of property who had control over their pagazis seldom passed
by Kiwyeh, preferring the hardships of long marches through the wilderness
to the rudeness and exorbitant demands of the chief of Kiwyeh. But the
pagazis, on whom no burden or responsibility fell save that of carrying
their loads, who could use their legs and show clean heels in the case of
a hostile outbreak, preferred the march to Kiwyeh to enduring thirst and
the fatigue of a terekeza. Often the preference of the pagazis won the
day, when their employers were timid, irresolute men, like Sheikh Hamed.

The 7th of June was the day fixed for our departure from Mukondoku, so the
day before, the Arabs came to my tent to counsel with me as to the route
we should adopt. On calling together the kirangozis of the respective
caravans and veteran Wanyamwezi pagazis, we learned there were three roads
leading from Mukondoku to Uyanzi. The first was the southern road, and the
one generally adopted, for the reasons already stated, and led by Kiwyeh.
To this Hamed raised objections. “The Sultan was bad,” he said; “he
sometimes charged a caravan twenty doti; our caravan would have to pay
about sixty doti. The Kiwyeh road would not do at all. Besides,” he added,
“we have to make a terekeza to reach Kiwyeh, and then we will not reach it
before the day after to-morrow.” The second was the central road. We
should arrive at Munieka on the morrow; the day after would be a terekeza
from Mabunguru Nullah to a camp near Unyambogi; two hours the next day
would bring us to Kiti, where there was plenty of water and food. As
neither of the kirangozis or Arabs knew this road, and its description
came from one of my ancient pagazis, Hamed said he did not like to trust
the guidance of such a large caravan in the hands of an old Mnyamwezi, and
would therefore prefer to hear about the third road, before rendering his
decision. The third road was the northern. It led past numerous villages
of the Wagogo for the first two hours; then we should strike a jungle; and
a three hours’ march would then bring us to Simbo, where there was water,
but no village. Starting early next morning, we would travel six hours
when we would arrive at a pool of water. Here taking a short rest, an
afternoon march of five hours would bring us within three hours of another
village. As this last road was known to many, Hamed said, “Sheikh Thani,
tell the Sahib that I think this is the best road.” Sheikh Thani was told,
after he had informed me that, as I had marched with them through Ugogo,
if they decided upon going by Simbo, my caravan would follow.

Immediately after the discussion among the principals respecting the
merits of the several routes, arose a discussion among the pagazis which
resulted in an obstinate clamor against the Simbo road, for its long
terekeza and scant prospects of water, the dislike to the Simbo road
communicated itself to all the caravans, and soon it was magnified by
reports of a wilderness reaching from Simbo to Kusuri, where there was
neither food nor water to be obtained. Hamed’s pagazis, and those of the
Arab servants, rose in a body and declared they could not go on that
march, and if Hamed insisted upon adopting it they would put their packs
down and leave him to carry them himself.

Hamed Kimiani, as he was styled by the Arabs, rushed up to Sheikh Thani,
and declared that he must take the Kiwyeh road, otherwise his pagazis
would all desert. Thani replied that all the roads were the same to him,
that wherever Hamed chose to go, he would follow. They then came to my
tent, and informed me of the determination at which the Wanyamwezi had
arrived. Calling my veteran Mnyamwezi, who had given me the favourable
report once more to my tent, I bade him give a correct account of the Kiti
road. It was so favourable that my reply to Hamed was, that I was the
master of my caravan, that it was to go wherever I told the kirangozi, not
where the pagazis chose; that when I told them to halt they must halt, and
when I commanded a march, a march should be made; and that as I fed them
well and did not overwork them, I should like to see the pagazi or soldier
that disobeyed me. “You made up your mind just now that you would take the
Simbo road, and we were agreed upon it, now your pagazis say they will
take, the Kiwyeh road, or desert. Go on the Kiwyeh road and pay twenty
doti muhongo. I and my caravan to-morrow morning will take the Kiti road,
and when you find me in Unyanyembe one day ahead of you, you will be sorry
you did not take the same road.”

This resolution of mine had the effect of again changing the current of
Hamed’s thoughts, for he instantly said, “That is the best road after all,
and as the Sahib is determined to go on it, and we have all travelled
together through the bad land of the Wagogo, Inshallah! let us all go the
same way,” and Thani=-good old man—not objecting, and Hamed having
decided, they both joyfully went out of the tent to communicate the news.

On the 7th the caravans—apparently unanimous that the Kiti road was
to be taken—were led as usual by Hamed’s kirangozi. We had barely
gone a mile before I perceived that we had left the Simbo road, had taken
the direction of Kiti, and, by a cunning detour, were now fast approaching
the defile of the mountain ridge before us, which admitted access to the
higher plateau of Kiwyeh. Instantly halting my caravan, I summoned the
veteran who had travelled by Kiti, and asked him whether we were not going
towards Kiwyeh. He replied that we were. Calling my pagazis together, I
bade Bombay tell them that the Musuugu never changed his mind; that as I
had said my caravan should march by Kiti; to Kiti it must go whether the
Arabs followed or not. I then ordered the veteran to take up his load and
show the kirangozi the proper road to Kiti. The Wanyamwezi pagazis put
down their bales, and then there was every indication of a mutiny. The
Wangwana soldiers were next ordered to load their guns and to flank the
caravan, and shoot the first pagazis who made an attempt to run away.
Dismounting, I seized my whip, and, advancing towards the first pagazi who
had put down his load, I motioned to him to take up his load and march. It
was unnecessary to proceed further; without an exception, all marched away
obediently after the kirangozi. I was about bidding farewell to Thani, and
Hamed, when Thani said, “Stop a bit, Sahib; I have had enough of this
child’s play; I come with you,” and his caravan was turned after mine.
Hamed’s caravan was by this time close to the defile, and he himself was a
full mile behind it, weeping like a child at what he was pleased to call
our desertion of him. Pitying his strait—for he was almost beside
himself as thoughts of Kiwyeh’s sultan, his extortion and rudeness, swept
across his mind—I advised him to run after his caravan, and tell it,
as all the rest had taken the other road, to think of the Sultan of
Kiwyeh. Before reaching the Kiti defile I was aware that Hamed’s caravan
was following us.

The ascent of the ridge was rugged and steep, thorns of the prickliest
nature punished us severely, the acacia horrida was here more
horrid than usual, the gums stretched out their branches, and entangled
the loads, the mimosa with its umbrella-like top served to shade us from
the sun, but impeded a rapid advance. Steep outcrops of syenite and
granite, worn smooth by many feet, had to be climbed over, rugged terraces
of earth and rock had to be ascended, and distant shots resounding through
the forest added to the alarm and general discontent, and had I not been
immediately behind my caravan, watchful of every manoeuvre, my Wanyamwezi
had deserted to a man. Though the height we ascended was barely 800 feet
above the salina we had just left, the ascent occupied two hours.

Having surmounted the plateau and the worst difficulties, we had a fair
road comparatively, which ran through jungle, forest, and small open
tracts, which in three hours more brought us to Munieka, a small village,
surrounded by a clearing richly cultivated by a colony of subjects of
Swaruru of Mukondoku.

By the time we had arrived at camp everybody had recovered his good humour
and content except Hamed. Thani’s men happened to set his tent too close
to Hamed’s tree, around which his bales were stacked. Whether the little
Sheikh imagined honest old Thani capable of stealing one is not known, but
it is certain that he stormed and raved about the near neighbourhood of
his best friend’s tent, until Thani ordered its removal a hundred yards
off. This proceeding even, it seems, did not satisfy Hamed, for it was
quite midnight—as Thani said—when Hamed came, and kissing his
hands and feet, on his knees implored forgiveness, which of course Thani,
being the soul of good-nature, and as large-hearted as any man, willingly
gave. Hamed was not satisfied, however, until, with the aid of his slaves,
he had transported his friend’s tent to where it had at first been
pitched.

The water at Munieka was obtained from a deep depression in a hump of
syenite, and was as clear as crystal, and’ cold as ice-water—a
luxury we had not experienced since leaving Simbamwenni.

We were now on the borders of Uyanzi, or, as it is better known, “Magunda
Mkali “—the Hot-ground, or Hot-field. We had passed the village
populated by Wagogo, and were about to shake the dust of Ugogo from our
feet. We had entered Ugogo full of hopes, believing it a most pleasant
land—a land flowing with milk and honey. We had been grievously
disappointed; it proved to be a land of gall and bitterness, full of
trouble and vexation of spirit, where danger was imminent at every step—where
we were exposed to the caprice of inebriated sultans. Is it a wonder,
then, that all felt happy at such a moment? With the prospect before us of
what was believed by many to be a real wilderness, our ardor was not
abated, but was rather strengthened. The wilderness in Africa proves to
be, in many instances, more friendly than the populated country. The
kirangozi blew his kudu horn much more merrily on this morning than he was
accustomed to do while in Ugogo. We were about to enter Magunda Mkali. At
9 A.M., three hours after leaving Munieka, and two hours since we had left
the extreme limits of Ugogo, we were halted at Mabunguru Nullah. The
Nullah runs southwesterly after leaving its source in the chain of hills
dividing Ugogo from Magunda Mkali. During the rainy season it must be
nearly impassable, owing to the excessive slope of its bed. Traces of the
force of the torrent are seen in the syenite and basalt boulders which
encumber the course. Their rugged angles are worn smooth, and deep basins
are excavated where the bed is of the rock, which in the dry season serve
as reservoirs. Though the water contained in them has a slimy and greenish
appearance, and is well populated with frogs, it is by no means
unpalatable.

At noon we resumed our march, the Wanyamwezi cheering, shouting, and
singing, the Wangwana soldiers, servants, and pagazis vieing with them in
volume of voice and noise-making the dim forest through which we were now
passing resonant with their voices.

The scenery was much more picturesque than any we had yet seen since
leaving Bagamoyo. The ground rose into grander waves—hills cropped
out here and there—great castles of syenite appeared, giving a
strange and weird appearance to the forest. From a distance it would
almost seem as if we were approaching a bit of England as it must have
appeared during feudalism; the rocks assumed such strange fantastic
shapes. Now they were round boulders raised one above another, apparently
susceptible to every breath of wind; anon, they towered like blunt-pointed
obelisks, taller than the tallest trees; again they assumed the shape of
mighty waves, vitrified; here, they were a small heap of fractured and
riven rock; there, they rose to the grandeur of hills.

By 5 P.M. we had travelled twenty miles, and the signal was sounded for a
halt. At 1 A.M., the moon being up, Hamed’s horn and voice were heard
throughout the silent camp awaking his pagazis for the march. Evidently
Sheikh Hamed was gone stark mad, otherwise why should he be so frantic for
the march at such an early hour? The dew was falling heavily, and chilled
one like frost; and an ominous murmur of deep discontent responded to the
early call on all sides. Presuming, however, that he had obtained better
information than we had, Sheikh Thani and I resolved to be governed as the
events proved him to be right or wrong.

As all were discontented, this night, march was performed in deep silence.
The thermometer was at 53°, we being about 4,500 feet above the level of
the sea. The pagazis, almost naked, walked quickly in order to keep warm,
and by so doing many a sore foot was made by stumbling against obtrusive
roots and rocks, and treading on thorns. At 3 A.M. we arrived at the
village of Unyambogi, where we threw ourselves down to rest and sleep
until dawn should reveal what else was in store for the hard-dealt-with
caravans.

It was broad daylight when I awoke; the sun was flaring his hot beams in
my face. Sheikh Thani came soon after to inform me that Hamed had gone to
Kiti two hours since; but he, when asked to accompany him, positively
refused, exclaiming against it as folly, and utterly unnecessary. When my
advice was asked by Thani, I voted the whole thing as sheer nonsense; and,
in turn, asked him what a terekeza was for? Was it not an afternoon march
to enable caravans to reach water and food? Thani replied than it was. I
then asked him if there was no water or food to be obtained in Unyambogi.
Thani replied that he had not taken pains to inquire, but was told by the
villagers that there was an abundance of matamia, hindi, maweri, sheep;
goats, and chickens in their village at cheap prices, such as were not
known in Ugogo.

“Well, then,” said I, “if Hamed wants to be a fool, and kill his pagazis,
why should we? I have as much cause for haste as Sheikh Hamed; but
Unyanyembe is far yet, and I am not going to endanger my property by
playing the madman.”

As Thani had reported, we found an abundance of provisions at the village,
and good sweet water from some pits close by. A sheep cost one chukka; six
chickens were also purchased at that price; six measures of matama,
maweri, or hindi, were procurable for the same sum; in short, we were
coming, at last, into the land of plenty.

On the 10th June we arrived at Kiti after a journey of four hours and a
half, where we found the irrepressible Hamed halted in sore trouble. He
who would be a Caesar, proved to be an irresolute Antony. He had to sorrow
over the death of a favourite slave girl, the loss of five dish-dashes
(Arab shirts), silvered-sleeve and gold-embroidered jackets, with which he
had thought to enter Unyanyembe in state, as became a merchant of his
standing, which had disappeared with three absconding servants, besides
copper trays, rice, and pilau dishes, and two bales of cloth with runaway
Wangwana pagazis. Selim, my Arab servant, asked him, “What are you doing
here, Sheikh Hamed? I thought you were well on the road to Unyanyembe.”
Said he, “Could I leave Thani, my friend, behind?”

Kiti abounded in cattle and grain, and we were able to obtain food at easy
rates. The Wakimbu, emigrants from Ukimbu, near Urori, are a quiet race,
preferring the peaceful arts of agriculture to war; of tending their
flocks to conquest. At the least rumor of war they remove their property
and family, and emigrate to the distant wilderness, where they begin to
clear the land, and to hunt the elephant for his ivory. Yet we found them
to be a fine race, and well armed, and seemingly capable, by their numbers
and arms, to compete with any tribe. But here, as elsewhere, disunion
makes them weak. They are mere small colonies, each colony ruled by its
own chief; whereas, were they united, they might make a very respectable
front before an enemy.

Our next destination was Msalalo, distant fifteen miles from Kiti. Hamed,
after vainly searching for his runaways and the valuable property he had
lost, followed us, and tried once more, when he saw us encamped at
Msalalo, to pass us; but his pagazis failed him, the march having been so
long.

Welled Ngaraiso was reached on the 15th, after a three and a half hours’
march. It is a flourishing little place, where provisions were almost
twice as cheap as they were at Unyambogi. Two hours’ march south is Jiweh
la Mkoa, on the old road, towards which the road which we have been
travelling since leaving Bagamoyo was now rapidly leading.

Unyanyembe being near, the pagazis and soldiers having behaved excellently
during the lengthy marches we had lately made, I purchased a bullock for
three doti, and had it slaughtered for their special benefit. I also gave
each a khete of red beads to indulge his appetite for whatever little
luxury the country afforded. Milk and honey were plentiful, and three
frasilah of sweet potatoes were bought for a shukka, equal to about 40
cents of our money.

The 13th June brought us to the last village of Magunda Mkali, in the
district of Jiweh la Singa, after a short march of eight miles and
three-quarters. Kusuri—so called by the Arabs—is called
Konsuli by the Wakimbu who inhabit it. This is, however, but one instance
out of many where the Arabs have misnamed or corrupted the native names of
villages and districts.

Between Ngaraiso and Kusuri we passed the village of Kirurumo, now a
thriving place, with many a thriving village near it. As we passed it, the
people came out to greet the Musungu, whose advent had been so long
heralded by his loud-mouthed caravans, and whose soldiers had helped them
win the day in a battle against their fractious brothers of Jiweh la Mkoa.

A little further on we came across a large khambi, occupied by Sultan bin
Mohammed, an Omani Arab of high descent, who, as soon as he was notified
of my approach, came out to welcome me, and invite me to his khambi. As
his harem lodged in his tent, of course I was not invited thither; but a
carpet outside was ready for his visitor. After the usual questions had
been asked about my health, the news of the road, the latest from Zanzibar
and Oman, he asked me if I had much cloth with me. This was a question
often asked by owners of down caravans, and the reason of it is that the
Arabs, in their anxiety to make as much as possible of their cloth at the
ivory ports on the Tanganika and elsewhere, are liable to forget that they
should retain a portion for the down marches. As, indeed, I had but a bale
left of the quantity of cloth retained for provisioning my party on the
road, when outfitting my caravans on the coast, I could unblushingly reply
in the negative.

I halted a day at Kusuri to give my caravan a rest, after its long series
of marches, before venturing on the two days’ march through the
uninhabited wilderness that separates the district of Jiweh la Singa
Uyanzi from the district of Tura in Unyanyembe. Hamed preceded, promising
to give Sayd bin Salim notice of my coming, and to request him to provide
a tembe for me.

On the 15th, having ascertained that Sheikh Thani would be detained
several days at Kusuri, owing to the excessive number of his people who
were laid up with that dreadful plague of East Africa, the small-pox, I
bade him farewell, and my caravan struck out of Kusuri once more for the
wilderness and the jungle. A little before noon we halted at the Khambi of
Mgongo Tembo, or the Elephant’s Back—so called from a wave of rock
whose back, stained into dark brownness by atmospheric influences, is
supposed by the natives to resemble the blue-brown back of this monster of
the forest. My caravan had quite an argument with me here, as to whether
we should make the terekeza on this day or on the next. The majority was
of the opinion that the next day would be the best for a terekeza; but I,
being the “bana,” consulting my own interests, insisted, not without a
flourish or two of my whip, that the terekeza should be made on this day.

Mgongo Tembo, when Burton and Speke passed by, was a promising settlement,
cultivating many a fair acre of ground. But two years ago war broke out,
for some bold act of its people upon caravans, and the Arabs came from
Unyanyembe with their Wangwana servants, attacked them, burnt the
villages, and laid waste the work of years. Since that time Mgongo Tembo
has been but blackened wrecks of houses, and the fields a sprouting
jungle.

A cluster of date palm-trees, overtopping a dense grove close to the mtoni
of Mgongo Tembo, revived my recollections of Egypt. The banks of the
stream, with their verdant foliage, presented a strange contrast to the
brown and dry appearance of the jungle which lay on either side.

At 1 P.M. we resumed our loads and walking staffs, and in a short time
were en route for the Ngwhalah Mtoni, distant eight and three-quarter
miles from the khambi. The sun was hot; like a globe of living, seething
flame, it flared its heat full on our heads; then as it descended towards
the west, scorched the air before it was inhaled by the lungs which craved
it. Gourds of water were emptied speedily to quench the fierce heat that
burned the throat and lungs. One pagazi, stricken heavily with the
small-pox, succumbed, and threw himself down on the roadside to die. We
never saw him afterwards, for the progress of a caravan on a terekeza, is
something like that of a ship in a hurricane. The caravan must proceed—woe
befall him who lags behind, for hunger and thirst will overtake him—so
must a ship drive before the fierce gale to escape foundering—woe
befall him who falls overboard!

An abundance of water, good, sweet, and cool, was found in the bed of the
mtoni in deep stony reservoirs. Here also the traces of furious torrents
were clearly visible as at Mabunguru.

The Nghwhalah commences in Ubanarama to the north—a country famous
for its fine breed of donkeys—and after running south,
south-south-west, crosses the Unyanyembe road, from which point it has
more of a westerly turn.

On the 16th we arrived at Madedita, so called from a village which was,
but is now no more. Madedita is twelve and a half miles from the Nghwhalah
Mtoni. A pool of good water a few hundred yards from the roadside is the
only supply caravans can obtain, nearer than Tura in Unyamwezi. The tsetse
or chufwa-fly, as called by the Wasawahili, stung us dreadfully, which is
a sign that large game visit the pool sometimes, but must not be mistaken
for an indication that there is any in the immediate neighbourhood of the
water. A single pool so often frequented by passing caravans, which must
of necessity halt here, could not be often visited by the animals of the
forest, who are shy in this part of Africa of the haunts of man.

At dawn the neat day we were on the road striding at a quicker pace than
on most days, since we were about to quit Magunda Mali for the more
populated and better land of Unyamwezi. The forest held its own for a
wearisomely long time, but at the end of two hours it thinned, then
dwarfed into low jungle, and finally vanished altogether, and we had
arrived on the soil of Unyamwezi, with a broad plain, swelling, subsiding,
and receding in lengthy and grand undulations in our front to one
indefinite horizontal line which purpled in the far distance. The view
consisted of fields of grain ripening, which followed the contour of the
plain, and which rustled merrily before the morning breeze that came laden
with the chills of Usagara.

At 8 A.M. we had arrived at the frontier village of Unyamwezi, Eastern
Tura, which we invaded without any regard to the disposition of the few
inhabitants who lived there. Here we found Nondo, a runaway of Speke’s,
one of those who had sided with Baraka against Bombay, who, desiring to
engage himself with me, was engaging enough to furnish honey and sherbet
to his former companions, and lastly to the pagazis. It was only a short
breathing pause we made here, having another hour’s march to reach Central
Tura.

The road from Eastern Tura led through vast fields of millet, Indian corn,
holcus sorghum, maweri, or panicum, or bajri, as called by the Arabs;
gardens of sweet potatoes, large tracts of cucumbers, water-melons,
mush-melons, and pea-nuts which grew in the deep furrows between the
ridges of the holcus.

Some broad-leafed plantain plants were also seen in the neighbourhood of
the villages, which as we advanced became very numerous. The villages of
the Wakimbu are like those of the Wagogo, square, flat-roofed, enclosing
an open area, which is sometimes divided into three or four parts by
fences or matama stalks.

At central Tura, where we encamped, we had evidence enough of the
rascality of the Wakimbu of Tura. Hamed, who, despite his efforts to reach
Unyanyembe in time to sell his cloths before other Arabs came with cloth
supplies, was unable to compel his pagazis to the double march every day,
was also encamped at Central Tura, together with the Arab servants who
preferred Hamed’s imbecile haste to Thani’s cautious advance. Our first
night in Unyamwezi was very exciting indeed. The Musungu’s camp was
visited by two crawling thieves, but they were soon made aware by the
portentous click of a trigger that the white man’s camp was well guarded.

Hamed’s camp was next visited; but here also the restlessness of the owner
frustrated their attempts, for he was pacing backwards and forwards
through his camp, with a loaded gun in his hand; and the thieves were
obliged to relinquish the chance of stealing any of his bales. From
Hamed’s they proceeded to Hassan’s camp (one of the Arab servants), where
they were successful enough to reach and lay hold of a couple of bales;
but, unfortunately, they made a noise, which awoke the vigilant and
quick-eared slave, who snatched his loaded musket, and in a moment had
shot one of them through the heart. Such were our experiences of the
Wakimbu of Tura.

On the 18th the three caravans, Hamed’s, Hassan’s, and my own, left Tura
by a road which zig-zagged towards all points through the tall matama
fields. In an hour’s time we had passed Tura Perro, or Western Tura, and
had entered the forest again, whence the Wakimbu of Tura obtain their
honey, and where they excavate deep traps for the elephants with which the
forest is said to abound. An hour’s march from Western Tura brought us to
a ziwa, or pond. There were two, situated in the midst of a small open
mbuga, or plain, which, even at this late season, was yet soft from the
water which overflows it during the rainy season. After resting three
hours, we started on the terekeza, or afternoon march.

It was one and the same forest that we had entered soon after leaving
Western Tura, that we travelled through until we reached the Kwala Mtoni,
or, as Burton has misnamed it on his map, “Kwale.” The water of this mtoni
is contained in large ponds, or deep depressions in the wide and crooked
gully of Kwala. In these ponds a species of mud-fish, was found, off one
of which I made a meal, by no means to be despised by one who had not
tasted fish since leaving Bagamoyo. Probably, if I had my choice, being,
when occasion demands it, rather fastidious in my tastes, I would not
select the mud-fish.

From Tura to the Kwala Mtoni is seventeen and a half miles, a distance
which, however easy it may be traversed once a fortnight, assumes a
prodigious length when one has to travel it almost every other day, at
least, so my pagazis, soldiers, and followers found it, and their murmurs
were very loud when I ordered the signal to be sounded on the march. Abdul
Kader, the tailor who had attached himself to me, as a man ready-handed at
all things, from mending a pair of pants, making a delicate entremets, or
shooting an elephant, but whom the interior proved to be the weakliest of
the weakly, unfit for anything except eating and drinking—-almost
succumbed on this march.

Long ago the little stock of goods which Abdul had brought from Zanzibar
folded in a pocket-handkerchief, and with which he was about to buy ivory
and slaves, and make his fortune in the famed land of Unyamwezi, had
disappeared with the great eminent hopes he had built on them, like those
of Alnaschar the unfortunate owner of crockery in the Arabian tale. He
came to me as we prepared for the march, with a most dolorous tale about
his approaching death, which he felt in his bones, and weary back: his
legs would barely hold him up; in short, he had utterly collapsed—would
I take mercy on him, and let him depart? The cause of this extraordinary
request, so unlike the spirit with which he had left Zanzibar, eager to
possess the ivory and slaves of Unyamwezi, was that on the last long
march, two of my donkeys being dead, I had ordered that the two saddles
which they had carried should be Abdul Kader’s load to Unyanyembe. The
weight of the saddles was 16 lbs., as the spring balance-scale indicated,
yet Abdul Kader became weary of life, as, he counted the long marches that
intervened between the mtoni and Unyanyembe. On the ground he fell prone,
to kiss my feet, begging me in the name of God to permit him to depart.

As I had had some experience of Hindoos, Malabarese, and coolies in
Abyssinia, I knew exactly how to deal with a case like this.
Unhesitatingly I granted the request as soon as asked, for as much tired
as Abdul Kader said he was of life, I was with Abdul Kader’s
worthlessness. But the Hindi did not want to be left in the jungle, he
said, but, after arriving in Unyanyembe. “Oh,” said I, “then you must
reach Unyanyembe first; in the meanwhile you will carry those saddles
there for the food which you must eat.”

As the march to Rubuga was eighteen and three-quarter miles, the pagazis
walked fast and long without resting.

Rubuga, in the days of Burton, according to his book, was a prosperous
district. Even when we passed, the evidences of wealth and prosperity
which it possessed formerly, were plain enough in the wide extent of its
grain fields, which stretched to the right and left of the Unyanyembe road
for many a mile. But they were only evidences of what once were numerous
villages, a well-cultivated and populous district, rich in herds of cattle
and stores of grain. All the villages are burnt down, the people have been
driven north three or four days from Rubuga, the cattle were taken by
force, the grain fields were left standing, to be overgrown with jungle
and rank weeds. We passed village after village that had been burnt, and
were mere blackened heaps of charred timber and smoked clay; field after
field of grain ripe years ago was yet standing in the midst of a crop of
gums and thorns, mimosa and kolquall.

We arrived at the village, occupied by about sixty Wangwana, who have
settled here to make a living by buying and selling ivory. Food is
provided for them in the deserted fields of the people of Rubuga. We were
very tired and heated from the long march, but the pagazis had all arrived
by 3 p.m.

At the Wangwana village we met Amer bin Sultan, the very type of an old
Arab sheikh, such as we read of in books, with a snowy beard, and a clean
reverend face, who was returning to Zanzibar after a ten years’ residence
in Unyanyembe. He presented me with a goat; and a goatskin full of rice; a
most acceptable gift in a place where a goat costs five cloths.

After a day’s halt at Rubuga, during which I despatched soldiers to notify
Sheikh Sayd bin Salim and Sheikh bin Nasib, the two chief dignitaries of
Unyanyembe, of my coming, on the 21st of June we resumed the march for
Kigwa, distant five hours. The road ran through another forest similar to
that which separated Tura from Rubuga, the country rapidly sloping as we
proceeded westward. Kigwa we found to have been visited by the same
vengeance which rendered Rubuga such a waste.

The next day, after a three and a half hours’ rapid march, we crossed the
mtoni—which was no mtoni—separating Kigwa from Unyanyembe
district, and after a short halt to quench our thirst, in three and a half
hours more arrived at Shiza. It was a most delightful march, though a long
one, for its picturesqueness of scenery which every few minutes was
revealed, and the proofs we everywhere saw of the peaceable and
industrious disposition of the people. A short half hour from Shiza we
beheld the undulating plain wherein the Arabs have chosen to situate the
central depot which commands such wide and extensive field of trade. The
lowing of cattle and the bleating of the goats and sheep were everywhere
heard, giving the country a happy, pastoral aspect.

The Sultan of Shiza desired me to celebrate my arrival in Unyanyembe, with
a five-gallon jar of pombe, which he brought for that purpose.

As the pombe was but stale ale in taste, and milk and water in colour,
after drinking a small glassful I passed it to the delighted soldiers and
pagazis. At my request the Sultan brought a fine fat bullock, for which he
accepted four and a half doti of Merikani. The bullock was immediately
slaughtered and served out to the caravan as a farewell feast.

No one slept much that night, and long before the dawn the fires were lit,
and great steaks were broiling, that their stomachs might rejoice before
parting with the Musungu, whose bounty they had so often tasted. Six
rounds of powder were served to each soldier and pagazi who owned a gun,
to fire away when we should be near the Arab houses. The meanest pagazi
had his best cloth about his loins, and some were exceedingly brave in
gorgeous Ulyah “Coombeesa Poonga” and crimson “Jawah,” the glossy
“Rehani,” and the neat “Dabwani.” The soldiers were mustered in new
tarbooshes, and the long white shirts of the Mrima and the Island. For
this was the great and happy day which had been on our tongues ever since
quitting the coast, for which we had made those noted marches latterly—one
hundred and seventy-eight and a half miles in sixteen days, including
pauses—something over eleven miles a day.

The signal sounded and the caravan was joyfully off with banners flying,
and trumpets and horns blaring. A short two and a half hours’ march
brought us within sight of Kwikuru, which is about two miles south of
Tabora, the main Arab town; on the outside of which we saw a long line of
men in clean shirts, whereat we opened our charged batteries, and fired a
volley of small arms such as Kwikuru seldom heard before. The pagazis
closed up and adopted the swagger of veterans: the soldiers blazed away
uninterruptedly, while I, seeing that the Arabs were advancing towards me,
left the ranks, and held out my hand, which was immediately grasped by
Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, and then by about two dozen people, and thus our
entrée into Unyanyembe was effected.

CHAPTER VIII. — MY LIFE AND TROUBLES DURING MY RESIDENCE IN UNYAS
NYEMBE. I BECOME ENGAGED IN A WAR.

I received a noiseless ovation as I walked side by side with the governor,
Sayd bin Salim, towards his tembe in Kwikuru, or the capital. The
Wanyamwezi pagazis were out by hundreds, the warriors of Mkasiwa, the
sultan, hovered around their chief, the children were seen between the
legs of their parents, even infants, a few months old, slung over their
mothers’ backs, all paid the tribute due to my colour, with one grand
concentrated stare. The only persons who talked with me were the Arabs,
and aged Mkasiwa, ruler of Unyanyembe.

Sayd bin Salim’s house was at the north-western corner of the inclosure, a
stockaded boma of Kwikuru. We had tea made in a silver tea-pot, and a
bountiful supply of “dampers” were smoking under a silver cover; and to
this repast I was invited. When a man has walked eight miles or so without
any breakfast, and a hot tropical sun has been shining on him for three or
four hours, he is apt to do justice to a meal, especially if his appetite
is healthy. I think I astonished the governor by the dexterous way in
which I managed to consume eleven cups of his aromatic concoction of an
Assam herb, and the easy effortless style with which I demolished his high
tower of “slap jacks,” that but a minute or so smoked hotly under their
silver cover.

For the meal, I thanked the Sheikh, as only an earnest and sincerely
hungry man, now satisfied, could thank him. Even if I had not spoken, my
gratified looks had well informed him, under what obligations I had been
laid to him.

Out came my pipe and tobacco-pouch.

“My friendly Sheikh, wilt thou smoke?”

“No, thanks! Arabs never smoke.”

“Oh, if you don’t, perhaps you would not object to me smoking, in order to
assist digestion?”

“Ngema—good—go on, master.”

Then began the questions, the gossipy, curious, serious, light questions:

“How came the master?

“By the Mpwapwa road.”

“It is good. Was the Makata bad?”

“Very bad.”

“What news from Zanzibar?”

“Good; Syed Toorkee has possession of Muscat, and Azim bin Ghis was slain
in the streets.”

“Is this true, Wallahi?” (by God.)

“It is true.”

“Heh-heh-h! This is news!”—stroking his beard.

“Have you heard, master, of Suleiman bin Ali?”

“Yes, the Bombay governor sent him to Zanzibar, in a man-of-war, and
Suleiman bin Ali now lies in the gurayza (fort).”

“Heh, that is very good.”

“Did you have to pay much tribute to the Wagogo?”

“Eight times; Hamed Kimiani wished me to go by Kiwyeh, but I declined, and
struck through the forest to Munieka. Hamed and Thani thought it better to
follow me, than brave Kiwyeh by themselves.”

“Where is that Hajji Abdullah (Captain Burton) that came here, and Spiki?”
(Speke.)

“Hajji Abdullah! What Hajji Abdullah? Ah! Sheikh Burton we call him. Oh,
he is a great man now; a balyuz (a consul) at El Scham” (Damascus.)

“Heh-heh; balyuz! Heh, at El Scham! Is not that near Betlem el Kuds?”
(Jerusalem.)

“Yes, about four days. Spiki is dead. He shot himself by accident.”

“Ah, ah, Wallah (by God), but this is bad news. Spiki dead? Mash-Allah!
Ough, he was a good man—a good man! Dead!”

“But where is this Kazeh, Sheikh Sayd?”

“Kazeh? Kazeh? I never heard the name before.”

“But you were with Burton, and Speke, at Kazeh; you lived there several
months, when you were all stopping in Unyanyembe; it must be close here;
somewhere. Where did Hajji Abdullah and Spiki live when they were in
Unyanyembe? Was it not in Musa Mzuri’s house?”

“That was in Tabora.”

“Well, then, where is Kazeh? I have never seen the man yet who could tell
me where that place is, and yet the three white men have that word down,
as the name of the place they lived at when you were with them. You must
know where it is.”

“Wallahi, bana, I never heard the name; but stop, Kazeh, in Kinyamwezi,
means ‘kingdom.’ Perhaps they gave that name to the place they stopped at.
But then, I used to call the first house Sny bin Amer’s house, and Speke
lived at Musa Mzuri’s house, but both houses, as well as all the rest, are
in Tabora.”

“Thank you, sheikh. I should like to go and look after my people; they
must all be wanting food.”

“I shall go with you to show you your house. The tembe is in Kwihara, only
an hour’s walk from Tabora.”

On leaving Kwikuru we crossed a low ridge, and soon saw Kwihara lying
between two low ranges of hills, the northernmost of which was terminated
westward by the round fortress-like hill of Zimbili. There was a cold
glare of intense sunshine over the valley, probably the effect of an
universal bleakness or an autumnal ripeness of the grass, unrelieved by
any depth of colour to vary the universal sameness. The hills were
bleached, or seemed to be, under that dazzling sunshine, and clearest
atmosphere. The corn had long been cut, and there lay the stubble, and
fields,—a browny-white expanse; the houses were of mud, and their
fiat roofs were of mud, and the mud was of a browny-whiteness; the huts
were thatched, and the stockades around them of barked timber, and these
were of a browny whiteness. The cold, fierce, sickly wind from the
mountains of Usagara sent a deadly chill to our very marrows, yet the
intense sunshiny glare never changed, a black cow or two, or a tall tree
here and there, caught the eye for a moment, but they never made one
forget that the first impression of Kwihara was as of a picture without
colour, or of food without taste; and if one looked up, there was a sky of
a pale blue, spotless, and of an awful serenity.

As I approached the tembe of Sayd bin Salim, Sheikh bin Nasib and other
great Arabs joined us. Before the great door of the tembe the men had
stacked the bales, and piled the boxes, and were using their tongues at a
furious rate, relating to the chiefs and soldiers of the first, second,
and fourth caravans the many events which had befallen them, and which
seemed to them the only things worth relating. Outside of their own
limited circles they evidently cared for nothing. Then the several chiefs
of the other caravans had in turn to relate their experiences of the road;
and the noise of tongues was loud and furious. But as we approached, all
this loud-sounding gabble ceased, and my caravan chiefs and guides rushed
to me to hail me as “master,” and to salute me as their friend. One
fellow, faithful Baruti, threw himself at my feet, the others fired their
guns and acted like madmen suddenly become frenzied, and a general cry of
“welcome” was heard on all sides.

“Walk in, master, this is your house, now; here are your men’s quarters;
here you will receive the great Arabs, here is the cook-house; here is the
store-house; here is the prison for the refractory; here are your white
man’s apartments; and these are your own: see, here is the bedroom, here
is the gun-room, bath-room, &c.;” so Sheikh Sayd talked, as he showed
me the several places.

On my honour, it was a most comfortable place, this, in Central Africa.
One could almost wax poetic, but we will keep such ambitious ideas for a
future day. Just now, however, we must have the goods stored, and the
little army of carriers paid off and disbanded.

Bombay was ordered to unlock the strong store-room, to pile the bales in
regular tiers, the beads in rows one above another, and the wire in a
separate place. The boats, canvas, &c., were to be placed high above
reach of white ants, and the boxes of ammunition and powder kegs were to
be stored in the gun-room, out of reach of danger. Then a bale of cloth
was opened, and each carrier was rewarded according to his merits, that
each of them might proceed home to his friends and neighbours, and tell
them how much better the white man behaved than the Arabs.

The reports of the leaders of the first, second, and fourth caravans were
then received, their separate stores inspected, and the details and events
of their marches heard. The first caravan had been engaged in a war at
Kirurumo, and had come out of the fight successful, and had reached
Unyanyembe without loss of anything. The second had shot a thief in the
forest between Pembera Pereh and Kididimo; the fourth had lost a bale in
the jungle of Marenga Mkali, and the porter who carried it had received a
“very sore head” from a knob stick wielded by one of the thieves, who
prowl about the jungle near the frontier of Ugogo. I was delighted to find
that their misfortunes were no more, and each leader was then and there
rewarded with one handsome cloth, and five doti of Merikani.

Just as I began to feel hungry again, came several slaves in succession,
bearing trays full of good things from the Arabs; first an enormous dish
of rice, with a bowlful of curried chicken, another with a dozen huge
wheaten cakes, another with a plateful of smoking hot crullers, another
with papaws, another with pomegranates and lemons; after these came men
driving five fat hump backed oxen, eight sheep, and ten goats, and another
man with a dozen chickens, and a dozen fresh eggs. This was real,
practical, noble courtesy, munificent hospitality, which quite took my
gratitude by storm.

My people, now reduced to twenty-five, were as delighted at the prodigal
plenitude visible on my tables and in my yard, as I was myself. And as I
saw their eyes light up at the unctuous anticipations presented to them by
their riotous fancies, I ordered a bullock to be slaughtered and
distributed.

The second day of the arrival of the Expedition in the country which I now
looked upon as classic ground, since Capts. Burton, Speke, and Grant years
ago had visited it, and described it, came the Arab magnates from Tabora
to congratulate me.

Tabora* is the principal Arab settlement in Central Africa. It contains
over a thousand huts and tembes, and one may safely estimate the
population, Arabs, Wangwana, and natives, at five thousand people. Between
Tabora and the next settlement, Kwihara, rise two rugged hill ridges,
separated from each other by a low saddle, over the top of which Tabora is
always visible from Kwihara. ________________ * There is no such
recognised place as Kazeh. ________________

They were a fine, handsome body of men, these Arabs. They mostly hailed
from Oman: others were Wasawahili; and each of my visitors had quite a
retinue with him. At Tabora they live quite luxuriously. The plain on
which the settlement is situated is exceedingly fertile, though naked of
trees; the rich pasturage it furnishes permits them to keep large herds of
cattle and goats, from which they have an ample supply of milk, cream,
butter, and ghee. Rice is grown everywhere; sweet potatoes, yams, muhogo,
holcus sorghum, maize, or Indian corn, sesame, millet, field-peas, or
vetches, called choroko, are cheap, and always procurable. Around their
tembes the Arabs cultivate a little wheat for their own purposes, and have
planted orange, lemon, papaw, and mangoes, which thrive here fairly well.
Onions and garlic, chilies, cucumbers, tomatoes, and brinjalls, may be
procured by the white visitor from the more important Arabs, who are
undoubted epicureans in their way. Their slaves convey to them from the
coast, once a year at least, their stores of tea, coffee sugar, spices,
jellies, curries, wine, brandy, biscuits, sardines, salmon, and such fine
cloths and articles as they require for their own personal use. Almost
every Arab of any eminence is able to show a wealth of Persian carpets,
and most luxurious bedding, complete tea and coffee-services, and
magnificently carved dishes of tinned copper and brass lavers. Several of
them sport gold watches and chains, mostly all a watch and chain of some
kind. And, as in Persia, Afghanistan, and Turkey, the harems form an
essential feature of every Arab’s household; the sensualism of the
Mohammedans is as prominent here as in the Orient.

The Arabs who now stood before the front door of my tembe were the donors
of the good things received the day before. As in duty bound, of course, I
greeted Sheikh Sayd first, then Sheikh bin Nasib, his Highness of
Zanzibar’s consul at Karagwa, then I greeted the noblest Trojan amongst
the Arab population, noblest in bearing, noblest in courage and manly
worth—Sheikh Khamis bin Abdullah; then young Amram bin Mussoud, who
is now making war on the king of Urori and his fractious people; then
handsome, courageous Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid; then dandified Thani
bin Abdullah; then Mussoud bin Abdullah and his cousin Abdullah bin
Mussoud, who own the houses where formerly lived Burton and Speke; then
old Suliman Dowa, Sayd bin Sayf, and the old Hetman of Tabora—Sheikh
Sultan bin Ali.

As the visit of these magnates, under whose loving protection white
travellers must needs submit themselves, was only a formal one, such as
Arab etiquette, ever of the stateliest and truest, impelled them to, it is
unnecessary to relate the discourse on my health, and their wealth, my
thanks, and their professions of loyalty, and attachment to me. After
having expended our mutual stock of congratulations and nonsense, they
departed, having stated their wish that I should visit them at Tabora and
partake of a feast which they were about to prepare for me.

Three days afterwards I sallied out of my tembe, escorted by eighteen
bravely dressed men of my escort, to pay Tabora a visit. On surmounting
the saddle over which the road from the valley of Kwihara leads to Tabora,
the plain on which the Arab settlement is situated lay before us, one
expanse of dun pasture land, stretching from the base of the hill on our
left as far as the banks of the northern Gombe, which a few miles beyond
Tabora heave into purple-coloured hills and blue cones.

Within three-quarters of an hour we were seated on the mud veranda of the
tembe of Sultan bin Ali, who, because of his age, his wealth, and position—being
a colonel in Seyd Burghash’s unlovely army—is looked upon by his
countrymen, high and low, as referee and counsellor. His boma or enclosure
contains quite a village of hive-shaped huts and square tembes. From here,
after being presented with a cup of Mocha coffee, and some sherbet, we
directed our steps towards Khamis bin Abdullah’s house, who had, in
anticipation of my coming, prepared a feast to which he had invited his
friends and neighbours. The group of stately Arabs in their long white
dresses, and jaunty caps, also of a snowy white, who stood ready to
welcome me to Tabora, produced quite an effect on my mind. I was in time
for a council of war they were holding—and I was requested to
attend.

Khamis bin Abdullah, a bold and brave man, ever ready to stand up for the
privileges of the Arabs, and their rights to pass through any countries
for legitimate trade, is the man who, in Speke’s ‘Journal of the Discovery
of the Source of the Nile,’ is reported to have shot Maula, an old chief
who sided with Manwa Sera during the wars of 1860; and who subsequently,
after chasing his relentless enemy for five years through Ugogo and
Unyamwezi as far as Ukonongo, had the satisfaction of beheading him, was
now urging the Arabs to assert their rights against a chief called Mirambo
of Uyoweh, in a crisis which was advancing.

This Mirambo of Uyoweh, it seems, had for the last few years been in a
state of chronic discontent with the policies of the neighbouring chiefs.
Formerly a pagazi for an Arab, he had now assumed regal power, with the
usual knack of unconscionable rascals who care not by what means they step
into power. When the chief of Uyoweh died, Mirambo, who was head of a gang
of robbers infesting the forests of Wilyankuru, suddenly entered Uyoweh,
and constituted himself lord paramount by force. Some feats of enterprise,
which he performed to the enrichment of all those who recognised his
authority, established him firmly in his position. This was but a
beginning; he carried war through Ugara to Ukonongo, through Usagozi to
the borders of Uvinza, and after destroying the populations over three
degrees of latitude, he conceived a grievance against Mkasiwa, and against
the Arabs, because they would not sustain him in his ambitious projects
against their ally and friend, with whom they were living in peace.

The first outrage which this audacious man committed against the Arabs was
the halting of an Ujiji-bound caravan, and the demand for five kegs of
gunpowder, five guns, and five bales of cloth. This extraordinary demand,
after expending more than a day in fierce controversy, was paid; but the
Arabs, if they were surprised at the exorbitant black-mail demanded of
them, were more than ever surprised when they were told to return the way
they came; and that no Arab caravan should pass through his country to
Ujiji except over his dead body.

On the return of the unfortunate Arabs to Unyanyembe, they reported the
facts to Sheikh Sayd bin Salim, the governor of the Arab colony. This old
man, being averse to war, of course tried every means to induce Mirambo as
of old to be satisfied with presents; but Mirambo this time was obdurate,
and sternly determined on war unless the Arabs aided him in the warfare he
was about to wage against old Mkasiwa, sultan of the Wanyamwezi of
Unyanyembe.

“This is the status of affairs,” said Khamis bin Abdullah. “Mirambo says
that for years he has been engaged in war against the neighbouring
Washensi and has come out of it victorious; he says this is a great year
with him; that he is going to fight the Arabs, and the Wanyamwezi of
Unyanyembe, and that he shall not stop until every Arab is driven from
Unyanyembe, and he rules over this country in place of Mkasiwa. Children
of Oman, shall it be so? Speak, Salim, son of Sayf, shall we go to meet
this Mshensi (pagan) or shall we return to our island?”

A murmur of approbation followed the speech of Khamis bin Abdullah, the
majority of those present being young men eager to punish the audacious
Mirambo. Salim, the son of Sayf, an old patriarch, slow of speech, tried
to appease the passions of the young men, scions of the aristocracy of
Muscat and Muttrah, and Bedaweens of the Desert, but Khamis’s bold words
had made too deep an impression on their minds.

Soud, the handsome Arab whom I have noticed already as the son of Sayd the
son of Majid, spoke: “My father used to tell me that he remembered the
days when the Arabs could go through the country from Bagamoyo to Ujiji,
and from Kilwa to Lunda, and from Usenga to Uganda armed with canes. Those
days are gone by. We have stood the insolence of the Wagogo long enough.
Swaruru of Usui just takes from us whatever he wants; and now, here is
Mirambo, who says, after taking more than five bales of cloth as tribute
from one man, that no Arab caravan shall go to Ujiji, but over his body.
Are we prepared to give up the ivory of Ujiji, of Urundi, of Karagwah, of
Uganda, because of this one man? I say war—war until we have got his
beard under our feet—war until the whole of Uyoweh and Wilyankuru is
destroyed—war until we can again travel through any part of the
country with only our walking canes in our hands!”

The universal assent that followed Send’s speech proved beyond a doubt
that we were about to have a war. I thought of Livingstone. What if he
were marching to Unyanyembe directly into the war country?

Having found from the Arabs that they intended to finish the war quickly—at
most within fifteen days, as Uyoweh was only four marches distant—I
volunteered to accompany them, take my loaded caravan with me as far as
Mfuto, and there leave it in charge of a few guards, and with the rest
march on with the Arab army. And my hope was, that it might be possible,
after the defeat of Mirambo, and his forest banditti—the Ruga-Ruga—to
take my Expedition direct to Ujiji by the road now closed. The Arabs were
sanguine of victory, and I partook of their enthusiasm.

The council of war broke up. A great dishful of rice and curry, in which
almonds, citron, raisins, and currants were plentifully mixed, was brought
in, and it was wonderful how soon we forgot our warlike fervor after our
attention had been drawn to this royal dish. I, of course, not being a
Mohammedan, had a dish of my own, of a similar composition, strengthened
by platters containing roast chicken, and kabobs, crullers, cakes,
sweetbread, fruit, glasses of sherbet and lemonade, dishes of gum-drops
and Muscat sweetmeats, dry raisins, prunes, and nuts. Certainly Khamis bin
Abdullah proved to me that if he had a warlike soul in him, he could also
attend to the cultivated tastes acquired under the shade of the mangoes on
his father’s estates in Zanzibar—the island.

After gorging ourselves on these uncommon dainties some of the chief Arabs
escorted me to other tembes of Tabora. When we went to visit Mussoud bin
Abdullah, he showed me the very ground where Burton and Speke’s house
stood—now pulled down and replaced by his office—Sny bin
Amer’s house was also torn down, and the fashionable tembe of Unyanyembe,
now in vogue, built over it,—finely-carved rafters—huge carved
doors, brass knockers, and lofty airy rooms—a house built for
defence and comfort.

The finest house in Unyanyembe belongs to Amram bin Mussoud, who paid
sixty frasilah of ivory—over $3,000—for it. Very fair houses
can be purchased for from twenty to thirty frasilah of ivory. Amram’s
house is called the “Two Seas”—”Baherein.” It is one hundred feet in
length, and twenty feet high, with walls four feet thick, neatly plastered
over with mud mortar. The great door is a marvel of carving-work for
Unyanyembe artisans. Each rafter within is also carved with fine designs.
Before the front of the house is a young plantation of pomegranate trees,
which flourish here as if they were indigenous to the soil. A shadoof,
such as may be seen on the Nile, serves to draw water to irrigate the
gardens.

Towards evening we walked back to our own finely situated tembe in
Kwihara, well satisfied with what we had seen at Tabora. My men drove a
couple of oxen, and carried three sacks of native rice—a most
superior kind—the day’s presents of hospitality from Khamis bin
Abdullah.

In Unyanyembe I found the Livingstone caravan, which started off in a
fright from Bagamoyo upon the rumour that the English Consul was coming.
As all the caravans were now halted at Unyanyembe because of the now
approaching war, I suggested to Sayd bin Salim, that it were better that
the men of the Livingstone caravan should live with mine in my tembe, that
I might watch over the white man’s goods. Sayd bin Salim agreed with me,
and the men and goods were at once brought to my tembe.

One day Asmani, who was now chief of Livingstone’s caravan, the other
having died of small-pox, two or three days before, brought out a tent to
the veranda where, I was sitting writing, and shewed me a packet of
letters, which to my surprise was marked:

“To Dr. Livingstone,

“Ujiji,

“November 1st, 1870.

“Registered letters.”

From November 1st, 1870, to February 10, 1871, just one hundred days, at
Bagamoyo! A miserable small caravan of thirty-three men halting one
hundred days at Bagamoyo, only twenty-five miles by water from Zanzibar!
Poor Livingstone! Who knows but he maybe suffering for want of these very
supplies that were detained so long near the sea. The caravan arrived in
Unyanyembe some time about the middle of May. About the latter part of May
the first disturbances took place. Had this caravan arrived here in the
middle of March, or even the middle of April, they might have travelled on
to Ujiji without trouble.

On the 7th of July, about 2 P.M., I was sitting on the burzani as usual; I
felt listless and languid, and a drowsiness came over me; I did not fall
asleep, but the power of my limbs seemed to fail me. Yet the brain was
busy; all my life seemed passing in review before me; when these
retrospective scenes became serious, I looked serious; when they were
sorrowful, I wept hysterically; when they were joyous, I laughed loudly.
Reminiscences of yet a young life’s battles and hard struggles came
surging into the mind in quick succession: events of boyhood, of youth,
and manhood; perils, travels, scenes, joys, and sorrows; loves and hates;
friendships and indifferences. My mind followed the various and rapid
transition of my life’s passages; it drew the lengthy, erratic, sinuous
lines of travel my footsteps had passed over. If I had drawn them on the
sandy floor, what enigmatical problems they had been to those around me,
and what plain, readable, intelligent histories they had been to me!

The loveliest feature of all to me was the form of a noble, and true man,
who called me son. Of my life in the great pine forests of Arkansas, and
in Missouri, I retained the most vivid impressions. The dreaming days I
passed under the sighing pines on the Ouachita’s shores; the new clearing,
the block-house, our faithful black servant, the forest deer, and the
exuberant life I led, were all well remembered. And I remembered how one
day, after we had come to live near the Mississipi, I floated down, down,
hundreds of miles, with a wild fraternity of knurly giants, the boatmen of
the Mississipi, and how a dear old man welcomed me back, as if from the
grave. I remembered also my travels on foot through sunny Spain, and
France, with numberless adventures in Asia Minor, among Kurdish nomads. I
remembered the battle-fields of America and the stormy scenes of rampant
war. I remembered gold mines, and broad prairies, Indian councils, and
much experience in the new western lands. I remembered the shock it gave
me to hear after my return from a barbarous country of the calamity that
had overtaken the fond man whom I called father, and the hot fitful life
that followed it. Stop! ************

Dear me; is it the 21st of July? Yes, Shaw informed me that it was the
21st of July after I recovered from my terrible attack of fever; the true
date was the 14th of July, but I was not aware that I had jumped a week,
until I met Dr. Livingstone. We two together examined the Nautical
Almanack, which I brought with me. We found that the Doctor was three
weeks out of his reckoning, and to my great surprise I was also one week
out, or one week ahead of the actual date. The mistake was made by my
being informed that I had been two weeks sick, and as the day I recovered
my senses was Friday, and Shaw and the people were morally sure that I was
in bed two weeks, I dated it on my Diary the 21st of July. However, on the
tenth day after the first of my illness, I was in excellent trim again,
only, however, to see and attend to Shaw, who was in turn taken sick. By
the 22nd July Shaw was recovered, then Selim was prostrated, and groaned
in his delirium for four days, but by the 28th we were all recovered, and
were beginning to brighten up at the prospect of a diversion in the shape
of a march upon Mirambo’s stronghold.

The morning of the 29th I had fifty men loaded with bales, beads, and
wire, for Ujiji. When they were mustered for the march outside the tembe,
the only man absent was Bombay. While men were sent to search for him,
others departed to get one more look, and one more embrace with their
black Delilahs. Bombay was found some time about 2 P.M., his face
faithfully depicting the contending passions under which he was labouring—sorrow
at parting from the fleshpots of Unyanyembe—regret at parting from
his Dulcinea of Tabora—to be, bereft of all enjoyment now, nothing
but marches—hard, long marches—to go to the war—to be
killed, perhaps, Oh! Inspired by such feelings, no wonder Bombay was
inclined to be pugnacious when I ordered him to his place, and I was in a
shocking bad temper for having been kept waiting from 8 A.M. to 2 P.M. for
him. There was simply a word and a savage look, and my cane was flying
around Bombay’s shoulders, as if he were to be annihilated. I fancy that
the eager fury of my onslaught broke his stubbornness more than anything
else; for before I had struck him a dozen times he was crying for
“pardon.” At that word I ceased belaboring him, for this was the first
time he had ever uttered that word. Bombay was conquered at last.

“March!” and the guide led off, followed in solemn order by forty-nine of
his fellows, every man carrying a heavy load of African moneys, besides
his gun, hatchet, and stock of ammunition, and his ugali-pot. We presented
quite an imposing sight while thus marching on in silence and order, with
our flags flying, and the red blanket robes of the men streaming behind
them as the furious north-easter blew right on our flank.

The men seemed to feel they were worth seeing, for I noticed that several
assumed a more martial tread as they felt their royal Joho cloth tugging
at their necks, as it was swept streaming behind by the wind. Maganga, a
tall Mnyamwezi, stalked along like a very Goliah about to give battle
alone, to Mirambo and his thousand warriors. Frisky Khamisi paced on under
his load, imitating a lion and there was the rude jester—the
incorrigible Ulimengo—with a stealthy pace like a cat. But their
silence could not last long. Their vanity was so much gratified, the red
cloaks danced so incessantly before their eyes, that it would have been a
wonder if they could have maintained such serious gravity or discontent
one half hour longer.

This was the ridiculous song they kept up all day without intermission.

We camped the first day at Bomboma’s village, situated a mile to the
south-west of the natural hill fortress of Zimbili. Bombay was quite
recovered from his thrashing, and had banished the sullen thoughts that
had aroused my ire, and the men having behaved themselves so well, a
five-gallon pot of pombe was brought to further nourish the valour, which
they one and all thought they possessed.

The second day we arrived at Masangi. I was visited soon afterwards by
Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid, who told me the Arabs were waiting for
me; that they would not march from Mfuto until I had arrived.

Eastern Mfuto, after a six hours’ march, was reached on the third day from
Unyanyembe. Shaw gave in, laid down in the road, and declared he was
dying. This news was brought to me about 4 P.M. by one of the last
stragglers. I was bound to despatch men to carry him to me, into my camp,
though every man was well tired after the long march. A reward stimulated
half-a-dozen to venture into the forest just at dusk to find Shaw, who was
supposed to be at least three hours away from camp.

About two o’clock in the morning my men returned, having carried Shaw on
their backs the entire distance. I was roused up, and had him conveyed to
my tent. I examined him, and I assured myself he was not suffering from
fever of any kind; and in reply to my inquiries as to how he felt, he said
he could neither walk nor ride, that he felt such extreme weakness and
lassitude that he was incapable of moving further. After administering a
glass of port wine to him in a bowlful of sago gruel, we both fell asleep.

We arrived early the following morning at Mfuto, the rendezvous of the
Arab army. A halt was ordered the next day, in order to make ourselves
strong by eating the beeves, which we freely slaughtered.

The personnel of our army was as follows:

Sheikh Sayd bin Salim…… 25 half caste

These made a total of 2,255, according to numbers given me by Thani bin
Abdullah, and corroborated by a Baluch in the pay of Sheikh bin Nasib. Of
these men 1,500 were armed with guns—flint-lock muskets, German and
French double-barrels, some English Enfields, and American Springfields—besides
these muskets, they were mostly armed with spears and long knives for the
purpose of decapitating, and inflicting vengeful gashes in the dead
bodies. Powder and ball were plentiful: some men were served a hundred
rounds each, my people received each man sixty rounds.

As we filed out of the stronghold of Mfuto, with waving banners denoting
the various commanders, with booming horns, and the roar of fifty bass
drums, called gomas—with blessings showered on us by the mollahs,
and happiest predications from the soothsayers, astrologers, and the
diviners of the Koran—who could have foretold that this grand force,
before a week passed over its head, would be hurrying into that same
stronghold of Mfuto, with each man’s heart in his mouth from fear?

The date of our leaving Mfuto for battle with Mirambo was the 3rd of
August. All my goods were stored in Mfuto, ready for the march to Ujiji,
should we be victorious over the African chief, but at least for safety,
whatever befel us.

Long before we reached Umanda, I was in my hammock in the paroxysms of a
fierce attack of intermittent fever, which did not leave me until late
that night.

At Umanda, six hours from Mfuto, our warriors bedaubed themselves with the
medicine which the wise men had manufactured for them—a compound of
matama flour mixed with the juices of a herb whose virtues were only known
to the Waganga of the Wanyamwezi.

At 6 A.M. on the 4th of August we were once more prepared for the road,
but before we were marched out of the village, the “manneno,” or speech,
was delivered by the orator of the Wanyamwezi:

“Words! words! words! Listen, sons of Mkasiwa, children of Unyamwezi! the
journey is before you, the thieves of the forest are waiting; yes, they
are thieves, they cut up your caravans, they steal your ivory, they murder
your women. Behold, the Arabs are with you, El Wali of the Arab sultan,
and the white man are with you. Go, the son of Mkasiwa is with you; fight;
kill, take slaves, take cloth, take cattle, kill, eat, and fill
yourselves! Go!”

A loud, wild shout followed this bold harangue, the gates of the village
were thrown open, and blue, red, and white-robed soldiers were bounding
upward like so many gymnasts; firing their guns incessantly, in order to
encourage themselves with noise, or to strike terror into the hearts of
those who awaited us within the strong enclosure of Zimbizo, Sultan
Kolongo’s place.

As Zimbizo was distant only five hours from Umanda, at 11 A.M. we came in
view of it. We halted on the verge of the cultivated area around it and
its neighbours within the shadow of the forest. Strict orders had been
given by the several chiefs to their respective commands not to fire,
until they were within shooting distance of the boma.

Khamis bin Abdullah crept through the forest to the west of the village.
The Wanyamwezi took their position before the main gateway, aided by the
forces of Soud the son of Sayd on the right, and the son of Habib on the
left, Abdullah, Mussoud, myself, and others made ready to attack the
eastern gates, which arrangement effectually shut them in, with the
exception of the northern side.

Suddenly, a volley opened on us as we emerged from the forest along the
Unyanyembe road, in the direction they had been anticipating the sight of
an enemy, and immediately the attacking forces began their firing in most
splendid style. There were some ludicrous scenes of men pretending to
fire, then jumping off to one side, then forward, then backward, with the
agility of hopping frogs, but the battle was none the less in earnest. The
breech-loaders of my men swallowed my metallic cartridges much faster than
I liked to see; but happily there was a lull in the firing, and we were
rushing into the village from the west, the south, the north, through the
gates and over the tall palings that surrounded the village, like so many
Merry Andrews; and the poor villagers were flying from the enclosure
towards the mountains, through the northern gate, pursued by the fleetest
runners of our force, and pelted in the back by bullets from
breech-loaders and shot-guns.

The village was strongly defended, and not more than twenty dead bodies
were found in it, the strong thick wooden paling having afforded excellent
protection against our bullets.

From Zimbizo, after having left a sufficient force within, we sallied out,
and in an hour had cleared the neighbourhood of the enemy, having captured
two other villages, which we committed to the flames, after gutting them
of all valuables. A few tusks of ivory, and about fifty slaves, besides an
abundance of grain, composed the “loot,” which fell to the lot of the
Arabs.

On the 5th, a detachment of Arabs and slaves, seven hundred strong,
scoured the surrounding country, and carried fire and devastation up to
the boma of Wilyankuru.

On the 6th, Soud bin Sayd and about twenty other young Arabs led a force
of five hundred men against Wilyankuru itself, where it was supposed
Mirambo was living. Another party went out towards the low wooded hills, a
short distance north of Zimbizo, near which place they surprised a
youthful forest thief asleep, whose head they stretched backwards, and cut
it off as though he were a goat or a sheep. Another party sallied out
southward, and defeated a party of Mirambo’s “bush-whackers,” news of
which came to our ears at noon.

In the morning I had gone to Sayd bin Salim’s tembe, to represent to him
how necessary it was to burn the long grass in the forest of Zimbizo, lest
it might hide any of the enemy; but soon afterwards I had been struck down
with another attack of intermittent fever, and was obliged to turn in and
cover myself with blankets to produce perspiration; but not, however, till
I had ordered Shaw and Bombay not to permit any of my men to leave the
camp. But I was told soon afterwards by Selim that more than one half had
gone to the attack on Wilyankuru with Soud bin Sayd.

About 6 P.M. the entire camp of Zimbizo was electrified with the news that
all the Arabs who had accompanied Soud bin Sayd had been killed; and that
more than one-half of his party had been slain. Some of my own men
returned, and from them I learned that Uledi, Grant’s former valet,
Mabruki Khatalabu (Killer of his father), Mabruki (the Little), Baruti of
Useguhha, and Ferahan had been killed. I learned also that they had
succeeded in capturing Wilyankuru in a very short time, that Mirambo and
his son were there, that as they succeeded in effecting an entrance,
Mirambo had collected his men, and after leaving the village, had formed
an ambush in the grass, on each side of the road, between Wilyankuru and
Zimbizo, and that as the attacking party were returning home laden with
over a hundred tusks of ivory, and sixty bales of cloth, and two or three
hundred slaves, Mirambo’s men suddenly rose up on each side of them, and
stabbed them with their spears. The brave Soud had fired his
double-barrelled gun and shot two men, and was in the act of loading again
when a spear was launched, which penetrated through and through him: all
the other Arabs shared the same fate. This sudden attack from an enemy
they believed to be conquered so demoralized the party that, dropping
their spoil, each man took to his heels, and after making a wide detour
through the woods, returned to Zimbizo to repeat the dolorous tale.

The effect of this defeat is indescribable. It was impossible to sleep,
from the shrieks of the women whose husbands had fallen. All night they
howled their lamentations, and sometimes might be heard the groans of the
wounded who had contrived to crawl through the grass unperceived by the
enemy. Fugitives were continually coming in throughout the night, but none
of my men who were reported to be dead, were ever heard of again.

The 7th was a day of distrust, sorrow, and retreat; the Arabs accused one
another for urging war without expending all peaceful means first. There
were stormy councils of war held, wherein were some who proposed to return
at once to Unyanyembe, and keep within their own houses; and Khamis bin
Abdullah raved, like an insulted monarch, against the abject cowardice of
his compatriots. These stormy meetings and propositions to retreat were
soon known throughout the camp, and assisted more than anything else to
demoralize completely the combined forces of Wanyamwezi and slaves. I sent
Bombay to Sayd bin Salim to advise him not to think of retreat, as it
would only be inviting Mirambo to carry the war to Unyanyembe.

After, despatching Bombay with this message, I fell asleep, but about 1.30
P.M. I was awakened by Selim saying, “Master, get up, they are all running
away, and Khamis bin Abdullah is himself going.”

With the aid of Selim I dressed myself, and staggered towards the door. My
first view was of Thani bin Abdullah being dragged away, who, when he
caught sight of me, shouted out “Bana—quick—Mirambo is
coming.” He was then turning to run, and putting on his jacket, with his
eyes almost starting out of their sockets with terror. Khamis bin Abdullah
was also about departing, he being the last Arab to leave. Two of my men
were following him; these Selim was ordered to force back with a revolver.
Shaw was saddling his donkey with my own saddle, preparatory to giving me
the slip, and leaving me in the lurch to the tender mercies of Mirambo.
There were only Bombay, Mabruki Speke, Chanda who was coolly eating his
dinner, Mabruk Unyauyembe, Mtamani, Juma, and Sarmean—-only seven
out of fifty. All the others had deserted, and were by this time far away,
except Uledi (Manwa Sera) and Zaidi, whom Selim brought back at the point
of a loaded revolver. Selim was then told to saddle my donkey, and Bombay
to assist Shaw to saddle his own. In a few moments we were on the road,
the men ever looking back for the coming enemy; they belabored the donkeys
to some purpose, for they went at a hard trot, which caused me intense
pain. I would gladly have lain down to die, but life was sweet, and I had
not yet given up all hope of being able to preserve it to the full and
final accomplishment of my mission. My mind was actively at work planning
and contriving during the long lonely hours of night, which we employed to
reach Mfuto, whither I found the Arabs had retreated. In the night Shaw
tumbled off his donkey, and would not rise, though implored to do so. As I
did not despair myself, so I did not intend that Shaw should despair. He
was lifted on his animal, and a man was placed on each side of him to
assist him; thus we rode through the darkness. At midnight we reached
Mfuto safely, and were at once admitted into the village, from which we
had issued so valiantly, but to which we were now returned so
ignominiously.

I found all my men had arrived here before dark. Ulimengo, the bold guide
who had exulted in his weapons and in our numbers, and was so sanguine of
victory, had performed the eleven hours’ march in six hours; sturdy
Chowpereh, whom I regarded as the faithfullest of my people, had arrived
only half an hour later than Ulimengo; and frisky Khamisi, the dandy—the
orator—the rampant demagogue—yes—he had come third; and
Speke’s “Faithfuls” had proved as cowardly as any poor “nigger” of them
all. Only Selim was faithful.

I asked Selim, “Why did you not also run away, and leave your master to
die?”

“Oh, sir,” said the Arab boy, naively, “I was afraid you would whip me.”

CHAPTER IX. — MY LIFE AND TROUBLES IN UNYANYEMBE-(continued).

It never occurred to the Arab magnates that I had cause of complaint
against them, or that I had a right to feel aggrieved at their conduct,
for the base desertion of an ally, who had, as a duty to friendship, taken
up arms for their sake. Their “salaams” the next morning after the
retreat, were given as if nothing had transpired to mar the good feeling
that had existed between us.

They were hardly seated, however, before I began to inform them that as
the war was only between them and Mirambo, and that as I was afraid, if
they were accustomed to run away after every little check, that the war
might last a much longer time than I could afford to lose; and that as
they had deserted their wounded on the field, and left their sick friends
to take care of themselves, they must not consider me in the light of an
ally any more. “I am satisfied,” said I, “having seen your mode of
fighting, that the war will not be ended in so short a time as you think
it will. It took you five years, I hear, to conquer and kill Manwa Sera,
you will certainly not conquer Mirambo in less than a year.* I am a white
man, accustomed to wars after a different style, I know something about
fighting, but I never saw people run away from an encampment like ours at
Zimbizo for such slight cause as you had. By running away, you have
invited Mirambo to follow you to Unyanyembe; you may be sure he will
come.” __________________ * The same war is still raging, April, 1874.
__________________

The Arabs protested one after another that they had not intended to have
left me, but the Wanyamwezi of Mkasiwa had shouted out that the “Musungu”
was gone, and the cry had caused a panic among their people, which it was
impossible to allay.

Later that day the Arabs continued their retreat to Tabora; which is
twenty-two miles distant from Mfuto. I determined to proceed more
leisurely, and on the second day after the flight from Zimbizo, the
Expedition, with all the stores and baggage, marched back to Masangi, and
on the third day to Kwihara.

The following extracts from my Diary will serve to show better than
anything else, my feelings and thoughts about this time, after our
disgraceful retreat:

Kwihara. Friday, 11th August, 1871.—Arrived to-day from Zimbili,
village of Bomboma’s. I am quite disappointed and almost disheartened. But
I have one consolation, I have done my duty by the Arabs, a duty I thought
I owed to the kindness they received me with, now, however, the duty is
discharged, and I am free to pursue my own course. I feel happy, for some
reasons, that the duty has been paid at such a slight sacrifice. Of course
if I had lost my life in this enterprise, I should have been justly
punished. But apart from my duty to the consideration with which the Arabs
had received me, was the necessity of trying every method of reaching
Livingstone. This road which the war with Mirambo has closed, is only a
month’s march from this place, and, if the road could be opened with my
aid, sooner than without it, why should I refuse my aid? The attempt has
been made for the second time to Ujiji—both have failed. I am going
to try another route; to attempt to go by the north would be folly.
Mirambo’s mother and people, and the Wasui, are between me and Ujiji,
without including the Watuta, who are his allies, and robbers. The
southern route seems to be the most practicable one. Very few people know
anything of the country south; those whom I have questioned concerning it
speak of “want of water” and robber Wazavira, as serious obstacles; they
also say that the settlements are few and far between.

But before I can venture to try this new route, I have to employ a new set
of men, as those whom I took to Mfuto consider their engagements at an
end, and the fact of five of their number being killed rather damps their
ardor for travelling. It is useless to hope that Wanyamwezi can be
engaged, because it is against their custom to go with caravans, as
carriers, during war time. My position is most serious. I have a good
excuse for returning to the coast, but my conscience will not permit me to
do so, after so much money has been expended, and so much confidence has
been placed in me. In fact, I feel I must die sooner than return.

Saturday, August 12th.—My men, as I supposed they would, have gone;
they said that I engaged them to go, to Ujiji by Mirambo’s road. I have
only thirteen left.

With this small body of men, whither can I go? I have over one hundred
loads in the storeroom. Livingstone’s caravan is also here; his goods
consist of seventeen bales of cloth, twelve boxes, and six bags of beads.
His men are luxuriating upon the best the country affords.

If Livingstone is at Ujiji, he is now locked up with small means of
escape. I may consider myself also locked up at Unyamyembe, and I suppose
cannot go to Ujiji until this war with Mirambo is settled. Livingstone
cannot get his goods, for they are here with mine. He cannot return to
Zanzibar, and the road to the Nile is blocked up. He might, if he has men
and stores, possibly reach Baker by travelling northwards, through Urundi,
thence through Ruanda, Karagwah, Uganda, Unyoro, and Ubari to Gondokoro.
Pagazis he cannot obtain, for the sources whence a supply might be
obtained are closed. It is an erroneous supposition to think that
Livingstone, any more than any other energetic man of his calibre, can
travel through Africa without some sort of an escort, and a durable supply
of marketable cloth and beads.

I was told to-day by a man that when Livingstone was coming from Nyassa
Lake towards the Tanganika (the very time that people thought him
murdered) he was met by Sayd bin Omar’s caravan, which was bound for
Ulamba. He was travelling with Mohammed bin Gharib. This Arab, who was
coming from Urunga, met Livingstone at Chi-cumbi’s, or Kwa-chi-kumbi’s,
country, and travelled with him afterwards, I hear, to Manyuema or
Manyema. Manyuema is forty marches from the north of Nyassa. Livingstone
was walking; he was dressed in American sheeting. He had lost all his
cloth in Lake Liemba while crossing it in a boat. He had three canoes with
him; in one he put his cloth, another he loaded with his boxes and some of
his men, into the third he went himself with two servants and two
fishermen. The boat with his cloth was upset. On leaving Nyassa,
Livingstone went to Ubisa, thence to Uemba, thence to Urungu. Livingstone
wore a cap. He had a breech-loading double-barreled rifle with him, which
fired fulminating balls. He was also armed with two revolvers. The Wahiyow
with Livingstone told this man that their master had many men with him at
first, but that several had deserted him.

August 13th.—A caravan came in to-day from the seacoast. They
reported that William L. Farquhar, whom I left sick at Mpwapwa, Usagara,
and his cook, were dead. Farquhar, I was told, died a few days after I had
entered Ugogo, his cook died a few weeks later. My first impulse was for
revenge. I believed that Leukole had played me false, and had poisoned
him, or that he had been murdered in some other manner; but a personal
interview with the Msawahili who brought the news informing me that
Farquhar had succumbed to his dreadful illness has done away with that
suspicion. So far as I could understand him, Farquhar had in the morning
declared himself well enough to proceed, but in attempting to rise, had
fallen backward and died. I was also told that the Wasagara, possessing
some superstitious notions respecting the dead, had ordered Jako to take
the body out for burial, that Jako, not being able to carry it, had
dragged the body to the jungle, and there left it naked without the
slightest covering of earth, or anything else.

“There is one of us gone, Shaw, my boy! Who will be the next?” I remarked
that night to my companion.

August 14th.—Wrote some letters to Zanzibar. Shaw was taken very ill
last night.

August 19th. Saturday.—My soldiers are employed stringing beads.
Shaw is still a-bed. We hear that Mirambo is coming to Unyanyembe. A
detachment of Arabs and their slaves have started this morning to possess
themselves of the powder left there by the redoubtable Sheikh Sayd bin
Salim, the commander-in-chief of the Arab settlements.

August 21st. Monday.—Shaw still sick. One hundred fundo of beads
have been strung. The Arabs are preparing for another sally against
Mirambo. The advance of Mirambo upon Unyanyembe was denied by Sayd bin
Salim, this morning.

August 22nd.—We were stringing beads this morning, when, about 10
A.M., we heard a continued firing from the direction of Tabora. Rushing
out from our work to the front door facing Tabora, we heard considerable
volleying, and scattered firing, plainly; and ascending to the top of my
tembe, I saw with my glasses the smoke of the guns. Some of my men who
were sent on to ascertain the cause came running back with the information
that Mirambo had attacked Tabora with over two thousand men, and that a
force of over one thousand Watuta, who had allied themselves with him for
the sake of plunder, had come suddenly upon Tabora, attacking from
opposite directions.

Later in the day, or about noon, watching the low saddle over which we
could see Tabora, we saw it crowded with fugitives from that settlement,
who were rushing to our settlement at Kwihara for protection. From these
people we heard the sad information that the noble Khamis bin Abdullah,
his little protege, Khamis, Mohammed bin Abdullah, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and
Sayf, the son of Ali, the son of Sheikh, the son of Nasib, had been slain.

When I inquired into the details of the attack, and the manner of the
death of these Arabs, I was told that after the first firing which warned
the inhabitants of Tabora that the enemy was upon them, Khamis bin
Abdullah and some of the principal Arabs who happened to be with him had
ascended to the roof of his tembe, and with his spyglass he had looked
towards the direction of the firing. To his great astonishment he saw the
plain around Tabora filled with approaching savages, and about two miles
off, near Kazima, a tent pitched, which he knew to belong to Mirambo, from
its having been presented to that chief by the Arabs of Tabora when they
were on good terms with him.

Khamis bin Abdullah descended to his house saying, “Let us go to meet him.
Arm yourselves, my friends, and come with me.” His friends advised him
strongly sat to go out of his tembe; for so long as each Arab kept to his
tembe they were more than a match for the Ruga Ruga and the Watuta
together. But Khamis broke out impatiently with, “Would you advise us to
stop in our tembes, for fear of this Mshensi (pagan)? Who goes with me?”
His little protege, Khamis, son of a dead friend, asked to be allowed to
be his gun-bearer. Mohammed bin Abdulluh, Ibrahim bin Rashid, and Sayf,
the son of Ali, young Arabs of good families, who were proud to live with
the noble Khamis, also offered to go with him. After hastily arming eighty
of his slaves, contrary to the advice of his prudent friends, he sallied
out, and was soon face to face with his cunning and determined enemy
Mirambo. This chief, upon seeing the Arabs advance towards him, gave
orders to retreat slowly. Khamis, deceived by this, rushed on with his
friends after them. Suddenly Mirambo ordered his men to advance upon them
in a body, and at the sight of the precipitate rush upon their party,
Khamis’s slaves incontinently took to their heels, never even deigning to
cast a glance behind them, leaving their master to the fate which was now
overtaking him. The savages surrounded the five Arabs, and though several
of them fell before the Arabs’ fire, continued to shoot at the little
party, until Khamis bin Abdullah received a bullet in the leg, which
brought him to his knees, and, for the first time, to the knowledge that
his slaves had deserted him. Though wounded, the brave man continued
shooting, but he soon afterwards received a bullet through the heart.
Little Khamis, upon seeing his adopted father’s fall, exclaimed: “My
father Khamis is dead, I will die with him,” and continued fighting until
he received, shortly after, his death wound. In a few minutes there was
not one Arab left alive.

Late at night some more particulars arrived of this tragic scene. I was
told by people who saw the bodies, that the body of Khamis bin Abdullah,
who was a fine noble, brave, portly man, was found with the skin of his
forehead, the beard and skin of the lower part of his face, the fore part
of the nose, the fat over the stomach and abdomen, and, lastly, a bit from
each heel, cut off, by the savage allies of Mirambo. And in the same
condition were found the bodies of his adopted son and fallen friends. The
flesh and skin thus taken from the bodies was taken, of course, by the
waganga or medicine men, to make what they deem to be the most powerful
potion of all to enable men to be strong against their enemies. This
potion is mixed up with their ugali and rice, and is taken in this manner
with the most perfect confidence in its efficacy, as an invulnerable
protection against bullets and missiles of all descriptions.

It was a most sorry scene to witness from our excited settlement at
Kwihara, almost the whole of Tabora in flames, and to see the hundreds of
people crowding into Kwihara.

Perceiving that my people were willing to stand by me, I made preparations
for defence by boring loopholes for muskets into the stout clay walls of
my tembe. They were made so quickly, and seemed so admirably adapted for
the efficient defence of the tembe, that my men got quite brave, and
Wangwana refugees with guns in their hands, driven out of Tabora, asked to
be admitted into our tembe to assist in its defence. Livingstone’s men
were also collected, and invited to help defend their master’s goods
against Mirambo’s supposed attack. By night I had one hundred and fifty
armed men in my courtyard, stationed at every possible point where an
attack might be expected. To-morrow Mirambo has threatened that he will
come to Kwihara. I hope he will come, and if he comes within range of an
American rifle, I shall see what virtue lies in American lead.

August 23rd.—We have passed a very anxious day in the valley of
Kwihara. Our eyes were constantly directed towards unfortunate Tabora. It
has been said that three tembes only have stood the brunt of the attack.
Abid bin Suliman’s house has been destroyed, and over two hundred tusks of
ivory that belonged to him have become the property of the African
Bonaparte. My tembe is in as efficient a state of defence as its style and
means of defence will allow. Rifle-pits surround the house outside, and
all native huts that obstructed the view have been torn down, and all
trees and shrubs which might serve as a shelter for any one of the enemy
have been cut. Provisions and water enough for six days have been brought.
I have ammunition enough to last two weeks. The walls are three feet
thick, and there are apartments within apartments, so that a desperate
body of men could fight until the last room had been taken.

The Arabs, my neighbours, endeavour to seem brave, but it is evident they
are about despairing; I have heard it rumoured that the Arabs of Kwihara,
if Tabora is taken, will start en masse for the coast, and give the
country up to Mirambo. If such are their intentions, and they are really
carried into effect, I shall be in a pretty mess. However, if they do
leave me, Mirambo will not reap any benefit from my stores, nor from
Livingstone’s either, for I shall burn the whole house, and everything in
it.

August 24th.—The American flag is still waving above my house, and
the Arabs are still in Unyanyembe.

About 10 A.M., a messenger came from Tabora, asking us if we were not
going to assist them against Mirambo. I felt very much like going out to
help them; but after debating long upon the pros and cons of it,—asking
myself, Was it prudent? Ought I to go? What will become of the people if I
were killed? Will they not desert me again? What was the fate of Khamis
bin Abdullah?—I sent word that I would not go; that they ought to
feel perfectly at home in their tembes against such a force as Mirambo
had, that I should be glad if they could induce him to come to Kwihara, in
which case I would try and pick him off.

They say that Mirambo, and his principal officer, carry umbrellas over
their heads, that he himself has long hair like a Mnyamwezi pagazi, and a
beard. If he comes, all the men carrying umbrellas will have bullets
rained on them in the hope that one lucky bullet may hit him. According to
popular ideas, I should make a silver bullet, but I have no silver with
me. I might make a gold one.

About, noon I went over to see Sheikh bin Nasib, leaving about 100 men
inside the house to guard it while I was absent. This old fellow is quite
a philosopher in his way. I should call him a professor of minor
philosophy. He is generally so sententious—fond of aphorisms, and a
very deliberate character. I was astonished to find him so despairing. His
aphorisms have deserted him, his philosophy has not been able to stand
against disaster. He listened to me, more like a moribund, than one
possessing all the means of defence and offence.

I loaded his two-pounder with ball, and grape, and small slugs of iron,
and advised him not to fire it until Mirambo’s people were at his gates.

About 4 p.m. I heard that Mirambo had deported himself to Kazima, a place
north-west of Tabora a couple of miles.

August 26th.—The Arabs sallied out this morning to attack Kazima,
but refrained, because Mirambo asked for a day’s grace, to eat the beef he
had stolen from them. He has asked them impudently to come to-morrow
morning, at which time he says he will give them plenty of fighting.

Kwihara is once more restored to a peaceful aspect, and fugitives no
longer throng its narrow limits in fear and despair.

August 27th.—Mirambo retreated during the night; and when the Arabs
went in force to attack his village of Kazima, they found it vacant.

The Arabs hold councils of war now-a-days—battle meetings, of which
they seem to be very fond, but extremely slow to act upon. They were about
to make friends with the northern Watuta, but Mirambo was ahead of them.
They had talked of invading Mirambo’s territory the second time, but
Mirambo invaded Unyanyembe with fire and sword, bringing death to many a
household, and he has slain the noblest of them all.

The Arabs spend their hours in talking and arguing, while the Ujiji and
Karagwah roads are more firmly closed than ever. Indeed many of the
influential Arabs are talking of returning to Zanzibar; saying,
“Unyanyembe is ruined.”

Meanwhile, with poor success, however, perceiving the impossibility of
procuring Wanyamwezi pagazis, I am hiring the Wangwana renegades living in
Unyanyembe to proceed with me to Ujiji, at treble prices. Each man is
offered 30 doti, ordinary hire of a carrier being only from 5 to 10 doti
to Ujiji. I want fifty men. I intend to leave about sixty or seventy loads
here under charge of a guard. I shall leave all personal baggage behind,
except one small portmanteau.

August 28th.—No news to-day of Mirambo. Shaw is getting strong
again.

Sheikh bin Nasib called on me to-day, but, except on minor philosophy, he
had nothing to say.

I have determined, after a study of the country, to lead a flying caravan
to Ujiji, by a southern road through northern Ukonongo and Ukawendi.
Sheikh bin Nasib has been informed to-night of this determination.

August 29th.—Shaw got up to-day for a little work. Alas! all my
fine-spun plans of proceeding by boat over the Victoria N’Yanza, thence
down the Nile, have been totally demolished, I fear, through this war with
Mirambo—this black Bonaparte. Two months have been wasted here
already. The Arabs take such a long time to come to a conclusion. Advice
is plentiful, and words are as numerous as the blades of grass in our
valley; all that is wanting indecision. The Arabs’ hope and stay is dead—Khamis
bin Abdullah is no more. Where are the other warriors of whom the Wangwana
and Wanyamwezi bards sing? Where is mighty Kisesa—great Abdullah bin
Nasib? Where is Sayd, the son of Majid? Kisesa is in Zanzibar, and Sayd,
the son of Majid, is in Ujiji, as yet ignorant that his son has fallen in
the forest of Wilyankuru.

Shaw is improving fast. I am unsuccessful as yet in procuring soldiers. I
almost despair of ever being able to move from here. It is such a drowsy,
sleepy, slow, dreaming country. Arabs, Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, are all alike—all
careless how time flies. Their to-morrow means sometimes within a month.
To me it is simply maddening.

August 30th.—Shaw will not work. I cannot get him to stir himself. I
have petted him and coaxed him; I have even cooked little luxuries for him
myself. And, while I am straining every nerve to get ready for Ujiji, Shaw
is satisfied with looking on listlessly. What a change from the
ready-handed bold man he was at Zanzibar!

I sat down by his side to-day with my palm and needle in order to
encourage him, and to-day, for the first time, I told him of the real
nature of my mission. I told him that I did not care about the geography
of the country half as much as I cared about FINDING LIVINGSTONE! I told
him, for the first time, “Now, my dear Shaw, you think probably that I
have been sent here to find the depth of the Tanganika. Not a bit of it,
man; I was told to find Livingstone. It is to find Livingstone I am here.
It is to find Livingstone I am going. Don’t you see, old fellow, the
importance of the mission; don’t you see what reward you will get from Mr.
Bennett, if you will help me? I am sure, if ever you come to New York, you
will never be in want of a fifty-dollar bill. So shake yourself; jump
about; look lively. Say you will not die; that is half the battle. Snap
your fingers at the fever. I will guarantee the fever won’t kill you. I
have medicine enough for a regiment here!”

His eyes lit up a little, but the light that shone in them shortly faded,
and died. I was quite disheartened. I made some strong punch, to put fire
in his veins, that I might see life in him. I put sugar, and eggs, and
seasoned it with lemon and spice. “Drink, Shaw,” said I, “and forget your
infirmities. You are not sick, dear fellow; it is only ennui you are
feeling. Look at Selim there. Now, I will bet any amount, that he will not
die; that I will carry him home safe to his friends! I will carry you home
also, if you will, let me!”

September 1st:—According to Thani bin Abdullah whom I visited
to-day, at his tembe in Maroro, Mirambo lost two hundred men in the attack
upon Tabora, while the Arabs’ losses were, five Arabs, thirteen freemen
and eight slaves, besides three tembes, and over one hundred small huts
burned, two hundred and eighty ivory tusks, and sixty cows and bullocks
captured.

September 3rd.—Received a packet of letters and newspapers from
Capt. Webb, at Zanzibar. What a good thing it is that one’s friends, even
in far America, think of the absent one in Africa! They tell me, that no
one dreams of my being in Africa yet!

I applied to Sheikh bin Nasib to-day to permit Livingstone’s caravan to go
under my charge to Ujiji, but he would not listen to it. He says he feels
certain I am going to my death.

September 4th.—Shaw is quite well to-day, he says. Selim is down
with the fever. My force is gradually increasing, though some of my old
soldiers are falling off. Umgareza is blind; Baruti has the small-pox very
badly; Sadala has the intermittent.

September 5th.—Baruti died this morning. He was one of my best
soldiers; and was one of those men who accompanied Speke to Egypt. Baruti
is number seven of those who have died since leaving Zanzibar.

To-day my ears have been poisoned with the reports of the Arabs, about the
state of the country I am about to travel through. “The roads are bad;
they are all stopped; the Ruga-Ruga are out in the forests; the Wakonongo
are coming from the south to help Mirambo; the Washensi are at war, one
tribe against another.” My men are getting dispirited, they have imbibed
the fears of the Arabs and the Wanyamwezi. Bombay begins to feel that I
had better go back to the coast, and try again some other time.

We buried Baruti under the shade of the banyan-tree, a few yards west of
my tembe. The grave was made four and a half feet deep and three feet
wide. At the bottom on one side a narrow trench was excavated, into which
the body was rolled on his side, with his face turned towards Mecca. The
body was dressed in a doti and a half of new American sheeting. After it
was placed properly in its narrow bed, a sloping roof of sticks, covered
over with matting and old canvas, was made, to prevent the earth from
falling over the body. The grave was then filled, the soldiers laughing
merrily. On the top of the grave was planted a small shrub, and into a
small hole made with the hand, was poured water lest he might feel thirsty—they
said—on his way to Paradise; water was then sprinkled all ever the
grave, and the gourd broken. This ceremony being ended, the men recited
the Arabic Fat-hah, after which they left the grave of their dead comrade
to think no more of him.

September 7th.—An Arab named Mohammed presented me to-day with a
little boy-slave, called “Ndugu M’hali” (my brother’s wealth). As I did
not like the name, I called the chiefs of my caravan together, and asked
them to give him a better name. One suggested “Simba” (a lion), another
said he thought “Ngombe” (a cow) would suit the boy-child, another thought
he ought to be called “Mirambo,” which raised a loud laugh. Bombay thought
“Bombay Mdogo” would suit my black-skinned infant very well. Ulimengo,
however, after looking at his quick eyes, and noting his celerity of
movement, pronounced the name Ka-lu-la as the best for him, “because,”
said he, “just look at his eyes, so bright look at his form, so slim!
watch his movements, how quick! Yes, Kalulu is his name.” “Yes, bana,”
said the others, “let it be Kalulu.”

“Kalulu” is a Kisawahili term for the young of the blue-buck (perpusilla)
antelope.

“Well, then,” said I, water being brought in a huge tin pan, Selim, who
was willing to stand godfather, holding him over the water, “let his name
henceforth be Kalulu, and let no man take it from him,” and thus it was
that the little black boy of Mohammed’s came to be called Kalulu.

The Expedition is increasing in numbers.

We had quite an alarm before dark. Much firing was heard at Tabora, which
led us to anticipate an attack on Kwihara. It turned out, however, to be a
salute fired in honour of the arrival of Sultan Kitambi to pay a visit to
Mkasiwa, Sultan of Unyanyembe.

September 8th.—Towards night Sheikh bin Nasib received a letter from
an Arab at Mfuto, reporting that an attack was made on that place by
Mirambo and his Watuta allies. It also warned him to bid the people of
Kwihara hold themselves in readiness, because if Mirambo succeeded in
storming Mfuto, he would march direct on Kwihara.

September 9th.—Mirambo was defeated with severe loss yesterday, in
his attack upon Mfuto. He was successful in an assault he made upon a
small Wanyamwezi village, but when he attempted to storm Mfuto, he was
repulsed with severe loss, losing three of his principal men. Upon
withdrawing his forces from the attack, the inhabitants sallied out, and
followed him to the forest of Umanda, where he was again utterly routed,
himself ingloriously flying from the field.

The heads of his chief men slain in the attack were brought to Kwikuru,
the boma of Mkasiwa.

September 14th.—The Arab boy Selim is delirious from constant fever.
Shaw is sick again. These two occupy most of my time. I am turned into a
regular nurse, for I have no one to assist me in attending upon them. If I
try to instruct Abdul Kader in the art of being useful, his head is so
befogged with the villainous fumes of Unyamwezi tobacco, that he wanders
bewildered about, breaking dishes, and upsetting cooked dainties, until I
get so exasperated that my peace of mind is broken completely for a full
hour. If I ask Ferajji, my now formally constituted cook, to assist, his
thick wooden head fails to receive an idea, and I am thus obliged to play
the part of chef de cuisine.

September 15th.—The third month of my residence in Unyanyembe is
almost finished, and I am still here, but I hope to be gone before the
23rd inst.

All last night, until nine A.M. this morning, my soldiers danced and sang
to the names of their dead comrades, whose bones now bleach in the forests
of Wilyankuru. Two or three huge pots of pombe failed to satisfy the
raging thirst which the vigorous exercise they were engaged in, created.
So, early this morning, I was called upon to contribute a shukka for
another potful of the potent liquor.

To-day I was busy selecting the loads for each soldier and pagazi. In
order to lighten their labor as much as possible, I reduced each load from
70 lbs. to 50 lbs., by which I hope to be enabled to make some long
marches. I have been able to engage ten pagazis during the last two or
three days.

I have two or three men still very sick, and it is almost useless to
expect that they will be able to carry anything, but I am in hopes that
other men may be engaged to take their places before the actual day of
departure, which now seems to be drawing near rapidly.

September 16th.—We have almost finished our work—on the fifth
day from this—God willing—we shall march. I engaged two more
pagazis besides two guides, named Asmani and Mabruki. If vastness of the
human form could terrify any one, certainly Asmani’s appearance is well
calculated to produce that effect. He stands considerably over six feet
without shoes, and has shoulders broad enough for two ordinary men.

To-morrow I mean to give the people a farewell feast, to celebrate our
departure from this forbidding and unhappy country.

September 17th.—The banquet is ended. I slaughtered two bullocks,
and had a barbacue; three sheep, two goats, and fifteen chickens, 120 lbs.
of rice, twenty large loaves of bread made of Indian corn-flour, one
hundred eggs, 10 lbs. of butter, and five gallons of sweet-milk, were the
contents of which the banquet was formed. The men invited their friends
and neighbours, and about one hundred women and children partook of it.

After the banquet was ended, the pombe, or native beer, was brought in in
five gallon pots, and the people commenced their dance, which continues
even now as I write.

September 19th.—I had a slight attack of fever to-day, which has
postponed our departure. Selim and Shaw are both recovered.

About 8 P.M. Sheik bin Nasib came to me imploring me not to go away
to-morrow, because I was so sick. Thani Sakhburi suggested to me that I
might stay another month. In answer, I told them that white men are not
accustomed to break their words. I had said I would go, and I intended to
go.

Sheikh bin Nasib gave up all hope of inducing me to remain another day,
and he has gone away, with a promise to write to Seyd Burghash to tell him
how obstinate I am; and that I am determined to be killed. This was a
parting shot.

About 10 P.M. the fever had gone. All were asleep in the tembe but myself,
and an unutterable loneliness came on me as I reflected on my position,
and my intentions, and felt the utter lack of sympathy with me in all
around. It requires more nerve than I possess, to dispel all the dark
presentiments that come upon the mind. But probably what I call
presentiments are simply the impress on the mind of the warnings which
these false-hearted Arabs have repeated so often. This melancholy and
loneliness I feel, may probably have their origin from the same cause. The
single candle, which barely lights up the dark shade that fills the
corners of my room, is but a poor incentive to cheerfulness. I feel as
though I were imprisoned between stone walls. But why should I feel as if
baited by these stupid, slow-witted Arabs and their warnings and
croakings? I fancy a suspicion haunts my mind, as I write, that there lies
some motive behind all this. I wonder if these Arabs tell me all these
things to keep me here, in the hope that I might be induced another time
to assist them in their war with Mirambo! If they think so, they are much
mistaken, for I have taken a solemn, enduring oath, an oath to be kept
while the least hope of life remains in me, not to be tempted to break the
resolution I have formed, never to give up the search, until I find
Livingstone alive, or find his dead body; and never to return home without
the strongest possible proofs that he is alive, or that he is dead. No
living man, or living men, shall stop me, only death can prevent me. But
death—not even this; I shall not die, I will not die, I cannot die!
And something tells me, I do not know what it is—perhaps it is the
ever-living hopefulness of my own nature, perhaps it is the natural
presumption born out of an abundant and glowing vitality, or the outcome
of an overweening confidence in oneself—anyhow and everyhow,
something tells me to-night I shall find him, and—write it larger—FIND
HIM! FIND HIM! Even the words are inspiring. I feel more happy. Have I
uttered a prayer? I shall sleep calmly to-night.

I have felt myself compelled to copy out of my Diary the above notes, as
they explain, written as they are on the spot, the vicissitudes of my
“Life at Unyanyembe.” To me they appear to explain far better than any
amount of descriptive writing, even of the most graphic, the nature of the
life I led. There they are, unexaggerated, in their literality, precisely
as I conceived them at the time they happened. They speak of fevers
without number to myself and men, they relate our dangers, and little
joys, our annoyances and our pleasures, as they occurred.

CHAPTER X. — TO MRERA, UKONONGO.

The 20th of September had arrived. This was the day I had decided to cut
loose from those who tormented me with their doubts, their fears, and
beliefs, and commence the march to Ujiji by a southern route. I was very
weak from the fever that had attacked me the day before, and it was a most
injudicious act to commence a march under such circumstances. But I had
boasted to Sheikh bin Nasib that a white man never breaks his word, and my
reputation as a white man would have been ruined had I stayed behind, or
postponed the march, in consequence of feebleness.

I mustered the entire caravan outside the tembe, our flags and streamers
were unfurled, the men had their loads resting on the walls, there was
considerable shouting, and laughing, and negroidal fanfaronnade. The Arabs
had collected from curiosity’s sake to see us off—all except Sheikh
bin Nasib, whom I had offended by my asinine opposition to his wishes. The
old Sheikh took to his bed, but sent his son to bear me a last morsel of
Philosophic sentimentality, which I was to treasure up as the last words
of the patriarchal Sheikh, the son of Nasib, the son of Ali, the son of
Sayf. Poor Sheikh! if thou hadst only known what was at the bottom of this
stubbornness—this ass-like determination to proceed the wrong way—what
wouldst thou then have said, 0 Sheikh? But the Sheikh comforted himself
with the thought that I might know what I was about better than he did,
which is most likely, only neither he nor any other Arab will ever know
exactly the motive that induced me to march at all westward—when the
road to the east was ever so much easier.

My braves whom I had enlisted for a rapid march somewhere, out of
Unyanyembe, were named as follows:—

1. John William Shaw, London, England.

2. Selim Heshmy, Arab.

3. Seedy Mbarak Mombay, Zanzibar.

4. Mabruki Spoke, ditto.

5. Ulimengo, ditto

6. Ambari, ditto.

7. Uledi, ditto.

8. Asmani, ditto.

9. Sarmean, ditto.

10. Kamna, ditto.

11. Zaidi, ditto.

12. Khamisi, ditto.

13. Chowpereh, Bagamoyo.

14. Kingaru, ditto.

15. Belali, ditto.

16. Ferous, Unyanyembe.

17. Rojab, Bagamoyo.

18. Mabruk Unyanyembe, Unyanyembe.

19. Mtamani, ditto.

20. Chanda, Maroro.

21. Sadala, Zanzibar.

22. Kombo, ditto.

23. Saburi the Great, Maroro.

24. Saburi the Little, ditto.

25. Marora, ditto.

26. Ferajji (the cook), Zanzibar.

27. Mabruk Saleem, Zanzibar.

28. Baraka, ditto.

29. Ibrahim, Maroro.

30. Mabruk Ferous, ditto.

31. Baruti, Bagamoyo.

32. Umgareza, Zanzibar.

33. Hamadi (the guide), ditto.

34. Asmani, ditto, ditto.

35. Mabruk, ditto ditto.

36. Hamdallah (the guide), Tabora.

37. Jumah, Zanzibar.

38. Maganga, Mkwenkwe.

39. Muccadum, Tabora.

40. Dasturi, ditto.

41. Tumayona, Ujiji.

42. Mparamoto, Ujiji.

43. Wakiri, ditto.

44. Mufu, ditto.

45. Mpepo, ditto.

46. Kapingu, Ujiji.

47. Mashishanga, ditto.

48. Muheruka, ditto.

49. Missossi, ditto.

50. Tufum Byah, ditto.

51. Majwara (boy), Uganda.

52. Belali (boy), Uemba.

53. Kalulu (boy), Lunda.

54. Abdul Kader (tailor), Malabar.

These are the men and boys whom I had chosen to be my companions on the
apparently useless mission of seeking for the lost traveller, David
Livingstone. The goods with which I had burdened them, consisted of 1,000
doti, or 4,000 yds. of cloth, six bags of beads, four loads of ammunition,
one tent, one bed and clothes, one box of medicine, sextant and books, two
loads of tea, coffee, and sugar, one load of flour and candles, one load
of canned meats, sardines, and miscellaneous necessaries, and one load of
cooking utensils.

The men were all in their places except Bombay. Bombay had gone; he could
not be found. I despatched a man to hunt him up. He was found weeping in
the arms of his Delilah.

“Why did you go away, Bombay, when you knew I intended to go, and was
waiting?”

“Oh, master, I was saying good-bye to my missis.”

“Oh, indeed?”

“Yes, master; you no do it, when you go away?

“Silence, sir.”

“Oh! all right.”

“What is the matter with you, Bombay?”

“Oh, nuffin.”

As I saw he was in a humour to pick a quarrel with me before those Arabs
who had congregated outside of my tembe to witness my departure; and as I
was not in a humour to be balked by anything that might turn up, the
consequence was, that I was obliged to thrash Bombay, an operation which
soon cooled his hot choler, but brought down on my head a loud chorus of
remonstrances from my pretended Arab friends—”Now, master, don’t,
don’t—stop it, master: the poor man knows better than you what he
and you may expect on the road you are now taking.”

If anything was better calculated to put me in a rage than Bombay’s
insolence before a crowd it was this gratuitous interference with what I
considered my own especial business; but I restrained myself, though I
told them, in a loud voice, that I did not choose to be interfered with,
unless they wished to quarrel with me.

“No, no, bana,” they all exclaimed; “we do not wish to quarrel with you.
In the name of God! go on your way in peace.”

“Fare you well, then,” said I, shaking hands with them.

“Farewell, master, farewell. We wish you, we are sure, all success, and
God be with you, and guide you!”

“March!”

A parting salute was fired; the flags were raised up by the guides, each
pagazi rushed for his load, and in a short time, with songs and shouts,
the head of the Expedition had filed round the western end of my tembe
along the road to Ugunda.

“Now, Mr. Shaw, I am waiting, sir. Mount your donkey, if you cannot walk.”

“Please, Mr. Stanley, I am afraid I cannot go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I am sure. I feel very weak.”

“So am I weak. It was but late last night, as you know, that the fever
left me. Don’t back out before these Arabs; remember you are a white man.
Here, Selim, Mabruki, Bombay, help Mr. Shaw on his donkey, and walk by
him.”

“Oh, bana, bans,” said the Arabs, “don’t take him. Do you not see he is
sick?”

“You keep away; nothing will prevent me from taking him. He shall go.”

“Go on, Bombay.”

The last of my party had gone. The tembe, so lately a busy scene, had
already assumed a naked, desolate appearance. I turned towards the Arabs,
lifted my hat, and said again, “Farewell,” then faced about for the south,
followed by my four young gun-bearers, Selim, Kalulu, Majwara, and Belali.

After half an hour’s march the scenery became more animated. Shaw began to
be amused. Bombay had forgotten our quarrel, and assured me, if I could
pass Mirambo’s country, I should “catch the Tanganika;” Mabruki Burton
also believed we should. Selim was glad to leave Unyanyembe, where he had
suffered so much from fever; and there was a something in the bold aspect
of the hills which cropped upward—above fair valleys, that enlivened
and encouraged me to proceed.

In an hour and a half, we arrived at our camp in the Kinyamwezi village of
Mkwenkwe, the birthplace—of our famous chanter Maganga.

My tent was pitched, the goods were stored in one of the tembes; but
one-half the men had returned to Kwihara, to take one more embrace of
their wives and concubines.

Towards night I was attacked once again with the intermittent fever.
Before morning it had departed, leaving me terribly prostrated with
weakness. I had heard the men conversing with each other over their
camp-fires upon the probable prospects of the next day. It was a question
with them whether I should continue the march. Mostly all were of opinion
that, since the master was sick, there would be no march. A superlative
obstinacy, however, impelled me on, merely to spite their supine souls;
but when I sallied out of my tent to call them to get ready, I found that
at least twenty were missing; and Livingstone’s letter-carrier,
“Kaif-Halek”—or, How-do-ye-do?—had not arrived with Dr.
Livingstone’s letter-bag.

Selecting twenty of the strongest and faithfulest men I despatched them
back to Unyanyembe in search of the missing men; and Selim was sent to
Sheikh bin Nasib to borrow, or buy, a long slave-chain.

Towards night my twenty detectives returned with nine of the missing men.
The Wajiji had deserted in a body, and they could not be found. Selim also
returned with a strong chain, capable of imprisoning within the collars
attached to it at least ten men. Kaif-Halek also appeared with the
letter-bag which he was to convey to Livingstone under my escort. The men
were then addressed, and the slave-chain exhibited to them. I told them
that I was the first white man who had taken a slave-chain with him on his
travels; but, as they were all so frightened of accompanying me, I was
obliged to make use of it, as it was the only means of keeping them
together. The good need never fear being chained by me—only the
deserters, the thieves, who received their hire and presents, guns and
ammunition, and then ran away.

I would not put any one this time in chains; but whoever deserted after
this day, I should halt, and not continue the march till I found him,
after which he should march to Ujiji with the slave-chain round his neck.
“Do you hear?”—”Yes,” was the answer. “Do you understand?”—”Yes.”

We broke up camp at 6 P.M., and took the road for Inesuka, at which place
we arrived at 8 P.M.

When we were about commencing the march the next morning, it was
discovered that two more had deserted. Baraka and Bombay were at once
despatched to Unyanyembe to bring back the two missing men—Asmani
and Kingaru—with orders not to return without them. This was the
third time that the latter had deserted, as the reader may remember. While
the pursuit was being effected we halted at the village of Inesuka, more
for the sake of Shaw than any one else.

In the evening the incorrigible deserters were brought back, and, as I had
threatened, were well flogged and chained, to secure them against further
temptation. Bombay and Baraka had a picturesque story to relate of the
capture; and, as I was in an exceedingly good humour, their services were
rewarded with a fine cloth each.

On the following morning another carrier had absconded, taking with him
his hire of fifteen new cloths and a gun but to halt anywhere near
Unyanyembe any longer was a danger that could be avoided only by
travelling without stoppages towards the southern jungle-lands. It will be
remembered I had in my train the redoubtable Abdul Kader, the tailor, he
who had started from Bagamoyo with such bright anticipations of the wealth
of ivory to be obtained in the great interior of Africa. On this morning,
daunted by the reports of the dangers ahead, Abdul Kader craved to be
discharged. He vowed he was sick, and unable to proceed any further. As I
was pretty well tired of him, I paid him off in cloth, and permitted him
to go.

About half way to Kasegera Mabruk Saleem was suddenly taken sick. I
treated him with a grain of calomel, and a couple of ounces of brandy. As
he was unable to walk, I furnished him with a donkey. Another man named
Zaidi was ill with a rheumatic fever; and Shaw tumbled twice off the
animal he was riding, and required an infinite amount of coaxing to mount
again. Verily, my expedition was pursued by adverse fortunes, and it
seemed as if the Fates had determined upon our return. It really appeared
as if everything was going to wreck and ruin. If I were only fifteen days
from Unyanyembe, thought I, I should be saved!

Kasegera was a scene of rejoicing the afternoon and evening of our
arrival. Absentees had just returned from the coast, and the youths were
brave in their gaudy bedizenment, their new barsatis, their soharis, and
long cloths of bright new kaniki, with which they had adorned themselves
behind some bush before they had suddenly appeared dressed in all this
finery. The women “Hi-hi’ed” like maenads, and the “Lu-lu-lu’ing” was
loud, frequent, and fervent the whole of that afternoon. Sylphlike damsels
looked up to the youthful heroes with intensest admiration on their
features; old women coddled and fondled them; staff-using, stooping-backed
patriarchs blessed them. This is fame in Unyamwezi! All the fortunate
youths had to use their tongues until the wee hours of next morning had
arrived, relating all the wonders they had seen near the Great Sea, and in
the “Unguja,” the island of Zanzibar; of how they saw great white men’s
ships, and numbers of white men, of their perils and trials during their
journey through the land of the fierce Wagogo, and divers other facts,
with which the reader and I are by this time well acquainted.

On the 24th we struck camp, and marched through a forest of imbiti wood in
a S.S.W. direction, and in about three hours came to Kigandu.

On arriving before this village, which is governed by a daughter of
Mkasiwa, we were informed we could not enter unless we paid toll. As we
would not pay toll, we were compelled to camp in a ruined, rat-infested
boma, situated a mile to the left of Kigandu, being well scolded by the
cowardly natives for deserting Mkasiwa in his hour of extremity. We were
accused of running away from the war.

Almost on the threshold of our camp Shaw, in endeavouring to dismount,
lost his stirrups, and fell prone on his face. The foolish fellow
actually, laid on the ground in the hot sun a full hour; and when I coldly
asked him if he did not feel rather uncomfortable, he sat up, and wept
like a child.

“Do you wish to go back, Mr. Shaw?”

“If you please. I do not believe I can go any farther; and if you would
only be kind enough, I should like to return very much.”

“Well, Mr. Shaw, I have come to the conclusion that it is best, you should
return. My patience is worn out. I have endeavoured faithfully to lift you
above these petty miseries which you nourish so devotedly. You are simply
suffering from hypochondria. You imagine yourself sick, and nothing,
evidently, will persuade you that you are not. Mark my words—to
return to Unyanyembe, is to DIE! Should you happen to fall sick in Kwihara
who knows how to administer medicine to you? Supposing you are delirious,
how can any of the soldiers know what you want, or what is beneficial and
necessary for you? Once again, I repeat, if you return, you DIE!”

“Ah, dear me; I wish I had never ventured to come! I thought life in
Africa was so different from this. I would rather go back if you will
permit me.”

The next day was a halt, and arrangements were made for the transportation
of Shaw back to Kwihara. A strong litter was made, and four stout pagazis
were hired at Kigandu to carry him. Bread was baked, a canteen was filled
with cold tea, and a leg of a kid was roasted for his sustenance while on
the road.

The night before we parted we spent together. Shaw played some tunes on an
accordion which I had purchased for him at Zanzibar; but, though it was
only a miserable ten-dollar affair, I thought the homely tunes evoked from
the instrument that night were divine melodies. The last tune played
before retiring was “Home, sweet Home.”

The morning of the 27th we were all up early: There was considerable vis
in our movements. A long, long march lay before us that day; but then I
was to leave behind all the sick and ailing. Only those who were healthy,
and could march fast and long, were to accompany me. Mabruk Saleem I left
in charge of a native doctor, who was to medicate him for a gift of cloth
which I gave him in advance.

The horn sounded to get ready. Shaw was lifted in his litter on the
shoulders of his carriers. My men formed two ranks; the flags were lifted;
and between these two living rows, and under those bright streamers, which
were to float over the waters of the Tanganika before he should see them
again, Shaw was borne away towards the north; while we filed off to the
south, with quicker and more elastic steps, as if we felt an incubus had
been taken from us.

We ascended a ridge bristling with syenite boulders of massive size,
appearing above a forest of dwarf trees. The view which we saw was similar
to that we had often seen elsewhere. An illimitable forest stretching in
grand waves far beyond the ken of vision—ridges, forest-clad, rising
gently one above another until they receded in the dim purple-blue
distance—with a warm haze floating above them, which, though clear
enough in our neighbourhood, became impenetrably blue in the far distance.
Woods, woods, woods, leafy branches, foliage globes, or parachutes, green,
brown, or sere in colour, forests one above another, rising, falling, and
receding—a very leafy ocean. The horizon, at all points, presents
the same view, there may be an indistinct outline of a hill far away, or
here and there a tall tree higher than the rest conspicuous in its
outlines against the translucent sky—with this exception it is the
same—the same clear sky dropping into the depths of the forest, the
same outlines, the same forest, the same horizon, day after day, week
after week; we hurry to the summit of a ridge, expectant of a change, but
the wearied eyes, after wandering over the vast expanse, return to the
immediate surroundings, satiated with the eversameness of such scenes.
Carlyle, somewhere in his writings, says, that though the Vatican is
great, it is but the chip of an eggshell compared to the star-fretted dome
where Arcturus and Orion glance for ever; and I say that, though the grove
of Central Park, New York, is grand compared to the thin groves seen in
other great cities, that though the Windsor and the New Forests may be
very fine and noble in England, yet they are but fagots of sticks compared
to these eternal forests of Unyamwezi.

We marched three hours, and then halted for refreshments. I perceived that
the people were very tired, not yet inured to a series of long marches, or
rather, not in proper trim for earnest, hard work after our long rest in
Kwihara. When we resumed our march again there were several manifestations
of bad temper and weariness. But a few good-natured remarks about their
laziness put them on their mettle, and we reached Ugunda at 2 P.M. after
another four hours’ spurt.

Ugunda is a very large village in the district of Ugunda, which adjoins
the southern frontier of Unyanyembe. The village probably numbers four
hundred families, or two thousand souls. It is well protected by a tall
and strong palisade of three-inch timber. Stages have been erected at
intervals above the palisades with miniature embrasures in the timber, for
the muskets of the sharpshooters, who take refuge within these box-like
stages to pick out the chiefs of an attacking force. An inner ditch, with
the sand or soil thrown up three or four feet high against the palings,
serves as protection for the main body of the defenders, who kneel in the
ditch, and are thus enabled to withstand a very large force. For a mile or
two outside the village all obstructions are cleared, and the besieged are
thus warned by sharp-eyed watchers to be prepared for the defence before
the enemy approaches within musket range. Mirambo withdrew his force of
robbers from before this strongly-defended village after two or three
ineffectual attempts to storm it, and the Wagunda have been congratulating
themselves ever since, upon having driven away the boldest marauder that
Unyamwezi has seen for generations.

The Wagunda have about three thousand acres under cultivation around their
principal village, and this area suffices to produce sufficient grain not
only for their own consumption, but also for the many caravans which pass
by this way for Ufipa and Marungu.

However brave the Wagunda may be within the strong enclosure with which
they have surrounded their principal village, they are not exempt from the
feeling of insecurity which fills the soul of a Mnyamwezi during war-time.
At this place the caravans are accustomed to recruit their numbers from
the swarms of pagazis who volunteer to accompany them to the distant ivory
regions south; but I could not induce a soul to follow me, so great was
their fear of Mirambo and his Ruga-Raga. They were also full of rumors of
wars ahead. It was asserted that Mbogo was advancing towards Ugunda with a
thousand Wakonongo, that the Wazavira had attacked a caravan four months
previously, that Simba was scouring the country with a band of ferocious
mercenaries, and much more of the same nature and to the same intent.

On the 28th we arrived at a small snug village embosomed within the forest
called Benta, three hours and a quarter from Ugunda. The road led through
the cornfields of the Wagunda, and then entered the clearings around the
villages of Kisari, within one of which we found the proprietor of a
caravan who was drumming up carriers for Ufipa. He had been halted here
two months, and he made strenuous exertions to induce my men to join his
caravan, a proceeding that did not tend to promote harmony between us. A
few days afterwards I found, on my return, that he had given up the idea
of proceeding south. Leaving Kisari, we marched through a thin jungle of
black jack, over sun-cracked ground with here and there a dried-up pool,
the bottom of which was well tramped by elephant and rhinoceros. Buffalo
and zebra tracks were now frequent, and we were buoyed up with the hope
that before long we should meet game.

Benta was well supplied with Indian corn and a grain which the natives
called choroko, which I take to be vetches. I purchased a large supply of
choroko for my own personal use, as I found it to be a most healthy food.
The corn was stored on the flat roofs of the tembes in huge boxes made out
of the bark of the mtundu-tree. The largest box I have ever seen in Africa
was seen here. It might be taken for a Titan’s hat-box; it was seven feet
in diameter, and ten feet in height.

On the 29th, after travelling in a S.W. by S. direction, we reached
Kikuru. The march lasted for five hours over sun-cracked plains, growing
the black jack, and ebony, and dwarf shrubs, above which numerous
ant-hills of light chalky-coloured earth appeared like sand dunes.

The mukunguru, a Kisawahili term for fever, is frequent in this region of
extensive forests and flat plains, owing to the imperfect drainage
provided by nature for them. In the dry season there is nothing very
offensive in the view of the country. The burnt grass gives rather a
sombre aspect to the country, covered with the hard-baked tracks of
animals which haunt these plains during the latter part of the rainy
season. In the forest numbers of trees lie about in the last stages of
decay, and working away with might and main on the prostrate trunks may be
seen numberless insects of various species. Impalpably, however, the
poison of the dead and decaying vegetation is inhaled into the system with
a result sometimes as fatal as that which is said to arise from the
vicinity of the Upas-tree.

The first evil results experienced from the presence of malaria are
confined bowels and an oppressive languor, excessive drowsiness, and a
constant disposition to yawn. The tongue assumes a yellowish, sickly hue,
coloured almost to blackness; even the teeth become yellow, and are coated
with an offensive matter. The eyes of the patient sparkle lustrously, and
become suffused with water. These are sure symptoms of the incipient fever
which shortly will rage through the system.

Sometimes this fever is preceded by a violent shaking fit, during which
period blankets may be heaped on the patient’s form, with but little
amelioration of the deadly chill he feels. It is then succeeded by an
unusually severe headache, with excessive pains about the loins and spinal
column, which presently will spread over the shoulder-blades, and, running
up the neck, find a final lodgment in the back and front of the head.
Usually, however, the fever is not preceded by a chill, but after languor
and torpitude have seized him, with excessive heat and throbbing temples,
the loin and spinal column ache, and raging thirst soon possesses him. The
brain becomes crowded with strange fancies, which sometimes assume most
hideous shapes. Before the darkened vision of the suffering man, float in
a seething atmosphere, figures of created and uncreated reptiles, which
are metamorphosed every instant into stranger shapes and designs, growing
every moment more confused, more complicated, more hideous and terrible.
Unable to bear longer the distracting scene, he makes an effort and opens,
his eyes, and dissolves the delirious dream, only, however, to glide again
unconsciously into another dream-land where another unreal inferno is
dioramically revealed, and new agonies suffered. Oh! the many many hours,
that I have groaned under the terrible incubi which the fits of real
delirium evoke. Oh! the racking anguish of body that a traveller in Africa
must undergo! Oh! the spite, the fretfulness, the vexation which the
horrible phantasmagoria of diabolisms induce! The utmost patience fails to
appease, the most industrious attendance fails to gratify, the deepest
humility displeases. During these terrible transitions, which induce
fierce distraction, Job himself would become irritable, insanely furious,
and choleric. A man in such a state regards himself as the focus of all
miseries. When recovered, he feels chastened, becomes urbane and
ludicrously amiable, he conjures up fictitious delights from all things
which, but yesterday, possessed for him such awful portentous aspects. His
men he regards with love and friendship; whatever is trite he views with
ecstasy. Nature appears charming; in the dead woods and monotonous forest
his mind becomes overwhelmed with delight. I speak for myself, as a
careful analysation of the attack, in all its severe, plaintive, and silly
phases, appeared to me. I used to amuse myself with taking notes of the
humorous and the terrible, the fantastic and exaggerated pictures that
were presented to me—even while suffering the paroxysms induced by
fever.

We arrived at a large pool, known as the Ziwani, after a four hours’ march
in a S.S.W. direction, the 1st of October. We discovered an old half-burnt
khambi, sheltered by a magnificent mkuyu (sycamore), the giant of the
forests of Unyamwezi, which after an hour we transformed into a splendid
camp.

If I recollect rightly, the stem of the tree measured thirty-eight feet in
circumference. It is the finest tree of its kind I have seen in Africa. A
regiment might with perfect ease have reposed under this enormous dome of
foliage during a noon halt. The diameter of the shadow it cast on the
ground was one hundred and twenty feet. The healthful vigor that I was
enjoying about this time enabled me to regard my surroundings admiringly.
A feeling of comfort and perfect contentment took possession of me, such
as I knew not while fretting at Unyanyembe, wearing my life away in
inactivity. I talked with my people as to my friends and equals. We argued
with each other about our prospects in quite a companionable, sociable
vein.

When daylight was dying, and the sun was sinking down rapidly over the
western horizon, vividly painting the sky with the colours of gold and
silver, saffron, and opal, when its rays and gorgeous tints were reflected
upon the tops of the everlasting forest, with the quiet and holy calm of
heaven resting upon all around, and infusing even into the untutored minds
of those about me the exquisite enjoyments of such a life as we were now
leading in the depths of a great expanse of forest, the only and sole
human occupants of it—this was the time, after our day’s work was
ended, and the camp was in a state of perfect security, when we all would
produce our pipes, and could best enjoy the labors which we had performed,
and the contentment which follows a work well done.

Outside nothing is heard beyond the cry of a stray florican, or
guinea-fowl, which has lost her mate, or the hoarse croaking of the frogs
in the pool hard by, or the song of the crickets which seems to lull the
day to rest; inside our camp are heard the gurgles of the gourd pipes as
the men inhale the blue ether, which I also love. I am contented and
happy, stretched on my carpet under the dome of living foliage, smoking my
short meerschaum, indulging in thoughts—despite the beauty of the
still grey light of the sky; and of the air of serenity which prevails
around—of home and friends in distant America, and these thoughts
soon change to my work—yet incomplete—to the man who to me is
yet a myth, who, for all I know, may be dead, or may be near or far from
me tramping through just such a forest, whose tops I see bound the view
outside my camp. We are both on the same soil, perhaps in the same forest—who
knows?—yet is he to me so far removed that he might as well be in
his own little cottage of Ulva. Though I am even now ignorant of his very
existence, yet I feel a certain complacency, a certain satisfaction which
would be difficult to describe. Why is man so feeble, and weak, that he
must tramp, tramp hundreds of miles to satisfy the doubts his impatient
and uncurbed mind feels? Why cannot my form accompany the bold flights of
my mind and satisfy the craving I feel to resolve the vexed question that
ever rises to my lips—”Is he alive?” O soul of mine, be patient,
thou hast a felicitous tranquillity, which other men might envy thee!
Sufficient for the hour is the consciousness thou hast that thy mission is
a holy one! Onward, and be hopeful!

Monday, the 2nd of October, found us traversing the forest and plain that
extends from the Ziwani to Manyara, which occupied us six and a half
hours. The sun was intensely hot; but the mtundu and miombo trees grew at
intervals, just enough to admit free growth to each tree, while the
blended foliage formed a grateful shade. The path was clear and easy, the
tamped and firm red soil offered no obstructions. The only provocation we
suffered was from the attacks of the tsetse, or panga (sword) fly, which
swarmed here. We knew we were approaching an extensive habitat of game,
and we were constantly on the alert for any specimens that might be
inhabiting these forests.

While we were striding onward, at the rate of nearly three miles an hour,
the caravan I perceived sheered off from the road, resuming it about fifty
yards ahead of something on the road, to which the attention of the men
was directed. On coming up, I found the object to be the dead body of a
man, who had fallen a victim to that fearful scourge of Africa, the
small-pox. He was one of Oseto’s gang of marauders, or guerillas, in the
service of Mkasiwa of Unyanyembe, who were hunting these forests for the
guerillas of Mirambo. They had been returning from Ukonongo from a raid
they had instituted against the Sultan of Mbogo, and they had left their
comrade to perish in the road. He had apparently been only one day dead.

Apropos of this, it was a frequent thing with us to discover a skeleton or
a skull on the roadside. Almost every day we saw one, sometimes two, of
these relics of dead, and forgotten humanity.

Shortly after this we emerged from the forest, and entered a mbuga, or
plain, in which we saw a couple of giraffes, whose long necks were seen
towering above a bush they had been nibbling at. This sight was greeted
with a shout; for we now knew we had entered the game country, and that
near the Gombe creek, or river, where we intended to halt, we should see
plenty of these animals.

A walk of three hours over this hot plain brought us to the cultivated
fields of Manyara. Arriving before the village-gate, we were forbidden to
enter, as the country was throughout in a state of war, and it behoved
them to be very careful of admitting any party, lest the villagers might
be compromised. We were, however, directed to a khambi to the right of the
village, near some pools of clear water, where we discovered some half
dozen ruined huts, which looked very uncomfortable to tired people.

After we had built our camp, the kirangozi was furnished with some cloths
to purchase food from the village for the transit of a wilderness in front
of us, which was said to extend nine marches, or 135 miles. He was
informed that the Mtemi had strictly prohibited his people from selling
any grain whatever.

This evidently was a case wherein the exercise of a little diplomacy could
only be effective; because it would detain us several days here, if we
were compelled to send men back to Kikuru for provisions. Opening a bale
of choice goods, I selected two royal cloths, and told Bombay to carry
them to him, with the compliments and friendship of the white man. The
Sultan sulkily refused them, and bade him return to the white man and tell
him not to bother him. Entreaties were of no avail, he would not relent;
and the men, in exceedingly bad temper, and hungry, were obliged to go to
bed supperless. The words of Njara, a slave-trader, and parasite of the
great Sheikh bin Nasib, recurred to me. “Ah, master, master, you will find
the people will be too much for you, and that you will have to return. The
Wa-manyara are bad, the Wakonongo are very bad, the Wazavira are the worst
of all. You have come to this country at a bad time. It is war
everywhere.” And, indeed, judging from the tenor of the conversations
around our camp-fires, it seemed but too evident. There was every prospect
of a general decamp of all my people. However, I told them not to be
discouraged; that I would get food for them in the morning.

The bale of choice cloths was opened again next morning, and four royal
cloths were this time selected, and two dotis of Merikani, and Bombay was
again despatched, burdened with compliments, and polite words.

It was necessary to be very politic with a man who was so surly, and too
powerful to make an enemy of. What if he made up his mind to imitate the
redoubtable Mirambo, King of Uyoweh! The effect of my munificent
liberality was soon seen in the abundance of provender which came to my
camp. Before an hour went by, there came boxes full of choroko, beans,
rice, matama or dourra, and Indian corn, carried on the heads of a dozen
villagers, and shortly after the Mtemi himself came, followed by about
thirty musketeers and twenty spearmen, to visit the first white man ever
seen on this road. Behind these warriors came a liberal gift, fully equal
in value to that sent to him, of several large gourds of honey, fowls,
goats, and enough vetches and beans to supply my men with four days’ food.

I met the chief at the gate of my camp, and bowing profoundly, invited him
to my tent, which I had arranged as well as my circumstances would permit,
for this reception. My Persian carpet and bear skin were spread out, and a
broad piece of bran-new crimson cloth covered my kitanda, or bedstead.

The chief, a tall robust man, and his chieftains, were invited to seat
themselves. They cast a look of such gratified surprise at myself, at my
face, my clothes, and guns, as is almost impossible to describe. They
looked at me intently for a few seconds, and then at each other, which
ended in an uncontrollable burst of laughter, and repeated snappings of
the fingers. They spoke the Kinyamwezi language, and my interpreter
Maganga was requested to inform the chief of the great delight I felt in
seeing them. After a short period expended in interchanging compliments,
and a competitive excellence at laughing at one another, their chief
desired me to show him my guns. The “sixteen-shooter,” the Winchester
rifle, elicited a thousand flattering observations from the excited man;
and the tiny deadly revolvers, whose beauty and workmanship they thought
were superhuman, evoked such gratified eloquence that I was fain to try
something else. The double-barrelled guns fired with heavy charges of
power, caused them to jump up in affected alarm, and then to subside into
their seats convulsed with laughter. As the enthusiasm of my guests
increased, they seized each other’s index fingers, screwed them, and
pulled at them until I feared they would end in their dislocation. After
having explained to them the difference between white men and Arabs, I
pulled out my medicine chest, which evoked another burst of rapturous
sighs at the cunning neatness of the array of vials. He asked what they
meant.

“Dowa,” I replied sententiously, a word which may be interpreted—medicine.

“Oh-h, oh-h,” they murmured admiringly. I succeeded, before long, in
winning unqualified admiration, and my superiority, compared to the best
of the Arabs they had seen, was but too evident. “Dowa, dowa,” they added.

“Here,” said I, uncorking a vial of medicinal brandy, “is the Kisungu
pombe” (white man’s beer); “take a spoonful and try it,” at the same time
handing it.

“Hacht, hacht, oh, hacht! what! eh! what strong beer the white men have!
Oh, how my throat burns!”

“Ah, but it is good,” said I, “a little of it makes men feel strong, and
good; but too much of it makes men bad, and they die.”

“Let me have some,” said one of the chiefs; “and me,” “and me,” “and me,”
as soon as each had tasted.

“I next produced a bottle of concentrated ammonia, which as I explained
was for snake bites, and head-aches; the Sultan immediately complained he
had a head-ache, and must have a little. Telling him to close his eyes, I
suddenly uncorked the bottle, and presented it to His Majesty’s nose. The
effect was magical, for he fell back as if shot, and such contortions as
his features underwent are indescribable. His chiefs roared with laughter,
and clapped their hands, pinched each other, snapped their fingers, and
committed many other ludicrous things. I verily believe if such a scene
were presented on any stage in the world the effect of it would be visible
instantaneously on the audience; that had they seen it as I saw it, they
would have laughed themselves to hysteria and madness. Finally the Sultan
recovered himself, great tears rolling down his cheeks, and his features
quivering with laughter, then he slowly uttered the word ‘kali,’—hot,
strong, quick, or ardent medicine. He required no more, but the other
chiefs pushed forward to get one wee sniff, which they no sooner had, than
all went into paroxysms of uncontrollable laughter. The entire morning was
passed in this state visit, to the mutual satisfaction of all concerned.
‘Oh,’ said the Sultan at parting, ‘these white men know everything, the
Arabs are dirt compared to them!'”

That night Hamdallah, one of the guides, deserted, carrying with him his
hire (27 doti), and a gun. It was useless to follow him in the morning, as
it would have detained me many more days than I could afford; but I
mentally vowed that Mr. Hamdallah should work out those 27 doti of cloths
before I reached the coast.

Wednesday, October 4th, saw us travelling to the Gombe River, which is 4
h. 15 m. march from Manyara.

We had barely left the waving cornfields of my friend Ma-manyara before we
came in sight of a herd of noble zebra; two hours afterwards we had
entered a grand and noble expanse of park land, whose glorious
magnificence and vastness of prospect, with a far-stretching carpet of
verdure darkly flecked here and there by miniature clumps of jungle, with
spreading trees growing here and there, was certainly one of the finest
scenes to be seen in Africa. Added to which, as I surmounted one of the
numerous small knolls, I saw herds after herds of buffalo and zebra,
giraffe and antelope, which sent the blood coursing through my veins in
the excitement of the moment, as when I first landed on African soil. We
crept along the plain noiselessly to our camp on the banks of the sluggish
waters of the Gombe.

Here at last was the hunter’s Paradise! How petty and insignificant
appeared my hunts after small antelope and wild boar what a foolish waste
of energies those long walks through damp grasses and through thorny
jungles! Did I not well remember ‘ my first bitter experience in African
jungles when in the maritime region! But this—where is the
nobleman’s park that can match this scene? Here is a soft, velvety expanse
of young grass, grateful shade under those spreading clumps; herds of
large and varied game browsing within easy rifle range. Surely I must feel
amply compensated now for the long southern detour I have made, when such
a prospect as this opens to the view! No thorny jungles and rank smelling
swamps are here to daunt the hunter, and to sicken his aspirations after
true sport! No hunter could aspire after a nobler field to display his
prowess.

Having settled the position of the camp, which overlooked one of the pools
found in the depression of the Gombe creek, I took my double-barrelled
smooth-bore, and sauntered off to the park-land. Emerging from behind a
clump, three fine plump spring-bok were seen browsing on the young grass
just within one hundred yards. I knelt down and fired; one unfortunate
antelope bounded upward instinctively, and fell dead. Its companions
sprang high into the air, taking leaps about twelve feet in length, as if
they were quadrupeds practising gymnastics, and away they vanished, rising
up like India-rubber balls; until a knoll hid them from view. My success
was hailed with loud shouts by the soldiers; who came running out from the
camp as soon as they heard the reverberation of the gun, and my gun-bearer
had his knife at the beast’s throat, uttering a fervent “Bismillah!” as he
almost severed the head from the body.

Hunters were now directed to proceed east and north to procure meat,
because in each caravan it generally happens that there are fundi, whose
special trade it is to hunt for meat for the camp. Some of these are
experts in stalking, but often find themselves in dangerous positions,
owing to the near approach necessary, before they can fire their most
inaccurate weapons with any certainty.

After luncheon, consisting of spring-bok steak, hot corn-cake, and a cup
of delicious Mocha coffee, I strolled towards the south-west, accompanied
by Kalulu and Majwara, two boy gun-bearers. The tiny perpusilla started up
like rabbits from me as I stole along through the underbrush; the
honey-bird hopped from tree to tree chirping its call, as if it thought I
was seeking the little sweet treasure, the hiding-place of which it only
knew; but no! I neither desired perpusilla nor the honey. I was on the
search for something great this day. Keen-eyed fish-eagles and bustards
poised on trees above the sinuous Gombe thought, and probably with good
reason that I was after them; judging by the ready flight with which both
species disappeared as they sighted my approach. Ah, no! nothing but
hartebeest, zebra, giraffe, eland, and buffalo this day! After following
the Gombe’s course for about a mile, delighting my eyes with long looks at
the broad and lengthy reaches of water to which I was so long a stranger,
I came upon a scene which delighted the innermost recesses of my soul;
five, six, seven, eight, ten zebras switching their beautiful striped
bodies, and biting one another, within about one hundred and fifty yards.
The scene was so pretty, so romantic, never did I so thoroughly realize
that I was in Central Africa. I felt momentarily proud that I owned such a
vast domain, inhabited with such noble beasts. Here I possessed, within
reach of a leaden ball, any one I chose of the beautiful animals, the
pride of the African forests! It was at my option to shoot any of them!
Mine they were without money or without price; yet, knowing this, twice I
dropped my rifle, loth to wound the royal beasts, but—crack! and a
royal one was on his back battling the air with his legs. Ah, it was such
a pity! but, hasten, draw the keen sharp-edged knife across the beautiful
stripes which fold around the throat; and—what an ugly gash! it is
done, and 1 have a superb animal at my feet. Hurrah! I shall taste of
Ukonongo zebra to-night.

I thought a spring-bok and zebra enough for one day’s sport, especially
after a long march. The Gombe, a long stretch of deep water, winding in
and out of green groves, calm, placid, with lotus leaves lightly resting
on its surface, all pretty, picturesque, peaceful as a summer’s dream,
looked very inviting for a bath. I sought out the most shady spot under a
wide-spreading mimosa, from which the ground sloped smooth as a lawn, to
the still, clear water. I ventured to undress, and had already stepped in
to my ancles in the water, and had brought my hands together for a
glorious dive, when my attention was attracted by an enormously long body
which shot into view, occupying the spot beneath the surface that I was
about to explore by a “header.” Great heavens, it was a crocodile! I
sprang backward instinctively, and this proved my salvation, for the
monster turned away with the most disappointed look, and I was left to
congratulate myself upon my narrow escape from his jaws, and to register a
vow never to be tempted again by the treacherous calm of an African river.

As soon as I had dressed I turned away from the now repulsive aspect of
the stream. In strolling through the jungle, towards my camp, I detected
the forms of two natives looking sharply about them, and, after bidding my
young attendants to preserve perfect quiet, I crept on towards them, and,
by the aid of a thick clump of underbush, managed to arrive within a few
feet of the natives undetected. Their mere presence in the immense forest,
unexplained, was a cause of uneasiness in the then disturbed state of the
country, and my intention was to show myself suddenly to them, and note
its effect, which, if it betokened anything hostile to the Expedition,
could without difficulty be settled at once, with the aid of my
double-barrelled smooth-bore.

As I arrived on one side of this bush, the two suspicious-looking natives
arrived on the other side, and we were separated by only a few feet. I
made a bound, and we were face to face. The natives cast a glance at the
sudden figure of a white man, and seemed petrified for a moment, but then,
recovering themselves, they shrieked out, “Bana, bana, you don’t know us.
We are Wakonongo, who came to your camp to accompany you to Mrera, and we
are looking for honey.”

“Oh, to be sure, you are the Wakonongo. Yes—Yes. Ah, it is all right
now, I thought you might be Ruga-Ruga.”

So the two parties, instead of being on hostile terms with each other,
burst out laughing. The Wakonongo enjoyed it very much, and laughed
heartily as they proceeded on their way to search for the wild honey. On a
piece of bark they carried a little fire with which they smoked the bees
out from their nest in the great mtundu-trees.

The adventures of the day were over; the azure of the sky had changed to a
dead grey; the moon was appearing just over the trees; the water of the
Gombe was like a silver belt; hoarse frogs bellowed their notes loudly by
the margin of the creek; the fish-eagles uttered their dirge-like cries as
they were perched high on the tallest tree; elands snorted their warning
to the herds in the forest; stealthy forms of the carnivora stole through
the dark woods outside of our camp. Within the high inclosure of bush and
thorn, which we had raised around our camp, all was jollity, laughter, and
radiant, genial comfort. Around every camp-fire dark forms of men were
seen squatted: one man gnawed at a luscious bone; another sucked the rich
marrow in a zebra’s leg-bone; another turned the stick, garnished with
huge kabobs, to the bright blaze; another held a large rib over a flame;
there were others busy stirring industriously great black potfuls of
ugali, and watching anxiously the meat simmering, and the soup bubbling,
while the fire-light flickered and danced bravely, and cast a bright glow
over the naked forms of the men, and gave a crimson tinge to the tall tent
that rose in the centre of the camp, like a temple sacred to some
mysterious god; the fires cast their reflections upon the massive arms of
the trees, as they branched over our camp, and, in the dark gloom of their
foliage, the most fantastic shadows were visible. Altogether it was a
wild, romantic, and impressive scene. But little recked my men for shadows
and moonlight, for crimson tints, and temple-like tents—they were
all busy relating their various experiences, and gorging themselves with
the rich meats our guns had obtained for us. One was telling how he had
stalked a wild boar, and the furious onset the wounded animal made on him,
causing him to drop his gun, and climb a tree, and the terrible grunt of
the beast he well remembered, and the whole welkin rang with the peals of
laughter which his mimic powers evoked. Another had shot a buffalo-calf,
and another had bagged a hartebeest; the Wakonongo related their laughable
rencontre with me in the woods, and were lavish in their description of
the stores of honey to be found in the woods; and all this time Selim and
his youthful subs were trying their sharp teeth on the meat of a young pig
which one of the hunters had shot, but which nobody else would eat,
because of the Mohammedan aversion to pig, which they had acquired during
their transformation from negro savagery to the useful docility of the
Zanzibar freed-man.

We halted the two following days, and made frequent raids on the herds of
this fine country. The first day I was fairly successful again in the
sport. I bagged a couple of antelopes, a kudu (A. strepsiceros) with fine
twisting horns, and a pallah-buck (A. melampus), a reddish-brown animal,
standing about three and a half feet, with broad posteriors. I might have
succeeded in getting dozens of animals had I any of those accurate, heavy
rifles manufactured by Lancaster, Reilly, or Blissett, whose every shot
tells. But my weapons, save my light smoothbore, were unfit for African
game. My weapons were more for men. With the Winchester rifle, and the
Starr’s carbine, I was able to hit anything within two hundred yards, but
the animals, though wounded, invariably managed to escape the knife, until
I was disgusted with the pea-bullets. What is wanted for this country is a
heavy bore—No. 10 or 12 is the real bone-crusher—that will
drop every animal shot in its tracks, by which all fatigue and
disappointment are avoided. Several times during these two days was I
disappointed after most laborious stalking and creeping along the ground.
Once I came suddenly upon an eland while I had a Winchester rifle in my
hand—the eland and myself mutually astonished—at not more than
twenty-five yards apart. I fired at its chest, and bullet, true to its
aim, sped far into the internal parts, and the blood spouted from the
wound: in a few minutes he was far away, and I was too much disappointed
to follow him. All love of the chase seemed to be dying away before these
several mishaps. What were two antelopes for one day’s sport to the
thousands that browsed over the plain?

The animals taken to camp during our three days’ sport were two buffaloes,
two wild boar, three hartebeest, one zebra, and one pallah; besides which,
were shot eight guinea-fowls, three florican, two fish-eagles, one
pelican, and one of the men caught a couple of large silurus fish. In the
meantime the people had cut, sliced, and dried this bounteous store of
meat for our transit through the long wilderness before us.

Saturday the 7th day of October, we broke up camp, to the great regret of
the meat-loving, gormandizing Wangwana. They delegated Bombay early in the
morning to speak to me, and entreat of me to stop one day longer. It was
ever the case; they had always an unconquerable aversion to work, when in
presence of meat. Bombay was well scolded for bearing any such request to
me after two days’ rest, during which time they had been filled to
repletion with meat. And Bombay was by no means in the best of humour;
flesh-pots full of meat were more to his taste than a constant tramping,
and its consequent fatigues. I saw his face settle into sulky ugliness,
and his great nether lip hanging down limp, which meant as if expressed in
so many words, “Well, get them to move yourself, you wicked hard man! I
shall not help you.”

An ominous silence followed my order to the kirangozi to sound the horn,
and the usual singing and chanting were not heard. The men turned sullenly
to their bales, and Asmani, the gigantic guide, our fundi, was heard
grumblingly to say he was sorry he had engaged to guide me to the
Tanganika. However, they started, though reluctantly. I stayed behind with
my gunbearers, to drive the stragglers on. In about half an hour I sighted
the caravan at a dead stop, with the bales thrown on the ground, and the
men standing in groups conversing angrily and excitedly.

Taking my double-barrelled gun from Selim’s shoulder, I selected a dozen
charges of buck-shot, and slipping two of them into the barrels, and
adjusting my revolvers in order for handy work, I walked on towards them.
I noticed that the men seized their guns, as I advanced. When within
thirty yards of the groups, I discovered the heads of two men appear above
an anthill on my left, with the barrels of their guns carelessly pointed
toward the road.

I halted, threw the barrel of my gun into the hollow of the left hand, and
then, taking a deliberate aim at them, threatened to blow their heads off
if they did not come forward to talk to me. These two men were, gigantic
Asmani and his sworn companion Mabruki, the guides of Sheikh bin Nasib. As
it was dangerous not to comply with such an order, they presently came,
but, keeping my eye on Asmani, I saw him move his fingers to the trigger
of his gun, and bring his gun to a “ready.” Again I lifted my gun, and
threatened him with instant death, if he did not drop his gun.

Asmani came on in a sidelong way with a smirking smile on his face, but in
his eyes shone the lurid light of murder, as plainly as ever it shone in a
villain’s eyes. Mabruki sneaked to my rear, deliberately putting powder in
the pan of his musket, but sweeping the gun sharply round, I planted the
muzzle of it at about two feet from his wicked-looking face, and ordered
him to drop his gun instantly. He let it fall from his hand quickly, and
giving him a vigorous poke in the breast with my gun, which sent him
reeling away a few feet from me, I faced round to Asmani, and ordered him
to put his gun down, accompanying it with a nervous movement of my gun,
pressing gently on the trigger at the same time. Never was a man nearer
his death than was Asmani during those few moments. I was reluctant to
shed his blood, and I was willing to try all possible means to avoid doing
so; but if I did not succeed in cowing this ruffian, authority was at an
end. The truth was, they feared to proceed further on the road, and the
only possible way of inducing them to move was by an overpowering force,
and exercise of my power and will in this instance, even though he might
pay the penalty of his disobedience with death. As I was beginning to feel
that Asmani had passed his last moment on earth, as he was lifting his gun
to his shoulder, a form came up from behind him, and swept his gun aside
with an impatient, nervous movement, and I heard Mabruki Burton say in
horror-struck accents:

“Man, how dare you point your gun, at the master?” Mabruki then threw
himself at my feet, and endeavoured to kiss them and entreated me not to
punish him. “It was all over now,” he said; “there would be no more
quarreling, they would all go as far as the Tanganika, without any more
noise; and Inshallah!” said he, “we shall find the old Musungu * at
Ujiji.”

*Livingstone

“Speak, men, freedmen, shall we not?—shall we not go to the
Tanganika without any more trouble? tell the master with one voice.”

“Ay Wallah! Ay Wallah! Bana yango! Hamuna manneno mgini!” which literally
translated means, “Yes by God! Yes by God! my master! There are no other
words,” said each man loudly.

“Ask the master’s pardon, man, or go thy way,” said Mabruki peremptorily,
to Asmani: which Asmani did, to the gratification of us all.

It remained for me only to extend a general pardon to all except to Bombay
and Ambari, the instigators of the mutiny, which was now happily quelled.
For Bombay could have by a word, as my captain, nipped all manifestation
of bad temper at the outset, had he been so disposed. But no, Bombay was
more averse to marching than the cowardliest of his fellows, not because
he was cowardly, but because he loved indolence.

Again the word was given to march, and each man, with astonishing
alacrity, seized his load, and filed off quickly out of sight.

While on this subject, I may as well give here a sketch of each of the
principal men whose names must often appear in the following chapters.
According to rank, they consist of Bombay, Mabruki Burton, Asmani the
guide, Chowpereh, Ulimengo, Khamisi, Ambari, Jumah, Ferajji the cook,
Maganga the Mnyamwezi, Selim the Arab boy, and youthful Kalulu a
gunbearer.

Bombay has received an excellent character from Burton and Speke.
“Incarnation of honesty” Burton grandly terms him. The truth is, Bombay
was neither very honest nor very dishonest, i.e., he did not venture to
steal much. He sometimes contrived cunningly, as he distributed the meat,
to hide a very large share for his own use. This peccadillo of his did not
disturb me much; he deserved as captain a larger share than the others. He
required to be closely watched, and when aware that this was the case, he
seldom ventured to appropriate more cloth than I would have freely given
him, had he asked for it. As a personal servant, or valet, he would have
been unexceptionable, but as a captain or jemadar over his fellows, he was
out of his proper sphere. It was too much brain-work, and was too
productive of anxiety to keep him in order. At times he was helplessly
imbecile in his movements, forgot every order the moment it was given him,
consistently broke or lost some valuable article, was fond of argument,
and addicted to bluster. He thinks Hajji Abdullah one of the wickedest
white men born, because he saw him pick up men’s skulls and put them in
sacks, as if he was about to prepare a horrible medicine with them. He
wanted to know whether his former master had written down all he himself
did, and when told that Burton had not said anything, in his books upon
the Lake Regions, upon collecting skulls at Kilwa, thought I would be
doing a good work if I published this important fact.

Mabruki, “Ras-bukra Mabruki,” Bull-headed Mabruki, as Burton calls him, is
a sadly abused man in my opinion. Mabruki, though stupid, is faithful. He
is entirely out of his element as valet, he might as well be clerk. As a
watchman he is invaluable, as a second captain or fundi, whose duty it is
to bring up stragglers, he is superexcellent. He is ugly and vain, but he
is no coward.

Asmani the guide is a large fellow, standing over six feet, with the neck
and shoulders of a Hercules. Besides being guide, he is a fundi, sometimes
called Fundi Asmani, or hunter. A very superstitious man, who takes great
care of his gun, and talismanic plaited cord, which he has dipped in the
blood of all the animals he has ever shot. He is afraid of lions, and will
never venture out where lions are known to be. All other animals he
regards as game, and is indefatigable in their pursuit. He is seldom seen
without an apologetic or a treacherous smile on his face. He could draw a
knife across a man’s throat and still smile.

Chowpereh is a sturdy short man of thirty or thereabouts; very
good-natured, and humorous. When Chowpereh speaks in his dry Mark Twain
style, the whole camp laughs. I never quarrel with Chowpereh, never did
quarrel with him. A kind word given to Chowpereh is sure to be
reciprocated with a good deed. He is the strongest, the healthiest, the
amiablest, the faithfulest of all. He is the embodiment of a good
follower.

Khamisi is a neat, cleanly boy of twenty, or thereabouts, active,
loud-voiced, a boaster, and the cowardliest of the cowardly. He will steal
at every opportunity. He clings to his gun most affectionately; is always
excessively anxious if a screw gets loose, or if a flint will not strike
fire, yet I doubt that he would be able to fire his gun at an enemy from
excessive trembling. Khamisi would rather trust his safety to his feet,
which are small, and well shaped.

Ambari is a man of about forty. He is one of the “Faithfuls” of Speke, and
one of my Faithfuls. He would not run away from me except when in the
presence of an enemy, and imminent personal danger. He is clever in his
way, but is not sufficiently clever to enact the part of captain—could
take charge of a small party, and give a very good account of them. Is
lazy, and an admirer of good living—abhors marching, unless he has
nothing to carry but his gun.

Jumah is the best abused man of the party, because he has old-womanish
ways with him, yet in his old-womanish ways he is disposed to do the best
he can for me, though he will not carry a pound in weight without groaning
terribly at his hard fate. To me he is sentimental and pathetic; to the
unimportant members of the caravan he is stern and uncompromising. But the
truth is, that I could well dispense with Jumah’s presence: he was one of
the incorrigible inutiles, eating far more than he was worth; besides
being an excessively grumbling and querulous fool.

Ulimengo, a strong stalwart fellow of thirty, was the maddest and most
hare-brained of my party. Though an arrant coward, he was a consummate
boaster. But though a devotee of pleasure and fun, he was not averse from
work. With one hundred men such as he, I could travel through Africa
provided there was no fighting to do. It will be remembered that he was
the martial coryphaeus who led my little army to war against Mirambo,
chanting the battle-song of the Wangwana; and that I stated, that when the
retreat was determined upon, he was the first of my party to reach the
stronghold of Mfuto. He is a swift runner, and a fair hunter. I have been
indebted to him on several occasions for a welcome addition to my larder.

Ferajji, a former dish-washer to Speke, was my cook. He was promoted to
this office upon the defection of Bunder Salaam, and the extreme
non-fitness of Abdul Kader. For cleaning dishes, the first corn-cob, green
twig, a bunch of leaves or grass, answered Ferajji’s purposes in the
absence of a cloth. If I ordered a plate, and I pointed out a black,
greasy, sooty thumbmark to him, a rub of a finger Ferajji thought
sufficient to remove all objections. If I hinted that a spoon was rather
dirty, Ferajji fancied that with a little saliva, and a rub of his loin
cloth, the most fastidious ought to be satisfied. Every pound of meat, and
every three spoonfuls of musk or porridge I ate in Africa, contained at
least ten grains of sand. Ferajji was considerably exercised at a threat I
made to him that on arrival at Zanzibar, I would get the great English
doctor there to open my stomach, and count every grain of sand found in
it, for each grain of which Ferajji should be charged one dollar. The
consciousness that my stomach must contain a large number, for which the
forfeits would be heavy, made him feel very sad at times. Otherwise,
Ferajji was a good cook, most industrious, if not accomplished. He could
produce a cup of tea, and three or four hot pancakes, within ten minutes
after a halt was ordered, for which I was most grateful, as I was almost
always hungry after a long march. Ferajji sided with Baraka against Bombay
in Unyoro, and when Speke took Bombay’s side of the question, Ferajji, out
of love for Baraka, left Speke’s service, and so forfeited his pay.

Maganga was a Mnyamwezi, a native of Mkwenkwe, a strong, faithful servant,
an excellent pagazi, with an irreproachable temper. He it was who at all
times, on the march, started the wildly exuberant song of the Wanyamwezi
porters, which, no matter how hot the sun, or how long the march, was sure
to produce gaiety and animation among the people. At such times all hands
sang, sang with voices that could be heard miles away, which made the
great forests ring with the sounds, which startled every animal big or
little, for miles around. On approaching a village the temper of whose
people might be hostile to us, Maganga would commence his song, with the
entire party joining in the chorus, by which mode we knew whether the
natives were disposed to be friendly or hostile. If hostile, or timid, the
gates would at once be closed, and dark faces would scowl at us from the
interior; if friendly, they rushed outside of their gates to welcome us,
or to exchange friendly remarks.

An important member of the Expedition was Selim, the young Arab. Without
some one who spoke good Arabic, I could not have obtained the friendship
of the chief Arabs in Unyanyembe; neither could I have well communicated
with them, for though I understood Arabic, I could not speak it.

I have already related how Kalulu came to be in my service, and how he
came to bear his present name. I soon found how apt and quick he was to
learn, in consequence of which, he was promoted to the rank of personal
attendant. Even Selim could not vie with Kalulu in promptness and
celerity, or in guessing my wants at the table. His little black eyes were
constantly roving over the dishes, studying out the problem of what was
further necessary, or had become unnecessary.

We arrived at the Ziwani, in about 4 h. 30 m. from the time of our
quitting the scene which had well-nigh witnessed a sanguinary conflict.
The Ziwani, or pool, contained no water, not a drop, until the parched
tongues of my people warned them that they must proceed and excavate for
water. This excavation was performed (by means of strong hard sticks
sharply pointed) in the dry hard-caked bottom. After digging to a depth of
six feet their labours were rewarded with the sight of a few drops of
muddy liquid percolating through the sides, which were eagerly swallowed
to relieve their raging thirst. Some voluntarily started with buckets,
gourds, and canteens south to a deserted clearing called the “Tongoni” in
Ukamba, and in about three hours returned with a plentiful supply for
immediate use, of good and clear water.

In 1 h. 30 m. we arrived at this Tongoni, or deserted clearing of the
Wakamba. Here were three or four villages burnt, and an extensive clearing
desolate, the work of the Wa-Ruga-Raga of Mirambo. Those of the
inhabitants who were left, after the spoliation and complete destruction
of the flourishing settlement, emigrated westerly to Ugara. A large herd
of buffalo now slake their thirst at the pool which supplied the villages
of Ukamba with water.

Great masses of iron haematite cropped up above the surfaces in these
forests. Wild fruit began to be abundant; the wood-apple and tamarind and
a small plum-like fruit, furnished us with many an agreeable repast.

The honey-bird is very frequent in these forests of Ukonongo. Its cry is a
loud, quick chirrup. The Wakonongo understand how to avail themselves of
its guidance to the sweet treasure of honey which the wild bees have
stored in the cleft of some great tree. Daily, the Wakonongo who had
joined our caravan brought me immense cakes of honey-comb, containing
delicious white and red honey. The red honey-comb generally contains large
numbers of dead bees, but our exceedingly gluttonous people thought little
of these. They not only ate the honey-bees, but they also ate a good deal
of the wax.

As soon as the honey-bird descries the traveller, he immediately utters a
series of wild, excited cries, hops about from twig to twig, and from
branch to branch, then hops to another tree, incessantly repeating his
chirruping call. The native, understanding the nature of the little bird,
unhesitatingly follows him; but perhaps his steps are too slow for the
impatient caller, upon which he flies back, urging him louder, more
impatient cries, to hasten, and then darts swiftly forward, as if he would
show how quickly he could go to the honey-store, until at last the
treasure is reached, the native has applied fire to the bees’ nest, and
secured the honey, while the little bird preens himself, and chirrups in
triumphant notes, as if he were informing the biped that without his aid
he never could have found the honey.

Buffalo gnats and tsetse were very troublesome on this march, owing to the
numerous herds of game in the vicinity.

On the 9th of October we made a long march in a southerly direction, and
formed our camp in the centre of a splendid grove of trees. The water was
very scarce on the road. The Wamrima and Wanyamwezi are not long able to
withstand thirst. When water is plentiful they slake their thirst at every
stream and pool; when it is scarce, as it is here and in the deserts of
Marenga and Magunda Mkali, long afternoon-marches are made; the men
previously, however, filling their gourds, so as to enable them to reach
the water early next morning. Selim was never able to endure thirst. It
mattered not how much of the precious liquid he carried, he generally
drank it all before reaching camp, and he consequently suffered during the
night. Besides this, he endangered his life by quaffing from every muddy
pool; and on this day he began to complain that he discharged blood, which
I took to be an incipient stage of dysentery.

During these marches, ever since quitting Ugunda, a favourite topic at the
camp-fires were the Wa-Ruga-Ruga, and their atrocities, and a possible
encounter that we might have with these bold rovers of the forest. I
verily believe that a sudden onset of half a dozen of Mirambo’s people
would have set the whole caravan arunning.

We reached Marefu the next day, after a short three hours’ march. We there
found an embassy sent by the Arabs of Unyanyembe, to the Southern Watuta,
bearing presents of several bales, in charge of Hassan the Mseguhha. This
valiant leader and diplomatist had halted here some ten days because of
wars and rumours of wars in his front. It was said that Mbogo, Sultan of
Mboga in Ukonongo, was at war with the brother of Manwa Sera, and as Mbogo
was a large district of Ukonongo only two days’ march from Marefu; fear of
being involved in it was deterring old Hassan from proceeding. He advised
me also not to proceed, as it was impossible to be able to do so without
being embroiled in the conflict. I informed him that I intended to proceed
on my way, and take my chances, and graciously offered him my escort as
far as the frontier of Ufipa, from which he could easily and safely
continue on his way to the Watuta, but he declined it.

We had now been travelling fourteen days in a south-westerly direction,
having made a little more than one degree of latitude. I had intended to
have gone a little further south, because it was such a good road, also
since by going further south we should have labored under no fear of
meeting Mirambo; but the report of this war in our front, only two days
off, compelled me, in the interest of the Expedition, to strike across
towards the Tanganika, an a west-by-north course through the forest,
travelling, when it was advantageous, along elephant tracks and local
paths. This new plan was adopted after consulting with Asmani, the guide.
We were now in Ukonongo, having entered this district when we crossed the
Gombe creek. The next day after arriving at Marefu we plunged westward, in
view of the villagers, and the Arab ambassador, who kept repeating until
the last moment that we should “certainly catch it.”

We marched eight hours through a forest, where the forest peach, or the
“mbembu,” is abundant. The tree that bears this fruit is very like a
pear-tree, and is very productive. I saw one tree, upon which I estimated
there were at least six or seven bushels. I ate numbers of the peaches on
this day. So long as this fruit can be produced, a traveller in these
regions need not fear starvation.

At the base of a graceful hilly cone we found a village called Utende, the
inhabitants of which were in a state of great alarm, as we suddenly
appeared on the ridge above them. Diplomacy urged me to send forward a
present of one doti to the Sultan, who, however, would not accept it,
because he happened to be drunk with pombe, and was therefore disposed to
be insolent. Upon being informed that he would refuse any present, unless
he received four more cloths, I immediately ordered a strong boma to be
constructed on the summits of a little hill, near enough to a plentiful
supply of water, and quietly again packed up the present in the bale. I
occupied a strategically chosen position, as I could have swept the face
of the hill, and the entire space between its base and the village of
Watende. Watchmen were kept on the look-out all night; but we were
fortunately not troubled until the morning; when a delegation of the
principal men came to ask if I intended to depart without having made a
present to the chief. I replied to them that I did not intend passing
through any country without making friends with the chief; and if their
chief would accept a good cloth from me, I would freely give it to him.
Though they demurred at the amount of the present at first, the difference
between us was finally ended by my adding a fundo of red beads—sami-sami—for
the chief’s wife.

From the hill and ridge of Utende sloped a forest for miles and miles
westerly, which was terminated by a grand and smooth-topped ridge rising
500 or 600 feet above the plain.

A four hours’ march, on the 12th of October, brought us to a nullah
similar to the Gombe, which, during the wet season, flows to the Gombe
River, and thence into the Malagarazi River.

A little before camping we saw a herd of nimba, or pallah; I had the good
fortune to shoot one, which was a welcome addition to our fast diminishing
store of dried meats, prepared in our camp on the Gombe. By the quantity
of bois de vaches, we judged buffaloes were plentiful here, as well as
elephant and rhinoceros. The feathered species were well represented by
ibis, fish-eagles, pelicans, storks, cranes, several snowy spoon-bills,
and flamingoes.

From the nullah, or mtoni, we proceeded to Mwaru, the principal village of
the district of Mwaru, the chief of which is Ka-mirambo. Our march lay
over desolated clearings once occupied by Ka-mirambo’s people, but who
were driven away by Mkasiwa some ten years ago, during his warfare against
Manwa Sera. Niongo, the brother of the latter, now waging war against
Mbogo, had passed through Mwaru the day before we arrived, after being
defeated by his enemy.

The hilly ridge that bounded the westward horizon, visible from Utende,
was surmounted on this day. The western slope trends south-west, and is
drained by the River Mrera, which empties into the Malagarazi River. We
perceived the influence of the Tanganika, even here, though we were yet
twelve or fifteen marches from the lake. The jungles increased in density,
and the grasses became enormously tall; these points reminded us of the
maritime districts of Ukwere and Ukami.

We heard from a caravan at this place, just come from Ufipa, that a white
man was reported to be in “Urua,” whom I supposed to mean Livingstone.

Upon leaving Mwaru we entered the district of Mrera, a chief who once
possessed great power and influence over this region. Wars, however, have
limited his possessions to three or four villages snugly embosomed within
a jungle, whose outer rim is so dense that it serves like a stone wall to
repel invaders. There were nine bleached skulls, stuck on the top of as
many poles, before the principal gate of entrance, which told us of
existing feuds between the Wakonongo and the Wazavira. This latter tribe
dwelt in a country a few marches west of us; whose territory we should
have to avoid, unless we sought another opportunity to distinguish
ourselves in battle with the natives. The Wazavira, we were told by the
Wakonongo of Mrera, were enemies to all Wangwana.

In a narrow strip of marsh between Mwaru and Mrera, we saw a small herd of
wild elephants. It was the first time I had ever seen these animals in
their native wildness, and my first impressions of them I shall not
readily forget. I am induced to think that the elephant deserves the title
of “king of beasts.” His huge form, the lordly way in which he stares at
an intruder on his domain, and his whole appearance indicative of
conscious might, afford good grounds for his claim to that title. This
herd, as we passed it at the distance of a mile, stopped to survey the
caravan as it passed: and, after having satisfied their curiosity, the
elephants trooped into the forest which bounded the marshy plain
southward, as if caravans were every-day things to them, whilst they—the
free and unconquerable lords of the forest and the marsh—had nothing
in common with the cowardly bipeds, who never found courage to face them
in fair combat. The destruction which a herd makes in a forest is simply
tremendous. When the trees are young whole swathes may be found uprooted
and prostrate, which mark the track of the elephants as they “trampled
their path through wood and brake.”

The boy Selim was so ill at this place that I was compelled to halt the
caravan for him for two days. He seemed to be affected with a disease in
the limbs, which caused him to sprawl, and tremble most painfully, besides
suffering from an attack of acute dysentery. But constant attendance and
care soon brought him round again; and on the third day he was able to
endure the fatigue of riding.

I was able to shoot several animals during our stay at Mrera. The forest
outside of the cultivation teems with noble animals. Zebra, giraffe,
elephant, and rhinoceros are most common; ptarmigan and guinea-fowl were
also plentiful.

The warriors of Mrera are almost all armed with muskets, of which they
take great care. They were very importunate in their demands for flints,
bullets, and powder, which I always made it a point to refuse, lest at any
moment a fracas occurring they might use the ammunition thus supplied to
my own disadvantage. The men of this village were an idle set, doing
little but hunting, gaping, gossiping, and playing like great boys. During
the interval of my stay at Mrera I employed a large portion of my time in
mending my shoes, and patching up the great rents in my clothes, which the
thorn species, during the late marches, had almost destroyed. Westward,
beyond Mrera, was a wilderness, the transit of which we were warned would
occupy nine days hence arose the necessity to purchase a large supply of
grain, which, ere attempting the great uninhabited void in our front, was
to be ground and sifted.

CHAPTER XI. — THROUGH UKAWENDI, UVINZA, AND UHHA, TO UJIJI.

We bade farewell to Mrera on the 17th of October, to continue our route
north-westward. All the men and I were firm friends now; all squabbling
had long ceased. Bombay and I had forgotten our quarrel; the kirangozi and
myself were ready to embrace, so loving and affectionate were the terms
upon which we stood towards one another. Confidence returned to all hearts—for
now, as Mabruk Unyanyembe said, “we could smell the fish of the
Tanganika.” Unyanyembe, with all its disquietude, was far behind. We could
snap our fingers at that terrible Mirambo and his unscrupulous followers,
and by-and-by, perhaps, we may be able to laugh at the timid seer who
always prophesied portentous events—Sheikh, the son of Nasib. We
laughed joyously, as we glided in Indian file through the young forest
jungle beyond the clearing of Mrera, and boasted of our prowess. Oh! we
were truly brave that morning!

Emerging from the jungle, we entered a thin forest, where numerous
ant-hills were seen like so many sand-dunes. I imagine that these
ant-hills were formed during a remarkably wet season, when, possibly, the
forest-clad plain was inundated. I have seen the ants at work by
thousands, engaged in the work of erecting their hills in other districts
suffering from inundation. What a wonderful system of cells these tiny
insects construct! A perfect labyrinth—cell within cell, room within
room, hall within hall—an exhibition of engineering talents and high
architectural capacity—a model city, cunningly contrived for safety
and comfort!

Emerging after a short hour’s march out of the forest, we welcome the
sight of a murmuring translucent stream, swiftly flowing towards the
north-west, which we regard with the pleasure which only men who have for
a long time sickened themselves with that potable liquid of the foulest
kind, found in salinas, mbugas, pools, and puddle holes, can realize.
Beyond this stream rises a rugged and steep ridge, from the summit of
which our eyes are gladdened with scenes that are romantic, animated and
picturesque. They form an unusual feast to eyes sated with looking into
the depths of forests, at towering stems of trees, and at tufted crowns of
foliage. We have now before us scores of cones, dotting the surface of a
plain which extends across Southern Ukonongo to the territory of the
Wafipa, and which reaches as far as the Rikwa Plain. The immense prospect
before which we are suddenly ushered is most varied; exclusive of conical
hills and ambitious flat-topped and isolated mountains, we are in view of
the watersheds of the Rungwa River, which empties into the Tanganika south
of where we stand, and of the Malagarazi River, which the Tanganika
receives, a degree or so north of this position. A single but lengthy
latitudinal ridge serves as a dividing line to the watershed of the Rungwa
and Malagarazi; and a score of miles or so further west of this ridge
rises another, which runs north and south.

We camped on this day in the jungle, close to a narrow ravine with a
marshy bottom, through the oozy, miry contents of which the waters from
the watershed of the Rungwa slowly trickled southward towards the Rikwa
Plain. This was only one of many ravines, however, some of which were
several hundred yards broad, others were but a few yards in width, the
bottoms of which were most dangerous quagmires, overgrown with dense tall
reeds and papyrus. Over the surface of these great depths of mud were seen
hundreds of thin threads of slimy ochre-coloured water, which swarmed with
animalculae. By-and-by, a few miles south of the base of this ridge (which
I call Kasera, from the country which it cuts in halves), these several
ravines converge and debouch into the broad, [marshy?], oozy, spongy
“river” of Usense, which trends in a south-easterly direction; after
which, gathering the contents of the watercourses from the north and
northeast into its own broader channel, it soon becomes a stream of some
breadth and consequence, and meets a river flowing from the east, from the
direction of Urori, with which it conflows in the Rikwa Plain, and empties
about sixty rectilineal miles further west into the Tanganika Lake. The
Rungwa River, I am informed, is considered as a boundary line between the
country of Usowa on the north, and Ufipa on the south.

We had barely completed the construction of our camp defences when some of
the men were heard challenging a small party of natives which advanced
towards our camp, headed by a man who, from his garb and head-dress, we
knew was from Zanzibar. After interchanging the customary salutations, I
was informed that this party was an embassy from Simba (“Lion”), who ruled
over Kasera, in Southern Unyamwezi. Simba, I was told, was the son of
Mkasiwa, King of Unyanyembe, and was carrying on war with the Wazavira, of
whom I was warned to beware. He had heard such reports of my greatness
that he was sorry I did not take his road to Ukawendi, that he might have
had the opportunity of seeing me, and making friends with me; but in the
absence of a personal visit Simba had sent this embassy to overtake me, in
the hope that I would present him with a token of my friendship in the
shape of cloth. Though I was rather taken aback by the demand, still it
was politic in me to make this powerful chief my friend, lest on my return
from the search after Livingstone he and I might fall out. And since it
was incumbent on me to make a present, for the sake of peace, it was
necessary to exhibit my desire for peace by giving—if I gave at all—a
royal present. The ambassador conveyed from me to Simba, or the “Lion” of
Kasera, two gorgeous cloths, and two other doti consisting of Merikani and
Kaniki; and, if I might believe the ambassador, I had made Simba a friend
for ever.

On the 18th of October, breaking camp at the usual hour, we continued our
march north-westward by a road which zig-zagged along the base of the
Kasera mountains, and which took us into all kinds of difficulties. We
traversed at least a dozen marshy ravines, the depth of mire and water in
which caused the utmost anxiety. I sunk up to my neck in deep holes in the
Stygian ooze caused by elephants, and had to tramp through the oozy beds
of the Rungwa sources with any clothes wet and black with mud and slime.
Decency forbade that I should strip; and the hot sun would also blister my
body. Moreover, these morasses were too frequent to lose time in
undressing and dressing, and, as each man was weighted with his own proper
load, it would have been cruel to compel the men to bear me across.
Nothing remained, therefore, but to march on, all encumbered as I was with
my clothing and accoutrements, into these several marshy watercourses,
with all the philosophical stoicism that my nature could muster for such
emergencies. But it was very uncomfortable, to say the least of it.

We soon entered the territory of the dreaded Wazavira, but no enemy was in
sight. Simba, in his wars, had made clean work of the northern part of
Uzavira, and we encountered nothing worse than a view of the desolated
country, which must have been once—judging from the number of burnt
huts and debris of ruined villages—extremely populous. A young
jungle was sprouting up vigorously in their fields, and was rapidly
becoming the home of wild denizens of the forest. In one of the deserted
and ruined villages, I found quarters for the Expedition, which were by no
means uncomfortable. I shot three brace of guinea-fowl in the
neighbourhood of Misonghi, the deserted village we occupied, and Ulimengo,
one of my hunters, bagged an antelope, called the “mbawala,” for whose
meat some of the Wanyamwezi have a superstitious aversion. I take this
species of antelope, which stands about three and a half feet high, of a
reddish hide, head long, horns short, to be the “Nzoe” antelope discovered
by Speke in Uganda, and whose Latin designation is, according to Dr.
Sclater, “Tragelaphus Spekii.” It has a short bushy tail, and long hair
along the spine.

A long march in a west-by-north direction, lasting six hours, through a
forest where the sable antelope was seen, and which was otherwise prolific
with game, brought us to a stream which ran by the base of a lofty conical
hill, on whose slopes flourished quite a forest of feathery bamboo.

On the 20th, leaving our camp, which lay between the stream and the
conical hill above mentioned, and surmounting a low ridge which sloped
from the base of the hill-cone, we were greeted with another picturesque
view, of cones and scarped mountains, which heaved upward in all
directions. A march of nearly five hours through this picturesque country
brought us to the Mpokwa River, one of the tributaries of the Rungwa, and
to a village lately deserted by the Wazavira. The huts were almost all
intact, precisely as they were left by their former inhabitants. In the
gardens were yet found vegetables, which, after living so long on meat,
were most grateful to us. On the branches of trees still rested the Lares
and Penates of the Wazavira, in the shape of large and exceedingly
well-made earthen pots.

In the neighbouring river one of my men succeeded, in few minutes, in
catching sixty fish of the silurus species the hand alone. A number of
birds hovered about stream, such as the white-headed fish-eagle and the
kingfisher, enormous, snowy spoonbills, ibis, martins, &c. This river
issued from a mountain clump eight miles or so north of the village of
Mpokwa, and comes flowing down a narrow thread of water, sinuously winding
amongst tall reeds and dense brakes on either side-the home of hundreds of
antelopes and buffaloes. South of Mpokwa, the valley broadens, and the
mountains deflect eastward and westward, and beyond this point commences
the plain known as the Rikwa, which, during the Masika is inundated, but
which, in the dry season, presents the same bleached aspect that plains in
Africa generally do when the grass has ripened.

Travelling up along the right bank of the Mpokwa, on the 21st we came to
the head of the stream, and the sources of the Mpokwa, issuing out of deep
defiles enclosed by lofty ranges. The mbawala and the buffalo were
plentiful.

On the 22nd, after a march of four hours and a half, we came to the
beautiful stream of Mtambu—the water of which was sweet, and clear
as crystal, and flowed northward. We saw for the first time the home of
the lion and the leopard. Hear what Freiligrath says of the place:

We camped but a few yards from just such a place as the poet describes.
The herd-keeper who attended the goats and donkeys, soon after our arrival
in camp, drove the animals to water, and in order to obtain it they
travelled through a tunnel in the brake, caused by elephants and
rhinoceros. They had barely entered the dark cavernous passage, when a
black-spotted leopard sprang, and fastened its fangs in the neck of one of
the donkeys, causing it, from the pain, to bray hideously. Its companions
set up such a frightful chorus, and so lashed their heels in the air at
the feline marauder, that the leopard bounded away through the brake, as
if in sheer dismay at the noisy cries which the attack had provoked. The
donkey’s neck exhibited some frightful wounds, but the animal was not
dangerously hurt.

Thinking that possibly I might meet with an adventure with a lion or a
leopard in that dark belt of tall trees, under whose impenetrable shade
grew the dense thicket that formed such admirable coverts for the
carnivorous species, I took a stroll along the awesome place with the
gunbearer, Kalulu, carrying an extra gun, and a further supply of
ammunition. We crept cautiously along, looking keenly into the deep dark
dens, the entrances of which were revealed to us, as we journeyed,
expectant every moment to behold the reputed monarch of the brake and
thicket, bound forward to meet us, and I took a special delight in
picturing, in my imagination, the splendor and majesty of the wrathful
brute, as he might stand before me. I peered closely into every dark
opening, hoping to see the deadly glitter of the great angry eyes, and the
glowering menacing front of the lion as he would regard me. But, alas!
after an hour’s search for adventure, I had encountered nothing, and I
accordingly waxed courageous, and crept into one of these leafy, thorny
caverns, and found myself shortly standing under a canopy of foliage that
was held above my head fully a hundred feet by the shapely and towering
stems of the royal mvule. Who can imagine the position? A smooth lawn-like
glade; a dense and awful growth of impenetrable jungle around us; those
stately natural pillars—a glorious phalanx of royal trees, bearing
at such sublime heights vivid green masses of foliage, through which no
single sun-ray penetrated, while at our feet babbled the primeval brook,
over smooth pebbles, in soft tones befitting the sacred quiet of the
scene! Who could have desecrated this solemn, holy harmony of nature? But
just as I was thinking it impossible that any man could be tempted to
disturb the serene solitude of the place, I saw a monkey perched high on a
branch over my head, contemplating, with something of an awe-struck look,
the strange intruders beneath. Well, I could not help it, I laughed—laughed
loud and long, until I was hushed by the chaos of cries and strange noises
which seemed to respond to my laughing. A troop of monkeys, hidden in the
leafy depths above, had been rudely awakened, and, startled by the noise I
made, were hurrying away from the scene with a dreadful clamor of cries
and shrieks.

Emerging again into the broad sunlight, I strolled further in search of
something to shoot. Presently, I saw, feeding quietly in the forest which
bounded the valley of the Mtambu on the left, a huge, reddish-coloured
wild boar, armed with most horrid tusks. Leaving Kalulu crouched down
behind a tree, and my solar helmet behind another close by—that I
might more safely stalk the animal—I advanced towards him some forty
yards, and after taking a deliberate aim, fired at his fore shoulder. As
if nothing had hurt him whatever, the animal made a furious bound, and
then stood with his bristles erected, and tufted tail, curved over the
back—a most formidable brute in appearance. While he was thus
listening, and searching the neighbourhood with his keen, small eyes, I
planted another shot in his chest, which ploughed its way through his
body. Instead of falling, however, as I expected he would, he charged
furiously in the direction the bullet had come, and as he rushed past me,
another ball was fired, which went right through him; but still he kept
on, until, within six or seven yards from the trees behind which Kalulu
was crouching down on one side, and the helmet was resting behind another,
he suddenly halted, and then dropped. But as I was about to advance on him
with my knife to cut his throat, he suddenly started up; his eyes had
caught sight of the little boy Kalulu, and were then, almost immediately
afterwards, attracted by the sight of the snowy helmet. These strange
objects on either side of him proved too much for the boar, for, with a
terrific grunt, he darted on one side into a thick brake, from which it
was impossible to oust him, and as it was now getting late, and the camp
was about three miles away, I was reluctantly obliged to return without
the meat.

On our way to camp we were accompanied by a large animal which
persistently followed us on our left. It was too dark to see plainly, but
a large form was visible, if not very clearly defined. It must have been a
lion, unless it was the ghost of the dead boar.

That night, about 11 P.M., we were startled by the roar of a lion, in
close proximity to the camp. Soon it was joined by another, and another
still, and the novelty of the thing kept me awake. I peered through the
gate of the camp, and endeavoured to sight a rifle—my little
Winchester, in the accuracy of which I had perfect confidence; but, alas!
for the cartridges, they might have been as well filled with sawdust for
all the benefit I derived from them. Disgusted with the miserable
ammunition, I left the lions alone, and turned in, with their roaring as a
lullaby.

That terrestrial paradise for the hunter, the valley of the pellucid
Mtambu, was deserted by us the next morning for the settlement commonly
known to the Wakawendi as Imrera’s, with as much unconcern as though it
were a howling desert. The village near which we encamped was called
Itaga, in the district of Rusawa. As soon as we had crossed the River
Mtambu we had entered Ukawendi, commonly called “Kawendi” by the natives
of the country.

The district of Rusawa is thickly populated. The people are quiet and
well-disposed to strangers, though few ever come to this region from afar.
One or two Wasawahili traders visit it every year or so from Pumburu and
Usowa; but very little ivory being obtained from the people, the long
distance between the settlements serves to deter the regular trader from
venturing hither.

If caravans arrive here, the objective point to them is the district of
Pumburu, situated south-westerly one day’s good marching, or, say, thirty
statute miles from Imrera; or they make for Usowa, on the Tanganika, via
Pumburu, Katuma, Uyombeh, and Ugarawah. Usowa is quite an important
district on the Tanganika, populous and flourishing. This was the road we
had intended to adopt after leaving Imrera, but the reports received at
the latter place forbade such a venture. For Mapunda, the Sultan of Usowa,
though a great friend to Arab traders, was at war with the colony of the
Wazavira, who we must remember were driven from Mpokwa and vicinity in
Utanda, and who were said to have settled between Pumburu and Usowa.

It remained for us, like wise, prudent men, having charge of a large and
valuable Expedition on our hands, to decide what to do, and what route to
adopt, now that we had approached much nearer to Ujiji than we were to
Unyanyembe. I suggested that we should make direct for the Tanganika by
compass, trusting to no road or guide, but to march direct west until we
came to the Tanganika, and then follow the lake shore on foot until we
came to Ujiji. For it ever haunted my mind, that, if Dr. Livingstone
should hear of my coming, which he might possibly do if I travelled along
any known road, he would leave, and that my search for him would
consequently be a “stern chase.” But my principal men thought it better
that we should now boldly turn our faces north, and march for the
Malagarazi, which was said to be a large river flowing from the east to
the Tanganika. But none of my men knew the road to the Malagarazi, neither
could guides be hired from Sultan Imrera. We were, however, informed that
the Malagarazi was but two days’ march from Imrera. I thought it safe, in
such a case, to provision my men with three days’ rations. The village of
Itaga is situated in a deep mountain hollow, finely overlooking a large
extent of cultivation. The people grow sweet potatoes, manioc—out of
which tapioca is made—beans, and the holcus. Not one chicken could
be purchased for love or money, and, besides grain, only a lean, scraggy
specimen of a goat, a long time ago imported form Uvinza, was procurable.

October the 25th will be remembered by me as a day of great troubles; in
fact, a series of troubles began from this date. We struck an easterly
road in order to obtain a passage to the lofty plateau which bounded the
valley of Imrera on the west and on the north. We camped, after a two and
a half hours’ march, at its foot. The defile promised a feasible means of
ascent to the summit of the plateau, which rose upward in a series of
scarps a thousand feet above the valley of Imrera.

While ascending that lofty arc of mountains which bounded westerly and
northerly the basin of Imrera, extensive prospects southward and eastward
were revealed. The character of the scenery at Ukawendi is always animated
and picturesque, but never sublime. The folds of this ridge contained
several ruins of bomas, which seemed to have been erected during war time.

The mbemba fruit was plentiful along this march, and every few minutes I
could see from the rear one or two men hastening to secure a treasure of
it which they discovered on the ground.

A little before reaching the camp I had a shot at a leopard, but failed to
bring him down as he bounded away. At night the lions roared as at the
Mtambu River.

A lengthy march under the deep twilight shadows of a great forest, which
protected us from the hot sunbeams, brought us, on the next day, to a camp
newly constructed by a party of Arabs from Ujiji, who had advanced thus
far on their road to Unyanyembe, but, alarmed at the reports of the war
between Mirambo and the Arabs, had returned. Our route was along the right
bank of the Rugufu, a broad sluggish stream, well choked with the matete
reeds and the papyrus. The tracks and the bois de vaches of buffaloes were
numerous, and there were several indications of rhinoceros being near. In
a deep clump of timber near this river we discovered a colony of bearded
and leonine-looking monkeys.

As we were about leaving our camp on the morning of the 28th a herd of
buffalo walked deliberately into view. Silence was quickly restored, but
not before the animals, to their great surprise, had discovered the danger
which confronted them. We commenced stalking them, but we soon heard the
thundering sound of their gallop, after which it becomes a useless task to
follow them, with a long march in a wilderness before one.

The road led on this day over immense sheets of sandstone and iron ore.
The water was abominable, and scarce, and famine began to stare us in the
face. We travelled for six hours, and had yet seen no sign of cultivation
anywhere. According to my map we were yet two long marches from the
Malagarazi—if Captain Burton had correctly laid down the position of
the river; according to the natives’ account, we should have arrived at
the Malagarazi on this day.

On the 29th we left our camp, and after a few minutes, we were in view of
the sublimest, but ruggedest, scenes we had yet beheld in Africa. The
country was cut up in all directions by deep, wild, and narrow ravines
trending in all directions, but generally toward the north-west, while on
either side rose enormous square masses of naked rock (sandstone),
sometimes towering, and rounded, sometimes pyramidal, sometimes in
truncated cones, sometimes in circular ridges, with sharp, rugged, naked
backs, with but little vegetation anywhere visible, except it obtained a
precarious tenure in the fissured crown of some gigantic hill-top, whither
some soil had fallen, or at the base of the reddish ochre scarps which
everywhere lifted their fronts to our view.

A long series of descents down rocky gullies, wherein we were environed by
threatening masses of disintegrated rock, brought us to a dry, stony
ravine, with mountain heights looming above us a thousand feet high. This
ravine we followed, winding around in all directions, but which gradually
widened, however, into a broad plain, with a western trend. The road,
leaving this, struck across a low ridge to the north; and we were in view
of deserted settlements where the villages were built on frowning
castellated masses of rock. Near an upright mass of rock over seventy feet
high, and about fifty yards in diameter, which dwarfed the gigantic
sycamore close to it, we made our camp, after five hours and thirty
minutes’ continuous and rapid marching.

The people were very hungry; they had eaten every scrap of meat, and every
grain they possessed, twenty hours before, and there was no immediate
prospect of food. I had but a pound and a half of flour left, and this
would not have sufficed to begin to feed a force of over forty-five
people; but I had something like thirty pounds of tea, and twenty pounds
of sugar left, and I at once, as soon as we arrived at camp, ordered every
kettle to be filled and placed on the fire, and then made tea for all;
giving each man a quart of a hot, grateful beverage; well sweetened.
Parties stole out also into the depths: of the jungle to search for wild
fruit, and soon returned laden with baskets of the wood-peach and tamarind
fruit, which though it did not satisfy, relieved them. That night, before
going to sleep, the Wangwana set up a loud prayer to “Allah” to give them
food.

We rose betimes in the morning, determined to travel on until food could
be procured, or we dropped down from sheer fatigue and weakness.
Rhinoceros’ tracks abounded, and buffalo seemed to be plentiful, but we
never beheld a living thing. We crossed scores of short steeps, and
descended as often into the depths of dry, stony gullies, and then finally
entered a valley, bounded on one side by a triangular mountain with
perpendicular sides, and on the other by a bold group, a triplet of hills.
While marching down this valley—which soon changed its dry, bleached
aspect to a vivid green—we saw a forest in the distance, and shortly
found ourselves in corn-fields. Looking keenly around for a village, we
descried it on the summit of the lofty triangular hill on our right. A
loud exultant shout was raised at the discovery. The men threw down their
packs, and began to clamour for food. Volunteers were asked to come
forward to take cloth, and scale the heights to obtain it from the
village, at any price. While three or four sallied off we rested on the
ground, quite worn out. In about an hour the foraging party returned with
the glorious tidings that food was plentiful; that the village we saw was
called, “Welled Nzogera’s”—the son of Nzogera—by which, of
course, we knew that we were in Uvinza, Nzogera being the principal chief
in Uvinza. We were further informed that Nzogera, the father, was at war
with Lokanda-Mire, about some salt-pans in the valley of the Malagarazi,
and that it would be difficult to go to Ujiji by the usual road, owing to
this war; but, for a consideration, the son of Nzogera was willing to
supply us with guides, who would take us safely, by a northern road, to
Ujiji.

Everything auguring well for our prospects, we encamped to enjoy the good
cheer, for which our troubles and privations, during the transit of the
Ukawendi forests and jungles, had well prepared us.

I am now going to extract from my Diary of the march, as, without its aid,
I deem it impossible to relate fully our various experiences, so as to
show them properly as they occurred to us; and as these extracts were
written and recorded at the close of each day, they possess more interest,
in my opinion, than a cold relation of facts, now toned down in memory.

October 31st. Tuesday.—Our road led E.N.E. for a considerable time
after leaving the base of the triangular mountain whereon the son of
Nzogera has established his stronghold, in order to avoid a deep and
impassable portion of marsh, that stood between us and the direct route to
the Malagarazi River. The valley sloped rapidly to this marsh, which
received in its broad bosom the drainage of three extensive ranges. Soon
we turned our faces northwest, and prepared to cross the marsh; and the
guides informed us, as we halted on its eastern bank, of a terrible
catastrophe which occurred a few yards above where we were preparing to
cross. They told of an Arab and his caravan, consisting of thirty-five
slaves, who had suddenly sunk out of sight, and who were never more heard
of. This marsh, as it appeared to us, presented a breadth of some hundreds
of yards, on which grew a close network of grass, with much decayed matter
mixed up with it. In the centre of this, and underneath it, ran a broad,
deep, and rapid stream. As the guides proceeded across, the men stole
after them with cautious footsteps. As they arrived near the centre we
began to see this unstable grassy bridge, so curiously provided by nature
for us, move up and down in heavy languid undulations, like the swell of
the sea after a storm. Where the two asses of the Expedition moved, the
grassy waves rose a foot high; but suddenly one unfortunate animal plunged
his feet through, and as he was unable to rise, he soon made a deep
hollow, which was rapidly filling with water. With the aid of ten men,
however, we were enabled to lift him bodily up and land him on a firmer
part, and guiding them both across rapidly, the entire caravan crossed
without accident.

On arriving at the other side, we struck off to the north, and found
ourselves in a delightful country, in every way suitable for
agriculturists. Great rocks rose here and there, but in their fissures
rose stately trees, under whose umbrage nestled the villages of the
people. We found the various village elders greedy for cloth, but the
presence of the younger son of Nzogera’s men restrained their propensity
for extortion. Goats and sheep were remarkably cheap, and in good
condition; and, consequently, to celebrate our arrival near the
Malagarazi, a flock of eight goats was slaughtered, and distributed to the
men.

November 1st.—Striking north-west, after leaving our camp, and
descending the slope of a mountain, we soon beheld the anxiously
looked-for Malagarazi, a narrow but deep stream, flowing through a valley
pent in by lofty mountains. Fish-eating birds lined the trees on its
banks; villages were thickly scattered about. Food was abundant and cheap.

After travelling along the left bank of the river a few miles, we arrived
at the settlements recognizing Kiala as their ruler. I had anticipated we
should be able at once to cross the river, but difficulties arose. We were
told to camp, before any negotiations could be entered into. When we
demurred, we were informed we might cross the river if we wished, but we
should not be assisted by any Mvinza.

Being compelled to halt for this day, the tent was pitched in the middle
of one of the villages, and the bales were stored in one of the huts, with
four soldiers to guard them. After despatching an embassy to Kiala, eldest
son of the great chief Nzogera, to request permission to cross the river
as a peaceable caravan, Kiala sent word that the white man should cross
his river after the payment of fifty-six cloths! Fifty-six cloths
signified a bale nearly!

Here was another opportunity for diplomacy. Bombay and Asmani were
empowered to treat with Kiala about the honga, but it was not to exceed
twenty-five doti. At 6 A.M., having spoken for seven hours, the two men
returned, with the demand for thirteen doti for Nzogera, and ten doti for
Kiala. Poor Bombay was hoarse, but Asmani still smiled; and I relented,
congratulating myself that the preposterous demand, which was simply
robbery, was no worse.

Three hours later another demand was made. Kiala had been visited by a
couple of chiefs from his father; and the chiefs being told that a white
man was at the ferry, put in a claim for a couple of guns and a keg of
gunpowder. But here my patience was exhausted, and I declared that they
should have to take them by force, for I would never consent to be robbed
and despoiled after any such fashion.

Until 11 P.M., Bombay and Asmani were negotiating about this extra demand,
arguing, quarreling, threatening, until Bombay declared they would talk
him mad if it lasted much longer. I told Bombay to take two cloths, one
for each chief, and, if they did not consider it enough, then I should
fight. The present was taken, and the negotiations were terminated at
midnight.

November 2nd.—Ihata Island, one and a half hour west of Kiala’s. We
arrived before the Island of Ihata, on the left bank of the Malagarazi, at
5 p.m.; the morning having been wasted in puerile talk with the owner of
the canoes at the ferry. The final demand for ferriage across was eight
yards of cloth and four fundo* of sami-sami, or red beads; which was at
once paid. Four men, with their loads, were permitted to cross in the
small, unshapely, and cranky canoes. When the boatmen had discharged their
canoes of their passengers and cargoes, they were ordered to halt on the
other side, and, to my astonishment, another demand was made. The ferrymen
had found that two fundo of these were of short measure, and two fundo
more must be paid, otherwise the contract for ferrying us across would be
considered null and void. So two fundo more were added, but not without
demur and much “talk,” which in these lands is necessary.

** 4 fundo == 40 necklaces; 1 fundo being 10 necklaces.

Three times the canoes went backwards and forwards, when, lo! another
demand was made, with the usual clamour and fierce wordy dispute; this
time for five khete # for the man who guided us to the ferry, a shukka of
cloth for a babbler, who had attached himself to the old-womanish Jumah,
who did nothing but babble and increase the clamor. These demands were
also settled.

# Necklaces.

About sunset we endeavoured to cross the donkeys. “Simba,” a fine wild
Kinyamwezi donkey, went in first, with a rope attached to his neck. He had
arrived at the middle of the stream when we saw him begin to struggle—a
crocodile had seized him by the throat. The poor animal’s struggles were
terrific. Chowpereh was dragging on the rope with all his might, but to no
use, for the donkey sank, and we saw no more of him. The depth of the
river at this place was about fifteen feet. We had seen the light-brown
heads, the glittering eyes, and the ridgy backs, hovering about the
vicinity, but we had never thought that the reptiles would advance so near
such an exciting scene as the vicinity of the ferry presented during the
crossing. Saddened a little by this loss, we resumed our work, and by 7
P.M. we were all across, excepting Bombay and the only donkey now left,
which was to be brought across in the morning, when the crocodiles should
have deserted the river.

November 3rd.—What contention have we not been a witness to these
last three days! What anxiety have we not suffered ever since our arrival
in Uvinza! The Wavinza are worse than the Wagogo, and their greed is more
insatiable. We got the donkey across with the aid of a mganga, or medicine
man, who spat some chewed leaves of a tree which grows close to the stream
over him. He informed me he could cross the river at any time, day or
night, after rubbing his body with these chewed leaves, which he believed
to be a most potent medicine.

About 10 A.M. appeared from the direction of Ujiji a caravan of eighty
Waguhha, a tribe which occupies a tract of country on the south-western
side of the Lake Tanganika. We asked the news, and were told a white man
had just arrived at Ujiji from Manyuema. This news startled us all.

“A white man?” we asked.

“Yes, a white man,” they replied.

“How is he dressed?”

“Like the master,” they answered, referring to me.

“Is he young, or old?”

“He is old. He has white hair on his face, and is sick.”

“Where has he come from?”

“From a very far country away beyond Uguhha, called Manyuema.”

“Indeed! and is he stopping at Ujiji now?”

“Yes, we saw him about eight days ago.”

“Do you think he will stop there until we see him?”

“Sigue” (don’t know).

“Was he ever at Ujiji before?”

“Yes, he went away a long time ago.”

Hurrah! This is Livingstone! He must be Livingstone! He can be no other;
but still;—he may be some one else—some one from the West
Coast—or perhaps he is Baker! No; Baker has no white hair on his
face. But we must now march quick, lest he hears we are coming, and runs
away.

I addressed my men, and asked them if they were willing to march to Ujiji
without a single halt, and then promised them, if they acceded to my
wishes, two doti each man. All answered in the affirmative, almost as much
rejoiced as I was myself. But I was madly rejoiced; intensely eager to
resolve the burning question, “Is it Dr. David Livingstone?” God grant me
patience, but I do wish there was a railroad, or, at least, horses in this
country.

We set out at once from the banks of the Malagarazi, accompanied by two
guides furnished us by Usenge, the old man of the ferry, who, now that we
had crossed, showed himself more amiably disposed to us. We arrived at the
village of Isinga, Sultan Katalambula, after a little over an hour’s march
across a saline plain, but which as we advanced into the interior became
fertile and productive.

November 4th.—Started early with great caution, maintaining deep
silence. The guides were sent forward, one two hundred yards ahead of the
other, that we might be warned in time. The first part of the march was
through a thin jungle of dwarf trees, which got thinner and thinner until
finally it vanished altogether, and we had entered Uhha—a plain
country. Villages were visible by the score among the tall bleached stalks
of dourra and maize. Sometimes three, sometimes five, ten, or twenty
beehive-shaped huts formed a village. The Wahha were evidently living in
perfect security, for not one village amongst them all was surrounded with
the customary defence of an African village. A narrow dry ditch formed the
only boundary between Uhha and Uvinza. On entering Uhha, all danger from
Makumbi vanished.

We halted at Kawanga, the chief of which lost no time in making us
understand that he was the great Mutware of Kimenyi under the king, and
that he was the tribute gatherer for his Kiha majesty. He declared that he
was the only one in Kimenyi—an eastern division of Uhha—who
could demand tribute; and that it would be very satisfactory to him, and a
saving of trouble to ourselves, if we settled his claim of twelve doti of
good cloths at once. We did not think it the best way of proceeding,
knowing as we did the character of the native African; so we at once
proceeded to diminish this demand; but, after six hours’ hot argument, the
Mutware only reduced it by two. This claim was then settled, upon the
understanding that we should be allowed to travel through Uhha as far as
the Rusugi River without being further mulcted.

November 5th.—Leaving Kawanga early in the morning and continuing
our march over the boundless plains, which were bleached white by the hot
equatorial sun, we were marching westward full of pleasant anticipations
that we were nearing the end of our troubles, joyfully congratulating
ourselves that within five days we should see that which I had come so far
from civilisation, and through so many difficulties, to see, and were
about passing a cluster of villages, with all the confidence which men
possess against whom no one had further claim or a word to say, when I
noticed two men darting from a group of natives who were watching us, and
running towards the head of the Expedition, with the object, evidently, of
preventing further progress.

The caravan stopped, and I walked forward to ascertain the cause from the
two natives. I was greeted politely by the two Wahha with the usual
“Yambos,” and was then asked, “Why does the white man pass by the village
of the King of Uhha without salutation and a gift? Does not the white man
know there lives a king in Uhha, to whom the Wangwana and Arabs pay
something for right of passage?”

“Why, we paid last night to the chief of Kawanga, who informed us that he
was the man deputed by the King of Uhha to collect the toll.”

“How much did you pay?”

“Ten doti of good cloth.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. If you ask him, he will tell you so.”

“Well,” said one of the Wahha, a fine, handsome, intelligent-looking
youth, “it is our duty to the king to halt you here until we find out the
truth of this. Will you walk to our village, and rest yourselves under the
shade of our trees until we can send messengers to Kawanga?”

“No; the sun is but an hour high, and we have far to travel; but, in order
to show you we do not seek to pass through your country without doing that
which is right, we will rest where we now stand, and we will send with
your messengers two of our soldiers, who will show you the man to whom we
paid the cloth.”

The messengers departed; but, in the meantime, the handsome youth, who
turned out to be the nephew of the King, whispered some order to a lad,
who immediately hastened away, with the speed of an antelope, to the
cluster of villages which we had just passed. The result of this errand,
as we saw in a short time, was the approach of a body of warriors, about
fifty in number, headed by a tall, fine-looking man, who was dressed in a
crimson robe called Joho, two ends of which were tied in a knot over the
left shoulder; a new piece of American sheeting was folded like a turban
around his head, and a large curved piece of polished ivory was suspended
to his neck. He and his people were all armed with spears, and bows and
arrows, and their advance was marked with a deliberation that showed they
felt confidence in any issue that might transpire.

We were halted on the eastern side of the Pombwe stream, near the village
of Lukomo, in Kimenyi, Uhha. The gorgeously-dressed chief was a remarkable
man in appearance. His face was oval in form, high cheek-bones, eyes
deeply sunk, a prominent and bold forehead, a fine nose, and a well-cut
mouth; he was tall in figure, and perfectly symmetrical.

When near to us, he hailed me with the words,

“Yambo, bana?—How do you do, master?” in quite a cordial tone.

I replied cordially also, “Yambo, mutware?—How do you do, chief?”

We, myself and men, interchanged “Yambos” with his warriors; and there was
nothing in our first introduction to indicate that the meeting was of a
hostile character.

The chief seated himself, his haunches resting on his heels, laying down
his bow and arrows by his side; his men did likewise.

I seated myself on a bale, and each of my men sat down on their loads,
forming quite a semicircle. The Wahha slightly outnumbered my party; but,
while they were only armed with bows and arrows, spears, and knob-sticks,
we were armed with rifles, muskets, revolvers, pistols, and hatchets.

All were seated, and deep silence was maintained by the assembly. The
great plains around us were as still in this bright noon as if they were
deserted of all living creatures. Then the chief spoke:

“I am Mionvu, the great Mutware of Kimenyi, and am next to the King, who
lives yonder,” pointing to a large village near some naked hills about ten
miles to the north. “I have come to talk with the white man. It has always
been the custom of the Arabs and the Wangwana to make a present to the
King when they pass through his country. Does not the white man mean to
pay the King’s dues? Why does the white man halt in the road? Why will he
not enter the village of Lukomo, where there is food and shade—where
we can discuss this thing quietly? Does the white man mean to fight? I
know well he is stronger than we are. His men have guns, and the Wahha
have but bows and arrows, and spears; but Uhha is large, and our villages
are many. Let him look about him everywhere—all is Uhha, and our
country extends much further than he can see or walk in a day. The King of
Uhha is strong; yet he wishes friendship only with the white man. Will the
white man have war or peace?”

A deep murmur of assent followed this speech of Mionvu from his people,
and disapprobation, blended with a certain uneasiness; from my men. When
about replying, the words of General Sherman, which I heard him utter to
the chiefs of the Arapahoes and Cheyennes at North Platte, in 1867, came
to my mind; and something of their spirit I embodied in my reply to
Mionvu, Mutware of Kimenyi.

“Mionvu, the great Mutware, asks me if I have come for war. When did
Mionvu ever hear of white men warring against black men? Mionvu must
understand that the white men are different from the black. White men do
not leave their country to fight the black people, neither do they come
here to buy ivory or slaves. They come to make friends with black people;
they come to search for rivers; and lakes, and mountains; they come to
discover what countries, what peoples, what rivers, what lakes, what
forests, what plains, what mountains and hills are in your country; to
know the different animals that are in the land of the black people, that,
when they go back, they may tell the white kings, and men, and children,
what they have seen and heard in the land so far from them. The white
people are different from the Arabs and Wangwana; the white people know
everything, and are very strong. When they fight, the Arabs and the
Wangwana run away. We have great guns which thunder, and when they shoot
the earth trembles; we have guns which carry bullets further than you can
see: even with these little things” (pointing to my revolvers) “I could
kill ten men quicker than you could count. We are stronger than the Wahha.
Mionvu has spoken the truth, yet we do not wish to fight. I could kill
Mionvu now, yet I talk to him as to a friend. I wish to be a friend to
Mionvu, and to all black people. Will Mionvu say what I can do for him?”

As these words were translated to him—imperfectly, I suppose, but
still, intelligibly—the face of the Wahha showed how well they
appreciated them. Once or twice I thought I detected something like fear,
but my assertions that I desired peace and friendship with them soon
obliterated all such feelings.

Mionvu replied:

“The white man tells me he is friendly. Why does he not come to our
village? Why does he stop on the road? The sun is hot. Mionvu will not
speak here any more. If the white man is a friend he will come to the
village.”

“We must stop now. It is noon. You have broken our march. We will go and
camp in your village,” I said, at the same time rising and pointing to the
men to take up their loads.

We were compelled to camp; there was no help for it; the messengers had
not returned from Kawanga. Having arrived in his village, Mionvu had cast
himself at full length under the scanty shade afforded by a few trees
within the boma. About 2 P.M. the messengers returned, saying it was true
the chief of Kawanga had taken ten cloths; not, however for the King of
Uhha, but for himself!

Mionvu, who evidently was keen-witted, and knew perfectly what he was
about, now roused himself, and began to make miniature faggots of thin
canes, ten in each faggot, and shortly he presented ten of these small
bundles, which together contained one hundred, to me, saying each stick
represented a cloth, and the amount of the “honga” required by the King of
Uhha was ONE HUNDRED CLOTHS!—nearly two bales!

Recovering from our astonishment, which was almost indescribable, we
offered TEN.

“Ten! to the King of Uhha! Impossible. You do not stir from Lukomo until
you pay us one hundred!” exclaimed Mionvu, in a significant manner.

I returned no answer, but went to my hut, which Mionvu had cleared for my
use, and Bombay, Asmani, Mabruki, and Chowpereh were invited—to come
to me for consultation. Upon my asking them if we could not fight our way
through Uhha, they became terror-stricken, and Bombay, in imploring
accents, asked me to think well what I was about to do, because it was
useless to enter on a war with the Wahha. “Uhha is all a plain country; we
cannot hide anywhere. Every village will rise all about us, and how can
forty-five men fight thousands of people? They would kill us all in a few
minutes, and how would you ever reach Ujiji if you died? Think of it, my
dear master, and do not throw your life away for a few rags of cloth.”

“Well, but, Bombay, this is robbery. Shall we submit to be robbed? Shall
we give this fellow everything he asks? He might as well ask me for all
the cloth, and all my guns, without letting him see that we can fight. I
can kill Mionvu and his principal men myself, and you can slay all those
howlers out there without much trouble. If Mionvu and his principal were
dead we should not be troubled much, and we could strike south to the
Mala-garazi, and go west to Ujiji.”

CHAPTER XII. — INTERCOURSE WITH LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI

LIVINGSTONE’S OWN STORY OF HIS JOURNEYS, HIS TROUBLES, AND
DISAPPOINTMENTS.

“What was I sent for?”

“To find Livingstone.”

“Have you found him?”

“Yes, of course; am I not in his house? Whose compass is that hanging on a
peg there? Whose clothes, whose boots, are those? Who reads those
newspapers, those ‘Saturday Reviews’ and numbers of ‘Punch’ lying on the
floor?”

“Well, what are you going to do now?”

“I shall tell him this morning who sent me, and what brought me here. I
will then ask him to write a letter to Mr. Bennett, and to give what news
he can spare. I did not come here to rob him of his news. Sufficient for
me is it that I have found him. It is a complete success so far. But it
will be a greater one if he gives me letters for Mr. Bennett, and an
acknowledgment that he has seen me.”

“Do you think he will do so?”

“Why not? I have come here to do him a service. He has no goods. I have.
He has no men with him. I have. If I do a friendly part by him, will he
not do a friendly part by me? What says the poet?—

I have paid the purchase, by coming so far to do him a service. But I
think, from what I have seen of him last night, that he is not such a
niggard and misanthrope as I was led to believe. He exhibited considerable
emotion, despite the monosyllabic greeting, when he shook my hand. If he
were a man to feel annoyance at any person coming after him, he would not
have received me as he did, nor would he ask me to live with him, but he
would have surlily refused to see me, and told me to mind my own business.
Neither does he mind my nationality; for ‘here,’ said he, ‘Americans and
Englishmen are the same people. We speak the same language and have the
same ideas.’ Just so, Doctor; I agree with you. Here at least, Americans
and Englishmen shall be brothers, and, whatever I can do for you, you may
command me freely.”

I dressed myself quietly, intending to take a stroll along the Tanganika
before the Doctor should rise; opened the door, which creaked horribly on
its hinges, and walked out to the veranda.

“Halloa, Doctor!—you up already? I hope you have slept well?”

“Good-morning, Mr. Stanley! I am glad to see you. I hope you rested well.
I sat up late reading my letters. You have brought me good and bad news.
But sit down.” He made a place for me by his side. “Yes, many of my
friends are dead. My eldest son has met with a sad accident—that is,
my boy Tom; my second son, Oswell, is at college studying medicine, and is
doing well I am told. Agnes, my eldest daughter, has been enjoying herself
in a yacht, with ‘Sir Paraffine’ Young and his family. Sir Roderick, also,
is well, and expresses a hope that he will soon see me. You have brought
me quite a budget.”

The man was not an apparition, then, and yesterday’s scenes were not the
result of a dream! and I gazed on him intently, for thus I was assured he
had not run away, which was the great fear that constantly haunted me as I
was journeying to Ujiji.

“Now, Doctor,” said I, “you are, probably, wondering why I came here?”

“It is true,” said he; “I have been wondering. I thought you, at first, an
emissary of the French Government, in the place of Lieutenant Le Saint,
who died a few miles above Gondokoro. I heard you had boats, plenty of
men, and stores, and I really believed you were some French officer, until
I saw the American flag; and, to tell you the truth, I was rather glad it
was so, because I could not have talked to him in French; and if he did
not know English, we had been a pretty pair of white men in Ujiji! I did
not like to ask you yesterday, because I thought it was none of my
business.”

“Well,” said I, laughing, “for your sake I am glad that I am an American,
and not a Frenchman, and that we can understand each other perfectly
without an interpreter. I see that the Arabs are wondering that you, an
Englishman, and I, an American, understand each other. We must take care
not to tell them that the English and Americans have fought, and that
there are ‘Alabama’ claims left unsettled, and that we have such people as
Fenians in America, who hate you. But, seriously, Doctor—now don’t
be frightened when I tell you that I have come after—YOU!”

“After me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well. You have heard of the ‘New York Herald?'”

“Oh—who has not heard of that newspaper?”

“Without his father’s knowledge or consent, Mr. James Gordon Bennett, son
of Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the proprietor of the ‘Herald,’ has
commissioned me to find you—to get whatever news of your discoveries
you like to give—and to assist you, if I can, with means.”

“Young Mr. Bennett told you to come after me, to find me out, and help me!
It is no wonder, then, you praised Mr. Bennett so much last night.”

“I know him—I am proud to say—to be just what I say he is. He
is an ardent, generous, and true man.”

“Well, indeed! I am very much obliged to him; and it makes me feel proud
to think that you Americans think so much of me. You have just come in the
proper time; for I was beginning to think that I should have to beg from
the Arabs. Even they are in want of cloth, and there are but few beads in
Ujiji. That fellow Sherif has robbed me of all. I wish I could embody my
thanks to Mr. Bennett in suitable words; but if I fail to do so, do not, I
beg of you, believe me the less grateful.”

“And now, Doctor, having disposed of this little affair, Ferajji shall
bring breakfast; if you have no objection.”

“You have given me an appetite,” he said.

“Halimah is my cook, but she never can tell the difference between tea and
coffee.”

Ferajji, the cook, was ready as usual with excellent tea, and a dish of
smoking cakes; “dampers,” as the Doctor called them. I never did care much
for this kind of a cake fried in a pan, but they were necessary to the
Doctor, who had nearly lost all his teeth from the hard fare of Lunda. He
had been compelled to subsist on green ears of Indian corn; there was no
meat in that district; and the effort to gnaw at the corn ears had
loosened all his teeth. I preferred the corn scones of Virginia, which, to
my mind, were the nearest approach to palatable bread obtainable in
Central Africa.

The Doctor said he had thought me a most luxurious and rich man, when he
saw my great bath-tub carried on the shoulders of one of my men; but he
thought me still more luxurious this morning, when my knives and forks,
and plates, and cups, saucers, silver spoons, and silver teapot were
brought forth shining and bright, spread on a rich Persian carpet, and
observed that I was well attended to by my yellow and ebon Mercuries.

This was the beginning of our life at Ujiji. I knew him not as a friend
before my arrival. He was only an object to me—a great item for a
daily newspaper, as much as other subjects in which the voracious
news-loving public delight in. I had gone over battlefields, witnessed
revolutions, civil wars, rebellions, emeutes and massacres; stood close to
the condemned murderer to record his last struggles and last sighs; but
never had I been called to record anything that moved me so much as this
man’s woes and sufferings, his privations and disappointments, which now
were poured into my ear. Verily did I begin to perceive that “the Gods
above do with just eyes survey the affairs of men.” I began to recognize
the hand of an overruling and kindly Providence.

The following are singular facts worthy for reflection. I was,
commissioned for the duty of discovering Livingstone sometime in October,
1869. Mr. Bennett was ready with the money, and I was ready for the
journey. But, observe, reader, that I did not proceed directly upon the
search mission. I had many tasks to fulfil before proceeding with it, and
many thousand miles to travel over. Supposing that I had gone direct to
Zanzibar from Paris, seven or eight months afterwards, perhaps, I should
have found myself at Ujiji, but Livingstone would not have been found
there then; he was on the Lualaba; and I should have had to follow him on
his devious tracks through the primeval forests of Manyuema, and up along
the crooked course of the Lualaba for hundreds of miles. The time taken by
me in travelling up the Nile, back to Jerusalem, then to Constantinople,
Southern Russia, the Caucasus, and Persia, was employed by Livingstone in
fruitful discoveries west of the Tanganika. Again, consider that I arrived
at Unyanyembe in the latter part of June, and that owing to a war I was
delayed three months at Unyanyembe, leading a fretful, peevish and
impatient life. But while I was thus fretting myself, and being delayed by
a series of accidents, Livingstone was being forced back to Ujiji in the
same month. It took him from June to October to march to Ujiji. Now, in
September, I broke loose from the thraldom which accident had imposed on
me, and hurried southward to Ukonongo, then westward to Kawendi, then
northward to Uvinza, then westward to Ujiji, only about three weeks after
the Doctor’s arrival, to find him resting under the veranda of his house
with his face turned eastward, the direction from which I was coming. Had
I gone direct from Paris on the search I might have lost him; had I been
enabled to have gone direct to Ujiji from Unyanyembe I might have lost
him.

The days came and went peacefully and happily, under the palms of Ujiji.
My companion was improving in health and spirits. Life had been brought
back to him; his fading vitality was restored, his enthusiasm for his work
was growing up again into a height that was compelling him to desire to be
up and doing. But what could he do, with five men and fifteen or twenty
cloths?

“Have you seen the northern head of the Tangannka, Doctor?” I asked one
day.

“No; I did try to go there, but the Wajiji were doing their best to fleece
me, as they did both Burton and Speke, and I had not a great deal of
cloth. If I had gone to the head of the Tanganika, I could not have gone,
to Manyuema. The central line of drainage was the most important, and that
is the Lualaba. Before this line the question whether there is a
connection between the Tanganika and the Albert N’Yanza sinks into
insignificance. The great line of drainage is the river flowing from
latitude 11 degrees south, which I followed for over seven degrees
northward. The Chambezi, the name given to its most southern extremity,
drains a large tract of country south of the southernmost source of the
Tanganika; it must, therefore, be the most important. I have not the least
doubt, myself, but that this lake is the Upper Tanganika, and the Albert
N’Yanza of Baker is the Lower Tanganika, which are connected by a river
flowing from the upper to the lower. This is my belief, based upon reports
of the Arabs, and a test I made of the flow with water-plants. But I
really never gave it much thought.”

“Well, if I were you, Doctor, before leaving Ujiji, I should explore it,
and resolve the doubts upon the subject; lest, after you leave here, you
should not return by this way. The Royal Geographical Society attach much
importance to this supposed connection, and declare you are the only man
who can settle it. If I can be of any service to you, you may command me.
Though I did not come to Africa as an explorer, I have a good deal of
curiosity upon the subject, and should be willing to accompany you. I have
with me about twenty men who understand rowing we have plenty of guns,
cloth, and beads; and if we can get a canoe from the Arabs we can manage
the thing easily.”

“Oh, we can get a canoe from Sayd bin Majid. This man has been very kind
to me, and if ever there was an Arab gentleman, he is one.”

“Then it is settled, is it, that we go?”

“I am ready, whenever you are.”

“I am at your command. Don’t you hear my men call you the ‘Great Master,’
and me the ‘Little Master?’ It would never do for the ‘Little Master’ to
command.”

By this time Livingstone was becoming known to me. I defy any one to be in
his society long without thoroughly fathoming him, for in him there is no
guile, and what is apparent on the surface is the thing that is in him. I
simply write down my own opinion of the man as I have seen him, not as he
represents himself; as I know him to be, not as I have heard of him. I
lived with him from the 10th November, 1871, to the 14th March, 1872;
witnessed his conduct in the camp, and on the march, and my feelings for
him are those of unqualified admiration. The camp is the best place to
discover a man’s weaknesses, where, if he is flighty or wrong-headed, he
is sure to develop his hobbies and weak side. I think it possible,
however, that Livingstone, with an unsuitable companion, might feel
annoyance. I know I should do so very readily, if a man’s character was of
that oblique nature that it was an impossibility to travel in his company.
I have seen men, in whose company I felt nothing but a thraldom, which it
was a duty to my own self-respect to cast off as soon as possible; a
feeling of utter incompatibility, with whose nature mine could never
assimilate. But Livingstone was a character that I venerated, that called
forth all my enthusiasm, that evoked nothing but sincerest admiration.

Dr. Livingstone is about sixty years old, though after he was restored to
health he appeared more like a man who had not passed his fiftieth year.
His hair has a brownish colour yet, but is here and there streaked with
grey lines over the temples; his whiskers and moustache are very grey. He
shaves his chin daily. His eyes, which are hazel, are remarkably bright;
he has a sight keen as a hawk’s. His teeth alone indicate the weakness of
age; the hard fare of Lunda has made havoc in their lines. His form, which
soon assumed a stoutish appearance, is a little over the ordinary height
with the slightest possible bow in the shoulders. When walking he has a
firm but heavy tread, like that of an overworked or fatigued man. He is
accustomed to wear a naval cap with a semicircular peak, by which he has
been identified throughout Africa. His dress, when first I saw him,
exhibited traces of patching and repairing, but was scrupulously clean.

I was led to believe that Livingstone possessed a splenetic, misanthropic
temper; some have said that he is garrulous, that he is demented; that he
has utterly changed from the David Livingstone whom people knew as the
reverend missionary; that he takes no notes or observations but such as
those which no other person could read but himself; and it was reported,
before I proceeded to Central Africa, that he was married to an African
princess.

I respectfully beg to differ with all and each of the above statements. I
grant he is not an angel, but he approaches to that being as near as the
nature of a living man will allow. I never saw any spleen or misanthropy
in him—as for being garrulous, Dr. Livingstone is quite the reverse:
he is reserved, if anything; and to the man who says Dr. Livingstone is
changed, all I can say is, that he never could have known him, for it is
notorious that the Doctor has a fund of quiet humour, which he exhibits at
all times whenever he is among friends. I must also beg leave to correct
the gentleman who informed me that Livingstone takes no notes or
observations. The huge Letts’s Diary which I carried home to his daughter
is full of notes, and there are no less than a score of sheets within it
filled with observations which he took during the last trip he made to
Manyuema alone; and in the middle of the book there is sheet after sheet,
column after column, carefully written, of figures alone. A large letter
which I received from him has been sent to Sir Thomas MacLear, and this
contains nothing but observations. During the four months I was with him,
I noticed him every evening making most careful notes; and a large tin box
that he has with him contains numbers of field note-books, the contents of
which I dare say will see the light some time. His maps also evince great
care and industry. As to the report of his African marriage, it is
unnecessary to say more than that it is untrue, and it is utterly beneath
a gentleman to hint at such a thing in connection with the name of David
Livingstone.

There is a good-natured abandon about Livingstone which was not lost on
me. Whenever he began to laugh, there was a contagion about it, that
compelled me to imitate him. It was such a laugh as Herr Teufelsdrockh’s—a
laugh of the whole man from head to heel. If he told a story, he related
it in such a way as to convince one of its truthfulness; his face was so
lit up by the sly fun it contained, that I was sure the story was worth
relating, and worth listening to.

The wan features which had shocked me at first meeting, the heavy step
which told of age and hard travel, the grey beard and bowed shoulders,
belied the man. Underneath that well-worn exterior lay an endless fund of
high spirits and inexhaustible humour; that rugged frame of his enclosed a
young and most exuberant soul. Every day I heard innumerable jokes and
pleasant anecdotes; interesting hunting stories, in which his friends
Oswell, Webb, Vardon, and Gorden Cumming were almost always the chief
actors. I was not sure, at first, but this joviality, humour, and abundant
animal spirits were the result of a joyous hysteria; but as I found they
continued while I was with him, I am obliged to think them natural.

Another thing which specially attracted my attention was his wonderfully
retentive memory. If we remember the many years he has spent in Africa,
deprived of books, we may well think it an uncommon memory that can recite
whole poems from Byron, Burns, Tennyson, Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell.
The reason of this may be found, perhaps, in the fact, that he has lived
all his life almost, we may say, within himself. Zimmerman, a great
student of human nature, says on this subject “The unencumbered mind
recalls all that it has read, all that pleased the eye, and delighted the
ear; and reflecting on every idea which either observation, or experience,
or discourse has produced, gains new information by every reflection. The
intellect contemplates all the former scenes of life; views by
anticipation those that are yet to come; and blends all ideas of past and
future in the actual enjoyment of the present moment.” He has lived in a
world which revolved inwardly, out of which he seldom awoke except to
attend to the immediate practical necessities of himself and people; then
relapsed again into the same happy inner world, which he must have peopled
with his own friends, relations, acquaintances, familiar readings, ideas,
and associations; so that wherever he might be, or by whatsoever he was
surrounded, his own world always possessed more attractions to his
cultured mind than were yielded by external circumstances.

The study of Dr. Livingstone would not be complete if we did not take the
religious side of his character into consideration. His religion is not of
the theoretical kind, but it is a constant, earnest, sincere practice. It
is neither demonstrative nor loud, but manifests itself in a quiet,
practical way, and is always at work. It is not aggressive, which
sometimes is troublesome, if not impertinent. In him, religion exhibits
its loveliest features; it governs his conduct not only towards his
servants, but towards the natives, the bigoted Mohammedans, and all who
come in contact with him. Without it, Livingstone, with his ardent
temperament, his enthusiasm, his high spirit and courage, must have become
uncompanionable, and a hard master. Religion has tamed him, and made him a
Christian gentleman: the crude and wilful have been refined and subdued;
religion has made him the most companionable of men and indulgent of
masters—a man whose society is pleasurable.

In Livingstone I have seen many amiable traits. His gentleness never
forsakes him; his hopefulness never deserts him. No harassing anxieties,
distraction of mind, long separation from home and kindred, can make him
complain. He thinks “all will come out right at last;” he has such faith
in the goodness of Providence. The sport of adverse circumstances, the
plaything of the miserable beings sent to him from Zanzibar—he has
been baffled and worried, even almost to the grave, yet he will not desert
the charge imposed upon him by his friend, Sir Roderick Murchison. To the
stern dictates of duty, alone, has he sacrificed his home and ease, the
pleasures, refinements, and luxuries of civilized life. His is the Spartan
heroism, the inflexibility of the Roman, the enduring resolution of the
Anglo-Saxon—never to relinquish his work, though his heart yearns
for home; never to surrender his obligations until he can write Finis to
his work.

But you may take any point in Dr. Livingstone’s character, and analyse it
carefully, and I would challenge any man to find a fault in it. He is
sensitive, I know; but so is any man of a high mind and generous nature.
He is sensitive on the point of being doubted or being criticised. An
extreme love of truth is one of his strongest characteristics, which
proves him to be a man of strictest principles, and conscientious
scruples; being such, he is naturally sensitive, and shrinks from any
attacks on the integrity of his observations, and the accuracy of his
reports. He is conscious of having laboured in the course of geography and
science with zeal and industry, to have been painstaking, and as exact as
circumstances would allow. Ordinary critics seldom take into consideration
circumstances, but, utterly regardless of the labor expended in obtaining
the least amount of geographical information in a new land, environed by
inconceivable dangers and difficulties, such as Central Africa presents,
they seem to take delight in rending to tatters, and reducing to nil, the
fruits of long years of labor, by sharply-pointed shafts of ridicule and
sneers.

Livingstone no doubt may be mistaken in some of his conclusions about
certain points in the geography of Central Africa, but he is not so
dogmatic and positive a man as to refuse conviction. He certainly demands,
when arguments in contra are used in opposition to him, higher authority
than abstract theory. His whole life is a testimony against its
unreliability, and his entire labor of years were in vain if theory can be
taken in evidence against personal observation and patient investigation.

The reluctance he manifests to entertain suppositions, possibilities
regarding the nature, form, configuration of concrete immutable matter
like the earth, arises from the fact, that a man who commits himself to
theories about such an untheoretical subject as Central Africa is deterred
from bestirring himself to prove them by the test of exploration. His
opinion of such a man is, that he unfits himself for his duty, that he is
very likely to become a slave to theory—a voluptuous fancy, which
would master him.

It is his firm belief, that a man who rests his sole knowledge of the
geography of Africa on theory, deserves to be discredited. It has been the
fear of being discredited and criticised and so made to appear before the
world as a man who spent so many valuable years in Africa for the sake of
burdening the geographical mind with theory that has detained him so long
in Africa, doing his utmost to test the value of the main theory which
clung to him, and would cling to him until he proved or disproved it.

This main theory is his belief that in the broad and mighty Lualaba he has
discovered the head waters of the Nile. His grounds for believing this are
of such nature and weight as to compel him to despise the warning that
years are advancing on him, and his former iron constitution is failing.
He believes his speculations on this point will be verified; he believes
he is strong enough to pursue his explorations until he can return to his
country, with the announcement that the Lualaba is none other than the
Nile.

On discovering that the insignificant stream called the Chambezi, which
rises between 10 degrees S. and 12 degrees S., flowed westerly, and then
northerly through several lakes, now under the names of the Chambezi, then
as the Luapula, and then as the Lualaba, and that it still continued its
flow towards the north for over 7 degrees, Livingstone became firmly of
the opinion that the river whose current he followed was the Egyptian
Nile. Failing at lat. 4 degrees S. to pursue his explorations further
without additional supplies, he determined to return to Ujiji to obtain
them.

And now, having obtained them, he intends to return to the point where he
left off work. He means to follow that great river until it is firmly
established what name shall eventually be given the noble water-way whose
course he has followed through so many sick toilings and difficulties. To
all entreaties to come home, to all the glowing temptations which home and
innumerable friends offer, he returns the determined answer:—

“No; not until my work is ended.”

I have often heard our servants discuss our respective merits. “Your
master,” say my servants to Livingstone’s, “is a good man—a very
good man; he does not beat you, for he has a kind heart; but ours—oh!
he is sharp—hot as fire”—”mkali sana, kana moto.” From being
hated and thwarted in every possible way by the Arabs and half-castes upon
first arrival in Ujiji, he has, through his uniform kindness and mild,
pleasant temper, won all hearts. I observed that universal respect was
paid to him. Even the Mohammedans never passed his house without calling
to pay their compliments, and to say, “The blessing of God rest on you.”
Each Sunday morning he gathers his little flock around him, and reads
prayers and a chapter from the Bible, in a natural, unaffected, and
sincere tone; and afterwards delivers a short address in the Kisawahili
language, about the subject read to them, which is listened to with
interest and attention.

There is another point in Livingstone’s character about which readers of
his books, and students of his travels, would like to know, and that is
his ability to withstand the dreadful climate of Central Africa, and the
consistent energy with which he follows up his explorations. His
consistent energy is native to him and to his race. He is a very fine
example of the perseverance, doggedness, and tenacity which characterise
the Anglo-Saxon spirit; but his ability to withstand the climate is due
not only to the happy constitution with which he was born, but to the
strictly temperate life he has ever led. A drunkard and a man of vicious
habits could never have withstood the climate of Central Africa.

The second day after my arrival in Ujiji I asked the Doctor if he did not
feel a desire, sometimes, to visit his country, and take a little rest
after his six years’ explorations; and the answer he gave me fully reveals
the man. Said he:

“I should like very much to go home and see my children once again, but I
cannot bring my heart to abandon the task I have undertaken, when it is so
nearly completed. It only requires six or seven months more to trace the
true source that I have discovered with Petherick’s branch of the White
Nile, or with the Albert N’Yanza of Sir Samuel Baker, which is the lake
called by the natives ‘Chowambe.’ Why should I go home before my task is
ended, to have to come back again to do what I can very well do now?”

“And why?” I asked, “did you come so far back without finishing the task
which you say you have got to do?”

“Simply because I was forced. My men would not budge a step forward. They
mutinied, and formed a secret resolution—if I still insisted upon
going on—to raise a disturbance in the country, and after they had
effected it to abandon me; in which case I should have been killed. It was
dangerous to go any further. I had explored six hundred miles of the
watershed, had traced all the principal streams which discharge their
waters into the central line of drainage, but when about starting to
explore the last hundred miles the hearts of my people failed them, and
they set about frustrating me in every possible way. Now, having returned
seven hundred miles to get a new supply of stores, and another escort, I
find myself destitute of even the means to live but for a few weeks, and
sick in mind and body.”

Here I may pause to ask any brave man how he would have comported himself
in such a crisis. Many would have been in exceeding hurry to get home to
tell the news of the continued explorations and discoveries, and to
relieve the anxiety of the sorrowing family and friends awaiting their
return. Enough surely had been accomplished towards the solution of the
problem that had exercised the minds of his scientific associates of the
Royal Geograpical Society. It was no negative exploration, it was hard,
earnest labor of years, self-abnegation, enduring patience, and exalted
fortitude, such as ordinary men fail to exhibit.

Suppose Livingstone had hurried to the coast after he had discovered Lake
Bangweolo, to tell the news to the geographical world; then had returned
to discover Moero, and run away again; then went back once more only to
discover Kamolondo, and to race back again. This would not be in
accordance with Livingstone’s character. He must not only discover the
Chambezi, Lake Bangweolo, Luapula River, Lake Moero, Lualaba River, and
Lake Kamolondo, but he must still tirelessly urge his steps forward to put
the final completion to the grand lacustrine river system. Had he followed
the example of ordinary explorers, he would have been running backwards
and forwards to tell the news, instead of exploring; and he might have
been able to write a volume upon the discovery of each lake, and earn much
money thereby. They are no few months’ explorations that form the contents
of his books. His ‘Missionary Travels’ embraces a period of sixteen years;
his book on the Zambezi, five years; and if the great traveller lives to
come home, his third book, the grandest of all, must contain the records
of eight or nine years.

It is a principle with Livingstone to do well what he undertakes to do;
and in the consciousness that he is doing it, despite the yearning for his
home which is sometimes overpowering, he finds, to a certain extent,
contentment, if not happiness. To men differently constituted, a long
residence amongst the savages of Africa would be contemplated with horror,
yet Livingstone’s mind can find pleasure and food for philosophic studies.
The wonders of primeval nature, the great forests and sublime mountains,
the perennial streams and sources of the great lakes, the marvels of the
earth, the splendors of the tropic sky by day and by night—all
terrestrial and celestial phenomena are manna to a man of such
self-abnegation and devoted philanthropic spirit. He can be charmed with
the primitive simplicity of Ethiop’s dusky children, with whom he has
spent so many years of his life; he has a sturdy faith in their
capabilities; sees virtue in them where others see nothing but savagery;
and wherever he has gone among them, he has sought to elevate a people
that were apparently forgotten of God and Christian man.

One night I took out my note-book, and prepared to take down from his own
lips what he had to say about his travels; and unhesitatingly he related
his experiences, of which the following is a summary:

Dr. David Livingstone left the Island of Zanzibar in March, 1866. On the
7th of the following month he departed from Mikindany Bay for the
interior, with an expedition consisting of twelve Sepoys from Bombay, nine
men from Johanna, of the Comoro Islands, seven liberated slaves, and two
Zambezi men, taking them as an experiment; six camels, three buffaloes,
two mules, and three donkeys. He had thus thirty men with him, twelve of
whom, viz., the Sepoys, were to act as guards for the Expedition. They
were mostly armed with the Enfield rifles presented to the Doctor by the
Bombay Government. The baggage of the expedition consisted of ten bales of
cloth and two bags of beads, which were to serve as the currency by which
they would be enabled to purchase the necessaries of life in the countries
the Doctor intended to visit. Besides the cumbrous moneys, they carried
several boxes of instruments, such as chronometers, air thermometers,
sextant, and artificial horizon, boxes containing clothes, medicines, and
personal necessaries. The expedition travelled up the left bank of the
Rovuma River, a route as full of difficulties as any that could be chosen.
For miles Livingstone and his party had to cut their way with their axes
through the dense and almost impenetrable jungles which lined the river’s
banks. The road was a mere footpath, leading in the most erratic fashion
into and through the dense vegetation, seeking the easiest outlet from it
without any regard to the course it ran. The pagazis were able to proceed
easily enough; but the camels, on account of their enormous height, could
not advance a step without the axes of the party clearing the way. These
tools of foresters were almost always required; but the advance of the
expedition was often retarded by the unwillingness of the Sepoys and
Johanna men to work.

Soon after the departure of the expedition from the coast, the murmurings
and complaints of these men began, and upon every occasion and at every
opportunity they evinced a decided hostility to an advance. In order to
prevent the progress of the Doctor, and in hopes that it would compel him
to return to the coast, these men so cruelly treated the animals that
before long there was not one left alive. But as this scheme failed, they
set about instigating the natives against the white men, whom they accused
most wantonly of strange practices. As this plan was most likely to
succeed, and as it was dangerous to have such men with him, the Doctor
arrived at the conclusion that it was best to discharge them, and
accordingly sent the Sepoys back to the coast; but not without having
first furnished them with the means of subsistence on their journey to the
coast. These men were such a disreputable set that the natives spoke of
them as the Doctor’s slaves. One of their worst sins was the custom of
giving their guns and ammunition to carry to the first woman or boy they
met, whom they impressed for that purpose by such threats or promises as
they were totally unable to perform, and unwarranted in making. An hour’s
marching was sufficient to fatigue them, after which they lay down on the
road to bewail their hard fate, and concoct new schemes to frustrate their
leader’s purposes. Towards night they generally made their appearance at
the camping-ground with the looks of half-dead men. Such men naturally
made but a poor escort; for, had the party been attacked by a wandering
tribe of natives of any strength, the Doctor could have made no defence,
and no other alternative would have been left to him but to surrender and
be ruined.

The Doctor and his little party arrived on the 18th July, 1866, at a
village belonging to a chief of the Wahiyou, situate eight days’ march
south of the Rovuma, and overlooking the watershed of the Lake Nyassa. The
territory lying between the Rovuma River and this Wahiyou village was an
uninhabited wilderness, during the transit of which Livingstone and his
expedition suffered considerably from hunger and desertion of men.

Early in August, 1866, the Doctor came to the country of Mponda, a chief
who dwelt near the Lake Nyassa. On the road thither, two of the liberated
slaves deserted him. Here also, Wekotani, a protege of the Doctor,
insisted upon his discharge, alleging as an excuse—an excuse which
the Doctor subsequently found to be untrue—that he had found his
brother. He also stated that his family lived on the east side of the
Nyassa Lake. He further stated that Mponda’s favourite wife was his
sister. Perceiving that Wekotani was unwilling to go with him further, the
Doctor took him to Mponda, who now saw and heard of him for the first
time, and, having furnished the ungrateful boy with enough cloth and beads
to keep him until his “big brother” should call for him, left him with the
chief, after first assuring himself that he would receive honourable
treatment from him. The Doctor also gave Wekotanti writing-paper—as
he could read and write, being accomplishments acquired at Bombay, where
he had been put to school—so that, should he at any time feel
disposed, he might write to his English friends, or to himself. The Doctor
further enjoined him not to join in any of the slave raids usually made by
his countrymen, the men of Nyassa, on their neighbours. Upon finding that
his application for a discharge was successful, Wekotani endeavoured to
induce Chumah, another protege of the Doctor’s, and a companion, or chum,
of Wekotani, to leave the Doctor’s service and proceed with him,
promising, as a bribe, a wife and plenty of pombe from his “big brother.”
Chumah, upon referring the matter to the Doctor, was advised not to go, as
he (the Doctor) strongly suspected that Wekotani wanted only to make him
his slave. Chumah wisely withdrew from his tempter. From Mponda’s, the
Doctor proceeded to the heel of the Nyassa, to the village of a Babisa
chief, who required medicine for a skin disease. With his usual kindness,
he stayed at this chief’s village to treat his malady.

While here, a half-caste Arab arrived from the western shore of the lake,
and reported that he had been plundered by a band of Mazitu, at a place
which the Doctor and Musa, chief of the Johanna men, were very well aware
was at least 150 miles north-north-west of where they were then stopping.
Musa, however, for his own reasons—which will appear presently—eagerly
listened to the Arab’s tale, and gave full credence to it. Having well
digested its horrible details, he came to the Doctor to give him the full
benefit of what he had heard with such willing ears. The traveller
patiently listened to the narrative, which lost nothing of its portentous
significance through Musa’s relation, and then asked Musa if he believed
it. “Yes,” answered Musa, readily; “he tell me true, true. I ask him good,
and he tell me true, true.” The Doctor, however, said he did not believe
it, for the Mazitu would not have been satisfied with merely plundering a
man, they would have murdered him; but suggested, in order to allay the
fears of his Moslem subordinate, that they should both proceed to the
chief with whom they were staying, who, being a sensible man, would be
able to advise them as to the probability or improbability of the tale
being correct. Together, they proceeded to the Babisa chief, who, when he
had heard the Arab’s story, unhesitatingly denounced the Arab as a liar,
and his story without the least foundation in fact; giving as a reason
that, if the Mazitu had been lately in that vicinity, he should have heard
of it soon enough.

But Musa broke out with “No, no, Doctor; no, no, no; I no want to go to
Mazitu. I no want Mazitu to kill me. I want to see my father, my mother,
my child, in Johanna. I want no Mazitu.” These are Musa’s words ipsissima
verba.

To which the Doctor replied, “I don’t want the Mazitu to kill me either;
but, as you are afraid of them, I promise to go straight west until we get
far past the beat of the Mazitu.”

Musa was not satisfied, but kept moaning and sorrowing, saying, “If we had
two hundred guns with us I would go; but our small party of men they will
attack by night, and kill all.”

The Doctor repeated his promise, “But I will not go near them; I will go
west.”

As soon as he turned his face westward, Musa and the Johanna men ran away
in a body.

The Doctor says, in commenting upon Musa’s conduct, that he felt strongly
tempted to shoot Musa and another ringleader, but was, nevertheless, glad
that he did not soil his hands with their vile blood. A day or two
afterwards, another of his men—Simon Price by name—came to the
Doctor with the same tale about the Mazitu, but, compelled by the scant
number of his people to repress all such tendencies to desertion and
faint-heartedness, the Doctor silenced him at once, and sternly forbade
him to utter the name of the Mazitu any more.

Had the natives not assisted him, he must have despaired of ever being
able to penetrate the wild and unexplored interior which he was now about
to tread. “Fortunately,” as the Doctor says with unction, “I was in a
country now, after leaving the shores of Nyassa, which the foot of the
slave-trader has not trod; it was a new and virgin land, and of course, as
I have always found in such cases, the natives were really good and
hospitable, and for very small portions of cloth my baggage was conveyed
from village to village by them.” In many other ways the traveller, in his
extremity, was kindly treated by the yet unsophisticated and innocent
natives.

On leaving this hospitable region in the early part of December, 1866, the
Doctor entered a country where the Mazitu had exercised their customary
marauding propensities. The land was swept clean of provisions and cattle,
and the people had emigrated to other countries, beyond the bounds of
those ferocious plunderers. Again the Expedition was besieged by pinching
hunger from which they suffered; they had recourse to the wild fruits
which some parts of the country furnished. At intervals the condition of
the hard-pressed band was made worse by the heartless desertion of some of
its members, who more than once departed with the Doctor’s personal kit,
changes of clothes, linen, &c. With more or less misfortunes
constantly dogging his footsteps, he traversed in safety the countries of
the Babisa, Bobemba, Barungu, Ba-ulungu, and Lunda.

In the country of Lunda lives the famous Cazembe, who was first made known
to Europeans by Dr. Lacerda, the Portuguese traveller. Cazembe is a most
intelligent prince; he is a tall, stalwart man, who wears a peculiar kind
of dress, made of crimson print, in the form of a prodigious kilt. In this
state dress, King Cazembe received Dr. Livingstone, surrounded by his
chiefs and body-guards. A chief, who had been deputed by the King and
elders to discover all about the white man, then stood up before the
assembly, and in a loud voice gave the result of the inquiry he had
instituted. He had heard that the white man had come to look for waters,
for rivers, and seas; though he could not understand what the white man
could want with such things, he had no doubt that the object was good.
Then Cazembe asked what the Doctor proposed doing, and where he thought of
going. The Doctor replied that he had thought of proceeding south, as he
had heard of lakes and rivers being in that direction. Cazembe asked,
“What can you want to go there for? The water is close here. There is
plenty of large water in this neighbourhood.” Before breaking up the
assembly, Cazembe gave orders to let the white man go where he would
through his country undisturbed and unmolested. He was the first
Englishman he had seen, he said, and he liked him.

Shortly after his introduction to the King, the Queen entered the large
house, surrounded by a body-guard of Amazons with spears. She was a fine,
tall, handsome young woman, and evidently thought she was about to make an
impression upon the rustic white man, for she had clothed herself after a
most royal fashion, and was armed with a ponderous spear. But her
appearance—so different from what the Doctor had imagined—caused
him to laugh, which entirely spoiled the effect intended; for the laugh of
the Doctor was so contagious, that she herself was the first to imitate
it, and the Amazons, courtier-like, followed suit. Much disconcerted by
this, the Queen ran back, followed by her obedient damsels—a retreat
most undignified and unqueenlike, compared with her majestic advent into
the Doctor’s presence. But Livingstone will have much to say about his
reception at this court, and about this interesting King and Queen; and
who can so well relate the scenes he witnessed, and which belong
exclusively to him, as he himself?

Soon after his arrival in the country of Lunda, or Londa, and before he
had entered the district ruled over by Cazembe, he had crossed a river
called the Chambezi, which was quite an important stream. The similarity
of the name with that large and noble river south, which will be for ever
connected with his name, misled Livingstone at that time, and he,
accordingly, did not pay to it the attention it deserved, believing that
the Chambezi was but the head-waters of the Zambezi, and consequently had
no bearing or connection with the sources of the river of Egypt, of which
he was in search. His fault was in relying too implicitly upon the
correctness of Portuguese information. This error it cost him many months
of tedious labour and travel to rectify.

From the beginning of 1867—the time of his arrival at Cazembe’s—till
the middle of March, 1869—the time of his arrival at Ujiji—he
was mostly engaged in correcting the errors and misrepresentations of the
Portuguese travellers. The Portuguese, in speaking of the River Chambezi,
invariably spoke of it as “our own Zambezi,”—that is, the Zambezi
which flows through the Portuguese possessions of the Mozambique. “In
going to Cazembe from Nyassa,” said they, “you will cross our own
Zambezi.” Such positive and reiterated information—given not only
orally, but in their books and maps—was naturally confusing. When
the Doctor perceived that what he saw and what they described were at
variance, out of a sincere wish to be correct, and lest he might have been
mistaken himself, he started to retravel the ground he had travelled
before. Over and over again he traversed the several countries watered by
the several rivers of the complicated water system, like an uneasy spirit.
Over and over again he asked the same questions from the different peoples
he met, until he was obliged to desist, lest they might say, “The man is
mad; he has got water on the brain!”

But his travels and tedious labours in Lunda and the adjacent countries
have established beyond doubt—first, that the Chambezi is a totally
distinct river from the Zambezi of the Portuguese; and, secondly, that the
Chambezi, starting from about latitude 11 degrees south, is no other than
the most southerly feeder of the great Nile; thus giving that famous river
a length of over 2,000 miles of direct latitude; making it, second to the
Mississippi, the longest river in the world. The real and true name of the
Zambezi is Dombazi. When Lacerda and his Portuguese successors, coming to
Cazembe, crossed the Chambezi, and heard its name, they very naturally set
it down as “our own Zambezi,” and, without further inquiry, sketched it as
running in that direction.

During his researches in that region, so pregnant in discoveries,
Livingstone came to a lake lying north-east of Cazembe, which the natives
call Liemba, from the country of that name which bordered it on the east
and south. In tracing the lake north, he found it to be none other than
the Tanganika, or the south-eastern extremity of it, which looks, on the
Doctor’s map, very much like an outline of Italy. The latitude of the
southern end of this great body of water is about 8 degrees 42 minutes
south, which thus gives it a length, from north to south, of 360
geographical miles. From the southern extremity of the Tanganika he
crossed Marungu, and came in sight of Lake Moero. Tracing this lake, which
is about sixty miles in length, to its southern head, he found a river,
called the Luapula, entering it from that direction. Following the Luapula
south, he found it issue from the large lake of Bangweolo, which is nearly
as large in superficial area as the Tanganika. In exploring for the waters
which discharged themselves into the lake, he found that by far the most
important of these feeders was the Chambezi; so that he had thus traced
the Chambezi from its source to Lake Bangweolo, and the issue from its
northern head, under the name of Luapula, and found it enter Lake Moero.
Again he returned to Cazembe’s, well satisfied that the river running
north through three degrees of latitude could not be the river running
south under the name of Zambezi, though there might be a remarkable
resemblance in their names.

At Cazembe’s he found an old white-bearded half-caste named Mohammed bin
Sali, who was kept as a kind of prisoner at large by the King because of
certain suspicious circumstances attending his advent and stay in the
country. Through Livingstone’s influence Mohammed bin Sali obtained his
release. On the road to Ujiji he had bitter cause to regret having exerted
himself in the half-caste’s behalf. He turned out to be a most ungrateful
wretch, who poisoned the minds of the Doctor’s few followers, and
ingratiated himself with them by selling the favours of his concubines to
them, by which he reduced them to a kind of bondage under him. The Doctor
was deserted by all but two, even faithful Susi and Chumah deserted him
for the service of Mohammed bin Sali. But they soon repented, and returned
to their allegiance. From the day he had the vile old man in his company
manifold and bitter misfortunes followed the Doctor up to his arrival at
Ujiji in March, 1869.

From the date of his arrival until the end of June, 1869, he remained at
Ujiji, whence he dated those letters which, though the outside world still
doubted his being alive, satisfied the minds of the Royal Geographical
people, and his intimate friends, that he still existed, and that Musa’a
tale was the false though ingenious fabrication of a cowardly deserter. It
was during this time that the thought occurred to him of sailing around
the Lake Tanganika, but the Arabs and natives were so bent upon fleecing
him that, had he undertaken it, the remainder or his goods would not have
enabled him to explore the central line of drainage, the initial point of
which he found far south of Cazembe’s in about latitude 11 degrees, in the
river called Chambezi.

In the days when tired Captain Burton was resting in Ujiji, after his
march from the coast near Zanzibar, the land to which Livingstone, on his
departure from Ujiji, bent his steps was unknown to the Arabs save by
vague report. Messrs. Burton and Speke never heard of it, it seems. Speke,
who was the geographer of Burton’s Expedition, heard of a place called
Urua, which he placed on his map, according to the general direction
indicated by the Arabs; but the most enterprising of the Arabs, in their
search after ivory, only touched the frontiers of Rua, as, the natives and
Livingstone call it; for Rua is an immense country, with a length of six
degrees of latitude, and as yet an undefined breadth from east to west.

At the end of June, 1869, Livingstone quitted Ujiji and crossed over to
Uguhha, on the western shore, for his last and greatest series of
explorations; the result of which was the further discovery of a lake of
considerable magnitude connected with Moero by the large river called the
Lualaba, and which was a continuation of the chain of lakes he had
previously discovered.

From the port of Uguhha he set off, in company with a body of traders, in
an almost direct westerly course, for the country of Urua. Fifteen days’
march brought them to Bambarre, the first important ivory depot in
Manyema, or, as the natives pronounce it, Manyuema. For nearly six months
he was detained at Bambarre from ulcers in the feet, which discharged
bloody ichor as soon as he set them on the ground. When recovered, he set
off in a northerly direction, and after several days came to a broad
lacustrine river, called the Lualaba, flowing northward and westward, and
in some places southward, in a most confusing way. The river was from one
to three miles broad. By exceeding pertinacity he contrived to follow its
erratic course, until he saw the Lualaba enter the narrow, long lake of
Kamolondo, in about latitude 6 degrees 30 minutes. Retracing this to the
south, he came to the point where he had seen the Luapula enter Lake
Moero.

One feels quite enthusiastic when listening to Livingstone’s description
of the beauties of Moero scenery. Pent in on all sides by high mountains,
clothed to the edges with the rich vegetation of the tropics, the Moero
discharges its superfluous waters through a deep rent in the bosom of the
mountains. The impetuous and grand river roars through the chasm with the
thunder of a cataract, but soon after leaving its confined and deep bed it
expands into the calm and broad Lualaba, stretching over miles of ground.
After making great bends west and south-west, and then curving northward,
it enters Kamolondo. By the natives it is called the Lualaba, but the
Doctor, in order to distinguish it from other rivers of the same name, has
given it the name of “Webb’s River,” after Mr. Webb, the wealthy
proprietor of Newstead Abbey, whom the Doctor distinguishes as one of his
oldest and most consistent friends. Away to the south-west from Kamolondo
is another large lake, which discharges its waters by the important River
Loeki, or Lomami, into the great Lualaba. To this lake, known as Chebungo
by the natives, Dr. Livingstone has given the name of “Lincoln,” to be
hereafter distinguished on maps and in books as Lake Lincoln, in memory of
Abraham Lincoln, our murdered President. This was done from the vivid
impression produced on his mind by hearing a portion of his inauguration
speech read from an English pulpit, which related to the causes that
induced him to issue his Emancipation Proclamation, by which memorable
deed 4,000,000 of slaves were for ever freed. To the memory of the man
whose labours on behalf of the negro race deserves the commendation of all
good men, Livingstone has contributed a monument more durable than brass
or stone.

Entering Webb’s River from the south-south-west, a little north of
Kamolondo, is a large river called Lufira, but the streams, that discharge
themselves from the watershed into the Lualaba are so numerous that the
Doctor’s map would not contain them, so he has left all out except the
most important. Continuing his way north, tracing the Lualaba through its
manifold and crooked curves as far as latitude 4 degrees south, he came to
where he heard of another lake, to the north, into which it ran. But here
you may come to a dead halt, and read what lies beyond this spot thus….
This was the furthermost point, whence he was compelled to return on the
weary road to Ujiji, a distance of 700 miles.

In this brief sketch of Dr. Livingstone’s wonderful travels it is to be
hoped the most superficial reader, as well as the student of geography,
comprehends this grand system of lakes connected together by Webb’s River.
To assist him, let him glance at the map accompanying this book. He will
then have a fair idea of what Dr. Livingstone has been doing during these
long years, and what additions he has made to the study of African
geography. That this river, distinguished under several titles, flowing
from one lake into another in a northerly direction, with all its great
crooked bends and sinuosities, is the Nile—the true Nile—the
Doctor has not the least doubt. For a long time he entertained great
scepticism, because of its deep bends and curves west, and south-west
even; but having traced it from its head waters, the Chambezi, through 7
degrees of latitude—that is, from 11 degrees S. to lat. 4 degrees N.—he
has been compelled to come to the conclusion that it can be no other river
than the Nile. He had thought it was the Congo; but has discovered the
sources of the Congo to be the Kassai and the Kwango, two rivers which
rise on the western side of the Nile watershed, in about the latitude of
Bangweolo; and he was told of another river called the Lubilash, which
rose from the north, and ran west. But the Lualaba, the Doctor thinks,
cannot be the Congo, from its great size and body, and from its steady and
continued flow northward through a broad and extensive valley, bounded by
enormous mountains westerly and easterly. The altitude of the most
northerly point to which the Doctor traced the wonderful river was a
little in excess of 2,000 feet; so that, though Baker makes out his lake
to be 2,700 feet above the sea, yet the Bahr Ghazal, through which
Petherick’s branch of the White Nile issues into the Nile, is but 2,000
feet; in which case there is a possibility that the Lualaba may be none
other than Petherick’s branch.

It is well known that trading stations for ivory have been established for
about 500 miles up Petherick’s branch. We must remember this fact when
told that Gondokoro, in lat. 4 degrees N., is 2,000 feet above the sea,
and lat. 4 degrees S., where the halt was made, is only a little over
2,000 feet above the sea. That the two rivers said to be 2,000 feet above
the sea, separated from each other by 8 degrees of latitude, are one and
the same river, may among some men be regarded as a startling statement.
But we must restrain mere expressions of surprise, and take into
consideration that this mighty and broad Lualaba is a lacustrine river
broader than the Mississippi; that at intervals the body of water forms
extensive lakes; then, contracting into a broad river, it again forms a
lake, and so on, to lat. 4 degrees; and even beyond this point the Doctor
hears of a large lake again north.

We must wait also until the altitudes of the two rivers, the Lualaba,
where the Doctor halted, and the southern point on the Bahr Ghazal, where
Petherick has been, are known with perfect accuracy.

Now, for the sake of argument, suppose we give this nameless lake a length
of 6 degrees of latitude, as it may be the one discovered by Piaggia, the
Italian traveller, from which Petherick’s branch of the White Nile issues
out through reedy marshes, into the Bahr Ghazal, thence into the White
Nile, south of Gondokoro. By this method we can suppose the rivers one;
for if the lake extends over so many degrees of latitude, the necessity of
explaining the differences of altitude that must naturally exist between
two points of a river 8 degrees of latitude apart, would be obviated.

Also, Livingstone’s instruments for observation and taking altitudes may
have been in error; and this is very likely to have been the case,
subjected as they have been to rough handling during nearly six years of
travel. Despite the apparent difficulty of the altitude, there is another
strong reason for believing Webb’s River, or the Lualaba, to be the Nile.
The watershed of this river, 600 miles of which Livingstone has travelled,
is drained from a valley which lies north and south between lofty eastern
and western ranges.

This valley, or line of drainage, while it does not receive the Kassai and
the Kwango, receives rivers flowing from a great distance west, for
instance, the important tributaries Lufira and Lomami, and large rivers
from the east, such as the Lindi and Luamo; and, while the most
intelligent Portuguese travellers and traders state that the Kassai, the
Kwango, and Lubilash are the head waters of the Congo River, no one has
yet started the supposition that the grand river flowing north, and known
by the natives as the Lualaba, is the Congo.

This river may be the Congo, or, perhaps, the Niger. If the Lualaba is
only 2,000 feet above the sea, and the Albert N’Yanza 2,700 feet, the
Lualaba cannot enter that lake. If the Bahr Ghazal does not extend by an
arm for eight degrees above Gondokoro, then the Lualaba cannot be the
Nile. But it would be premature to dogmatise on the subject. Livingstone
will clear up the point himself; and if he finds it to be the Congo, will
be the first to admit his error.

Livingstone admits the Nile sources have not been found, though he has
traced the Lualaba through seven degrees of latitude flowing north; and,
though he has not a particle of doubt of its being the Nile, not yet can
the Nile question be said to be resolved and ended. For two reasons:

1. He has heard of the existence of four fountains, two of which gave
birth to a river flowing north, Webb’s River, or the Lualaba, and to a
river flowing south, which is the Zambezi. He has repeatedly heard of
these fountains from the natives. Several times he has been within 100 and
200 miles from them, but something always interposed to prevent his going
to see them. According to those who have seen them, they rise on either
side of a mound or level, which contains no stones. Some have called it an
ant-hill. One of these fountains is said to be so large that a man,
standing on one side, cannot be seen from the other. These fountains must
be discovered, and their position taken. The Doctor does not suppose them
to be south of the feeders of Lake Bangweolo. In his letter to the
‘Herald’ he says “These four full-grown gushing fountains, rising so near
each other, and giving origin to four large rivers, answer in a certain
degree to the description given of the unfathomable fountains of the Nile,
by the secretary of Minerva, in the city of Sais, in Egypt, to the father
of all travellers—Herodotus.”

For the information of such readers as may not have the original at hand,
I append the following from Cary’s translation of Herodotus: (II.28)

(Jul 2001 The History of Herodotus V1 by Herodotus; Macaulay)

*the secretary of the treasury of the goddess Neith, or Athena as
Herodotus calls her: ho grammatiste:s to:n hiro:n xre:mato:n te:s
Athe:naie:s>

[“which it is said that one of them pointed to his privy member and said
that wherever this was, there would they have both children and wives”—Macaulay
tr.; published edition censors]

2. Webb’s River must be traced to its connection with some portion of the
old Nile.

When these two things have been accomplished, then, and not till then, can
the mystery of the Nile be explained. The two countries through which the
marvellous lacustrine river, the Lualaba, flows, with its manifold lakes
and broad expanse of water, are Rua (the Uruwwa of Speke) and Manyuema.
For the first time Europe is made aware that between the Tanganika and the
known sources of the Congo there exist teeming millions of the negro race,
who never saw, or heard of the white people who make such a noisy and busy
stir outside of Africa. Upon the minds of those who had the good fortune
to see the first specimen of these remarkable white races in Dr.
Livingstone, he seems to have made a favourable impression, though,
through misunderstanding his object, and coupling him with the Arabs, who
make horrible work there, his life was sought after more than once. These
two extensive countries, Rua and Manyuema, are populated by true heathens,
governed, not as the sovereignties of Karagwah, Urundi, and Uganda, by
despotic kings, but each village by its own sultan or lord. Thirty miles
outside of their own immediate settlements, the most intelligent of these
small chiefs seem to know nothing. Thirty miles from the Lualaba, there
were but few people who had ever heard of the great river. Such ignorance
among the natives of their own country naturally increased the labours of
Livingstone. Compared with these, all tribes and nations in Africa with
whom Livingstone came in contact may be deemed civilized, yet, in the arts
of home manufacture, these wild people of Manyuema were far superior to
any he had seen. Where other tribes and nations contented themselves with
hides and skins of animals thrown negligently over their shoulders, the
people of Manyuema manufactured a cloth from fine grass, which may
favorably compare with the finest grass cloth of India. They also know the
art of dyeing them in various colours—black, yellow, and purple. The
Wangwana, or freed-men of Zanzibar, struck with the beauty of the fabric,
eagerly exchange their cotton cloths for fine grass cloth; and on almost
every black man from Manyuema I have seen this native cloth converted into
elegantly made damirs (Arabic)—short jackets. These countries are
also very rich in ivory. The fever for going to Manyuema to exchange
tawdry beads for its precious tusks is of the same kind as that which
impelled men to go to the gulches and placers of California, Colorado,
Montana, and Idaho; after nuggets to Australia, and diamonds to Cape
Colony. Manyuema is at present the El Dorado of the Arab and the Wamrima
tribes. It is only about four years since that the first Arab returned
from Manyuema, with such wealth of ivory, and reports about the fabulous
quantities found there, that ever since the old beaten tracks of Karagwah,
Uganda, Ufipa, and Marungu have been comparatively deserted. The people of
Manyuema, ignorant of the value of the precious article, reared their huts
upon ivory stanchions. Ivory pillars were common sights in Manyuema, and,
hearing of these, one can no longer, wonder at the ivory palace of
Solomon. For generations they have used ivory tusks as door-posts and
supports to the eaves, until they had become perfectly rotten and
worthless. But the advent of the Arabs soon taught them the value of the
article. It has now risen considerably in price, though still fabulously
cheap. At Zanzibar the value of ivory per frasilah of 35 lbs. weight is
from $50 to $60, according to its quality. In Unyanyembe it is about $1-10
per pound, but in Manyuema, it may be purchased for from half a cent to 14
cent’s worth of copper per pound of ivory. The Arabs, however, have the
knack of spoiling markets by their rapacity and cruelty. With muskets, a
small party of Arabs is invincible against such people as those of
Manyuema, who, until lately, never heard the sound of a gun. The discharge
of a musket inspires mortal terror in them, and it is almost impossible to
induce them to face the muzzle of a gun. They believe that the Arabs have
stolen the lightning, and that against such people the bow and arrow can
have little effect. They are by no means devoid of courage, and they have
often declared that, were it not for the guns, not one Arab would leave
the country alive; this tends to prove that they would willingly engage in
fight with the strangers who had made themselves so detestable, were it
not that the startling explosion of gunpowder inspires them with terror.

Into what country soever the Arabs enter, they contrive to render their
name and race abominated. But the mainspring of it all is not the Arab’s
nature, colour, or name, but simply the slave-trade. So long as the
slave-trade is permitted to be kept up at Zanzibar, so long will these
otherwise enterprising people, the Arabs, kindle gainst them the hatred of
the natives throughout Africa.

On the main line of travel from Zanzibar into the interior of Africa these
acts of cruelty are unknown, for the very good reason that the natives
having been armed with guns, and taught how to use those weapons, are by
no means loth to do so whenever an opportunity presents itself. When, too
late, they have perceived their folly in selling guns to the natives, the
Arabs now begin to vow vengeance on the person who will in future sell a
gun to a native. But they are all guilty of the same mistake, and it is
strange they did not perceive that it was folly when they were doing so.

In former days the Arab, when protected by his slave escort, armed with
guns, could travel through Useguhha, Urori, Ukonongo, Ufipa, Karagwah,
Unyoro, and Uganda, with only a stick in his hand; now, however, it is
impossible for him or any one else to do so. Every step he takes, armed or
unarmed, is fraught with danger. The Waseguhha, near the coast, detain
him, and demand the tribute, or give him the option of war; entering
Ugogo, he is subjected every day to the same oppressive demand, or to the
fearful alternative. The Wanyamwezi also show their readiness to take the
same advantage; the road to Karagwah is besieged with difficulties; the
terrible Mirambo stands in the way, defeats their combined forces with
ease, and makes raids even to the doors of their houses in Unyanyembe; and
should they succeed in passing Mirambo, a chief—Swaruru—stands
before them who demands tribute by the bale, and against whom it is
useless to contend.

These remarks have reference to the slave-trade inaugurated in Manyuema by
the Arabs. Harassed on the road between Zanzibar and Unyanyembe by
minatory natives, who with bloody hands are ready to avenge the slightest
affront, the Arabs have refrained from kidnapping between the Tanganika
and the sea; but in Manyuema, where the natives are timid, irresolute, and
divided into small weak tribes, they recover their audacity, and exercise
their kidnapping propensities unchecked.

The accounts which the Doctor brings from that new region are most
deplorable. He was an unwilling spectator of a horrible deed—a
massacre committed on the inhabitants of a populous district who had
assembled in the market-place on the banks of the Lualaba, as they had
been accustomed to do for ages. It seems that the Wamanyuema are very fond
of marketing, believing it to be the summum bonum of human enjoyment. They
find endless pleasure in chaffering with might and main for the least mite
of their currency—the last bead; and when they gain the point to
which their peculiar talents are devoted, they feel intensely happy. The
women are excessively fond of this marketing, and, as they are very
beautiful, the market place must possess considerable attractions for the
male sex. It was on such a day amidst such a scene, that Tagamoyo, a
half-caste Arab, with his armed slave escort, commenced an indiscriminate
massacre by firing volley after volley into the dense mass of human
beings. It is supposed that there were about 2,000 present, and at the
first sound of the firing these poor people all made a rush for their
canoes. In the fearful hurry to avoid being shot, the canoes were paddled
away by the first fortunate few who got possession of them; those that
were not so fortunate sprang into the deep waters of the Lualaba, and
though many of them became an easy prey to the voracious crocodiles which
swarmed to the scene, the majority received their deaths from the bullets
of the merciless Tagamoyo and his villanous band. The Doctor believes, as
do the Arabs themselves, that about 400 people, mostly women and children,
lost their lives, while many more were made slaves. This outrage is only
one of many such he has unwillingly witnessed, and he is utterly unable to
describe the feelings of loathing he feels for the inhuman perpetrators.

Slaves from Manyuema command a higher price than those of any other
country, because of their fine forms and general docility. The women, the
Doctor said repeatedly, are remarkably pretty creatures, and have nothing,
except the hair, in common with the negroes of the West Coast. They are of
very light colour, have fine noses, well-cut and not over-full lips, while
the prognathous jaw is uncommon. These women are eagerly sought after as
wives by the half-castes of the East Coast, and even the pure Omani Arabs
do not disdain to take them in marriage.

To the north of Manyuema, Livingstone came to the light-complexioned race,
of the colour of Portuguese, or our own Louisiana quadroons, who are very
fine people, and singularly remarkable for commercial “‘cuteness” and
sagacity. The women are expert divers for oysters, which are found in
great abundance in the Lualaba.

Rua, at a place called Katanga, is rich in copper. The copper-mines of
this place have been worked for ages. In the bed of a stream, gold has
been found, washed down in pencil-shaped pieces or in particles as large
as split peas. Two Arabs have gone thither to prospect for this metal;
but, as they are ignorant of the art of gulch-mining, it is scarcely
possible that they will succeed. From these highly important and
interesting discoveries, Dr. Livingstone was turned back, when almost on
the threshold of success, by the positive refusal of his men to accompany
him further. They were afraid to go on unless accompanied by a large force
of men; and, as these were not procurable in Manyuema, the Doctor
reluctantly turned his face towards Ujiji.

It was a long and weary road back. The journey had now no interest for
him. He had travelled the road before when going westward, full of high
hopes and aspirations, impatient to reach the goal which promised him rest
from his labors—now, returning unsuccessful, baffled, and thwarted,
when almost in sight of the end, and having to travel the same path back
on foot, with disappointed expectations and defeated hopes preying on his
mind, no wonder that the old brave spirit almost succumbed, and the strong
constitution almost went to wreck.

Livingstone arrived at Ujiji, October 16th, almost at death’s door. On the
way he had been trying to cheer himself up, since he had found it
impossible to contend against the obstinacy of his men, with, “It won’t
take long; five or six months more; it matters not since it cannot be
helped. I have got my goods in Ujiji, and can hire other people, and make
a new start again.” These are the words and hopes by which he tried to
delude himself into the idea that all would be right yet; but imagine the
shock he must have suffered, when he found that the man to whom was
entrusted his goods for safe keeping had sold every bale for ivory.

The evening of the day Livingstone had returned to Ujiji, Susi and Chuma,
two of his most faithful men, were seen crying bitterly. The Doctor asked
of them what ailed them, and was then informed, for the first time, of the
evil tidings that awaited him.

Said they, “All our things are sold, sir; Sherif has sold everything for
ivory.”

Later in the evening, Sherif came to see him, and shamelessly offered his
hand, but Livingstone repulsed him, saying he could not shake hands with a
thief. As an excuse, Sherif said he had divined on the Koran, and that
this had told him the Hakim (Arabic for Doctor) was dead.

Livingstone was now destitute; he had just enough to keep him and his men
alive for about a month, when he would be forced to beg from the Arabs.

The Doctor further stated, that when Speke gives the altitude of the
Tanganika at only 1,800 feet above the sea, Speke must have fallen into
that error by a frequent writing of the Anne Domini, a mere slip of the
pen; for the altitude, as he makes it out, is 2,800 feet by boiling point,
and a little over 3,000 feet by barometer.

The Doctor’s complaints were many because slaves were sent to him, in
charge of goods, after he had so often implored the people at Zanzibar to
send him freemen. A very little effort on the part of those entrusted with
the despatch of supplies to him might have enabled them to procure good
and faithful freemen; but if they contented themselves, upon the receipt
of a letter from Dr. Livingstone, with sending to Ludha Damji for men, it
is no longer a matter of wonder that dishonest and incapable slaves were
sent forward. It is no new fact that the Doctor has discovered when he
states that a negro freeman is a hundred times more capable and
trustworthy than a slave. Centuries ago Eumaeus, the herdsman, said to
Ulysses:

Jove fixed it certain, that whatever day Makes man a slave, takes half his
worth away.

We passed several happy days at Ujiji, and it was time we were now
preparing for our cruise on the Tanganika. Livingstone was improving every
day under the different diet which my cook furnished him. I could give him
no such suppers as that which Jupiter and Mercury received at the cottage
of Baucis and Philemon. We had no berries of chaste Minerva, pickled
cherries, endive, radishes, dried figs, dates, fragrant apples, and
grapes; but we had cheese, and butter which I made myself, new-laid eggs,
chickens, roast mutton, fish from the lake, rich curds and cream, wine
from the Guinea-palm, egg-plants, cucumbers, sweet potatoes, pea-nuts, and
beans, white honey from Ukaranga, luscious singwe—a plum-like fruit—from
the forests of Ujiji, and corn scones and dampers, in place of wheaten
bread.

During the noontide heats we sat under our veranda discussing our various
projects, and in the early morning and evening we sought the shores of the
lake—promenading up and down the beach to breathe the cool breezes
which ruffled the surface of the water, and rolled the unquiet surf far up
on the smooth and whitened shore.

It was the dry season, and we had most lovely weather; the temperature
never was over 80 degrees in the shade.

The market-place overlooking the broad silver water afforded us amusement
and instruction. Representatives of most of the tribes dwelling near the
lake were daily found there. There were the agricultural and pastoral
Wajiji, with their flocks and herds; there were the fishermen from
Ukaranga and Kaole, from beyond Bangwe, and even from Urundi, with their
whitebait, which they called dogara, the silurus, the perch, and other
fish; there were the palm-oil merchants, principally from Ujiji and
Urundi, with great five-gallon pots full of reddish oil, of the
consistency of butter; there were the salt merchants from the salt-plains
of Uvinza and Uhha; there were the ivory merchants from Uvira and Usowa;
there were the canoe-makers from Ugoma and Urundi; there were the
cheap-Jack pedlers from Zanzibar, selling flimsy prints, and brokers
exchanging blue mutunda beads for sami-sami, and sungomazzi, and sofi. The
sofi beads are like pieces of thick clay-pipe stem about half an inch
long, and are in great demand here. Here were found Waguhha, Wamanyuema,
Wagoma, Wavira, Wasige, Warundi, Wajiji, Waha, Wavinza, Wasowa, Wangwana,
Wakawendi, Arabs, and Wasawahili, engaged in noisy chaffer and barter.
Bareheaded, and almost barebodied, the youths made love to the
dark-skinned and woolly-headed Phyllises, who knew not how to blush at the
ardent gaze of love, as their white sisters; old matrons gossiped, as the
old women do everywhere; the children played, and laughed, and struggled,
as children of our own lands; and the old men, leaning on their spears or
bows, were just as garrulous in the Place de Ujiji as aged elders in other
climes.

CHAPTER XIII. — OUR CRUISE ON THE LAKE TANGANIKA

EXPLORATION OF THE NORTH-END OF THE LAKE— THE RUSIZI IS DISCOVERED
TO ENTER INTO THE LAKE—RETURN TO UJIJI.

“I distinctly deny that ‘any misleading by my instructions from the Royal
Geographical Society as to the position of the White Nile’ made me
unconscious of the vast importance of ascertaining the direction of the
Rusizi River. The fact is, we did our best to reach it, and we failed.”—Burton’s
Zanzibar.

“The universal testimony of the natives to the Rusizi River being an
influent is the most conclusive argument that it does run out of the
lake.”—Speke.

“I therefore claim for Lake Tanganika the honour of being the SOUTHERNMOST
RESERVOIR OF THE NILE, until some more positive evidence, by actual
observation, shall otherwise determine it.”—Findlay, R.G.S.

Had Livingstone and myself, after making up our minds to visit the
northern head of the Lake Tanganika, been compelled by the absurd demands
or fears of a crew of Wajiji to return to Unyanyembe without having
resolved the problem of the Rusizi River, we had surely deserved to be
greeted by everybody at home with a universal giggling and cackling. But
Capt. Burton’s failure to settle it, by engaging Wajiji, and that
ridiculous savage chief Kannena, had warned us of the negative assistance
we could expect from such people for the solution of a geographical
problem. We had enough good sailors with us, who were entirely under our
commands. Could we but procure the loan of a canoe, we thought all might
be well.

Upon application to Sayd bin Majid, he at once generously permitted us to
use his canoe for any service for which we might require it. After
engaging two Wajiji guides at two doti each, we prepared to sail from the
port of Ujiji, in about a week or so after my entrance into Ujiji.

I have already stated how it was that the Doctor and I undertook the
exploration of the northern half of the Tanganika and the River Rusizi,
about which so much had been said and written.

Before embarking on this enterprise, Dr. Livingstone had not definitely
made up his mind which course he should take, as his position was truly
deplorable. His servants consisted of Susi, Chumah, Hamoydah, Gardner, and
Halimah, the female cook and wife of Hamoydah; to these was added
Kaif-Halek, the man whom I compelled to follow me from Unyanyembe to
deliver the Livingstone letters to his master.

Whither could Dr. Livingstone march with these few men, and the few
table-cloths and beads that remained to him from the store squandered by
the imbecile Sherif? This was a puzzling question. Had Dr. Livingstone
been in good health, his usual hardihood and indomitable spirit had
answered it in a summary way. He might have borrowed some cloth from Sayd
bin Majid at an exorbitant price, sufficient to bring him to Unyanyembe
and the sea-coast. But how long would he have been compelled to sit down
at Ujiji, waiting and waiting for the goods that were said to be at
Unyanyembe, a prey to high expectations, hoping day after day that the war
would end—hoping week after week to hear that his goods were coming?
Who knows how long his weak health had borne up against the several
disappointments to which he would be subjected?

Though it was with all due deference to Dr. Livingstone’s vast experience
as a traveller, I made bold to suggest the following courses to him,
either of which he could adopt:

Ist. To go home, and take the rest he so well deserved and, as he appeared
then, to be so much in need of.

2nd. To proceed to Unyanyembe, receive his goods, and enlist pagazis
sufficient to enable him to travel anywhere, either to Manyuema or Rua,
and settle the Nile problem, which he said he was in a fair way of doing.

3rd. To proceed to Unyanyembe, receive his caravan, enlist men, and try to
join Sir Samuel Baker, either by going to Muanza, and sailing through
Ukerewe or Victoria N’Yanza in my boats—which I should put up—to
Mtesa’s palace at Uganda, thus passing by Mirambo and Swaruru of Usui, who
would rob him if he took the usual caravan road to Uganda; thence from
Mtesa to Kamrasi, King of Unyoro, where he would of course hear of the
great white man who was said to be with a large force of men at Gondokoro.

4th. To proceed to Unyanyembe, receive his caravan, enlist men, and return
to Ujiji, and back to Manyuema by way of Uguhha.

5th. To proceed by way of the Rusizi through Ruanda, and so on to Itara,
Unyoro, and Baker.

For either course, whichever he thought most expedient, I and my men would
assist him as escort and carriers, to the best of our ability. If he
should elect to go home, I informed him I should be proud to escort him,
and consider myself subject to his commands—travelling only when he
desired, and camping only when he gave the word.

6th. The last course which I suggested to him, was to permit me to escort
him to Unyanyembe, where he could receive his own goods, and where I could
deliver up to him a large supply of first-class cloth and beads, guns and
ammunition, cooking utensils, clothing, boats, tents, &c., and where
he could rest in a comfortable house, while I would hurry down to the
coast, organise a new expedition composed of fifty or sixty faithful men,
well armed, by whom I could send an additional supply of needful luxuries
in the shape of creature comforts.

After long consideration, he resolved to adopt the last course, as it
appeared to him to be the most feasible one, and the best, though he did
not hesitate to comment upon the unaccountable apathy of his agent at
Zanzibar, which had caused him so much trouble and vexation, and weary
marching of hundreds of miles.

Our ship—though nothing more than a cranky canoe hollowed out of a
noble mvule tree of Ugoma—was an African Argo bound on a nobler
enterprise than its famous Grecian prototype. We were bound upon no
mercenary errand, after no Golden Fleece, but perhaps to discover a
highway for commerce which should bring the ships of the Nile up to Ujiji,
Usowa, and far Marungu. We did not know what we might discover on our
voyage to the northern head of the Tanganika; we supposed that we should
find the Rusizi to be an effluent of the Tanganika, flowing down to the
Albert or the Victoria N’Yanza. We were told by natives and Arabs that the
Rusizi ran out of the lake.

Sayd bin Majid had stated that his canoe would carry twenty-five men, and
3,500 lbs. of ivory. Acting upon this information, we embarked twenty-five
men, several of whom had stored away bags of salt for the purposes of
trade with the natives; but upon pushing off from the shore near Ujiji, we
discovered the boat was too heavily laden, and was down to the gunwale.
Returning in-shore, we disembarked six men, and unloaded the bags of salt,
which left us with sixteen rowers, Selim, Ferajji the cook, and the two
Wajiji guides.

Having thus properly trimmed our boat we again pushed off, and steered her
head for Bangwe Island, which was distant four or five miles from the
Bunder of Ujiji. While passing this island the guides informed us that the
Arabs and Wajiji took shelter on it during an incursion of the Watuta—which
took place some years ago—when they came and invaded Ujiji, and
massacred several of the inhabitants. Those who took refuge on the island
were the only persons who escaped the fire and sword with which the Watuta
had visited Ujiji.

After passing the island and following the various bends and indentations
of the shore, we came in sight of the magnificent bay of Kigoma, which
strikes one at once as being an excellent harbor from the variable winds
which blow over the Tanganika. About 10 A.M. we drew in towards the
village of Kigoma, as the east wind was then rising, and threatened to
drive us to sea. With those travelling parties who are not in much hurry
Kigoma is always the first port for canoes bound north from Ujiji. The
next morning at dawn we struck tent, stowed baggage, cooked, and drank
coffee, and set off northward again.

The lake was quite calm; its waters, of a dark-green colour, reflected the
serene blue sky above. The hippopotami came up to breathe in alarmingly
close proximity to our canoe, and then plunged their heads again, as if
they were playing hide-and-seek with us. Arriving opposite the high wooded
hills of Bemba, and being a mile from shore, we thought it a good
opportunity to sound the depth of the water, whose colour seemed to
indicate great depth. We found thirty-five fathoms at this place.

Our canoeing of this day was made close in-shore, with a range of hills,
beautifully wooded and clothed with green grass, sloping abruptly, almost
precipitously, into the depths of the fresh-water sea, towering
immediately above us, and as we rounded the several capes or points,
roused high expectations of some new wonder, or some exquisite picture
being revealed as the deep folds disclosed themselves to us. Nor were we
disappointed. The wooded hills with a wealth of boscage of beautiful
trees, many of which were in bloom, and crowned with floral glory,
exhaling an indescribably sweet fragrance, lifting their heads in varied
contour—one pyramidal, another a truncated cone; one table-topped,
another ridgy, like the steep roof of a church; one a glorious heave with
an even outline, another jagged and savage-interested us considerably; and
the pretty pictures, exquisitely pretty, at the head of the several bays,
evoked many an exclamation of admiration. It was the most natural thing in
the world that I should feel deepest admiration for these successive
pictures of quiet scenic beauty, but the Doctor had quite as much to say
about them as I had myself, though, as one might imagine, satiated with
pictures of this kind far more beautiful—far more wonderful—he
should long ago have expended all his powers of admiring scenes in nature.

From Bagamoyo to Ujiji I had seen nothing to compare to them—none of
these fishing settlements under the shade of a grove of palms and
plantains, banians and mimosa, with cassava gardens to the right and left
of palmy forests, and patches of luxuriant grain looking down upon a quiet
bay, whose calm waters at the early morn reflected the beauties of the
hills which sheltered them from the rough and boisterous tempests that so
often blew without.

The fishermen evidently think themselves comfortably situated. The lake
affords them all the fish they require, more than enough to eat, and the
industrious a great deal to sell. The steep slopes of the hills,
cultivated by the housewives, contribute plenty of grain, such as dourra
and Indian corn, besides cassava, ground-nuts or peanuts, and sweet
potatoes. The palm trees afford oil, and the plantains an abundance of
delicious fruit. The ravines and deep gullies supply them with the tall
shapely trees from which they cut out their canoes. Nature has supplied
them bountifully with all that a man’s heart or stomach can desire. It is
while looking at what seems both externally and internally complete and
perfect happiness that the thought occurs—how must these people
sigh, when driven across the dreary wilderness that intervenes between the
lake country and the sea-coast, for such homes as these!—those
unfortunates who, bought by the Arabs for a couple of doti, are taken away
to Zanzibar to pick cloves, or do hamal work!

As we drew near Niasanga, our second camp, the comparison between the
noble array of picturesque hills and receding coves, with their pastoral
and agricultural scenes, and the shores of old Pontus, was very great. A
few minutes before we hauled our canoe ashore, two little incidents
occurred. I shot an enormous dog-faced monkey, which measured from nose to
end of tail 4 feet 9 inches; the face was 8 1/2 inches long, its body
weighed about 100 lbs. It had no mane or tuft at end of tail, but the body
was covered with long wiry hair. Numbers of these specimens were seen, as
well as of the active cat-headed and long-tailed smaller ones. The other
was the sight of a large lizard, about 2 ft. 6 in. long, which waddled
into cover before we had well noticed it. The Doctor thought it to be the
Monitor terrestris.

We encamped under a banian tree; our surroundings were the now light-grey
waters of the Tanganika, an amphitheatral range of hills, and the village
of Niasanga, situated at the mouth of the rivulet Niasanga, with its grove
of palms, thicket of plantains, and plots of grain and cassava fields.
Near our tent were about half-a-dozen canoes, large and small, belonging
to the villagers. Our tent door fronted the glorious expanse of fresh
water, inviting the breeze, and the views of distant Ugoma and Ukaramba,
and the Island of Muzimu, whose ridges appeared of a deep-blue colour. At
our feet were the clean and well-washed pebbles, borne upward into tiny
lines and heaps by the restless surf. A search amongst these would reveal
to us the material of the mountain heaps which rose behind and on our
right and left; there was schist, conglomerate sandstone, a hard white
clay, an ochreish clay containing much iron, polished quartz, &c.
Looking out of our tent, we could see a line on each side of us of thick
tall reeds, which form something like a hedge between the beach and the
cultivated area around Niasanga. Among birds seen here, the most noted
were the merry wagtails, which are regarded as good omens and messengers
of peace by the natives, and any harm done unto them is quickly resented,
and is fineable. Except to the mischievously inclined, they offer no
inducement to commit violence. On landing, they flew to meet us, balancing
themselves in the air in front, within easy reach of our hands. The other
birds were crows, turtle-doves, fish-hawks, kingfishers, ibis nigra and
ibis religiosa, flocks of whydah birds, geese, darters, paddy birds,
kites, and eagles.

At this place the Doctor suffered from dysentery—it is his only weak
point, he says; and, as I afterwards found, it is a frequent complaint
with him. Whatever disturbed his mind, or any irregularity in eating, was
sure to end in an attack of dysentery, which had lately become of a
chronic character.

The third day of our journey on the Tanganika brought us to Zassi River
and village, after a four hours’ pull. Along the line of road the
mountains rose 2,000 and 2,500 feet above the waters of the lake. I
imagined the scenery getting more picturesque and animated at every step,
and thought it by far lovelier than anything seen near Lake George or on
the Hudson. The cosy nooks at the head of the many small bays constitute
most admirable pictures, filled in as they are with the ever-beautiful
feathery palms and broad green plantain fronds. These nooks have all been
taken possession of by fishermen, and their conically beehive-shaped huts
always peep from under the frondage. The shores are thus extremely
populous; every terrace, small plateau, and bit of level ground is
occupied.

Zassi is easily known by a group of conical hills which rise near by, and
are called Kirassa. Opposite to these, at the distance of about a mile
from shore, we sounded, and obtained 35 fathoms, as on the previous day.
Getting out a mile further, I let go the whole length of my line, 115
fathoms, and obtained no bottom. In drawing it up again the line parted,
and I lost the lead, with three-fourths of the line. The Doctor stated,
apropos of this, that he had sounded opposite the lofty Kabogo, south of
Ujiji, and obtained the great depth of 300 fathoms. He also lost his lead
and 100 fathoms of his line, but he had nearly 900 fathoms left, and this
was in the canoes. We hope to use this long sounding line in going across
from the eastern to the western shore.

On the fourth day we arrived at Nyabigma, a sandy island in Urundi. We had
passed the boundary line between Ujiji and Urundi half-an-hour before
arriving at Nyabigma. The Mshala River is considered by both nations to be
the proper divisional line; though there are parties of Warundi who have
emigrated beyond the frontier into Ujiji; for instance, the Mutware and
villagers of populous Kagunga, distant an hour north from Zassi. There are
also several small parties of Wajiji, who have taken advantage of the fine
lands in the deltas of the Kasokwe, Namusinga, and Luaba Rivers, the two
first of which enter the Tanganika in this bay, near the head of which
Nyabigma is situated.

From Nyabigma, a pretty good view of the deep curve in the great mountain
range which stretches from Cape Kazinga and terminates at Cape Kasofu, may
be obtained—a distance of twenty or twenty-five miles. It is a most
imposing scene, this great humpy, ridgy, and irregular line of mountains.
Deep ravines and chasms afford outlets to the numerous streams and rivers
which take their rise in the background; the pale fleecy ether almost
always shrouds its summit. From its base extends a broad alluvial plain,
rich beyond description, teeming with palms and plantains, and umbrageous
trees. Villages are seen in clusters everywhere. Into this alluvial plain
run the Luaba, or Ruaba River, on the north side of Cape Kitunda, and the
Kasokwe, Namusinga, and Mshala Rivers, on the south side of the cape. All
the deltas of rivers emptying into the Tanganika are hedged in on all
sides with a thick growth of matete, a gigantic species of grass, and
papyrus. In some deltas, as that of Luaba and Kasokwe, morasses have been
formed, in which the matete and papyrus jungle is impenetrable. In the
depths of them are quiet and deep pools, frequented by various aquatic
birds, such as geese, ducks, snipes, widgeons, kingfishers and ibis,
cranes and storks, and pelicans. To reach their haunts is, however, a work
of great difficulty to the sportsman in quest of game; a work often
attended with great danger, from the treacherous nature of these morasses,
as well as from the dreadful attacks of fever which, in these regions,
invariably follow wet feet and wet clothes.

At Nyabigma we prepared, by distributing ten rounds of ammunition to each
of our men, for a tussle with the Warundi of two stages ahead, should they
invite it by a too forward exhibition of their prejudice to strangers.

At dawn of the fifth day we quitted the haven of Nyabigma Island, and in
less than an hour had arrived off Cape Kitunda. This cape is a low
platform of conglomerate sandstone, extending for about eight miles from
the base of the great mountain curve which gives birth to the Luaba and
its sister streams. Crossing the deep bay, at the head of which is the
delta of the Luaba, we came to Cape Kasofu. Villages are numerous in this
vicinity. From hence we obtained a view of a series of points or capes,
Kigongo, Katunga, and Buguluka, all of which we passed before coming to a
halt at the pretty position of Mukungu.

At Mukungu, where we stopped on the fifth day, we were asked for honga, or
tribute. The cloth and beads upon which we subsisted during our lake
voyage were mine, but the Doctor, being the elder of the two, more
experienced, and the “big man” of the party, had the charge of satisfying
all such demands. Many and many a time had I gone through the tedious and
soul-wearying task of settling the honga, and I was quite curious to see
how the great traveller would perform the work.

The Mateko (a man inferior to a Mutware) of Mukungu asked for two and a
half doti. This was the extent of the demand, which he made known to us a
little after dark. The Doctor asked if nothing had been brought to us. He
was answered, “No, it was too late to get anything now; but, if we paid
the honga, the Mateko would be ready to give us something when we came
back.” Livingstone, upon hearing this, smiled, and the Mateko being then
and there in front of him, he said to him. “Well, if you can’t get us
anything now, and intend to give something when we return, we had better
keep the honga until then.” The Mateko was rather taken aback at this, and
demurred to any such proposition. Seeing that he was dissatisfied, we
urged him to bring one sheep—one little sheep—for our stomachs
were nearly empty, having been waiting more than half a day for it. The
appeal was successful, for the old man hastened, and brought us a lamb and
a three-gallon pot of sweet but strong zogga, or palm toddy, and in return
the Doctor gave him two and a half doti of cloth. The lamb was killed,
and, our digestions being good, its flesh agreed with us; but, alas, for
the effects of zogga, or palm toddy! Susi, the invaluable adjunct of Dr.
Livingstone, and Bombay, the headman of my caravan, were the two charged
with watching the canoe; but, having imbibed too freely of this
intoxicating toddy, they slept heavily, and in the morning the Doctor and
I had to regret the loss of several valuable and indispensable things;
among which may be mentioned the Doctor’s 900-fathom sounding-line, 500
rounds of pin, rim, and central-fire cartridges for my arms, and ninety
musket bullets, also belonging to me. Besides these, which were
indispensable in hostile Warundi, a large bag of flour and the Doctor’s
entire stock of white sugar were stolen. This was the third time that my
reliance in Bombay’s trustworthiness resulted in a great loss to me, and
for the ninety-ninth time I had to regret bitterly having placed such
entire confidence in Speke’s loud commendation of him. It was only the
natural cowardice of ignorant thieves that prevented the savages from
taking the boat and its entire contents, together with Bombay and Susi as
slaves. I can well imagine the joyful surprise which must have been called
forth at the sight and exquisite taste of the Doctor’s sugar, and the
wonder with which they must have regarded the strange ammunition of the
Wasungu. It is to be sincerely hoped that they did not hurt themselves
with the explosive bullets and rim cartridges through any ignorance of the
nature of the deadly contents; in which ease the box and its contents
would prove a very Pandora’s casket.

Much grieved at our loss, we set off on the sixth day at the usual hour on
our watery journey. We coasted close to the several low headlands formed
by the rivers Kigwena, Kikuma, and Kisunwe; and when any bay promised to
be interesting, steered the canoe according to its indentations. While
travelling on the water—each day brought forth similar scenes—on
our right rose the mountains of Urundi, now and then disclosing the
ravines through which the several rivers and streams issued into the great
lake; at their base were the alluvial plains, where flourished the
oil-palm and grateful plantain, while scores of villages were grouped
under their shade. Now and then we passed long narrow strips of pebbly or
sandy beach, whereon markets were improvised for selling fish, and the
staple products of the respective communities. Then we passed broad swampy
morasses, formed by the numerous streams which the mountains discharged,
where the matete and papyrus flourished. Now the mountains approached to
the water, their sides descending abruptly to the water’s edge; then they
receded into deep folds, at the base of which was sure to be seen an
alluvial plain from one to eight miles broad. Almost constantly we
observed canoes being punted vigorously close to the surf, in fearless
defiance of a catastrophe, such as a capsize and gobbling-up by voracious
crocodiles. Sometimes we sighted a canoe a short distance ahead of us;
whereupon our men, with song and chorus, would exert themselves to the
utmost to overtake it. Upon observing our efforts, the natives would bend
themselves to their tasks, and paddling standing and stark naked, give us
ample opportunities for studying at our leisure comparative anatomy. Or we
saw a group of fishermen lazily reclining in puris naturalibus on
the beach, regarding with curious eye the canoes as they passed their
neighbourhood; then we passed a flotilla of canoes, their owners sitting
quietly in their huts, busily plying the rod and hook, or casting their
nets, or a couple of men arranging their long drag nets close in shore for
a haul; or children sporting fearlessly in the water, with their mothers
looking on approvingly from under the shade of a tree, from which I infer
that there are not many crocodiles in the lake, except in the
neighbourhood of the large rivers.

After passing the low headland of Kisunwe, formed by the Kisunwe River, we
came in view of Murembwe Cape, distant about four or five miles: the
intervening ground being low land, a sandy and pebbly beach. Close to the
beach are scores of villages, while the crowded shore indicates the
populousness of the place beyond. About half way between Cape Kisunwe and
Murembwe, is a cluster of villages called Bikari, which has a mutware who
is in the habit of taking honga. As we were rendered unable to cope for
any length of time with any mischievously inclined community, all villages
having a bad reputation with the Wajiji were avoided by us. But even the
Wajiji guides were sometimes mistaken, and led us more than once into
dangerous places. The guides evidently had no objections to halt at
Bikari, as it was the second camp from Mukungu; because with them a halt
in the cool shade of plaintains was infinitely preferable to sitting like
carved pieces of wood in a cranky canoe. But before they stated their
objections and preferences, the Bikari people called to us in a loud voice
to come ashore, threatening us with the vengeance of the great Wami if we
did not halt. As the voices were anything but siren-like, we obstinately
refused to accede to the request. Finding threats of no avail, they had
recourse to stones, and, accordingly, flung them at us in a most hearty
manner. As one came within a foot of my arm, I suggested that a bullet be
sent in return in close proximity to their feet; but Livingstone, though
he said nothing, yet showed plainly enough that he did not quite approve
of this. As these demonstrations of hostility were anything but welcome,
and as we saw signs of it almost every time we came opposite a village, we
kept on our way until we came to Murembwe Point, which, being a delta of a
river of the same name, was well protected by a breadth of thorny jungle,
spiky cane, and a thick growth of reed and papyrus, from which the boldest
Mrundi might well shrink, especially if he called to mind that beyond this
inhospitable swamp were the guns of the strangers his like had so rudely
challenged. We drew our canoe ashore here, and, on a limited area of clean
sand, Ferajji, our rough-and-ready cook, lit his fire, and manufactured
for us a supply of most delicious Mocha coffee. Despite the dangers which
still beset us, we were quite happy, and seasoned our meal with a little
moral philosophy, which lifted us unconsciously into infinitely superior
beings to the pagans by whom we were surrounded—upon whom we now
looked down, under the influence of Mocha coffee and moral philosophy,
with calm contempt, not unmixed with a certain amount of compassion. The
Doctor related some experiences he had had among people of similar
disposition, but did not fail to ascribe them, with the wisdom of a man of
ripe experiences, to the unwise conduct of the Arabs and half-castes; in
this opinion I unreservedly concur.

From Murembwe Point, having finished our coffee and ended our discourse on
ethics, we proceeded on our voyage, steering for Cape Sentakeyi, which,
though it was eight or ten miles away, we hoped to make before dark. The
Wangwana pulled with right good will, but ten hours went by, and night was
drawing near, and we were still far from Sentakeyi. As it was a fine
moonlight night, and we were fully alive to the dangerous position in
which we might find ourselves, they consented to pull an hour or two more.
About 1 P.M., we pulled in shore for a deserted spot—a clean shelf
of sand, about thirty feet long by ten deep, from which a clay bank rose
about ten or twelve feet above, while on each side there were masses of
disintegrated rock. Here we thought, that by preserving some degree of
silence, we might escape observation, and consequent annoyance, for a few
hours, when, being rested, we might continue our journey. Our kettle was
boiling for tea, and the men had built a little fire for themselves, and
had filled their black earthen pot with water for porridge, when our
look-outs perceived dark forms creeping towards our bivouac. Being hailed,
they at once came forward, and saluted us with the native “Wake.” Our
guides explained that we were Wangwana, and intended to camp until
morning, when, if they had anything to sell, we should be glad to trade
with them. They said they were rejoiced to hear this, and after they had
exchanged a few words more—during which time we observed that they
were taking mental notes of the camp—they went away. Upon leaving,
they promised to return in the morning with food, and make friends with
us. While drinking our tea, the look-outs warned us of the approach of a
second party, which went through the same process of saluting and
observing as the first had done. These also went away, over-exuberant, as
I thought, and were shortly succeeded by a third party, who came and went
as the others had. From all this we inferred that the news was spreading
rapidly through the villages about, and we had noticed two canoes passing
backwards and forwards with rather more haste than we deemed usual or
necessary. We had good cause to be suspicious; it is not customary for
people (at least, between Ujiji and Zanzibar) to be about visiting and
saluting after dark, under any pretence; it is not permitted to persons to
prowl about camp after dark without being shot at; and this going backward
and forward, this ostentatious exuberance of joy at the arrival of a small
party of Wangwana, which in many parts of Urundi would be regarded as a
very common event, was altogether very suspicious. While the Doctor and I
were arriving at the conclusion that these movements were preliminary to
or significant of hostility, a fourth body, very boisterous and loud, came
and visited us. Our supper had been by this time despatched, and we
thought it high time to act. The fourth party having gone with extravagant
manifestations of delight, the men were hurried into the canoe, and, when
all were seated, and the look-outs embarked, we quietly pushed off, but
not a moment too soon. As the canoe was gliding from the darkened light
that surrounded us, I called the Doctor’s attention to several dark forms;
some of whom were crouching behind the rocks on our right, and others
scrambling over them to obtain good or better positions; at the same time
people were approaching from the left of our position, in the same
suspicious way; and directly a voice hailed us from the top of the clay
bank overhanging the sandy shelf where we had lately been resting. “Neatly
done,” cried the Doctor, as we were shooting through the water, leaving
the discomfited would-be robbers behind us. Here, again, my hand was
stayed from planting a couple of good shots, as a warning to them in
future from molesting strangers, by the more presence of the Doctor, who,
as I thought, if it were actually necessary, would not hesitate to give
the word.

After pulling six hours more, during which we had rounded Cape Sentakeyi,
we stopped at the small fishing village of Mugeyo, where we were permitted
to sleep unmolested. At dawn we continued our journey, and about 8 A.M.
arrived at the village of the friendly Mutware of Magala. We had pulled
for eighteen hours at a stretch, which, at the rate of two miles and a
half per hour, would make forty-five miles. Taking bearings from our camp
at Cape Magala, one of the most prominent points in travelling north from
Ujiji, we found that the large island of Muzimu, which had been in sight
ever since rounding Cape Bangwe, near Ujiji Bunder, bore about
south-south-west, and that the western shore had considerably approached
to the eastern; the breadth of the lake being at this point about eight or
ten miles. We had a good view of the western highlands, which seemed to be
of an average height, about 3,000 feet above the lake. Luhanga Peak,
rising a little to the north of west from Magala, might be about 500 feet
higher; and Sumburizi, a little north of Luhanga, where lived Mruta,
Sultan of Uvira, the country opposite to this part of Urundi, about 300
feet higher than the neighbouring heights. Northward from Magala Cape the
lake streamed away between two chains of mountains; both meeting in a
point about thirty miles north of us.

The Warundi of Magala were very civil, and profound starers. They flocked
around the tent door, and most pertinaciously gazed on us, as if we were
subjects of most intense interest, but liable to sudden and eternal
departure. The Mutware came to see us late in the afternoon, dressed with
great pomp. He turned out to be a boy whom I had noticed in the crowd of
gazers for his good looks and fine teeth, which he showed, being addicted
to laughing continually. There was no mistaking him, though he was now
decorated with many ivory ornaments, with necklaces, and with heavy brass
bracelets and iron wire anklets. Our admiration of him was reciprocated;
and, in return for our two doti of cloth and a fundo of samsam, he gave a
fine fat and broad-tailed sheep, and a pot of milk. In our condition both
were extremely acceptable.

At Magala we heard of a war raging between Mukamba, for whose country we
were bound, and Warumashanya, a Sultan of an adjoining district; and we
were advised that, unless we intended to assist one of these chiefs
against the other, it would be better for us to return. But, as we had
started to solve the problem of the Rusizi River, such considerations had
no weight with us.

On the eighth morning from leaving Ujiji we bade farewell to the
hospitable people of Magala, and set off for Mukamba’s country, which was
in view. Soon after passing the boundary between Urundi proper, and what
is known as Usige, a storm from the south-west arose; and the fearful
yawing of our canoe into the wave trough warned us from proceeding
further; so we turned her head for Kisuka village, about four miles north,
where Mugere, in Usige, begins.

At Kisuka a Mgwana living with Mukamba came to see us, and gave us details
of the war between Mukamba and Warumashanya, from which it seemed that
these two chiefs were continually at loggerheads. It is a tame way of
fighting, after all. One chief makes a raid into the other’s country, and
succeeds in making off with a herd of cattle, killing one or two men who
have been surprised. Weeks, or perhaps months elapse before the other
retaliates, and effects a capture in a similar way, and then a balance is
struck in which neither is the gainer. Seldom do they attack each other
with courage and hearty goodwill, the constitution of the African being
decidedly against any such energetic warfare.

This Mgwana, further, upon being questioned, gave us information far more
interesting, viz., about the Rusizi. He told us positively, with the air
of a man who knew all about it, and as if anybody who doubted him might
well be set down as an egregious ass, that the Rusizi River flowed out of
the lake, away to Suna’s (Mtesa’s) country. “Where else could it flow to?”
he asked. The Doctor was inclined to believe it, or, perhaps he was more
inclined to let it rest as stated until our own eyes should confirm it. I
was more inclined to doubt, as I told the Doctor; first, it was too good
to be true; second, the fellow was too enthusiastic upon a subject that
could not possibly interest him. His “Barikallahs” and “Inshallahs” were
far too fervid; his answers too much in accordance with our wishes. The
Doctor laid great stress on the report of a Mgwana he met far south, who
stated that the grandfather or father of Rumanika, present King of
Karagwah, had thought of excavating the bed of the Kitangule River, in
order that his canoes might go to Ujiji to open a trade. From this, I
imagine, coinciding as it did with his often-expressed and present firm
belief that the waters of the Tanganika had an outlet somewhere, the
Doctor was partial to the report of the Mgwana; but as we proceed we shall
see how all this will end.

On the ninth morning from Ujiji, about two hours after sunrise, we passed
the broad delta of the Mugere, a river which gives its name also to the
district on the eastern shore ruled over by Mukamba. We had come directly
opposite the most southern of its three mouths, when we found quite a
difference in the colour of the water. An almost straight line, drawn east
and west from the mouth would serve well to mark off the difference that
existed between the waters. On the south side was pure water of a light
green, on the north side it was muddy, and the current could be distinctly
seen flowing north. Soon after passing the first mouth we came to a
second, and then a third mouth, each only a few yards broad, but each
discharging sufficient water to permit our following the line of the
currents several rods north beyond the respective mouths.

Beyond the third mouth of the Mugere a bend disclosed itself, with groups
of villages beyond on its bank. These were Mukamba’s, and in one of them
lived Mukamba, the chief. The natives had yet never seen a white man, and,
of course, as soon as we landed we were surrounded by a large concourse,
all armed with long spears—the only weapon visible amongst them save
a club-stick, and here and there a hatchet.

We were shown into a hut, which the Doctor and I shared between us. What
followed on that day I have but a dim recollection, having been struck
down by fever—the first since leaving Unyanyembe. I dimly recollect
trying to make out what age Mukamba might be, and noting that he was
good-looking withal, and kindly-disposed towards us. And during the
intervals of agony and unconsciousness, I saw, or fancied I saw,
Livingstone’s form moving towards me, and felt, or fancied I felt,
Livingstone’s hand tenderly feeling my hot head and limbs. I had suffered
several fevers between Bagamoyo and Unyanyembe, without anything or
anybody to relieve me of the tedious racking headache and pain, or to
illumine the dark and gloomy prospect which must necessarily surround the
bedside of the sick and solitary traveller. But though this fever, having
enjoyed immunity from it for three months, was more severe than usual, I
did not much regret its occurrence, since I became the recipient of the
very tender and fatherly kindness of the good man whose companion I now
found myself.

The next morning, having recovered slightly from the fever, when Mukamba
came with a present of an ox, a sheep, and a goat, I was able to attend to
the answers which he gave to the questions about the Rusizi River and the
head of the lake. The ever cheerful and enthusiastic Mgwana was there
also, and he was not a whit abashed, when, through him, the chief told us
that the Rusizi, joined by the Ruanda, or Luanda, at a distance of two
days’ journey by water, or one day by land from the head of the lake,
flowed INTO the lake.

Thus our hopes, excited somewhat by the positive and repeated assurances
that the river flowed out away towards Karagwah, collapsed as speedily as
they were raised.

We paid Mukamba the honga, consisting of nine doti and nine fundo of
samsam, lunghio, muzurio n’zige. The printed handkerchiefs, which I had in
abundance at Unyanyembe, would have gone well here. After receiving his
present, the chief introduced his son, a tall youth of eighteen or
thereabouts, to the Doctor, as a would-be son of the Doctor; but, with a
good-natured laugh, the Doctor scouted all such relationship with him, as
it was instituted only for the purpose of drawing more cloth out of him.
Mukamba took it in good part, and did not insist on getting more.

Our second evening at Mukamba’s, Susi, the Doctor’s servant, got
gloriously drunk, through the chief’s liberal and profuse gifts of pombe.
Just at dawn neat morning I was awakened by hearing several sharp,
crack-like sounds. I listened, and I found the noise was in our hut. It
was caused by the Doctor, who, towards midnight, had felt some one come
and lie down by his side on the same bed, and, thinking it was me, he had
kindly made room, and laid down on the edge of the bed. But in the
morning, feeling rather cold, he had been thoroughly awakened, and, on
rising on his elbow to see who his bed-fellow was, he discovered, to his
great astonishment, that it was no other than his black servant, Susi, who
taking possession of his blankets, and folding them about himself most
selfishly, was occupying almost the whole bed. The Doctor, with that
gentleness characteristic of him, instead of taking a rod, had contented
himself with slapping Susi on the back, saying, “Get up, Susi, will you?
You are in my bed. How dare you, sir, get drunk in this way, after I have
told you so often not to. Get up. You won’t? Take that, and that, and
that.” Still Susi slept and grunted; so the slapping continued, until even
Susi’s thick hide began to feel it, and he was thoroughly awakened to the
sense of his want of devotion and sympathy for his master in the usurping
of even his master’s bed. Susi looked very much crestfallen after this
exposé of his infirmity before the “little master,” as I was called.

The next day at dusk—Mukamba having come to bid us good-bye, and
requested that as soon as we reached his brother Ruhinga, whose country
was at the head of the lake, we would send our canoe back for him, and
that in the meanwhile we should leave two of our men with him, with their
guns, to help defend him in case Warumashanya should attack him as soon as
we were gone—we embarked and pulled across. In nine hours we had
arrived at the head of the lake in Mugihewa, the country of Ruhinga;
Mukamba’s elder brother. In looking back to where we had come from we
perceived that we had made a diagonal cut across from south-east to
north-west, instead of having made a direct east and west course; or, in
other words, from Mugere—which was at least ten miles from the
northernmost point of the eastern shore—we had come to Mugihewa,
situated at the northernmost point of the western shore. Had we continued
along the eastern shore, and so round the northern side of the lake, we
should have passed by Mukanigi, the country of Warumashanya, and Usumbura
of Simveh, his ally and friend. But by making a diagonal course, as just
described, we had arrived at the extreme head of the lake without any
difficulty.

The country in which we now found ourselves, Mugihewa, is situated in the
delta of the Rusizi River. It is an extremely flat country, the highest
part of which is not ten feet above the lake, with numerous depressions in
it overgrown with the rankest of matete-grass and the tallest of papyrus,
and pond-like hollows, filled with stagnant water, which emit malaria
wholesale. Large herds of cattle are reared on it; for where the ground is
not covered with marshy plants it produces rich, sweet grass. The sheep
and goats, especially the former, are always in good condition; and though
they are not to be compared with English or American sheep, they are the
finest I have seen in Africa. Numerous villages are seen on this land
because the intervening spaces are not occupied with the rank and
luxuriant jungle common in other parts of Africa. Were it not for the
Euphorbia kolquall of Abyssinia—which some chief has caused to be
planted as a defence round the villages—one might see from one end
of Mugihewa to the other. The waters along the head of the lake, from the
western to the eastern shores, swarm with crocodiles. From the banks, I
counted ten heads of crocodiles, and the Rusizi, we were told, was full of
them.

Ruhinga, who came to see us soon after we had taken up our quarters in his
village, was a most amiable man, who always contrived to see something
that excited his risibility; though older by five or six years perhaps—he
said he was a hundred years old—than Mukamba, he was not half so
dignified, nor regarded with so much admiration by his people as his
younger brother. Ruhinga had a better knowledge, however, of the country
than Mukamba, and an admirable memory, and was able to impart his
knowledge of the country intelligently. After he had done the honours as
chief to us—presented us with an ox and a sheep, milk and honey—we
were not backward in endeavouring to elicit as much information as
possible out of him.

The summary of the information derived from Ruhinga may be stated as
follows:

The country bordering the head of the lake from Urundi proper, on the
eastern shore, to Uvira on the western, is divided into the following
districts: 1st. Mugere, governed by Mukamba, through which issued into the
lake the small rivers of Mugere and Mpanda. 2nd. Mukanigi, governed by
Warumashanya, which occupied the whole of the north-eastern head of the
lake, through which issued into the lake the small rivers of Karindwa and
Mugera wa Kanigi. 3rd. On the eastern half of the district, at the head of
the lake, was Usumbura, governed by Simveh, ally and friend of
Warumashanya, extending to the eastern bank of the Rusizi. 4th. Commencing
from the western bank of the Rusizi, to the extreme north-western head of
the lake, was Mugihewa—Ruhinga’s country. 5th. From Uvira on the
west, running north past Mugihewa, and overlapping it on the north side as
far as the hills of Chamati, was Ruwenga, also a country governed by
Mukamba. Beyond Ruwenga, from the hills of Chamati to the Ruanda River,
was the country of Chamati. West of Ruwenga, comprising all the mountains
for two days’ journey in that direction, was Uashi. These are the smaller
sub-divisions of what is commonly known as Ruwenga and Usige. Ruwenga
comprises the countries of Ruwenga and Mugihewa; Usige, the countries of
Usumbura, Mukanigi, and Mugere. But all these countries are only part and
parcel of Urundi, which comprises all that country bordering the lake from
Mshala River, on the eastern shore, to Uvira, on the western, extending
over ten days’ journey direct north from the head of the lake, and one
month in a northeastern direction to Murukuko, the capital of Mwezi,
Sultan of all Urundi. Direct north of Urundi is Ruanda; also a very large
country.

The Rusizi River—according to Ruhinga—rose near a lake called
Kivo, which he said is as long as from Mugihawa to Mugere, and as broad as
from Mugihewa to Warumashanya’s country, or, say eighteen miles in length
by about eight in breadth. The lake is surrounded by mountains on the
western and northern sides: on the south-western side of one of these
mountains issues the Rusizi—at first a small rapid stream; but as it
proceeds towards the lake it receives the rivers Kagunissi, Kaburan,
Mohira, Nyamagana, Nyakagunda, Ruviro, Rofubu, Kavimvira, Myove, Ruhuha,
Mukindu, Sange, Rubirizi, Kiriba, and, lastly, the Ruanda River, which
seems to be the largest of them all. Kivo Lake is so called from the
country in which it is situated. On one side is Mutumbi (probably the
Utumbi of Speke and Baker), on the west is Ruanda; on the east is Urundi.
The name of the chief of Kivo is Kwansibura.

After so many minute details about the River Rusizi, it only remained for
us to see it. On the second morning of our arrival at Mugihewa we mustered
ten strong paddlers, and set out to explore the head of the lake and the
mouth of the Rusizi. We found that the northern head of the lake was
indented with seven broad bays, each from one and a half to three miles
broad; that long broad spits of sand, overgrown with matete, separated
each bay from the other. The first, starting from west to east, at the
broadest part, to the extreme southern point of Mugihewa, was about three
miles broad, and served as a line of demarcation between Mukamba’s
district of Ruwenga and Mugihewa of Ruhinga; it was also two miles deep.
The second bay was a mile from the southern extremity of Mugihewa to
Ruhinga’s village at the head of the bay, and it was a mile across to
another spit of sand which was terminated by a small island. The third bay
stretched for nearly a mile to a long spit, at the end of which was
another island, one and a quarter mile in length, and was the western side
of the fourth bay, at the head of which was the delta of the Rusizi. This
fourth bay, at its base, was about three miles in depth, and penetrated
half a mile further inland than any other. Soundings indicated six feet
deep, and the same depth was kept to within a few hundred yards of the
principal mouth of the Rusizi. The current was very sluggish; not more
than a mile an hour. Though we constantly kept our binocular searching for
the river, we could not see the main channel until within 200 yards of it,
and then only by watching by what outlet the fishing; canoes came out. The
bay at this point had narrowed from two miles to about 200 yards in
breadth. Inviting a canoe to show us the way, a small flotilla of canoes
preceded us, from the sheer curiosity of their owners. We followed, and in
a few minutes were ascending the stream, which was very rapid, though but
about ten yards wide, and very shallow; not more than two feet deep. We
ascended about half a mile, the current being very strong, from six to
eight miles an hour, and quite far enough to observe the nature of the
stream at its embouchure. We could see that it widened and spread out in a
myriad of channels, rushing by isolated clumps of sedge and matete grass;
and that it had the appearance of a swamp. We had ascended the central, or
main channel. The western channel was about eight yards broad. We
observed, after we had returned to the bay, that the easternmost channel
was about six yards broad, and about ten feet deep, but very sluggish. We
had thus examined each of its three mouths, and settled all doubts as to
the Rusizi being an effluent or influent. It was not necessary to ascend
higher, there being nothing about the river itself to repay exploration of
it.

The question, “Was the Rusizi an effluent or an influent?” was answered
for ever. There was now no doubt any more on that point. In size it was
not to be compared with the Malagarazi River, neither is it, or can it be,
navigable for anything but the smallest canoes. The only thing remarkable
about it is that it abounds in crocodiles, but not one hippopotamus was
seen; which may be taken as another evidence of its shallowness. The bays
to the east of the Rusizi are of the same conformation as those on the
west. Carefully judging from the width of the several bays from point to
point, and of the several spits which separate them, the breadth of the
lake may be said to be about twelve or fourteen miles. Had we contented
ourselves with simply looking at the conformation, and the meeting of the
eastern and western ranges, we should have said that the lake ended in a
point, as Captain Speke has sketched it on his map. But its exploration
dissolved that idea. Chamati Hill is the extreme northern termination of
the western range, and seems, upon a superficial examination, to abut
against the Ramata mountains of the eastern range, which are opposite
Chamati; but a valley about a mile in breadth separates the two ranges,
and through this valley the Rusizi flows towards the lake.* Though Chamati
terminates the western range, the eastern range continues for miles
beyond, north-westerly. After its issue from this broad gorge, the Rusizi
runs seemingly in a broad and mighty stream, through a wide alluvial
plain, its own formation, in a hundred channels, until, approaching the
lake, it flows into it by three channels only, as above described.
______________ * After the patient investigation of the North end of the
Lake, and satisfying ourselves by personal observation that the Rusizi ran
into the Lake, the native rumor which Sir Samuel Baker brought home that
the Tanganika and the Albert N’Yanza have a water connection still finds
many believers! ______________

I should not omit to state here, that though the Doctor and I have had to
contend against the strong current of the Rusizi River, as it flowed swift
and strong INTO the Tanganika, the Doctor still adheres to the conviction
that, whatever part the Rusizi plays, there must be an outlet to the
Tanganika somewhere, from the fact that all fresh-water lakes have
outlets, The Doctor is able to state his opinions and reasons far better
than I can find for him; and, lest I misconstrue the subject, I shall
leave it until he has an opportunity to explain them himself; which his
great knowledge of Africa will enable him to do with advantage.

One thing is evident to me, and I believe to the Doctor, that Sir Samuel
Baker will have to curtail the Albert N’Yanza by one, if not two degrees
of latitude. That well-known traveller has drawn his lake far into the
territory of the Warundi, while Ruanda has been placed on the eastern
side; whereas a large portion of it, if not all, should be placed north of
what he has designated on his map as Usige. The information of such an
intelligent man as Ruhinga is not to be despised; for, if Lake Albert came
within a hundred miles of the Tanganika, he would surely have heard of its
existence, even if he had not seen it himself. Originally he came from
Mutumbi, and he has travelled from that country into Mugihewa, the
district he now governs. He has seen Mwezi, the great King of Urundi, and
describes him as a man about forty years old, and as a very good man.

Our work was now done; there was nothing more to detain us at Mugihewa.
Ruhinga had been exceedingly kind, and given us one ox after another to
butcher and eat. Mukamba had done the same. Their women had supplied us
with an abundance of milk and butter, and we had now bounteous supplies of
both.

The Doctor had taken a series of observations for latitude and longitude;
and Mugihewa was made out to be in 3 degrees 19 minutes S. latitude.

On the 7th December, early in the morning, we left Mugihewa, and rowing
past the southern extremity of the Katangara Islands, we approached the
highlands of Uashi near the boundary line between Mukamba’s country and
Uvira. The boundary line is supposed to be a wide ravine, in the depths of
which is a grove of tall, beautiful, and straight-stemmed trees, out of
which the natives make their canoes.

Passing Kanyamabengu River, which issues into the lake close to the
market-ground of Kirabula, the extreme point of Burton and Speke’s
explorations of the Tanganika, we steered south along the western shore of
the lake for half an hour longer to Kavimba, where we halted to cook
breakfast.

The village where lived Mruta, the King of Uvira, was in sight of our
encampment, and as we observed parties of men ascending and descending the
mountains much more often than we thought augured good to ourselves, we
determined to continue on our course south. Besides, there was a party of
disconsolate-looking Wajiji here, who had been plundered only a few days
before our arrival, for attempting, as the Wavira believed, to evade the
honga payment. Such facts as these, and our knowledge of the general state
of insecurity in the country, resulting from the many wars in which the
districts of the Tanganika were engaged, determined us not to halt at
Kavimba.

We embarked quickly in our boat before the Wavira had collected
themselves, and headed south against a strong gale, which came driving
down on us from the south-west. After a hard pull of about two hours in
the teeth of the storm, which was rapidly rising, we pointed the head of
the boat into a little quiet cove, almost hidden in tall reeds, and
disembarked for the night.

Cognizant of the dangers which surrounded us, knowing, that savage and
implacable man was the worst enemy we had to fear, we employed our utmost
energies in the construction of a stout fence of thorn bushes, and then
sat down to supper after our work was done, and turned in to sleep; but
not before we had posted watchmen to guard our canoe, lest the daring
thieves of Uvira might abstract it, in which case we should have been in a
pretty plight, and in most unenviable distress.

At daybreak, leaving Kukumba Point after our humble breakfast of coffee,
cheese, and dourra cakes was despatched, we steered south once more. Our
fires had attracted the notice of the sharp-eyed and suspicious fishermen
of Kukumba; but our precautions and the vigilant watch we had set before
retiring, had proved an effectual safeguard against the Kivira thieves.

The western shores of the lake as we proceeded were loftier, and more bold
than the wooded heights of Urundi and bearded knolls of Ujiji. A back
ridge—the vanguard of the mountains which rise beyond—disclosed
itself between the serrated tops of the front line of mountains, which
rose to a height of from 2,500 to 3,000 feet above the lake. Within the
folds of the front line of mountains rise isolated hills of considerable
magnitude, precipitous and abrupt, but scenically very picturesque. The
greater part of these hills have the rounded and smooth top, or are
tabularly summited. The ridge enfolding these hills shoots out, at
intervals, promontorial projections of gradual sloping outlines, which on
the map I have designated capes, or points. When rounding these points, up
went our compasses for the taking of bearings, and observing the
directions of all prominent objects of interest. Often these capes are
formed by the alluvial plains, through which we may be sure a river will
be found flowing. These pretty alluvial plains, enfolded on the south, the
west, and the north by a grand mountain arc, present most luxurious and
enchanting scenery. The vegetation seems to be of spontaneous growth.
Groups of the Elaeis Guineansis palm embowering some dun-brown village; an
array of majestic, superb growth of mvule trees; a broad extent covered
with vivid green sorghum stalks; parachute-like tops of mimosa; a line of
white sand, on which native canoes are drawn far above the reach of the
plangent, uneasy surf; fishermen idly reclining in the shade of a tree;—these
are the scenes which reveal themselves to us as we voyage in our canoe on
the Tanganika. When wearied with the romance of wild tropic scenes such as
these, we have but to lift our eyes to the great mountain tops looming
darkly and grandly on our right; to watch the light pencilling of the
cirrus, brushing their summits, as it is drifted toward the north by the
rising wind: to watch the changing forms which the clouds assume, from the
fleecy horizontal bars of the cirrus, to the denser, gloomier cumulus,
prognosticator of storm and rain, which soon settles into a portentous
group—Alps above Alps, one above another—and we know the storm
which was brewing is at hand, and that it is time to seek shelter.

Passing Muikamba, we saw several groves of the tall mvule tree. As far as
Bemba the Wabembe occupy the mountain summits, while the Wavira cultivate
the alluvial plains along the base and lower slopes of the mountain. At
Bemba we halted to take in pieces of pipe-clay, in accordance with the
superstition of the Wajiji, who thought us certain of safe passage and
good fortune if we complied with the ancient custom.

Passing Ngovi, we came to a deep bend, which curved off to Cape Kabogi at
the distance of ten miles. About two-thirds of the way we arrived at a
group of islets, three in number, all very steep and rocky; the largest
about 300 feet in length at the base, and about 200 feet in breadth. Here
we made preparations to halt for the night. The inhabitants of the island
were a gorgeously-feathered old cock, which was kept as a propitiatory
offering to the spirit of the island, a sickly yellow-looking thrush, a
hammer-headed stork, and two fish-hawks, who, finding we had taken
possession of what had been religiously reserved for them, took flight to
the most western island, where from their perches they continued to eye us
most solemnly. As these islands were with difficulty pronounced by us as
Kavunvweh, the Doctor, seeing that they were the only objects we were
likely to discover, named them the “‘New York Herald’ Islets;” and, in
confirmation of the new designation given them, shook hands with me upon
it. Careful dead-reckoning settled them to be in lat. 3 degrees 41 minutes
S.

The summit of the largest island was well adapted to take bearings, and we
improved the opportunity, as most extensive views of the broad and lengthy
lake and surrounding lines of imposing mountains were attainable. The
Ramata Hills were clearly visible, and bore N.N.E. from it; Katanga Cape,
S.E. by S.; Sentakeyi, E.S.E.; Magala, E. by N.; south-western point of
Muzimu bore S., northern point of Muzimu island, S.S.E.

At dawn on the 9th December we prepared to resume our voyage. Once or
twice in the night we had been visited by fishermen, but our anxious
watchfulness prevented any marauding. It seemed to me, however, that the
people of the opposite shore, who were our visitors, were eagerly watching
an opportunity to pounce upon our canoe, or take us bodily for a prey; and
our men were considerably affected by these thoughts, if we may judge from
the hearty good-will with which they rowed away from our late encampment.

Arriving at Cape Kabogi, we came to the territory of the Wasansi. We knew
we were abreast of a different tribe by the greeting “Moholo,” which a
group of fishermen gave us; as that of the Wavira was “Wake,” like that of
Urundi, Usige, and Uhha.

We soon sighted Cape Luvumba—a sloping projection of a mountain
ridge which shot far into the lake. As a storm was brewing, we steered for
a snug little cove that appeared before a village; and, drawing our canoe
from the water, began to set the tent, and make other preparations for
passing the night.

As the natives appeared quiet and civil enough, we saw no reason to
suspect that they entertained any hostility to Arabs and Wangwana.
Accordingly we had our breakfast cooked, and as usual laid down for an
afternoon nap. I soon fell asleep, and was dreaming away in my tent, in
happy oblivion of the strife and contention that had risen since I had
gone to sleep, when I heard a voice hailing me with, “Master, master! get
up, quick. Here is a fight going to begin!” I sprang up, and snatching my
revolver belt from the gun-stand, walked outside. Surely, there appeared
to be considerable animus between the several factions; between a noisy,
vindictive-looking set of natives of the one part, and our people of the
other part. Seven or eight of our people had taken refuge behind the
canoe, and had their loaded guns half pointing at the passionate mob,
which was momentarily increasing in numbers, but I could not see the
Doctor anywhere.

“Where is the Doctor?” I asked.

“He has gone over that hill, sir, with his compass,” said Selim.

“Anybody with him?”

“Susi and Chumah.”

“You, Bombay, send two men off to warn the Doctor, and tell him to hurry
up here.”

But just at this period the Doctor and his two men appeared on the brow of
the hill, looking down in a most complacent manner upon the serio-comic
scene that the little basin wherein we were encamped presented. For,
indeed, despite the serious aspect of it, there was much that was comical
blended with it—in a naked young man who—perfectly drunk,
barely able to stand on his feet—was beating the ground with his
only loin-cloth, screaming and storming away like a madman; declaring by
this, and by that, in his own choice language, that no Mgwana or Arab
should halt one moment on the sacred soil of Usansi. His father, the
Sultan, was as inebriated as himself, though not quite so violent in his
behaviour. In the meantime the Doctor arrived upon the scene, and Selim
had slipped my Winchester rifle, with the magazine full of cartridges,
into my hand. The Doctor calmly asked what was the matter, and was
answered by the Wajiji guides that the people wished us to leave, as they
were on hostile terms with the Arabs, because the eldest son of the Sultan
of Muzimu, the large island nearly opposite, had been beaten to death by a
Baluch, named Khamis, at Ujiji, because the young fellow had dared look
into his harem, and ever since peace had been broken between the Wasansi
and Arabs.

After consulting with the guides, the Doctor and I came to the conclusion
that it were better that we should endeavour to pacify the Sultan by a
present, rather than take offence at a drunken boy’s extravagant freak. In
his insane fury he had attempted to slash at one of my men with a billhook
he carried. This had been taken as a declaration of hostilities, and the
soldiers were ready enough to engage in war; but there was no necessity to
commence fighting with a drunken mob, who could have been cleared off the
ground with our revolvers alone had we desired it.

The Doctor, baring his arm, said to them that he was not a Mgwana, or an
Arab; but a white man; that Arabs and Wangwana had no such colour as we
had. We were white men, different people altogether from those whom they
were accustomed to see: that no black men had ever suffered injury from
white men. This seemed to produce great effect, for after a little gentle
persuasion the drunken youth, and his no less inebriate sire, were induced
to sit down to talk quietly. In their conversation with us, they
frequently referred to Mombo, the son of Kisesa, Sultan of Muzimu, who was
brutally murdered. “Yes, brutally murdered!” they exclaimed several times,
in their own tongue; illustrating, by a faithful pantomime, how the
unfortunate youth had died.

Livingstone continued talking with them in a mild, paternal way, and their
loud protestations against Arab cruelty were about to subside, when the
old Sultan suddenly rose up and began to pace about in an excited manner,
and in one of his perambulations deliberately slashed his leg with the
sharp blade of his spear, and then exclaimed that the Wangwana had wounded
him!

At this cry one half of the mob hastily took to flight, but one old woman,
who carried a strong staff with a carved lizard’s body on its top,
commenced to abuse the chief with all the power of her voluble tongue,
charging him with a desire to have them all killed, and other women joined
in with her in advising him to be quiet, and accept the present we were
willing to give.

But it is evident that there was little needed to cause all men present in
that little hollow to begin a most sanguinary strife. The gentle, patient
bearing of the Doctor had more effect than anything else in making all
forbear bloodshed, while there was left the least chance of an amicable
settlement, and in the end it prevailed. The Sultan and his son were both
sent on their way rejoicing.

While the Doctor conversed with them, and endeavoured to calm their fierce
passions, I had the tent struck, and the canoes launched, and the baggage
stowed, and when the negotiations had concluded amicably, I begged the
Doctor to jump into the boat, as this apparent peace was simply a lull
before a storm; besides, said I, there are two or three cowardly creatures
in the boat, who, in case of another disturbance, would not scruple to
leave both of us here.

From Cape Luvumba, about 4.30 P.M. we commenced pulling across; at 8 P.M.
we were abreast of Cape Panza, the northern extremity of the island of
Muzimu; at 6 A.M. we were southward of Bikari, and pulling for Mukungu, in
Urundi, at which place we arrived at 10 A.M., having been seventeen hours
and a half in crossing the lake, which, computing at two miles an hour,
may be said to be thirty-five miles direct breadth, and a little more than
forty-three miles from Cape Luvumba.

On the 11th of December, after seven hours’ pulling, we arrived at
picturesque Zassi again; on the 12th, at the pretty cove of Niasanga; and
at 11 A.M. we had rounded past Bangwe, and Ujiji was before us.

We entered the port very quietly, without the usual firing of guns, as we
were short of powder and ball. As we landed, our soldiers and the Arab
magnates came to the water’s edge to greet us.

Mabruki had a rich budget to relate to us, of what had occurred during our
absence. This faithful man, left behind in charge of Livingstone’s house,
had done most excellently. Kalulu had scalded himself, and had a frightful
raw sore on his chest in consequence. Mabruki had locked up Marora in
chains for wounding one of the asses. Bilali, the stuttering coward, a
bully of women, had caused a tumult in the market-place, and had been
sharply belaboured with the stick by Mabruki. And, above all most welcome,
was a letter I received from the American Consul at Zanzibar, dated June
11th, containing telegrams from Paris as late as April 22nd of the same
year! Poor Livingstone exclaimed, “And I have none. What a pleasant thing
it is to have a real and good friend!”

Our voyage on the Tanganika had lasted twenty-eight days, during which
time we had traversed over 300 miles of water.

CHAPTER XIV. — OUR JOURNEY FROM UJIJI TO UNYANYEMBE.

We felt quite at home when we sat down on our black bear-skin, gay Persian
carpet and clean new mats, to rest with our backs to the wall, sipping our
tea with the air of comfortable men, and chat over the incidents of the
“picnic,” as Livingstone persisted in calling our journey to the Rusizi.
It seemed as if old times, which we loved to recall, had come back again,
though our house was humble enough in its aspect, and our servants were
only naked barbarians; but it was near this house that I had met him—Livingstone—after
that eventful march from Unyanyembe; it was on this same veranda that I
listened to that wonderful story of his about those far, enchanting
regions west of the Lake Tanganika; it was in this same spot that I first
became acquainted with him; and ever since my admiration has been growing
for him, and I feel elated when he informs me that he must go to
Unyanyembe under my escort, and at my expense. The old mud walls and the
bare rafters, and the ancient thatched roof, and this queer-looking old
veranda, will have an historical interest for me while I live, and so,
while I can, I have taken pains and immortalized the humble old building
by a sketch.

I have just said that my admiration for Livingstone has been growing. This
is true. The man that I was about to interview so calmly and complacently,
as I would interview any prominent man with the view of specially
delineating his nature, or detailing his opinions, has conquered me. I had
intended to interview him, report in detail what he said, picture his life
and his figure, then bow him my “au revoir,” and march back. That he was
specially disagreeable and brusque in his manner, which would make me
quarrel with him immediately, was firmly fixed in my mind.

But Livingstone—true, noble Christian, generous-hearted, frank man—acted
like a hero, invited me to his house, said he was glad to see me, and got
well on purpose to prove the truth of his statement, “You have brought new
life unto me;” and when I fell sick with the remittent fever, hovering
between life and death, he attended me like a father, and we have now been
together for more than a month.

Can you wonder, then, that I like this man, whose face is the reflex of
his nature, whose heart is essentially all goodness, whose aims are so
high, that I break out impetuously sometimes: “But your family, Doctor,
they would like to see you, oh! so much. Let me tempt you to come home
with me. I promise to carry you every foot of the way to the coast. You
shall have the finest donkey to ride that is in Unyanyembe. Your wants—you
have but to hint them, and they shall be satisfied. Let the sources of the
Nile go—do you come home and rest; then, after a year’s rest, and
restored health, you can return and finish what you have to do.”

But ever the answer was, “No, I should like to see my family very much
indeed. My children’s letters affect me intensely; but I must not go home;
I must finish my task. It is only the want of supplies that has detained
me. I should have finished the discovery of the Nile by this, by tracing
it to its connection with either Baker’s Lake, or Petherick’s branch of
the Nile. If I had only gone one month further, I could have said, ‘the
work is done.”‘

Some of these men who had turned the Doctor back from his interesting
discoveries were yet in Ujiji, and had the Government Enfield rifles in
their hands, which they intended to retain until their wages had been paid
to them; but as they had received $60 advance each at Zanzibar from the
English Consul, with the understanding entered into by contract that they
should follow their master wherever he required them to go; and as they
had not only not gone where they were required to proceed with him, but
had baffled and thwarted him, it was preposterous that a few men should
triumph over the Doctor, by keeping the arms given to him by the Bombay
Government. I had listened to the Arab sheikhs, friends of the Doctor,
advising them in mild tones to give them up; I had witnessed the
mutineer’s stubbornness; and it was then, on the burzani of Sayd bin
Majid’s house, that I took advantage to open my mind on the subject, not
only for the benefit of the stubborn slaves, but also for the benefit of
the Arabs; and to tell them that it was well that I had found Livingstone
alive, for if they had but injured a hair of his head, I should have gone
back to the coast, to return with a party which would enable me to avenge
him. I had been waiting to see Livingstone’s guns returned to him every
day, hoping that I should not have to use force; but when a month or more
had elapsed, and still the arms had not been returned, I applied for
permission to take them, which was granted. Susi, the gallant servant of
Dr. Livingstone, was immediately despatched with about a dozen armed men
to recover them, and in a few minutes we had possession of them without
further trouble.

The Doctor had resolved to accompany me to Unyanyembe, in order to meet
his stores, which had been forwarded from Zanzibar, November 1st, 1870. As
I had charge of the escort, it was my duty to study well the several
routes to Unyanyembe from Ujiji. I was sufficiently aware of the
difficulties and the responsibilities attached to me while escorting such
a man. Besides, my own personal feelings were involved in the case. If
Livingstone came to any harm through any indiscretion of mine while he was
with me, it would immediately be said, “Ah! had he not accompanied
Stanley, he would have been alive now.”

I took out my chart—the one I had made myself—in which I had
perfect faith, and I sketched out a route which would enable us to reach
Unyanyembe without paying a single cloth as tribute, and without
encountering any worse thing than a jungle, by which we could avoid all
the Wavinza and the plundering Wahha. This peaceable, secure route led by
water, south, along the coast of Ukaranga and Ukawendi, to Cape Tongwe.
Arriving at Cape Tongwe, I should be opposite the village of Itaga, Sultan
Imrera, in the district of Rusawa of Ukawendi; after which we should
strike my old road, which I had traversed from Unyanyembe, when bound for
Ujiji. I explained it to the Doctor, and he instantly recognised its
feasibility and security; and if I struck Imrera, as I proposed to do, it
would demonstrate whether my chart was correct or not.

We arrived at Ujiji from our tour of discovery, north of the Tanganika,
December 13th; and from this date the Doctor commenced writing his letters
to his numerous friends, and to copy into his mammoth Letts’s Diary, from
his field books, the valuable information he had acquired during his years
of travel south and west of the Tanganika. I sketched him while sitting in
his shirt-sleeves in the veranda, with his Letts’s Diary on his knee; and
the likeness on the frontispiece is an admirable portrait of him, because
the artist who has assisted me, has with an intuitive eye, seen the
defects in my own sketch; and by this I am enabled to restore him to the
reader’s view exactly as I saw him—as he pondered on what he had
witnessed during his long marches.

Soon after my arrival at Ujiji, he had rushed to his paper, and indited a
letter to James Gordon Bennett, Esq., wherein he recorded his thanks; and
after he had finished it, I asked him to add the word “Junior” to it, as
it was young Mr. Bennett to whom he was indebted. I thought the letter
admirable, and requested the Doctor not to add another word to it. The
feelings of his heart had found expression in the grateful words he had
written; and if I judged Mr. Bennett rightly, I knew he would be satisfied
with it. For it was not the geographical news he cared so much about, as
the grand fact of Livingstone’s being alive or dead.

In this latter part of December he was writing letters to his children, to
Sir Roderick Murchison, and to Lord Granville. He had intended to have
written to the Earl of Clarendon, but it was my sad task to inform him of
the death of that distinguished nobleman.

In the meantime I was preparing the Expedition for its return march to
Unyanyembe, apportioning the bales and luggage, the Doctor’s large tin
boxes, and my own among my own men; for I had resolved upon permitting the
Doctor’s men to march as passengers, because they had so nobly performed
their duty to their master.

Sayd bin Majid had left, December 12, for Mirambo’s country, to give the
black Bonaparte battle for the murder of his son Soud in the forests of
Wilyankuru; and he had taken with him 300 stout fellows, armed with guns,
from Ujiji. The stout-hearted old chief was burning with rage and
resentment, and a fine warlike figure he made with his 7-foot gun. Before
we had departed for the Rusizi, I had wished him bon voyage, and expressed
a hope that he would rid the Central African world of the tyrant Mirambo.

On the 20th of December the rainy season was ushered in with heavy rain,
thunder, lightning, and hail; the thermometer falling to 66 degrees
Fahrenheit. The evening of this day I was attacked with urticaria, or
“nettle rash,” for the third time since arriving in Africa, and I suffered
a woeful sickness; and it was the forerunner of an attack of remittent
fever, which lasted four days. This is the malignant type, which has
proved fatal to so many African travellers on the Zambezi, the White Nile,
the Congo, and the Niger. The head throbs, the pulses bound, the heart
struggles painfully, while the sufferer’s thoughts are in a strange world,
such only as a sick man’s fancy can create. This was the fourth attack of
fever since the day I met Livingstone. The excitement of the march, and
the high hope which my mind constantly nourished, had kept my body almost
invincible against an attack of fever while advancing towards Ujiji; but
two weeks after the great event had transpired my energies were relaxed,
my mind was perfectly tranquil, and I became a victim.

Christmas came, and the Doctor and I had resolved upon the blessed and
time-honoured day being kept as we keep it in Anglo-Saxon lands, with a
feast such as Ujiji could furnish us. The fever had quite gone from me the
night before, and on Christmas morning, though exceedingly weak, I was up
and dressed, and lecturing Ferajji, the cook, upon the importance of this
day to white men, and endeavouring to instil into the mind of the sleek
and pampered animal some cunning secrets of the culinary art. Fat
broad-tailed sheep, goats, zogga and pombe, eggs, fresh milk, plantains,
singwe, fine cornflour, fish, onions, sweet potatoes, &c., &c.,
were procured in the Ujiji market, and from good old Moeni Kheri. But,
alas! for my weakness. Ferajji spoiled the roast, and our custard was
burned—the dinner was a failure. That the fat-brained rascal escaped
a thrashing was due only to my inability to lift my hands for punishment;
but my looks were dreadful and alarming, and capable of annihilating any
one except Ferajji. The stupid, hard-headed cook only chuckled, and I
believe he had the subsequent gratification of eating the pies, custards,
and roast that his carelessness had spoiled for European palates.

Sayd bin Majid, previous to his departure, had left orders that we should
be permitted to use his canoe for our homeward trip, and Moeni Kheri
kindly lent his huge vessel for the same purpose. The Expedition, now
augmented by the Doctor and his five servants, and their luggage,
necessitated the employment of another canoe. We had our flocks of
milch-goats and provision of fat sheep for the jungle of Ukawendi, the
transit of which I was about to attempt. Good Halimah, Livingstone’s cook,
had made ready a sackful of fine flour, such as she only could prepare in
her fond devotion for her master. Hamoydah, her husband, also had freely
given his assistance and attention to this important article of food. I
purchased a donkey for the Doctor, the only one available in Ujiji, lest
the Doctor might happen to suffer on the long march from his ancient
enemy. In short, we were luxuriously furnished with food, sheep, goats,
cheese, cloth, donkeys, and canoes, sufficient to convey us a long
distance; we needed nothing more.

The 27th of December has arrived; it is the day of our departure from
Ujiji. I was probably about to give an eternal farewell to the port whose
name will for ever be sacred in my memory. The canoes—great
lumbering hollow trees—are laden with good things; the rowers are in
their places; the flag of England is hoisted at the stern of the Doctor’s
canoe; the flag of America waves and rustles joyously above mine; and I
cannot look at them without feeling a certain pride that the two
Anglo-Saxon nations are represented this day on this great inland sea, in
the face of wild nature and barbarism.

We are escorted to our boats by the great Arab merchants, by the admiring
children of Unyamwezi, by the freemen of Zanzibar, by wondering Waguhha
and Wajiji, by fierce Warundi, who are on this day quiet, even sorrowful,
that the white men are going-“Whither?” they all ask.

At 8 A.M. we start, freely distributing our farewells as the Arabs and
quidnuncs wave their hands. On the part of one or two of them there was an
attempt to say something sentimental and affecting, especially by the
convicted sinner Mohammed bin Sali; but though outwardly I manifested no
disapprobation of his words, or of the emphatic way in which he shook my
hand, I was not sorry to see the last of him, after his treachery to
Livingstone in 1869. I was earnestly requested to convey to Unyanyembe
“Mengi salaams” to everybody, but had I done so, as he evidently desired
me to do, I would not have been surprised at being regarded by all as
hopelessly imbecile.

We pushed off from the clayey bank at the foot of the market-place, while
the land party, unencumbered with luggage, under the leadership of
gigantic Asmani and Bombay, commenced their journey southward along the
shores of the lake. We had arranged to meet them at the mouth of every
river to transport them across from bank to bank.

The Doctor being in Sayd bin Majid’s boat, which was a third or so shorter
than the one under my command, took the lead, with the British flag, held
aloft by a bamboo, streaming behind like a crimson meteor. My boat-manned
by Wajiji sailors, whom we had engaged to take the canoes back from Tongwe
Cape to Ujiji Bunder—came astern, and had a much taller flagstaff,
on which was hoisted the ever-beautiful Stars and Stripes. Its extreme
height drew from the Doctor—whose patriotism and loyalty had been
excited—the remark that he would cut down the tallest palmyra for
his flagstaff, as it was not fitting that the British flag should be so
much lower than that of the United States.

Our soldiers were not a whit behind us in lightheartedness at the thought
of going to Unyanyembe. They struck up the exhilarating song of the
Zanzibar boatmen, with the ecstatic chorus—

rowing away like madmen, until they were compelled to rest from sheer
exhaustion, while the perspiration exuded from the pores of their bodies
in streams. When refreshed, they bent back to their oars, raising the song
of the Mrima—

which soon impelled them to an extravagant effort again, It was by this
series of ferocious spurts, racing, shouting, singing, perspiring,
laughing, groaning, and puffing, that our people vented their joyous
feelings, as the thought filled their minds that we were homeward bound,
and that by the route I had adopted between us and Unyanyembe there was
not the least danger.

they shouted with wild bursts of laughter, seconded by tremendous and
rapid strokes with their oars, which caused the stiff old canoes to quiver
from stem to stern.

Our party ashore seemed to partake of our excitement, and joined in the
wild refrain of the mad African song. We watched them urging their steps
forward to keep pace with us, as we rounded the capes and points, and
rowed across the bays whose margins were sedge, and rush, and reed; the
tiny and agile Kalulu, little Bilali, and Majwara were seen racing the
herds of goats, sheep, and donkeys which belonged to the caravan, and the
animals even seemed to share the general joy.

Nature, also—proud, wild nature-0-with the lofty azure dome upheaved
into infinity—with her breadth and depth of vivid greenness and
enormous vastness on our left—with her immense sheet of bright,
glancing water—with her awful and intense serenity—she partook
of and added to our joy.

About 10 A.M. we arrived at Kirindo’s, an old chief, noted for his
singular kindness to Dr. Livingstone, while he bore animosity to the
Arabs. To the Arabs this was unaccountable—to the Doctor it was
plain: he had but spoken kind and sincere words, while all the Arabs spoke
to him as if he were not even a man, least of all a chief.

Kirindo’s place is at the mouth of the Liuche, which is very wide; the
river oozes out through a forest of eschinomenae (pith tree). This was a
rendezvous agreed upon between shore and lake parties, that the canoes
might all cross to the other side, distant a mile and a half. The mouth of
the Liuche forms the Bay of Ukaranga, so named because on the other side,
whither we were about to cross our party, was situated the village of
Ukaranga, a few hundred yards from the lake. All the baggage was taken out
of the largest canoe, and stowed snugly in the smaller one, and a few
select oarsmen having taken seats, pushed off with the Doctor on board,
who was to superintend pitching the encampment at Ukaranga; while I
remained behind to bind the fractious and ill-natured donkeys, and stow
them away in the bottom of the large canoe, that no danger of upsetting
might be incurred, and a consequent gobbling-up by hungry crocodiles,
which were all about us waiting their opportunity. The flock of goats were
then embarked, and as many of our people as could be got in. About thirty
still remained behind with myself, for whom my canoe was to return.

We all arrived safe at Ukaranga, though we got dangerously near a herd of
hippopotami. The crossing of the wide mouth (the Liuche being then in
flood) was effected in about four hours.

The next day, in the same order as on our departure from Ujiji, we pursued
our way south, the lake party keeping as closely as possible to the shore,
yet, when feasible, wind and weather permitting, we struck off boldly
across the numerous small bays which indent the shores of the Tanganika.
The shores were beautifully green, the effect of the late rains; the
waters of the lake were a faithful reflex of the blue firmament above. The
hippopotami were plentiful. Those noticed on this day were coloured with
reddish rings round the base of their ears and on the neck. One monster,
coming up rather late, was surprised by the canoe making full for him, and
in great fright took a tremendous dive which showed the whole length of
his body. Half way between the mouth of the Malagarazi and that of the
Liuche we saw a camp on shore—that of Mohammed bin Gharib, a
Msawahili, who figured often in Livingstone’s verbal narrative to me of
his adventures and travels as one of the kindest and best of the Moslems
in Central Africa. He appeared to me a kindly disposed man, with a face
seldom seen, having the stamp of an unusual characteristic on it—that
of sincerity.

The vegetation of the shores as we proceeded was truly tropical, each
curve revealed new beauties. With the soft chalky stone, of which most of
the cliffs and bluffs are made, seen as we neared the mouth of the
Malagarazi, the surf has played strange freaks.

We arrived at the mouth of the Malagarazi about P.M., having rowed
eighteen miles from Ukaranga. The shore party arrived, very much fatigued,
about 5 P.M.

The next day was employed in crossing the caravan across the broad mouth
of the Malagarazi to our camp, a couple of miles north of the river. This
is a river which a civilised community would find of immense advantage for
shortening the distance between the Tanganika and the coast. Nearly one
hundred miles might be performed by this river, which is deep enough at
all seasons to allow navigation as far as Kiala, in Uvinza, whence a
straight road might be easily made to Unyanyembe. Missionaries also might
reap the same benefit from it for conversion-tours to Uvinza, Uhha, and
Ugala. Pursuing our way on the 30th, and rounding the picturesque capes of
Kagongo, Mviga and Kivoe, we came, after about three hours’ rowing, in
sight of villages at the mouth of the swift and turbid Rugufu. Here we had
again to transport the caravan ever the crocodile-infested mouth of the
river.

On the morning of the 31st we sent a canoe with men to search for food in
the two or three villages that were visible on the other side. Four doti
purchased just sufficient for four days for our caravan of forty-eight
persons. We then got under weigh, having informed the kirangozi that
Urimba was our destination, and bidding him keep as closely as possible to
the lake shore, where it was practicable, but if not, to make the best he
could of it. From the debouchement of the Rugufu, the headwaters of which
we had crossed on our random route to Ujiji, to Urimba, a distance of six
days by water, there are no villages, and consequently no food. The shore
party, however, before leaving Ujiji, had eight days’ rations, and on this
morning four days’, distributed to each person, and therefore was in no
danger of starvation should the mountain headlands, now unfolding, abrupt
and steep, one after another, prevent them from communicating with us. It
must be understood that such a journey as this had never been attempted
before by any Arab or Msawahili, and every step taken was in sheer
ignorance of where the road would lead the men ashore. Rounding Kivoe’s
steep promontory, whose bearded ridge and rugged slope, wooded down to the
water’s edge, whose exquisite coves and quiet recesses, might well have
evoked a poetical effusion to one so inclined, we dared the chopping waves
of Kivoe’s bay, and stood direct for the next cape, Mizohazy, behind
which, owing to wind and wave, we were compelled to halt for the night.

After Mizohazy is the bold cape of Kabogo—not the terrible Kabogo
around whose name mystery has been woven by the superstitious natives—not
the Kabogo whose sullen thunder and awful roar were heard when crossing
the Rugufu on our flight from the Wahha—-but a point in Ukaranga, on
whose hard and uninviting rocks many a canoe has been wrecked. We passed
close to its forbidding walls, thankful for the calm of the Tanganika.
Near Kabogo are some very fine mvule trees, well adapted for canoe
building, and there are no loud-mouthed natives about to haggle for the
privilege of cutting them.

Along the water’s edge, and about three feet above it, was observed very
clearly on the smooth face of the rocky slopes of Kabogo the high-water
mark of the lake. This went to show that the Tanganika, during the rainy
season, rises about three feet above its dry season level, and that,
during the latter season, evaporation reduces it to its normal level. The
number of rivers which we passed on this journey enabled me to observe
whether, as I was told, there was any current setting north. It was
apparent to me that, while the south-west, south, or south-east winds
blew, the brown flood of the rivers swept north; but it happened that,
while passing, once or twice, the mouths of rivers, after a puff from the
north-west and north, that the muddied waters were seen southward of the
mouths; from which I conclude that there is no current in the Tanganika
except such as is caused by the fickle wind.

Finding a snug nook of a bay at a place called Sigunga, we put in for
lunch. An island at the mouth of the bay suggested to our minds that this
was a beautiful spot for a mission station; the grandly sloping hills in
the background, with an undulating shelf of land well-wooded between them
and the bay, added to the attractions of such a spot. The island, capable
of containing quite a large village, and perfectly defensible, might, for
prudence’ sake, contain the mission and its congregation; the landlocked
bay would protect their fishery and trade vessels; more than sustain a
hundred times the number of the population of the island. Wood for
building their canoes and houses is close at hand; the neighbouring
country would afford game in abundance; and the docile and civil people of
Ukaranga but wait religious shepherds.

From beautiful Sigunga, after a brief halt, we set off, and, after three
hours, arrived at the mouth of the River Uwelasia. Hippopotami and
crocodiles being numerous; we amused ourselves by shooting at them, having
also a hope of attracting the attention of our shore party, the sound of
whose guns we had not heard since leaving the Rugufu.

On the 3rd of January we left Uwelasia, and, passing by Cape Herembe, were
in the bay of Tongwe. This bay is about twenty-five miles broad, and
stretches from Cape Herembe to Cape Tongwe. Finding themselves so near
their destination, Urimba being but six miles from Herembe Point, the men
of both boats bent themselves to their oars, and, with shouts, songs, and
laughter, encouraged each other to do their utmost. The flags of the two
great Anglo-Saxon nations rippled and played in the soft breeze, sometimes
drawing near caressingly together, again bending away, like two lovers coy
to unite. The tight little boat of the Doctor would keep ahead, and the
crimson and crossed flag of England would wave before me, and it seemed to
say to the beautiful laggard astern, “Come on, come on; England leads the
way.” But was it not England’s place to be in the front here? She won the
right to it by discovering the Tanganika; America came but second.

Urimba, though a large district of Kawendi, has a village of the same name
peopled by refugees from Yombeh, who found the delta of the Loajeri,
though the unhealthiest of spots—equal to that of the Rusizi—far
preferable to the neighbourhood of Sultan Pumburu, of Southern Kawendi. A
good chase by the victors seems to have given a shock to their systems,
for they are very timid and distrustful of strangers, and would by no
means permit us to enter their village, of which, to say the truth, I was
very glad, after a glance at the reeking corruption on which they were
encamped. In the immediate neighbourhood—nay, for a couple of miles
on either side—I should suppose that to a white man it were death to
sleep a single night. Leading the way south of the village, I found a fit
camping-place at the extreme south-east corner of Tongwe Bay, about a mile
and a half due west of the lofty peak of Kivanga, or Kakungu. By an
observation taken by the Doctor, we found ourselves to be in latitude 5
degrees 54 minutes south.

None of the natives had heard of our shore party, and, as the delta of the
Loajeri and Mogambazi extended for about fifteen miles, and withal was the
most impassable of places, being perfectly flat, overgrown with the
tallest of matete, eschinomenae, and thorny bush, and flooded with water,
it was useless to fatigue our men searching for the shore party in such an
inhospitable country. No provisions were procurable, for the villages were
in a state of semi-starvation, the inhabitants living from hand to mouth
on what reluctant Fortune threw into their nets.

The second day of our arrival at Urimba I struck off into the interior
with my gun-bearer, Kalulu, carrying the Doctor’s splendid double-barreled
rifle (a Reilly, No. 12), on the search for venison. After walking about a
mile I came to a herd of zebras. By creeping on all-fours I managed to
come within one hundred yards of them; but I was in a bad spot—low
prickly shrubs; and tsetse flies alighting on the rifle-sight, biting my
nose, and dashing into my eyes, completely disconcerted me; and, to add to
my discontent, my efforts to disengage myself from the thorns, alarmed the
zebras, which all stood facing the suspicious object in the bush. I fired
at the breast of one, but, as might be expected, missed. The zebras
galloped away to about three hundred yards off, and I dashed into the
open, and, hastily cocking the left-hand trigger, aimed at a proud fellow
trotting royally before his fellows, and by good chance sent a bullet
through his heart. A fortunate shot also brought down a huge goose, which
had a sharp horny spur on the fore part of each wing. This supply of meat
materially contributed towards the provisioning of the party for the
transit of the unknown land that lay between us and Mrera, in Rusawa,
Kawendi.

It was not until the third day of our arrival at our camp at Urimba that
our shore party arrived. They had perceived our immense flag hoisted on a
twenty-feet long bamboo above the tallest tree near our camp as they
surmounted the sharp lofty ridge behind Nerembe, fifteen miles off, and
had at first taken it for a huge bird; but there were sharp eyes in the
crowd, and, guided by it, they came to camp, greeted as only lost and
found men are greeted.

I suffered from another attack of fever at this camp, brought on by the
neighbourhood of the vile delta, the look of which sickened the very heart
in me.

On the 7th of January we struck camp, and turned our faces eastward, and
for me, home! Yet regretfully! There had been enough happiness and
pleasure, and pleasantest of social companionship found on the shores of
the lake for me. I had seen enough lovely scenes which, siren-like,
invited one to quiet rest; gentle scenes, where there was neither jar nor
tumult, neither strife nor defeat, neither hope nor disappointment, but
rest-a drowsy, indolent, yet pleasant rest. And only a few drawbacks to
these. There was fever; there were no books, no newspapers, no wife of my
own race and blood, no theatres, no hotels, no restaurants, no East River
oysters, no mince-pies, neither buckwheat cakes, nor anything much that
was good for a cultivated palate to love. So, in turning to say farewell
to the then placid lake and the great blue mountains, that grew bluer as
they receded on either hand, I had the courage to utter that awful word
tearlessly, and without one sigh.

Our road led up through the valley of the Loajeri, after leaving its
delta, a valley growing ever narrower, until it narrowed into a ravine
choked by the now roaring, bellowing river, whose resistless rush seemed
to affect the very air we breathed. It was getting oppressive, this
narrowing ravine, and opportunely the road breasted a knoll, then a
terrace, then a hill, and lastly a mountain, where we halted to encamp. As
we prepared to select a camping-place, the Doctor silently pointed
forward, and suddenly a dead silence reigned everywhere. The quinine which
I had taken in the morning seemed to affect me in every crevice of my
brain; but a bitter evil remained, and, though I trembled under the heavy
weight of the Reilly rifle, I crept forward to where the Doctor was
pointing. I found myself looking down a steep ravine, on the other bank of
which a fine buffalo cow was scrambling upward. She had just reached the
summit, and was turning round to survey her enemy, when I succeeded in
planting a shot just behind the shoulder blade, and close to the spine,
evoking from her a deep bellow of pain. “She is shot! she is shot!”
exclaimed the Doctor; “that is a sure sign you have hit her.” And the men
even raised a shout at the prospect of meat. A second, planted in her
spine, brought her to her knees, and a third ended her. We thus had
another supply of provisions, which, cut up and dried over a fire, as the
Wangwana are accustomed to do, would carry them far over the unpeopled
wilderness before us. For the Doctor and myself, we had the tongue, the
hump, and a few choice pieces salted down, and in a few days had prime
corned beef. It is not inapt to state that the rifle had more
commendations bestowed on it than the hunter by the Wangwana.

The next day we continued the march eastward, under the guidance of our
kirangozi; but it was evident, by the road he led us, that he knew nothing
of the country, though, through his volubility, he had led us to believe
that he knew all about Ngondo, Yombeh, and Pumburu’s districts. When
recalled from the head of the caravan, we were about to descend into the
rapid Loajeri, and beyond it were three ranges of impassable mountains,
which we were to cross in a north-easterly direction; quite out of our
road. After consulting with the Doctor, I put myself at the head of the
caravan, and following the spine of the ridge, struck off due east,
regardless of how the road ran. At intervals a travelled road crossed our
path, and, after following it a while, we came to the ford of the Loajeri.
The Loajeri rises south and south-east of Kakungu Peak. We made the best
we could of the road after crossing the river, until we reached the main
path that runs from Karah to Ngondo and Pumburu, in Southern Kawendi.

On the 9th, soon after leaving camp, we left the travelled path, and made
for a gap in the are of hills before us, as Pumburu was at war with the
people of Manya Msenge, a district of northern Kawendi. The country teemed
with game, the buffaloes and zebras were plentiful. Among the conspicuous
trees were the hyphene and borassus palm trees, and a tree bearing a fruit
about the size of a 600-pounder cannon-ball, called by some natives
“mabyah,”* according to the Doctor, the seeds of which are roasted and
eaten. They are not to be recommended as food to Europeans.

On the 10th, putting myself at the head of my men, with my compass in
hand, I led the way east for three hours. A beautiful park-land was
revealed to us; but the grass was very tall, and the rainy season, which
had commenced in earnest, made my work excessively disagreeable. Through
this tall grass, which was as high as my throat, I had to force my way,
compass in hand, to lead the Expedition, as there was not the least sign
of a road, and we were now in an untravelled country. We made our camp on
a beautiful little stream flowing north; one of the feeders of the Rugufu
River.

The 11th still saw me plunging through the grass, which showered drops of
rain on me every time I made a step forward. In two hours we crossed a
small stream, with slippery syenitic rocks in its bed, showing the action
of furious torrents. Mushrooms were in abundance, and very large. In
crossing, an old pagazi of Unyamwezi, weather-beaten, uttered, in a
deplorable tone, “My kibuyu is dead;” by which he meant that he had
slipped, and in falling had broken his gourd, which in Kisawahili is
“kibuyu.”

On the eastern bank we halted for lunch, and, after an hour and a half’s
march, arrived at another stream, which I took to be the Mtambu, at first
from the similarity of the land, though my map informed me that it was
impossible. The scenery around was very similar, and to the north we had
cited a similar tabular hill to the “Magdala” Mount I had discovered north
of Imrera, while going to the Malagarazi. Though we had only travelled
three and a half hours the Doctor was very tired as the country was
exceedingly rough.

The next day, crossing several ranges, with glorious scenes of surpassing
beauty everywhere around us, we came in view of a mighty and swift
torrent, whose bed was sunk deep between enormous lofty walls of sandstone
rock, where it roared and brawled with the noise of a little Niagara.

Having seen our camp prepared on a picturesque knoll, I thought I would
endeavour to procure some meat, which this interesting region seemed to
promise. I sallied out with my little Winchester along the banks of the
river eastward. I travelled for an hour or two, the prospect getting more
picturesque and lovely, and then went up a ravine which looked very
promising. Unsuccessful, I strode up the bank, and my astonishment may be
conceived when I found myself directly in front of an elephant, who had
his large broad ears held out like studding sails—the colossal
monster, the incarnation of might of the African world. Methought when I
saw his trunk stretched forward, like a warning finger, that I heard a
voice say, “Siste, Venator!” But whether it did not proceed from my
imagination or—No; I believe it proceeded from Kalulu, who must have
shouted, “Tembo, tembo! bana yango!” “Lo! an elephant! an elephant, my
master!”

For the young rascal had fled as soon as he had witnessed the awful
colossus in such close vicinage. Recovering from my astonishment, I
thought it prudent to retire also—especially, with a pea-shooter
loaded with treacherous sawdust cartridges in my hand. As I looked behind,
I saw him waving his trunk, which I understood to mean, “Good-bye, young
fellow; it is lucky for you you went in time, for I was going to pound you
to a jelly.”

As I was congratulating myself, a wasp darted fiercely at me and planted
its sting in my neck, and for that afternoon my anticipated pleasures were
dispelled. Arriving at camp I found the men grumbling; their provisions
were ended, and there was no prospect for three days, at least, of
procuring any. With the improvidence usual with the gluttons, they had
eaten their rations of grain, all their store of zebra and dried buffalo
meat, and were now crying out that they were famished.

The tracks of animals were numerous, but it being the rainy season the
game was scattered everywhere; whereas, had we travelled during the dry
season through these forests our larders might have been supplied fresh
each day.

Some time about 6 P.M., as the Doctor and I were taking our tea outside
the tent, a herd of elephants, twelve in number, passed about 800 yards
off. Our fundi, Asmani and Mabruki Kisesa, were immediately despatched in
pursuit. I would have gone myself with the heavy Reilly rifle, only I was
too much fatigued. We soon heard their guns firing, and hoped they were
successful, as a plentiful supply of meat might then have been procured,
while we ourselves would have secured one of the elephant’s feet for a
nice delicate roast; but within an hour they returned unsuccessful, having
only drawn blood, some of which they exhibited to us on a leaf.

It requires a very good rifle to kill an African elephant. A No. 8 bore
with a Frazer’s shell, planted in the temple, I believe, would drop an
elephant each shot. Faulkner makes some extraordinary statements, about
walking up in front of an elephant and planting a bullet in his forehead,
killing him instantly. The tale, however, is so incredible that I would
prefer not to believe it; especially when he states that the imprint of
the muzzle of his rifle was on the elephant’s trunk. African travellers—especially
those with a taste for the chase—are too fond of relating that which
borders on the incredible for ordinary men to believe them. Such stories
must be taken with a large grain of salt, for the sake of the amusement
they afford to readers at home. In future, whenever I hear a man state how
he broke the back of an antelope at 600 yards, I shall incline to believe
a cipher had been added by a slip of the pen, or attribute it to a
typographical error, for this is almost an impossible feat in an African
forest. It may be done once, but it could never be done twice running. An
antelope makes a very small target at 600 yards distance; but, then, all
these stories belong by right divine to the chasseur who travels to Africa
for the sake only of sport.

On the 13th we continued our march across several ridges; and the series
of ascents and descents revealed to us valleys and mountains never before
explored streams; rushing northward, swollen by the rains, and grand
primeval forests, in whose twilight shade no white man ever walked before.

On the 14th the same scenes were witnessed—an unbroken series of
longitudinal ridges, parallel one with another and with Lake Tanganika.
Eastward the faces of these ridges present abrupt scarps and terraces,
rising from deep valleys, while the western declivities have gradual
slopes. These are the peculiar features of Ukawendi, the eastern watershed
of the Tanganika.

In one of these valleys on this day we came across a colony of
reddish-bearded monkeys, whose howls, or bellowing, rang amongst the
cliffs as they discovered the caravan. I was not able to approach them,
for they scrambled up trees and barked their defiance at me, then bounded
to the ground as I still persisted in advancing; and they would have soon
drawn me in pursuit if I had not suddenly remembered that my absence was
halting the Expedition.

About noon we sighted our Magdala—the grand towering mount whose
upright frowning mass had attracted our eyes, as it lifted itself from
above the plain in all its grandeur, when we were hurrying along the great
ridge of Rusawa towards the “Crocodile” River. We recognised the old,
mystic beauty of the tree-clad plain around it. Then it was bleached, and
a filmy haze covered it lovingly; now it was vivid greenness. Every
vegetable, plant, herb and tree, had sprung into quick life—the
effect of the rains. Rivers that ran not in those hot summer days now
fumed and rushed impetuously between thick belts of mighty timber,
brawling hoarsely in the glades. We crossed many of these streams, all of
which are feeders of the Rugufu.

Beautiful, bewitching Ukawendi! By what shall I gauge the loveliness of
the wild, free, luxuriant, spontaneous nature within its boundaries? By
anything in Europe? No. By anything in Asia? Where? India, perhaps. Yes;
or say Mingrelia and Imeritia. For there we have foaming rivers; we have
picturesque hillocks; we have bold hills, ambitious mountains, and broad
forests, with lofty solemn rows of trees, with clean straight stems,
through which you can see far, lengthy vistas, as you see here. Only in
Ukawendi you can almost behold the growth of vegetation; the earth is so
generous, nature so kind and loving, that without entertaining any
aspiration for a residence, or a wish to breathe the baleful atmosphere
longer than is absolutely necessary, one feels insensibly drawn towards
it, as the thought creeps into his mind, that though all is foul beneath
the captivating, glamorous beauty of the land, the foulness might be
removed by civilized people, and the whole region made as healthy as it is
productive. Even while staggering under the pressure of the awful
sickness, with mind getting more and more embittered, brain sometimes
reeling with the shock of the constantly recurring fevers—though I
knew how the malaria, rising out of that very fairness, was slowly
undermining my constitution, and insidiously sapping the powers of mind
and body—I regarded the alluring face of the land with a fatuous
love, and felt a certain sadness steal over me as each day I was
withdrawing myself from it, and felt disposed to quarrel with the fate
that seemed to eject me out of Ukawendi.

On the ninth day of our march from the shores of the Tanganika we again
perceived our “Magdala Mount,” rising like a dark cloud to the north-east,
by which I knew that we were approaching Imrera, and that our Icarian
attempt to cross the uninhabited jungle of Ukawendi would soon be crowned
with success. Against the collective counsel of the guides, and
hypothetical suggestions of the tired and hungry souls of our Expedition,
I persisted in being guided only by the compass and my chart. The guides
strenuously strove to induce me to alter my course and strike in a
south-west direction, which, had I listened to them, would have
undoubtedly taken me to South-western Ukonongo, or North-eastern Ufipa.
The veteran and experienced soldiers asked mournfully if I were determined
to kill them with famine, as the road I should have taken was north-east;
but I preferred putting my trust in the compass. No sun shone upon us as
we threaded our way through the primeval forest, by clumps of jungle,
across streams, up steep ridges, and down into deep valleys. A thick haze
covered the forests; rain often pelted us; the firmament was an
unfathomable depth of grey vapour. The Doctor had perfect confidence in
me, and I held on my way.

As soon as we arrived at our camp the men scattered themselves through the
forest to search for food. A grove of singwe trees was found close by.
Mushrooms grew in abundance, and these sufficed to appease the gnawing
hunger from which the people suffered. Had it not been such rainy weather
I should have been enabled to procure game for the camp; but the fatigue
which I suffered, and the fever which enervated me, utterly prevented me
from moving out of the camp after we once came to a halt. The fear of
lions, which were numerous in our vicinity, whose terrible roaring was
heard by day and by night, daunted the hunters so much, that though I
offered five doti of cloth for every animal brought to camp, none dared
penetrate the gloomy glades, or awesome belts of timber, outside the
friendly defence of the camp.

The morning of the tenth day I assured the people that we were close to
food; cheered the most amiable of them with promise of abundant provender,
and hushed the most truculent knaves with a warning not to tempt my
patience too much, lest we came to angry blows; and then struck away east
by north through the forest, with the almost exhausted Expedition dragging
itself weakly and painfully behind me. It was a most desperate position
certainly, and I pitied the poor people far more than they pitied
themselves; and though I fumed and stormed in their presence when they
were disposed to lie down and give up, never was a man further from doing
them injury. I was too proud of them; but under the circumstances it was
dangerous—nay, suicidal—to appear doubtful or dubious of the
road. The mere fact that I still held on my way according to the Doctor’s
little pearly monitor (the compass) had a grand moral effect on them, and
though they demurred in plaintive terms and with pinched faces, they
followed my footsteps with a trustfulness which quite affected me.

For long miles we trudged over smooth sloping sward, with a vision of
forest and park-land beauty on our right and left, and in front of us such
as is rarely seen. At a pace that soon left the main body of the
Expedition far behind, I strode on with a few gallant fellows, who,
despite their heavy loads, kept pace with me. After a couple of hours we
were ascending the easy slope of a ridge, which promised to decide in a
few minutes the truth or the inaccuracy of my chart. Presently we arrived
at the eastern edge of the ridge, and about five miles away, and 1,000
feet below the high plateau on which we stood, we distinguished the valley
of Imrera!

By noon we were in our old camp. The natives gathered round, bringing
supplies of food, and to congratulate us upon having gone to Ujiji and
returned. But it was long before the last member of the Expedition
arrived. The Doctor’s feet were very sore, bleeding from the weary march.
His shoes were in a very worn-out state, and he had so cut and slashed
them with a knife to ease his blistered feet, that any man of our force
would have refused them as a gift, no matter how ambitious he might be to
encase his feet a la Wasungu.

Asmani, the guide, was very much taken aback when he discovered that the
tiny compass knew the way better than he did, and he declared it as his
solemn opinion that it could not lie. He suffered much in reputation from
having contested the palm with the “little thing,” and ever afterwards his
boasted knowledge of the country was considerably doubted.

After halting a day to recruit ourselves, we continued our journey on the
18th January, 1872, towards Unyanyembe. A few miles beyond Imrera, Asmani
lost the road again, and I was obliged to show it to him, by which I
gained additional honour and credit as a leader and guide. My shoes were
very bad, and it was difficult to decide whose were the worst in
condition, the Doctor’s or mine. A great change had come upon the face of
the land since I had passed northward en route to Ujiji. The wild grapes
now hung in clusters along the road; the corn ears were advanced enough to
pluck and roast for food; the various plants shed their flowers; and the
deep woods and grasses of the country were greener than ever.

On the 19th we arrived at Mpokwa’s deserted village. The Doctor’s feet
were very much chafed and sore by the marching. He had walked on foot all
the way from Urimba, though he owned a donkey; while I, considerably to my
shame be it said, had ridden occasionally to husband my strength, that I
might be enabled to hunt after arrival at camp.

Two huts were cleared for our use, but, just as we had made ourselves
comfortable, our sharp-eyed fellows had discovered several herds of game
in the plain west of Mpokwa. Hastily devouring a morsel of corn-bread with
coffee, I hastened away, with Bilali for a gunbearer, taking with me the
famous Reilly rifle of the Doctor and a supply of Fraser’s shells. After
plunging through a deep stream, and getting wet again, and pushing my way
through a dense brake, I arrived at a thin belt of forest, through which I
was obliged to crawl, and, in half an hour, I had arrived within one
hundred and forty yards of a group of zebras, which were playfully biting
each other under the shade of a large tree. Suddenly rising up, I
attracted their attention; but the true old rifle was at my shoulder, and
“crack—crack” went both barrels, and two fine zebras, a male and
female, fell dead under the tree where they had stood. In a few seconds
their throats were cut, and after giving the signal of my success, I was
soon surrounded by a dozen of my men, who gave utterance to their delight
by fulsome compliments to the merits of the rifle, though very few to me.
When I returned to camp with the meat I received the congratulations of
the Doctor, which I valued far higher, as he knew from long experience
what shooting was.

When the eatable portions of the two zebras were hung to the scale, we
found, according to the Doctor’s own figures, that we had 719 lbs. of good
meat, which, divided among forty-four men, gave a little over 16 lbs. to
each person. Bombay, especially, was very happy, as he had dreamed a dream
wherein I figured prominently as shooting animals down right and left;
and, when he had seen me depart with that wonderful Reilly rifle he had
not entertained a doubt of my success, and, accordingly, had commanded the
men to be ready to go after me, as soon as they should hear the reports of
the gun.

The following is quoted from my Diary:

January 20th, 1872.—To-day was a halt. On going out for a hunt I saw
a herd of eleven giraffes. After crossing Mpokwa stream I succeeded in
getting within one hundred and fifty yards of one of them, and fired at
it; but, though it was wounded, I did not succeed in dropping it, though I
desired the skin of one of them very much.

In the afternoon I went out to the east of the village, and came to a herd
of six giraffes. I wounded one of them, but it got off, despite my
efforts.

What remarkable creatures they are! How beautiful their large limpid eyes!
I could have declared on oath that both shots had been a success, but they
sheered off with the stately movements of a clipper about to tack. When
they ran they had an ungainly, dislocated motion, somewhat like the
contortions of an Indian nautch or a Theban danseuse—a dreamy,
undulating movement, which even the tail, with its long fringe of black
hair, seemed to partake of.

The Doctor, who knew how to console an ardent but disappointed young
hunter, attributed my non-success to shooting with leaden balls, which
were too soft to penetrate the thick hide of the giraffes, and advised me
to melt my zinc canteens with which to harden the lead. It was not the
first time that I had cause to think the Doctor an admirable travelling
companion; none knew so well how to console one for bad luck none knew so
well how to elevate one in his own mind. If I killed a zebra, did not his
friend Oswell—the South African hunter—and himself long ago
come to the conclusion that zebra meat was the finest in Africa? If I shot
a buffalo cow, she was sure to be the best of her kind, and her horns were
worth while carrying home as specimens; and was she not fat? If I returned
without anything, the game was very wild, or the people had made a noise,
and the game had been frightened; and who could stalk animals already
alarmed? Indeed, he was a most considerate companion, and, knowing him to
be literally truthful, I was proud of his praise when successful, and when
I failed I was easily consoled.

Ibrahim, the old pagazi whose feelings had been so lacerated in Ukawendi,
when his ancient kibuyu broke, before leaving Ujiji invested his cloth in
a slave from Manyuema, who bore the name of “Ulimengo,” which signifies
the “World.” As we approached Mpokwa, Ulimengo absconded with all his
master’s property, consisting of a few cloths and a bag of salt, which he
had thought of taking to Unyanyembe for trade. Ibrahim was inconsolable,
and he kept lamenting his loss daily in such lugubrious tones that the
people, instead of sympathizing, laughed at him. I asked him why he
purchased such a slave, and, while he was with him, why he did not feed
him? Replied he, tartly, “Was he not my slave? Was not the cloth with
which I bought him mine? If the cloth was my own, could I not purchase
what I liked? Why do you talk so?”

Ibrahim’s heart was made glad this evening by the return of Ulimengo with
the salt and the cloth, and the one-eyed old man danced with his great
joy, and came in all haste to impart to me the glad news. “Lo, the ‘World’
has come back. Sure. My salt and my cloth are with him also. Sure.” To
which I replied, that he had better feed him in future, as slaves required
food as well as their masters.

From 10 P.M. to midnight the Doctor was employed in taking observations
from the star Canopus, the result of which was that he ascertained Mpokwa,
district of Utanda, Ukonongo, to be in S. latitude 6 degrees 18 minutes 40
seconds. On comparing it with its position as laid down in my map by dead
reckoning, I found we differed by three miles; I having laid it down at 6
degrees 15 minutes south latitude.

The day following was a halt. The Doctor’s feet were so inflamed and sore
that he could not bear his shoes on. My heels were also raw, and I
viciously cut large circles out of my shoes to enable me to move about.

Having converted my zinc canteens into bullets, and provided myself with a
butcher and gun-bearer, I set out for the lovely park-land and plain west
of Mpokwa stream, with the laudable resolution to obtain something; and
seeing nothing in the plain, I crossed over a ridge, and came to a broad
basin covered with tall grass, with clumps here and there of hyphene palm,
with a stray mimosa or so scattered about. Nibbling off the branches of
the latter, I saw a group of giraffes, and then began stalking them
through the grass, taking advantage of the tall grass-grown ant-hills that
I might approach the wary beasts before their great eyes could discover
me. I contrived to come within 175 yards, by means of one of these curious
hummocks; but beyond it no man could crawl without being observed—the
grass was so thin and short. I took a long breath, wiped my perspiring
brow, and sat down for a while; my black assistants also, like myself,
were almost breathless with the exertion, and the high expectations roused
by the near presence of the royal beasts. I toyed lovingly with the heavy
Reilly, saw to my cartridges, and then stood up and turned, with my rifle
ready; took one good, long, steady aim; then lowered it again to arrange
the sights, lifted it up once more—dropped it. A giraffe half turned
his body; for the last time I lifted it, took one quick sight at the
region of the heart, and fired. He staggered, reeled, then made a short
gallop; but the blood was spouting from the wound in a thick stream, and
before he had gone 200 yards he came to a dead halt, with his ears drawn
back, and allowed me to come within twenty yards of him, when, receiving a
zinc bullet through the head, he fell dead.

“Allah ho, akhbar!” cried Khamisi, my butcher, fervently. “This is meat,
master!”

I was rather saddened than otherwise at seeing the noble animal stretched
before me. If I could have given him his life back I think I should have
done so. I thought it a great pity that such splendid animals, so well
adapted for the service of man in Africa, could not be converted to some
other use than that of food. Horses, mules, and donkeys died in these
sickly regions; but what a blessing for Africa would it be if we could
tame the giraffes and zebras for the use of explorers and traders! Mounted
on a zebra, a man would be enabled to reach Ujiji in one month from
Bagamoyo; whereas it took me over seven months to travel that distance!

The dead giraffe measured 16 feet 9 inches from his right fore-hoof to the
top of his head, and was one of the largest size, though some have been
found to measure over 17 feet. He was spotted all over with large black,
nearly round, patches.

I left Khamisi in charge of the dead beast, while I returned to camp to
send off men to cut it up, and convey the meat to our village. But Khamisi
climbed a tree for fear of the lions, and the vultures settled on it, so
that when the men arrived on the spot, the eyes, the tongue, and a great
part of the posteriors were eaten up. What remained weighed as follows,
when brought in and hung to the scales:

1 hind leg…. 134 lbs.

1 ” …. 136 ”

1 fore leg…. 160 ”

I ” …. 160 ”

Ribs…… 158 ”

Neck…… 74 ”

Rump…… 87 ”

Breast….. 46 ”

Liver….. 20 ”

Lungs….. 12 ”

Heart….. 6 ”

Total weight of eatable portions.. 993 lbs.

Skin and head, 181 lbs.

The three days following I suffered from a severe attack of fever, and was
unable to stir from bed. I applied my usual remedies for it, which
consisted of colocynth and quinine; but experience has shown me that an
excessive use of the same cathartic weakens its effect, and that it would
be well for travellers to take with them different medicines to cause
proper action in the liver, such as colocynth, calomel, resin of jalap,
Epsom salts; and that no quinine should be taken until such medicines
shall have prepared the system for its reception.

The Doctor’s prescription for fever consists of 3 grains of resin of
jalap, and 2 grains of calomel, with tincture of cardamoms put in just
enough to prevent irritation of the stomach—made into the form of a
pill—which is to be taken as soon as one begins to feel the
excessive languor and weariness which is the sure forerunner of the
African type of fever. An hour or two later a cup of coffee, unsugared and
without milk, ought to be taken, to cause a quicker action. The Doctor
also thinks that quinine should be taken with the pill; but my experience—though
it weighs nothing against what he has endured—has proved to me that
quinine is useless until after the medicine has taken effect. My stomach
could never bear quinine unless subsequent to the cathartic. A well-known
missionary at Constantinople recommends travellers to take 3 grains of
tartar-emetic for the ejection of the bilious matter in the stomach; but
the reverend doctor possibly forgets that much more of the system is
disorganized than the stomach; and though in one or two cases of a slight
attack, this remedy may have proved successful, it is altogether too
violent for an enfeebled man in Africa. I have treated myself faithfully
after this method three or four times; but I could not conscientiously
recommend it. For cases of urticaria, I could recommend taking 3 grains of
tartar-emetic; but then a stomach-pump would answer the purpose as well.

On the 27th we set out for Misonghi. About half-way I saw the head of the
Expedition on the run, and the motive seemed to be communicated quickly,
man after man, to those behind, until my donkey commenced to kick, and
lash behind with his heels. In a second, I was made aware of the cause of
this excitement, by a cloud of wild bees buzzing about my head, three or
four of which settled on my face, and stung me frightfully. We raced madly
for about half a mile, behaving in as wild a manner as the poor bestung
animals.

As this was an unusually long march, I doubted if the Doctor could march
it, because his feet were so sore, so I determined to send four men back
with the kitanda; but the stout old hero refused to be carried, and walked
all the way to camp after a march of eighteen miles. He had been stung
dreadfully in the head and in the face; the bees had settled in handfuls
in his hair; but, after partaking of a cup of warm tea and some food, he
was as cheerful as if he had never travelled a mile.

At Mrera, Central Ukonongo, we halted a day to grind grain, and to prepare
the provision we should need during the transit of the wilderness between
Mrera and Manyara.

On the 31st of January, at Mwaru, Sultan Ka-mirambo, we met a caravan
under the leadership of a slave of Sayd bin Habib, who came to visit us in
our camp, which was hidden in a thick clump of jungle. After he was
seated, and had taken his coffee, I asked,

“What is thy news, my friend, that thou bast brought from Unyanyembe?”

“My news is good, master.”

“How goes the war?”

“Ah, Mirambo is where? He eats the hides even. He is famished. Sayd bin
Habib, my master, hath possession of Kirira. The Arabs are thundering at
the gates of Wilyankuru. Sayd bin Majid, who came from Ujiji to Usagozi in
twenty days, hath taken and slain ‘Moto’ (Fire), the King. Simba of Kasera
hath taken up arms for the defence of his father, Mkasiwa of Unyanyembe.
The chief of Ugunda hath sent five hundred men to the field. Ough—Mirambo
is where? In a month he will be dead of hunger.”

“Great and good news truly, my friend.”

“Yes-in the name of God.”

“And whither art thou bound with thy caravan?”

“Sayd, the son of Majid, who came from Ujiji, hath told us of the road
that the white man took, that he had arrived at Ujiji safely, and that he
was on his way back to Unyanyembe. So we have thought that if the white
man could go there, we could also. Lo, the Arabs come by the hundred by
the white man’s road, to get the ivory from Ujiji.

“I am that white man.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Why it was reported that you were dead—that you fought with the
Wazavira.”

“Ah, my friend, these are the words of Njara, the son of Khamis. See”
(pointing to Livingstone), “this is the white man, my father *, whom I saw
at Ujiji. He is going with me to Unyanyembe to get his cloth, after which
he will return to the great waters.”

“Wonderful!—thou sayest truly.”

“What has thou to tell me of the white man at Unyanyembe?”

“Which white man?”

“The white man I left in the house of Sayd, the son of Salim—my
house—at Kwihara.”

“He is dead.”

“Dead!”

“True.”

“You do not mean to say the white man is dead?”

“True—he is dead.”

“How long ago?”

“Many months now.”

“What did he die of?”

“Homa (fever).”

“Any more of my people dead?”

“I know not.”

“Enough.” I looked sympathetically at the Doctor, and he replied,

“I told you so. When you described him to me as a drunken man, I knew he
could not live. Men who have been habitual drunkards cannot live in this
country, any more than men who have become slaves to other vices. I
attribute the deaths that occurred in my expedition on the Zambezi to much
the same cause.”

“Ah, Doctor, there are two of us gone. I shall be the third, if this fever
lasts much longer.”

“Oh no, not at all. If you would have died from fever, you would have died
at Ujiji when you had that severe attack of remittent. Don’t think of it.
Your fever now is only the result of exposure to wet. I never travel
during the wet season. This time I have travelled because I was anxious,
and I did not wish to detain you at Ujiji.”

“Well, there is nothing like a good friend at one’s back in this country
to encourage him, and keep his spirits up. Poor Shaw! I am sorry—very
sorry for him. How many times have I not endeavoured to cheer him up! But
there was no life in him. And among the last words I said to him, before
parting, were, ‘Remember, if you return to Unyanyembe, you die!'”

We also obtained news from the chief of Sayd bin Habib’s caravan that
several packets of letters and newspapers, and boxes, had arrived for me
from Zanzibar by my messengers and Arabs; that Selim, the son of Sheikh
Hashid of Zanzibar, was amongst the latest arrivals in Unyanyembe. The
Doctor also reminded me with the utmost good-nature that, according to his
accounts, he had a stock of jellies and crackers, soups, fish, and potted
ham, besides cheese, awaiting him in Unyanyembe, and that he would be
delighted to share his good things; whereupon I was greatly cheered, and,
during the repeated attacks of fever I suffered about this time, my
imagination loved to dwell upon the luxuries at Unyanyembe. I pictured
myself devouring the hams and crackers and jellies like a madman. I lived
on my raving fancies. My poor vexed brain rioted on such homely things as
wheaten bread and butter, hams, bacon, caviare, and I would have thought
no price too high to pay for them. Though so far away and out of the pale
of Europe and America, it was a pleasure to me, during the athumia
or despondency into which I was plunged by ever recurring fevers, to dwell
upon them. I wondered that people who had access to such luxuries should
ever get sick, and become tired of life. I thought that if a wheaten loaf
with a nice pat of fresh butter were presented to me, I would be able,
though dying, to spring up and dance a wild fandango.

Though we lacked the good things of this life above named, we possessed
salted giraffe and pickled zebra tongues; we had ugali made by Halimah
herself; we had sweet potatoes, tea, coffee, dampers, or slap jacks; but I
was tired of them. My enfeebled stomach, harrowed and irritated with
medicinal compounds, with ipecac, colocynth, tartar-emetic, quinine, and
such things, protested against the coarse food. “Oh, for a wheaten loaf!”
my soul cried in agony. “Five hundred dollars for one loaf of bread!”

The Doctor, somehow or another, despite the incessant rain, the dew, fog,
and drizzle, the marching, and sore feet, ate like a hero, and I manfully,
sternly, resolved to imitate the persevering attention he paid to the
welfare of his gastric powers; but I miserably failed.

Dr. Livingstone possesses all the attainments of a traveller. His
knowledge is great about everything concerning Africa—the rocks, the
trees, the fruits, and their virtues, are known to him. He is also full of
philosophic reflections upon ethnological matter. With camp-craft, with
its cunning devices, he is au fait. His bed is luxurious as a spring
mattress. Each night he has it made under his own supervision. First, he
has two straight poles cut, three or four inches in diameter; which are
laid parallel one with another, at the distance of two feet; across these
poles are laid short sticks, saplings, three feet long, and over them is
laid a thick pile of grass; then comes a piece of waterproof canvas and
blankets—and thus a bed has been improvised fit for a king.

It was at Livingstone’s instigation I purchased milch goats, by which,
since leaving Ujiji, we have had a supply of fresh milk for our tea and
coffee three times a day. Apropos of this, we are great drinkers of these
welcome stimulants; we seldom halt drinking until we have each had six or
seven cups. We have also been able to provide ourselves with music, which,
though harsh, is better than none. I mean the musical screech of parrots
from Manyuema.

Half-way between Mwaru—Kamirambo’s village—and the deserted
Tongoni of Ukamba, I carved the Doctor’s initials and my own on a large
tree, with the date February 2nd. I have been twice guilty of this in
Africa once when we were famishing in Southern Uvinza I inscribed the
date, my initials, and the word “Starving,” in large letters on the trunk
of a sycamore.

In passing through the forest of Ukamba, we saw the bleached skull of an
unfortunate victim to the privations of travel. Referring to it, the
Doctor remarked that he could never pass through an African forest, with
its solemn stillness and serenity, without wishing to be buried quietly
under the dead leaves, where he would be sure to rest undisturbed. In
England there was no elbow-room, the graves were often desecrated; and
ever since he had buried his wife in the woods of Shupanga he had sighed
for just such a spot, where his weary bones would receive the eternal rest
they coveted.

The same evening, when the tent door was down, and the interior was made
cheerful by the light of a paraffin candle, the Doctor related to me some
incidents respecting the career and the death of his eldest son, Robert.
Readers of Livingstone’s first book, ‘South Africa,’ without which no boy
should be, will probably recollect the dying Sebituane’s regard for the
little boy “Robert.” Mrs. Livingstone and family were taken to the Cape of
Good Hope, and thence sent to England, where Robert was put in the charge
of a tutor; but wearied of inactivity, when he was about eighteen, he left
Scotland and came to Natal, whence he endeavoured to reach his father.
Unsuccessful in his attempt, he took ship and sailed for New York, and
enlisted in the Northern Army, in a New Hampshire regiment of Volunteers,
discarding his own name of Robert Moffatt Livingstone, and taking that of
Rupert Vincent that his tutor, who seems to have been ignorant of his
duties to the youth, might not find him. From one of the battles before
Richmond, he was conveyed to a North Carolina hospital, where he died from
his wounds.

On the 7th of February we arrived at the Gombe, and camped near one of its
largest lakes. This lake is probably several miles in length, and swarms
with hippopotami and crocodiles.

From this camp I despatched Ferajji, the cook, and Chowpereh to
Unyanyembe, to bring the letters and medicines that were sent to me from
Zanzibar, and meet us at Ugunda, while the next day we moved to our old
quarters on the Gombe, where we were first introduced to the real hunter’s
paradise in Central Africa. The rain had scattered the greater number of
the herds, but there was plenty of game in the vicinity. Soon after
breakfast I took Khamisi and Kalulu with me for a hunt. After a long walk
we arrived near a thin jungle, where I discovered the tracks of several
animals—boar, antelope, elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, and an
unusual number of imprints of the lion’s paw. Suddenly I heard Khamisi
say, “Master, master! here is a ‘simba!’ (lion);” and he came up to me
trembling with excitement and fear—for the young fellow was an
arrant coward—to point out the head of a beast, which could be seen
just above the tall grass, looking steadily towards us. It immediately
afterwards bounded from side to side, but the grass was so high that it
was impossible to tell exactly what it was. Taking advantage of a tree in
my front, I crept quietly onwards, intending to rest the heavy rifle
against it, as I was so weak from the effects of several fevers that I
felt myself utterly incapable of supporting my rifle for a steady aim. But
my surprise was great when I cautiously laid it against the tree, and then
directed its muzzle to the spot where I had seen him stand. Looking
further away—to where the grass was thin and scant—I saw the
animal bound along at a great rate, and that it was a lion: the noble
monarch of the forest was in full flight! From that moment I ceased to
regard him as the “mightiest among the brutes;” or his roar as anything
more fearful in broad daylight than a sucking dove’s.

The next day was also a halt, and unable to contain my longing for the
chase, where there used to be such a concourse of game of all kinds, soon
after morning coffee, and after despatching a couple of men with presents
to my friend Ma-manyara, of ammonia-bottle memory, I sauntered out once
more for the park. Not five hundred yards from the camp, myself and men
were suddenly halted by hearing in our immediate vicinity, probably within
fifty yards or so, a chorus of roars, issuing from a triplet of lions.
Instinctively my fingers raised the two hammers, as I expected a general
onset on me; for though one lion might fly, it was hardly credible that
three should. While looking keenly about I detected, within easy
rifle-shot, a fine hartebeest, trembling and cowering behind a tree, as if
it expected the fangs of the lion in its neck. Though it had its back
turned to me, I thought a bullet might plough its way to a vital part, and
without a moment’s hesitation I aimed and fired. The animal gave a
tremendous jump, as if it intended to take a flying leap through the tree;
but recovering itself it dashed through the underbrush in a different
direction from that in which I supposed the lions to be, and I never saw
it again, though I knew I had struck it from the bloody trail it left;
neither did I see nor hear anything more of the lions. I searched far and
wide over the park-land for prey of some kind, but was compelled to return
unsuccessful to camp.

Disgusted with my failure, we started a little after noon for Manyara, at
which place we were hospitably greeted by my friend, who had sent men to
tell me that his white brother must not halt in the woods but must come to
his village. We received a present of honey and food from the chief, which
was most welcome to us in our condition. Here was an instance of that
friendly disposition among Central African chiefs when they have not been
spoiled by the Arabs, which Dr. Livingstone found among the Babisa and
Ba-ulungu, and in Manyuema. I received the same friendly recognition from
all the chiefs, from Imrera, in Ukawendi, to Unyanyembe, as I did from
Mamanyara.

On the 14th we arrived at Ugunda, and soon after we had established
ourselves comfortably in a hut which the chief lent us for our use, in
came Ferajji and Chowpereh, bringing with them Sarmean and Uledi Manwa
Sera, who, it will be recollected, were the two soldiers sent to Zanzibar
with letters and who should Sarmean have in charge but the deserter
Hamdallah, who decamped at Manyara, as we were going to Ujiji. This
fellow, it seems, had halted at Kigandu, and had informed the chief and
the doctor of the village that he had been sent by the white man to take
back the cloth left there for the cure of Mabruk Saleem; and the simple
chief had commanded it to be given up to him upon his mere word, in
consequence of which the sick man had died.

Upon Sarmean’s arrival in Unyanyembe from Zanzibar, about fifty days after
the Expedition had departed for Ujiji the news he received was that the
white man (Shaw) was dead; and that a man called Hamdallah, who had
engaged himself as one of my guides, but who had shortly after returned,
was at Unyanyembe. He had left him unmolested until the appearance of
Ferajji and his companion, when they at once, in a body, made a descent on
his hut and secured him. With the zeal which always distinguished him in
my service, Sarmean had procured a forked pole, between the prongs of
which the neck of the absconder was placed; and a cross stick, firmly
lashed, effectually prevented him from relieving himself of the
incumbrance attached to him so deftly.

There were no less than seven packets of letters and newspapers from
Zanzibar, which had been collecting during my absence from Unyanyembe.
These had been intrusted at various times to the chiefs of caravans, who
had faithfully delivered them at my tembe, according to their promise to
the Consul. There was one packet for me, which contained two or three
letters for Dr. Livingstone, to whom, of course, they were at once
transferred, with my congratulations. In the same packet there was also a
letter to me from the British Consul at Zanzibar requesting me to take
charge of Livingstone’s goods and do the best I could to forward them on
to him, dated 25th September, 1871, five days after I left Unyanyembe on
my apparently hopeless task.

“Well, Doctor,” said I to Livingstone, “the English Consul requests me to
do all I can to push forward your goods to you. I am sorry that I did not
get the authority sooner, for I should have attempted it; but in the
absence of these instructions I have done the best I could by pushing you
towards the goods. The mountain has not been able to advance towards
Mohammed, but Mohammed has been compelled to advance towards the
mountain.”

But Dr. Livingstone was too deeply engrossed in his own letters from home,
which were just a year old.

I received good and bad news from New York, but the good news was
subsequent, and wiped out all feelings that might have been evoked had I
received the bad only. But the newspapers, nearly a hundred of them, New
York, Boston, and London journals, were full of most wonderful news. The
Paris Commune was in arms against the National Assembly; the Tuileries,
the Louvre, and the ancient city Lutetia Parisiorum had been set in flames
by the blackguards of Saint-Antoine! French troops massacring and
murdering men, women, and children; rampant diabolism, and incarnate
revenge were at work in the most beautiful city in the world! Fair women
converted into demons, and dragged by ruffianly soldiery through the
streets to universal execration and pitiless death; children of tender age
pinned to the earth and bayoneted; men innocent or not, shot, cut,
stabbed, slashed, destroyed—a whole city given up to the summa
injuria of an infuriate, reckless, and brutal army! Oh France! Oh
Frenchmen! Such things are unknown even in the heart of barbarous Central
Africa. We spurned the newspapers with our feet; and for relief to
sickened hearts gazed on the comic side of our world, as illustrated in
the innocent pages of ‘Punch.’ Poor ‘Punch!’ good-hearted, kindly-natured
‘Punch!’ a traveller’s benison on thee! Thy jokes were as physic; thy
innocent satire was provocative of hysteric mirth.

Our doors were crowded with curious natives, who looked with indescribable
wonder at the enormous sheets. I heard them repeat the words, “Khabari
Kisungu”—white man’s news—often, and heard them discussing the
nature of such a quantity of news, and expressing their belief that the
“Wasungu” were “mbyah sana,” and very “mkali;” by which they meant to say
that the white men were very wicked, and very smart and clever though the
term wicked is often employed to express high admiration.

On the fourth day from Ugunda, or the 18th of February, and the
fifty-third day from Ujiji, we made our appearance with flags flying and
guns firing in the valley of Kwihara, and when the Doctor and myself
passed through the portals of my old quarters I formally welcomed him to
Unyanyembe and to my house.

Since the day I had left the Arabs, sick and, weary almost with my life,
but, nevertheless, imbued with the high hope that my mission would
succeed, 131 days had elapsed—with what vicissitudes of fortune the
reader well knows—during which time I had journeyed over 1,200
miles.

The myth after which I travelled through the wilderness proved to be a
fact; and never was the fact more apparent than when the Living Man walked
with me arm in arm to my old room, and I said to him, “Doctor, we are at
last HOME!”

CHAPTER XV. — HOMEWARD BOUND.—LIVINGSTONE’S LAST WORDS—THE
FINAL FAREWELL

Unyanyembe was now to me a terrestrial Paradise. Livingstone was no less
happy; he was in comfortable quarters, which were a palace compared to his
hut in Ujiji. Our store-rooms were full of the good things of this life,
besides cloth, beads, wire, and the thousand and one impedimenta and
paraphernalia of travel with which I had loaded over one hundred and fifty
men at Bagamoyo. I had seventy-four loads of miscellaneous things, the
most valuable of which were now to be turned over to Livingstone, for his
march back to the sources of the Nile.

It was a great day with, us when, with hammer and chisel, I broke open the
Doctor’s boxes, that we might feast our famished stomachs on the luxuries
which were to redeem us from the effect of the cacotrophic dourra and
maize food we had been subjected to in the wilderness. I conscientiously
believed that a diet on potted ham, crackers, and jellies would make me as
invincible as Talus, and that I only required a stout flail to be able to
drive the mighty Wagogo into the regions of annihilation, should they dare
even to wink in a manner I disapproved.

The first box opened contained three tins of biscuits, six tins of potted
hams—tiny things, not much larger than thimbles, which, when opened,
proved to be nothing more than a table-spoonful of minced meat plentifully
seasoned with pepper: the Doctor’s stores fell five hundred degrees below
zero in my estimation. Next were brought out five pots of jam, one of
which was opened—this was also a delusion. The stone jars weighed a
pound, and in each was found a little over a tea-spoonful of jam. Verily,
we began to think our hopes and expectations had been raised to too high a
pitch. Three bottles of curry were next produced—but who cares for
curry? Another box was opened, and out tumbled a fat dumpy Dutch cheese,
hard as a brick, but sound and good; though it is bad for the liver in
Unyamwezi. Then another cheese was seen, but this was all eaten up—it
was hollow and a fraud. The third box contained nothing but two sugar
loaves; the fourth, candles; the fifth, bottles of salt, Harvey,
Worcester, and Reading sauces, essence of anchovies, pepper, and mustard.
Bless me! what food were these for the revivifying of a moribund such as I
was! The sixth box contained four shirts, two pairs of stout shoes, some
stockings and shoe-strings, which delighted the Doctor so much when he
tried them on that he exclaimed, “Richard is himself again!” “That man,”
said I, “whoever he is, is a friend, indeed.” “Yes, that is my friend
Waller.”

The five other boxes contained potted meat and soups; but the twelfth,
containing one dozen bottles of medicinal brandy, was gone; and a strict
cross-examination of Asmani, the head man of Livingstone’s caravan,
elicited the fact, that not only was one case of brandy missing, but also
two bales of cloth and four bags of the most valuable beads in Africa—sami-sami—which
are as gold with the natives.

I was grievously disappointed after the stores had been examined;
everything proved to be deceptions in my jaundiced eyes. Out of the tins
of biscuits when opened, there was only one sound box; the whole of which
would not make one full meal. The soups—who cared for meat soups in
Africa? Are there no bullocks, and sheep, and goats in the land, from
which far better soup can be made than any that was ever potted? Peas, or
any other kind of vegetable soup, would have been a luxury; but chicken
and game soups!—what nonsense!

I then overhauled my own stores. I found some fine old brandy and one
bottle of champagne still left; though it was evident, in looking at the
cloth bales, that dishonesty had been at work; and some person happened to
suggest Asmani—the head man sent by Dr. Kirk in charge of
Livingstone’s goods—as the guilty party. Upon his treasures being
examined, I found eight or ten coloured cloths, with the mark of my own
agent at Zanzibar on them. As he was unable to give a clear account of how
they came in his box, they were at once confiscated, and distributed among
the most deserving of the Doctor’s people. Some of the watchmen also
accused him of having entered into my store-room, and of having abstracted
two or three gorah of domestics from my bales, and of having, some days
afterwards, snatched the keys from the hands of one of my men, and broken
them, lest other people might enter, and find evidences of his guilt. As
Asmani was proved to be another of the “moral idiots,” Livingstone
discharged him on the spot. Had we not arrived so soon at Unyanyembe, it
is probable that the entire stock sent from Zanzibar had in time
disappeared.

Unyanyembe being rich in fruits, grain, and cattle, we determined to have
our Christmas dinner over again in style, and, being fortunately in pretty
good health, I was enabled to superintend its preparation. Never was such
prodigality seen in a tembe of Unyamwezi as was seen in ours, nor were
ever such delicacies provided.

There were but few Arabs in Unyanyembe when we arrived, as they were
investing the stronghold of Mirambo. About a week after our return, “the
little mannikin,” Sheikh Sayd bin Salim—El Wali—who was the
commander-in-chief of their forces, came to Kwihara from the front. But
the little Sheikh was in no great hurry to greet the man he had wronged so
much. As soon as we heard of his arrival we took the opportunity to send
men immediately after the goods which were forwarded to the Wali’s care
soon after Livingstone’s departure for Mikindany Bay. The first time we
sent men for them the governor declared himself too sick to attend to such
matters, but the second day they were surrendered, with a request that the
Doctor would not be very angry at their condition, as the white ants had
destroyed everything.

The stores this man had detained at Unyanyembe were in a most sorry state.
The expenses were prepaid for their carriage to Ujiji, but the goods had
been purposely detained at this place by Sayd bin Salim since 1867 that he
might satisfy his appetite for liquor, and probably fall heir to two
valuable guns that were known to be with them. The white ants had not only
eaten up bodily the box in which the guns were packed, but they had also
eaten the gunstocks. The barrels were corroded, and the locks were quite
destroyed. The brandy bottles, most singular to relate, had also fallen a
prey to the voracious and irresistible destroyers the white ants—and,
by some unaccountable means, they had imbibed the potent Hennessy, and
replaced the corks with corn-cobs. The medicines had also vanished, and
the zinc pots in which they had been snugly packed up were destroyed by
corrosion. Two bottles of brandy and one small zinc case of medicines only
were saved out of the otherwise utter wreck.

I also begged the Doctor to send to Sheikh Sayd, and ask him if he had
received the two letters despatched by him upon his first arrival at Ujiji
for Dr. Kirk and Lord Clarendon; and if he had forwarded them to the
coast, as he was desired to do. The reply to the messengers was in the
affirmative; and, subsequently, I obtained the same answer in the presence
of the Doctor,

On the 222nd of February, the pouring rain, which had dogged us the entire
distance from Ujiji, ceased, and we had now beautiful weather; and while I
prepared for the homeward march, the Doctor was busy writing his letters,
and entering his notes into his journal, which I was to take to his
family. When not thus employed, we paid visits to the Arabs at Tabora, by
whom we were both received with that bounteous hospitality for which they
are celebrated.

Among the goods turned over by me to Dr. Livingstone, while assorting such
cloths as I wished to retain for my homeward trip, were—

First-class American sheeting… 285 = 1140

Medium ” (blue stuff)… 60 = 240

Medium Rehani cloth….. 127 = 508

4 pieces fine Kungura (red check) 22 = 88

4 gorah Rehani……. 8 = 32

Total number of cloths. 697 = 2788

Besides:

Cloth, 2788 yards.

Assorted beads, 16 sacks, weight = 992 lbs.

Brass wire, Nos. 5 and 6; 10 fraslilah = 350 lbs.

1 canvas tent, waterproof.

1 air-bed.

1 boat (canvas}

1 bag of tools, carpenter’s.

1 rip saw.

2 barrels of tar.

12 sheets of ship’s copper = 60 lbs.

Clothes.

1 Jocelyn breech-loader (metallic cartridge).

1 Starr’s ” ” ”

1 Henry (16-shooter) ” ”

1 revolver.

200 rounds revolver ammunition.

2000 ” Jocelyn and Starrs ammunition.

1500 ” Henry rifle ammunition.

Cooking utensils, medicine chest, books, sextant, canvas bags, &c.,
&c., &c.

The above made a total of about forty loads. Many things in the list would
have brought fancy prices in Unyanyembe, especially the carbines and
ammunition, the saw, carpenter’s tools the beads, and wire. Out of the
thirty-three loads which were stored for him in my tembe—the stock
sent to Livingstone, Nov. 1,1870—but few of them would be available
for his return trip to Rua and Manyuema. The 696 doti of cloth which were
left to him formed the only marketable articles of value he possessed; and
in Manyuema, where the natives manufactured their own cloth, such an
article would be considered a drug; while my beads and wire, with economy,
would suffice to keep him and his men over two years in those regions. His
own cloth, and what I gave him, made in the aggregate 1,393 doti, which,
at 2 doti per day for food, were sufficient to keep him and sixty men 696
days. He had thus four years’ supplies. The only articles he lacked to
make a new and completely fitted-up expedition were the following, a list
of which he and I drew up;—

With the articles just named he would have a total of seventy loads, but
without carriers they were an incumbrance to him; for, with only the nine
men which he now had, he could go nowhere with such a splendid assortment
of goods. I was therefore commissioned to enlist,—as soon as I
reached Zanzibar,—fifty freemen, arm them with a gun and hatchet
each man, besides accoutrements, and to purchase two thousand bullets, one
thousand flints, and ten kegs of gunpowder. The men were to act as
carriers, to follow wherever Livingstone might desire to go. For, without
men, he was simply tantalized with the aspirations roused in him by the
knowledge that he had abundance of means, which were irrealizable without
carriers. All the wealth of London and New York piled before him were
totally unavailable to him without the means of locomotion. No Mnyamwezi
engages himself as carrier during war-time. You who have read the diary of
my ‘Life in Unyanyembe’ know what stubborn Conservatives the Wanyamwezi
are. A duty lay yet before me which I owed to my illustrious companion,
and that was to hurry to the coast as if on a matter of life and death—act
for him in the matter of enlisting men as if he were there himself—to
work for him with the same zeal as I would for myself—not to halt or
rest until his desires should be gratified, And this I vowed to do; but it
was a death-blow to my project of going down the Nile, and getting news of
Sir S. Baker.

The Doctor’s task of writing his letters was ended. He delivered into my
hand twenty letters for Great Britain, six for Bombay, two for New York,
and one for Zanzibar. The two letters for New York were for James Gordon
Bennett, junior, as he alone, not his father, was responsible for the
Expedition sent under my command. I beg the reader’s pardon for
republishing one of these letters here, as its spirit and style indicate
the man, the mere knowledge of whose life or death was worth a costly
Expedition.

Ujiji, on Tanganika, East Africa, November, 1871.

James Gordon Bennett, Jr., Esq.

My Dear Sir,—It is in general somewhat difficult to write to one we
have never seen—it feels so much like addressing an abstract idea—but
the presence of your representative, Mr. H. M. Stanley, in this distant
region takes away the strangeness I should otherwise have felt, and in
writing to thank you for the extreme kindness that prompted you to send
him, I feel quite at home.

If I explain the forlorn condition in which he found me you will easily
perceive that I have good reason to use very strong expressions of
gratitude. I came to Ujiji off a tramp of between four hundred and five
hundred miles, beneath a blazing vertical sun, having been baffled,
worried, defeated and forced to return, when almost in sight of the end of
the geographical part of my mission, by a number of half-caste Moslem
slaves sent to me from Zanzibar, instead of men. The sore heart made still
sorer by the woeful sights I had seen of man’s inhumanity to man racked
and told on the bodily frame, and depressed it beyond measure. I thought
that I was dying on my feet. It is not too much to say that almost every
step of the weary sultry way was in pain, and I reached Ujiji a mere
ruckle of bones.

There I found that some five hundred pounds’ sterling worth of goods which
I had ordered from Zanzibar had unaccountably been entrusted to a drunken
half-caste Moslem tailor, who, after squandering them for sixteen months
on the way to Ujiji; finished up by selling off all that remained for
slaves and ivory for himself. He had “divined” on the Koran and found that
I was dead. He had also written to the Governor of Unyanyembe that he had
sent slaves after me to Manyuema, who returned and reported my decease,
and begged permission to sell off the few goods that his drunken appetite
had spared.

He, however, knew perfectly well, from men who had seen me, that I was
alive, and waiting for the goods and men; but as for morality, he is
evidently an idiot, and there being no law here except that of the dagger
or musket, I had to sit down in great weakness, destitute of everything
save a few barter cloths and beads, which I had taken the precaution to
leave here in case of extreme need.

The near prospect of beggary among Ujijians made me miserable.

I could not despair, because I laughed so much at a friend who, on
reaching the mouth of the Zambezi, said that he was tempted to despair on
breaking the photograph of his wife. We could have no success after that.
Afterward the idea of despair had to me such a strong smack of the
ludicrous that it was out of the question.

Well, when I had got to about the lowest verge, vague rumors of an English
visitor reached me. I thought of myself as the man who went down from
Jerusalem to Jericho; but neither priest, Levite, nor Samaritan could
possibly pass my way. Yet the good Samaritan was close at hand, and one of
my people rushed up at the top of his speed, and, in great excitement,
gasped out, “An Englishman coming! I see him!” and off he darted to meet
him.

An American flag, the first ever seen in these parts, at the head of a
caravan, told me the nationality of the stranger.

I am as cold and non-demonstrative as we islanders are usually reputed to
be; but your kindness made my frame thrill. It was, indeed, overwhelming,
and I said in my soul, “Let the richest blessings descend from the Highest
on you and yours!”

The news Mr. Stanley had to tell was thrilling. The mighty political
changes on the Continent; the success of the Atlantic cables; the election
of General Grant, and many other topics’ riveted my attention for days
together, and had an immediate and beneficial effect on my health. I had
been without news from home for years save what I could glean from a few
‘Saturday Reviews’ and ‘Punch’ of 1868. The appetite revived, and in a
week I began to feel strong again.

Mr. Stanley brought a most kind and encouraging despatch from Lord
Clarendon (whose loss I sincerely deplore), the first I have received from
the Foreign Office since 1866, and information that the British Government
had kindly sent a thousand pounds sterling to my aid. Up to his arrival I
was not aware of any pecuniary aid. I came unsalaried, but this want is
now happily repaired, and I am anxious that you and all my friends should
know that, though uncheered by letter, I have stuck to the task which my
friend Sir Roderick Murchison set me with “John Bullish” tenacity,
believing that all would come right at last.

The watershed of South Central Africa is over seven hundred wiles in
length. The fountains thereon are almost innumerable—that is, it
would take a man’s lifetime to count them. From the watershed they
converge into four large rivers, and these again into two mighty streams
in the great Nile valley, which begins in ten degrees to twelve degrees
south latitude. It was long ere light dawned on the ancient problem and
gave me a clear idea of the drainage. I had to feel my way, and every step
of the way, and was, generally, groping in the dark—for who cared
where the rivers ran? “We drank our fill and let the rest run by.”

The Portuguese who visited Cazembe asked for slaves and ivory, and heard
of nothing else. I asked about the waters, questioned and
cross-questioned, until I was almost afraid of being set down as afflicted
with hydrocephalus.

My last work, in which I have been greatly hindered from want of suitable
attendants, was following the central line of drainage down through the
country of the cannibals, called Manyuema, or, shortly Manyema. This line
of drainage has four large lakes in it. The fourth I was near when obliged
to turn. It is from one to three miles broad, and never can be reached at
any point, or at any time of the year. Two western drains, the Lufira, or
Bartle Frere’s River, flow into it at Lake Kamolondo. Then the great River
Lomame flows through Lake Lincoln into it too, and seems to form the
western arm of the Nile, on which Petherick traded.

Now, I knew about six hundred miles of the watershed, and unfortunately
the seventh hundred is the most interesting of the whole; for in it, if I
am not mistaken, four fountains arise from an earthen mound, and the last
of the four becomes, at no great distance off, a large river.

Two of these run north to Egypt, Lufira and Lomame, and two run south into
inner Ethiopia, as the Leambaye, or Upper Zambezi, and the Kaful.

Are not these the sources of the Nile mentioned by the Secretary of
Minerva, in the city of Sais, to Herodotus?

I have heard of them so often, and at great distances off, that I cannot
doubt their existence, and in spite of the sore longing for home that
seizes me every time I think of my family, I wish to finish up by their
rediscovery.

Five hundred pounds sterling worth of goods have again unaccountably been
entrusted to slaves, and have been over a year on the way, instead of four
months. I must go where they lie at your expense, ere I can put the
natural completion to my work.

And if my disclosures regarding the terrible Ujijian slavery should lead
to the suppression of the East Coast slave trade, I shall regard that as a
greater matter by far than the discovery of all the Nile sources together.
Now that you have done with domestic slavery for ever, lend us your
powerful aid toward this great object. This fine country is blighted, as
with a curse from above, in order that the slavery privileges of the petty
Sultan of Zanzibar may not be infringed, and the rights of the Crown of
Portugal, which are mythical, should be kept in abeyance till some future
time when Africa will become another India to Portuguese slave-traders.

I conclude by again thanking you most cordially for your great generosity,
and am,

Gratefully yours,

David Livingstone.

To the above letter I have nothing to add—it speaks for itself; but
I then thought it was the best evidence of my success. For my own part, I
cared not one jot or tittle about his discoveries, except so far as it
concerned the newspaper which commissioned me for the “search.” It is true
I felt curious as to the result of his travels; but, since he confessed
that he had not completed what he had begun, I felt considerable delicacy
to ask for more than he could afford to give. His discoveries were the
fruits of of his own labours—to him they belonged—by their
publication he hoped to obtain his reward, which he desired to settle on
his children. Yet Livingstone had a higher and nobler ambition than the
mere pecuniary sum he would receive: he followed the dictates of duty.
Never was such a willing slave to that abstract virtue. His inclinations
impelled him home, the fascinations of which it required the sternest
resolves to resist. With every foot of new ground he travelled over he
forged a chain of sympathy which should hereafter bind the Christian
nations in bonds of love and charity to the Heathen of the African
tropics. If he were able to complete this chain of love—by actual
discovery and description of them to embody such peoples and nations as
still live in darkness, so as to attract the good and charitable of his
own land to bestir themselves for their redemption and salvation—this,
Livingstone would consider an ample reward.

“A delirious and fatuous enterprise, a Quixotic scheme!” some will say.
Not it, my friends; for as sure as the sun shines on both Christian and
Infidel, civilised and Pagan, the day of enlightenment will come; and,
though Livingstone, the Apostle of Africa, may not behold it himself, nor
we younger men, not yet our children, the Hereafter will see it, and
posterity will recognise the daring pioneer of its civilization.

The following items are extracted in their entirety from my Diary:

March 12th.—The Arabs have sent me as many as forty-five letters to
carry to the coast. I am turned courier in my latter days; but the reason
is that no regularly organized caravans are permitted to leave Unyanyembe
now, because of the war with Mirambo. What if I had stayed all this time
at Unyanyembe waiting for the war to end! It is my opinion that, the Arabs
will not be able to conquer Mirambo under nine months yet.

To-night the natives have gathered themselves together to give me a
farewell dance in front of my house. I find them to be the pagazis of
Singiri, chief of Mtesa’s caravan. My men joined in, and, captivated by
the music despite myself, I also struck in, and performed the “light
fantastic,” to the intense admiration of my braves, who were delighted to
see their master unbend a little from his usual stiffness.

It is a wild dance altogether. The music is lively, and evoked from the
sonorous sound of four drums, which are arranged before the bodies of four
men, who stand in the centre of the weird circle. Bombay, as ever comical,
never so much at home as when in the dance of the Mrima, has my
water-bucket on his head; Chowpereh—the sturdy, the nimble,
sure-footed Chowpereh—has an axe in his hand, and wears a goatskin
on his head; Baraka has my bearskin, and handles a spear; Mabruki, the
“Bull-headed,” has entered into the spirit of the thing, and steps up and
down like a solemn elephant; Ulimengo has a gun, and is a fierce
Drawcansir, and you would imagine he was about to do battle to a hundred
thousand, so ferocious is he in appearance; Khamisi and Kamna are before
the drummers, back to back, kicking up ambitiously at the stars; Asmani,—the
embodiment of giant strength,—a towering Titan,—has also a
gun, with which he is dealing blows in the air, as if he were Thor,
slaying myriads with his hammer. The scruples and passions of us all are
in abeyance; we are contending demons under the heavenly light of the
stars, enacting only the part of a weird drama, quickened into action and
movement by the appalling energy and thunder of the drums.

The warlike music is ended, and another is started. The choragus has
fallen on his knees, and dips his head two or three times in an excavation
in the ground, and a choir, also on their knees, repeat in dolorous tones
the last words of a slow and solemn refrain. The words are literally
translated:—

This is the singular farewell which I received from the Wanyamwezi of
Singiri, and for its remarkable epic beauty(?), rhythmic excellence(?),
and impassioned force(?), I have immortalised it in the pages of this
book, as one of the most wonderful productions of the chorus-loving
children of Unyamwezi.

March 13th.—The last day of my stay with Livingstone has come and
gone, and the last night we shall be together is present, and I cannot
evade the morrow! I feel as though I would rebel against the fate which
drives me away from him. The minutes beat fast, and grow into hours.

Our door is closed, and we are both of us busy with our own thoughts. What
his thoughts are I know not. Mine are sad. My days seem to have been spent
in an Elysian field; otherwise, why should I so keenly regret the near
approach of the parting hour? Have I not been battered by successive
fevers, prostrate with agony day after day lately? Have I not raved and
stormed in madness? Have I not clenched my fists in fury, and fought with
the wild strength of despair when in delirium? Yet, I regret to surrender
the pleasure I have felt in this man’s society, though so dearly
purchased.

I cannot resist the sure advance of time, which flies this night as if it
mocked me, and gloated on the misery it created! Be it so!

How many times have I not suffered the pang of parting with friends! I
wished to linger longer, but the inevitable would come—Fate sundered
us. This is the same regretful feeling, only it is more poignant, and the
farewell may be forever! FOREVER? And “FOR EVER,” echo the reverberations
of a woful whisper.

I have noted down all he has said to-night; but the reader shall not share
it with me. It is mine!

I am as jealous as he is himself of his Journal; and I have written in
German text, and in round hand, on either side of it, on the waterproof
canvas cover, “POSITTVELY NOT TO BE OPENED;” to which he has affixed his
signature. I have stenographed every word he has said to me respecting the
equable distribution of certain curiosities among his friends and
children, and his last wish about “his” dear old friend, Sir Roderick
Murchison, because he has been getting anxious about him ever since we
received the newspapers at Ugunda, when we read that the old man was
suffering from a paralytic stroke. I must be sure to send him the news, as
soon as I get to Aden; and I have promised that he will receive the
message from me quicker than anything was ever received in Central Africa.

“To-morrow night, Doctor, you will be alone!”

“Yes; the house will look as though a death had taken place. You had
better stop until the rains, which are now near, are over.”

“I would to God I could, my dear Doctor; but every day I stop here, now
that there is no necessity for me to stay longer, keeps you from your work
and home.”

“I know; but consider your health—you are not fit to travel. What is
it? Only a few weeks longer. You will travel to the coast just as quickly
when the rains are over as you will by going now. The plains will be
inundated between here and the coast.”

“You think so; but I will reach the coast in forty days; if not in forty,
I will in fifty—certain. The thought that I am doing you an
important service will spur me on.”

March 14th.—At dawn we were up, the bales and baggage were taken
outside of the building, and the men prepared themselves for the first
march towards home.

We had a sad breakfast together. I could not eat, my heart was too full;
neither did my companion seem to have an appetite. We found something to
do which kept us longer together. At 8 o’clock I was not gone, and I had
thought to have been off at 5 A.M.

“Doctor,” said I, “I will leave two men with you, who will stop to-day and
to-morrow with you, for it may be that you have forgotten something in the
hurry of my departure. I will halt a day at Tura, on the frontier of
Unyamwezi, for your last word, and your last wish; and now we must part—there
is no help for it. Good-bye.”

“Oh, I am coming with you a little way. I must see you off on the road.”

“Thank you. Now, my men, Home! Kirangozi, lift the flag, and MARCH!”

The house looked desolate—it faded from our view. Old times, and the
memories of my aspirations and kindling hopes, came strong on me. The old
hills round about, that I once thought tame and uninteresting, had become
invested with histories and reminiscences for me. On that burzani I have
sat hour after hour, dreaming, and hoping, and sighing. On that col I
stood, watching the battle and the destruction of Tabora. Under that roof
I have sickened and been delirious, and cried out like a child at the fate
that threatened my mission. Under that banian tree lay my dead comrade—poor
Shaw; I would have given a fortune to have had him by my side at this
time. From that house I started on my journey to Ujiji; to it I returned
as to a friend, with a newer and dearer companion; and now I leave all.
Already it all appears like a strange dream.

We walked side by side; the men lifted their voices into a song. I took
long looks at Livingstone, to impress his features thoroughly on my
memory.

“The thing is, Doctor, so far as I can understand it, you do not intend to
return home until you have satisfied yourself about the ‘Sources of the
Nile.’ When you have satisfied yourself, you will come home and satisfy
others. Is it not so?”

“That is it, exactly. When your men come back, I shall immediately start
for Ufipa; then, crossing the Rungwa River, I shall strike south, and
round the extremity of the Tanganika. Then, a south-east course will take
me to Chicumbi’s, on the Luapula. On crossing the Luapula, I shall go
direct west to the copper-mines of Katanga. Eight days south of Katanga,
the natives declare the fountains to be. When I have found them, I shall
return by Katanga to the underground houses of Rua. From the caverns, ten
days north-east will take me to Lake Kamolondo. I shall be able to travel
from the lake, in your boat, up the River Lufira, to Lake Lincoln. Then,
coming down again, I can proceed north, by the Lualaba, to the fourth lake—which,
I think, will explain the whole problem; and I will probably find that it
is either Chowambe (Baker’s lake), or Piaggia’s lake.

“And how long do you think this little journey will take you?”

“A year and a half, at the furthest, from the day I leave Unyanyembe.”

“Suppose you say two years; contingencies might arise, you know. It will
be well for me to hire these new men for two years; the day of their
engagement to begin from their arrival at Unyanyembe.”

“Yes, that will do excellently well.”

“Now, my dear Doctor, the best friends must part. You have come far
enough; let me beg of you to turn back.”

“Well, I will say this to you: you have done what few men could do—far
better than some great travellers I know. And I am grateful to you for
what you have done for me. God guide you safe home, and bless you, my
friend.”

“And may God bring you safe back to us all, my dear friend. Farewell!”

“Farewell!”

We wrung each other’s hands, and I had to tear myself away before I
unmanned myself; but Susi, and Chumah, and Hamoydah—the Doctor’s
faithful fellows—they must all shake and kiss my hands before I
could quite turn away. I betrayed myself!

“Good-bye, Doctor—dear friend!”

“Good-bye!”

The FAREWELL between Livingstone and myself had been spoken. We were
parted, he to whatever fate Destiny had yet in store for him, to battling
against difficulties, to many, many days of marching through wildernesses,
with little or nothing much to sustain him save his own high spirit, and
enduring faith in God—”who would bring all things right at last;”
and I to that which Destiny may have in store for me.

But though I may live half a century longer, I shall never forget that
parting scene in Central Africa. I shall never cease to think of the sad
tones of that sorrowful word Farewell, how they permeated through every
core of my heart, how they clouded my eyes, and made me wish unutterable
things which could never be.

An audacious desire to steal one embrace from the dear old man came over
me, and almost unmanned me. I felt tempted to stop with him and assist
him, on his long return march to the fountain region, but these things
were not to be, any more than many other impulsive wishes, and despite the
intensified emotions which filled both of us, save by silent tears, and a
tremulous parting word, we did not betray our stoicism of manhood and
race.

I assumed a gruff voice, and ordered the Expedition to march, and I
resolutely turned my face toward the eastern sky. But ever and anon my
eyes would seek that deserted figure of an old man in grey clothes, who
with bended head and slow steps was returning to his solitude, the very
picture of melancholy, and each time I saw him—as the plain was wide
and clear of obstructions—I felt my eyes stream, and my heart swell
with a vague, indefinable feeling of foreboding and sorrow.

I thought of his lonely figure sitting day after day on the burzani of his
house, by which all caravans from the coast would have to pass, and of the
many, many times he would ask the new-comers whether they had passed any
men coming along the road for him, and I thought as each day passed, and
his stores and letters had not arrived how he would grieve at the
lengthening delay. I then felt strong again, as I felt that so long as I
should be doing service for Livingstone, I was not quite parted from him,
and by doing the work effectively and speedily the bond of friendship
between us would be strengthened. Such thoughts spurred me to the
resolution to march so quickly for the coast, that Arabs in after time
should marvel at the speed with which the white man’s caravan travelled
from Unyanyembe to Zanzibar.

I took one more look at him; he was standing near the gate of Kwikuru with
his servants near him. I waved a handkerchief to him, as a final token of
farewell, and he responded to it by lifting his cap. It was the last
opportunity, for we soon surmounted the crest of a land-wave, and began
the descent into the depression on the other side, and I NEVER saw him
more.

God grant, dear reader, that if ever you take to travelling in Central
Africa, you find as good and true a man, for your companion, as I found in
noble David Livingstone. For four months and four days he and I occupied
the same house, or, the same tent, and I never had one feeling of
resentment against him, nor did he show any against me, and the longer I
lived with him the more did my admiration and reverence for him increase.

What were Livingstone’s thoughts during the time which elapsed between my
departure for the coast, and the arrival of his supplies, may be gathered
from a letter which he wrote on the 2nd of July to Mr. John F. Webb,
American Consul at Zanzibar.

I am not going to inflict on the reader a repetition of our march back,
except to record certain incidents which occurred to us as we journeyed to
the coast.

March 17th.—We came to the Kwalah River. The first rain of the
Masika season fell on this day; I shall be mildewed before I reach the
coast. Last year’s Masika began at Bagamoyo, March 23rd, and ended 30th
April.

The next day I halted the Expedition at Western Tura, on the Unyamwezi
frontier, and on the 20th arrived at Eastern Tura; when, soon after, we
heard a loud report of a gun, and Susi and Hamoydah, the Doctor’s
servants, with Uredi, and another of my men, appeared with a letter for
“Sir Thomas MacLear, Observatory, Cape of Good Hope,” and one for myself,
which read as follows:

Kwihara, March 15, 1872.

Dear Stanley,

If you can telegraph on your arrival in London, be particular, please, to
say how Sir Roderick is. You put the matter exactly yesterday, when you
said that I was “not yet satisfied about the Sources; but as soon as I
shall be satisfied, I shall return and give satisfactory reasons fit for
other people.” This is just as it stands.

I wish I could give you a better word than the Scotch one to “put a stout
heart to a stey brae”—(a steep ascent)—for you will do that;
and I am thankful that, before going away, the fever had changed into the
intermittent, or safe form. I would not have let you go, but with great
concern, had you still been troubled with the continued type. I feel
comfortable in commending you to the guardianship of the good Lord and
Father of all.

I am gratefully yours,

David Livingstone.

I have worked as hard as I could copying observations made in one line of
march from Kabuire, back again to Cazembe, and on to Lake Baugweolo, and
am quite tired out. My large figures fill six sheets of foolscap, and many
a day will elapse ere I take to copying again. I did my duty when ill at
Ujiji in 1869, and am not to blame, though they grope a little in the dark
at home. Some Arab letters have come, and I forward them to you.

D. L.

March 16, 1872.

P.S.—I have written a note this morning to Mr. Murray, 50, Albemarle
Street, the publisher, to help you, if necessary, in sending the Journal
by book post, or otherwise, to Agnes. If you call on him you will find him
a frank gentleman. A pleasant journey to you.

David Livingstone.

To Henry M. Stanley, Esq., Wherever he may be found.

Several Wangwana arrived at Tura to join our returning Expedition, as they
were afraid to pass through Ugogo by themselves; others were reported
coming; but as all were sufficiently warned at Unyanyembe that the
departure of the caravan would take place positively on the 14th, I was
not disposed to wait longer.

As we were leaving Tura, on the 21st, Susi and Hamoydah were sent back to
the Doctor, with last words from me, while we continued our march to
Nghwhalah River.

Two days afterwards we arrived before the village of Ngaraisa, into which
the head of the caravan attempted to enter but the angry Wakimbu forcibly
ejected them.

On the 24th, we encamped in the jungle, in what is called the “tongoni,”
or clearing.

This region was at one period in a most flourishing state; the soil is
exceedingly fertile; the timber is large, and would be valuable near the
coast; and, what is highly appreciated in Africa, there is an abundance of
water. We camped near a smooth, broad hump of syenite, at one end of which
rose, upright and grand, a massive square rock, which towered above
several small trees in the vicinity; at the other end stood up another
singular rock, which was loosened at the base.

The members of the Expedition made use of the great sheet of rock to grind
their grain; a common proceeding in these lands where villages are not
near, or when the people are hostile.

On the 27th of March we entered Kiwyeh. At dawn, when leaving Mdaburu
River, the solemn warning had been given that we were about entering
Ugogo; and as we left Kaniyaga village, with trumpet-like blasts of the
guide’s horn, we filed into the depths of an expanse of rustling Indian
corn. The ears were ripe enough for parching and roasting, and thus was
one anxiety dispelled by its appearance; for generally, in early March,
caravans suffer from famine, which overtakes both natives and strangers.

We soon entered the gum-tree districts, and we knew we were in Ugogo. The
forests of this country are chiefly composed of the gum and thorn species—mimosa
and tamarisk, with often a variety of wild fruit trees. The grapes were
plentiful, though they were not quite ripe; and there was also a round,
reddish fruit with the sweetness of the Sultana grape, with leaves like a
gooseberry-bush. There was another about the size of an apricot, which was
excessively bitter.

Emerging from the entangled thorn jungle, the extensive settlements of
Kiwyeh came into view; and to the east of the chief’s village we found a
camping place under the shade of a group of colossal baobab.

We had barely encamped when we heard the booming, bellowing war horns
sounding everywhere, and we espied messengers darting swiftly in every
direction giving the alarm of war. When first informed that the horns were
calling the people to arm themselves, and prepare for war, I half
suspected that an attack was about to be made on the Expedition; but the
words “Urugu, warugu” (thief! thieves!)—bandied about, declared the
cause. Mukondoku, the chief of the populous district two days to the
north-east, where we experienced some excitement when westward-bound, was
marching to attack the young Mtemi, Kiwyeh, and Kiwyeh’s soldiers were
called to the fight. The men rushed to their villages, and in a short time
we saw them arrayed in full fighting costume. Feathers of the ostrich and
the eagle waved over their fronts, or the mane of the zebra surrounded
their heads; their knees and ankles were hung with little bells; joho
robes floated behind, from their necks; spears, assegais, knob-sticks, and
bows were flourished over their heads, or held in their right hands, as if
ready for hurling. On each flank of a large body which issued from the
principal village, and which came at a uniform swinging double-quick, the
ankle and knee bells all chiming in admirable unison, were a cloud of
skirmishers, consisting of the most enthusiastic, who exercised themselves
in mimic war as they sped along. Column after column, companies, and
groups from every village hurried on past our camp until, probably, there
were nearly a thousand soldiers gone to the war. This scene gave me a
better idea than anything else of the weakness of even the largest
caravans which travelled between Zanzibar and Unyanyembe.

At night the warriors returned from the forest; the alarm proved to be
without foundation. At first it was generally reported that the invaders
were Wahehe, or the Wadirigo, as that tribe are scornfully called from
their thieving propensities. The Wahehe frequently make a foray upon the
fat cattle of Ugogo. They travel from their own country in the south-east,
and advance through the jungle, and when about to approach the herds,
stoop down, covering their bodies with their shields of bull-hide. Having
arrived between the cattle and the herdsmen, they suddenly rise up and
begin to switch the cattle heartily, and, having started them off into the
jungle in the care of men already detailed for the work, they turn about,
and plant their shields before them, to fight the aroused shepherds.

On the 30th we arrived at Khonze, which is remarkable for the mighty
globes of foliage which the giant sycamores and baobabs put forth above
the plain. The chief of Khonze boasts of four tembes, out of which he
could muster in the aggregate fifty armed men; yet this fellow, instigated
by the Wanyamwezi residents, prepared to resist our advance, because I
only sent him three doti—twelve yards of cloth—as honga.

We were halted, waiting the return of a few friendly Wagogo travellers who
had joined us, and who were asked to assist Bombay in the negotiation of
the tribute, when the Wagogo returned to us at breathless speed, and
shouted out to me, “Why do you halt here? Do you wish to die? These pagans
will not take the tribute, but they boast that they will eat up all your
cloth.”

The renegade Wanyamwezi who had married into Wagogo families were always
our bane in this country. As the chief of Khonze came up I ordered the men
to load their guns, and I loaded my own ostentatiously in his presence,
and then strode up to him, and asked if he had come to take the cloth by
force, or if he were going to accept quietly what I would give him. As the
Mnyamwezi who caused this show of hostilities was beginning to speak, I
caught him by the throat, and threatened to make his nose flatter if he
attempted to speak again in my presence, and to shoot him first, if we
should be forced to fight. The rascal was then pushed away into the rear.
The chief, who was highly amused with this proceeding, laughed loudly at
the discomfiture of the parasite, and in a short time he and I had settled
the tribute to our mutual satisfaction, and we parted great friends. The
Expedition arrived at Sanza that night.

On the 31st we came to Kanyenyi, to the great Mtemi—Magomba’s—whose
son and heir is Mtundu M’gondeh. As we passed by the tembe of the great
Sultan, the msagira, or chief counsellor, a pleasant grey-haired man, was
at work making a thorn fence around a patch of young corn. He greeted the
caravan with a sonorous “Yambo,” and, putting himself at its head, he led
the way to our camp. When introduced to me he was very cordial in his
manner. He was offered a kiti-stool and began to talk very affably. He
remembered my predecessors, Burton, Speke, and Grant, very well; declared
me to be much younger than any of them; and, recollecting that one of the
white men used to drink asses’ milk (Burton?), offered to procure me some.
The way I drank it seemed to give him very great satisfaction.

His son, Unamapokera, was a tall man of thirty or thereabouts, and he
conceived a great friendship for me, and promised that the tribute should
be very light, and that he would send a man to show me the way to Myumi,
which was a village on the frontier of Kanyenyi, by which I would be
enabled to avoid the rapacious Kisewah, who was in the habit of enforcing
large tribute from caravans.

With the aid of Unamapokera and his father, we contrived to be mulcted
very lightly, for we only paid ten doti, while Burton was compelled to pay
sixty doti or two hundred and forty yards of cloth.

On the 1st of April, rising early, we reached Myumi after a four hours’
march; then plunged into the jungle, and, about 2 P.M. arrived at a large
ziwa, or pond, situate in the middle of a jungle; and on the next day, at
10 A.M., reached the fields of Mapanga. We were passing the village of
Mapanga to a resting-place beyond the village, where we might breakfast
and settle the honga, when a lad rushed forward to meet us, and asked us
where we were going. Having received a reply that we were going to a
camping-place, he hastened on ahead, and presently we heard him talking to
some men in a field on our right.

In the meantime, we had found a comfortable shady place, and had come to a
halt; the men were reclining on the ground, or standing up near their
respective loads; Bombay was about opening a bale, when we heard a great
rush of men, and loud shouts, and, immediately after, out rushed from the
jungle near by a body of forty or fifty armed men, who held their spears
above their heads, or were about to draw their bows, with a chief at their
head, all uttering such howls of rage as only savages can, which sounded
like a long-drawn “Hhaat-uh—Hhaat-uhh-uhh,” which meant,
unmistakably, “You will, will you? No, you will not!”—at once
determined, defiant, and menacing.

I had suspected that the voices I heard boded no good to us, and I had
accordingly prepared my weapons and cartridges. Verily, what a fine chance
for adventure this was! One spear flung at us, or one shot fired into this
minatory mob of savages, and the opposing’ bands had been plunged into a
fatal conflict! There would have been no order of battle, no pomp of war,
but a murderous strife, a quick firing of breech-loaders, and volleys from
flint-lock muskets, mixed with the flying of spears and twanging of bows,
the cowardly running away at once, pursued by yelping savages; and who
knows how it all would have terminated? Forty spears against forty guns—but
how many guns would not have decamped? Perhaps all, and I should have been
left with my boy gunbearers to have my jugular deliberately severed, or to
be decapitated, leaving my head to adorn a tall pole in the centre of a
Kigogo village, like poor Monsieur Maizan’s at Dege la Mhora, in Uzaramo.
Happy end of an Expedition! And the Doctor’s Journal lost for ever—the
fruits of six years’ labor!

But in this land it will not do to fight unless driven to the very last
extremity. No belligerent Mungo Park can be successful in Ugogo unless he
has a sufficient force of men with him. With five hundred Europeans one
could traverse Africa from north to south, by tact, and the moral effect
that such a force would inspire. Very little fighting would be required.

Without rising from the bale on which I was seated, I requested the
kirangozi to demand an explanation of their furious hubbub and threatening
aspect; if they were come to rob us.

“No,” said the chief; “we do not want to stop the road, or to rob you; but
we want the tribute.”

“But don’t you see us halted, and the bale opened to send it to you? We
have come so far from your village that after the tribute is settled we
can proceed on our way, as the day is yet young.”

The chief burst into a loud laugh, and was joined by ourselves. He
evidently felt ashamed of his conduct for he voluntarily offered the
explanation, that as he and his men were cutting wood to make a new fence
for his village, a lad came up to him, and said that a caravan of Wangwana
were about passing through the country without stopping to explain who
they were. We were soon very good friends. He begged of me to make rain
for him, as his crops were suffering, and no rain had fallen for months. I
told him that though white people were very great and clever people, much
superior to the Arabs, yet we could not make rain. Though very much
disappointed, he did not doubt my statement, and after receiving his
honga, which was very light, he permitted us to go on our way, and even
accompanied us some distance to show us the road.

At 3 P.M. we entered a thorny jungle; and by 5 P.M. we had arrived at
Muhalata, a district lorded over by the chief Nyamzaga. A Mgogo, of whom I
made a friend, proved very staunch. He belonged to Mulowa, a country to
the S.S.E., and south of Kulabi; and was active in promoting my interests
by settling the tribute, with the assistance of Bombay, for me. When, on
the next day, we passed through Kulabi on our way to Mvumi, and the Wagogo
were about to stop us for the honga, he took upon himself the task of
relieving us from further toll, by stating we were from Ugogo or Kanyenyi.
The chief simply nodded his head, and we passed on. It seems that the
Wagogo do not exact blackmail of those caravans who intend only to trade
in their own country, or have no intention of passing beyond their own
frontier.

Leaving Kulabi, we traversed a naked, red, loamy plain, over which the
wind from the heights of Usagara, now rising a bluish-black jumble of
mountains in our front, howled most fearfully. With clear, keen, incisive
force, the terrible blasts seemed to penetrate through an through our
bodies, as though we were but filmy gauze. Manfully battling against this
mighty “peppo”—storm—we passed through Mukamwa’s, and crossing
a broad sandy bed of a stream, we entered the territory of Mvumi, the last
tribute-levying chief of Ugogo.

The 4th of April, after sending Bombay and my friendly Mgogo with eight
doti, or thirty-two yards of cloth, as a farewell tribute to the Sultan,
we struck off through the jungle, and in five hours we were on the borders
of the wilderness of “Marenga Mkali”—the “hard,” bitter or brackish,
water.

From our camp I despatched three men to Zanzibar with letters to the
American Consul, and telegraphic despatches for the ‘Herald,’ with a
request to the Consul that he would send the men back with a small case or
two containing such luxuries as hungry, worn-out, and mildewed men would
appreciate. The three messengers were charged not to halt for anything—rain
or no rain, river or inundation—as if they did not hurry up we
should catch them before they reached the coast. With a fervent
“Inshallah, bana,” they departed.

On the 5th, with a loud, vigorous, cheery “Hurrah!” we plunged into the
depths of the wilderness, which, with its eternal silence and solitude,
was far preferable to the jarring, inharmonious discord of the villages of
the Wagogo. For nine hours we held on our way, starting with noisy shouts
the fierce rhinoceros, the timid quagga, and the herds of antelopes which
crowd the jungles of this broad salina. On the 7th, amid a pelting rain,
we entered Mpwapwa, where my Scotch assistant, Farquhar, died. We had
performed the extraordinary march of 338 English statute miles from the
14th of March to the 7th of April, or within twenty-four days, inclusive
of halts, which was a little over fourteen miles a day.

Leukole, the chief of Mpwapwa, with whom I left Farquhar, gave the
following account of the death of the latter:—

“The white man seemed to be improving after you left him, until the, fifth
day, when, while attempting to rise and walk out of his tent, he fell
back; from that minute he got worse and worse, and in the afternoon he
died, like one going to sleep. His legs and abdomen had swollen
considerably, and something, I think, broke within him when he fell, for
he cried out like a man who was very much hurt, and his servant said, ‘The
master says he is dying.’

“We had him carried out under a large tree, and after covering him with
leaves, there left him. His servant took possession of his things, his
rifle, clothes, and blanket, and moved off to the tembe of a Mnyamwezi,
near Kisokweh, where he lived for three months, when he also died. Before
he died he sold his master’s rifle to an Arab going to Unyanyembe for ten
doti (forty yards of cloth). That is all I know about it.”

He subsequently showed me the hollow into which the dead body of Farquhar
was thrown, but I could not find a vestige of his bones, though we looked
sharply about that we might make a decent grave for them. Before we left
Unyanyembe fifty men were employed two days carrying rocks, with which I
built up a solid enduring pile around Shaw’s grave eight feet long and
five feet broad, which Dr. Livingstone said would last hundreds of years,
as the grave of the first white man who died in Unyamwezi. But though we
could not discover any remains of the unfortunate Farquhar, we collected a
large quantity of stones, and managed to raise a mound near the banks of
the stream to commemorate the spot where his body was laid.

It was not until we had entered the valley of the Mukondokwa River that we
experienced anything like privation or hardship from the Masika. Here the
torrents thundered and roared; the river was a mighty brown flood,
sweeping downward with, an almost resistless flow. The banks were brimful,
and broad nullahs were full of water, and the fields were inundated, and
still the rain came surging down in a shower, that warned us of what we
might expect during our transit of the sea-coast region. Still we urged
our steps onward like men to whom every moment was precious—as if a
deluge was overtaking us. Three times we crossed this awful flood at the
fords by means of ropes tied to trees from bank to bank, and arrived at
Kadetamare on the 11th, a most miserable, most woe-begone set of human
beings; and camped on a hill opposite Mount Kibwe, which rose on the right
of the river—one of the tallest peaks of the range.

On the 12th of April, after six hours of the weariest march I had ever
undergone, we arrived at the mouth of the Mukondokwa Pass, out of which
the river debouches into the Plain of Makata. We knew that it was an
unusual season, for the condition of the country, though bad enough the
year before, was as nothing compared to this year. Close to the edge of
the foaming, angry flood lay our route, dipping down frequently into deep
ditches, wherein we found ourselves sometimes up to the waist in water,
and sometimes up to the throat. Urgent necessity impelled us onward, lest
we might have to camp at one of these villages until the end of the
monsoon rains; so we kept on, over marshy bottoms, up to the knees in
mire, under jungly tunnels dripping with wet, then into sloughs arm-pit
deep. Every channel seemed filled to overflowing, yet down the rain
poured, beating the surface of the river into yellowish foam, pelting us
until we were almost breathless. Half a day’s battling against such
difficulties brought us, after crossing the river, once again to the
dismal village of Mvumi.

We passed the night fighting swarms of black and voracious mosquitoes, and
in heroic endeavours to win repose in sleep, in which we were partly
successful, owing to the utter weariness of our bodies.

On the 13th we struck out of the village of Mvumi. It had rained the whole
night, and the morning brought no cessation. Mile after mile we traversed,
over fields covered by the inundation, until we came to a branch
river-side once again, where the river was narrow, and too deep to ford in
the middle. We proceeded to cut a tree down, and so contrived that it
should fall right across the stream. Over this fallen tree the men,
bestriding it, cautiously moved before them their bales and boxes; but one
young fellow, Rojab—through over-zeal, or in sheer madness—took
up the Doctor’s box which contained his letters and Journal of his
discoveries on his head, and started into the river. I had been the first
to arrive on the opposite bank, in order to superintend the crossing; when
I caught sight of this man walking in the river with the most precious box
of all on his head. Suddenly he fell into a deep hole, and the man and box
went almost out of sight, while I was in an agony at the fate which
threatened the despatches. Fortunately, he recovered himself and stood up,
while I shouted to him, with a loaded revolver pointed at his head, “Look
out! Drop that bog, and I’ll shoot you.”

All the men halted in their work while they gazed at their comrade who was
thus imperilled by bullet and flood. The man himself seemed to regard the
pistol with the greatest awe, and after a few desperate efforts succeeded
in getting the box safely ashore. As the articles within were not damaged,
Rojab escaped punishment, with a caution not to touch the bog again on any
account, and it was transferred to the keeping of the sure-footed and
perfect pagazi, Maganga.

From this stream, in about an hour, we came to the main river, but one
look at its wild waters was enough. We worked hard to construct a raft,
but after cutting down four trees and lashing the green logs together, and
pushing them into the whirling current, we saw them sink like lead. We
then tied together all the strong rope in our possession, and made a line
180 feet long, with one end of which tied round his body, Chowpereh was
sent across to lash it to a tree. He was carried far down the stream; but
being an excellent swimmer, he succeeded in his attempt. The bales were
lashed around the middle, and, heaved into the stream, were dragged
through the river to the opposite bank, as well as the tent, and such
things as could not be injured much by the water. Several of the men, as
well as myself, were also dragged through the water; each of the boys
being attended by the best swimmers; but when we came to the letter-boxes
and valuables, we could suggest no means to take them over. Two camps were
accordingly made, one on each side of the stream; the one on the bank
which I had just left occupying an ant-hill of considerable height; while
my party had to content itself with a flat, miry marsh. An embankment of
soil, nearly a foot high, was thrown up in a circle thirty feet in
diameter, in the centre of which my tent was pitched, and around it booths
were erected.

It was an extraordinary and novel position that we found ourselves in.
Within twenty feet of our camp was a rising river, with flat, low banks;
above us was a gloomy, weeping sky; surrounding us on three sides was an
immense forest, on whose branches we heard the constant, pattering rain;
beneath our feet was a great depth of mud, black and loathsome; add to
these the thought that the river might overflow, and sweep us to utter
destruction.

In the morning the river was still rising, and an inevitable doom seemed
to hang over us. There was yet time to act—to bring over the people,
with the most valuable effects of the Expedition—as I considered Dr.
Livingstone’s Journal and letters, and my own papers, of far greater value
than anything else. While looking at the awful river an idea struck me
that I might possibly carry the boxes across, one at a time, by cutting
two slender poles, and tying cross sticks to them, making a kind of
hand-barrow, on which a box might rest when lashed to it. Two men swimming
across, at the same time holding on to the rope, with the ends of the
poles resting on the men’s shoulders, I thought, would be enabled to
convey over a 70 lb. box with ease. In a short time one of these was made,
and six couples of the strongest swimmers were prepared, and stimulated
with a rousing glass of stiff grog each man, with a promise of cloth to
each also if they succeeded in getting everything ashore undamaged by the
water. When I saw with what ease they dragged themselves across, the
barrow on their shoulders, I wondered that I had not thought of the plan
before. Within an hour of the first couple had gone over, the entire
Expedition was safe on the eastern bank; and at once breaking camp, we
marched north through the swampy forest, which in some places was covered
with four feet of water. Seven hours’ constant splashing brought us to
Rehenneko, after experiencing several queer accidents. We were now on the
verge only of the inundated plain of the Makata, which, even with the last
year’s rain, was too horrible to think of undertaking again in cold blood.

We were encamped ten days on a hill near Rehenneko, or until the 25th,
when, the rain having entirely ceased, we resolved to attempt the crossing
of the Makata. The bales of cloth had all been distributed as presents to
the men for their work, except a small quantity which I retained for the
food of my own mess.

But we should have waited a month longer, for the inundation had not
abated four inches. However, after we once struggled up to our necks in
water it was use less to turn back. For two marches of eight hours each we
plunged through slush, mire, deep sloughs, water up to our necks, and
muddy cataclysms, swam across nullahs, waded across gullies, and near
sunset of the second day arrived on the banks of the Makata River. My
people are not likely to forget that night; not one of them was able to
sleep until it was long past midnight, because of the clouds of
mosquitoes, which threatened to eat us all up; and when the horn sounded
for the march of another day, there was not one dissentient amongst them.

It was 5 A.M. when we began the crossing of the Makata River, but beyond
it for six miles stretched one long lake, the waters of which flowed
gently towards the Wami. This was the confluence of the streams: four
rivers were here gathered into one. The natives of Kigongo warned us not
to attempt it, as the water was over our heads; but I had only to give a
hint to the men, and we set on our way. Even the water—we were
getting quite amphibious—was better than the horrible filth and
piles of decaying vegetation which were swept against the boma of the
village.

We were soon up to our armpits, then the water shallowed to the knee, then
we stepped up to the neck, and waded on tiptoe, supporting the children
above the water; and the same experiences occurred as those which we
suffered the day before, until we were halted on the edge of the Little
Makata, which raced along at the rate of eight knots an hour; but it was
only fifty yards wide, and beyond it rose a high bank, and dry park-lands
which extended as far as Simbo. We had no other option than to swim it;
but it was a slow operation, the current was so swift and strong. Activity
and zeal, high rewards, presents of money, backed by the lively feeling
that we were nearing home, worked wonders, and in a couple of hours we
were beyond the Makata.

Cheery and hopeful, we sped along the dry, smooth path that now lay before
us, with the ardor and vivacity of heroes, and the ease and power of
veterans, We rolled three ordinary marches into one that day, and long
before night arrived at Simbo.

On the 29th we crossed the Ungerengeri, and as we came to Simbamwenni-the
“Lion City” of Useguhha—lo! what a change! The flooded river had
swept the entire front wall of the strongly-walled city away, and about
fifty houses had been destroyed by the torrent. Villages of Waruguru, on
the slopes of the Uruguru Mountains—Mkambaku range—had also
suffered disastrously. If one-fourth of the reports we heard were true, at
least a hundred people must have perished.

The Sultana had fled, and the stronghold of Kimbengo was no more! A deep
canal that he had caused to be excavated when alive, to bring a branch of
the Ungerengeri near his city—which was his glory and boast—proved
the ruin of Simbamwenni. After the destruction of the place the river had
formed a new bed, about 300 yards from the city. But what astonished us
most were the masses of debris which seemed to be piled everywhere, and
the great numbers of trees that were prostrate; and they all seemed to lie
in the same direction, as if a strong wind had come from the south-west.
The aspect of the Ungerengeri valley was completely changed—from a
Paradise it was converted into a howling waste.

We continued our march until we reached Ulagalla, and it was evident, as
we advanced, that an unusual storm had passed over the land, for the trees
in some places seemed to lie in swathes.

A most fatiguing and long march brought us to Mussoudi, on the eastern
bank of the Ungerengeri; but long before we reached it we realized that a
terrific destruction of human life and property had occurred. The extent
and nature of the calamity may be imagined, when I state that nearly ONE
HUNDRED VILLAGES, according to Mussoudi’s report, were swept away.

Mussoudi, the Diwan, says that the inhabitants had gone to rest as usual—as
they had done ever since he had settled in the valley, twenty-five years
ago—when, in the middle of the night, they heard a roar like many
thunders, which woke them up to the fact that death was at work in the
shape of an enormous volume of water, that, like a wall, came down,
tearing the tallest trees with it, carrying away scores of villages at one
fell, sure swoop into utter destruction. The scene six days after the
event—when the river has subsided into its normal breadth and depth
during the monsoons—is simply awful. Wherever we look, we find
something very suggestive of the devastation that has visited the country;
fields of corn are covered with many feet of sand and debris; the sandy
bed the river has deserted is about a mile wide; and there are but three
villages standing of all that I noticed when en route to Unyanyembe. When
I asked Mussoudi where the people had gone to, he replied, “God has taken
most of them, but some have gone to Udoe.” The surest blow ever struck at
the tribe of the Wakami was indeed given by the hand of God; and, to use
the words of the Diwan, “God’s power is wonderful, and who can resist
Him!”

I again resort to my Diary, and extract the following:

April 30th.—Passing Msuwa, we travelled hurriedly through the jungle
which saw such hard work with us when going to Unyanyembe. What dreadful
odors and indescribable loathing this jungle produces! It is so dense that
a tiger could not crawl through it; it is so impenetrable that an elephant
could not force his way! Were a bottleful of concentrated miasma, such as
we inhale herein, collected, what a deadly poison, instantaneous in its
action, undiscoverable in its properties, would it be! I think it would
act quicker than chloroform, be as fatal as prussic acid.

Horrors upon horrors are in it. Boas above our heads, snakes and scorpions
under our feet. Land-crabs, terrapins, and iguanas move about in our
vicinity. Malaria is in the air we breathe; the road is infested with
“hotwater” ants, which bite our legs until we dance and squirm about like
madmen. Yet, somehow, we are fortunate enough to escape annihilation, and
many another traveller might also. Yet here, in verity, are the ten
plagues of Egypt, through which a traveller in these regions must run the
gauntlet:

May 1st. Kingaru Hera.—We heard news of a great storm having raged
at Zanzibar, which has destroyed every house and every ship,—so the
story runs;—and the same destruction has visited Bagamoyo and
Whinde, they say. But I am by this time pretty well acquainted with the
exaggerative tendency of the African. It is possible that serious loss has
been sustained, from the evidences of the effects of the storm in the
interior. I hear, also, that there are white men at Bagamoyo, who are
about starting into the country to look after me (?). Who would look after
me, I cannot imagine. I think they must have some confused idea of my
Expedition; though, how they came to know that I was looking for any man I
cannot conceive, because I never told a soul until I reached Unyanyembe.

May 2nd. Rosako.—I had barely arrived at the village before the
three men I despatched from Mvumi, Ugogo, entered, bringing with them from
the generous American Consul a few bottles of champagne, a few pots of
jam, and two boxes of Boston crackers. These were most welcome after my
terrible experiences in the Makata Valley. Inside one of these boxes,
carefully put up by the Consul, were four numbers of the ‘Herald’; one of
which contained my correspondence from Unyanyembe, wherein were some
curious typographical errors, especially in figures and African names. I
suppose my writing was wretched, owing to my weakness. In another are
several extracts from various newspapers, in which I learn that many
editors regard the Expedition into Africa as a myth. Alas! it has been a
terrible, earnest fact with me; nothing but hard, conscientious work,
privation, sickness, and almost death. Eighteen men have paid the forfeit
of their lives in the undertaking. It certainly is not a myth—the
death of my two white assistants; they, poor fellows, found their fate in
the inhospitable regions of the interior.

One of my letters received from Zanzibar by my messengers states that
there is an expedition at Bagamoyo called the “Livingstone Search and
Relief Expedition.” What will the leaders of it do now? Livingstone is
found and relieved already. Livingstone says he requires nothing more. It
is a misfortune that they did not start earlier; then they might with
propriety proceed, and be welcomed.

May 4th.—-Arrived at Kingwere’s Ferry, but we were unable to attract
the attention of the canoe paddler. Between our camp and Bagamoyo we have
an inundated plain that is at least four miles broad. The ferrying of our
Expedition across this broad watery waste will occupy considerable time.

May 5th.—Kingwere, the canoe proprietor, came about 11 A.M. from his
village at Gongoni, beyond the watery plain. By his movements I am fain to
believe him to be a descendant of some dusky King Log, for I have never
seen in all this land the attributes and peculiarities of that royal
personage so faithfully illustrated as in Kingwere. He brought two canoes
with him, short, cranky things, in which only twelve of us could embark at
a time. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon before we arrived at Gongoni
village.

May 6th.—After impressing Kingwere with the urgent necessity of
quick action on his part, with a promise of an extra five-dollar gold
piece, I had the satisfaction to behold the last man reach my camp at 3.30
p.m.

An hour later, and we are en route, at a pace that I never saw equalled at
any time by my caravan. Every man’s feelings are intensified, for there is
an animated, nay, headlong, impetuosity about their movements that
indicates but too well what is going on in their minds. Surely, my own are
a faithful index to their feelings; and I do not feel a whit too proud to
acknowledge the great joy that possesses me. I feel proud to think that I
have been successful; but, honestly, I do not feel so elated at that as at
the hope that to-morrow I shall sit before a table bounteous with the good
things of this life. How I will glory in the hams, and potatoes, and good
bread! What a deplorable state of mind, is it not? Ah, my friend, wait
till you are reduced to a skeleton by gaunt famine and coarse, loathsome
food—until you have waded a Makata swamp, and marched 525 miles in
thirty-five days through such weather as we have had—then you will
think such pabula, food fit for gods!

Happy are we that,—after completing our mission, after the hurry and
worry of the march, after the anxiety and vexation suffered from fractious
tribes, after tramping for the last fifteen days through mire and Stygian
marsh,—we near Beulah’s peace and rest! Can we do otherwise than
express our happiness by firing away gunpowder until our horns are emptied—than
shout our “hurrahs” until we are hoarse—than, with the hearty,
soul-inspiring “Yambos,” greet every mother’s son fresh from the sea? Not
so, think the Wangwana soldiers; and I so sympathize with them that I
permit them to act their maddest without censure.

At sunset we enter the town of Bagamoyo. “More pilgrims come to town,”
were the words heard in Beulah. “The white man has come to town,” were the
words we heard in Bagamoyo. And we shall cross the water tomorrow to
Zanzibar, and shall enter the golden gate; we shall see nothing, smell
nothing, taste nothing that is offensive to the stomach any more!

The kirangozi blows his horn, and gives forth blasts potential as
Astolpho’s, as the natives and Arabs throng around us. And that bright
flag, whose stars have waved over the waters of the great lake in Central
Africa, which promised relief to the harassed Livingstone when in distress
at Ujiji, returns to the sea once again—torn, it is true, but not
dishonoured—tattered, but not disgraced.

As we reached the middle of the town, I saw on the steps of a large white
house a white man, in flannels and helmet similar to that I wore. I
thought myself rather akin to white men in general, and I walked up to
him. He advanced towards me, and we shook hands—did everything but
embrace.

“Won’t you walk in?” said he.

“Thanks.”

“What will you have to drink—beer, stout, brandy? Eh, by George! I
congratulate you on your splendid success,” said he, impetuously.

I knew him immediately. He was an Englishman. He was Lieut. William Henn,
R.N., chief of the Livingstone Search and Relief Expedition, about to be
despatched by the Royal Geographical Society to find and relieve
Livingstone. The former chief, as the Expedition was at first organized,
was Lieut. Llewellyn S. Dawson, who, as soon as he heard from my men that
I had found Livingstone, had crossed over to Zanzibar, and, after
consultation with Dr. John Kirk, had resigned. He had now nothing further
to do with it, the command having formally devolved on Lieut. Henn. A Mr.
Charles New, also, missionary from Mombasah, had joined the expedition,
but he had resigned too. So now there were left but Lieut. Henn and Mr.
Oswell Livingstone, second son of the Doctor.

“Is Mr. Oswell Livingstone here?” I asked, with considerable surprise.

“Yes; he will be here directly.”

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I don’t think it worth my while to go now. You have taken the wind out of
our sails completely. If you have relieved him, I don’t see the use of my
going. Do you?”

“Well, it depends. You know your own orders best. If you have come only to
find and relieve him, I can tell you truly he is found and relieved, and
that he wants nothing more than a few canned meats, and some other little
things which I dare say you have not got. I have his list in his own
handwriting with me. But his son must go anyhow, and I can get men easily
enough for him.”

“Well, if he is relieved, it is of no use my going.”

At this time in walked a slight, young, gentlemanly man, with light
complexion, light hair, dark, lustrous eyes, who was introduced to me as
Mr. Oswell Livingstone. The introduction was hardly necessary, for in his
features there was much of what were the specialities of his father. There
was an air of quiet resolution about him, and in the greeting which he
gave me he exhibited rather a reticent character; but I attributed that to
a receptive nature, which augured well for the future.

“I was telling Lieut. Henn that, whether he goes or not, you must go to
your father, Mr. Livingstone.”

“Oh, I mean to go.”

“Yes, that’s right. I will furnish you with men and what stores your
father needs. My men will take you to Unyanyembe without any difficulty.
They know the road well, and that is a great advantage. They know how to
deal with the negro chiefs, and you will have no need to trouble your head
about them, but march. The great thing that is required is speed. Your
father will be waiting for the things.”

“I will march them fast enough, if that is all.”

“Oh, they will be going up light, and they can easily make long marches.”

It was settled, then. Henn made up his mind that, as the Doctor had been
relieved, he was not wanted; but, before formally resigning, he intended
to consult with Dr. Kirk, and for that purpose he would cross over to
Zanzibar the next day with the ‘Herald’ Expedition.

At 2 A.M. I retired to sleep on a comfortable bed. There was a great smell
of newness about certain articles in the bedroom, such as haversacks,
knapsacks, portmanteaus, leather gun-cases, &c. Evidently the new
Expedition had some crudities about it; but a journey into the interior
would soon have lessened the stock of superfluities, which all new men at
first load themselves with.

Ah! what a sigh of relief was that I gave, as I threw myself on my bed, at
the thought that, “Thank God! my marching was ended.”

CHAPTER XVI. — VALEDICTORY.

At 5 P.M., on the 7th of May, 1872, the dhow which conveyed my Expedition
back to Zanzibar arrived in the harbor, and the men, delighted to find
themselves once more so near their homes, fired volley after volley, the
American flag was hoisted up, and we soon saw the house-roofs and wharves
lined with spectators, many of whom were Europeans, with glasses levelled
at us.

We drew ashore slowly; but a boat putting off to take us to land, we
stepped into it, and I was soon in presence of my friend the Consul, who
heartily welcomed me back to Zanzibar; and soon after was introduced to
the Rev. Charles New, who was but a day or two previous to my arrival an
important member of the English Search Expedition—a small, slight
man in appearance, who, though he looked weakly, had a fund of energy or
nervousness in him which was almost too great for such a body. He also
heartily congratulated me.

After a bounteous dinner, to which I did justice in a manner that
astonished my new friends, Lieut. Dawson called to see me, and said:

“Mr. Stanley, let me congratulate you, sir.”

Lieut. Dawson then went on to state how he envied me my success; how I had
“taken the wind out of his sails” (a nautical phrase similar to that used
by Lieut. Henn); how, when he heard from my men that Dr. Livingstone had
been found, he at once crossed over from Bagamoyo to Zanzibar, and, after
a short talk with Dr. Kirk, at once resigned.

“But do you not think, Mr. Dawson, you have been rather too hasty in
tendering your resignation, from the more verbal report of my men?”

“Perhaps,” said he; “but I heard that Mr. Webb had received a letter from
you, and that you and Livingstone had discovered that the Rusizi ran into
the lake—that you had the Doctor’s letters and despatches with you.”

“Yes; but you acquired all this information from my men; you have seen
nothing yourself. You have therefore resigned before you had personal
evidence of the fact.”

“Well, Dr. Livingstone is relieved and found, as Mr. Henn tells me, is he
not?”

“Yes, that is true enough. He is well supplied; he only requires a few
little luxuries, which I am going to send him by an expedition of fifty
freemen. Dr. Livingstone is found and relieved, most certainly; and I have
all the letters and despatches which he could possibly send to his
friends.”

“But don’t you think I did perfectly right?”

“Hardly—though, perhaps, it would come to the same thing in the end.
Any more cloth and beads than he has already would be an incumbrance.
Still, you have your orders from the Royal Geographical Society. I have
not seen those yet, and I am not prepared to judge what your best course
would have been. But I think you did wrong in resigning before you saw me;
for then you would have had, probably, a legitimate excuse for resigning.
I should have held on to the Expedition until I had consulted with those
who sent me; though, in such an event as this, the order would be,
perhaps, to ‘Come home.'”

“As it has turned out, though, don’t you think I did right?”

“Most certainly it would be useless for you to go to search for and
relieve Livingstone now, because he has already been sought, found, and
relieved; but perhaps you had other orders.”

“Only, if I went into the country, I was then to direct my attention to
exploration; but the primary object having been forestalled by you, I am
compelled to return home. The Admiralty granted me leave of absence only
for the search, and never said anything about exploration.”

That evening I despatched a boy over to the English Consulate with letters
from the great traveller for Dr. Kirk and Mr. Oswell Livingstone.

I was greeted warmly by the American and German residents, who could not
have shown warmer feeling than if Dr. Livingstone had been a near and dear
relation of their own. Capt. H. A. Fraser and Dr. James Christie were also
loud in their praises. It seems that both of these gentlemen had attempted
to despatch a private expedition to the relief of their countryman, but
through some means it had failed. They had contributed the sum of $500 to
effect this laudable object; but the man to whom they had entrusted its
command had been engaged by another for a different purpose, at a higher
sum. But, instead of feeling annoyed that I had performed what they had
intended to do, they were among my most enthusiastic admirers.

The next day I received a call from Dr. Kirk, who warmly congratulated me
upon my success. Bishop Tozer also came, and thanked me for tie service I
had rendered to Dr. Livingstone.

On this day I also discharged my men, and re-engaged twenty of them to
return to the “Great Master.” Bombay, though in the interior he had
scorned the idea of money rewards, and though he had systematically, in my
greatest need, endeavoured to baffle me in every way, received, besides
his pay, a present of $50, and each man, according to his merits, from $20
to $50. For this was a day to bury all animosities, and condone all
offences. They, poor people, had only acted according to their nature, and
I remembered that from Ujiji to the coast they had all behaved admirably.

I saw I was terribly emaciated and changed when I presented myself before
a full-length mirror. All confirmed my opinion that I was much older in my
appearance, and that my hair had become grey. Capt. Fraser had said, when
I hailed him, “You have the advantage of me, sir!” and until I mentioned
my name he did not know me. Even then he jocosely remarked that he
believed that it was another Tichborne affair. I was so different that
identity was almost lost, even during the short period of thirteen months;
that is, from March 23rd, 1871, to May 7th, 1872.

Lieut. Henn the morning after my arrival formally resigned, and the
Expedition was from this time in the hands of Mr. Oswell Livingstone, who
made up his mind to sell the stores, retaining such as would be useful to
his father.

After disbanding my Expedition, I set about preparing another, according
to Dr. Livingstone’s request. What the English Expedition lacked I
purchased out of the money advanced by Mr. Oswell Livingstone. The guns,
fifty in number, were also furnished out of the stores of the English
Expedition by him; and so were the ammunition, the honga cloth, for the
tribute to the Wagogo, and the cloth for provisioning the force. Mr.
Livingstone worked hard in the interests of his father and assisted me to
the utmost of his ability. He delivered over to me, to be packed up,
‘Nautical Almanacs’ for 1872, 1873, 1874; also a chronometer, which
formerly belonged to Dr. Livingstone. All these things, besides a journal,
envelopes, note-books, writing-paper, medicines, canned fruits and fish, a
little wine, some tea, cutlery and table ware, newspapers, and private
letters and despatches, were packed up in air-tight tin boxes, as well as
100 lbs. of fine American flour, and some boxes of soda biscuits.

Until the 19th of May it was understood that Mr. Oswell Livingstone would
take charge of the caravan to his father; but about this date he changed
his mind, and surprised me with a note stating he had decided not to go to
Unyanyembe, for reasons he thought just and sufficient.

Under these circumstances, my duty was to follow out the instructions of
Dr. Livingstone, in procuring a good and efficient leader to take charge
of the caravan as far as Unyanyembe.

In a few hours I succeeded in obtaining an Arab highly recommended from
Sheikh Hashid, whom I engaged at an advance of $100. The young Arab,
though not remarkably bright, seemed honest and able, but I left his
further employment after reaching Unyanyembe to Dr. Livingstone, who would
be able to decide then whether he was quite trustworthy.

The next day I collected the men of the new Livingstone Expedition
together, and as it was dangerous to allow them to wander about the city,
I locked them up in a courtyard, and fed them there, until every soul,
fifty seven in number, answered to their names.

In the meantime, through the American Consul’s assistance, I obtained the
services of Johari, the chief dragoman of the American Consulate, who was
charged with the conduct of the party across the inundated plain of the
Kingani, and who was enjoined on no account to return until the Expedition
had started on its march from the western bank of the Kingani River. Mr.
Oswell Livingstone generously paid him a douceur for the promise of doing
his work thoroughly.

A dhow having been brought to anchor before the American Consulate, I then
addressed my old companions, saying, “You are now about to return to
Unyanyembe, to the ‘Great Master’. You know him; you know he is a good
man, and has a kind heart. He is different from me; he will not beat you,
as I have done. But you know I have rewarded you all—how I have made
you all rich in cloth and money. You know how, when you behaved yourselves
well, I was your friend. I gave you plenty to eat and plenty to wear. When
you were sick I looked after you. If I was so good to you, the ‘Great
Master’ will be much more so. He has a pleasant voice, and speaks kind.
When did you ever see him lift his hand against an offender? When you were
wicked, he did not speak to you in anger—he spoke to you in tones of
sorrow. Now, will you promise me that you will follow him—do what he
tells you, obey him in all things, and not desert him?”

“We will, we will, my master!” they all cried, fervently.

“Then there is one thing more. I want to shake hands with you all before
you go—and we part for ever;” and they all rushed up at once, and a
vigorous shake was interchanged with each man.

“Now, let every man take up his load!”

In a short time I marched them out into the street, and to the beach; saw
them all on board, and the canvas hoisted, and the dhow speeding westward
on her way to Bagamoyo.

I felt strange and lonely, somehow. My dark friends, who had travelled
over so many hundreds of miles, and shared so many dangers with me, were
gone, and I—was left behind. How many of their friendly faces shall
I see again?

On the 29th, the steamer ‘Africa,’ belonging to the German Consulate, was
chartered by a party of five of us, and we departed from Zanzibar to
Seychelles, with the good wishes of almost all the European residents on
the island.

We arrived at Seychelles on the 9th of June, about twelve hours after the
French mail had departed for Aden. As there is only monthly communication
between Mahe (Seychelles) and Aden, we were compelled to remain on the
island of Mahe one month.

My life in Mahe is among the most agreeable things connected with my
return from Africa. I found my companions estimable gentlemen, and true
Christians. Mr. Livingstone exhibited many amiable traits of character,
and proved himself to be a studious, thoughtful, earnest man. When at last
the French steamer came from Mauritius, there was not one of our party who
did not regret leaving the beautiful island, and the hospitable British
officers who were stationed there. The Civil Commissioner, Mr. Hales
Franklyn, and Dr. Brooks, did their utmost to welcome the wanderer, and I
take this opportunity to acknowledge the many civilities I personally
received from them.

At Aden, the passengers from the south were transferred on board the
French mail steamer, the ‘Mei-kong,’ en route from China to Marseilles. At
the latter port I was received with open arms by Dr. Hosmer and the
representative of the ‘Daily Telegraph,’ and was then told how men
regarded the results of the Expedition; but it was not until I arrived in
England that I realised it.

Mr. Bennett, who originated and sustained the enterprise, now crowned it
by one of the most generous acts that could be conceived. I had promised
Dr. Livingstone, that twenty-four hours after I saw his letters to Mr.
Bennett published in the London journals, I would post his letters to his
family and friends in England. In order to permit me to keep my plighted
word, and in order that there might be no delay in the delivery of his
family letters, Mr. Bennett’s agent telegraphed to New York the ‘Herald’
letters I had received from Dr. Livingstone at an expense of nearly
£2,000.

And now, dear reader, the time has come for you and I to part. Let us hope
that it is not final. A traveller finds himself compelled to repeat the
regretful parting word often. During the career recorded in the foregoing
book, I have bidden many farewells; to the Wagogo, with their fierce
effrontery; to Mionvu, whose blackmailing once so affected me; to the
Wavinza, whose noisy clatter promised to provoke dire hostilities; to the
inhospitable Warundi; to the Arab slave-traders and half-castes; to all
fevers, remittent, and intermittent; to the sloughs and swamps of Makata;
to the brackish waters and howling wastes; to my own dusky friends and
followers, and to the hero-traveller and Christian gentleman, David
Livingstone. It is with kindliest wishes to all who have followed my
footsteps on these pages that I repeat once more—Farewell.

CONCLUDING CHAPTER.

The following correspondence, and especially the last letter, which was
accompanied by a beautiful and valuable gold snuff-box set with
brilliants, will be treasured by me as among the pleasantest results of my
undertaking.

H. M. S.

Foreign Office, August 1.

Sir, I am directed by Earl Granville to acknowledge the receipt of a
packet containing letters and despatches from Dr. Livingstone, which you
were good enough to deliver to her Majesty’s ambassador at Paris for
transmission to this department; and I am to convey to you his Lordship’s
thanks for taking charge of these interesting documents.

I am, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant, ENFIELD.

Henry M. Stanley, Esq., ‘New York Herald Bureau,’ 46, Fleet Street,
London,

———ooo——

London, August 2.

Henry M. Stanley, Esq., has handed to me to-day the diary of Dr.
Livingstone, my father, sealed and signed by my father, with instructions
written on the outside, signed by my father, for the care of which, and
for all his actions concerning and to my father, our very best thanks are
due. We have not the slightest reason to doubt that this is my father’s
journal, and I certify that the letters he has brought home are my
father’s letters, and no others.

Tom S. Livingstone

——————oooo———-

August 2, 1872.

Sir, I was not aware until you mentioned it that there was any doubt as to
the authenticity of Dr. Livingstone’s despatches, which you delivered to
Lord Lyons on the 31st of July. But, in consequence of what you said I
have inquired into the matter, and I find that Mr. Hammond, the
Under-Secretary of the Foreign Office, and Mr. Wylde, the head of the
Consular and Slave Trade Department, have not the slightest doubt as to
the genuineness of the papers which have been received from Lord Lyons,
and which are being printed.

I cannot omit this opportunity, of expressing to you my admiration of the
qualities which have enabled you to achieve the object of your mission,
and to attain a result which has been hailed with so much enthusiasm both
in the United States and in this country.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient,

GRANVILLE.

Henry Stanley, Esq.

——————-oooo———-

Foreign Office, August 27.

SIR,

I have great satisfaction in conveying to you, by command of the Queen,
her Majesty’s high appreciation of the prudence and zeal which you have
displayed in opening a communication with Dr. Livingstone, and relieving
her Majesty from the anxiety which, in common with her subjects, she had
felt in regard to the fate of that distinguished traveller.

The Queen desires me to express her thanks for the service you have thus
rendered, together with her Majesty’s congratulations on your having so
successfully carried on the mission which you fearlessly undertook. Her
Majesty also desires me to request your acceptance of the memorial which
accompanies this letter.

I am, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant,

GRANVILLE

HOW I FOUND LIVINGSTONE

Travels, Adventures and Discoveries in Central Africa including four months residence with Dr. Livingstone

By Sir Henry M. Stanley, G.C.B.

Abridged

CHAPTER I.— INTRODUCTORY. MY INSTRUCTIONS TO FIND AND RELIEVE LIVINGSTONE.

CHAPTER II. — ZANZIBAR.

CHAPTER III. — ORGANIZATION OF THE EXPEDITION.

CHAPTER IV. — LIFE AT BAGAMOYO.

CHAPTER V. — THROUGH UKWERE, UKAMI, AND UDOE TO USEGUHHA.

CHAPTER VI. — TO UGOGO.

CHAPTER VII. — MARENGA MKALI, UGOGO, AND UYANZI, TO UNYANYEMBE.

CHAPTER VIII. — MY LIFE AND TROUBLES DURING MY RESIDENCE IN UNYAS NYEMBE. I BECOME ENGAGED IN A WAR.

CHAPTER IX. — MY LIFE AND TROUBLES IN UNYANYEMBE-(continued).

CHAPTER X. — TO MRERA, UKONONGO.

CHAPTER XI. — THROUGH UKAWENDI, UVINZA, AND UHHA, TO UJIJI.

CHAPTER XII. — INTERCOURSE WITH LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI

LIVINGSTONE’S OWN STORY OF HIS JOURNEYS, HIS TROUBLES, AND DISAPPOINTMENTS.

CHAPTER XIII. — OUR CRUISE ON THE LAKE TANGANIKA

EXPLORATION OF THE NORTH-END OF THE LAKE— THE RUSIZI IS DISCOVERED TO ENTER INTO THE LAKE—RETURN TO UJIJI.

CHAPTER XIV. — OUR JOURNEY FROM UJIJI TO UNYANYEMBE.

CHAPTER XV. — HOMEWARD BOUND.—LIVINGSTONE’S LAST WORDS—THE FINAL FAREWELL

CHAPTER XVI. — VALEDICTORY.

Travels, Adventures and Discoveries in Central Africa including four
months residence with Dr. Livingstone

CHAPTER I.— INTRODUCTORY. MY INSTRUCTIONS TO FIND AND RELIEVE
LIVINGSTONE.

CHAPTER VIII. — MY LIFE AND TROUBLES DURING MY RESIDENCE IN UNYAS
NYEMBE. I BECOME ENGAGED IN A WAR.

LIVINGSTONE’S OWN STORY OF HIS JOURNEYS, HIS TROUBLES, AND
DISAPPOINTMENTS.

EXPLORATION OF THE NORTH-END OF THE LAKE— THE RUSIZI IS DISCOVERED
TO ENTER INTO THE LAKE—RETURN TO UJIJI.

CHAPTER XV. — HOMEWARD BOUND.—LIVINGSTONE’S LAST WORDS—THE
FINAL FAREWELL