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THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT.
[Illustration:
H. M. STANLEY.
TAKEN BEFORE HIS DEPARTURE, 1874. TAKEN ON HIS EMERGING FROM
AFRICA, 1877.
]
THROUGH THE
DARK CONTINENT
OR
THE SOURCES OF THE NILE
AROUND THE GREAT LAKES OF EQUATORIAL AFRICA
AND DOWN THE LIVINGSTONE RIVER
TO THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
BY
HENRY M. STANLEY
AUTHOR OF “IN DARKEST AFRICA,” “HOW I FOUND LIVINGSTONE,”
“MY KALULU,” ETC.
MAP AND ILLUSTRATIONS
WITH A NEW PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR, WRITTEN FOR THIS EDITION.
VOL. II.
LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED
SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND
1899
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS.
———●———
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Ujiji, its scenery, residents, market, and vicinity—Arab 1
rivals—The circumnavigation of the Tanganika—Commander
Cameron and the outflowing Lukuga—The encroaching
waters—The legend of the Lake—Evening
CHAPTER II.
The _Lady Alice_ afloat again—Her mate and crew—Anxiety on 14
her behalf—-On hallowed ground—Unwelcome visitors: in the
haunts of the Ruga-Ruga—The aborigines’ last retreat—A
scene of blood—The robbers of the Lake, and their tutelary
spirits—A geological problem: were there once two
lakes?—Rising waters—The abode of the genii—A storm—Forest
fires—At the mouth of Cameron’s “outlet”—The Lukuga creek
CHAPTER III.
Back in camp—An epidemic of small-pox—Panic of 48
desertion—Kalulu’s disloyalty—Livingstone’s
lenience—Imaginary terrors—Hairdressing _ad
absurdum_—Ruanga’s opinion of white men—A village
sketch—The villagers of Uhombo—_In puris naturalibus_—A
touch of human nature—On Livingstone’s traces—What is
there in feathers?—The Manyema: their life and manners—Our
ass astonishes the natives—Bloodless wars—Nicknames—A
tribe with beards but no wives—The confluence of the Luama
and the Livingstone
CHAPTER IV.
At a swinging pace—Tippu-Tib, the Arab trader—News of 73
Cameron and his difficulties—The river that flows North
for ever—In Dwarf-land, fighting the dwarfs—Tippu Tib’s
conditions—Friends in council—Heads or tails—Kalulu’s
accident at Nyangwé—Its residents and market—A muster of
the Expedition
CHAPTER V.
Tippu-Tib’s henchmen—In the primeval forest, a wilderness of 98
trees—Primitive furniture—Our sufferings in the pagans’
forest—Tippu-Tib breaks down—A village blacksmith—Soko
skulls; the missing link—Professor Huxley’s opinion
thereof—THE LIVINGSTONE—A day dream—The road to the
ocean—Timid counsels—“The Wasambye!”—“Ooh-hu! ooh-
hu!”—Successful diplomacy
CHAPTER VI.
“Mama, the Wasambye!”—The fight in the Ruiki—The lost 122
found—Dangerous disobedience—In the nick of time—A savage
captive—Music hath charms—In the haunts of Nature—A town
of one street—Deserted villages—Organizing a hospital—An
island wasted by lightning—“The people of the filed
teeth”—Primitive salt-making—Hostages captured—At close
quarters—Raining arrows—“Bo-bo, bo-bo, bo-bo-o-o-oh!”—A
desperate affair and opportune reinforcements—Cutting the
canoes adrift—Tippu-Tib deserts me—My appeal to the “sea
children”—Christmas Day among the cannibals—“Victory or
death!”
CHAPTER VII.
Farewell to Tippu-Tib—Attacked from both banks—The fat 153
savage makes a bad shot at me—In the home of the
elephants—Insect life—In covert—The Lowwa river—A storm on
the river—New Year’s day—Bullets against
spears—“Sennenneh!”—Tempting the female mind—The reward of
a good deed—A river armada: crocodile boats—Betwixt
cataracts and cannibals
CHAPTER VIII.
Fighting betimes—Blazing a path—We take an island by storm—A 174
desperate dilemma—Road-making under fire—A miraculous
escape—A terrible march—Peace by stratagem—Below the Fifth
Cataract—Our cannibal captives—Fighting the Wana-
Rukura—The Wana-Rukura islanders—Approaching the Seventh
Cataract—A deserted island—The Seventh Cataract of the
Stanley Falls—The first of the Cataracts—Clear of the
Stanley Falls
CHAPTER IX.
Again in open water—Frank Pocock feels the position—The 200
Mburra or Yaryembi—A running fight—“Ya-Mariwa! Ya-
Mariwa!”—Our tactics of capture—Monster spears—Growing
weary of fighting for life—The power of laughter—Fish
creeks—A wasp swarm of canoes—Another invincible armada—A
village of ivory—Relics of cannibal feasts—The Wellé of
Schweinfurth—Hunted to despair—Their “meat” escapes the
cannibals—Wild nature—Among friendly natives—The Congo!
CHAPTER X.
High art in tattooing—Suspicious friendliness—Friends or 222
foes?—A treacherous attack—The fauna of the
Livingstone—Among the “Houyhynyms”—The “Yaha-ha-
has”—Frank’s courage and narrow escape—Our fight with the
Bangala—The mirage on the river—The great tributary of the
Livingstone—Among friends
CHAPTER XI.
Running the gauntlet—Kindly solitudes—Amina’s death—The 241
humanizing effects of trade apparent—“The most plausible
rogue of all Africa”—The king of Chumbiri; his
hospitality, wives, possessions, and cunning—Making up a
language—Pythons—The Ibari Nkutu or the Kwango—Treacherous
guides—The Stanley Pool—Chief Itsi of Ntamo—We have to
give up our big goat—River observations
CHAPTER XII.
The struggle with the river renewed—Passing the “Father”—In 260
the “Cauldron”—Poor Kalulu!—Soudi’s strange adventures—At
the “Whirlpool Narrows”—Lady Alice Rapids—Our escape from
death—“Isles of Eden”—Thieves amongst us—The Inkisi
Falls—The canoes dragged over the mountain—Trade along the
Livingstone—Ulcers and entozoa—An artful compound
CHAPTER XIII.
Glorious timber—Cutting canoes—Frank suffers from ulcers—The 283
episode of the fetished axe—Rain-gauge readings—The rise
of the river—“Goee-goees”—The _Lady Alice_ breached for
the first time—A painful discovery: Uledi’s theft—His
trial and release—The burning of Shakespeare—The bees of
Massassa—Local superstitions—Frank’s cheery character
CHAPTER XIV.
Leaving Mowa—The whirling pools of Mowa—The Jason swept over 305
the falls—The “Little Master” drowned—Too brave!—“Ah,
Uledi, had you but saved him!”—The sympathy of the savages
CHAPTER XV.
Mutiny in the camp—Again among the cataracts—Frank’s body 317
found—The fall of the Edwin Arnold river—Tired
out!—Wholesale desertion—More cataracts—“Good-bye, my
brother; nothing can save you!”—Rushing blindly on—Saved
again!—The _Jason_ found
CHAPTER XVI.
Final warnings against theft—Humiliating a 328
protectionist—Kindly tribes—Five of the Expedition
abandoned to slavery for theft—Safeni goes mad from
joy—Goaded to crime—Ali Kiboga’s adventures—The cataract
of Isangila—Only five marches from white faces!—Staunch to
the death—Rum—My appeal to Embomma—The forlorn hope—The
“powerful man” insults us—Struggling on—“We are saved,
thank God!”—“Enough now; fall to”—My letter of
thanks—Approaching civilization—Amongst whites; Boma—The
Atlantic Ocean
CONCLUSION.
Kabinda—San Paulo de Loanda—Simon’s Bay—Cape 362
Town—Natal—Zanzibar—Joy of the returned—The martyrs to
geography—Reverie—Laus Deo!
INDEX 375
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
———●———
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
NO.
1. UJIJI, LOOKING NORTH FROM THE MARKET-PLACE, VIEWED _To face 1
FROM THE ROOF OF OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI. (_From a page_
photograph by the Author_)
2. THE “HIGH PLACES” OF THE SPIRIT MTOMBWA: VIEW OF ” 28
MTOMBWA URUNGU
3. IN COUNCIL: THE COURTYARD TO OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI. ” 49
(_From a photograph by the Author_)
4. A VILLAGE IN SOUTH-EAST MANYEMA ” 64
5. THE DESPERATE SITUATION OF ZAIDI, AND HIS RESCUE BY ” 178
ULEDI, THE COXSWAIN OF THE BOAT
6. THE FIGHT BELOW THE CONFLUENCE OF THE ARUWIMI AND THE ” 212
LIVINGSTONE RIVERS
7. THE ATTACK OF THE SIXTY-THREE CANOES OF THE PIRATICAL ” 240
BANGALA
8. VIEW OF THE RIGHT BRANCH, FIRST CATARACT, OF THE ” 262
LIVINGSTONE FALLS, FROM FOUR MILES BELOW JUEMBA
ISLAND
9. AT WORK PASSING THE LOWER END OF THE FIRST CATARACT OF ” 264
THE LIVINGSTONE FALLS, NEAR ROCKY ISLAND
10. “LADY ALICE” OVER THE FALLS ” 274
11. CUTTING OUT THE NEW “LIVINGSTONE” CANOE ” 292
12. PASSING NSÉTO FALLS ” 296
13. THE CIRCUMNAVIGATORS OF THE VICTORIA NYANZA AND LAKE ” 300
TANGANIKA, AND EXPLORERS OF THE ALEXANDRA NILE AND
LIVINGSTONE (CONGO) RIVER
14. THE MASSASSA FALLS, AND THE ENTRANCE INTO POCOCK ” 304
BASIN, OR BOLOBOLO POOL
15. GROUP OF MR. STANLEY’S FOLLOWERS AT KABINDA, WEST ” 356
COAST OF AFRICA, JUST AFTER CROSSING THE “DARK
CONTINENT.” (_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips, of
Kabinda_)
16. THE RECUPERATED AND RECLAD EXPEDITION AS IT APPEARED ” 358
AT ADMIRALTY HOUSE, SIMON’S TOWN, AFTER OUR ARRIVAL
ON H.M.S. “INDUSTRY.”
17. WOMEN OF THE EXPEDITION ” 360
——————–
SMALLER ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
18. A NATIVE OF RUA, WHO WAS A VISITOR AT UJIJI 2
19. KUNGWÉ PEAKS. (_From a sketch_) 18
20. THE EXTREME SOUTHERN REACH OF LAKE TANGANIKA 27
21. KAPEMBWA 29
22. MOUNT MURUMBI 34
23. ~X.12~ AND UGUHA HEAD-DRESS 40
24. UGUHA HEAD DRESS 40
25. A WOMAN OF UGUHA 41
26. UHYEYA HEAD-DRESS 41
27. THE SPIRIT ISLAND 45
28. M’SEHAZY HAVEN AND CAMP, AT THE MOUTH OF M’SEHAZY RIVER 50
29. NATIVES OF ~X.19~ 54
30. A NATIVE OF UHYEYA 55
31. ONE OF THE WAHYEYA OF UHOMBO (_back view_) 56
32. A YOUTH OF EAST MANYEMA 64
33. A MANYEMA ADULT 64
34. A YOUNG WOMAN OF EAST MANYEMA 64
35. KITETÉ, THE CHIEF OF MPUNGU 71
36. NATIVE HOUSES AT MTUYU 72
37. “HEADS FOR THE NORTH AND THE LUALABA; TAILS FOR THE SOUTH AND 88
KATANGA”
38. A CANOE OF THE WENYA OR WAGENYA FISHERMEN 90
39. UREGGA HOUSE 104
40. STOOL OF UREGGA 104
41. SPOONS OF UREGGA 104
42. UREGGA SPEAR 105
43. CANE SETTEE 105
44. BENCH 105
45. AN AFRICAN FEZ OF LEOPARD-SKIN 106
46. A FORGE AND SMITHY AT WANE-KIRUMBU, UREGGA 110
47. BACKGAMMON TRAY 113
48. WAR HATCHET OF UKUSU 125
49. STOOL OF UKUSU 125
50. VIEW BETWEEN THE RUIKI AND NAKANPEMBA 126
51. STEW-POT OF THE WAHIKA 131
52. A HOUSE OF IKONDU 133
53. CANOE SCOOP 146
54. SCOOPS 146
55. “TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN” 153
56. WAR DRUMS OF THE TRIBES OF THE UPPER LIVINGSTONE 156
57. MWANA NTABA CANOE (THE “CROCODILE”) 171
58. A BASWA KNIFE 178
59. STYLE OF KNIVES 178
60. BASWA BASKET AND COVER 178
61. CAVERN NEAR KABOMBO ISLANDS 189
62. THE SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS 194
63. PIKE, STANLEY FALLS 195
64. FISH, SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS 196
65. FISH, STANLEY FALLS 196
66. PALM-OIL JAR AND PALM-WINE COOLER 198
67. MOUTH OF DRUM 198
68. WOODEN SIGNAL DRUM OF THE WENYA OR WAGENYA AND THE TRIBES ON THE 198
LIVINGSTONE
69. DRUMSTICKS, KNOBS BEING OF INDIA-RUBBER 198
70. SHIELDS OF ITUKA PEOPLE 204
71. MONSTER CANOE 211
72. PADDLE OF THE ARUWIMI CANNIBALS 214
73. KNIVES, RUBUNGA 223
74. DOUBLE IRON BELLS OF URANGI 226
75. THE KING OF CHUMBIRI 246
76. GREAT PIPE OF KING OF CHUMBIRI 247
77. ONE OF THE KING’S WIVES AT CHUMBIRI 249
78. SON OF THE KING OF CHUMBIRI 251
79. OVER ROCKY POINT CLOSE TO GAMPA’S 263
80. DEATH OF KALULU 265
81. THE NKENKÉ RIVER ENTERING THE LIVINGSTONE BELOW THE LADY ALICE 273
RAPIDS
82. THE NEW CANOES, THE “LIVINGSTONE” AND THE “STANLEY” 286
83. VIEW FROM THE TABLE-LAND NEAR MOWA 292
84. IN MEMORIAM: FRANCIS JOHN POCOCK 315
85. FALL OF THE EDWIN ARNOLD RIVER INTO THE POCOCK BASIN 319
86. THE CHIEF CARPENTER CARRIED OVER ZINGA FALL 324
87. CAMP AT KILOLO 337
88. MBINDA CEMETERY 350
89. AT REST: MY QUARTERS AT KABINDA BY THE SEA. (_From a photograph_) 362
90. EXPEDITION AT KABINDA. (_From a photograph_) 363
[Illustration:
UJIJI, LOOKING NORTH FROM THE MARKET-PLACE. VIEWED FROM THE ROOF OF
OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI.
(_From a photograph by the Author._)
]
THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT.
——————
CHAPTER I.
Ujiji, its scenery, residents, markets, and vicinity—Arab rivals—The
circumnavigation of the Tanganika—Commander Cameron and the
outflowing Lukuga—The encroaching waters—The legend of the
Lake—Evening.
_June._—The best view of Ujiji is to be obtained from the flat roof of
one of the Arab tembés or houses. A photograph which I took of the view
north from my tembé, which fronted the market-place, embraced the square
and conical huts of the Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and Arab slaves, the
Guinea palms from the golden-coloured nuts of which the Wajiji obtain
the palm-oil, the banana and plantain groves, with here and there a
graceful papaw-tree rising amongst them, and, beyond, the dark green
woods which line the shore and are preserved for shade by the fishermen.
South of the market-place are the tembés of the Arabs, solid, spacious,
flat-roofed structures, built of clay, with broad, cool verandahs
fronting the public roads. Palms and papaws, pomegranates and plantains,
raise graceful branch and frond above them, in pleasing contrast to the
grey-brown walls, enclosures and houses.
The port of Ujiji is divided into two districts—Ugoy, occupied by the
Arabs, and Kawelé, inhabited by the Wangwana, slaves, and natives. The
market-place is in Ugoy, in an open space which has been lately
contracted to about 1200 square yards. In 1871 it was nearly 3000 square
yards. On the beach before the market-place are drawn up the huge Arab
canoes, which, purchased in Goma on the western shore, have had their
gunwales raised up with heavy teak planking. The largest canoe,
belonging to Sheikh Abdullah bin Suliman, is 48 feet long, 9 feet in the
beam, and 5 feet high, with a poop for the Nakhuda (captain), and a
small forecastle.
Sheikh Abdullah, by assuming the air of an opulent shipowner, has
offended the vanity of the governor, Muini Kheri, who owns nine canoes.
Abdullah christened his “big ship” by some very proud name; the governor
nicknamed it the _Lazy_. The Arabs and Wajiji, by the way, all give
names to their canoes.
The hum and bustle of the market-place, filled with a miscellaneous
concourse of representatives from many tribes, woke me up at early dawn.
Curious to see the first marketplace we had come to since leaving
Kagehyi, I dressed myself and sauntered amongst the buyers and sellers
and idlers.
[Illustration: A NATIVE OF RUA WHO WAS A VISITOR AT UJIJI.]
Here we behold all the wealth of the Tanganika shores. The Wajiji, who
are sharp, clever traders, having observed that the Wangwana purchased
their supplies of sweet potatoes, yams, sugar-cane, ground-nuts, oil-
nuts, palm-oil and palm-wine, butter, and pombé, to retail them at
enormous profits to their countrymen, have raised their prices on some
things a hundred per cent. over what they were when I was in Ujiji last.
This has caused the Wangwana and slaves to groan in spirit, for the
Arabs are unable to dole out to them rations in proportion to the prices
now demanded. The governor, supplied by the Mutwaré of the lake district
of Ujiji, will not interfere, though frequently implored to do so, and,
consequently, there are frequent fights, when the Wangwana rush on the
natives with clubs, in much the same manner as the apprentices of London
used to rush to the rescue or succour of one of their bands.
Except the Wajiji, who have become rich in cloths, the rural natives
retain the primitive dress worn by the Wazinja, Wazongora, Wanyambu,
Wanya-Ruanda, Kishakka, Wanyoro, and Wanya-Nkori, Wasui, Watusi, Wahha,
Warundi, and Wazigé, namely, a dressed goat-skin covering the loins, and
hanging down to within six inches above the knees, with long depending
tags of the same material. All these tribes are related to each other,
and their language shows only slight differences in dialect. Moreover,
many of those inhabiting the countries contiguous to Unyamwezi and
Uganda have lost those special characteristics which distinguish the
pure unmixed stock from the less favoured and less refined types of
Africans.
Uhha daily sends to the market of Ujiji its mtama, grain (millet),
sesamum, beans, fowls, goats, and broad-tailed sheep, butter, and
sometimes oxen; Urundi, its goats, sheep, oxen, butter, palm-oil and
palm-nuts, fowls, bananas, and plantains; Uzigé—now and then only—its
oxen and palm-oil; Uvira, its iron, in wire of all sizes, bracelets, and
anklets; Ubwari, its cassava or manioc, dried, and enormous quantities
of grain, Dogara or whitebait, and dried fish; Uvinza, its salt; Uguha,
its goats and sheep, and grain, especially Indian corn; rural Wajiji
bring their buttermilk, ground-nuts, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, bananas
and plantains, yams, beans, vetches, garden herbs, melons, cucumbers,
sugar-cane, palm-wine, palm-nuts, palm-oil, goats, sheep, bullocks,
eggs, fowls, and earthenware; the lake-coast Wajiji bring their slaves,
whitebait, fresh fish, ivory, baskets, nets, spears, bows and arrows;
the Wangwana and Arab slaves bring slaves, fuel, ivory, wild fruit,
eggs, rice, sugar-cane, and honey from the Ukaranga forest.
The currency employed consists of cloths, blue “Kaniki,” white sheeting
“Merikani” from Massachusetts’ mills, striped or barred prints, or
checks, blue or red, from Manchester, Muscat, or Cutch, and beads,
principally “Sofi,” which are like black-and-white clay-pipe stems
broken into pieces half an inch long. One piece is called a _Masaro_,
and is the lowest piece of currency that will purchase anything. The
Sofi beads are strung in strings of twenty Masaro, which is then called
a _Kheté_, and is sufficient to purchase rations for two days for a
slave, but suffices the freeman or Mgwana but one day. The red beads,
called Sami-sami, the Mutunda, small blue, brown, and white, will also
readily be bartered in the market for provisions, but a discount will be
charged on them, as the established and universal currency with all
classes of natives attending the market is the Sofi.
The prices at the market in 1876 were as follows :—
Sheeting cloths
of 4 yards long.
Ivory per lb. 1
1 goat 2
1 sheep 1½
12 fowls 1½
1 bullock 10
1 potful—equal to 3 gallons—of wine 2
1 ” ” ” of palm oil 4
60 lbs. of grain—Mtama 1
90 lbs. ” Indian corn 1
½-gal. potful of honey in the comb 1
1 slave boy between 10 and 13 years old 16
1 ” girl ” ” ” 50 to 80
1 ” ” ” 13 and 18 ” 80 to 200
1 ” woman ” 18 ” 30 ” 80 to 130
1 ” ” ” 30 ” 50 ” 10 to 40
1 ” boy ” 13 ” 18 ” 16 to 50
1 ” man ” 18 ” 50 ” 10 to 50
The country of Ujiji extends between the Liuché river, along the
Tanganika, north to the Mshala river, which gives it a length of forty-
five miles. The former river separates it from Ukaranga on the south,
while the latter river acts as a boundary between it and Urundi. As
Ujiji is said to border upon Uguru, a district of Uhha, it may be said
to have a breadth of twenty miles. Thus the area of Ujiji is not above
nine hundred square miles. The Mtemi, or king, is called Mgassa, who
entertains a superstitious fear of the lake. His residence is in a
valley amongst the mountains bordering upon Uguru, and he believes that
in the hour he looks upon the lake he dies. This superstitious fear may
have some connection with the Legend of the Lake, which I shall give
later.
I should estimate the population of the country to be very fairly given
at forty to the square mile, which will make it 36,000 souls. The Liuché
valley is comparatively populous, and the port of Ujiji—consisting of
Ugoy and Kawelé districts—has alone a population of 3000. Kigoma and
Kasimbu are other districts patronised by Arabs and Wangwana.
The Wajiji are a brave tribe, and of very independent spirit, but not
quarrelsome. When the moderate fee demanded by the Mutwaré of Ugoy,
Kawelé, and Kasimbu is paid, the stranger has the liberty of settling in
any part of the district, and as an excellent understanding exists
between the Mutwaré and the Arab governor, Muini Kheri, there is no fear
of ill-usage. The Mgwana or the Mjiji applying to either of them is
certain of receiving fair justice, and graver cases are submitted to an
international commission of Arabs and Wajiji elders, because it is
perfectly understood by both parties that many moneyed interests would
be injured if open hostilities were commenced.
The Wajiji are the most expert canoemen of all the tribes around the
Tanganika. They have visited every country, and seem to know each
headland, creek, bay, and river. Sometimes they meet with rough
treatment, but they are as a rule so clever, wide-awake, prudent,
commercially politic, and superior in tact, that only downright
treachery can entrap them to death. They have so many friends also that
they soon become informed of danger, and dangerous places are tabooed.
The governor of the Arab colony of Ujiji, having been an old friend,
was, as may be supposed, courteous and hospitable to me, and Mohammed
bin Gharib, who was so good to Livingstone between Marungu and Ujiji, as
far as Manyema, did his best to show me friendly attention. Such
luxuries as sweetmeats, wheaten bread, rice, and milk were supplied so
freely by Muini Kheri and Sheikh Mohammed that both Frank and myself
began to increase rapidly in weight.
Judging from their rotundity of body, it may fairly be said that both
the friends enjoy life. The governor is of vast girth, and Mohammed
weighs probably only two stone less. The preceding governor, Mohammed
bin Sali, was also of ample circumference, from which I conclude that
the climate of Ujiji agrees with the Arab constitution. It certainly did
not suit mine while I was with Livingstone, for I was punished with
remittent and intermittent fever of such severe type and virulence that
in three months I was reduced in weight to seven stone!
Muini Kheri’s whole wealth consists of about 120 slaves, male and
female, eighty guns, eighty frasilah of ivory, two tembés, or houses, a
wheat and rice field, nine canoes with oars and sails, forty head of
cattle, twenty goats, thirty bales of cloth, and twenty sacks of beads,
350 lbs. of brass wire, and 200 lbs. of iron wire, all of which,
appraised in the Ujiji market, might perhaps realise 18,000 dollars. His
friend Mohammed is probably worth 3000 dollars only! Sultan bin Kassim
may estimate the value of his property at 10,000 dollars, Abdullah bin
Suliman, the owner of the _Great Eastern_ of Lake Tanganika, at 15,000
dollars. Other Arabs of Ujiji may be rated at from 100 to 3000 dollars.
Sheikh Mohammed bin Gharib is the owner of the finest house. It is about
100 feet long by 25 feet in width and 14 feet in height. A broad
verandah, 10 feet wide and 40 feet long, runs along a portion of the
front, and affords ample space for the accommodation of his visitors on
the luxurious carpets. The building is constructed of sun-dried brick
plastered over neatly with clay. The great door is a credit to his
carpenter and his latticed windows are a marvel to the primitive native
trader from Uhha or Uvinza. The courtyard behind the house contains the
huts of the slaves, kitchens, and cow-house.
By his Arab friends Sheikh Mohammed bin Gharib is regarded as an
enterprising man, a good friend, but too liberal to his slaves, for
which reason they say he is on the verge of bankruptcy. He is so much in
debt that he has no credit at Zanzibar.
There is a good deal of jealousy between the Arabs of Ujiji, which
sometimes breaks out into bloodshed. When Sayid bin Habib enters Ujiji
trouble is not far off. The son of Habib has a large number of slaves,
and there are some fiery souls amongst them, who resent the least
disparagement of their master. A bitter reproach is soon followed by a
vengeful blow, and then the retainers and the chiefs of the Montagues
and Capulets issue forth with clubs, spears, and guns, and Ujiji is all
in an uproar, not to be quieted until the respective friends of the two
rivals carry them bodily away to their houses. On Arabs, Wangwana, and
slaves alike I saw the scars of feuds.
Abdullah bin Suliman and his partisans are settled in Kasimbu, because
Muini Kheri’s hot-headed young Arab relations, Bana Makombé and Muini
Hassan, are for ever endangering the peace by their insolence. The feud
began by a slave of Abdullah’s having attempted to stab Bana Makombé,
because the haughty young Arab had spurned him once with his foot. Only
a few drops of the bluest blood from the aristocracy of Sa’adani were
drawn in the happily abortive attempt, but the aristocrats mustered in
force. The coast Arabs residing at Kigoma advanced towards Ujiji with
300 guns, and called upon the governor to arm, to avenge the blood that
had been shed. The governor, however, called upon the Mutwaré, and the
Wajiji swarmed by the hundreds to attack Abdullah bin Suliman.
Fortunately Abdullah was prudent, and met them with only a few men. But
though he mildly expostulated with them that it was a drunken slave who
was the cause, he was condemned to lose his right hand, from which fate,
however, he was saved by the governor relenting and demanding instead
the head of the murderous slave.
It will be manifest, then, that the safety of a European at Ujiji would
be but precarious. Any of his people, inspired by pombé or native wine,
might, at any moment, in drunken fury, mortally wound an Arab or
Mswahili of the coast, the result of which would be that the European
would either have to forfeit all his goods or his life, or decamp with
his people immediately to save himself.
Life in Ujiji begins soon after dawn, and, except on moonlight nights,
no one is abroad after sunset. With the Arabs—to whom years are as days
to Europeans—it is a languid existence, mostly spent in gossip, the
interchange of dignified visits; ceremonies of prayer, an hour or two of
barter, and small household affairs.
There were no letters for either Frank or myself after our seventeen
months’ travels around and through the lake regions. From Kagehyi, on
Lake Victoria, I had despatched messages to Sayid bin Salim, governor of
Unyanyembé, praying him to send all letters addressed to me to Muini
Kheri, governor of Ujiji, promising him a noble reward. Not that I was
sure that I should pass by Ujiji, but I knew that, if I arrived at
Nyangwé, I should be able to send a force of twenty men to Muini Kheri
for my letters. Though Sayid bin Salim had over twelve months’ time to
comply with my moderate request, not a scrap or word of news or greeting
refreshed us after the long blank interval! Both of us, having eagerly
looked forward with certainty to receiving a bagful of letters, were
therefore much disappointed.
As I was about to circumnavigate the Tanganika with my boat, and would
probably be absent two or three months, I thought there might still be a
chance of obtaining them, before setting out westward, by despatching
messengers to Unyanyembé. Announcing my intentions to the governor, I
obtained a promise that he would collect other men, as he and several
Arabs at Ujiji were also anxious to communicate with their friends.
Manwa Sera therefore selected five of the most trustworthy men, the
Arabs also selected five of their confidential slaves, and the ten men
started for Unyanyembé on the 3rd of June.[1]
Footnote 1:
My five trustworthy men arrived at Unyanyembé within fifteen days, but
from some cause they never returned to the Expedition. We halted at
Ujiji for seventy days after their departure, and when we turned our
faces towards Nyangwé, we had given up all hopes of hearing from
civilisation.
Before departing on the voyage of circumnavigation of Lake Tanganika,
many affairs had to be provided for, such as the well-being of the
Expedition during my absence, distribution of sufficient rations,
provisioning for the cruise, the engagement of guides, &c.
The two guides I obtained for the lake were Para, who had accompanied
Cameron in March and April 1874, and Ruango, who accompanied Livingstone
and myself in December 1871 to the north end of Lake Tanganika.
The most interesting point connected with this lake was its outlet.
Before starting from Zanzibar, I had heard that Cameron had discovered
the outlet to Lake Tanganika in the Lukuga river, which ran through
Uguha to the west, and was therefore an affluent of Livingstone’s great
river.
In Commander Cameron’s book, vol. i. p. 305, the following sentences,
bearing upon what he personally saw of the Lukuga, are found:
“In company with the chief, I went four or five miles down the river,
until navigation was rendered impossible, owing to the masses of
floating vegetation. Here the depth was 3 fathoms, breadth 600 yards,
current 1½ knots, and sufficiently strong to drive us well into the
edge of the vegetation. I noticed that the embouchures of some small
streams flowing into the river were unmistakably turned from the lake,
and that the weed set in the same direction. Wild date-palms grew
thickly down the river.”
In opposition to this statement of Cameron’s was the evidence taken by
me at Ujiji.
Para, his guide, said that the white man could not have seen the river
flowing towards Rua, because it did not.
Ruango, the veteran guide, declared that he had crossed it five times,
that it was a small river flowing into the Tanganika, and that if I
found it to flow in a contrary direction, he would return me all his
hire.
Natives from the Lukuga banks whom we found in Ujiji asserted positively
that there were two Lukugas, one flowing into Lake Tanganika, the other
into Rua.
Muini Kheri, governor of Ujiji, Mohammed bin Gharib, Muini Hassan, Bana
Makombé, and Wadi Safeni, all of whom had travelled across this Lukuga
river, also declared, in the most positive manner, that during the many
times they had crossed the “Lukuga,” they either passed over it on dry
land or were ferried in canoes across the entrance, which appeared to
them only an arm of the lake; that until the white man had come to
Ujiji, they had never heard of an outflowing river, nor did they believe
there was one.
The positiveness of their manner and their testimony, so utterly at
variance with what Commander Cameron had stated, inspired me with the
resolution to explore the phenomenon thoroughly, and to examine the
entire coast minutely. At the same time, a suspicion that there was no
present outlet to the Tanganika had crept into my mind, when I observed
that three palm-trees, which had stood in the market-place of Ujiji in
November 1871, were now about 100 feet in the lake, and that the sand
beach over which Livingstone and I took our morning walks was over 200
feet in the lake.
I asked of Muini Kheri and Sheikh Mohammed if my impressions were not
correct about the palm-trees, and they both replied readily in the
affirmative. Muini Kheri said also, as corroborative of the increase of
the Tanganika, that thirty years ago the Arabs were able to ford the
channel between Bangwé Island and the mainland; that they then
cultivated rice-fields three miles farther west than the present beach;
that every year the Tanganika encroaches upon their shores and fields;
and that they are compelled to move every five years farther inland. In
my photograph of Ujiji, an inlet may be seen on a site which was dry
land, occupied by fishing-nets and pasture ground, in 1871.
I proceeded to Bangwé Island, before setting out on my voyage, and
sounded the channel separating it from the mainland. Between a pebble-
covered point of Bangwé and the nearest tongue on the mainland, I
dropped my lead thirteen times. In mid-channel I found 18, 21, 23, 24,
25, 22, 23, 20, 19, and 17 feet.
The Wajiji lake-traders and fishermen have two interesting legends
respecting the origin of the Tanganika. Ruango, the veteran guide, who
showed Livingstone and myself the Rusizi river in 1871, and whose
version is confirmed by Para, the other guide, related the first as
follows:—
“Years and years ago, where you see this great lake, was a wide plain,
inhabited by many tribes and nations, who owned large herds of cattle
and flocks of goats, just as you see Uhha to-day.
“On this plain there was a very large town, fenced round with poles
strong and high. As was the custom in those days, the people of the town
surrounded their houses with tall hedges of cane, enclosing courts,
where their cattle and goats were herded at night from the wild beasts
and from thieves. In one of these enclosures lived a man and his wife,
who possessed a deep well, from which water bubbled up and supplied a
beautiful little stream, at which the cattle of their neighbours slaked
their thirst.
“Strange to say, this well contained countless fish, which supplied both
the man and his wife with an abundant supply for their wants; but as
their possession of these treasures depended upon the secrecy which they
preserved respecting them, no one outside their family circle knew
anything of them. A tradition was handed down for ages, through the
family, from father to son, that on the day they showed the well to
strangers, they would be ruined and destroyed.
“It happened, however, that the wife, unknown to her husband, loved
another man in the town, and by-and-by, her passion increasing, she
conveyed to him by stealth some of the delicious fish from the wonderful
well. The meat was so good, and had such a novel flavour, that the lover
urged her to inform him whence and by what means she obtained it; but
the fear of dreadful consequences, should she betray the secret of the
well, constrained her to evade for a long time his eager inquiries. But
she could not retain the secret long, and so, in spite of all her awe
for the Muzimu of the well, and her dread of her husband’s wrath, she at
last promised to disclose the mystery.
“Now one day the husband had to undertake a journey to Uvinza, but
before departure he strictly enjoined his wife to look after his house
and effects, and to remember to be silent about the fountain, and by no
means to admit strangers, or to go a-gadding with her neighbours, while
he was absent. The wife of course promised to obey, but her husband had
been gone only a few hours when she went to her lover and said, ‘My
husband is gone away to Uvinza, and will not be back for many days. You
have often asked me whence I obtained that delicious meat we ate
together. Come with me, and I will show you.’
“Her lover gladly accompanied her, and they went into the house, and the
wife feasted him with Zogga (palm wine) and Maramba (plantain wine),
Ugali porridge made of Indian corn, and palm-oil, seasoned with
pepper—and an abundance of fish meat.
“Then when they had eaten the man said, ‘We have eaten and drunk, and we
are now full. Now pray show me whence you obtain this wondrous white
meat that I have eaten, and which is far sweeter than the flesh of kid
or lamb or fowl.’
“‘I will,’ said she, ‘because I have promised to you to do so, and I
love you dearly; but it is a great secret, and my husband has strictly
warned me not to show it to any human being not related to the family.
Therefore you, my love, must not divulge the secret, or betray me, lest
some great evil happen to me and to us all.’
“‘Nay, have no fear of me; my mouth shall be closed, and my tongue tied,
lest danger should happen to the mistress of my heart.’
“So they arose, and she took him to the enclosure, jealously surrounded
by a tall thick fence of mateté cane, and taking hold of his hand she
led the impatient lover within, and showed him what appeared to be a
circular pool of deep clear water, which bubbled upward from the depths,
and she said—
“‘Behold! This is our wondrous fountain—is it not beautiful?—and in this
fountain are the fish.’
“The man had never seen such things in his life, for there were no
rivers in the neighbourhood except that which was made by this fountain.
His delight was very great, and he sat for some time watching the fish
leaping and chasing each other, showing their white bellies and
beautiful bright sides, and coming up to the surface and diving swiftly
down to the bottom. He had never enjoyed such pleasure; but when one of
the boldest of the fish came near to where he was sitting he suddenly
put forth his hand to catch it. Ah, that was the end of all!—for the
Muzimu, the spirit, was angry. And the world cracked asunder, the plain
sank down, and down and down—the bottom cannot now be reached by our
longest lines—and the fountain overflowed and filled the great gap that
was made by the earthquake, and now what do you see? The Tanganika! All
the people of that great plain perished, and all the houses and fields
and gardens, the herds of cattle and flocks of goats and sheep, were
swallowed in the waters.
“That is what our oldest men have told us about the Tanganika. Whether
it is true or not I cannot say.”
“And what became of the husband?” I asked.
“Oh, after he had finished his business in Uvinza, he began his return
journey, and suddenly he came to some mountains he had never seen
before, and from the top of the mountains he looked down upon a great
lake! So then he knew that his wife had disclosed the secret fountain,
and that all had perished because of her sin.”
The other tradition imparted to me by the ancients of Ujiji relates that
many years ago—how long no one can tell—the Luwegeri, a river flowing
from the east to the lake near Urimba, was met by the Lukuga flowing
from the westward, and the united waters filled the deep valley now
occupied by the Tanganika. Hence the Luwegeri is termed “The mother of
the Lukuga.”
Still another tradition relates that the Luwegeri flowed through the
plain by Uguha, and into the great river of Rua, but that when the plain
sank the Luwegeri flowed into the profound gulf caused by the sudden
subsidence of what had once been a plain.
The Waguha have also their legend, which differs slightly from that of
the Wajiji. They say that at a very remote period there was a small hill
near Urungu, hollow within, and very deep and full of water. This hill
one day burst, and the water spread over a great depression that was
made, and became the lake we now see.
I made many attempts to discover whether the Wajiji knew why the lake
was called Tanganika. They all replied they did not know, unless it was
because it was large, and canoes could make long voyages on it. They did
not call small lakes Tanganika, but they call them Kitanga. The lake of
Usukuma would be called Tanganika, but the little lakes in Uhha
(Musunya) would be called Kitanga. Nika is a word they could not explain
the derivation of, but they suggested that it might perhaps come from
Nika, an electric fish which was sometimes caught in the lake.
A rational definition of Nika I could not obtain until one day, while
translating into their language English words, I came to the word
“plain,” for which I obtained _nika_ as being the term in Kijiji. As
Africans are accustomed to describe large bodies of water as being like
plains, “it spreads out like a plain,” I think that a satisfactory
signification of the term has finally been obtained in, “the plain-like
lake.”
The people of Marungu call the lake Kimana, those of Urungu call it
Iemba, the Wakawendi call it Msaga, or, “the tempestuous lake.”
Westward from Ujiji the lake spreads to a distance of about thirty-five
miles, where it is bounded by the lofty mountain range of Goma, and it
is when looking north-west that one comprehends, as one follows that
vague and indistinct mountain line, ever paling as it recedes, the full
magnificence of this inland sea. The low island of Bangwé on the eastern
side terminates the bay of Ujiji, which rounds with a crescent curve
from the market-place towards it.
On very clear days the eyes may trace the eastern shore to the south
beyond the mouth of the Liuché, curving to the Ulambola hills, and then
rounding slightly eastward, reappearing in the imposing mountain heights
of Cape Kabogo.
Very pleasant are the idle hours of evening at Ujiji, watching the
clouds of sunset banking themselves above dark Goma, and observing the
lurid effects of the brilliant red on their gloomy masses and on the
ever ruffled waves, tinging with strange shades the gorgeous verdure of
the eastern shore, and the lofty mountain ridges which enfold the deep-
lying lake. To the ears are borne the sonorous moan and plaint of the
heavy waves, which, advancing from the south-west in serried foam-capped
lines, roll unceasingly upon the resounding shore.
At this hour, too, the fuel-laden canoes from Ulambola are hurrying
homeward, with oar and sail. The cattle, lowing to expectant calves, and
the goats bleating for their kids, are hurrying from the pastures in
advance of the tiny herd-boys, the asses’ feet clatter as they go,
bearing their masters home from Kigoma or Kasimbu, the loud hailing of
native friends announces the evening meal ready, and the spiral columns
of blue smoke ascend from many wood-fires, as we sit here to observe the
advance of the evening shades, and to take a last look at the daylight,
as it wanes and fades over the shores of the Tanganika.
CHAPTER II.
The _Lady Alice_ afloat again—Her mate and crew—Anxiety on her behalf—On
hallowed ground—Unwelcome visitors: in the haunts of the Ruga-
Ruga—The aborigines’ last retreat—A scene of blood—The robbers of
the Lake, and their tutelary spirits—A geological problem: were
there once two lakes?—Rising waters—The abode of the genii—A
storm—Forest fires—At the mouth of Cameron’s “outlet”—The Lukuga
creek.
_June 11._—The saucy English-built boat which had made the acquaintance
of all the bays and inlets of the Victoria Nyanza, which had been borne
on the shoulders of sturdy men across the plains and through the ravines
of Unyoro, had halted on the verge of the cliff rising above Beatrice
Gulf, had thrust her bows among the papyrus of the Alexandra Nile,
ridden gaily over the dark lakes of Karagwé, and crossed the inundated
plains of Usagusi, and the crocodile-haunted river of Uvinza, is at last
afloat upon the deep-blue waters of the Tanganika.
She is about to explore the mountain barriers which enfold the lake, for
the discovery of some gap which lets out, or is supposed to let out, the
surplus water of rivers which, from a dim and remote period, have been
pouring into it from all sides.
She has a consort now, a lumbering, heavy, but staunch mate, a canoe cut
out from an enormous teak-tree which once grew in some wooded gorge in
the Goma mountains. The canoe is called the _Meofu_, and is the property
of Muini Kheri, governor of Ujiji, who has kindly lent it to me. As he
is my friend, he says he will not charge me anything for the loan. But
the governor and I know each other pretty well, and I know that when I
return from the voyage, I shall have to make him a present. In Oriental
and African lands, remuneration, hire, compensation, guerdon, and
present are terms nearly related to one another.
The boat and her consort are ready on the 11th of June, 1876. The boat’s
crew have been most carefully selected. They are all young, agile,
faithful creatures. Their names and ages are as follows: Uledi, the
coxswain, 25 years; Saywa, his cousin, 17; Shumari, his brother, 18;
Murabo, 20; Mpwapwa, 22; Marzouk, 23; Akida, 20; Mambu, 20; Wadi Baraka,
24; Zaidi Rufiji, 27; Matiko, 19. Two supernumeraries are the boy gun-
bearers, Billali and Mabruki, 17 and 15 years respectively. After
eighteen months’ experience with them it has been decided by all that
these are the elect of the Expedition for boat-work, though they are by
no means the champions of the march. But as they have only light loads,
there has never been reason to complain of them.
There is much handshaking, many cries of “Take care of yourselves,” and
then both boat and canoe hoist sail, turning their heads along the coast
to the south.
Kasimbu, two miles from Ugoy to Ujiji, sends forth her Arab and slave
inhabitants to cry out their farewells, and half an hour afterwards we
are at the mouth of the Liuché river.
The reason why Arabs, Wajiji, and Wangwana have been more than usually
demonstrative is that they will not believe that such a frail structure
as our boat will be able to endure the heavy waves of the Tanganika.
They declared we should all be drowned, but our Wangwana have ridiculed
their fears, and quoted her brilliant exploit round a lake twice the
size of the Tanganika, and so at last they had come to be satisfied with
a dismal “Well, you shall see!”
_June 12._—During nearly the whole of the next day our voyage to the
south is along the forest-clad slopes of Ulambola and the tawny plains
of Ukaranga, until we arrive at the mouth of the Malagarazi River. At 3
p.m. we rowed up river, which at the mouth is about 600 yards wide, and
sends a turbid brown stream into the lake. When a continuous south-west
wind blows, its waters are known to tinge the lake with its colour as
far as Ujiji. The river soon narrows to 200 yards, and about five miles
up to 150 yards. I sounded twice, and obtained over 50 feet each time.
The southern bank is very mountainous, but on the opposite side
stretches a plain until the detached ranges of Ukaranga become massed,
about five miles from the lake, and, running easterly, form the northern
bank of the river.
_June 13._—On the 13th our voyage was along the bold mountain spurs of
Kawendi, forming a steep, rock-bound coast, indented at frequent
intervals with calm, pool-like bays, and their heights clothed with
solemn woods.
At noon we were off Kabogo’s lofty headland, and remembering that Dr.
Livingstone had said that he could find no bottom at 300 fathoms, I
sounded a mile off shore, and found 109 fathoms. At two miles off I
found no depth with 140 fathoms. I then fastened sixty fathoms more, but
at 1200 feet obtained no bottom.
About four miles south of dreaded Kabogo, on a narrow strip of sand, we
beached our boat and canoe far out of the heavy surf, and then climbed
the 2000 feet-high slopes in search of game; but the grass was high, the
jungle dense, the slope steep and fatiguing, and we had to return
without sighting a single head.
_June 14._—Next day we coasted along land familiar to me from my journey
with Livingstone to Unyanyembé, and at 7 p.m. encamped at Urimba, about
a mile south-west of the river Luwajeri or Luwegeri.
_June 15._—Having been so successful in January 1872, I sallied out the
next day over ground which I looked upon with reverence. The exact place
covered by our little tent, only six feet square of land, was hallowed
by associations of an intercourse which will never, never be repeated. I
recognised the tree above which we hoisted our mighty crimson and white
banner to attract the lagging land caravan, the plain where I had
dropped the zebra, the exact spot where I shot a fine fat goose for
breakfast, the aspiring peak of Kivanga, the weird looking mountains of
Tongwé. I knew my road here, and dwelt upon all its features, until the
old life seemed renewed, and all things seemed as before.
But I resumed my search. In an hour I am two miles from camp, and in
view of a herd of zebra. Billali becomes feverish lest I should miss the
game, and, like an honest, faithful servant taking enormous interest in
his master’s success, lies down to hug the ground in piteous stillness.
I advance a few paces cautiously behind a scraggy acacia, and in a few
seconds two of the noble creatures are dead, and the others are sweeping
round a clump of hills, whimpering for their lost companions. As we have
now enough meat to last us several days, I give them their liberty.
_June 16._—The day is devoted to cutting the meat into long strips and
drying it over wooden grates, while each of the forty men composing the
lake exploring band seems profoundly impressed with the necessity of
forestalling future demands on his digestive organs by consuming
injudicious quantities there and then.
In the midst of this most innocent recreation there stepped forth to our
view some sinister objects—Ruga-Ruga! As undesirable as wolves in a
stern Siberian winter to an unarmed party in a solitary sledge are the
Ruga-Ruga to peaceful travellers in an African forest or wilderness.
Whatever the accident that brought them, their very presence suggested
the possibility and probability of a bloody struggle. They are bandits,
wretches devoted to plunder and murder, men whose hands are at all times
ready to be imbrued in blood.
They are representatives of that tribe which has desolated and
depopulated beautiful Kawendi from the Malagarazi river down to the
Rungwa. All alike—whether Arabs, Wajiji, Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, or the
aborigines of the land—owe them an unpaid debt of vengeance for the
blood they have shed. It was not our special task, however, to undertake
the repayment, therefore neither by word nor look did we betray any
antipathy.
We gave them gifts of meat at their own request. The tobacco gourd
passed round in their polluted, crimeful hands, and we grasped their
hands in token of amity—and parted.
_June 17._—On the 17th of June we continued our voyage from Urimba
towards Kungwé cape, one of the projecting spurs from the Kungwé
mountains, and in the evening camped on Bongo Island, a few miles south-
west from Ndereh, the robbers’ village. We were visited in the night by
about sixty of them armed with muskets. Though it was an unusual hour,
and an unseasonable one for receiving visitors, we avoided trouble, and
by parting with cloth and exhausting the powers of suavity, we happily
avoided a rupture with the wild and bloody men of Ndereh, and before
dawn stole away unperceived on our journey.
_June 18._—The peaks of Kungwé are probably from 2500 to 3000 feet above
the lake. They are not only interesting from their singular appearance,
but also as being a refuge for the last remaining families of the
aborigines of Kawendi. On the topmost and most inaccessible heights
dwells the remnant of the once powerful nation which in old times—so
tradition relates—overran Uhha and Uvinza, and were a terror to the
Wakalaganza. They cultivate the slopes of their strongholds, which amply
repay them for their labour. Fuel is found in the gorges between the
peaks, and means of defence are at hand in the huge rocks which they
have piled up ready to repel the daring intruder. Their elders retain
the traditions of the race whence they sprang; and in their charge are
the Lares and Penates of old Kawendi—the Muzimu. In the home of the
eagles they find a precarious existence, as a seed to reproduce another
nation, or as a short respite before complete extermination.
[Illustration:
KUNGWÉ PEAKS.
(_From a sketch near the entrance to the Luwulungu torrent bed._)
]
The best view of this interesting clump of mountain heights is to be had
off the mouth of the torrent Luwulungu.
From Cape Kungwé south, the coast as far as Ulambula consists of a lofty
mountain front, pierced by several deep and most picturesque inlets,
gorges, ravines, and rifts. Into these pours the Luwulungu, rushing
along a steep, stony bed, from the chasms and defiles overshadowed by
the tall peaks of Kungwé—and the Lubugwé, emptying its waters into a
pretty cove penetrating to the very heart of the mountain wall. At an
angle of 45° this mountain wall rises up to the height of 2000 feet,
clothed from base to summit with the verdure of cane, wild grasses, and
tall straight trees with silvery stems. Then next comes the Kasuma
inlet, and here, straight before our eyes, is seen a river dropping, in
a succession of falls, from the lofty summit, into shadowy depths of
branching tamarinds, acacias, and teak. All is silent in the deep-
bosomed cove except the rhythmic waterfall, and the trees stand still,
as though fascinated by the music, and the grim heights frown a silent
approval; the pale blue arm of the lake rests expectant for the moment
when it shall receive the impetuous child of the mountains which it sees
leaping down to it from above, and flashing so brightly at every great
leap. Along the glorious, green, steep headlands we wind in and out,
cast a glance in at Numbi’s pretty cove, and encamp for the night near
the bold cape of Ulambula.
_June 19._—We resumed the voyage on the 19th, and, shortly after leaving
our camp in the neighbourhood of the cape, saw a point of land connected
by a narrow neck with the mainland, under which were two natural arches,
spanning two channels. From the cape the mountain range gradually
recedes from the lake, until, near the Rugufu river, it again approaches
and finally forms the headlands of Buyramembé.
A little south of the cape the crest of a small and lately submerged
island was also seen. At noon I took observations for latitude, at the
north end of Kabogo, an island lying parallel to the mainland at a
distance of from 300 to 500 yards. On the shores, both of mainland and
island, flourishes the borassus palm. Kabogo was once densely peopled,
but the bandits of Ndereh, the scourge of Kawendi, have caused them to
emigrate to other districts to crave protection from chiefs more
powerful than their own.
About 2 P.M. we came in view of Kiwesa, which appeared from the lake to
be a very large village. But as we approached its shores under sail, we
were struck with the silence which reigned around, and the sight of a
large herd of buffalo grazing near the village still more astonished us.
The guides declared that only five weeks before they had stopped in it
and traded with Ponda, the chief, and they could give no reason why—as
two boats under sail would most likely attract the attention of the
natives—the people of Ponda did not appear on the shore.
We resolved to venture in to discover the cause. There was a deathly
silence around. Numbers of earthenware pots, whole, and apparently but
little used, were strewn about the beach and among the reeds flanking
the path which led to the village, besides stools, staffs, hand-brooms,
gourds, etc., etc. This was ominous. There was probably a trap or a
snare of some kind laid for us. We retreated therefore hastily to the
boat and canoe, and thirty men were armed. Thus, better prepared against
the wiles of savage men, we advanced again cautiously towards the
village.
As we were surmounting the high ground on which the village was built,
we saw a sight which froze the blood—the body of a poor old man, in a
decomposed state, with a broad spear-wound in the back, and near it much
dried blood. He had probably been dead five or six days.
A few yards farther, we saw the decapitated corpse of another man, and
10 feet from it, in a furrow or water channel, the bodies of three men
and a woman, one of them dislimbed.
We arrived before the village. The defences were broken down and burnt.
About fifty huts still stood unharmed by fire, but all the others were
consumed. A few scorched banana stalks stood as a witness of the fury of
the conflagration. But despite the black ruin and the charred embers
which so plentifully strewed the ground, evidences were clear that
flight had been hasty and compulsory, for all the articles that
constitute the furniture of African families lay scattered in such
numbers around us that an African museum might have been completely
stocked. Stools, mats, spears, drinking-vessels, cooking-pots of all
sizes, walking-staffs, war-clubs, baskets, trenchers, wooden basins,
scoops, etc. There were also abundant proofs that this ruin was recent;
a few wood-rails still smoked, the hearths were still warm, the dead
were not putrefied. A coal-black cat made a dash from one of the houses
yet standing, and the sudden motion startled us all in this place of
death and vengeance.
Ponda, the chief of this village, had no doubt given some provocation to
this unknown enemy. Para thought the enemy must have been the robbers of
Ndereh, for the condition of the village bore signs of superior energy
in the attack. And yet it had been constructed with a view to secure
immunity from the fate which generally overtakes weak communities in
Africa in the neighbourhood of ferocious and war-loving tribes. A wide
ditch—in some parts 10 feet deep—and a strong palisade, with an
earthwork, surrounded the settlement. The lake was close by to supply
water, the country near it was open, and the sharpshooters’ nest-like
towers commanded a wide view. From some thirty bleached skulls arranged
before Ponda’s own house we argued that he did not himself fail to
proceed to the same extremes which his enemies had now adopted to his
utter ruin. It is the same story throughout Africa.
We resumed our voyage for the mouth of the Rugufu river. The shore
between Kiwesa and the river is comparatively low. The waves have so
beaten and shaken the low red bluffs and soft ferruginous clay that
numerous landslips are constantly occurring. The débris are then
vigorously pounded and crushed by the surf, and at length they are
spread out into a narrow line of beach at their base, over which the
spluttering waves surge up continuously.
The impression received at Ujiji, that the Tanganika is rising, was
confirmed whenever we neared low shores. Especially was it the case at
the Rugufu river, and Para the guide, as we entered it, stood up and
exclaimed:—
“Oh, mother, mother, mother, see ye now! When I was with that other
white man here, we camped on a strip of land which is now buried in the
water! The Tanganika is indeed eating the land!”
The Rugufu oozes out from the midst of a broad bed of papyrus and reeds
between precipitous banks.
On leaving the river we coasted along the bluff, steeply rising slopes
of a mountain range which trends south-south-east as far as the
settlements of Ruhinga, Kafisya, Katavi, and Kantamba.
Between the Rugufu and Buyramembé Point a stratum of a very dark
hornblende slate is visible, resting upon gneiss in undulating,
vertical, or diagonal lines; farther on we come to a stratified
quartzose and greenstone rock. On the crest of this part of the range
and its projecting spur is a thin forest of poor trees. The soil too is
poor, and much mixed with shaly débris.
The mouth of the Gezeh river is a frequent haunt of herds of buffaloes,
and also, being a fine haven, of trading canoes. Among the stories
related of this place is one of a wonderful escape of a party of Wajiji
traders from the bandits of Ndereh. The robbers stole into the camp
while the Wajiji were all asleep, but some of the canoemen, awaking,
punted their boats out of reach, and shouted to their comrades, who
sprang into the water to avoid the fate that would otherwise have
certainly overtaken them all.
The settlements of Kafisya, and the others just mentioned, have such an
ill repute that I cannot imagine any necessity inducing a traveller to
cultivate the acquaintance of the evil-conditioned people, unless, of
course, he is so rich in cloth and followers that waste of them is of
little consequence to him.
It is said that when they see the Wajiji trading canoes pass by them,
the robbers pray to the Muzimu of Katavi to induce the Msaga—the
tempestuous sea—to drive them ashore. The Muzimu of Katavi is one of the
most powerful spirits along the shores of the Tanganika, according to
legendary lore. Though he is capable of much mischief, he takes freaks
of charity into his whimsical head, such as gratuitously killing
buffaloes and then informing the inhabitants where the meat may be
found; he is also said to have a relentless animosity towards the
bandits of Ndereh, and frequently entraps them to their destruction. A
conical knoll is called, after this spirit, Katavi’s Hill.
Before the mouth of the Mkombé river there lies a low submerged island,
just west of south from Katavi. Only a few shrubs and the heads of some
tall cane were visible above the surface of the water.
_June 20._—From Gezeh to Igangwé Cove was a good day’s journey against
the south-easter which blew strongly against us. Igangwé Cove penetrates
about a mile deep into the mountain folds. Though it was the season when
the grasses are becoming sere, and some of the trees lose that vivid
greenness of foliage which is their glory during the rainy season, the
aspect of the slopes had still a freshness and beauty which, with the
placid mirror-like cove, made a picture worth preserving.
_June 21._—A day’s journey south by east took us to the village of
Karema—the chief being Massi-Kamba, a sub-chief of Kapufi, king of Fipa.
It is situated in the angle of a bay which begins at Igangwé Point and
terminates in the weird rock-piles of Mpimbwé Cape.
All that mass of looming upland from Igangwé to within a few miles of
Karema is included in the country of Kawendi or, as it is sometimes
called, Tongwé. South of that line begins Fipa.
Arabs are beginning to establish themselves at Karema for trade, the Wa-
fipa being more amenable to reason than the “scattered and peeled”
tribes of Tongwé.
Between Karema and Mpimbwé Cape lies a fine country studded with coves
and hills, square-topped and round. Game is abundant and easy of
approach. A buffalo and a small red antelope were obtained by me here,
the two shots supplying the crews with abundance of meat.
Proceeding some eight miles south-west towards Mpimbwé, we come to a
narrow ridge rising about 600 feet above the lake. Its shore is deeply
indented, and the wash of waves has bared enormous masses of granite.
At the south-western corner of this bay there is a neck of low land
which all but connects Mpimbwé ridge with the mainland; only half a
mile’s breadth of low land prevents Mpimbwé being an island. Near
Kipendi Point, which is halfway between Mpimbwé ridge and Karema, there
is a tree in the lake which was pointed out to me as being not many
years ago on dry land. There is now 9 feet of water around it!
Mpimbwé Cape offers a view similar to the rocks of Wezi, only of a still
more gigantic size and a ruder grandeur.
Their appearance betrays the effects of great waves which have at one
time swept over them, pouring their waters into their recesses,
cleansing by force every cranny and flaw of their vegetable mould, and
washing out of them every particle of soil, until, one day, by some
sudden convulsion of nature, the lake subsided, leaving, a hundred feet
above its surface, these grey and naked masses of granite.
Any one who has seen on a rock-bound coast the war of sea-wave against
granite, basalt, and sandstone, will at once recognize the effects
visible at Mpimbwé. There lie piled up rocks, hundreds of tons in
weight, some of them appearing to rest in such precarious positions that
it seems as if the finger of an infant would suffice to push them into
the deep blue lake. These, however, are not scored and grooved as are
those exposed to the eroding influences of ceaseless ocean waves; they
are cleanly fractured, with their external angles only exhibiting a
rough polish or roundness which I take to be clear signs that at some
remote time they were exposed to waves of great power. Besides, the
condition of the rocks at the water-line confirms this theory.
Still, it is strange that the lake should have been rising steadily ever
since living men can remember, and that those rocks of Mpimbwé should
bear witness to the lake’s subsidence.
_June 25._—On the 25th of June, after coasting the western side of this
extraordinary range and proceeding south some fifteen or sixteen miles,
we arrived at Mkerengi Island, in the bay of Kirando; the large island
of Makokomo lying to west of us a mile off. The natives of these parts
are very amiable, though extremely superstitious. At the north-west end
of Makokomo there is another lately submerged island. Close to the
south-west end is a group of inhabited islands, Kankamba and Funeh being
the largest and most fertile.
Kirando is situated among other large villages in what appears to be a
plain, hemmed in on the east by the continuation of the mountain ridges
which we lost sight of when we left Karema Bay. The truncated cone of
Chakavola terminates the ridge of Mpimbwé, and lies north-east from
Mkerengi.
Continuing our voyage southerly along the coast between the isles of
Kankamba and its brothers and the shore of the mainland, and passing a
couple of creeks running deep inshore, we came to Cape Muntuwa. From
this cape to Msamba Island, where we encamped, the lake is edged by one
successive series of gigantic blocks and crags of granite. Rock rises
above rock, and fragment above fragment. Here towers a colossal mass the
size of a two-storied house, bearing upon it a similar mass perhaps
entire, but more probably split with a singularly clean and fresh
fracture, and there springs up from the surrounding chaos a columnar
block like a closed hand with outstretched fore-finger—but everywhere
there is the same huge disarray, ruin, and confusion.
We had need to be cautious in sailing along the coast, because for
several hundred yards into the lake the rocky masses, which the uneasy
billows only exposed in glimpses, rose nearly to the surface.
A suspicion flashed into my mind as these new features revealed
themselves that in remote times this part of the lake—from Mpimbwé
south—was a separate lake, and that Mpimbwé ridge was connected with
some portion of the western coast—probably the southern portion of
Goma—for while coasting from the extreme north end of lake Tanganika
down to Mpimbwé, I saw nothing resembling in character this portion of
the coast. In no part of all the eastern coast down to Mpimbwé is there
anything to lead me to suppose that the lake was ever higher than at
present; but from Mpimbwé to Msamba I see numerous traces that the lake
has been many yards higher than it is at present. All this dreary ruin
of wave-dismantled and polished rock was at one time covered with water.
_June 26._—On the 26th we camped at Mtosi, where Livingstone, who calls
it Motoshi, camped on the 23rd of October, 1872. The chief’s name is
Kokira. A beautiful little bay leads from the lake to the miserable
village where he lives.
_June 27._—We rested on Msamba Island for the evening of the 27th. The
islanders told us that there was a cave about 60 yards in length on the
mainland opposite, where they sometimes hid in time of danger. For a
small island Msamba is densely populated, and every inch seems
cultivated. The islanders are clever manufacturers of a strong, coarse,
cotton cloth: cotton being abundant in Fipa. The Rukugu river empties
into Msamba Bay.
The irregular ridge which follows the coast between Msamba Island and
Wanpembé, our next journey, is remarkable for a solitary columnar rock
rising from 50 to 80 feet high and about half a mile from Column Point.
Rounding Kantentieh Point, we have a view of three columnar rocks, the
central one being singularly like a mutilated Memnonium. These columns
are visible from a considerable distance north or south.
Before reaching Wanpembé, Para, the guide, gathered a peculiar kind of
berry called _owindi_, from a low scrubby tree, whose appearance was
anything but promising for such a fragrant production as he now showed
to us. The odour was not unlike that of lavender, and its strength was
such that all in the boat near him were benefited by its exquisite
perfume.
In the little cove close to Wanpembé, on the north side of the point on
which it is situate, the boat floated over the submerged fence of a
village, and her keel was 3 feet above it.
We obtained abundance of provisions at this large village, but as there
were some Watuta strangers within the palisades, our visit was not an
agreeable one. However, despite their insolence, the peace was not
broken.
Minza, a neighbouring village, is also very large, and possesses a
strong stockade, the base of it being embanked with the earth excavated
from the ditch.
There appears to be no diminution in the altitude of the mountain ranges
which lie along the entire east coast of the Tanganika, or on the
western side, as we have had the west mountains plainly in view since
leaving Mpimbwé. Now and then we saw small streams issue into the lake,
but met no river of any importance, until we came to the Zinga, or Mui-
Zinga, as the Wajiji call it, which separates Fipa from Urungu.
_June 30._—On the 30th we were coasting along the base of the mountain
ranges of Urungu, and passing by Kalavera Point came to a bay before
which were two small grass-covered islets. On a point of the mainland,
nearly opposite these, stands Kakungu village. This point is formed of a
grey shaly rock supporting a white clay, out of which the Wajiji on
their return homeward paint the bows of their canoes. The scenery just
beyond is bold and imposing.
Kirungwé Point consists of perpendicular walls—from 50 to 200 feet high
above the lake—of a fine reddish sandstone with horizontal strata. Their
peculiar appearance may be imagined when the boat’s crew cried out:—
“Oh, mother, this is a fort! See, there are the windows, and here is one
of the gates.”
Kirungwé Point appears to be a lofty swelling ridge, cut straight
through to an unknown depth. There seems ground for believing that this
ridge was once a prolongation of the plateau of Marungu, as the rocks
are of the same material, and both sides of the lake show similar
results of a sudden subsidence without disturbance of the strata.
South of Kirungwé, or Castle Point, there lies what we may almost call
an island, which the guides said a few years ago was connected with the
mainland. It is almost entirely separated now. A village which once
nestled comfortably in the hollow between the rising ridges is now half
buried in water. The huts appeared ready to collapse, for the water had
already flooded them. This village was called Ma-Zombé.
In the evening, as we prepared to encamp, four canoes, of Ujiji, loaded
with women and children, to the number of sixty-four—slaves from the
Rufuvu river and from Muriro’s—passed by our camp.
The bay of Kawa, which we passed through next day, is very picturesque;
woods clothe the slopes and heights, and huts for the accommodation of
the Muzimus, or spirits, have been erected in several of the bends. Kawa
river empties into this bay.
_July 2, 3._—During the 2nd and 3rd of July we rowed close to the
uninhabited shore, and at noon of the 3rd arrived at the extreme south
end of the lake—which we ascertained to be 8° 47′ south latitude—in the
district of Ukituta. The little stream Kapata issues into the lake at
this end through a dense and dark grove, the dead trees standing in
front of the grove bearing witness to the destructive action of the
rising waters.
[Illustration: THE EXTREME SOUTHERN REACH OF LAKE TANGANIKA.]
I scoured the country in search of game, but, though tracks of buffalo
were numerous, I failed to obtain a glimpse of a single head. Safeni,
who was the coxswain of the _Meofu_ canoe, accompanied me, and pointed
out various points of interest in connection with Livingstone, as we
followed the road which he had travelled over in his last fatal journey
to Lake Bemba. The myombo and borassus palm flourished on the higher
terraces.
_July 4._—On the 4th, after rounding a point of a ridge—three miles from
the Kapata—which lay north, we turned westward between Ntondwé Island
and the mainland, and then passing by Murikwa Island, we reached, in two
hours, the southern termination of the western shore of the Tanganika,
whence may be seen the Wezi river tumbling down from the plateau of
Urungu.
The village of Mwangala, where we camped, was at first hidden from our
view by a dense line of water-cane, which sheltered its small fishing-
canoes from the storms of the lake. One glance at the village fence
informed us that here also was evidence that the lake was rising. We
asked the natives if they did not think the water was gaining on them.
“Can you not see?” said they. “Another rain and we shall have to break
away from here, and build anew.”
“Where does the water of the lake go to?”
“It goes north, then it seems to come back upon us stronger than ever.”
“But is there no river about here that goes towards the west?”
“We never heard of any.”
That part of the western coast which extends from Mbeté or Mombeté to
the south, as far as the Rufuvu river, is sacred ground in the lore of
the ancients of Urungu. Each crag and grove, each awful mountain brow
and echoing gorge, has its solemn associations of spirits. Vague and
indescribable beings, engendered by fear and intense superstition,
govern the scene. Any accident that may befall, any untoward event or
tragedy that may occur, before the sanctuaries of these unreal powers,
is carefully treasured in the memories of the people with increased awe
and dread of the Spirits of the Rocks.
Such associations cling to the strange tabular mounts or natural towers,
called Mtombwa. The height of these is about 1200 feet above the lake.
They once formed parts of the plateau of Urungu, though now separated
from it by the same agency which created the fathomless gulf of the
Tanganika.
Within a distance of two miles are three separate mounts, which bear a
resemblance to one another. The first is called Mtombwa, the next
Kateye, the third Kapembwa. Their three spirits are also closely akin to
one another, for they all rule the wave and the wind, and dwell on
summits. Kateye is, I believe, the son of Kapembwa, the Jupiter, and
Mtombwa, the Juno, of Tanganika tradition.
[Illustration:
THE “HIGH PLACES” OF THE SPIRIT MTOMBWA: VIEW OF MTOMBWA URUNGU.
]
As we row past close to their base, we look up to admire the cliffy
heights rising in terraces one above another; each terrace-ledge is
marked by a thin line of scrubby bush. Beyond Kateye, the grey front of
the paternal Kapembwa looms up with an extraordinary height and massive
grandeur.
From Kapembwa to Polombwé Cape the plateau merges in a cliff-crowned
wall 1500 feet above the lake. The cliff itself is probably 200 feet
high, rising above a slope bristling with great rocks half hidden by the
verdure of trees, bush, and grass. Yet the natives cultivate some part,
and their fields were seen far up the steep ascending slopes.
[Illustration: KAPEMBWA.]
_July 6._—On the 6th we left the neighbourhood of Polombwé, at a place
called Umisepa, and rowed round into the Rufuvu river.
This river is about 400 yards wide, and retains that width for about
three miles—flowing with a current of a knot an hour, and between lofty
wood-clothed mountains—and then broadens out into a lake-like expanse
nearly a mile wide. From the right or south bank of the river, a plain
slopes gradually to the grand cliffy walls of Kapembwa. From here to
Liendé village, where we camped, our course lay east-south-east.
Here, as elsewhere, the water has encroached upon the soil, and has
flooded a large portion of land formerly devoted to tillage. It is a
populous spot, indeed the most populous we had seen since leaving Ujiji.
Our reception by the people was most cordial, and I was not sorry to
become acquainted with such gentle creatures. Not one angry word or
insolent look was exchanged, but they visited us with the greatest
confidence, and a lively interest for barter. We obtained such abundance
of provisions here that we might have cruised for a month without having
to call at any native port.
The chief, Kiumeh, or Chiuma-Nanga, who lives at Mkigusa village, was
visited with all due ceremony, and proved a most kindly old man. I
gladly rewarded him for his small presents of food, and separated from
him with feelings of attachment.
Livingstone, who was here in May 1867, writes of this plain and river as
follows:—
“We came to a village about 2′ west of the confluence. The village has
a meadow about four miles wide, in which buffaloes disport themselves,
but they are very wild, and hide in the gigantic grasses. The Lofu—or
Lofubu (Rufuvu)—is a quarter of a mile wide, but higher up 300 yards.”
Between the 6th of July, 1876, and May 1867, that is, in nine years’
time, the river Rufuvu has encroached upon the “meadow” which
Livingstone saw by over a thousand yards!
It is true the plain or meadow is very low, and that 2 feet or more of a
rise would extend the river over half a mile more of ground, but the
proofs are gathering that the lake has been steadily rising. What was
meadow land in the days when Livingstone made the acquaintance of the
people of Liendé is now clear water half covered with growths of pale-
blue lotus. The depth of the river in mid-channel is 21 feet.
I should estimate the population of the plain from Polombwé westward to
where the river narrows between the hills, a district of about eight
square miles, as about 2000 souls. We heard of Wangwana and some Arabs
camping at a village called Kungwé higher up the river on the left bank,
but as we had no occasion for their acquaintance we did not deem it
necessary to go through the form of visiting them.
_July 7._—On the 7th, soon after quitting the Rufuvu river, we had a
rough experience of the worst Ma’anda “south-wester”—Para or Ruango, our
guides, had ever been in. The _Meofu_ was soon disabled, for its rudder
was swept away, but being towed behind by a rope, it was fortunately not
lost, while our boat flew with double-reefed lug over the wild waves
like a seagull. The tempest sang in our ears, and the waters hissed as
they flew by us with great high curling crests. But Kasawa Cape was
still before us, and no shelter could be obtained until we had rounded
it. We shook a reef out, lest we might be swamped, and the increased
force swept us over the topmost crests at such a speed as made Para and
Ruango set their teeth. The canoe was out of sight; along the rock-bound
shore thundered the surf; the wind was rising into a hurricane, but
Kasawa was getting nearer to view, and we held on with all sail. In
fifteen minutes we were safe behind the grey bluffs of the headland, in
a little creek amid a heap of driftwood, and the haunt of hippopotamus
and crocodile. I sent a land party back to hunt up news of the missing
canoe, and by night received the glad news that soon after they were
disabled they had managed to beach their boat without injury.
Between Kasawa and Kipimpi capes there are deep bays, which I have taken
the liberty of calling the Cameron Bays.[2] A sterile and bleached
country stretches on every hand around these bays, and the general
appearance of their sterility is somewhat increased by the chalky
character of some of the low cliffs.
Footnote 2:
So called after Verney Lovett Cameron, Commander R.N., the first to
navigate the southern half of Lake Tanganika.
North of the river Rufuvu extends Uemba. Ruemba—the country of the lake
L’iemba—in the language of the great Bisa tribe, which all speak, with
slight differences of dialect, in this region, signifies “lake.” Mapota
River separates Uemba from Marungu.
Between Kipimpi Cape and Kalambwé Cape, King Muriro, or “Fire,” an
immigrant from Unyamwezi, has, with the aid of a colony of restless
spirits, established a formidable village called Akalunga, close to the
lake. It is a resort for slavers, for Muriro has numbers of slaves on
hand to exchange for powder and guns, and his people are always roving
about on the look-out for more.
From Kalambwé Cape northward the mountains loom higher and steeper, the
shore is indented with many narrow inlets, vertical strata of greenstone
being thus exposed, with thin forests crowning the loose soil which
covers them. The depressions between the hilltops are numerous and
shallow, consequently the drainage is quickly carried away in small
rills.
Beyond the Mapota the scenery becomes still bolder, and the more
imposing woods impart with their varied hues of foliage and waving
crowns a picturesqueness that since leaving Fipa has been wanting in the
landscape of the stupendous and upspringing, terraced plateau wall of
Western Urungu, or in the uniform contours of Eastern Urungu.
_July 11._—At a camp near an inlet north of Kalambwé Cape we set fire to
some grass to have a more open view of our surroundings. In an hour it
had ascended the steep slope, and was raging triumphantly on the summit.
Three nights after we saw it still burning about fifteen miles north of
the locality whence it had first started, like a crown of glory on a
mountain-top.
Observation of this fire, and many others, explains why, in the midst of
African uplands nourishing a dense forest, we suddenly come across
narrow, far-penetrating plains covered with grass. They are, no doubt,
so many tonguelike extensions from some broader, grass-covered expanses
caused by fierce fires. Wherever the ground retains an excessive
quantity of moisture, grasses, with stalks as thick as cane, spring up
during three months’ rain to a height of eight to ten, sometimes
fifteen, feet. In May these grasses become sere, and by June are as dry
as tinder. The smallest spark suffices to set them in a flame, and the
noise of two brigades of infantry fighting would hardly exceed the
terrible rack, crackle, and explosions made by the onrush of the wind-
swept element. It devours everything that stands before it, and roasts
the surface of the ground, leaving it parched, blackened, and fissured.
Though the mountains of Marungu are steep, rugged, and craggy, the
district is surprisingly populous. Through the chasms and great cañons
with which the mountains are sometimes cleft, we saw the summits of
other high mountains, fully 2500 feet above the lake, occupied by
villages, the inhabitants of which, from the inaccessibility of the
position they had selected, were evidently harassed by some more
powerful tribes to the westward.
The neighbourhood of Zongweh Cape is specially distinguished for its
lofty cones and great mountain masses. Mount Murumbi, 2000 feet above
the lake, near Muri-Kiassi Cape, is a striking feature of the coast of
Marungu.
The wooded slopes and dense forest growths which fill the gorges are
haunts of what the Wangwana call “Soko,” a distinctive title they have
given either to gorillas or chimpanzees. I heard the voices of several
at Lunangwa river, but as they were at a considerable distance from me,
I could not distinguish any great difference between the noise they
created and that which a number of villagers might make while
quarrelling.
The Rubuko, or Lofuko, a considerable river, divides Marungu from
Tembwé. On the south side of the river is Mompara, or, for short, Para,
remarkable as being the place whereat Livingstone embarked in canoes,
February 1869, to proceed to Ujiji for the first time (‘Last Journals,’
vol. ii.):—
“_14th February, 1869._—Arrived at Tanganika. Parra is the name of the
land at the confluence of the river Lofuko.”
The chief of the Para village is patronised by Jumah Merikani, who,
while he is absent in Rua collecting slaves and ivory, entrusts his
canoes to the chief’s charge, from which it appears that the latter is a
trustworthy man. Formerly Sheikh Sayid bin Habib honoured him with the
same confidence.
Four hours’ sail brought us to the wooded headlands of Tembwé, the most
projecting of which is about twenty-five miles from Makokomo Island, in
the Bay of Kirando, on the east coast of the lake.
Near this point is seen a lofty range, rising a few miles from the lake
in an irregular line of peaks, which, as it is depressed towards the
north, presents a more arid appearance, and presently forms a range of a
much lower altitude than the mountains of Tongwé, Fipa, Urungu, or
Marungu. This continues—with gaps here and there for rivers to escape
through to the lake—until a little north of Kasengé Island, where it
rises again into the mountains of Goma, the highest of all round Lake
Tanganika.
At Kankindwa, which is in a little cove near Tembwé Cape, a native told
us that the Lukuga flowed _out_ of the lake to Rua; another denied that
flatly, and a third said that the Lukuga flowed out of the lake towards
Rua, but that, meeting another river descending towards the Tanganika,
it was stopped, and the two rivers formed a lake.
_July 14._—As we sailed north from Tembwé and observed the comparatively
low altitude of the Uguha range, I began to feel that it was, of all the
countries we had seen, the most likely to have a gap for the escape of
the waters. It reminded me of some parts of Usukuma, on Lake Victoria.
We explored the mouths of the Ruanda, Kasenga, Ruwye-ya, Rutuku, and
Kahanda rivers, and then from Mirembwé Cape sailed for the Lukuga—the
river that formed now the most interesting object of our exploration.
[Illustration: MOUNT MURUMBI.]
_July 15._—On the evening of the 15th of July we made the acquaintance
of Kawe-Niangeh, the chief of the district on the south bank of the
Lukuga Creek near the mouth. He remembered Cameron distinctly, described
his person and dress, and informed me that he had accompanied him to the
reeds which he said blocked the head of the creek. At the time of his
visit, he said—pointing at the same time to a long line of breakers
which marked three-fourths of the broad entrance from the lake to the
creek—there were two spits of sand running from either side of the
mouth, and there was a small fishing settlement on the one which
projected from our side. As they were now covered up, he entertained a
suspicion that Cameron had dropped some powerful medicine, which had
brought on this destruction! If one white man had brought so much
mischief, what might not two white men do? “Why,” said he, “the whole
country will be inundated, and nothing will be left except the tops of
the great mountains!”
We laughed at this, and, eventually joking him out of these ideas,
succeeded in obtaining his guidance to explore the creek, and in
eliciting the following items, which I jotted down in my journal the
same evening:—
“_July 15._—Opinion at the mouth of the Lukuga is much divided
respecting this river, or creek, or inlet, or whatever it may be. The
information, when compared with Cameron’s statement, is altogether
incomprehensible. The old men and chiefs say that formerly the
Luwegeri met the Lukuga, and that the meeting of the waters formed the
lake. The result of this marriage of the Lukuga from the west, and the
Luwegeri from the east, is the Tanganika, and a cordial understanding
between the waters has been kept up until lately, when it appears that
the Lukuga has begun to be restive and wayward, for it sometimes flows
west, and sometimes east; or, in other words, the Lukuga during the
rainy season flows into the Tanganika, bearing with it an immense
amount of water, grass, wood, and other matter, but during the dry
season, when the south-east monsoon prevails, the Lukuga is borne
west, lifting its head clear of the dry ground and mud-banks, and
flows down to the Kamalondo, near Kalumbi’s country, under the name of
Ruindi or Luindi. Until this rainy season, or say March of this year,
1876, there stood a low bank of earth or mud, several hundred yards
long, between the Luindi and Lukuga, but this year’s rainfall has
united the two rivers, the Lukuga flowing over this by Miketo’s
country into Rua. Kamalondo is a river, and not a lake, being another
name for the Lualaba.
“When Cameron was here in 1874, there was a spit of dry sand lined
with grass or cane, projecting from the south side, and a similar one
from the north side, the two being separated by a narrow channel, but
to-day both spits are covered with a line of wild breakers. The spot
where Cameron camped is no longer tenable, but is exposed to the
billows of the Tanganika, which at this season are driven in by the
south-east monsoon.
“Take it any way you please, such conflict of opinions among people
who ought to know what an outlet or an outflowing river is—many of
them having seen the Luapula flow out from Bemba lake, others having
seen the Lualaba plunge down from Mweru lake—makes it clear that there
is either a crisis approaching in nature or that it has lately taken
place, or is occurring—one cannot say which until the Lukuga is
explored, and this work I propose to begin to-morrow.”
Cameron says, on p. 304, in vol. i. of his ‘Across Africa’:—
“Its entrance was more than a mile across, but closed by a _grass-
grown sandbank_ with the exception of a channel 300 or 400 yards wide,
and _across the channel there is a sill_ where the surf breaks heavily
at times, although there is more than a fathom of water at its most
shallow part.”
An inflowing river meeting the billows of the Tanganika might be
supposed to form a “surf,” or a sandy sill, it being only natural that
there should be a conflict between the opposing forces. To this struggle
then must be attributed the formation of the “sill of sand” which
Cameron said ran across the channel.
_July 16._—On the 16th we sailed up the creek.
The mouth of the Lukuga, which was about 2500 yards wide, narrowed after
a mile to 800 yards, and after another mile to 400 or 500 yards. Upon
rounding the point of land on which Mkampemba stands, and where there is
a considerable tract under tillage, I observed that the water changed
its colour to a reddish brown, owing to the ferruginous conglomerate of
which the low bluffs on either side are composed. This was also a proof
to me that there was no outflowing river here. Clear water outflowing
from the Tanganika, only two miles from the lake, ought never to be so
deeply discoloured.
As we proceeded on, the chief told us to stop, and threw a stick into
the water, asking us to note how, despite the ripple and wind from
lakeward, the stick and the water-bubbles persisted in struggling
against them towards the lake. His face was triumphant as he thought he
had completely proved one part of his statement, that water came into
the lake. It only remained now, as he thought, to prove that water
flowed out towards the west.
Wherever there were indentations in the bluffs that banked it in, or a
dip in the low grass-covered débris beneath, a growth of Mateté or
water-cane and papyrus filled up these bits of still water, but mid-
channel was clear and maintained a breadth of open white water ranging
from 90 to 450 yards.
Within an hour we arrived at the extremity of the open water, which had
gradually been narrowed in width, by the increasing abundance of
papyrus, from 250 yards to 40 yards. We ceased rowing, and gently glided
up to the barrier of papyrus, which had now completely closed up the
creek from bank to bank, like a luxuriant field of tall Indian corn. We
sounded at the base of these reeds along a breadth of 40 yards, and
obtained from 7 to 11 feet of water! With a portable level I attempted
to ascertain a current; the level indicated none! Into a little pool,
completely sheltered by the broadside of the boat, we threw a chip or
two, and some sticks. In five minutes the chips had moved towards the
reeds about a foot! We then crushed our way through about twenty yards
of the papyrus, and came to impassable mudbanks, black as pitch, and
seething with animal life. Returning to the boat, I asked four men to
stand close together, and, mounting their shoulders with an oar for
support, I endeavoured with a glass to obtain a general view. I saw a
broad belt some 250 or 300 yards wide of a papyrus-grown depression,
lying east and west between gently sloping banks, thinly covered with
scrubby acacia. Here and there were pools of open water, and beyond were
a few trees growing, as it seemed to me, right in the bed. I caused some
of my men to attempt to cross from one bank to the other, but the muddy
ooze was not sufficiently firm to bear the weight of a man.
I then cut a disc of wood a foot in diameter, drove a nail in, and
folded cotton under its head. I then rove a cord 5 feet in length
through this, suspending to one end an earthenware pot, with which I
tried an experiment. Along the hedge of papyrus I measured 1000 feet
with a tape line, both ends of the track marked by a broad riband of
sheeting tied to a papyrus reed. Then, proceeding to the eastern or lake
end of the track, I dropped the earthenware pot, which, after filling,
sank and drew the wooden disc level with the water. I noted the
chronometer instantly, while the boat was rowed away from the scene. The
wind from the lake blew strong at the time.
The board floated from lakeward towards the papyrus 822 feet in one hour
and forty seconds.
In the afternoon, wind calm and water tranquil, the disc floated in the
opposite direction, or towards the lake, 159 feet in nineteen minutes
and thirty seconds, which is at the rate of about 600 feet in the hour.
This was of itself conclusive proof that there was _no_ current at this
date (July 16, 1876). Still I was curious to see the river flowing out.
The next day, therefore, accompanied by the chief and fifteen men of the
Expedition, we started overland along the banks of this rush- and mud-
choked depression for three or four miles. The trend of the several
streams we passed was from north-west to south-east—that is, towards the
lake. At Elwani village we came to the road from Monyi’s, which is used
by people proceeding to Unguvwa, Luwelezi, or Marungu on the other side
of the Lukuga. Two men from the village accompanied us to the Lukuga
ford. When we reached the foot of the hill, we first came to the dry bed
of the Kibamba. In the rainy season this stream drains the eastern
slopes of the Ki-yanja ridge with a south-east trend. The grass-stalks,
still lying down from the force of the water, lay with their tops
pointing lakeward.
From the dry mud-bed of the Kibamba to the cane-grass-choked bed of
Lukuga was but a step. During the wet season the Kibamba evidently
overflowed broadly, and made its way among the mateté of the Lukuga.
We tramped on along a path leading over prostrate reeds and cane, and
came at length to where the ground began to be moist. The reeds on
either side of it rose to the height of 10 or 12 feet, their tops
interlacing, and the stalks, therefore, forming the sides of a narrow
tunnel. The path sank here and there into ditch-like hollows filled with
cool water from 9 inches to 3 feet deep, with transverse dykes of mud
raised above it at intervals.
Finally, after proceeding some two hundred yards, we came to the centre
of this reed-covered depression—called by the natives “Mitwanzi”--and
here the chief, trampling a wider space among the reeds, pointed out in
triumph water indisputably flowing westward!
The water felt cold, but it was only 68° Fahr., or 7° cooler than the
Lukuga. I crossed over to the opposite or southern bank, on the
shoulders of two of my men. The bed was uneven; sometimes the men rose
until the water was barely over their ankles, then again they sank to
their hips. The trees I had noticed from the open creek stood on a point
projecting from the southern bank across the Mitwanzi, but they were now
dead, as the former dry tract had become quaggy. The name Lukuga clings
to the bed until a few miles west of Miketo’s, when it becomes known as
the Luindi, Ruindi, or Luimbi.
The Mitwanzi is still daily traversed without trouble by men, women, and
children.
We travelled another three miles along the Mitwanzi, until we came to
the southern end of the Ki-yanja ridge, for it is through the gap
between this and the Kihunga ridge, which terminates on the south bank,
that the Lukuga flows toward the west. Even here it was but a trivial
stream, oozing and trickling through a cane-grass grove.
The most interesting object here was the rounded end of the Ki-yanja
ridge, sloping at an angle of 30°. As the highest point is probably
between 600 and 1000 feet, there has been some agency at work to wear
down this gap through the ferruginous conglomerate and soft
sandstone—and some agency stronger than this trivial stream smothered in
reeds, for it has no force or power.
We got back to Lumba Creek, where we had left our boat and canoe, late
at night. The next day was devoted to sounding the creek from the
Mitwanzi to the outer bar.
_July 17._—The next morning I took a trip to the top of the conical hill
behind Mkampemba, a village of Kawe-Niangeh, to lay out and take
bearings.
I am of the opinion, after taking all things into consideration, that
Kahangwa Cape was, at a remote period, connected with Kungwé Cape on the
east coast—that the Lukuga was the effluent of the lake as it stood
then, that the lake was at that period at a much higher altitude than it
is at present, that the northern half of the lake is of a later
formation, and that, owing to the subsidence of that portion, and the
collapsing of the barrier or the Kahangwa Cape and Kungwé Cape ridge,
the waters south emptied into that of the deep gulf north, and left the
channel of the Lukuga to be employed as the bed of the affluents Kibamba
and Lumba, or the eastern slope of the Ki-yanja ridge, to feed the lake.
But now that the extension of the profound bed—created by some great
earthquake, which fractured and disparted the plateau of Uhha, Urundi,
Ubembé, Goma, &c.—is on the eve of being filled up, the ancient affluent
is about to resume its old duties of conveying the surplus waters of the
Tanganika down into the valley of the Livingstone, and thence, along its
majestic winding course, to the Atlantic Ocean.
I say this after having circumnavigated the lake and examined it most
thoroughly. Underground caverns are myths, the fables of Wangwana and
superstitious natives. The great deep lengthy cañon occupied by the
fathomless lake is not closed in by rocks of such a nature as to admit
of the theory of underground passages. It is rimmed by mountains and
hills—the least altitude is 600 feet, the highest 4000 feet, above the
lake. But to those seeking an elucidation of the fact that an enormous
fresh-water lake is without an out-flowing river, are presented as
rational solutions the stream-worn gap in the conglomerate of the ridges
Kihunga and Liyanja, the wave-washed rocks and boulders of Mpembwé and
all along the eastern coast down to Urungu, the bare headlands of
Tembwé, and the naked steeps and cliffs of Kungwé and Karinzi. It is an
undeniable fact that if the evaporation from a body of water be greater
than the supply, that water must necessarily become saline from the
particles washed into it from salt-beds and _salinas_.
It is also as undeniable that, if the supply to a body of water be
greater than its evaporation, the quantity of the water must be
increased until the receptacle—whether pool, pond, or lake—overflows and
obtains an outlet.
[Illustration: UBUJWÉ AND UGUHA HEAD-DRESS.]
[Illustration: UGUHA HEAD-DRESS.]
In the instance of the Tanganika we have a fresh-water lake,
which—according to the evidence of native Arabs and the observation of
several travellers—is steadily rising. We have also seen in the Lukuga
the first symptoms of that overflowing which must come. At present there
are only a few inches of mud-banks and a frail barrier of papyrus and
reeds to interpose between the waters of the lake and its destiny, which
it is now, year by year, steadily approaching. When the Tanganika has
risen 3 feet higher, there will be no surf at the mouth of the Lukuga,
no sill of sand, no oozing mud-banks, no rush-covered old river course,
but the accumulated waters of over a hundred rivers will sweep through
the ancient gap with the force of a cataclysm, bearing away on its flood
all the deposits of organic débris at present in the Lukuga Creek, down
the steep incline to swell the tribute due to the mighty Livingstone.
_July 21._—On the 21st of July we sailed from the mouth of the future
outlet Lukuga by Cape Kahangwa, to the Arab crossing-place near Kasengé
Island.
The Waguha, along whose country we had voyaged south since leaving
Tembwé, are an unusually ceremonious people. They are the first
specimens of those nations among whom we are destined to travel in our
exploration of the western regions.
[Illustration: A WOMAN OF UGUHA.]
The art of the coiffeur is better known here than in any portion of
Africa east of Lake Tanganika. The “waterfall” and “back-hair” styles
are superb, and the constructions are fastened with carved wooden or
iron pins. Full dress includes a semicircle of finely plaited hair over
the forehead painted red, ears well ochred, the rest of the hair drawn
up taut at the back of the head, overlaid and secured by a cross-shaped
flat board, or with a skeleton crown of iron; the head is then covered
with a neatly tasselled and plaited grass cloth, like a lady’s
breakfast-cap, to protect it from dust. In order to protect such an
elaborate construction from being disordered, they carry a small head-
rest of wood stuck in the girdle.
[Illustration: UHYEYA HEAD-DRESS.]
Their mode of salutation is as follows:—
A man appears before a party seated: he bends, takes up a handful of
earth or sand with his right hand, and throws a little into his left—the
left hand rubs the sand or earth over the right elbow and the right side
of the stomach, while the right hand performs the same operation for the
left parts of the body, the mouth meanwhile uttering rapidly words of
salutation. To his inferiors, however, the new-comer slaps his hand
several times, and after each slap lightly taps the region of his heart.
Kasengé Island is a small island with a grassy cone rising from its
centre. It is well-cultivated, and grows papaws, pomegranates, lemons,
and sweet limes, having been favoured for a long period by Arabs, when
their intercourse with the western regions was but beginning.
Between the lately severed promontory of Katenga, in Goma, which is now
a large island, and Mtowa, the southern end of the bay, there is quite a
cluster of islets, of which the largest are Kirindi, Kivizi, and Kavala.
When we have passed the northern point of Katenga Island we behold the
Goma mountains in an apparently unbroken range of vast height and
excessive steepness, and lengths of steep and cliffy slope. But as we
sail on to the northward, we observe that from Katenga we saw only the
profile or the shoulders of great lofty spurs. Behind almost all of
these are beautiful secluded inlets and bays, overshadowed by black-
bearded mountains, which give birth to myriads of clear crystal streams.
Deep chasms in their huge fronts are filled with forests of enormous
trees, out of which the famous Goma canoes are cut. Through every gap in
the range roars and tumbles a clear cold stream, and piled up behind are
the loftiest alps of Goma. The eye cannot fail to be struck with the
contrast between the serene blue of the sky, the gloom of the chasm, and
the dark tops of the tree-crested ranges. The margins of these calm
havens are lined with green water-cane and eschinomenæ, to which
hundreds of yellow-breasted birds have suspended their nests, where the
industrious little creatures may be seen in flocks together, clinging
belly upward, or flying up and down, ever chirping their wheedling,
persuasive song. On a firm bough extended over the wave sits the glossy
and sleek diver, contented, sated with his finny prey; or, perched upon
the tall branch of some towering sycamore or teak, may be seen the
white-collared fish-eagle, uttering at intervals his weird shrill call
to his mate—a despairing, wailing cry. Presently, from some distant
tree, at a commanding height, is heard the response, in the same doleful
strain.
But from Katenga, as far as the Bald Mount, near Mugolwé, the crests of
the ridges are tawny and treeless. From Tanga to Mdanga Cape, gaps and
chasms, inlets and bays, like those above described are numerous, and
between Kabogo River and Missossi Mount there is a bay with five
separate streams, descending from heights of 2000 feet in long silvery
threads to the lake. The mountains seem to be dissolving in tears, for
through every ravine or cleft or gap, chasm or rift, streams roll with
impetuous course to the lake. Wherever foothold is obtained on a square-
browed hill, terrace, or slope, cultivated fields and villages are seen,
while on either side of them the cliffs drop sheer to profound depths.
The topmost height of Mount Missossi is about 3000 feet above the lake.
As the lake is very wide between Goma and Ujiji—about forty miles—the
waves rise very suddenly and drive in long billowy ridges against the
massive and firm base of the mount, and when the south-easters prevail,
the gale has command of sixty miles of clear water from Kabogo Cape.
Navigation in canoes, while the wind is rising, is very dangerous.
We left Kabogo River’s safe haven about 7 P.M., and at nine were pulling
by Missossi Mount, exposed to a rising gale of great power about half a
mile off a lee shore. To avoid being swept on the rocks, which were all
afoam, we had to row direct eastward, and to handle both boat and canoe
very delicately to avoid foundering. For two hours we laboured hard to
get a mile to windward, and then, hoisting sail, we flew northward, just
grazing the dreadful rocks of Mdanga Cape.
Nature, as already seen, has been in most frantic moods along the
western coast of the Tanganika, but in Goma, where she has been most
wanton, she has veiled herself with a graceful luxuriance of vegetation.
Where the mountains are steepest and highest, and where their springs
have channelled deepest, there the pillared mvulé and meofu flourish
most and attain their greatest height, and in loving fellowship they
spread themselves up opposing slopes and follow the course of the stream
in broad belts one either side down to the edge of the lake. Underneath
their umbrageous foliage grows a tropical density of bush and plant,
meshed and tangled, and of such variety that to class or specify them
would require the labour and lifetime of an accomplished botanist.
As we look towards the lofty heights of Northern Goma we observe that
they have a grassy pastoral aspect. We turn our eyes south to catch a
farewell glimpse of those refreshing views which we had admired, and we
see that distance has already transformed them into a long blue hazy
outline.
We sailed all day within a stone’s-throw of the shore of Goma, and in
the evening put in at Kaganza, just north of Kiringi Point.
_July 25._—On the 25th, on leaving Kaganza, we bade farewell to Goma,
whose bare majestic front, as we continued north, was terminated by the
low rounded hills of Kavunweh, and then, steering north-east, we skirted
a low grassy land whose highest ridge was only 200 feet above the lake.
This is the isthmus which connects the promontory of Ubwari and Karamba
with the mainland. It is seven miles across to the gulf which separates
Ubwari promontory from Ubembé and Usansi.
Burton describes Ubwari thus:—
“It is the only island near the centre of the Tanganika, a long narrow
lump of rock, twenty to twenty-five geographical miles long, by four
or five of extreme breadth.”
Livingstone calls it in his ‘Last Journals’ the islet Mozima, and in
‘How I Found Livingstone’ I called it the island Muzimu.
The end of the isthmus is distinguished by two or three palms, which
served us as a landmark when we had voyaged round into the gulf of the
western side. It is also indented with two or three deep bays.
Near Karamba Cape, south latitude 4° 29′, the land again rises into a
ridge about 1500 feet above the lake, and runs north from the southern
cape to Panza Point, a distance of twenty-seven miles. Some very fine
mountain scenes are presented here also, but after stupendous Goma they
appear almost tame and commonplace.
Near the little round island of Muzimu, or the Spirit, we made a very
comfortable camp near a fine gravel beach. The photograph of the Spirit
Island given opposite suffices for description.
The Wabwari are by no means a handsome race: nor indeed are the Wavira,
Wagoma, or Wabembé (cannibals); but they are all industrious tribes, and
the Wabwari, though somewhat ready to take offence, are very much liked
by all. They cultivate an enormous quantity of cassava, or manioc, and
at this season the flat rocks were strewn with the sliced root. Dried
whitebait is another article of commerce, and bags of millet are
exchanged with the Warundi on the other side for palm-oil and butter,
and with the Wajiji for cloth and beads.
_July 27._—On the 27th we rounded Panza Point, and skirted the much-
indented western side of Ubwari, until we reached the extreme southern
reach of Burton Gulf.[3] At evening we camped in a tiny creek, near a
grassy ridge, undisturbed. In the morning I ascended the ridge, and took
bearings of Missossi Mount, Kiringi Cape, Karamba Cape, and by aid of
the palms on the isthmus was able to identify the position. We rested
until noon, and obtained south latitude 4° 22′. As Panza Point, the
north end of Ubwari, is in south latitude 4° 2′, the length of Burton
Gulf is twenty miles, by from five to seven miles in width.
Footnote 3:
So named after Captain Richard Francis Burton, the commander of the
Burton and Speke Expedition, which first discovered Lake Tanganika.
[Illustration: THE SPIRIT ISLAND.]
Then coasting along the south end of Burton Gulf, we came to Masansi,
which begins on the west side, and near each large village lowered our
sail and inquired the names of the various rivers, villages, points, and
countries. On coming near a village on the west bank of the Kasansagara
river, we were forewarned of a rude reception. Approaching nearer, we
were warned away by the Wabembé, who are most inimical to strangers.
Wishing to test how far this hostile spirit would proceed, we continued
to advance upon the shore. From wild gesture, such as striking the
ground with their spears, beating the water, and frantic hopping up and
down, they took to throwing stones of such large size as might well be
termed dangerous missiles. Motioning a halt, we calmly surveyed the
natives, watched the rocks fly through the air, and making deep pits in
the water, as though we were simply looking on at an entertainment
specially got up for our amusement. Not a word, gesture, or movement on
our part indicated either resentment or pleasure, until the natives
ceased their furious demonstrations. Para was then told to inform them
that we would have nothing to say to such wild people, who at sight of
strangers showed such foolish fury.
We turned away without another word, resumed our journey, and in an hour
were abreast of Kiunyu, the village of the chief Mahonga. We spoke to
them: they mocked us. We asked them if they would sell us some grain,
but they replied that they were not our slaves, and that they had not
sowed the land with grain to sell it to us. We pulled away from them
without another word. The silly people cried out that we were running
away, and at once launched about a dozen canoes and followed us.
Encouraged by the infuriates and mockers on the shore, as also by our
pacific behaviour, they became excited to a dangerous state, and
gesticulated with their arrows and spears. Owing to the ferocious spirit
of the people, we had to seek a camp among the reeds and papyrus in the
delta of the Mtambara river, where, though troubled with mosquitoes, we
slept undisturbed by the insensate ferocity of the Wabembé cannibals.
_July 28._—On the 28th we skirted the low land which lies at the foot of
the western mountains, and by noon had arrived at the little cove in
Masansi, near the Rubumba or the Luvumba river, at which Livingstone and
I terminated our exploration of the northern shores of Lake Tanganika in
1871. I had thus circumnavigated Lake Tanganika from Ujiji up the
eastern coast, along the northern head, and down the western coast as
far as Rubumba river in 1871, and in June-July 1876 had sailed south
from Ujiji along the eastern coast to the extreme south end of the lake,
round each inlet of the south, and up the western coast to Panza Point,
in Ubwari, round the shores of Burton Gulf, and to Rubumba river. The
north end of the lake was located by Livingstone in south latitude 3°
18′; the extreme south end I discovered to be in south latitude 8° 47′,
which gives it a length of 329 geographical miles. Its breadth varies
from ten to forty-five miles, averaging about twenty-eight miles, and
its superficial area covers a space of 9240 square miles.
_July 29._—On the 29th we crossed over from our haven near Muzimu
Island, on the east side of Ubwari, to Kioga, in Urundi, where we were
welcomed by our old friend Kinoza, the chief.
In mid-lake, I sounded, using a 3½-lb. sounding-lead with 1280 feet of
cord, and found no bottom. I devoted an hour to this work, and tried a
second time a mile nearer the Urundi coast, with the same results—no
bottom. The strain at such a great depth on the whip-cord was enormous,
but we met with no accident.
_July 31._—On the 31st we arrived at Ujiji, after an absence of fifty-
one days, during which time we had sailed without disaster or illness a
distance of over 810 miles. The entire coast line of the Tanganika is
about 930 miles.
CHAPTER III.
Back in camp—An epidemic of small-pox—Panic of desertion—Kalulu’s
disloyalty—Livingstone’s lenience—Imaginary terrors—Hair dressing
_ad absurdum_—Ruanga’s opinion of white men—A village sketch—The
villagers of Uhombo—_In puris naturalibus_—A touch of human
nature—On Livingstone’s traces—What is there in feathers?—The
Manyema: their life and manners—Our ass astonishes the
natives—Bloodless wars—Nicknames—A tribe with beards but no
wives—The confluence of the Luama and the Livingstone.
_Aug. 31._—The sky was of a stainless blue, and the slumbering lake
faithfully reflected its exquisite tint, for not a breath of wind was
astir to vex its surface. With groves of palms and the evergreen fig-
trees on either hand, and before us a fringe of tall cane-grass along
the shores all juicy with verdure, the square tembés of Ugoy, and the
conical cotes of Kawelé, embowered by banana and plantain, we emerged
into the bay of Ujiji from the channel of Bangwé.
The cheery view of the port lent strength to our arms. An animating
boat-song was struck up, the sounds of which, carried far on the shore,
announced that a proud, joyous crew was returning homeward.
Long-horned cattle are being driven to the water to drink; asses are
galloping about, braying furiously; goats and sheep and dogs are
wandering in the market-place—many familiar scenes recur to us as we
press forward to the shore.
Our Wangwana hurry to the beach to welcome us. The usual congratulations
follow—hand-shakings, smiles, and glad expressions. Frank, however, is
pale and sickly; a muffler is round his neck, and he wears a greatcoat.
He looks very different from the strong, hearty man to whom I gave the
charge of the camp during my absence. In a few words he informs me of
his sufferings from the fever of Ujiji.
[Illustration:
IN COUNCIL: THE COURTYARD OF OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI.
(_From a photograph by the Author._)
]
“I am so glad you have come, sir. I was beginning to feel very
depressed. I have been down several times with severe attacks of the
horrible fever. Yesterday is the first time I got up after seven days’
weary illness, and people are dying round me so fast that I was
beginning to think I must soon die too. Now I am all right, and shall
soon get strong again.”
The news, when told to me in detail, was grievous. Five of our Wangwana
were dead from small-pox; six others were seriously ill from the same
cause. Among the Arab slaves, neither inoculated nor vaccinated, the
mortality had been excessive from this fearful pest.
At Rosako, the second camp from Bagamoyo, I had foreseen some such event
as this, and had vaccinated, as I had thought, all hands; but it
transpired, on inquiry now, that there were several who had not
responded to the call, through some silly prejudice against it. Five of
those unvaccinated were dead, and five were ill, as also was one who had
received the vaccine. When I examined the medicine-chest, I found the
tubes broken and the lymph dried up.
The Arabs were dismayed at the pest and its dreadful havoc among their
families and slaves. Every house was full of mourning and woe. There
were no more agreeable visits and social converse; each kept himself in
strict seclusion, fearful of being stricken with it. Khamis the Baluch
was dead, his house was closed, and his friends were sorrowing. Mohammed
bin Gharib had lost two children; Muini Kheri was lamenting the deaths
of three children. The mortality was increasing: it was now from fifty
to seventy-five daily among a population of about three thousand. Bitter
were the complainings against the hot season and close atmosphere, and
fervent the prayers for rain!
Frank had been assiduous in his assistance to our friends. He had
elevated himself in their opinion by his devotion and sympathy, until
sickness had laid its heavy hand on him. The Wangwana were now his
sincere admirers, and the chiefs were his friends. Formerly, while
ignorant of the language, he and they were, perhaps of necessity,
mutually distant; they now fraternised warmly.
Our messengers had not returned with our letters from Unyanyembé, but,
to escape the effects of the epidemic, it was necessary to move and
resume our journey westward. The Wangwana were therefore ordered to
prepare, and my last letters were written; but, though I hoped to be
ready on the 17th to strike camp, I was attacked by a serious fever.
This delayed me until the evening of the 25th.
When, on the morning of the 25th of August, the drum and bugle announced
that our travels were to be resumed, I had cause to congratulate myself
that I had foreseen that many desertions would take place, and that I
was prepared in a measure for it by having discarded many superfluities.
But I was not prepared to hear that thirty-eight men had deserted.
Thirty-eight out of 170 was a serious reduction of strength. I was also
told by the chiefs of the Expedition, who were almost beside themselves
with fear, that this wholesale desertion threatened an entire and
complete dissolution of our force, that many more would desert _en
route_ to Kabogo, as the people were demoralized by the prospect of
being eaten by Manyema cannibals. As neither Frank nor I relished the
idea of being compelled to return to Zanzibar before we had obtained a
view of the Lualaba, I mustered as many as would answer to their names;
and out of these, selecting such as appeared unstable and flighty, I
secured thirty-two, and surrounded our house with guards.
[Illustration: M’SEHAZY HAVEN AND CAMP, AT THE MOUTH OF M’SEHAZY RIVER.]
After repairing the canoes and getting the boat ready, those who did not
bear a good character for firmness and fidelity were conducted under
guard to the transport canoes; the firm and faithful, and those believed
to be so, were permitted to march on land with myself towards Kabogo
Cape, or M’sehazy Creek, whence the crossing of the Tanganika was to be
effected. Out of the 132 men, of whom the Expedition now consisted, only
thirty were entrusted with guns, as my faith in the stability of the
Wangwana was utterly destroyed, despite their protestations to the
contrary. I could afford to lose weak, fearful, and unworthy men; but I
could not afford to lose one gun. Though we had such a show of strength
left, I was only too conscious that there were barely forty reliable and
effective in a crisis, or in the presence of danger; the rest were
merely useful as bearers of burdens, or porters.
When we resumed our journey the second day from Ukaranga, three more
were missing, which swelled the number of desertions to forty-one, and
reduced our force to 129. After we had crossed the Tanganika and arrived
in Uguha, two more disappeared, one of whom was young Kalulu, whom I had
taken to England and the United States, and whom I had placed in an
English school for eighteen months.
Induced to do so by the hope that I should secure their attachment to
the cause of the Expedition, I had purchased from Sultan bin Kassim six
bales of cloth at an enormous price, £350, and had distributed them all
among the people gratuitously. This wholesale desertion at the very
period when their services were about to be most needed was my reward!
The desertion and faithless conduct of Kalulu did not, as may be
imagined, augment my hopes, or increase my faith in the fidelity of my
people. But it determined me to recover some of the deserters. Francis
Pocock and the detective of the Expedition, the ever-faithful and
gallant Kachéché, were therefore sent back with a squad to Ujiji, with
instructions how to act; and one night Kachéché pounced upon six
fellows, who, after a hard and tough resistance, were secured; and after
his return to Uguha with these he successfully recovered the runaway
Kalulu on Kasengé Island. These seven, along with a few others arrested
in the act of desertion, received merited punishments, which put an end
to misconduct and faithlessness, and prevented the wreck of the
Expedition.
It must not be supposed that I was more unfortunate than other
travellers; for to the faithlessness of his people may be attributed
principally the long wanderings of poor Livingstone. Cameron also lost a
great number at Unyanyembé, as well as at Ujiji. Experience had taught
me on my first journey to Central Africa that Wangwana would desert at
every opportunity, especially in the vicinity of the Arab depots. It was
to lessen these opportunities for desertion that I had left the
Unyanyembé road, and struck through Ituru and Iramba; and though my
losses in men were great from famine, the ferocity of the natives, and
sickness, they did not amount to half of what they certainly would have
been had I touched at Unyanyembé. By adopting this route, despite the
calamities that we were subjected to for a short season, I had gained
time, and opened new countries, hitherto unexplored.
_Sept._—Desertion had also been checked by voyaging Lake Victoria,
instead of pursuing our journey by land, and troubles with Rwoma and the
king of Usui had also been avoided. But when we received a check at the
Muta Nzigé, it became necessary to visit Ujiji, and the long-sought-for
opportunity to desert was thus presented to the disaffected, and those
who had enlisted only for the sake of the advance-money given to them at
Zanzibar. Among these cunning ones was Msenna, the terror of Zanzibar
and the coast. He was renowned as a murderer, robber, and ruffian when
he took service with me. This man was among the deserters at Ujiji.
Unless the traveller in Africa exerts himself to keep his force intact,
he cannot hope to perform satisfactory service. If he relaxes his
watchfulness, it is instantly taken advantage of by the weak-minded and
the indolent. Livingstone lost at least six years of time, and finally
his life, by permitting his people to desert. If a follower left his
service, he even permitted him to remain in the same village with him,
without attempting to reclaim him, or to compel that service which he
had bound himself to render at Zanzibar. The consequence of this
excessive mildness was that he was left at last with only seven men, out
of nearly seventy. His noble character has won from us a tribute of
affection and esteem, but it has had no lasting good effect on the
African. At the same time over-severity is as bad as over-gentleness in
dealing with these men. What is required is pure, simple justice between
man and man.
The general infidelity and instability of the Wangwana arises, in great
part, from their weak minds becoming a prey to terror of imaginary
dangers. Thus, the Johanna men deserted Livingstone because they heard
the terrible Mafitté were in the way; my runaways of Ujiji fled from the
danger of being eaten by the Manyema.
The slaves of Sungoro, the coast trader at Kagehyi, Usukuma, informed my
people that Lake Victoria spread as far as the Salt Sea, that it had no
end, and that the people on its shores loved the flesh of man better
than that of goats. This foolish report made it a most difficult matter
to man the exploring boat, and over a hundred swore by Allah that they
knew nothing of rowing.
A similar scene took place when about to circumnavigate the Tanganika,
for the Arab slaves had spread such reports of Muzimus, hobgoblins,
fiery meteors, terrible spirits, such as Kabogo, Katavi, Kateyé, and
Wanpembé, that the teeth of Wanyamwezi and Wangwana chattered with
fright. But no reports exercised such a terrible effect on their weak
minds as the report of the Manyema cannibals, none were so greedily
listened to, none more readily believed.
The path which traders and their caravans follow to Manyema begins at
Mtowa, in Uguha, and, continuing south a few miles over a series of
hills, descends into the plain of the Rugumba river about halfway
between the Lukuga river and the traders’ crossing-place.
The conduct of the first natives to whom we were introduced pleased us
all. They showed themselves in a very amiable light, sold their corn
cheaply and without fuss, behaved themselves decently and with
propriety, though their principal men, entertaining very strange ideas
of the white men, carefully concealed themselves from view, and refused
to be tempted to expose themselves within view or hearing of us.
Their doubts of our character were reported to us by a friendly young
Arab as follows: “Kassanga, chief of Ruanda, says, ‘How can the white
men be good when they come for no trade, whose feet one never sees, who
always go covered from head to foot with clothes? Do not tell me they
are good and friendly. There is something very mysterious about them;
perhaps wicked. Probably they are magicians; at any rate, it is better
to leave them alone and to keep close until they are gone.’”
From Ruanda, where we halted only for a day, we began in earnest the
journey to Manyema, thankful that the Tanganika was safely crossed, and
that the Expedition had lost no more of its strength.
On the third day, after gradually ascending to a height of 800 feet
above the lake, across a series of low hilly ridges and scantily wooded
valleys, which abound with buffalo, we reached the crest of a range
which divides the tributaries of the Lualaba from those of Lake
Tanganika. This range also serves as a boundary between Uguha and
Ubujwé, a country adjoining the former north-westerly. The western
portion of Uguha, and south-eastern Ubujwé, is remarkable for its
forests of fruit-trees, of which there are several varieties, called the
Masuku, Mbembu (or wood-apple), Singwé (wild African damson), the
Matonga (or nux-vomica), custard-apple, &c. A large quantity of honey
was also obtained. Indeed, an army might subsist for many weeks in this
forest on the various luscious fruits it contains. Our people feasted on
them, as also on the honey and buffalo meat, which I was fortunate in
obtaining.
[Illustration: NATIVES OF UBUJWÉ.]
Our acquaintance with the Wabujwé commenced at Lambo, or Mulolwa’s,
situated at the confluence of the Rugumba with the Rubumba. In these
people we first saw the mild, amiable, unsophisticated innocence of this
part of Central Africa, and their behaviour was exactly the reverse of
the wild, ferocious, cannibalistic races the Arabs had described to us.
From our experience of them, the natives of Rua, Uguha, and Ubujwé
appear to be the _élite_ of the hair-dressed fashionables of Africa.
Hair-dressing is indeed carried to an absurd perfection throughout all
this region, and among the various styles I have seen, some are
surpassing in taste and neatness, and almost pathetic from the
carefulness with which poor wild nature has done its best to decorate
itself.
The Waguha and Wabujwé, among other characteristics, are very partial to
the arts of sculpture and turning. They carve statues in wood, which
they set up in their villages. Their house doors often exhibit carvings
resembling the human face; and the trees in the forest between the two
countries frequently present specimens of their ingenuity in this art.
Some have also been seen to wear wooden medals, whereon a rough
caricature of a man’s features was represented. At every village in
Ubujwé excellent wooden bowls and basins of a very light wood
(Rubiaceae), painted red, are offered for sale.
Between Kwaniwa’s village, Lambo, and Kundi, we came to a hot stream
issuing from a spring, buried amid a mass of spear-grass and dwarf
papyrus. At the crossing the temperature was 106° Fahr., about twenty
yards above it was 115° Fahr. Those at Bath, in England, are from 117°
to 120° Fahr.; at Ursprung, Baden, 153½° Fahr. These hot springs at
Kwaniwa’s contain considerable iron in solution, judging from the
ferruginous slime below and the ochreous tint which rests on the plants
and grass.
Beyond Kundi our journey lay across chains of hills, of a conical or
rounded form, which enclosed many basins or valleys. While the Rugumba,
or Rubumba, flows northwesterly to the east of Kundi, as far as
Kizambala on the Luama river, we were daily, sometimes hourly, fording
or crossing the tributaries of the Luama.
[Illustration: A NATIVE OF UHYEYA.]
Adjoining Ubujwé is Uhyeya, inhabited by a tribe who are decidedly a
scale lower in humanity than their ingenious neighbours. What little
merit they possess seems to have been derived from commerce with the
Wabujwé. The Wahyeya are also partial to ochre, black paints, and a
composition of black mud, which they mould into the form of a plate, and
attach to the back part of the head. Their upper teeth are filed, “out
of regard to custom,” they say, and not from any taste for human flesh.
When questioned as to whether it was their custom to eat of the flesh of
people slain in battle, they were positive in their denial, and
protested great repugnance to such a diet, though they eat the flesh of
all animals except that of dogs. Simple and dirt-loving as these poor
people were, they were admirable for the readiness with which they
supplied all our wants, voluntarily offering themselves, moreover, as
guides to lead us to Uvinza, the next country we had to traverse.
Uvinza now seems to be nothing more than a name of a small district
which occupies a small basin of some few miles square. At a former
period it was very populous, as the many ruined villages we passed
through proved. The slave traders, when not manfully resisted, leave
broad traces wherever they go.
[Illustration:
ONE OF THE WAHYEYA OF UHOMBO
(BACK VIEW).
]
_Oct._—A very long march from Kagongwé in Uvinza brought us to the
pleasant basin of Uhombo, remarkable for its fertility, its groves of
Guinea-palms, and its beauty. This basin is about six miles square, but
within this space there is scarcely a two-acre plot of level ground to
be seen. The whole forms a picture of hill-tops, slopes, valleys,
hollows, and intersecting ridges in happy diversity. Myriads of cool,
clear streams course through, in time united by the Lubangi into a
pretty little river, flowing westerly to the Luama. It was the most
delightful spot that we had seen. As the people were amiable, and
disposed to trade, we had soon an abundance of palm-butter for cooking,
sugar-cane, fine goats and fat chickens, sweet potatoes, beans, peas,
nuts, and manioc, millet and other grain for flour, ripe bananas for
dessert, plantain and palm wines for cheer, and an abundance of soft,
cool, clear water to drink!
Subsequently we had many such pleasant experiences; but as it was the
first, it deserves a more detailed description.
Travellers from Africa have often written about African villages, yet I
am sure few of those at home have ever comprehended the reality. I now
propose to lay it before them in this sketch of a village in the
district of Uhombo. The village consists of a number of low, conical
grass huts, ranged round a circular common, in the centre of which are
three or four fig-trees kept for the double purpose of supplying shade
to the community, and bark-cloth to the chief. The doorways to the huts
are very low, scarcely 30 inches high. The common fenced round by the
grass huts shows plainly the ochreous colour of the soil, and it is so
well trodden that not a grass blade thrives upon it.
On presenting myself in the common, I attracted out of doors the owners
and ordinary inhabitants of each hut, until I found myself the centre of
quite a promiscuous population of naked men, women, children, and
infants. Though I had appeared here for the purpose of studying the
people of Uhombo, and making a treaty of friendship with the chief, the
villagers seemed to think I had come merely to make a free exhibition of
myself as some natural monstrosity.
I saw before me over a hundred beings of the most degraded,
unpresentable type it is possible to conceive, and though I knew quite
well that some thousands of years ago the beginning of this wretched
humanity and myself were one and the same, a sneaking disinclination to
believe it possessed me strongly, and I would even now willingly
subscribe some small amount of silver money for him who could but assist
me to controvert the discreditable fact.
But common-sense tells me not to take into undue consideration their
squalor, their ugliness, or nakedness, but to gauge their true position
among the human race by taking a view of the cultivated fields and
gardens of Uhombo, and I am compelled to admit that these debased
specimens of humanity only plant and sow such vegetables and grain as I
myself should cultivate were I compelled to provide for my own
sustenance. I see, too, that their huts, though of grass, are almost as
well made as the materials will permit, and indeed I have often slept in
worse. Speak with them in their own dialect of the law of _meum_ and
_tuum_, and it will soon appear that they are intelligent enough upon
that point. Moreover, the muscles, tissues, and fibres of their bodies,
and all the organs of sight, hearing, smell, or motion, are as well
developed as in us. Only in taste and judgment, based upon larger
experience, in the power of expression, in morals and intellectual
culture, are we superior.
I strive, therefore, to interest myself in my gross and rudely-shaped
brothers and sisters. Almost bursting into a laugh at the absurdity, I
turn towards an individual whose age marks him out as one to whom
respect is due, and say to him after the common manner of greeting:
“My brother, sit you down by me on this mat, and let us be friendly and
sociable”; and as I say it I thrust into his wide open hand twenty
cowries, the currency of the land. One look at his hand as he extended
it made me think I could carve a better-looking hand out of a piece of
rhinoceros hide.
While speaking I look at his face, which is like an ugly and extravagant
mask, clumsily manufactured from some strange, dark brown coarse
material. The lips proved the thickness of skin which nature had endowed
him with, and by the obstinacy with which they refused to meet each
other the form of the mouth was but ill-defined, though capacious and
garnished with its full complement of well-preserved teeth.
His nose was so flat that I inquired in a perfectly innocent manner as
to the reason for such a feature.
“Ah,” said he, with a sly laugh, “it is the fault of my mother, who,
when I was young, bound me too tight to her back.”
His hair had been compelled to obey the capricious fashion of his
country, and was therefore worked up into furrows and ridges and central
cones, bearing a curious resemblance to the formation of the land around
Uhombo. I wonder if the art grew by perceiving nature’s fashion and
mould of his country?
Descending from the face, which, crude, large-featured, rough-hewn as it
was, bore witness to the possession of much sly humour and a kindly
disposition, my eyes fastened on his naked body. Through the ochreous
daubs I detected strange freaks of pricking on it, circles and squares
and crosses, and traced with wonder the many hard lines and puckers
created by age, weather, ill-usage, and rude keeping.
His feet were monstrous abortions, with soles as hard as hoofs, and his
legs as high up as the knees were plastered with successive strata of
dirt; his loin-cover or the queer “girding tackle” need not be
described. They were absolutely appalling to good taste, and the most
ragged British beggar or Neapolitan lazzarone is sumptuously, nay,
regally, clothed in comparison to this “king” in Uhombo.
If the old chief appeared so unprepossessing, how can I paint
without offence my humbler brothers and sisters who stood round us?
As I looked at the array of faces, I could only comment to
myself—ugly—uglier—ugliest. As I looked at their nude and filthy
bodies, and the enormous dugs which hung down the bosoms of the
women, and the general indecency of their nakedness, I ejaculated
“Fearful!” as the sum total of what I might with propriety say, and
what indeed is sufficiently descriptive.
And what shall I say of the hideous and queer appendages that they wear
about their waists; the tags of monkey-skin and bits of gorilla bone,
goat horn, shells, strange tags to stranger tackle? and of the things
around their necks—brain of mice, skin of viper, “adder’s fork, and
blind worm’s sting”? And how strangely they smell, all these queer man-
like creatures who stand regarding me! Not silently: on the contrary,
there is a loud interchange of comments upon the white’s appearance, a
manifestation of broad interest to know whence I come, whither I am
going, and what is my business. And no sooner are the questions asked
than they are replied to by such as pretend to know. The replies were
followed by long-drawn ejaculations of “Wa-a-a-antu!” (“Men!”) “Eha-a,
and these are men!”
Now imagine this! While we whites are loftily disputing among ourselves
as to whether the beings before us are human, here were these creatures
actually expressing strong doubts as to whether we whites are men!
A dead silence prevailed for a short time, during which all the females
dropped their lower jaws far down, and then cried out again “Wa-a-a-a-a-
antu!” (“Men!”) The lower jaws indeed dropped so low that, when, in a
posture of reflection, they put their hands up to their chins, it really
looked as if they had done so to lift the jaws up to their proper place
and to sustain them there. And in that position they pondered upon the
fact that there were men “white all over” in this queer, queer world!
The open mouths gave one a chance to note the healthy state and ruby
colour of the tongues, palates, and gums, and, above all, the admirable
order and brilliant whiteness of each set of teeth.
“Great events from trivial causes spring”—and while I was trying to
calculate how many Kubaba (measure of 2 lbs.) of millet-seed would be
requisite to fill all these Dutch-oven mouths, and how many cowries
would be required to pay for such a large quantity of millet, and
wondering at the antics of the juveniles of the population, whose
uncontainable, irrepressible wonder seemed to find its natural
expression in hopping on one leg, thrusting their right thumbs into
their mouths to repress the rising scream, and slapping the hinder side
of the thighs to express or give emphasis to what was speechless—while
thus engaged, and just thinking it was time to depart, it happened that
one of the youthful innocents already described, more restless than his
brothers, stumbled across a long heavy pole which was leaning insecurely
against one of the trees. The pole fell, striking one of my men severely
on the head. And all at once there went up from the women a genuine and
unaffected cry of pity, and their faces expressed so lively a sense of
tender sympathy with the wounded man, that my heart, keener than my
eyes, saw through the disguise of filth, nakedness, and ochre, the human
heart beating for another’s suffering, and I then recognised and hailed
them as indeed my own poor and degraded sisters.
Under the new light which had dawned on me, I reflected that I had done
some wrong to my dusky relatives, and that they might have been
described less harshly, and introduced to the world with less disdain.
Before I quitted the village, they made me still more regret my former
haughty feelings, for the chief and his subjects loaded my men with
bounties of bananas, chickens, Indian corn, and malafu (palm-wine), and
escorted me respectfully far beyond the precincts of the village and
their fields, parting from me at last with the assurance that, should I
ever happen to return by their country, they would endeavour to make my
second visit to Uhombo much more agreeable than my first had been.
_Oct. 5._—On the 5th of October our march from Uhombo brought us to the
frontier village of Manyema, which is called Riba-Riba. It is noteworthy
as the starting-point of another order of African architecture. The
conical style of hut is exchanged for the square hut with more gradually
sloping roof, wattled, and sometimes neatly plastered with mud,
especially those in Manyema. Here, too, the thin-bodied and long-limbed
goat, to which we had been accustomed, gave place to the short-legged,
large-bodied, and capacious-uddered variety of Manyema. The grey parrots
with crimson tails here also first began to abound, and the hoarse growl
of the fierce and shy “soko” (gorilla?) was first heard.
From the day we cross the watershed that divides the affluent of the
Tanganika from the head waters of the Luama, there is observed a gradual
increase in the splendour of nature. By slow degrees she exhibits to us,
as we journey westward, her rarest beauties, her wealth and all the
profligacy of her vegetation. In the forests of Miketo and on the
western slopes of the Goma mountains she scatters with liberal hand her
luxuries of fruits, and along the banks of streams we see revealed the
wild profusion of her bounties.
As we increase the distance from the Tanganika, we find the land
disposed in graceful lines and curves: ridges heave up, separating
valley from valley, hills lift their heads in the midst of the basins,
and mountain-ranges, at greater distances apart, bound wide prospects,
wherein the lesser hill-chains, albeit of dignified proportions, appear
but as agreeable diversities of scenery.
Over the whole, Nature has flung a robe of verdure of the most fervid
tints. She has bidden the mountains loose their streamlets, has
commanded the hills and ridges to bloom, filled the valleys with
vegetation breathing perfume, for the rocks she has woven garlands of
creepers, and the stems of trees she has draped with moss; and sterility
she has banished from her domain.
Yet Nature has not produced a soft, velvety, smiling England in the
midst of Africa. Far from it. She is here too robust and prolific. Her
grasses are coarse, and wound like knives and needles; her reeds are
tough and tall as bamboos; her creepers and convolvuli are of cable
thickness and length; her thorns are hooks of steel; her trees shoot up
to a height of a hundred feet. We find no pleasure in straying in search
of wild flowers, and game is left undisturbed, because of the difficulty
of moving about, for once the main path is left we find ourselves over
head amongst thick, tough, unyielding, lacerating grass.
At Manyema, the beauty of Nature becomes terrible, and in the expression
of her powers she is awful. The language of Swahili has words to paint
her in every mood. English, rich as it is, is found insufficient. In the
former we have the word Pori for a forest, an ordinary thickly wooded
tract, but for the forests of Manyema it has four special words, Mohuro,
Mwitu, Mtambani, and Msitu. For Mohuro we might employ the words jungly
forest; for Mwitu, dense woods; but for Msitu and Mtambani we have no
single equivalent, nor could we express their full meaning without a
series of epithets ending with “tangled jungle” or “impervious underwood
in the midst of a dense forest”—for such is in reality the nature of a
Manyema Msitu.
I am of opinion that Manyema owes its fertility to the mountains west of
the Tanganika, which by their altitude suddenly cool and liquefy the
vapours driven over their tops by the south-east monsoon, for while
Uguha west was robed in green, its lake front was black with the ashes
of burnt grass.
We left Riba-Riba’s old chief, and his numerous progeny of boys and
girls, and his wonderful subjects, encamped on their mountain-top, and
journeyed on with rapid pace through tall forests, and along the crests
of wooded ridges, down into the depths of gloomy dingles, and up again
to daylight into view of sweeping circles of bearded ridges and solemn
woods, to Ka-Bambarré.
Even though this place had no other associations, it would be attractive
and alluring for its innocent wildness; but associated as it is with
Livingstone’s sufferings, and that self-sacrificing life he led here, I
needed only to hear from Mwana Ngoy, son of Mwana Kusu,[4] “Yes, this is
the place where the old white man stopped for many moons,” to make up my
mind to halt.
-----
Footnote 4:
Mwana, _lord_; Kusu, _parrot_.
-----
“Ah! he lived here, did he?”
“Yes.”
By this time the population of Ka-Bambarré, seeing their chief in
conversation with a white stranger, had drawn round us under a palm-
tree, and mats were spread for us to seat ourselves.
“Did you know the old white man? Was he your father?”
“He was not my father; but I knew him well.”
“Eh, do you hear that?” he asked his people. “He says he knew him. Was
he not a good man?”
“Yes; very good.”
“You say well. He was good to me, and he saved me from the Arabs many a
time. The Arabs are hard men, and often he would step between them and
me when they were hard on me. He was a good man, and my children were
fond of him. I hear he is dead?”
“Yes, he is dead.”
“Where has he gone to?”
“Above, my friend,” said I, pointing to the sky.
“Ah,” said he breathlessly, and looking up, “did he come from above?”
“No, but good men like him go above when they die.”
We had many conversations about him. The sons showed me the house he had
lived in for a long time when prevented from further wandering by the
ulcers in his feet. In the village his memory is cherished, and will be
cherished for ever.
It was strange what a sudden improvement in the physiognomy of the
native had occurred. In the district of Uhombo we had seen a truly
debased negro type. Here we saw people of the Ethiopic negro type,
worthy to rank next the more refined Waganda. Mwana Ngoy himself was
nothing very remarkable. Age had deprived him of his good looks; but
there were about him some exceedingly pretty women, with winsome ways
about them that were quite charming.
Mwana Ngoy, I suppose, is one of the vainest of vain men. I fancy I can
see him now strutting about his village with his sceptral staff, an
amplitude of grass cloth about him, which when measured gives exactly
twenty-four square yards, drawn in double folds about his waist, all
tags, tassels, and fringes, and painted in various colours, bronze and
black and white and yellow, and on his head a plumy head-dress.
What charms lurk in feathers! From the grand British dowager down to
Mwana-Ngoy of Ka-Bambarré, all admit the fascination of feathers,
whether plucked from ostriches or barn-door fowl.
Mwana Ngoy’s plumes were the tribute of the village chanticleers, and
his vanity was so excited at the rustle of his feathered crest that he
protruded his stomach to such a distance that his head was many degrees
from the perpendicular.
_Oct. 10._—On the 10th of October we arrived at Kizambala, presided over
by another chief, called Mwana Ngoy, a relative to him of Ka-Bambarré.
Up to this date we had seen some twenty villages, and probably 4000
natives, of Manyema, and may therefore be permitted some
generalizations.
[Illustration: A YOUTH OF EAST MANYEMA.]
[Illustration: A MANYEMA ADULT.]
The Manyema, then, have several noteworthy peculiarities. Their arms are
a short sword scabbarded with wood, to which are hung small brass and
iron bells, a light, beautifully balanced spear—probably, next to the
spear of Uganda, the most perfect in the world. Their shields were
veritable wooden doors. Their dress consisted of a narrow apron of
antelope skin or finely made grass cloth. They wore knobs, cones, and
patches of mud attached to their beards, back hair, and behind the ears.
Old Mwana Ngoy had rolled his beard in a ball of dark mud: his children
wore their hair in braids with mud fringes. His drummer had a great
crescent-shaped patch of mud at the back of the head. At Kizambala, the
natives had horns and cones of mud on the tops of their heads. Others,
more ambitious, covered the entire head with a crown of mud.
[Illustration: A YOUNG WOMAN OF EAST MANYEMA.]
The women, blessed with an abundance of hair, manufactured it with a
stiffening of light cane into a bonnet-shaped head-dress, allowing the
back hair to flow down to the waist in masses of ringlets. They seemed
to do all the work of life, for at all hours they might be seen, with
their large wicker baskets behind them, setting out for the rivers or
creeks to catch fish, or returning with their fuel baskets strapped on
across their foreheads.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE IN SOUTH-EAST MANYEMA.]
Their villages consist of one or more streets from 100 to 150 feet wide,
flanked by low square huts arranged in tolerably straight lines, and
generally situated on swells of land, to secure rapid drainage. At the
end of one of these streets is the council and gossip house, overlooking
the length of the avenue. In the centre is a platform of tamped clay,
with a heavy tree trunk sunk into it, and in the wood have been scooped
out a number of troughs, so that several women may pound grain at once.
It is a substitute for the village mill.
The houses are separated into two or more apartments, and on account of
the compact nature of the clay and tamped floor are easily kept clean.
The roofs are slimy with the reek of smoke, as though they had been
painted with coal-tar. The household chattels or furniture are limited
to food baskets, earthenware pots, an assortment of wickerwork dishes,
the family shields, spears, knives, swords, and tools, and the fish-
baskets lying outside.
They are tolerably hospitable, and permit strangers the free use of
their dwellings. The bananas and plantains are very luxuriant, while the
Guinea palms supply the people with oil and wine; the forests give them
fuel, the rivers fish, and the gardens cassava, ground-nuts, and Indian
corn.
The chiefs enact strict laws, and, though possessed of but little actual
power either of wealth or retinue, exact the utmost deference, and are
exceedingly ceremonious, being always followed by a drummer, who taps
his drum with masterly skill born of long and continued practice.
_Oct. 11._—On the 11th we crossed the Luama river—a stream 200 yards
wide and 8 feet deep in the centre at the ferry—called the Rugumba in
Ubujwé. After uniting with the Rubumba, it flows northward, and takes a
wide sweep round to clear the northern spurs of the Ka-Bambarré group of
mountains, and thence, meeting another stream from the north-west near
Uvira, flows west, bisecting the country of Manyema. Below the ford, as
far as the Lualaba, its current is from three to six knots an hour, and
about 5 feet deep, flowing over a shaly bed.
On the western side of the Luama the women at once fled upon the
approach of our caravan—a certain sign that there had been trouble
between them and Arabs.
_Oct. 12._—On the 12th, following the Luama river, we reached Wusumbiri.
My predecessors, Livingstone and Cameron, had, after crossing the
stream, proceeded west, but I preferred to follow the Luama to its
junction with the Lualaba, and thence to Nyangwé.
The Luama valley is about twenty miles wide, furrowed with many
watercourses; the soil is poor, abounding with yellow quartz, but
resting upon soft shale. The ridges are formed of dykes of granite,
which peep out frequently in large masses from amongst the foliage of
trees.
The people appeared to be very timid, but behaved amiably. Over fifty
followed us, and carried loads most willingly. Three volunteered to
follow us wherever we should go, but we declined their offer.
Our riding-asses were the first ever seen in Manyema, and effected a
striking demonstration in our favour. They obtained more admiration than
even we Europeans. Hundreds of natives ran up to us at each village in
the greatest excitement to behold the strange long-eared animals, and
followed us long distances from their homes to observe the asses’
motions.
One ass, known by the name of Muscati, a high-spirited animal from
Arabia, possessed braying powers which almost equalled the roar of a
lion in volume, and really appeared to enjoy immensely the admiration he
excited. His asinine soul took great delight in braying at the
unsophisticated Africans of the trans-Luama, for his bray sent them
flying in all directions. Scores of times during a day’s march we were
asked the name of the beast, and, having learnt it they were never tired
of talking about the “Mpunda.”
One must not rashly impute all the blame to the Arabs and Wa-Swahili of
the Zanzibar coast for their excesses in Manyema, for the natives are
also in a way to blame. Just as the Saxon and Dane and Jute, invited by
the Britons, became their masters, so the Arabs, invited by the Manyema
to assist them against one another, have become their tyrants.
Bribes were offered to us three times by Manyema chiefs to assist them
in destroying their neighbours, to whom they are of near kin, and with
whom they have almost daily intimate relations. Our refusal of ivory and
slaves appeared to surprise the chiefs, and they expressed the opinion
that we white men were not as good as the Arabs, for—though it was true
we did not rob them of their wives, ravish and steal their daughters,
enslave their sons, or despoil them of a single article—the Arabs would
have assisted them.
One of my men, who knew Manyema of old, said, “I told you, master, what
kind of people these were: they have always got a little war on hand,
and they only wait the arrival of the Arabs to begin it. The quarrel is
always with their nearest relatives and friends, whom, however, for the
sake of the family alliances between them, they always take care to
warn. I was once with Mohammed bin Gharib (Livingstone’s friend) when he
undertook to fight a tribe for Mwana Ngoy of Kizambala on the Luama. We
were ten hours firing away as fast as we could, but not a single soul
was wounded of either party!
“Mwana Ngoy, you must know, had told his friend the hour Mohammed would
begin, and his friend obligingly left the field clear. Some of the
boldest had amused themselves by showing their heads, just to let us
know that they were there, but I assure you no one was hurt in the
least.
“Of late years it has not been so bloodless, because the Arabs have
learned their tricks. When they set out now, they never tell their
native confederate when they intend to begin, because they don’t like to
throw away their powder for nothing. In this manner large numbers of
slaves have been captured and many men killed. After such an event, both
sides, those who have suffered and those who were the cause and who
bribed the Arabs to the war, fall to weeping and abusing the Arabs
violently, and with pathetic cries bewail the murdered, but never think
of accusing themselves.”
The above is the story of Wadi Safeni, the coxswain of the boat on Lake
Victoria.
One really does not know whether to pity or to despise the natives of
Manyema. Many are amiable enough to deserve good and kind treatment, but
others are hardly human. They fly to the woods upon the approach of
strangers, leaving their granaries[5] of Indian corn, erected like
screens across the streets, or just outside the villages, in tempting
view of hungry people. If the strangers follow them into the woods to
persuade them to return and sell food, the purpose of the visit is
mistaken, and they are assailed from behind depths of bush and tall
trees. They are humble and liberal to the strong-armed Arab, savage and
murderous and cannibalistic to small bands, and every slain man provides
a banquet of meat for the forest-natives of Manyema. Livingstone’s
uniform gentle treatment of all classes deserved a better return than to
have his life attempted four times. His patience finally exhausted, and
his life in danger, he gave the order to his men, “Fire upon them; these
men are wicked.”
-----
Footnote 5:
These granaries consist of tall poles—like telegraph poles—planted at
a distance of about 10 feet from each other, to which are attached
about a dozen lines of lliane, or creepers, at intervals, from top to
bottom. On these several lines are suspended the maize, point
downwards, by the shucks of the cob. Their appearance suggests lofty
screens built up of corn.
-----
Nevertheless, the best-natured Arabs confess that the present state of
things is to some extent the result of the excesses and high-handed
conduct of Muini Dugumbi, who, animated by greed for ivory and slaves,
signalled his advent in the country by shooting men as soon as seen in
their villages. Aware of the bad repute which Arabs had in Manyema, I
refused to be accompanied by any trader from Ujiji, though some half-
dozen earnestly entreated me to wait for them. As far as Nyangwé all the
members of our Expedition had reason to rejoice in this decision, for we
were neither threatened nor molested in the least.
An internecine “war” in Manyema is exceedingly comical. Old Riba-Riba, a
patriarch of eighty or thereabouts, who with his few villages guards the
frontier on the range separating Uhombo from Manyema, told me he was at
“war” with Mwana Buttu of Nyembu. The cause was the murder of a young
man of Riba-Riba’s by Mwana Buttu’s people.
When the shocking affair became known there was great excitement, much
manifestation of anger, loud talk, sharpening of broad-bladed spears,
and industrious preparation of stacks of fire-hardened wooden assegais
and other deadly war _matériel_. All things being ready, Riba-Riba’s
people reluctantly set off to fight Mwana Buttu’s villagers, not,
however, without first communicating their intentions and publishing by
criers a formal and fierce declaration of war.
But Mwana Buttu is of a sterner nature than is common in Manyema;
consequently, to Riba-Riba’s surprise, he did not abscond for fear of
the invading host, but calmly arrayed his warriors in order of battle on
the opposite side of a stream, that he might take advantage of the
enemy’s confusion while crossing.
Riba-Riba’s warriors, on emerging from the depth of the forest,
perceived the foe palisaded behind their tall, door-like shields, and
immediately formed themselves in like order on their own side of the
stream. From this position they opened on the enemy volleys of tongue
abuse, which lasted for hours; until at last both sides, fatigued with
the wordy encounter and hoarse with the prolonged vituperative exercise,
mutually consented to defer the battle until next day.
The morrow dawned, and both sides, vigilantly active after their night’s
rest, reformed themselves in the same positions which they had occupied
on the previous day, and resumed the wordy war with all its fierce
gesture, and a great clangour of wooden shields, until sunset, when both
parties retired from the field with no decisive advantage to either
side.
On the third day the wordy war was resumed, until both tribes, exhausted
from the bloodless conflict, mutually agreed that they would postpone
the war with spears to an indefinite period. Meanwhile they have left
off visiting. The affair will only be settled by the arrival of some
Arab mercenary, who, for a consideration of five or six tusks of ivory,
will undertake, with a few explosions of that mischievous compound
called gunpowder, to send Mwana Buttu flying and to “beat his back with
his own shield,” thus avenging Riba-Riba.
_Oct. 13._—On the 13th, after a march of thirteen miles in a west-south-
west direction, along a very crooked path, we arrived at Kabungwé.
At this settlement we observed for the first time spears all of wood,
having their points sharp and hardened in fire, and shafts 8 to 10 feet
long. As each warrior possesses a sheaf of these weapons, besides a vast
wooden shield, he is sufficiently armed against a native enemy, and
might, by a little boldness, become a dangerous foe to an Arab.
The currency throughout Manyema consists of cowries. Six cowries formed
the ration money of the Wangwana, three cowries purchased a chicken, two
procured ten maize ears, one cowrie obtained the service of a native to
grind the grain, two cowries were a day’s hire for a porter; so that the
Wangwana and Wanyamwezi were enjoying both abundance and relief from
labour while we were travelling through Manyema.
At Kabungwé I was alarmed at an insufferable odour that pervaded the air
we breathed, for, whether in the house or without, the atmosphere seemed
loaded with an intolerable stench. On enquiring of the natives whether
there was any dead animal putrefying in the neighbourhood, they pointed
to the firewood that was burning, and to a tree—a species of laurel—as
that which emitted the smell. Upon examination I found it was indeed due
to this strange wood, which, however, only becomes offensive under the
action of fire.
Between Kabungwé and Mtuyu, our next camp, the country is extremely
populous. Were all the villages we passed inhabited by brave men, a
brigade of European troops could not move without precaution. The
people, however, did not attempt to molest us, though an enormous number
came out to stare at us and our asses.
The natives are quick to adopt nicknames. In some places the Arabs were
known by the name of Mwana Ngombé, “lords of cows”; in others, Wasambyé,
or the “uncircumcised,” because of their Wanyamwezi followers, which
last name has penetrated over an immense region.
Majwara, Frank Pocock’s servant, upon receiving the present of a bride
from Mtesa because he was the son of Namujurilwa, the champion of
Uganda, gave her the name of Tuma-leo, or “sent-to-day.”
The Sarmeen of my first expedition received from his comrades, for his
detective qualities, the name of Kachéché, or the “weasel.”
Lukoma, who accompanied us to Muta Nzigé, called himself Mkanga, or “the
one who looks behind.”
Sambuzi received the title of Mta-uza, or the “spoiler”; and one of his
subordinates was called Kiswaga, or “fleet-foot.”
Kalulu’s name was formerly Ndugu Mali, “brother of money.”
Wadi Safeni had a young relative in the Expedition entitled Akili Mali,
or “one who is wise with his money.”
Mgongo-Tembo, or “elephant’s back”; Mambu, or “noise”; Khamis, or
“Thursday”; Juma, or “Friday”; Muini Kheri, or “lord of fortune”; Muini
Pembé, or “lord of ivory”; and scores of others I might mention.
In the same manner countries receive appellations distinctive of
peculiarities, such as—
Unya-Nyembé, land of hoes.
U-Yofu, land of elephants.
Unya-Mbewa, land of goats.
Unya-Nkondo, land of sheep.
Unya-Ngoma, land of drums.
U-Konongo, land of travellers.
Unya-Nguruwé, land of hogs.
U-Nguru, land of mountains.
U-Kusu, land of parrots.
U-Ganda, land of drums.
U-Lungu or U-Rungu, plain land.
Ma-Rungu, plateau land.
U-Kutu, land of ears (long ears?).
U-Karanga, land of ground-nuts.
U-Lua or U-Rua, land of lakes.
U-Emba, lake land.
U-Bwari, land of food.
Lakes also have names significative of native ideas, such as the
Tanganika, “the great lake spreading out like a plain,” or “plain-like
lake”; Niyanja Muta Nzigé, or “the lake of dead locusts,” from, no
doubt, the swarms of locusts on the plains of Ankori, Unyoro, and
Western Uganda, and the salinas of Usongora, being swept into it by
strong winds; Niyanja, or Nianja Ukerewé, “the great lake around
Ukerewé.”
Mtuyu is the easternmost settlement of the country of Uzura. On arrival
we perceived that all their women were absent, and naturally enquired
what had become of them. They replied, in pathetic strains, “Oh, they
are all dead, all cut off, every one. It was the small-pox!”
We sympathised with them, of course, because of such a terrible loss,
and attempted to express our concern. But one of our enterprising
people, while endeavouring to search out a good market for his cowries,
discovered several dozen of the women in a wooded ravine!
[Illustration:
KITETÉ
THE CHIEF OF MPUNGU.
]
Skirting the range of hills which bounds the Luama valley on the north,
we marched to Mpungu, which is fifteen miles west of Mtuyu. Kiteté, its
chief, is remarkable for a plaited beard twenty inches long, decorated
at the tips with a number of blue glass beads. His hair was also trussed
up on the crown of his head in a shapely mass. His brother possessed a
beard six inches long; there were half-a-dozen others with beards of
three or four inches long. Kiteté’s symbol of royalty was a huge
truncheon, or Hercules club, blackened and hardened by fire. His village
was neat, and the architecture of the huts peculiar, as the picture at
foot shows.
The Luama valley at Uzura at this season presents a waving extent of
grass-grown downs, and while crossing over the higher swells of land, we
enjoyed uninterrupted views of thirty or forty miles to the west and
south.
From Mpungu we travelled through an interesting country (a distance of
four miles), and suddenly from the crest of a low ridge saw the
confluence of the Luama with the majestic Lualaba. The former appeared
to have a breadth of 400 yards at the mouth; the latter was about 1400
yards wide, a broad river of a pale grey colour, winding slowly from
south and by east.
We hailed its appearance with shouts of joy, and rested on the spot to
enjoy the view. Across the river, beyond a tawny, grassy stretch towards
the south-south-west, is Mount Kijima; about 1000 feet above the valley,
to the south-south-east, across the Luama, runs the Luhye-ya ridge; from
its base the plain slopes to the swift Luama. In the bed of the great
river are two or three small islands, green with the verdure of trees
and sedge. I likened it even here to the Mississippi, as it appears
before the impetuous, full-volumed Missouri pours its rusty-brown water
into it.
A secret rapture filled my soul as I gazed upon the majestic stream. The
great mystery that for all these centuries Nature had kept hidden away
from the world of science was waiting to be solved. For two hundred and
twenty miles I had followed one of the sources of the Livingstone to the
confluence, and now before me lay the superb river itself! My task was
to follow it to the Ocean.
[Illustration: NATIVE HOUSES AT MTUYU.]
CHAPTER IV.
At a swinging pace—Tippu-Tib, the Arab trader—News of Cameron and his
difficulties—The river that flows north for ever—In Dwarf-land,
fighting the dwarfs—Tippu-Tib’s conditions—Friends in council—Heads
or tails—Kalulu’s accident at Nyangwé—Its residents and market—A
muster of the Expedition.
_Oct._—We resumed our journey. The men, women, and children joined in a
grand chorus, while a stentor from Unyamwezi attempted, in a loud and
graphic strain, a description of the joy he felt.
How quickly we marched! What a stride and what _verve_ there was in our
movements! Faster, my friends, faster! that you may boast to the Arabs
at Nyangwé what veterans you are!
There was no word uttered enjoining quicker speed, but my people seemed
intuitively to know my wish; even the youthful gun-bearers vied with
each other in an exhibition of pedestrianism.
Over hill and dale we paced through Uzura, and about noon entered the
village of Mkwanga, eight miles north-north-west of the confluence of
the Luama and the Lualaba.
At Mkwanga we met two Wangwana, who informed us that the Arabs at Mwana
Mamba’s had just returned from an expedition into the forest of Manyema,
to avenge the murder of an Arab called Mohammed bin Soud, and his
caravan of ten men, by Mwana Npunda and his people.
The next day we crossed the Lulindi—a small river thirty-five yards
wide, and fordable—and made a brilliant march of eighteen miles north-
west, across a broad and uninhabited plain which separates Uzura from
Mwana Mamba’s district, Tubanda, where, having come by a “back door,”
and having travelled so quickly, we burst upon the astonished Arabs
before they were aware of our approach. Contrary, moreover, to the
custom of Arabs and Wangwana, I had strictly prohibited the firing of
musketry to announce our arrival; considering the drum and trumpet
sufficient, and less alarming.
Soon, however, the Arabs advanced—Sayid Mezrui, Mohammed bin Sayid,
Muini Hassan, and others, who conducted us to the broad verandah of
Mezrui’s tembé until quarters could be prepared for us.
Last came the famous Hamed bin Mohammed, alias Tippu-Tib, or, as it is
variously pronounced by the natives, Tipo-Tib, or Tibbu-Tib. He was a
tall black-bearded man, of negroid complexion, in the prime of life,
straight, and quick in his movements, a picture of energy and strength.
He had a fine intelligent face, with a nervous twitching of the eyes,
and gleaming white and perfectly-formed teeth. He was attended by a
large retinue of young Arabs, who looked up to him as chief, and a score
of Wangwana and Wanyamwezi followers whom he had led over thousands of
miles through Africa.
With the air of a well-bred Arab, and almost courtier-like in his
manner, he welcomed me to Mwana Mamba’s village, and his slaves being
ready at hand with mat and bolster, he reclined vis-à-vis, while a buzz
of admiration of his style was perceptible from the on-lookers. After
regarding him for a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that this Arab
was a remarkable man—the most remarkable man I had met among Arabs, Wa-
Swahili, and half-castes in Africa. He was neat in his person, his
clothes were of a spotless white, his fez-cap brand new, his waist was
encircled by a rich dowlé, his dagger was splendid with silver filigree,
and his tout ensemble was that of an Arab gentleman in very comfortable
circumstances.
The person above described was the Arab who had escorted Cameron across
the Lualaba as far as Utotera, south latitude 5°, and east longitude 25°
54′. Naturally, therefore, there was no person at Nyangwé whose evidence
was more valuable than Tippu-Tib’s as to the direction that my
predecessor at Nyangwé had taken. The information he gave me was
sufficiently clear—and was, moreover, confirmed by Sayid Mezrui and
other Arabs—that the greatest problem of African geography was left
untouched at the exact spot where Dr. Livingstone had felt himself
unable to prosecute his travels, and whence he had retraced his steps to
Ujiji never to return to Nyangwé.
This was momentous and all-important news to the Expedition. We had
arrived at the critical point in our travels: our destinies now awaited
my final decision.
But first I was anxious to know why Cameron had declined the journey.
Sayid Mezrui said it was because he could not obtain canoes, and because
the natives in the Mitamba or forest were exceedingly averse to
strangers. Tippu-Tib averred also that Cameron’s men decidedly opposed
following the river, as no one knew whither it went.
“In the same way I am told the old man Daoud Liviston”—David
Livingstone—“was prevented from going. The old man tried hard to
persuade the Arabs to lend him canoes, but Muini Dugumbi refused, upon
the ground that he would be rushing to his death. Cameron also asked for
canoes, and offered high prices for them, but Dugumbi would not be
persuaded, as he declined to be held responsible by the British Consul
at Zanzibar for any accident that might happen to him. Bombay, I
believe, wished to go, but Bilal was resolute in his objections to the
river, and each night intrigued with the Arabs to prevent his master.
When Cameron reached Imbarri at Kasongo’s, I offered to take him for a
sum of money as far as the Sankuru river, provided he would give me a
paper stating that I took him at his own request, and releasing me from
all responsibility in the event of a conflict with the natives. He
declined to go. I therefore, at his own request, supplied him with
guides to take him to Juma Merikani, at Kasongo’s, in Rua, where he
would meet Portuguese traders. I have received word from Juma Merikani
that Cameron, after many months’ stay with him, went on his way,
escorted by a large number of Portuguese traders, towards the western
sea. That is all I know about it.”
Out of this frank explanation, I had, therefore, elicited the
information that “want of canoes and hostility of the savages,”
reluctance of the Arabs to permit him to proceed by the river from an
officious regard for his safety, and the “cowardice of his followers,”
were the main causes that prevented the gallant officer from following
the river.
These were difficulties for me also to surmount in some manner not yet
intelligible. How was I to instil courage into my followers, or sustain
it, to obtain the assistance of the Arabs to enable me to make a fair
beginning, and afterwards to purchase or make canoes?
“I suppose, Tippu-Tib,” I said, “having offered the other white man your
assistance, you would have no objections to offer it to me for the same
sum?”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied, with a smile. “I have not many
people with me now. Many are at Imbarri, others are trading in Manyema.”
“How many men have you with you?”
“Perhaps three hundred—or say two hundred and fifty.”
“That number would be a grand escort, amply sufficient, if well managed,
to ensure perfect protection.”
“Yes, united with your party, it would be a very strong force, but how
would it be when I returned alone? The natives would say, seeing only my
own little force, ‘These people have been fighting—half of them are
killed, because they have no ivory with them; let us finish them!’ I
know, my friend, these savages very well, and I tell you that that would
be their way of thinking.”
“But, my friend,” said I, “think how it would be with me, with all the
continent before me, and only protected by my little band!”
“Ah, yes! if you Wasungu” (white men) “are desirous of throwing away
your lives, it is no reason we Arabs should. We travel little by little
to get ivory and slaves, and are years about it—it is now nine years
since I left Zanzibar—but you white men only look for rivers and lakes
and mountains, and you spend your lives for no reason, and to no
purpose. Look at that old man who died in Bisa! What did he seek year
after year, until he became so old that he could not travel? He had no
money, for he never gave any of us anything, he bought no ivory or
slaves, yet he travelled farther than any of us, and for what?”
“I know I have no right to expect you to risk your life for me. I only
wish you to accompany me sixty days’ journey, then leave me to myself.
If sixty days’ journey is too far, half that distance will do; all I am
anxious for is my people. You know the Wangwana are easily swayed by
fear, but if they hear that Tippu-Tib has joined me, and is about to
accompany me, every man will have a lion’s courage.”
“Well, I will think of it to-night, and hold a shauri with my relatives
and principal people, and to-morrow night we will have another talk.”
The next evening, at about eight o’clock, Hamed bin Mohammed, or Tippu-
Tib, appeared with his cousin, Mohammed bin Sayid, and others, to confer
upon the important business broached the evening before, and, after the
usual courteous and ceremonious greetings, I was requested to state my
intentions.
“I would like to go down the river in canoes until I reach the place
where the river turns for good either to the west or east.”
“How many days’ journey on land would that be?” asked Tippu-Tib.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“No; indeed, I was never in that direction; but I have a man here who
has reached farthest of all.”
“Where is he?”
“Speak, Abed, son of Jumah, what you know of this river,” said Tippu-
Tib.
The son of Jumah, thus urged by his superior, spoke and said, “Yes, I
know all about the river, El hamd ul illah!” (“the thanks be to God”).
“In which direction does it flow, my friend?”
“It flows north.”
“And then?”
“It flows north.”
“And then?”
“Still north!”
“Come, my friend, speak; whither does it flow after reaching the north?”
“Why, master,” replied he, with a bland smile of wonder at my apparent
lack of ready comprehension, “don’t I tell you it flows north, and
north, and north, and there is no end to it? I think it reaches the salt
sea, at least some of my friends say so.”
“Well, in which direction is this salt sea?”
“Allah yallim!” (“God knows!”)
“I thought you said you knew all about the river?”
“I know it goes north!” said he decisively, and sharply.
“How do you know?”
“Because I followed Mtagamoyo to Usongora Meno, and, crossing the
Ugarowa,[6] near the Urindi, went with him to the Lumami and to the
dwarf country.”
-----
Footnote 6:
The Ugarowa river is the Arab corruption of the word Lu-alowa, which
Livingstone called Lualaba.
-----
“How many days is it from here to the dwarf country?”
“About nine months.”
“And is the dwarf country near the Ugarowa?”
“It is not far from it.”
“Could you point with your hand the direction of the Ugarowa—near the
dwarf country?”
“Yes, it is there,” pointing north by west, magnetic.
“What are the dwarfs like?—but tell us the story of your journey with
Mtagamoyo.”
After clearing his throat and arranging his cleanly white dress, he gave
me the account of his wanderings to the unknown lands north, as
follows:—
“Mtagamoyo is a man who knows not what fear is—Wallahi! He is as bold as
a lion. When he gave out to the Arabs and Wangwana of Nyangwé that he
was about to proceed as far as possible to hunt up ivory, of course we
all felt that if any man could guide us to new ivory fields it was
Mtagamoyo. Many of the youngest Arabs prepared themselves to follow him,
and all of us mustering our armed slaves, followed in his track.
“We first reached Uregga, a forest land, where there is nothing but
woods, and woods, and woods, for days, and weeks, and months. There was
no end to the woods. The people lived surrounded by woods. Strangers
were few before they saw us, and we had shauri after shauri with them.
We passed along easily for a few days, and then came trouble; we struck
for the Ugarowa, and in about a month we reached Usongora Meno, where we
fought day after day. They are fearful fellows and desperate. We lost
men every day. Every man of ours that was killed was eaten. They were
hiding behind such thick bushes that we could not see them, and their
arrows were poisoned.
“Then the Arabs held another shauri. Some were for returning, for they
had lost many men, but Mtagamoyo would not listen. He said that the
pagans should not drive him away.
“Well, the end of the shauri was that we crossed the Ugarowa, and went
to Ukusu. Wallahi! the Wakusu were worse than those of Usongora Meno,
but Mtagamoyo heard of a country called Unkengeri, where the natives
were said to be better. We pushed on, and arrived at Kima-Kima’s. When
we reached Kima-Kima’s, we possessed 290 guns; we had lost twenty guns
and any number of slaves on the road.
“Kima-Kima, who is on the Lumami, told us about the land of the little
men, where the ivory was so abundant that we might get a tusk for a
single cowrie. You know, master, that when we Arabs hear of ivory being
abundant there is no holding us back. Oh! we started instantly, crossed
the Lumami, and came to the land of the Wakuna. Among the Wakuna, who
are big men themselves, we saw some six or seven of the dwarfs; the
queerest-looking creatures alive, just a yard high, with long beards and
large heads.
“The dwarfs asked us a lot of questions, where we came from, where we
were going, and what we wanted. They seemed to be plucky little devils,
though we laughed to see them. They told us that in their country was so
much ivory that we had not enough men to carry it, but they were very
curious to know what we wanted with it. Did we eat it? ‘No.’ ‘What
then?’ ‘We sell it to other men who make charms of it.’ ‘Oh! What will
you give us if we show the ivory to you?’ ‘We will give you cowries and
beads.’ ‘Good, come along.’
“We travelled six days, and then we came to the border village of their
country. They would not allow us to penetrate farther until they had
seen their king and obtained his consent. In the meantime they said we
might trade round about. We did trade. We purchased in two days more
ivory than the other countries could have supplied us with in two weeks.
“On the third day the little people came back and told us we might go
and live in the king’s village. It was a mere long street, you know,
with houses, extending a long distance on either side. They gave us a
portion of the village to live in. The king was kind, at least he
appeared so the first day; the next day he was not so kind, but he sold
us ivory in plenty. There was no lack of that. The dwarfs came from all
parts. Oh! it is a big country! and everybody brought ivory, until we
had about four hundred tusks, big and little, as much as we could carry.
We had bought it with copper, beads, and cowries. No cloths, for the
dwarfs were all naked, king and all.
“They told us that eleven days’ journey south-west was another country,
where there was even more ivory than they had, and four days beyond that
again was a great lake, where there were ships. The lake was near the
country of a king whom they called Ngombé.
“We did not starve in the dwarf land the first ten days. Bananas as long
as my arm, and plantains as long as the dwarfs were tall. One plantain
was sufficient for a man for one day.
“We thought, seeing that we had obtained as much ivory as we were able
to carry, that we had better return. We told the king that we wanted to
depart. To our surprise, the king—he was no longer than my leg—said that
we should not be allowed to go. ‘Why?’ we asked. ‘Because this is my
country, and you are not to go away until I say.’ ‘But we have finished
our business, and we have had trade sufficient; we don’t wish to buy any
more.’ ‘You must buy all I have got; I want more cowries;’ and he ground
his teeth, and he looked just like a wild monkey.
“Mtagamoyo laughed at him, for he was very funny, and then told him that
we would have to go away, because we had many friends waiting for us. He
said, ‘You shall not go from my country.’
“We held another shauri, when it was agreed that if we stayed longer we
might get into trouble and lose our ivory, and that it was better to
leave within two days. But we did not have to wait two days for the
trouble! It came even before we had finished our shauri. We heard a
woman scream loud. We rushed out, and met some Wangwana running towards
us, and among them a woman with a dwarf’s arrow in her breast.
“‘What’s this, what’s this?’ we asked, and they cried out, ‘The dwarfs
shot this woman while she was drawing water, and they are coming in
immense numbers towards us from all the other villages. It’s a war,
prepare yourselves!’
“We were not a bit too soon: we had scarcely put on our belts and seized
our guns before the vicious wretches were upon us, and shooting their
reed arrows in clouds. They screamed and yelled just like monkeys. Many
of our people fell dead instantly from the poison before we could get
together and fire on them. Mtagamoyo! he was everywhere brandishing his
two-handed sword, and cleaving them as you would cleave a banana. The
arrows passed through his shirt in many places. There were many good
fellows like Mtagamoyo there, and they fought well; but it was of no
use. The dwarfs were firing from the top of the trees; they crept
through the tall grass close up to us, and shot their arrows in our
faces. Then Mtagamoyo, seeing it was getting hot work, shouted ‘Boma!
Boma! Boma!’ (palisade), and some hundreds of us cut down banana-trees,
tore doors out, and houses down, and formed a boma at each end of the
street, and then we were a little better off, for it was not such rapid,
random shooting; we fired more deliberately, and after several hours
drove them off.
“Do you think they gave us peace? Not a bit; a fresh party came up and
continued the fight. They were such small things, we could not see them
very well; had they been tall men like us, we might have picked off
hundreds of them. We could not fight all the time, for some of us had to
sleep, so Mtagamoyo divided us into two parties, one party to go to
sleep, the other to watch the boma. All night we heard the reed arrows
flying past, or pattering on the roofs or the boma fence; all night we
heard their yells. Once or twice they tried to storm the boma, but we
had twenty muskets at each end.
“Well, the fight lasted all that night, and all the next day, and
throughout the next night. And we could get no water, until Mtagamoyo
called out a hundred fellows, fifty with muskets and fifty with big
water-pots, to follow him. Mtagamoyo was a lion; he held up a shield
before him, and looking around he just ran straight where the crowd was
thickest; and he seized two of the dwarfs, and we who followed him
caught several more, for they would not run away until they saw what our
design was, and then they left the water clear. We filled our pots, and
carried the little Shaitans (devils) into the boma; and there we found
we had caught the king!
“We all argued that we should kill him, but Mtagamoyo would not consent.
‘Kill the others,’ he said, and we cut all their heads off instantly and
tossed them outside. But the king was not touched.
“Then the dwarfs stopped fighting; they came to us, and cried ‘Sennené!
Sennené!’ (‘Peace, peace’). We made peace with them; and they said that
if we gave them their king we might go away unmolested. After a long
shauri we gave him up. But the war was worse than ever. Thousands came
towards us, and every man was as busy as he could be shooting them. We
fought all that day and night, and then we saw that the powder would not
last; we had only two kegs left.
“So our chiefs then mustered us all together, and told us all that the
only way was to rush out of the boma again and catch them and kill them
with our swords in the way that Mtagamoyo had fought.
“After making everything ready we rushed out, and every man, bending his
head, made straight for them. It was a race! When they saw us coming out
with our broad long swords, bright as glass, they ran away; but we
followed them like wolves for a couple of hours. Ah, we killed many,
very many, for they could not run as fast as we could.
“We then returned, packed up quickly, took up one half of our ivory, and
started for the forest. We travelled until night, and then, quite tired
out, we slept. Master, in the middle of the night they were again on us!
Arrows sounded ‘twit,’ ‘twit’ in all directions; some one was falling
down every minute. Our powder was fast going. At last we ran away,
throwing down everything except our guns and swords. Now and then we
could hear Mtagamoyo’s horn, and we followed it. But nearly all were so
weakened by hunger and want of water that they burst their hearts
running, and died. Others lying down to rest found the little devils
close to them when too late, and were killed. Master, out of that great
number of people that left Nyangwé, Arabs, Wangwana, and our slaves,
only thirty returned alive, and I am one of them.”
“What is your name, my friend?” I demanded.
“Bwana Abedi,” he replied.
“And you follow Tippu-Tib now, do you, or Mtagamoyo?”
“I follow Tippu-Tib,” he answered.
“Ah! good. Did you see anything else very wonderful on your journey?”
“Oh yes! There are monstrous large boa-constrictors in the forest of
Uregga, suspended by their tails to the branches, waiting for the
passer-by or a stray antelope. The ants in that forest are not to be
despised. You cannot travel without your body being covered with them,
when they sting you like wasps. The leopards are so numerous that you
cannot go very far without seeing one. Almost every native wears a
leopard-skin cap. The Sokos (gorillas) are in the woods, and woe befall
the man or woman met alone by them; for they run up to you and seize
your hands, and bite the fingers off one by one, and as fast as they
bite one off, they spit it out. The Wasongora Meno and Waregga are
cannibals, and unless the force is very strong, they never let strangers
pass. It is nothing but constant fighting. Only two years ago a party
armed with three hundred guns started north of Usongora Meno; they only
brought sixty guns back, and no ivory. If one tries to go by the river,
there are falls after falls, which carry the people over and drown them.
A party of thirty men, in three canoes, went down the river half a day’s
journey from Nyangwé, when the old white man was living there. They were
all drowned, and that was the reason he did not go on. Had he done so,
he would have been eaten, for what could he have done? Ah, no. Master,
the country is bad, and the Arabs have given it up beyond Uregga. They
will not try the journey into that country again, after trying it three
times and losing nearly five hundred men altogether.”
“Your story is very interesting, Abedi,” said I; “some of it, I think,
is true, for the old white man said the same thing to me when I was at
Ujiji some four years ago. However, I want to hear Tippu-Tib speak.”
During all the time that Abedi had related his wonderful experiences,
the other Arabs had been listening, profoundly interested; but when I
turned inquiringly to Tippu-Tib, he motioned all to leave the room,
except his cousin Mohammed bin Sayid.
When we were alone, Tippu-Tib informed me that he had been consulting
with his friends and relatives, and that they were opposed to his
adventuring upon such a terrible journey; but that, as he did not wish
to see me disappointed in my prospects, he had resolved to accompany me
a distance of sixty camps, each camp to be four hours’ march from the
other, for the sum of 5000 dollars, on the following conditions:—
1. That the journey should commence from Nyangwé in any direction I
choose, and on any day I mentioned.
2. That the journey should not occupy more time than three months from
the first day it was commenced.
3. That the rate of travel should be two marches to one halt.
4. That if he accompanied me sixty marches—each march of four hours’
duration—I should at the end of that distance return with him back again
to Nyangwé, for mutual protection and support, unless we met traders
from the west coast, whom I might accompany to the western sea, provided
I permitted two-thirds of my force to return with him to Nyangwé.
5. That, exclusive of the 5000 dollars, I should provision 140 men
during their absence from Mwana Mamba—going and returning.
6. That if, after experience of the countries and the natives, I found
it was impracticable to continue the journey, and decided upon returning
before the sixty marches were completed, I should not hold him
responsible, but pay him the sum of 5000 dollars without any deduction.
These terms I thought reasonable—all except article 4; but though I
endeavoured to modify the article, in order to ensure full liberty to
continue the journey alone if I thought fit, Tippu-Tib said he would not
undertake the journey alone, from a distance of sixty camps to Mwana
Mamba, even though 50,000 dollars were promised him, because he was
assured he would never return to enjoy the money. He would much prefer
continuing with me down to the sea, for a couple of thousand dollars
more, to returning alone with his 140 men for 50,000 dollars. He agreed,
however, after a little remonstrance, to permit the addition of article
7, which was to the effect that if he, Tippu-Tib, abandoned the journey
through faint-heartedness, before the full complement of the marches had
been completed, he was to forfeit the whole sum of 5000 dollars, and the
return escort.
“There is no hurry about it,” said I. “You may change your mind, and I
may change mine. We will both take twenty-four hours to consider it. To-
morrow night the agreement shall be drawn up ready for our seals, or
else you will be told that I am unable to agree to your conditions.”
The truth was that I had opened negotiations without having consulted my
people; and as our conversation had been private, it remained for me to
ascertain the opinion of Frank, before my next encounter with Tippu-Tib.
At 6 P.M., a couple of saucers, filled with palm-oil and fixed with
cotton-wick, were lit. It was my after-dinner hour, the time for pipes
and coffee, which Frank was always invited to share.
When he came in, the coffee-pot was boiling, and little Mabruki was in
waiting to pour out. The tobacco-pouch, filled with the choicest
production of Africa, that of Masansi near Uvira, was ready. Mabruki
poured out the coffee, and retired, leaving us together.
“Now Frank, my son,” I said, “sit down. I am about to have a long and
serious chat with you. Life and death—yours as well as mine, and those
of all the Expedition—hang on the decision I make to-night.”
And then I reminded him of his friends at home, and also of the dangers
before him; of the sorrow his death would cause, and also of the honours
that would greet his success; of the facility of returning to Zanzibar,
and also of the perilous obstacles in the way of advance—thus carefully
alternating the _pro_ with the _con._, so as not to betray my own
inclinations. I reminded him of the hideous scenes we had already been
compelled to witness and to act in, pointing out that other wicked
tribes, no doubt, lay before us; but also recalling to his memory how
treachery, cunning, and savage courage had been baulked by patience and
promptitude; and how we still possessed the power to punish those who
threatened us or murdered our friends. And I ended with words something
like these:—
“There is no doubt some truth in what the Arabs say about the ferocity
of these natives before us. Livingstone, after fifteen thousand miles of
travel, and a lifetime of experience among Africans, would not have
yielded the brave struggle without strong reasons; Cameron, with his
forty-five Snider rifles, would never have turned away from such a
brilliant field if he had not sincerely thought that they were
insufficient to resist the persistent attacks of countless thousands of
wild men. But while we grant that there may be a modicum of truth in
what the Arabs say, it is in their ignorant superstitious nature to
exaggerate what they have seen. A score of times have we proved them
wrong. Yet their reports have already made a strong impression on the
minds of the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi. They are already trembling with
fear, because they suspect that I am about to attempt the cannibal lands
beyond Nyangwé. On the day that we propose to begin our journey, we
shall have no Expedition.
“On the other hand, I am confident that, if I am able to leave Nyangwé
with the Expedition intact, and to place a breadth of wild country
between our party and the Arab depot, I shall be able to make men of
them. There are good stuff, heroic qualities, in them; but we must get
free from the Arabs, or they will be very soon demoralized. It is for
this purpose I am negotiating with Tippu-Tib. If I can arrange with him
and leave Nyangwé without the dreadful loss we experienced at Ujiji, I
feel sure that I can inspire my men to dare anything with me.
“The difficulty of transport, again, is enormous. We cannot obtain
canoes at Nyangwé. Livingstone could not. Cameron failed. No doubt I
shall fail. I shall not try to obtain any. But we might buy up all the
axes that we can see between here and Nyangwé, and travelling overland
on this side the Lulaba, we might, before Tippu-Tib’s contract is at an
end, come across a tribe which would sell their canoes. We have
sufficient stores to last a long time, and I shall purchase more at
Nyangwé. If the natives will not sell, we can make our own canoes, if we
possess a sufficient number of axes to set all hands at work.
“Now, what I wish you to tell me, Frank, is your opinion as to what we
ought to do.”
Frank’s answer was ready.
“I say, ‘Go on, sir.’”
“Think well, my dear fellow; don’t be hasty, life and death hang on our
decision. Don’t you think we could explore to the east of Cameron’s
road?”
“But there is nothing like this great river, sir.”
“What do you say to Lake Lincoln, Lake Kamolondo, Lake Bemba, and all
that part, down to the Zambezi?”
“Ah! that is a fine field, sir, and perhaps the natives would not be so
ferocious. Would they?”
“Yet, as you said just now, it would be nothing to the great river,
which for all these thousands of years has been flowing steadily to the
north through hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles, of which no one has
ever heard a word!”
“Let us follow the river, sir.”
“Yet, my friend, think yet again. Look at all these faithful fellows
whose lives depend on our word; think of our own, for we are yet young,
and strong, and active. Why should we throw them away for a barren
honour, or if we succeed, have every word we said doubted, and carped
at, and our motives misconstrued by malicious minds, who distort
everything to our injury?”
“Ah, true, sir. I was one of those who doubted that you had ever found
Livingstone. I don’t mind telling you now. Until I came to Zanzibar, and
saw your people, I did not believe it, and there are hundreds in
Rochester who shared my opinion.”
“And do you believe, Frank, that you are in Manyema now?”
“I am obliged to, sir.”
“Are you not afraid, should you return to England, that when men say you
have never been to Africa, as no doubt they will, you will come to
disbelieve it yourself?”
“Ah no, sir,” he replied. “I can never forget Ituru; the death of my
brother in that wild land; the deaths of so many Wangwana there; the
great Lake; Uganda; our march to Muta Nzigé; Rumanika; my life in Ujiji;
the Tanganika; and our march here.”
“But what do you think, Frank? Had we not better explore north-east of
here, until we reach Muta Nzigé, circumnavigate that lake, and strike
across to Uganda again, and return to Zanzibar by way of Kagehyi?”
“That would be a fine job, sir, if we could do it.”
“Yet, if you think of it, Frank, this great river which Livingstone
first saw, and which broke his heart almost to turn away from and leave
a mystery, is a noble field too. Fancy, by-and-by, after buying or
building canoes, our floating down the river day by day, either to the
Nile or to some vast lake in the far north, or to the Congo and the
Atlantic Ocean! Think what a benefit our journey will be to Africa.
Steamers from the mouth of the Congo to Lake Bemba, and to all the great
rivers which run into it!”
“I say, sir, let us toss up; best two out of three to decide it.”
“Toss away. Here is a rupee.”
“Heads for the north and the Lualaba; tails for the south and Katanga.”
Frank stood up, his face beaming. He tossed the rupee high up. The coin
dropped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Tails, sir!” said Frank, with a face expressive of strong disapproval.
“Toss again.”
He tossed again, and “tails” was again announced—and six times running
“tails” won.
We then tried straws—the short straws for the south, the long straws for
the river Lualaba—and again we were disappointed, for Frank persisted in
drawing out the short straws, and in leaving the long straws in my
hands.
“It is of no use, Frank. We’ll face our destiny, despite the rupee and
straws. With your help, my dear fellow, I will follow the river.”
“Mr. Stanley, have no fear of me. I shall stand by you. The last words
of my dear old father were, ‘Stick by your master.’ And there is my
hand, sir, you shall never have cause to doubt me.”
[Illustration: “HEADS FOR THE NORTH AND THE LUALABA; TAILS FOR THE SOUTH
AND KATANGA.”]
“Good, I shall go on then. I will finish this contract with Tippu-Tib,
for the Wangwana, on seeing him accompany us, will perhaps be willing to
follow me. We may also recruit others at Nyangwé. And then, if the
natives will allow peaceful passage through their countries, so much the
better. If not, our duty says, ‘Go on.’”
The next night Tippu-Tib and his friends visited me again. The contract
was written, and signed by the respective parties and their witnesses.
The Wangwana chiefs were then called, and it was announced to them that
Tippu-Tib, with 140 guns and seventy Wanyamwezi spearmen, would escort
us a distance of sixty camps, when, if we found the countries hostile to
us, and no hopes of meeting other traders, we should return with him to
Nyangwé. If we met Portuguese or Turkish traders, a portion of us would
continue the journey with them, and the remainder would return with
Tippu-Tib to Nyangwé. This announcement was received with satisfaction,
and the chiefs said that, owing to Tippu-Tib’s presence, no Arab at
Nyangwé would dare to harbour a runaway from the Expedition.
Cowries and beads were then counted out and given that evening to Tippu-
Tib, as ration money for ten days from the day of his departure from
Mwana Mamba.
_Oct. 24._—The next morning, being the 24th of October, the Expedition
left Mwana Mamba in high spirits. The good effect of the contract with
Tippu-Tib had already brought us recruits, for on the road I observed
several strange faces of men who, on our arrival at the first camp,
Marimbu, eleven miles north-west from Mwana Mamba, appeared before my
tent, and craved to be permitted to follow us. They received an advance
in cloth, and their names were entered on the muster-list of the
Expedition at the same rate of pay as the other Wanyamwezi and Wangwana.
_Oct. 25._—Through a fine rolling country, but depopulated, with every
mile marked by ruined villages, we marched in a north-westerly
direction, thirteen miles to Benangongo, from Marimbu, and, on the 25th,
arrived at Kankumba, after a journey of twelve miles, crossing the
Mshama stream by the way.
From our camp at Kankumba we were pointed out Nyangwé, and, as it was
only five miles distant, some of the people pretended to be able to see
it. About one mile from us was the marshy valley of the Kunda river,
another tributary of the Lualaba, which rises in Uzimba; to the east-
north-east of us, about eight miles off, rose some hilly cones, spurs of
the Manyema hills; on the west stretched a rolling grassy land extending
to the Lualaba.
The grass (genus _Panicum_) of Manyema is like other things in this
prolific land, of gigantic proportions, and denser than the richest
field of corn. The stalks are an inch in diameter, and about 8 feet
high. In fact, what I have called “grassy land” is more like a waving
country planted with young bamboo.
Young Kalulu, who, since his recapture at the Uguha port on Lake
Tanganika, had been well behaved, and was in high favour again, met with
a serious and very remarkable accident at Kankumba. A chief, called
Mabruki the elder, had retained a cartridge in his Snider, contrary to
orders, and, leaving it carelessly on the stacked goods, a hurrying
Mgwana kicked it down with his foot, which caused it to explode. Kalulu,
who was reclining on his mat near a fire, was wounded in no fewer than
_eight_ places, the bullet passing through the outer part of his lower
leg, the upper part of his thigh, and, glancing over his right ribs,
through the muscles of his left arm. Though the accident had caused
severe wounds, there was no danger; and, by applying a little arnica,
lint, and bandages, we soon restored him to a hopeful view of his case.
_Oct. 27._—On the morning of the 27th we descended from our camp at
Kankumba to the banks of the Kunda, a river about 40 yards wide, and 10
feet deep at the ferry. The canoe-men were Wagenya or Wenya fishermen
under the protection of Sheikh Abed bin Salim, alias “Tanganika.”
A rapid march of four miles brought us to the outskirts of Nyangwé,
where we were met by Abed bin Salim, an old man of sixty-five years of
age, Mohammed bin Sayid, a young Arab with a remarkably long nose and
small eyes, Sheikh Abed’s fundis or elephant hunters, and several
Wangwana, all dressed in spotless white shirts, crimson fezzes, and
sandals.
[Illustration: A CANOE OF THE WENYA OR WAGENYA FISHERMEN.]
Sheikh Abed was pleased to monopolize me, by offering me a house in his
neighbourhood.
The manner that we entered Nyangwé appeared, from subsequent
conversation, to have struck Sheikh Abed, who, from his long residence
there, had witnessed the arrival and departure of very many caravans.
There was none of the usual firing of guns and wild shouting and
frenzied action; and the order and steadiness of veterans, the close
files of a column which tolerably well understood by this time the
difference between discipline and lawlessness with its stragglers and
slovenly laggards, made a marked impression upon the old Arab. Ever
since the murder of Kaif Halleck in Ituru, our sick had never been
permitted to crawl to camp unaided and unprotected. The asses, four in
number, and supernumeraries were always at hand to convey those unable
to travel, while those only slightly indisposed were formed into a
separate company under Frank and six chiefs.
Another thing that surprised the Arab was the rapidity of the journey
from the Tanganika—338 miles in forty-three days, inclusive of all
halts. He said that the usual period occupied by Arabs was between three
and four months. Yet the members of the Expedition were in admirable
condition. They had never enjoyed better health, and we had not one sick
person; the only one incapacitated from work was Kalulu, and he had been
accidentally wounded only the very night before. Between the Tanganika
and the Arab depot of Nyangwé neither Frank nor I had suffered the
slightest indisposition.
Nyangwé is the extreme westernmost locality inhabited by the Arab
traders from Zanzibar. It stands in east longitude 26° 16′, south
latitude 4° 15′, on the right or eastern side of the Lualaba, on the
verge of a high and reddish bank rising some forty feet above the river,
with clear open country north along the river for a distance of three
miles, east some ten miles, south over seventy miles, or as far as the
confluence of the Luama with the Lualaba. The town called Nyangwé is
divided into two sections. The northern section has for its centre the
quarters of Muini Dugumbi, the first Arab arrival here (in 1868); and
around his house are the commodious quarters of his friends, their
families and slaves—in all, perhaps, 300 houses. The southern section is
separated from its neighbour by a broad hollow, cultivated and sown with
rice for the Arabs. When the Lualaba rises to its full amplitude, this
hollow is flooded. The chief house of the southern half of Nyangwé is
the large and well-built clay _banda_ of Sheikh Abed bin Salim. In close
neighbourhood to this are the houses and huts of those Arab Wagwana who
prefer the company of Abed bin Salim to Muini Dugumbi. Abed showed me
his spacious courtyard, wherein he jealously guards his harem of thirty
fine, comely, large-eyed women. He possesses two English hens which came
from India, and several chickens of mixed breed, two dozen tame pigeons,
and some guinea-fowls; in his store-room were about sixty or seventy
tusks, large and small.
Between the two foreign chiefs of Nyangwé there is great jealousy. Each
endeavours to be recognized by the natives as being the most powerful.
Dugumbi is an east coast trader of Sa’adani, a half-caste, a vulgar,
coarse-minded old man of probably seventy years of age, with a negroid
nose and a negroid mind. Sheikh Abed is a tall, thin old man, white-
bearded, patriarchal in aspect, narrow-minded, rather peevish and quick
to take offence, a thorough believer in witchcraft, and a fervid Muslim.
Close to Abed’s elbows of late years has been the long-nosed young Arab
Mohammed bin Sayid: superstitious beyond measure, of enormous cunning
and subtlety, a pertinacious beggar, of keen trading instincts, but in
all matters outside trade as simple as a child. He offered, for a
consideration and on condition that I would read the Arabic Koran, to
take me up and convey me to any part of Africa within a day. By such
unblushing falsehoods he has acquired considerable influence over the
mind of Sheik Abed. The latter told me that he was half afraid of him,
and that he believed Mohammed was an extraordinary man. I asked the
silly old Sheik if he had lent him any ivory. No; but he was constantly
being asked for the loan of ten Frasilah (350 lbs.) of ivory, for which
he was promised fifteen Frasilah, or 525 lbs., within six months.
Mohammed, during the very first day of my arrival, sent one of his
favourite slaves to ask first for a little writing-paper, then for
needles and thread, and, a couple of hours afterwards, for white pepper
and a bar of soap; in the evening, for a pound or two of sugar and a
little tea, and, if I could spare it, he would be much obliged for some
coffee. The next day petitions, each very prettily worded—for Mohammed
is an accomplished reader of the Koran—came, first for medicine, then
for a couple of yards of red cloth, then for a few yards of fine white
sheeting, &c. I became quite interested in him—for was he not a lovable,
genial character, as he sate there chewing betel-nut and tobacco to
excess, twinkling his little eyes with such malicious humour in them
that, while talking with him, I could not withdraw mine from watching
their quick flashes of cunning, and surveying the long, thin nose with
its impenetrable mystery and classic lines? I fear Mohammed did not love
me, but my admiration was excessive for Mohammed.
“La il Allah—il Allah!” he was heard to say to Sheik Abed, “that old
white man Daoud never gave much to any man; this white man gives
_nothing_.” Certainly not, Mohammed. My admiration is great for thee, my
friend; but thou liest so that I am disgusted with thee, and thou hast
such a sweet, plausible, villainous look in thy face, I could punch thee
heartily.
_Oct. 28._—The next morning Muini (Lord) Dugumbi and following came—a
gang of veritable freebooters, chiefest of whom was the famous
Mtagamoyo—the butcher of women and fusillader of children. Tippu-Tib,
when I asked him a few weeks after what he thought of Mtagamoyo, turned
up his nose and said, “He is brave, no doubt, but he is a man whose
heart is as big as the end of my little finger. He has no feeling, he
kills a native as though he were a serpent—it matters not of what sex.”
This man is about forty-four years of age, of middle stature and swarthy
complexion, with a broad face, black beard just greying, and thin-
lipped. He spoke but little, and that little courteously. He did not
appear very formidable, but he might be deadly nevertheless. The Arabs
of Nyangwé regard him as their best fighter.
Dugumbi the patriarch, or, as he is called by the natives, Molemba-
Lemba, had the rollicking look of a prosperous and coarse-minded old
man, who was perfectly satisfied with the material aspect of his
condition. He deals in humour of the coarsest kind—a vain, frivolous old
fellow, ignorant of everything but the art of collecting ivory; who has
contrived to attach to himself a host of nameless half-castes of
inordinate pride, savage spirit, and immeasurable greed.
The Arabs of Nyangwé, when they first heard of the arrival of Tippu-Tib
at Imbarri from the south, were anxious to count him as their fellow-
settler; but Tippu-Tib had no ambition to become the chief citizen of a
place which could boast of no better settlers than vain old Dugumbi, the
butcher Mtagamoyo, and silly Sheik Abed; he therefore proceeded to Mwana
Mamba’s, where he found better society with Mohammed bin Sayid, Sayid
bin Sultan, Msé Ani, and Sayid bin Mohammed el Mezrui. Sayid bin Sultan,
in features, is a rough copy of Abdul Aziz, late Sultan of Turkey.
One of the principal institutions at Nyangwé is the Kituka, or the
market, with the first of which I made acquaintance in 1871, in Ujiji
and Urundi. One day it is held in the open plaza in front of Sheik
Abed’s house; on the next day in Dugumbi’s section, half a mile from the
other; and on the third at the confluence of the Kunda and the Lualaba;
and so on in turn.
In this market everything becomes vendible and purchasable, from an
ordinary earthenware pot to a fine handsome girl from Samba, Marera, or
Ukusu. From one thousand to three thousand natives of both sexes and of
all ages gather here from across the Lualaba and from the Kunda banks,
from the islands up the river and from the villages of the Mitamba or
forest. Nearly all are clad in the fabrics of Manyema, fine grass
cloths, which are beautifully coloured and very durable. The articles
sold here for cowries, beads, copper and iron wire, and lambas, or
squares of palm cloth,[7] represent the productions of Manyema. I went
round the market and made out the following list:—
Sweet potatoes.
Yams.
Maize.
Sesamum.
Millet.
Beans.
Cucumbers.
Melons.
Cassava.
Ground-nuts.
Bananas.
Sugar-cane.
Pepper (in berries).
Vegetables for broths.
Wild fruit.
Palm-butter.
Oil-palm nuts.
Pine-apples.
Honey.
Eggs.
Fowls.
Black pigs.
Goats.
Sheep.
Parrots.
Palm-wine (Malofu).
Pombé (beer).
Mussels and oysters from the river.
Fresh fish.
Dried fish.
Whitebait.
Snails (dried).
Salt.
White ants.
Grasshoppers.
Tobacco (dried leaf).
Pipes.
Fishing-nets.
Basket-work.
Cassava bread.
Cassava flour.
Copper bracelets.
Iron wire.
Iron knobs.
Hoes.
Spears.
Bows and arrows.
Hatchets.
Rattan-cane staves.
Stools.
Crockery.
Powdered camwood.
Grass cloths.
Grass mats.
Fuel.
Ivory.
Slaves.
-----
Footnote 7:
Made from the fibre of the _Raphia vinifera_ palm.
-----
From this it will be perceived that the wants of Nyangwé are very
tolerably supplied. And how like any other marketplace it was! with its
noise and murmur of human voices. The same rivalry in extolling their
wares, the eager quick action, the emphatic gesture, the inquisitive
look, the facial expressions of scorn and triumph, anxiety, joy,
plausibility, were all there. I discovered, too, the surprising fact
that the aborigines of Manyema possess just the same inordinate ideas in
respect to their wares as London, Paris, and New York shopkeepers.
Perhaps the Manyema people are not so voluble, but they compensate for
lack of language by gesture and action, which are unspeakably eloquent.
During this month of the year the Lualaba reached its lowest level. Our
boat, the _Lady Alice_, after almost being re-built, was launched in the
river, and with sounding-line and sextant on board, my crew and I, eager
to test the boat on the grey-brown waters of the Great River, pushed off
at 11 A.M. and rowed for an island opposite, 800 yards distant, taking
soundings as we went.
The following are the figures, noted down after each trial with the
lead, beginning thirty yards from shore, and ending at the low brush-
covered island opposite Nyangwé:—
18 23 24 15
19 24 24½ 15
18 25 22 15½
18½ 24½ 23 14
20 25 22 13
20½ 26 21 12
19 27 19 9
21 27½ 17 9½
16 8
—-the total of which gives a mean of 18 feet 9 inches.
The easternmost island in mid-river is about 100 yards across at its
widest part, and between it and another island is a distance of from 250
to 300 yards. From the second island to the low shore opposite Nyangwé
is about 250 yards, and these channels have a slightly swifter flow than
the main river. The mean depth of the central channel was 12½ feet, the
westernmost 11 feet, and the entire width of clear water flow was about
1300 yards. During the months of April, May, and June, and the early
part of July, the Lualaba is full, and overspreads the low lands
westward for nearly a mile and a half. The Lualaba then may be said to
be from four thousand to five thousand yards wide opposite Nyangwé.
The Arabs, wherever they settle throughout Africa, endeavour to
introduce the seeds of the vegetables and fruit-trees which grow in
their beloved island of Zanzibar. At Unyanyembé, therefore, they have
planted papaws, sweet limes, mangoes, lemons, custard-apples,
pomegranates, and have sown wheat and rice in abundance. At Ujiji also
they have papaws, sweet limes, pomegranates, lemons, wheat, rice, and
onions. At Nyangwé, their fruit consists of pine-apples, papaws, and
pomegranates. They have succeeded admirably in their rice, both at
Nyangwé, Kasongo’s, and Mwana Mamba’s. Onions are a failure, the Arabs
say, because of a species of worm which destroys them. The banana (_Musa
paradisaica_) and plantain (_Musa sapientum_) are indigenous.
The Wagenya, as the Arabs call them, or Wenya—pronounced Wainya—as they
style themselves, are a remarkable tribe of fishers, who inhabit both
banks of the Lualaba, from the confluence of the Kamalondo on the left
bank down to the sixth cataract of the Stanley Falls, and on the right
bank from the confluence of the Luama down to Ubwiré or Usongora Meno.
The Wenya were the aborigines of Nyangwé, when the advanced party of
Muini Dugumbi appeared on the scene, precursors of ruin, terror, and
depopulation to the inhabitants of 700 square miles of Manyema.
Considering that the fertile open tract of country between the Luama and
Nyangwé was exceedingly populous, as the ruins of scores of villages
testify, sixty inhabitants to the square mile would not be too great a
proportion. The river border, then, of Manyema, from the Luama to
Nyangwé, may be said to have had a population of 42,000 souls, of which
there remain probably only 20,000. The others have been deported, or
massacred, or have fled to the islands or emigrated down the river.
The Arabs and Wangwana have murdered also the word Lualaba, or Lualowa.
They have given us instead Ugalowa, Ugarowa, which must be rejected, as
I never heard a single native west of the Tanganika use the term. It
originated, no doubt, from some slave of Uhiyau, or Nyassa, Bisa,
Unyamwezi, or other parts. Had an intelligent Arab heard the name first,
we should most probably have received something nearer the correct word.
Manyema is variously pronounced as Mani-yema, Manuema, Mani-wema, but
the first is the most popular.
For the spelling of the name Tanga-nika, I still maintain that that is
the most correct, and that it is purer African than Tanga-ny-ika.
Neither Arab, Mgwana, nor aborigine of the interior ever approached such
a sound. It is pronounced the same as Amerika, Afrika, Angel-ica,
Freder-ica. I have only heard one name throughout Africa resembling that
which I reject, and that was Ny-ika, king of Gambaragara, pronounced
Nye-ika.
_Nov. 2._—Tippu-Tib arrived at Nyangwé on the 2nd of November, with a
much larger force than I anticipated, for he had nearly 700 people with
him. However, he explained that he was about to send some 300 of them to
a country called Tata, which lies to the east of Usongora Meno.
_Nov. 4._—On the 4th of November the members of the Expedition were
mustered, and we ascertained that they numbered 146,[8] and that we
possessed the following arms—Sniders, 29; percussion-lock muskets, 32;
Winchesters, 2; double-barrelled guns, 2; revolvers, 10; axes, 68. Out
of this number of sixty-four guns, only forty were borne by trustworthy
men; the others were mere pagazis, who would prefer becoming slaves to
fighting for their freedom and lives. At the same time they were
valuable as porters, and faithful to their allotted duties and their
contract when not enticed away by outside influences or fear. The
enormous force that Tippu-Tib brought to Nyangwé quite encouraged them,
and when I asked them if they were ready to make good their promise to
me at Zanzibar and Muta Nzigé lake, they replied unanimously in the
affirmative.
-----
Footnote 8:
This number was finally increased by the addition of six stout young
fellows from Nyangwé, which made our total number of men, women, and
children (sons of the Wangwana, from Zanzibar), 154.
-----
“Then to-night, my friends,” said I, “you will pack up your goods, and
to-morrow morning at the first hour let me see you in line before my
house ready to start.”
CHAPTER V.
Tippu-Tib’s henchmen—In the primeval forest, a wilderness of
trees—Primitive furniture—Our sufferings in the pagans’
forest—Tippu-Tib breaks down—A village blacksmith—Soko skulls; the
missing link—Professor Huxley’s opinion thereon—THE LIVINGSTONE—A
day dream—The road to the ocean—Timid counsels—“The Wasambye!”—“Ooh-
hu! ooh-hu!”—Successful diplomacy.
_Nov. 5._—When, on the 5th of November, 1876, we had left Nyangwé behind
us, and had ascended an elevated grassy ridge, we saw before us a black
curving wall of forest, which, beginning from the river bank, extended
south-east, until hills and distance made it indistinct.
I turned round to look at Nyangwé, which we were leaving. How loveable
and cheerful it appeared as it crowned the shoulder of one of those
lengthy grassy undulations overlooking the grey-brown Livingstone! How
bright and warm appeared the plain-border of the river as the sun shone
over its wind-fanned waves of grass! Even the hill-cones of Uzura and
Western Manyema ranked in line between the forest and the grassy plain,
which were now purpling and becoming like cloud-forms, seemed to me to
have a more friendly and brighter appearance than the cold blackness of
the dense forest which rose before us to the north!
What a forbidding aspect had the Dark Unknown which confronted us! I
could not comprehend in the least what lay before us. Even the few names
which I had heard from the Arabs conveyed no definite impression to my
understanding. What were Tata, Meginna, Uregga, Usongora Meno and such
uncouth names to me? They conveyed no idea, and signified no object;
they were barren names of either countries, villages, or peoples,
involved in darkness, savagery, ignorance, and fable.
Yet it is our destiny to move on, whatever direction it may be that that
narrow winding path, running among tall grasses, and down into gullies
and across small streams, takes us, until we penetrate that cold, dark,
still horizon before us, and emerge whithersoever the narrow path will
permit us—a distance of 240 hours’ travel.
The object of the desperate journey is to flash a torch of light across
the western half of the Dark Continent. For from Nyangwé east, along the
fourth parallel of south latitude, are some 830 geographical miles,
discovered, explored, and surveyed, but westward to the Atlantic Ocean
along the same latitude are 956 miles—over 900 geographical miles of
which are absolutely unknown. Instead, however, of striking direct west,
we are about to travel north on the eastern side of the river, to
prevent it bending easterly to Muta Nzigé, or Nilewards, unknown to us,
and to ascertain, if the river really runs westward, what affluents flow
to it from the east; and to deduce from their size and volume some idea
of the extent of country which they drain, and the locality of their
sources.
A thousand things may transpire to prevent the accomplishment of our
purpose: hunger, disease, and savage hostility may crush us; perhaps,
after all, the difficulties may daunt us, but our hopes run high, and
our purpose is lofty; then in the name of God let us set on, and as He
pleases, so let Him rule our destinies!
After journeying a distance of nine miles and a half north-east, over a
rolling plain covered with grass, we arrived at the villages of
Nakasimbi; Tippu-Tib, with 700 people, men, women, and children,
occupying two villages, while our Expedition occupied another
overlooking a depression drained by a sluggish affluent of the Kunda
river.
Tippu-Tib is accompanied by about a dozen Arabs, young or middle-aged,
who have followed him in the hope of being rewarded by him or myself at
the end of a prosperous journey.
Sheikh Hamed bin Mohammed, alias Tippu-Tib, alias Mtipula, we know
already. To-day he is bland and courteous, enthusiastic, and sanguine
that we shall succeed without trouble. The next in importance to him is
an Arab—full-bearded, fine-featured, of a dark complexion, called Sheikh
Abdallah, alias Muini Kibwana—a name adopted solely for Manyema. He is
very ignorant, can neither read nor write, but has a vast regard for
those who have mastered the secrets of literature, like Tippu-Tib. He is
armed with a flintlock Brummagem musket, for which he has considerable
affection, because—according to him—it has saved his life many a time.
“It never lies.”
The next is Muini Ibrahim, a Mrima (coast) man, of Arab descent, though
ruder and unpolished. Americans would have nothing much to do with him,
because the negroid evidences are so great that he would be classed as a
full-blooded negro. Yet he speaks Arabic well, and is a fervid Muslim,
but withal as superstitious as any primitive African. He affects to be
religious, and consequently is not bloodthirsty, having some regard for
the lives of human beings, and for this receiving due praise from me. He
is also armed with a flintlock musket. Sheikh Abdallah and he are bosom
friends, and possess five or six female slaves each, and from thirty to
forty male slaves, likewise armed with flintlocks.
Tippu-Tib’s Arab dependants, who dip their hands in the same porridge
and meat-dish with the independent Sheikh Abdallah and Muini Ibrahim,
consist of Muini Jumah (Master Friday), a nervous, tall young man;
Chéché (Weasel) a short, light-complexioned young man of twenty-five
years of age; Bwana Abed bin Jumah, the author of the dwarf story, who
has consented to act as our guide; Muini Hamadi, a half-caste man of
sturdy form and resolute appearance; and six or seven others of no
special individuality or importance, except as so many dependants of
Tippu-Tib.
The 700 followers who follow our Expedition at present consist of two
parties; one party, composed of 300 men, women, and children, and
commanded by Bwana Shokka (master of the axe), the confidential man of
Tippu-Tib’s staff, of great strength, tall and gaunt of person, and a
renowned traveller; a man of great tact, and worth a fortune to his
master, as he is exceedingly cool, speaks slowly, and by some rare gift
conciliates the savages (when not actually attacked on the road), and
makes them friends. In a few days he is to part from us, striking north-
easterly for some dozen marches, the utmost reach of Arab intercourse.
The 400 who are to accompany us for a distance of sixty camps consist of
about 250 men—Arabs, half-castes, Wangwana, 100 Wanyamwezi, Ruga-
Ruga—mostly armed with spears and bows and arrows; others possess
flintlocks. One hundred men consist of Barua, Manyema, Bakusu, Ba-Samba,
and Utotera slaves; most of these slaves are armed with flintlocks, the
others with formidable spears and shields There are also about fifty
youths, ranging from ten to eighteen years of age, being trained by
Tippu-Tib as gunbearers, house servants, scouts, cooks, carpenters,
house-builders, blacksmiths, and leaders of trading parties. Meanwhile
such young fellows are useful to him; they are more trustworthy than
adults, because they look up to him as their father; and know that if
they left him they would inevitably be captured by a less humane man.
The remainder of this motley force consists of women, twenty of whom
belong to the household of Tippu-Tib, all purchased with ivory, guns,
cloth, or beads. Thirty women are the properties of the Arab dependants,
chiefly half-castes and Wangwana, following Tippu-Tib.
Two hundred and ten out of the 400 I have pledged to support until they
shall return to Nyangwé, at the same rate of ration currency that may be
distributed to the members of our Expedition.
_Nov. 6._—On the 6th of November we drew nearer to the dreaded black and
chill forest called Mitamba, and at last, bidding farewell to sunshine
and brightness, entered it.
We had made one mistake—we had not been up early enough. Tippu-Tib’s
heterogeneous column of all ages were ahead of us, and its want of order
and compactness became a source of trouble to us in the rear.
We, accustomed to rapid marching, had to stand in our places minutes at
a time, waiting patiently for an advance of a few yards, after which
would come another halt, and another short advance to be again halted.
And all this time the trees kept shedding their dew upon us like rain in
great round drops. Every leaf seemed weeping. Down the boles and
branches, creepers and vegetable cords, the moisture trickled and fell
on us. Overhead the wide-spreading branches, in many interlaced strata,
each branch heavy with broad thick leaves, absolutely shut out the
daylight. We knew not whether it was a sunshiny day or a dull, foggy,
gloomy day; for we marched in a feeble solemn twilight, such as you may
experience in temperate climates an hour after sunset. The path soon
became a stiff clayey paste, and at every step we splashed water over
the legs of those in front, and on either side of us.
To our right and left, to the height of about twenty feet, towered the
undergrowth, the lower world of vegetation. The soil on which this
thrives is a dark-brown vegetable humus, the débris of ages of rotting
leaves and fallen branches, a very forcing-bed of vegetable life, which,
constantly fed with moisture, illustrates in an astonishing degree the
prolific power of the warm moist shades of the tropics.
The stiff clay lying under this mould, being impervious, retains the
moisture which constantly supplies the millions of tiny roots of herb,
plant and bush. The innumerable varieties of plants which spring up with
such marvellous rapidity, if exposed to the gale, would soon be laid
prostrate. But what rude blast can visit these imprisoned shades? The
tempest might roar without the leafy world, but in its deep bosom there
is absolute stillness. One has but to tug at a sapling to know that the
loose mould has no retentive power, and that the sapling’s roots have
not penetrated the clays. Even the giants of the forest have not
penetrated very deeply, as one may see by the half-exposed roots; they
appear to retain their upright positions more by breadth of base than by
their grasp of earth.
Every few minutes we found ourselves descending into ditches, with
streams trending towards the Kunda river, discharged out of leafy depths
of date-palms, Amoma, Carpodinæ, and Phrynia. Climbing out from these
streams, up their steep banks our faces were brushed by the broad leaves
of the Amomum, or the wild banana, ficus of various kinds, and climbing,
crawling, obstructing lengths of wild vines.
Naturally our temper was not improved by this new travelling. The dew
dropped and pattered on us incessantly until about 10 A.M. Our clothes
were heavily saturated with it. My white sun-helmet and puggaree
appeared to be weighted with lead. Being too heavy, and having no use
for it in the cool dank shades, I handed it to my gun-bearer, for my
clothes, gaiters, and boots, which creaked loudly with the water that
had penetrated them, were sufficient weight for me to move with. Added
to this vexation was the perspiration which exuded from every pore, for
the atmosphere was stifling. The steam from the hot earth could be seen
ascending upward and settling like a grey cloud above our heads. In the
early morning it had been so dense that we could scarcely distinguish
the various trees by their leafage.
At 3 P.M. we had reached Mpotira, in the district of Uzimba, Manyema,
twenty-one miles and a half from the Arab depot on the Lualaba.
The poor boatmen did not arrive until evening, for the boat
sections—dreadful burdens—had to be driven like blunted ploughs through
the depths of foliage. The men complained bitterly of fatigue, and for
their sake we rested at Mpotira.
The nature of the next two days’ experiences through the forest may be
gathered by reading the following portions of entries in my journal:—
“_November 8._—N. ½ W., nine miles to district of Karindi, or Kionga,
Uregga.
“We have had a fearful time of it to-day in these woods, and Bwana
Shokka, who has visited this region before, declares with superior pride
that what we have experienced as yet is only a poor beginning to the
weeks upon weeks which we shall have to endure. Such crawling,
scrambling, tearing through the damp, dank jungles, and such height and
depth of woods!... Once we obtained a side-long view from a tree on the
crown of a hill, over the wild woods on our left, which swept in
irregular waves of branch and leaf down to the valley of the Lualaba.
Across the Lualaba, on the western bank, we looked with wistful eyes on
what appeared to be green grassy plains. Ah, what a contrast to that
which we had to endure! It was a wild weird scene, this outlook we
obtained of the top of the leafy world!... It was so dark sometimes in
the woods that I could not see the words, recording notes of the track,
which I pencilled in my note-book. At 3.30 P.M. we arrived in camp,
quite worn out with the struggle through the intermeshed bush, and
almost suffocated with the heavy atmosphere. Oh, for a breath of
mountain air!”
“_November 9, 1876._—N. ½ W., ten and a half miles’ march to Kiussi,
Uregga.
“Another difficult day’s work in the forest and jungle. Our Expedition
is no longer the compact column which was my pride. It is utterly
demoralized. Every man scrambles as he best may through the woods; the
path, being over a clayey soil, is so slippery that every muscle is
employed to assist our progress. The toes grasp the path, the head bears
the load, the hand clears the obstructing bush, the elbow puts aside the
sapling. Yesterday the boatmen complained so much that I organized all
the chiefs into a pioneer party, with axes to clear the path. Of course
we could not make a wide road. There were many prostrate giants fallen
across the path, each with a mountain of twigs and branches, compelling
us to cut roads through the bush a long distance to get round them. My
boat-bearers are utterly wearied out.”
[Illustration: UREGGA HOUSE.]
_Nov. 10._—On the 10th we halted for a well-deserved rest. We were now
in Uregga—the forest country. Fenced round by their seldom penetrated
woods, the Waregga have hitherto led lives as secluded as the troops of
chimpanzees in their forest. Their villages consist of long rows of
houses, all connected together in one block from 50 yards to 300 yards
in length. The doorways are square apertures in the walls, only 2 feet
square, and cut at about 18 inches above the ground. Within, the long
block is divided into several apartments for the respective families.
Like the Manyema houses, the roofs glisten as though smeared with coal-
tar. There are shelves for fuel, and netting for swinging their
crockery; into the roof are thrust the various small knick-knacks which
such families need—the pipe, and bunch of tobacco-leaves, the stick of
dried snails, various mysterious compounds wrapped in leaves of plants,
pounded herbs, and what not. Besides these we noted, as household
treasures, the skins of goats, mongoose or civet, weasel, wild cat,
monkey, and leopard, shells of land snails, very large and prettily
marked, and necklaces of the _Achatina monetaria_. There is also quite a
store of powdered camwood, besides curiously carved bits of wood,
supposed to be talismans against harm, and handsome spoons, while over
the door are also horns of goats and small forest deer, and, occupying
conspicuous places, the gaudy war head-dress of feathers of the grey-
bodied and crimson-tailed parrots, the drum, and some heavy broad-bladed
spears with ironwood staffs.
[Illustration: STOOL OF UREGGA.]
[Illustration: SPOONS OF UREGGA.]
[Illustration: UREGGA SPEAR.]
[Illustration: CANE SETTEE.]
In the “arts and sciences” of savage life, these exceedingly primitive
Africans, buried though they have been from all intercourse with others,
are superior in some points to many tribes more favourably situated. For
instance, until the day I arrived at Kiussi village, I had not observed
a settee. Yet in the depths of this forest of Uregga every family
possessed a neatly made water-cane settee, which would seat comfortably
three persons.
[Illustration: BENCH.]
Another very useful article of furniture was the bench 4 or 5 feet long,
cut out of a single log of the white soft wood of one of the Rubiaceæ,
and significant as showing a more sociable spirit than that which seems
to govern Eastern Africans, among whom the rule is, “Every man to his
own stool.”
Another noteworthy piece of furniture is the fork of a tree, cut off
where the branches begin to ramify. This, when trimmed and peeled, is
placed in an inverted position. The branches, sometimes three or even
four, serve as legs of a singular back-rest.
The southern Waregga who border upon Uzimba and Manyema say they came
from the north some five or six generations ago; that they found the
forest in possession of the Wavinza and Wazimba, and dispossessed them
of the land. They retain the names of their forefathers from six to ten
generations back. Sheikh Abdallah questioned the chief of Kiussi in my
presence of his forefathers, and he gave in succession ten different
names in answer to questions such as these: “What is your name?” “Who
was your father?” and “Whose son was he?” “Then who was his father?”
All the adult males wear skull-caps of goat or monkey-skin, except the
chief and elders, whose heads were covered with the aristocratic
leopard-skin, with the tail of the leopard hanging down the back like a
tassel.
[Illustration:
AN AFRICAN FEZ OF
LEOPARD-SKIN.
]
The women were weighted with massive and bright iron rings. One of them,
who was probably a lady of importance, carried at least 12 lbs. of iron
and 5 lbs. of copper rings on her arms and legs, besides a dozen
necklaces of the indigenous _Achatina monetaria_.
From Kiussi, through the same dense jungle and forest, with its
oppressive atmosphere and its soul-wearying impediments, we made a
journey of fourteen miles to Mirimo. Four streams were crossed, all
trending westward to the Lualaba, the two principal being the Rugunsi
and Rumuna rivers. Mirimo is a populous settlement, and its people are
good natured.
The boatmen did not arrive at all on this day, the obstacles having been
too great, but on the 12th, about noon, they appeared, utterly
disheartened at the delays which had deprived them of their food and
rest.
_Nov. 13._—On the 13th we moved to Wanekamankua, crossing _en route_ the
Kariba river and two small streams.
_Nov. 14._—Our next march was to Wane-Mbeza, in Uregga, eight miles in a
north-westerly direction. We crossed the Kipembwé, a river 40 yards
wide, deep and swift, which flows westward.
Uregga, it appears, occupies a broad belt of country lying north-east
and south-west. Its people know nothing of the immediate settlements
contiguous to them, and though within twenty miles of the Lualaba, many
adult males at Wane-Mbeza had never seen it. They have been imprisoned
now for some five or six generations within their almost impenetrable
forest fastnesses, and the difficulty of travelling, and the danger that
would be incurred unless they united in strong bands, are the causes of
their knowing nothing of the world outside, and the outside world
knowing nothing of them.
The Wangwana began at this place to murmur loudly, while the boatmen,
though assisted by a dozen supernumeraries, and preceded by a gang of
pioneers, were becoming perfectly savage; but the poor fellows had
certainly cause for discontent. I pitied them from my soul, yet I dared
not show too great a solicitude, lest they should have presumed upon it,
and requested me either to return to Nyangwé or to burn my boat.
Even Tippu-Tib, whom I anxiously watched, as on him I staked all my
hopes and prospects, murmured. Sheikh Abdallah was heard to growl
ominously, and Bwana Ibrahim was particularly severe in his remarks upon
“the pagans’ forest.” The evil atmosphere created sickness in the Arab
escort, but all my people maintained their health, if not their temper.
At this camp we parted from Bwana Shokka and his 300, who were about to
penetrate some eight or ten marches more to the north-east to Tata
country. I have a suspicion that “Tata” is not a proper name, but that
it simply signifies “farther in.”
_Nov. 15._—On the 15th we marched six miles and a half to Wane-Kirumbu.
From this village, which, like all the villages that we had passed,
crowned a hill, we obtained the most extended view we had enjoyed since
entering the forest. Towards the north and north-east the outlook was
over a jumble of forest-clad hills separating narrow and deep valleys.
The view was indeed most depressing and portentous.
Our march, short as it was, was full of incidents. The constant slush
and reek which the heavy dews caused in the forest through which we had
travelled the last ten days had worn my shoes out, and half of the march
I travelled with naked feet. I had then to draw out of my store my last
pair of shoes. Frank was already using his last pair. Yet we were still
in the very centre of the continent. What should we do when all were
gone? was a question which we asked of each other often.
The faces of the people, Arabs, Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and the escort,
were quite a study at this camp. All their courage was oozing out, as
day by day we plodded through the doleful, dreary forest. We saw a
python 10 feet long, a green viper, and a monstrous puff-adder on this
march, besides scores of monkeys, of the white-necked or glossy black
species, as also the small grey, and the large howling baboons. We heard
also the “soko” or chimpanzee, and saw one “nest” belonging to it in the
fork of a tall bombax. A lemur was also observed; its loud harsh cries
made each night hideous.
The path presented myriapedes, black and brown, 6 inches in length,
while beetles were innumerable, and armies of the deep brown “hot-water”
ants compelled us to be cautious how we stepped.
The difficulties of such travel as we had now commenced may be imagined
when a short march of six miles and a half occupied the twenty-four men
who were carrying the boat sections an entire day, and so fatigued them
that we had to halt another day at Wane-Kirumbu, to recruit their
exhausted strength.
The terrible undergrowth that here engrossed all the space under the
shade of the pillared bombax and mast-like mvulé was a miracle of
vegetation. It consisted of ferns, spear-grass, water-cane, and
orchidaceous plants mixed with wild vines, cable thicknesses of the
_Ficus elastica_, and a sprinkling of mimosas, acacias, tamarinds;
llianes, palms of various species, wild date, _Raphia vinifera_, the
elais, the fan, rattans, and a hundred other varieties, all struggling
for every inch of space, and swarming upward with a luxuriance and
density that only this extraordinary hothouse atmosphere could nourish.
We had certainly seen forests before, but this scene was an epoch in our
lives ever to be remembered for its bitterness; the gloom enhanced the
dismal misery of our life; the slopping moisture, the unhealthy reeking
atmosphere, and the monotony of the scenes; nothing but the eternal
interlaced branches, the tall aspiring stems, rising from a tangle
through which we had to burrow and crawl like wild animals, on hands and
feet.
_Nov. 16._—About 9 A.M. Tippu-Tib and the Arabs came to my hut at Wane-
Kirumbu. After a long preamble, wherein he described the hardships of
the march, Tippu-Tib concluded by saying that he had come to announce
his wish that our contract should be dissolved!
In a moment it flashed on my mind that a crisis had arrived. Was the
Expedition to end here? I urged with all my powers the necessity for
keeping engagements so deliberately entered into.
“It is of no use,” Tippu-Tib replied, “to have two tongues. Look at it
how you may, those sixty camps will occupy us at the rate we are
travelling over a year, and it will take as much time to return. I never
was in this forest before, and I had no idea there was such a place in
the world; but the air is killing my people, it is insufferable. You
will kill your own people if you go on. They are grumbling every day
more and more. This country was not made for travel; it was made for
vile pagans, monkeys, and wild beasts. I cannot go farther.”
“Will Tippu-Tib then return to Nyangwé, and break his word and bond?
What will all the Arabs at Nyangwé, Mwana Mamba, and Kasongo’s say when
they hear that Tippu-Tib, who was the first Arab to penetrate Rua,
proceeded only a few days with his friend, and then returned?”
“Show me a man’s work, and I will do it.”
“Well, look here, Tippu-Tib. The land on the west bank of the Lualaba is
more open than this, and the road that Mtagamoyo took to go to the
Lumami is on that side. Though the land is more open, I hear that the
people are worse there than on this side. However, we are not Mtagamoyo,
and they may behave better with us. Let us try the other side.
“Now, I will give you choice of two contracts. Accompany me to the
river, and wait while I transport my people across, and I will give you
500 dollars; or accompany me twenty marches farther along the west bank,
and I will give you 2600 dollars. At the end of that time, if you see
your way clear, I will engage you for another journey, until I am quite
satisfied that I can go no farther. Provisions will be given your people
until we part, and from that point back to Nyangwé.”
For two hours I plied him with arguments, and at last, when I was nearly
exhausted, Tippu-Tib consented to accompany me twenty marches farther,
beginning from the camp we were in. It was a fortunate thing indeed for
me that he agreed to this, as his return so close to Nyangwé in the
present dispirited condition of my people’s minds would have undoubtedly
ensured the destruction of all my hopes.
The natives of Uregga are not liberally disposed. Wane-Kirumbu’s chief
was the first who consented to exchange gifts with me. He presented me
with a chicken and some bananas, and I reciprocated the gift with five
cowries, which he accepted without a murmur. On witnessing this pleasing
and most uncommon trait of moderation, I presented him with ten more,
which appeared to him so bounteous that he left my presence quite
affected, indeed almost overcome by his emotions of gratitude.
The men of these forest communities of Uregga, upon the decease of their
wives, put on symbols of mourning, namely, a thick daub of charcoal
paste over the face, which they retain for five “years”—two and a half
European years. Widows also mourn for their husbands a like period, with
the same disfigurement of features, but with the addition of bands of
sere leaf of the banana round the forehead. In Uzimba and Manyema, of
North Luama districts, the mourning only lasts two native years, or one
European year.
[Illustration: A FORGE AND SMITHY AT WANE-KIRUMBU, UREGGA.]
At Wane-Kirumbu we found a large native forge and smithy, where there
were about a dozen smiths busily at work. The iron ore is very pure.
Here were the broad-bladed spears of Southern Uregga, and equally broad
knives of all sizes, from the small waist knife, an inch and a half in
length, to the heavy Roman sword-like cleaver. The bellows for the
smelting furnace are four in number, double-handled, and manned by four
men, who, by a quick up and down motion, supply a powerful blast, the
noise of which is heard nearly half a mile from the scene. The furnace
consists of tamped clay, raised into a mound about 4 feet high. A hollow
is then excavated in it, 2 feet in diameter and 2 feet deep. From the
middle of the slope four apertures are excavated into the base of the
furnace, into which are fitted funnel-shaped earthenware pipes to convey
the blasts to the fire. At the base of the mound a wide aperture for the
hearth is excavated, penetrating below the furnace. The hearth receives
the dross and slag.
Close by stood piled up mat-sacks of charcoal, with a couple of boys
ready to supply the fuel, and about two yards off was a smaller smithy,
where the iron was shaped into hammers, axes, war-hatchets, spears,
knives, swords, wire, iron balls with spikes, leglets, armlets, and iron
beads, &c. The art of the blacksmith is of a high standard in these
forests, considering the loneliness of the inhabitants. The people have
much traditional lore, and it appears from the immunity which they have
enjoyed in these dismal retreats that, from one generation to another,
something has been communicated and learned, showing that even the
jungle man is a progressive and an improvable animal.
_Nov. 17._—On the 17th of November we crossed several lofty hilly
ridges, separated by appallingly gloomy ravines, through which several
clear streams flowed westward, and after a march of eleven miles north-
westerly through the dank, dripping forests, arrived at Kampunzu, in the
district of Uvinza, where dwell the true aborigines of the forest
country.
Kampunzu village is about five hundred yards in length, formed of one
street thirty feet wide, flanked on each side by a straight,
symmetrical, and low block of houses, gable-roofed. Several small
villages in the neighbourhood are of the same pattern.
The most singular feature of Kampunzu village were two rows of skulls,
ten feet apart, running along the entire length of the village, imbedded
about two inches deep in the ground, the “cerebral hemispheres”
uppermost, bleached, and glistening white from weather. The skulls were
186 in number in this one village. To me they appeared to be human,
though many had an extraordinary projection of the posterior lobes,
others of the parietal bones, and the frontal bones were unusually low
and retreating; yet the sutures and the general aspect of the greatest
number of them were so similar to what I believed to be human, that it
was with almost an indifferent air that I asked my chiefs and Arabs what
these skulls were. They replied, “sokos”—chimpanzees (?).
“Sokos from the forest?”
“Certainly,” they all replied.
“Bring the chief of Kampunzu to me immediately,” I said, much interested
now because of the wonderful reports of them that Livingstone had given
me, as also the natives of Manyema.
The chief of Kampunzu—a tall, strongly-built man of about thirty-five
years of age—appeared, and I asked,
“My friend, what are those things with which you adorn the street of
your village?”
He replied, “Nyama” (meat).
“Nyama! Nyama of what?”
“Nyama of the forest.”
“Of the forest! What kind of thing is this Nyama of the forest?”
“It is about the size of this boy,” pointing to Mabruki, my gun-bearer,
who was 4 feet 10 inches in height. “He walks like a man, and goes about
with a stick, with which he beats the trees in the forest, and makes
hideous noises. The Nyama eat our bananas, and we hunt them, kill them,
and eat them.”
“Are they good eating?” I asked.
He laughed, and replied that they were very good.
“Would you eat one if you had one now?”
“Indeed I would. Shall a man refuse meat?”
“Well, look here. I have one hundred cowries here. Take your men, and
fetch one, and bring him to me alive or dead. I only want his skin and
head. You may have the meat.”
Kampunzu’s chief, before he set out with his men, brought me a portion
of the skin of one, which probably covered the back. The fur was dark
grey, an inch long, with the points inclined to white; a line of darker
hair marked the spine. This, he assured me, was a portion of the skin of
a “soko.” He also showed me a cap made out of it, which I purchased.
The chief returned about evening unsuccessful from the search. He wished
us to remain two or three days that he might set traps for the “sokos,”
as they would be sure to visit the bananas at night. Not being able to
wait so many days, I obtained for a few cowries the skull of a male and
another of a female.[9]
-----
Footnote 9:
These two skulls were safely brought to England, and shown to
Professor Huxley, who has passed judgment upon them as follows:—
“Of the two skulls submitted to me for examination, the one is that of
a man probably somewhat under thirty years of age, and the other that
of a woman over fifty.
“The man’s skull exhibits all the characteristic peculiarities of the
negro type, including a well-marked, but not unusual, degree of
prognathism. In the female skull the only point worth notice is a
somewhat unusual breadth of the anterior nasal aperture in proportion
to its height, indicating that the nostrils may have been slightly
farther apart, and the extremity of the nose a little flatter than
usual.
“In both skulls the cephalic index is 75. Nothing in these skulls
justifies the supposition that their original possessors differed in
any sensible degree from the ordinary African negro.”
Professor Huxley, by the above, startles me with the proof that
Kampunzu’s people were cannibals, for at least one half of the number
of skulls seen by me bore the mark of a hatchet, which had been driven
into the head while the victims were alive.
-----
In this village were also observed those carved benches cut out of the
Rubiaceæ already mentioned, backgammon trays, and stools carved in the
most admirable manner, all being decorated around the edges of the seats
with brass tacks and “soko teeth.”
[Illustration: BACKGAMMON TRAY.]
Copper appeared to be abundant with the Wavinza. It was wound around
their spear-staffs, and encircled the lower limbs and arms, the handles
of their knives, walking-staffs, and hung from their necks in beads, and
small shot-like balls of it were fastened to their hair.
In addition to their short broad-bladed spears, the Wavinza were armed
with small but strong bows, the strings of which were formed of strips
of the rattan cane. The arrows are about a foot in length, made of
reeds, pointed, and smeared with vegetable poison. The Wavinza do not
employ iron heads. It requires a peculiar skill for these weapons. The
Wanyamwezi bowmen were unable to shoot the arrows farther than from
fifty to seventy yards. An aboriginal, smiling at their awkwardness,
shot an arrow a distance of 200 yards. The natives boast that the
slightest scratch is sufficient to doom even an elephant, for it is by
this means they have been able to obtain ivory for Molembalemba (Dugumbi
of Nyangwé).
Blood-brotherhood being considered as a pledge of goodwill and peace
Frank Pocock and the chief went through the ordeal, and we interchanged
presents.
From this village a path leads to Meginna and Miango, near the Urindi
river, on the south side of which the Arabs say there is abundance of
coal, “very black and shining.” A path also leads north-east to Kirari,
four hours’, and Makongo, seven hours’ distance from Kampunzu. They also
say that a two months’ journey east-north-east (magnetic) would bring us
to open country, where there is abundance of cattle.
The women of Uregga wear only aprons 4 inches square, of bark or grass
cloth, fastened by cords of palm fibre. The men wear skins of civet, or
monkey, in front and rear, the tails downwards. It may have been from a
hasty glance of a rapidly disappearing form of one of these people in
the wild woods that native travellers in the lake regions felt persuaded
that they had seen “men with tails.”
The ficus trees, which supply Uganda, Unyamwezi, Ukonongo, Goma, and
Uregga with bark cloth, register the age of the respective settlements
where they are found, and may be said to be historical monuments of the
people which planted them. In Uddu-Uganda, especially in Southern Uddu,
I saw patriarchs which must have been four or five hundred years old. If
a cloth-producing ficus is 2 feet in diameter, it may be regarded as a
monument of antiquity; one ten inches in diameter as over a hundred
years old; one six inches in diameter as over forty years. The oldest
tree of this species in Southern Uregga that I saw could not have
exceeded eighty years.
_Nov. 19._—On the 19th a march of five miles through the forest west
from Kampunzu brought us to the Lualaba, in south latitude 3° 35′, just
forty-one geographical miles north of the Arab depot Nyangwé. An
afternoon observation for longitude showed east longitude 25° 49′. The
name Lualaba terminates here. I mean to speak of it henceforth as THE
LIVINGSTONE.
We found, when twenty miles from the river, that many of the Waregga had
never seen it, though they had heard of it as the Lu-al-ow-wa. Had not
Livingstone spoken of the river at Nyangwé as the Lualaba, I should not
have mentioned the word except as a corruption by the Waguha of the
Wenya term Lu-al-ow-wa, but as the river changes its name each time
after receiving an affluent, it would be useless to endeavour to retain
so many names in the memory.
The Livingstone was 1200 yards wide from bank to bank opposite the
landing-place of Kampunzu. As there were no people dwelling within a
mile of the right bank, we prepared to encamp. My tent was pitched about
thirty feet from the river, on a grassy spot; Tippu-Tib and his Arabs
were in the bushes; while the 550 people of whom the Expedition
consisted began to prepare a site for their huts, by enlarging the open
space around the landing-place.
While my breakfast (for noon) was cooking, and my tent was being drawn
taut and made trim, a mat was spread on a bit of short grass, soft as an
English lawn, a few yards from the water. Some sedgy reeds obstructed my
view, and as I wished while resting to watch the river gliding by, I had
them all cropped off short.
Frank and the Wangwana chiefs were putting the boat sections together in
the rear of the camp; I was busy thinking, planning a score of
things—what time it would be best to cross the river, how we should
commence our acquaintance with the warlike tribes on the left bank, what
our future would be, how I should succeed in conveying our large force
across, and, in the event of a determined resistance, what we should do,
&c.
Gentle as a summer’s dream, the brown wave of the great Livingstone
flowed by; broad and deep. On the opposite bank loomed darkly against
the sky another forest, similar to the one which had harrowed our souls.
I obtained from my seat a magnificent view of the river, flanked by
black forests, gliding along, with a serene grandeur and an unspeakable
majesty of silence about it that caused my heart to yearn towards it.
“Downward it flows to the unknown! to night-black clouds of mystery and
fable, mayhap past the lands of the anthropoids, the pigmies, and the
blanket-eared men of whom the gentle pagan king of Karagwé spoke, by
leagues upon leagues of unexplored lands, populous with scores of
tribes, of whom not a whisper has reached the people of other
continents; perhaps that fabulous being the dread Macoco, of whom
Bartolomeo Diaz, Cada Mosto, and Dapper have written, is still
represented by one who inherits his ancient kingdom and power, and
surrounded by barbarous pomp. Something strange must surely lie in the
vast space occupied by total blankness on our maps, between Nyangwé and
‘Tuckey’s Farthest!’”
“I seek a road to connect these two points. We have laboured through the
terrible forest, and manfully struggled through the gloom. My people’s
hearts have become faint. I seek a road. Why, here lies a broad watery
avenue cleaving the Unknown to some sea, like a path of light! Here are
woods all around, sufficient for a thousand fleets of canoes. Why not
build them?”
I sprang up; told the drummer to call to muster. The people responded
wearily to the call. Frank and the chiefs appeared. The Arabs and their
escort came also, until a dense mass of expectant faces surrounded me. I
turned to them and said:—
“Arabs! sons of Unyamwezi! children of Zanzibar! listen to words. We
have seen the Mitamba of Uregga. We have tasted its bitterness, and have
groaned in spirit. We seek a road. We seek something by which we may
travel. I seek a path that shall take me to the sea. I have found it.”
“Ah! ah—h!” and murmurs and inquiring looks at one another.
“Yes! El hamd ul Illah. I have found it. Regard this mighty river. From
the beginning it has flowed on thus, as you see it flow to-day. It has
flowed on in silence and darkness. Whither? To the Salt Sea, as all
rivers go! By that Salt Sea, on which the great ships come and go live
my friends and your friends. Do they not?”
Cries of “Yes! yes!”
“Yet, my people, though this river is so great, so wide and deep, no man
has ever penetrated the distance lying between this spot on which we
stand and our white friends who live by the Salt Sea. Why? Because it
was left for us to do.”
“Ah, no! no! no!” and desponding shakes of the head.
“Yes,” I continued, raising my voice; “I tell you, my friends, it has
been left from the beginning of time until to-day for us to do. It is
our work, and no other. It is the voice of Fate! The ONE GOD has written
that this year the river shall be known throughout its length! We will
have no more Mitambas; we will have no more panting and groaning by the
wayside; we will have no more hideous darkness; we will take to the
river, and keep to the river. To-day I shall launch my boat on that
stream, and it shall never leave it until I finish my work. I swear it.
“Now, you Wangwana! You, who have followed me through Turu, and sailed
around the great lakes with me; you, who have followed me, like children
following their father, through Unyoro, and down to Ujiji, and as far as
this wild, wild land, will you leave me here? Shall I and my white
brother go alone! Will you go back and tell my friends that you left me
in this wild spot, and cast me adrift to die? Or will you, to whom I
have been so kind, whom I love as I would love my children, will you
bind me, and take me back by force? Speak, Arabs? Where are my young
men, with hearts of lions? Speak, Wangwana, and show me those who dare
follow me?”
Uledi, the coxswain, leaped upward, and then sprang towards me, and
kneeling grasped my knees, and said, “Look on me, my master! I am one! I
will follow you to death!” “And I,” Kachéché cried; “and I, and I, and
I,” shouted the boat’s crew.
“It is well. I knew I had friends. You then who have cast your lot with
me stand on one side, and let me count you.”
There were thirty-eight! Ninety-five stood still and said nothing.
“I have enough. Even with you, my friends, I shall reach the sea. But
there is plenty of time. We have not yet made our canoes. We have not
yet parted with the Arabs. We have yet a long distance to travel with
Tippu-Tib. We may meet with good people from whom we may buy canoes. And
by the time we part I am sure that the ninety-five men now fearing to go
with us will not leave their brothers, and their master and his white
brother, to go down the river without them. Meantime I give you many
thanks, and shall not forget your names.
The assembly broke up, and each man proceeded about his special duties.
Tippu-Tib, Sheikh Abdallah, and Muini Ibrahim sat on the mat, and
commenced to try to persuade me not to be so rash, and to abandon all
idea of descending the river. In my turn I requested them not to speak
like children, and, however they might think, not to disclose their
fears to the Wangwana; but rather to encourage them to do their duty,
and share the dangers with me, because the responsibility was all my
own, and the greatest share of danger would be mine; and that I would be
in front to direct and guide and save, and for my own sake as well as
for their sake would be prudent.
In reply, they spoke of cataracts and cannibals, and warlike tribes.
They depreciated the spirit of the Wangwana, and declaimed against men
who were once slaves; refused to concede one virtue to them, either of
fidelity, courage, or gratitude, and predicted that the end would be
death to all.
“Speak no more, Tippu-Tib. You who have travelled all your life among
slaves have not yet learned that there lies something good in the heart
of every man that God made. Men were not made all bad, as you say. For
God is good, and He made all men. I have studied my people; I know them
and their ways. It will be my task to draw the good out of them while
they are with me; and the only way to do it is to be good to them, for
good produces good. As you value my friendship, and hope to receive
money from me, be silent. Speak not a word of fear to my people, and
when we part, I shall make known my name to you. To you, and to all who
are my friends, I shall be ‘the white man with the open hand.’ But if
not, then I shall be ‘Kiparamoto.’”
While I had been speaking, a small canoe with two men was seen advancing
from the opposite bank. One of the interpreters was called, and told to
speak to them quietly, and to ask them to bring canoes to take us
across.
“Ndugu, O ndugu” (“Brother, O brother”), the interpreter hailed them,
“we are friends; we wish to cross the river. Bring your canoes and take
us to the other side, and we will give you plenty of shells and beads.”
“Who are you?”
“We are Warungwana” (Wangwana).
“Where from?”
“From Nyangwé.”
“Ah! you are Wasambye!” (the uncircumcised).
“No; we have a white man with us as chief, and he is kind.”
“If he fills my canoe with shells, I will go and tell the Wenya that you
want to cross the river.”
“We cannot give so much as that, but we will give ten shells for each
man.”
“We want a thousand shells for each man, or you shall never cross the
river.”
“Ah, but, Ndugu, that is too much; come, we will give you twenty shells
for each.”
“Not for ten thousand, brother. We do not want you to cross the river.
Go back, Wasambye; you are bad! Wasambye are bad, bad, bad! The river is
deep, Wasambye! Go back, Wasambye; you are bad, bad! The river is deep,
Wasambye! You have not wings, Wasambye! Go back, Wasambye!”
After saying which they sang the wildest, weirdest note I ever heard,
and sent it pealing across the river. “Ooh-hu, ooh-hu-hu-hu!” In
response we heard hundreds of voices sing out a similar note—“Ooh-hu,
ooh-hu-hu-hu!”
“That is a war-cry, master,” said the interpreter.
“Nonsense, don’t be foolish. What cause is there for war?”
“These wild people do not need cause; they are simply wild beasts.”
“I will prove to you before two hours you are wrong,” I said.
By the time I had finished my breakfast the _Lady Alice_ was in the
river, and a loud shout of applause greeted her appearance on her
natural element.
The boat’s crew, with Uledi as coxswain, and Tippu-Tib, Sheikh Abdallah,
Muini Ibrahim, Bwana Abed (the guide), Muini Jumah, and two interpreters
and myself as passengers, entered the boat. We were rowed up the river
for half an hour, and then struck across to a small island in mid-
stream. With the aid of a glass I examined the shores, which from our
camp appeared to be dense forest. We saw that there were about thirty
canoes tied to the bank, and amongst the trees I detected several
houses. The bank was crowded with human beings, who were observing our
movements.
We re-entered our boat, and pulled straight across to the left bank,
then floated down slowly with the current, meantime instructing the
interpreters as to what they should say to the Wenya.
When we came opposite, an interpreter requested them to take a look at
the white man who had come to visit their country, who wished to make
friends with them, who would give them abundance of shells, and allow
none of his men to appropriate a single banana, or do violence to a
single soul; not a leaf would be taken, nor a twig burned, without being
paid for.
The natives, gazing curiously at me, promised after a consultation, that
if we made blood-brotherhood with them there should be no trouble, and
that for this purpose the white chief, accompanied by ten men, should
proceed early next morning to the island, where he would be met by the
chief of the Wenya and his ten men, and that after the ceremony, all the
canoes should cross and assist to carry our people to their country.
_Nov. 20._—After thanking them, we returned to camp, highly elated with
our success. At 4 A.M., however, the boat secretly conveyed twenty men
with Kachéché, who had orders to hide in the brushwood, and, returning
to camp at 7 A.M., conveyed Frank and ten men, who were to perform the
ceremony of brotherhood, to the island. On its return, I entered the
boat, and was rowed a short way up-stream along the right bank, so that,
in case of treachery, I might be able to reach the island within four
minutes to lend assistance.
About 9 A.M. six canoes full of men were seen to paddle to the island.
We saw them arrive before it, and finally to draw near. Earnestly and
anxiously I gazed through my glass at every movement. Other canoes were
seen advancing to the island. It was well, I thought, that Frank had his
reserve hidden so close at hand. A few seconds after the latest arrivals
had appeared on the scene, I saw great animation, and almost at once
those curious cries came pealing up the river. There were animated
shouts, and a swaying of bodies, and, unable to wait longer, we dashed
towards the island, and the natives on seeing us approach paddled
quickly to their landing-place.
“Well, Frank. What was the matter?” I asked.
“I never saw such wretches in my life, sir. When that last batch of
canoes came, their behaviour, which was decent before, changed. They
surrounded us. Half of them remained in the canoes; those on land began
to abuse us violently, handling their spears, and acting so furiously
that if we had not risen with our guns ready they would have speared us
as we were sitting down waiting to begin the ceremony. But Kachéché,
seeing their wild behaviour and menacing gestures, advanced quietly from
the brushwood with his men, on seeing which they ran to their canoes,
where they held their spears ready to launch when you came.”
“Well, no harm has been done yet,” I replied; “so rest where you are,
while I take Kachéché and his men across to their side, where a camp
will be formed; because, if we delay to-day crossing, we shall have half
of the people starving by to-morrow morning.”
After embarking Kachéché, we steered for a point in the woods above the
native village, and, landing thirty men with axes, proceeded to form a
small camp, which might serve as a nucleus until we should be enabled to
transport the Expedition. We then floated down river opposite the
village, and, with the aid of an interpreter, explained to them that as
we had already landed thirty men in their country, it would be far
better that they should assist us in the ferriage, for which they might
feel assured they would be well paid. At the same time I tossed a small
bag of beads to them. In a few minutes they consented, and six canoes,
with two men in each, accompanied us to camp. The six canoes and the
boat conveyed eighty people safely to the left bank; and then other
canoes, animated by the good understanding that seemed to prevail
between us, advanced to assist, and by night every soul associated with
our Expedition was rejoicing by genial camp-fires in the villages of the
Wenya.
CHAPTER VI.
“Mama, the Wasambye!”—The fight in the Ruiki—The lost found—Dangerous
disobedience—In the nick of time—A savage captive—Music hath
charms—In the haunts of Nature—A town of one street—Deserted
villages—Organising a hospital—An island wasted by lightning—“The
people of the filed teeth”—Primitive salt-making—Hostages
captured—At close quarters—Raining arrows—“Bo-bo, bo-bo, bo-bo-o-o-
oh!”—A desperate affair and opportune reinforcements—Cutting the
canoes adrift—Tippu-Tib deserts me—My appeal to the “sea-
children”—Christmas Day among the cannibals—“Victory or death!”
_Nov. 21._—We had hoped to pass our first day in the Wenya land in
kindly interchange of gifts, and engaging the wild hearts of the natives
by ostentatious liberality. But lo! when we searched in the morning for
the aborigines they were gone!
Many a village stood in the neighbourhood of the main landing, embowered
in the thick shade of tamarind and bombax, teak, iron-wood, and elais
palm, but the inhabitants were fled! Each village street had its two
rows of bleached trophies of eaten humanity, with an attempt at a
ghastly decoration similar to “rockery.” The canoes were all left at the
landing-place; the fruit of the banana and the plantain hung on the
stalks, and the crimson palm-nuts swayed in clusters above our heads,
but word was given to our people that nothing should be touched on
penalty of fearful punishment.
It was absolutely necessary that our introduction to the Wenya tribe
should be heralded by peaceful intercourse. We therefore rested, and
sent people round about with shells to purchase food for their
respective messes. Only Kachéché and Murabo, one of the boat-boys,
succeeded in reaching an inhabited village, but no sooner were they seen
than they had to run for their lives back to camp.
Leaving everything untouched, we departed from this first village of the
Wenya. My boat floated down river with thirty-six people on board
according to agreement, with Frank, Tippu-Tib, and the land party
following the riverbank, until we should arrive at a village where we
might purchase food.
From the villages below, at least from many, long before we had floated
abreast of them, rang out the strange war-cries, “Ooh-hu-hu! Ooh-hu-hu!”
and the natives decamped into the bush, leaving everything they
possessed _in situ_. This was only to lure us to our destruction, for
had we been tempted to capture their goats and black pigs, they would no
doubt have rushed from the bushes on the unwary. We, however, were not
to be thus tempted to felony and our destruction, and quietly floated
down past them.
We then came abreast of a forest, uninhabited, and about three miles in
length, and after that sighted a plantation of bananas. We could see the
tops of the low gable-roofed houses, but none of the natives descried us
until we were within a hundred yards of a large and wealthy village.
Then a little child, coming down the high banks to fetch water, suddenly
lifting her head, saw us close to the landing, and screamed out, “Mama,
the Wasambye! the Wasambye are coming!”
At the name, which seemed to be a dreaded one—no doubt because of
Mtagamoyo and his uncircumcised Wanyamwezi—the people, who, it seemed,
were holding a market, scattered immediately, the women screaming,
“Wasambye! Wasambye!” and the banana stalk and bushes shaking violently,
as everybody in a panic flew into the jungle, like a herd of buffaloes
stung to frenzy by a fly pest. By the time we had glided down a few
paces beyond the landing there was a deathly silence.
We passed by three or four other villages, but the inhabitants simply
responded to our attempts at intercourse by protruding their heads from
the bushes and shouting “Ooh-hu-hu! Ooh-hu-hu! Ooh-hu-hu!”
At 3 P.M. we came to the Ruiki river, which at the mouth was about 100
yards wide, a black and sluggish stream, with an average depth of about
twelve feet. As the land division would be unable to cross this stream
without the aid of a boat, we camped at a point between the right bank
and the left bank of the Livingstone, in east longitude 25° 33′ and
south latitude 3° 26′.
_Nov. 23._—We halted on the 23rd of November, awaiting the arrival of
the land division, and meanwhile built a strong camp. We saw several
forms on the opposite side of the Ruiki, in the village of chief
Kasongo, but they would not deign to answer us, though our interpreter
made frequent attempts to induce them to converse. Our party was only
thirty-six in number, including myself, and we had but a few bananas,
which had been obtained at Kampunzu. Before we could hope to purchase
anything from the natives an intercourse of some kind had to be opened.
But the aborigines, for some reason, persisted in their distrustful
reserve. However, we waited patiently for the land force until sunset,
and all night maintained a strict watch lest our boat should be stolen.
_Nov. 24th._—Early on the 24th, no news having as yet arrived of our
friends, I manned the boat and rowed some ten miles up the Ruiki river,
hoping to find them encamped on the bank waiting for us. The general
course of the river, though very winding, was from south-west to north-
east. A few miles above its mouth it is filled with snags, and becomes
narrow, crooked, and swift, and of an inky colour, from a particular
tree, whose branches drop in dense masses into the stream.
About 2 P.M. we began to return, and, after rowing hard for about an
hour and a half, were approaching our lonely camp when we heard guns
being fired rapidly. Unless as a measure of defence there could be no
earthly reason why the men in the camp should fire their guns. We
therefore urged the crew to full speed, and in a short time were
astonished to see the mouth of the Ruiki blocked with canoes filled with
savages, launching spears and shooting arrows.
With a loud shout we dashed down the last straight reach of the Ruiki,
which attracted the attention of the savages, who immediately turned and
fled down stream, uttering in harmonious but weird concord their strange
war-cries.
After first learning that no one was wounded, though there were several
sheaves of iron-headed and wooden spears, besides reed arrows, in the
camp, we inquired the cause of the attack, and heard with astonishment
that the people of Kasongo’s had signalled to all the neighbouring
villages that the “Nwema” (white chief) was gone away, and had invited
them to arm and man their canoes to get meat before he should return.
About thirty canoes, manned by a great number of savages, had entered
the Ruiki, and, without listening to warning, had persisted in advancing
on the camp, until fired upon. They had been engaged only a few minutes
before I appeared.
Billali, the youth in charge of the heavy rifle, and my factotum on
hunting excursions, had shot a man, who lay dead in the stream. When
asked how he dared to use my guns to shoot people, he replied with
alarm, “I could not help it, sir, indeed I could not. If I had waited
but a little minute, he would have killed me, for he was aiming with his
spear only a few feet off!”
[Illustration: WAR HATCHET OF UKUSU.]
[Illustration: STOOL OF UKUSU.]
Night came, but with it no tidings of the land party. We listened all
through the dark hours for the sound of signal gun-shots, but none
cheered us. In the early morning I despatched Uledi, the coxswain, and
five of the younger boatmen, through the jungles, with a caution to
observe the villages, and by no means to risk an unequal contest with
people who would dog them through the bushes like leopards. Uledi, with
a calm smile, bade me rest assured: he was confident he would soon find
them. They set out, leaving us alone to indulge in gloomy thoughts.
At 4 P.M. we heard the roar of a musket-shot through the forest, and
soon Uledi emerged from the jungle behind us, his face all aglow with
triumph, “They are coming, master, close by,” he said.
True enough, the advance-guard appeared in a few seconds, and presently
the column, weary, haggard, sick and low spirited. The people had been
wandering. Having found a road, they followed it, till they came upon a
tribe, who attacked them with arrows, and killed three of them. They
retaliated, and the advance-guard captured one of the assailants, and
asked what tribe he belonged to. “The Bakusu,” he had said, “and the
great river is a long way east of you.”
They compelled him to show the way, and after some fifteen hours’
marching from the place of the fight, they had met with gallant Uledi
and his scouting party, and had hurried after him.
Within four hours the boat had transported the entire party to the left
bank of the Ruiki. I was here compelled to relax the rigour of the
command that no one should appropriate food without payment, for the
suffering of the people was excessive.
_Nov. 26._—On the 26th, we floated down river to Nakanpemba, the land
division on this day keeping close to the river, and though it was
buried frequently in profound depths of jungle, we were able to
communicate with it occasionally by means of drum-taps.
[Illustration: VIEW BETWEEN THE RUIKI AND NAKANPEMBA.]
The river had widened gradually to 1700 yards, and was studded with
large tree-clad islands, both banks presenting dense masses of tall
woods and undergrowth.
Not a soul had been seen in any of the villages passed through; now and
then we heard screams of “Wasambye! Wasambye!” and sometimes we heard
voices crying out something about Bwana Muhala, or Mtagamoyo, the
notorious land-pirate and kidnapper. Nakanpemba possessed also its
dreadful relics, arranged in ghastly lines along the streets—relics of
many a feast, as Professor Huxley has now taught us, on dead humanity.
The march through the jungles and forests, the scant fare, fatigue, and
consequent suffering, resulted in sickness. Smallpox and dysentery
attacked the land division. Thorns had also penetrated the feet and
wounded the legs of many of the people, until dreadful ulcers had been
formed, disabling them from travel. In the course of two days’ journey
we found six abandoned canoes, which, though unsound, we appropriated
and repaired, and, lashing them together, formed a floating hospital.
Four miles below Nakanpemba, as we were gliding down at the rate of 1½
knot per hour, we heard the dull murmur of rapids, and from the opposite
bank eight canoes were seen to dash swiftly down river, disappearing
most mysteriously from view. There being no necessity for us to seek
acquaintance with people who appeared to think it undesirable, we did
not attempt to disturb them, but, clinging to the left bank, cautiously
approached the rapids of Ukassa. These were caused by a ledge of
greenish shale, mixed with iron-stone and pudding rock, projecting from
the Ukassa hills on the right bank.
The hospital was warned in-shore, while I dropped down as near as
possible to the rapids and there landed.
The land division was requested to encamp for the day abreast the rapids
while, selecting ten stout young fellows, in addition to the boat’s
crew, I proceeded to explore along the river; but before departing, I
gave the strictest orders to Frank and Manwa Sera that upon no account
should any one be permitted to move from camp until I returned.
The rapids were parted by a couple of long rocky islets running parallel
and separated from each other and the left bank by two narrow streams,
which descended into a quiet, creek-like portion of the river after a
fall of 10 feet within half a mile, but on the eastern side the river
was of a breadth of 800 yards, and descended with a furious whirl for
the distance of a mile and a half, where it was joined by the quiet
flowing creek on the left or western side.
We continued our inspection of the shore and river for about two miles,
where we very nearly fell into an ambuscade. In a little creek, hidden
by high overhanging banks, densely clothed, were some forty or fifty
small canoes, the crews all seated, silent, and watching the river. We
instantly retreated without disturbing their watchful attitude, and
hurried to camp.
On arriving at the boat I was alarmed at hearing that Frank had
permitted Manwa Sera, the chief, and five others, to detach two of the
hospital canoes, and to descend the great rapids. As this was a suicidal
act, I felt my blood run cold, and then recollecting the ambuscade in
the creek, I lost no time in selecting fifty men and retracing our
steps.
When we reached the creek, we ascertained it to be empty. I then offered
high rewards to the first scout who sighted the Wangwana, Uledi and
Shumari, his brother, gave wild yells, and dashed forward like antelopes
through the jungle, Saywa (their cousin) and Murabo hard after them.
With startling echoes some gun-shots soon rang through the forest. Away
we tore through the jungle in the direction of the sounds. We came in
sight of the river, and heard the rifles close to us. In mid-stream were
the five Wangwana riding on the keels of the upset canoes, attacked by
half-a-dozen native canoes. Uledi and his comrades had without
hesitation opened fire upon them, and thus saved the doomed men. We soon
had the gratification of receiving them on shore, but four Snider rifles
were lost. The party, it appeared, had been swept into a whirlpool,
drawn down, and ejected out of it several feet below the dreadful whirl.
This disobedience to orders, which had entailed on me such a loss of
valuable rifles, when I was already so weakly armed, on themselves such
a narrow escape, besides bringing us into collision with the natives,
was punished by well-merited reproaches—so keenly felt moreover that
Manwa Sera proceeded to Tippu-Tib’s camp, and sent word to me that he
would not serve me any longer, I laughed, and returned word to him that
I was sure he would. To Frank I solemnly protested against such breach
of duty, as life or death now depended on the faithful execution of
instructions.
Tippu-Tib and the Arabs advanced to me for a shauri. They wished to know
whether I would not now abandon the project of continuing down the
river—now that things appeared so gloomy, with rapids before us, natives
hostile, cannibalism rampant, small-pox raging, people dispirited, and
Manwa Sera sulky. “What prospects?” they asked, “lie before us but
terrors, and fatal collapse and ruin? Better turn back in time.” I told
them to be resigned until the morning. They returned to their camp,
which was about half a mile from the vicinity of the rapids.
_Nov. 27._—Early next day the Wangwana were mustered. They lifted the
boat out of the water above their heads, and cautiously conveyed her in
about an hour below the rapids, and launched her on the quiet waters of
the creek. Then a messenger was despatched to order Safeni to push the
four remaining canoes into the rapids. Within an hour the rapids of
Ukassa had been passed.
As there was abundance of time yet, it being only three in the
afternoon, and I burned to know whether any more falls were below the
rocky islets, I started down river with twenty men in the four canoes to
explore. In about an hour we came to exceedingly swift rough water, much
whirling and eddying, but no rapids; then, satisfied that there was no
immediate prospect of meeting impediments to navigation, we started on
our return, and arrived at camp at sunset, after an exceedingly eventful
day.
_Nov. 29._—On the 29th we moved down river four miles to Mburri, on the
left bank, which is opposite Vinarunga, which is a large settlement of
Wenya villages on the right bank. From our camp compass bearings showed
Ukassa or Ussi Hills on right bank to be south-south-west (magnetic).
Just as we were retiring for the night, a canoe came down river, and
cautiously made its way towards the boat. Shumari, the young brother of
Uledi, who was on guard, waited until it was well within shore, and then
suddenly seized the canoe-man, calling for assistance on the ever-ready
boat’s crew. The native was secured, and carried in before me; and when
lights were brought we saw he was an old man bent almost double with
age. His face was one of the most vicious my memory can recall. I
presented him with about a dozen cowries, which he snatched from me as a
surly dog might bite at a piece of meat from a stranger’s hand. He was a
true savage, hardened by wildness, and too old to learn. We put him back
into his canoe, and set him adrift to find his way home.
An hour later, another stranger was found in the camp. He was also
caught and brought to me. He was a lad of sixteen or seventeen years of
age, a facsimile in miniature of the older savage. I smiled kindly, and
conversed softly. I presented him with a string of bright red beads, and
filled one of his hands with shells, and then I had him asked some
questions. He replied to five, when he said he was tired, and would
answer no more. We set a guard over him for the night, and in the
morning permitted him to depart. I confessed my impotence to charm the
savage soul.
As we were about to leave camp, three canoes advanced towards us from
the Ukassa side of the river. Through our interpreters we spoke to them
mildly, requested to know what offence we had committed, or whom we had
harmed, to inspire them with such mortal hatred of strangers. Would they
not make a bond of friendship with us? We had beads, cloth, brass,
copper, iron, with which to buy food, goats, bananas, corn.
They listened attentively, and nodded their heads in approval. They
asked if we would beat our drum for their amusement. Kadu, one of
Mtesa’s pages, who was an expert at the art, was called and commanded to
entertain them after the best Kiganda fashion. Kadu seized his drum-
sticks and drum, and after a few preliminary taps dashed out a volume of
sound that must have been listened to with unbounded admiration by many
hundreds of savages crouching in the woods.
“Ah,” said the poor naked, mop-headed wretches, “it is delightful!” and
they clapped their hands gleefully—and paddled away rapidly down river,
steering for the right bank.
_Nov. 30._—On the 30th the journey was resumed. The river ran with sharp
bends, with many dangerous whirls, and broad patches of foam on its
face, and was narrow, not above eight hundred yards in width, for a
distance of three miles and a half, when it suddenly widened to 1700
yards. Two fine wooded islands stood in mid-stream. On the northern side
of a little tributary we camped at the market-place[ of Usako Ngongo,
Ukassa Hills bearing south-south-west. The southern end of the largest
of the two islands, Nionga, bore east by north from camp.
These market-places on the banks of the Livingstone, at intervals of
three or four miles, are central resorts of the aborigines from either
bank, and considered as neutral ground, which no chief may claim, nor
any individual assert claims or tribute for its use. Many of them are
wide grassy spaces under the shade of mighty spreading trees, affording
admirable river scenes for an artist. In the background is the deeply
black forest, apparently impenetrable in its density; here and there a
taller giant, having released itself from acquaintance and familiarity,
overlooks its neighbours. Its branches are favoured by the white-
collared eagle and the screaming ibis. Here and there rise the feathery
and graceful fronds of the elais palm. In the foreground flows the broad
brown river.
[Illustration: STEW-POT OF THE WAHIKA.]
In the morning, on market days, the grassy plots are thronged. From the
depths of the forest, and from isolated clearings, from lonely islands,
and from the open country of the Bakusu, come together the aborigines
with their baskets of cassava, their mats of palm-fibre and sedge, their
gourds of palm-wine, their beans and maize, millet and sugar-cane,
crockery and the handiwork of their artisans in copper and iron and
wood, the vermilion camwood, their vegetables, and fruit of banana and
plantain, their tobacco and pipes and bangles, their fish-nets and
baskets, fish, and a multitude of things which their wants and tastes
have taught them to produce. All is animation and eager chaffer, until
noon, when the place becomes silent again and untenanted, a prey to
gloom and shade, where the hawk and the eagle, the ibis, the grey
parrot, and the monkey, may fly and scream and howl, undisturbed.
_Dec. 1._—On the 1st of December we floated down to the market-place of
Ukongeh, opposite Mitandeh Island, in south latitude 3° 6′′.
On this day we found ourselves in the vicinity of a place, of which a
whisper had reached Livingstone on the 10th of March, 1871, who, while
at Nyangwé, busied himself in noting down the reports of Wangwana and
natives. Ukongeh market-placeis the resort of the Wahika, whose chief,
Luapanya, was killed by Mohammed bin Gharib’s men. Behind the Wahika
villages, about ten miles, lies the territory of the belligerent and
cannibalistic Bakusu, an open and palm-growing country. The Arabs, each
time they have attempted to penetrate Ukusu, have been repulsed with
slaughter. On the right bank, opposite Mitandeh Island, is the territory
of the Waziri.
By several islands of great beauty, and well-wooded with all varieties
of tropical trees, we floated down to the market-place of Mivari,
opposite the northern end of the island of Mitangi. Uvitera village is a
mile south, and opposite it is the settlement of Chabogwé.
The river here ran in two broad streams, each 1000 yards wide, on either
side of a series of islands remarkable for their fertility. Where the
islands are large, the mainland is but thinly populated, though a dense
population occupies the country about two miles back from the river. On
these neutral market-places, the islander and the backwoods people meet
on equal terms for the purpose of bartering their various productions.
_Dec. 4._—On the 4th of December we halted, because of a rain-storm, and
also to forage for food, in which we were only partially successful. No
conflicts resulted, fortunately.
_Dec. 5._—The next day, the river flowing a little east of north, we
came to Muriwa Creek, on the northern bank of which was a remarkably
long village, or rather a series of villages, from fifty to a hundred
yards apart, and a broad, uniform street, thirty feet wide, and two
miles in length! Behind the village were the banana and the palm groves,
which supplied the inhabitants with fruit, wine, and oil.
This remarkable town was called Ikondu, and was situated in south
latitude 2° 53′. The huts were mere double cages, made very elegantly of
the Panicum grass cane, 7 feet long by 5 feet wide and 6 feet high,
separated, as regards the main building, but connected by the roof, so
that the central apartments were common to both cages, and in these the
families meet and perform their household duties, or receive their
friends for social chat. Between each village was the burial-place or
vault of their preceding kings, roofed over with the leaves of the
_Phrynium ramosissimum_, which appears to be as useful a plant for many
reasons as the banana to the Waganda. These cane cages are as cosy,
comfortable, and dry as ships’ cabins, as we found in the tempests of
rain that every alternate day now visited us.
The town of Ikondu was quite deserted, but food was abundant; the wine-
pots were attached to the palm-trees, bananas were hanging in clusters,
in the gardens were fine large melons, luxuriant plantations of cassava,
extensive plots of ground-nuts, and great tracts of waving sugar-cane.
We were very much dispirited, however. This desertion of their villages,
without an attempt on the part of the natives to make terms, or the
least chance of communicating with them, showed a stern contempt for the
things of this life that approached the sublime. Whither had such a
large population fled? For assuredly the population must have exceeded
two thousand.
[Illustration: A HOUSE OF IKONDU.]
We were dispirited for other reasons. The small-pox was raging,
dysentery had many victims, over fifty were infected with the itch, some
twenty suffered from ulcers, many complained of chest-diseases,
pneumonic fever, and pleurisis; there was a case or two of typhoid
fever, and others suffered from prolapsus ani and umbilical pains; in
short, there was work enough in the stricken Expedition for a dozen
physicians. Every day we tossed two or three bodies into the deep waters
of the Livingstone. Frank and I endeavoured our utmost to alleviate the
misery, but when the long caravan was entering camp I had many times to
turn my face away lest the tears should rise at sight of the miserable
victims of disease who reeled and staggered through the streets. Poor
creatures, what a life! wandering, ever wandering, in search of graves.
At Ikondu, left high and dry by some mighty flood years ago, there was a
large condemned canoe with great holes in its keel, and the traces of
decay both at bow and stern, yet it was capacious enough to carry sixty
sick people, and by fastening cables to it the boat might easily take it
in tow. I therefore called my carpenters, Uledi the coxswain, Saywa, his
cousin, and Salaam Allah, and offered twelve yards of cloth to each if
they would repair it within two days. They required twelve men and axes.
The men were detailed, and day and night the axes and hatchets were at
work trimming poles into narrow planking. The carpenters fitted the
boards, and secured them with wooden pins, and with the bruised pulp of
banana and bark cloth they caulked it. Then the Wangwana were called to
launch the monster, and we presently had the satisfaction of seeing it
float. It leaked a good deal, but some of the sick were not so ailing
but that they might bale it sufficiently to keep themselves afloat.
The success of the repairs which we had made in this ancient craft
proved to me that we possessed the means to construct a flotilla of
canoes of sufficient capacity to float the entire Expedition. I
resolved, therefore, should Tippu-Tib still persist in his refusal to
proceed with us, to bribe him to stay with us until we should have
constructed at least a means of escape.
_Dec. 6._—About noon of the next day, while we were busy repairing the
canoe, a native was found in the bushes close to the town with a small
bow and a quiver of miniature arrows in his hand, and, it being a
suspicious circumstance, he was secured and brought to me. He was a most
remarkable specimen for a warrior, I thought, as I looked at the
trembling diminutive figure. He stood, when measured, 4 feet 6½ inches,
round the chest 30 inches, and at the waist 24 inches. His head was
large, his face decked with a scraggy fringe of whiskers, and his
complexion light chocolate. As he was exceedingly bow-legged and thin-
shanked, I at first supposed him to be a miserable abortion cast out by
some tribe, and driven to wander through the forest, until he mentioned
the word “Watwa.” Recollecting that the Watwa were well known to be
dwarfs, I asked Bwana Abed, the guide, if this man resembled those Watwa
dwarfs Muhala’s people had fought with. He replied that the Watwa he had
met were at least a head shorter, though the man might be a member of
some tribe related to those he had seen! His complexion was similar, but
the dwarfs west of Ukuna, in the West Lumami country, had very long
beards, and bushy whiskers. His weapons were also the same—the short
bow, and tiny reed arrows, a foot long, with points smeared over with a
dark substance, with an odour resembling that of cantharides. Everybody
seemed to be particularly careful, as they examined the arrows, not to
touch the points, and, as many of them were folded in leaves, it
appeared to me that the native had some reason for this precaution. In
order to verify this opinion, I uncovered one of the leaf-guarded
points, and, taking hold of one of his arms, I gravely pretended to be
about to inoculate the muscle with the dark substance on the arrow. His
loud screams, visible terror, and cries of “Mabi! Mabi!” (“Bad, Bad,”)
with a persuasive eloquence of gesture, left no doubt in my mind that
the arrows were poisoned.
But the native possessed the talent of pronunciation in an eminent
degree. For the first time I heard the native name of the Livingstone,
as known to the Manyema and Wenya, pronounced as distinctly and
deliberately as though Haji Abdallah himself was endeavouring to convey
to my interested ears the true word RU-A´R-OW-A, emphasizing the ante-
penultimate syllable. I requested several Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and
Arabs to pronounce the word after him. Only the principal Arabs were
able to articulate distinctly “Rua´rowa”; the black people transformed
the word instantly into “Lualawa.”
The ugly, prognathous-jawed creature, among other information he gave
us, related that just below Ikondu there was an island called Maturu,
whose people the “Kirembo-rembo” (lightning) had completely destroyed.
“Who sent the Kirembo-rembo, my friend?” I asked.
“Ah, who knows? Perhaps ‘Firi Niambi’”—the deity.
“Were they all killed?”
“All—men, women, children, goats, bananas, everything.”
He also told us that the chief of Ikondu, with all his people, was on
the opposite side; that from the wooded bluffs fronting the Urindi river
extended the powerful tribe of the Wabwiré, or Wasongora Meno (“the
people of the filed teeth”).
_Dec. 8._—On the 8th of December we moved down river to Unya-N’singé,
another large town, a mile in length, on the north side of a creek,
about thirty yards wide. On the south side, on the summit of bluffs 125
feet high, was a similar town called Kisui-cha-Uriko.
About four miles up the river from Unya-N’singé, the Lira river entered
the Livingstone. At the mouth it was 300 yards wide and 30 feet deep,
but two miles above it narrowed to 250 yards of deep and tolerably clear
water. A hostile movement on the part of the natives, accompanied by
fierce demonstrations on shore, compelled us, however, to relinquish the
design of penetrating farther up, and to hurry back to camp at Unya-
N’singé.
We had not been long there before we heard the war-horns sounding on the
right bank, and about 4 P.M. we saw eight large canoes coming up river
along the islands in mid-stream, and six along the left bank. On
approaching the camp they formed in line of battle near a small grassy
island about four hundred yards from us, and shouted to us to come and
meet them in mid-river. Our interpreters were told to tell them that we
had but one boat, and five canoes loaded with sick people; and that as
we had not come for the purpose of fighting, we would not fight.
A jeering laugh greeted the announcement, and the next minute the
fourteen canoes dashed towards us with wild yells. I disposed my people
along the banks, and waited. When they came within thirty yards, half of
the men in each canoe began to shoot their poisoned arrows, while the
other half continued to paddle in-shore. Just as they were about to
land, the command to fire was given to about thirty muskets, and the
savages fell back, retiring to the distance of about a hundred and fifty
yards, whence they maintained the fight. Directing the people on shore
to keep firing, I chose the boat’s crew, including Tippu-Tib and Bwana
Abdallah, and dashed out into mid-stream. The savages appeared to be
delighted, for they yelled triumphantly as they came towards us; only
for a short time, however, for we were now only some fifty yards from
them and our guns were doing terrible execution. In about a minute the
fight was over, and our wild foes were paddling down river; and we
returned to our camp, glad that this first affair with the Wasongora
Meno had terminated so quickly. Three of our people had been struck by
arrows, but a timely application of caustic neutralized the poison, and,
excepting swellings, nothing serious occurred.
Unya-N’singé is in south latitude 2° 49′. Nearly opposite it is Urangi,
another series of small villages; while on the north bank of the Lira
River, at the confluence, is the village of Uranja, and opposite to it
is Kisui Kachamba. The town of Meginna is said to be about twenty miles
south-east (magnetic) from Unya-N’singé. All this portion is reported to
have been the scene of Muini Muhala’s exploits.
_Dec. 9, 10, 11._—On the 9th and the 10th we halted, waiting for the
land division under Frank. On the morning of the 11th, as our friends
had not arrived, I set out in my boat up river, and four miles above
Unya-N’singé entered a creek, about forty yards wide, where I discovered
them endeavouring to cross the stream. The boat was heartily welcomed,
and in a few hours all were safely across.
They had, it appeared, again gone astray, and had entered Ukusu, where
they were again obliged to fight. Four had received grievous wounds, and
one had been killed. Three Wanyamwezi, moreover, had died of small-pox
_en route_ from Ikondu.
This creek, like all the rest in the neighbourhood, was half-choked with
the _Pistia stratiotes_, which the aborigines had enclosed with logs of
wood, as a considerable quantity of salt is obtained from these
asparagus-like plants. When the log-enclosed spaces are full, the plants
are taken out, exposed to the sun until they are withered, dried, and
then burnt. The ashes are collected in pots with punctured bottoms, and
the pots filled with water which is left to drip through into shallow
basins. After the evaporation by fire of this liquid, a dark grey
sediment of a nitrous flavour is left, which, re-cleansed, produces
salt.
At the head of this creek the land division reported a hot-water spring,
but I did not see it. On the bluffs, overhanging the creek, the
Rubiaceæ, bombax, red-wood, ironwood, and stink-wood, with various
palms, flourished.
The bed of the river consists of shale. Twenty yards from the bank the
river was about 12 feet deep; at 100 yards I obtained 23 feet soundings.
The bluffs exhibit at the water-line horizontal strata of greenish
shale; above, near the summit, the rock is grey with age and weather.
Here we dismissed our dwarf to his home, with a handful of shells and
four necklaces of beads for his very intelligent geographical knowledge
and his civilized pronunciation. He could not comprehend why we did not
eat him; and though we shook hands with him and smiled, and patted him
on the shoulder, I doubt whether he felt himself perfectly safe until he
had plunged out of sight into his native woods once more.
Tibbu-Tib determined to journey on land, and Frank and Sheikh Abdallah
were invited to the boat. Eight more victims to small-pox were admitted
into the hospital canoes, among them being three young girls, the
favourites of Tippu-Tib’s harem. For the accommodation of the raving and
delirious sick, we constructed a shed over the hospital-canoe. Before we
moved from Unya-N’singé, we had thrown eight corpses into the
Livingstone.
_Dec. 14._—On the 14th, gliding down river without an effort on our
part, we reached Kisui-Kachiambi, another large town about a mile in
length, and consisting of about three hundred long houses—situated on
the left bank, in south latitude 2° 35′. Opposite Mutako the natives
made a brilliant and well-planned attack on us, by suddenly dashing upon
us from a creek; and had not the ferocious nature of the people whom we
daily encountered taught us to be prepared at all times against assault,
we might have suffered considerable injury. Fortunately, only one man
was slightly punctured with a poisoned arrow, and an immediate and
plentiful application of nitrate of silver nullified all evil effects.
During our halt at Kisui-Kachiambi, two of the favourite women of Tippu-
Tib died of small-pox, and three youths also fell victims; of the land
division only one perished.
_Dec. 18._—On the 18th, after floating down a few miles, we came to a
broad channel which ran between the populous island of Mpika and the
left bank, and arriving at a market-green, under the shade of fine old
trees, halted for breakfast. The aborigines of Mpika at once gathered
opposite, blew war-horns, and mustered a large party, preparing to
attack us with canoes. To prevent surprise from the forest while the
porridge for the sick was being cooked, I had placed scouts on either
side of each of the roads that penetrated inland from the market green,
at about a couple of hundred yards’ distance from the camp. It happened
that, while drums were beating and horns were blowing on the island, and
everybody seemed mustering for a grand attack on us, a party of ten
people (among whom were three very fine-looking women), who had been on
a trading excursion to a village inland, and were returning to their
island home, had been waiting to be ferried across from the market-place
when we occupied it. The scouts surrounded them, and, seeing there was
no escape, they came into the market-place. The interpreters were called
to calm their fears, and to tell them that we were simply travellers
going down river, with no intention of hurting anybody.
By means of these people we succeeded in checking the warlike
demonstrations of the islanders, and in finally persuading them to make
blood-brotherhood, after which we invited canoes to come and receive
their friends. As they hesitated to do so, we embarked them in our own
boat, and conveyed them across to the island.
The news then spread quickly along the whole length of the island that
we were friends, and as we resumed our journey, crowds from the shore
cried out to us, “Mwendé Kivuké-vuké.” (“Go in peace!”)
The crest of the island was about eighty feet above the river, and was a
marvel of vegetation, chiefly of plantain and banana plantations. On our
left rose the other bank, with similar wooded heights, dipping
occasionally into small creeks and again rising into ridges, with
slopes, though steep, clothed with a perfect tangle of shrubs and
plants.
After a descent of ten miles by this channel, we found the river
increased in width to 2000 yards. While rowing down, close to the left
bank, we were suddenly surprised by hearing a cry from one of the guards
of the hospital canoes, and, turning round, saw an arrow fixed in his
chest. The next instant, looking towards the bank, we saw the forms of
many men in the jungle, and several arrows flew past my head in
extremely unpleasant proximity.
We sheered off instantly, and, pulling hard down stream, came near the
landing-place of an untenanted market-green. Here we drew in-shore, and,
sending out ten scouts to lie in wait in the jungle, I mustered all the
healthy men, about thirty in number, and proceeded to construct a fence
of brushwood, inspired to unwonted activity by a knowledge of our
lonely, defenceless state.
Presently a shriek of agony from another of my men rang out through the
jungle, followed immediately by the sharp crack of the scouts’ Sniders,
which again was responded to by an infernal din of war-horns and yells,
while arrows flew past us from all directions. Twenty more men were at
once sent into the jungle to assist the scouts, while, with might and
main, we laboured to surround our intended camp with tall and dense
hedges of brushwood, with sheltered nooks for riflemen.
After an hour’s labour the camp was deemed sufficiently tenable, and the
recall was sounded. The scouts retreated on the run, shouting as they
approached, “Prepare! prepare! they are coming!”
About fifty yards of ground outside our camp had been cleared, which,
upon the retreat of the scouts who had been keeping them in check, was
soon filled by hundreds of savages, who pressed upon us from all sides
but the river, in the full expectation that we were flying in fear. But
they were mistaken, for we were at bay, and desperate in our resolve not
to die without fighting. Accordingly, at such close quarters the contest
soon became terrific. Again and again the savages hurled themselves upon
our stockade, launching spear after spear with deadly force into the
camp, to be each time repulsed. Sometimes the muzzles of our guns almost
touched their breasts. The shrieks, cries, shouts of encouragement, the
rattling volleys of musketry, the booming war-horns, the yells and
defiance of the combatants, the groans and screams of the women and
children in the hospital camp, made together such a medley of hideous
noises as can never be effaced from my memory. For two hours this
desperate conflict lasted. More than once, some of the Wangwana were
about to abandon the struggle and run to the canoes, but Uledi, the
coxswain, and Frank threatened them with clubbed muskets, and with the
muzzles of their rifles drove them back to the stockade. At dusk the
enemy retreated from the vicinity of the clearing; but the hideous
alarums produced from their ivory horns, and increased by the echoes of
the close forest, still continued; and now and again a vengeful poison-
laden arrow flew by with an ominous whizz to quiver in the earth at our
feet, or fall harmlessly into the river behind us.
Sleep, under such circumstances, was out of the question; yet there were
many weak, despairing souls whom even the fear of being eaten could not
rouse to a sense of manliness and the necessity for resistance. Aware of
this, I entrusted the task of keeping the people awake to Frank Pocock,
Sheikh Abdallah, and Wadi Rehani, the “treasurer” of the Expedition, who
were ordered to pour kettles of cold water over their heads upon the
least disposition to go to sleep.
About 11 P.M. a dark form was seen creeping from the bush on all fours
towards our stockade. I moved quietly to where vigilant Uledi was
maintaining watch and ward, and whispered to him to take two men and
endeavour to catch him. Uledi willingly consented, and burrowed out
through a slight opening in the fence. The eyes of those in the secret
became fastened upon the dim shadows of the hostile forms, so similar,
it seemed to me, in their motions to a crocodile which I had seen on a
rock near Kisorya in Ukerewé, as it endeavoured to deceive a large diver
into the belief that it was asleep while actually meditating its murder.
Soon we saw Uledi’s form leap upon that of the prostrate savage and
heard him call out for help, which was at once given him by his two
assistants; but an ominous rustling in the bushes behind announced that
the cunning enemy were also on the alert, and as they rushed to the
rescue, Uledi snatched his captive’s spears, and with his two friends
retreated into the camp, while our guns again awoke the echoes of the
forest and the drowsy men in the camp to a midnight action as brisk as
it was short.
Twit, twit, fell the arrows once more in showers, piercing the brush
fence, perforating the foliage, or smartly tapping the trunks and
branches, while we, crouching down on the ground, under the thick
shadows of the brushwood, replied with shot, slugs, and bullets, that
swept the base of the jungle.
Silence was soon again restored and the strict watch renewed. From a
distance the poisoned reeds still pattered about us, but, protected by
our snug stockade and lying low in our covert, they were harmless,
though they kept us awake listening to the low whizz and reminding one
another that the foe was still near.
_Dec. 19._—Morning dawned upon the strange scene. The cooks proceeded to
make fires, to cook some food, under the shelter of the high banks, that
we might break our long fasts. Frank and I made a sufficient meal out of
six roasted bananas and a few cups of sugarless coffee.
After which, giving strict orders to Frank and Sheikh Abdallah to be
vigilant in my absence, the boat was manned, and I was rowed to a
distance of 500 yards from the camp towards the right bank. There
stopping to examine the shores, I was surprised to see, only a quarter
of a mile below our camp, a large town, consisting, like those above, of
a series of villages, in a uniform line along the high bank, while a
perfect wealth of palm-trees and banana plantations proved
unquestionably the prosperity of the populous district. I recollected
then that the intelligent dwarf already mentioned had spoken of a
powerful chief, whose district, called Vinya-Njara, possessed so many
men that it would be utterly impossible to pass him.
My plans were soon made. It was necessary that we should occupy the
southernmost village in order to house the sick, to obtain food for
ourselves, and to keep up communication with the land division when it
should announce its presence.
We rowed back to the camp, by this time the observed of a thousand heads
which projected from the jungle between our camp and the first village.
As nothing had been unpacked from the boat and the hospital-canoes, and
only the defenders of the camp had disembarked, every soul was in a few
seconds seated in his place, and pulling swiftly over that intervening
quarter of a mile down to the landing of the first village—targets, it
is true, for several arrows for a short time, but no one could stop to
reply. Arriving at the landing, two men were detailed off to each canoe
and the boat, and we rushed up the high and steep bank. The village was
empty, and, by cutting some trees down to block up each end, became at
once perfectly defensible.
We were not long left unmolested. The savages recovered their wits, and
strove desperately to dislodge us, but at each end of the village, which
was about three hundred yards long, our muskets blazed incessantly. I
also caused three or four sharpshooters to ascend tall trees along the
river banks, which permitted them, though unseen, to overlook the tall
grasses and rear of the village, and to defend us from fire. Meanwhile,
for the first time for twenty-four hours, the sick (seventy-two in
number) were allotted one-fourth of the village for themselves, as over
one-half of them were victims of the pest, of which three had died in
the canoes during the fearful hours of the previous night.
The combat lasted until noon, when, mustering twenty-five men, we made a
sally, and succeeded in clearing the skirts of the village for the day.
Uledi caught one of the natives by the foot, and succeeded in conveying
him within the village, where he was secured as a most welcome prize,
through whom we might possibly, if opportunities offered, bring this
determined people to reason.
Then while the scouts deployed in a crescent form from beyond the ends
of the village into the forest, the rest of our force formed in line,
and commenced to cut down all weeds and grass within a distance of a
hundred yards. This work consumed three hours, after which the scouts
were withdrawn, and we rested half an hour for another scant meal of
bananas. Thus refreshed after our arduous toil, we set about building
marksmen’s nests at each end of the village 15 feet high, which, manned
with ten men each, commanded all approaches. For our purpose there were
a number of soft-wood logs, already prepared in the village, and bark
rope and cane-fibre were abundant in every hut, for the inhabitants of
Vinya-Njara devoted themselves, among other occupations, to fishing, and
the manufacture of salt from the Pistia plants.
By evening our labours were nearly completed. During the night there was
a slight alarm, and now and then the tapping on the roofs and the
pattering among the leaves informed us that our enemies were still
about, but we did not reply to them.
_Dec. 20._—The next morning an assault was attempted, for the enemy
emerged from the bush on the run into the clearing; but our arrangements
seemed to surprise them, for they retreated again almost immediately
into the gloomy obscurities of the jungle, where they maintained, with
indomitable spirit, horn-blowing and a terrific “bo-bo-boing.”
We had, it seems—though I have not had time to mention it before—passed
the tribes which emitted cries of “Ooh-hu-hu, ooh-hu, ooh-hu-hu,” for
ever since our arrival at Vinya-Njara we had listened with varied
feelings to the remarkable war-strains of “Bo-bo, bo-bo, bo-bo-o-o-oh,”
uttered in tones so singular as to impress even my African comrades with
a sense of its eccentricity.
About noon a large flotilla of canoes was observed ascending the river
close to the left bank, manned by such a dense mass of men that any
number between five hundred and eight hundred would be within the mark.
We watched them very carefully until they had ascended the river about
half a mile above us, when, taking advantage of the current, they bore
down towards us, blowing their war-horns, and drumming vigorously. At
the same moment, as though this were a signal in concert with those on
land, war-horns responded from the forest, and I had scarcely time to
order every man to look out when the battle-tempest of arrows broke upon
us from the woods. But the twenty men in the nests at the corners of the
village proved sufficient to resist the attack from the forest side,
Frank Pocock being in charge of one, and Sheikh Abdallah of the other,
while I, with twenty men lining the bushes along the water line,
defended the river side.
This was a period when every man felt that he must either fight or
resign himself to the only other alternative, that of being heaved a
headless corpse into the river. Our many successful struggles for a
precarious existence had begun to animate even the most cowardly with
that pride of life that superiority creates, and that feeling of
invulnerability that frequent lucky escapes foster. I was conscious, as
I cast my eyes about, that my followers were conspicuously
distinguishing themselves, and were at last emerging from that low level
of undeveloped manhood which is the general state of men untried and
inexperienced. With a number of intelligent whites, that acquisition of
courageous qualities would have been assisted by natural good sense, and
a few months’ hard service such as we had undergone would have sufficed
to render them calm and steady in critical times; but with such people
as I had, who had long shown—with the exception of a few—a wonderful
inaptitude for steadiness, the lesson had taken two years. These last
few days on the Livingstone river had been rapidly perfecting that
compact band for the yet more dangerous times and periods to come.
Therefore, though the notes of the war-horns were dreadful, our foe
numerous and pertinacious, and evidently accustomed to victory, I failed
to observe one man amongst my people then fighting who did not seem
desirous to excel even Uledi, the coxswain.
The battle had continued half an hour with a desperate energy, only
qualified by our desperate state. Ammunition we possessed in abundance,
and we made use of it with deadly effect, yet what might have become of
us is doubtful, had not the advanced-guard of Tippu-Tib and our land
division arrived at this critical juncture, causing dismay to the
savages in the forest, who announced the reinforcement by war-horns to
the savages in the canoes, many of whom were, at the moment, making most
strenuous efforts to effect a landing. The river savages, upon hearing
these signals, withdrew, but as they were paddling away they proclaimed
their intention of preventing all escape, either up river or down river,
and expressed their enormous contempt for us by throwing water towards
us with their paddles. We saw all the canoes mysteriously disappear
behind an island, situated about 1600 yards off, and opposite to our
camp.
It was a great pleasure to greet all our people once more, though they
were in a wretched plight. Bad food, and a scarcity of even that during
three days in the jungle, constantly losing the road, wandering
aimlessly about, searching for thinly grown spots through which they
might creep more easily, had reduced their physical strength so much
that it was clear at a glance that several days must elapse before they
would be able to resume their journey.
When all had arrived, I called the forty defenders of the camp together,
and distributing cloth to each of them, told them that as the enemy had
taken their canoes behind the island opposite, they very probably
intended to resume the fight; that it was, therefore, our duty to
prevent that if possible, by making a night expedition, and cutting the
canoes adrift, which would leave them under the necessity of abandoning
the project of attacking us; “besides,” said I, “if we can do the job in
a complete way, the enormous loss of canoes will have such an effect on
them that it will clear our progress down river.”
Frank Pocock was requested to take his choice of crews and man the four
little canoes, which would carry about twenty men, and, proceeding to
the south end of the islet, to spread his canoes across the mouth of the
channel, between the islet and the right bank, while I proceeded in the
boat to the north end of the islet, and, bearing down the channel,
sought out the enemy’s canoes and cut them adrift, which floating down,
were to be picked up by him.
It was a rainy, gusty night, and dark; but at 10 P.M., the hour of
deepest sleep, we set out with muffled oars, Frank to his appointed
position, and I up river, along the left bank, until, having ascended
nearly opposite the lower end of Mpika Island, we cut rapidly across
river to the right bank. Then, resting on our oars, we searched the bank
narrowly, until seeing a fire on the bank we rowed cautiously in, and
discovered eight large canoes, each tied by a short cable of rattan to a
stake, driven deep into the clay. Uledi, Bwana Hamadi, and myself soon
set these free, and giving each a push successively far into the stream,
waited a short time, and then followed them in our boat. Four other
canoes were cut adrift a few hundred yards below. On [Illustration:
CANOE SCOOP.] coming into the channel between the islet and the bank,
numerous bright fires informed us that the largest number of the enemy
was encamped on it, and that their canoes must be fastened below the
several camps. We distinctly heard the murmur of voices, and the
coughing of shivering people, or of those who indulged in the pernicious
_bhang_; but gliding under the shadows of the tall banks and in the
solemn blackness of the trees, we were unperceived, and canoe after
canoe, each with its paddles and scoops within, was pushed into the
swift stream, [Illustration: SCOOPS.] which conveyed it down river to
where we felt assured Frank was ready with his sharp and quick-eyed
assistants. In this manner thirty-six canoes, some of great size, were
sent adrift; and not being able to discover more, we also followed them
noiselessly down stream, until we came to Frank’s canoes, which were
being borne down stream by the weight of so many. However, casting the
great stone anchor of the boat, canoe after canoe was attached to us,
and leaving twenty-six in charge of Frank, we hoisted sail and rowed up
stream, with twelve canoes in tow. Arriving at camp, the canoes were
delivered in charge to the Wangwana, and then the boat hastily returned
to lend assistance to Frank, who made his presence known to us by
occasionally blowing the trumpet. After relieving him of eight more
canoes, he was able almost to keep up with us to camp, where we all
arrived at 5 A.M., after a most successful night expedition.
_Dec. 21._—At 9 A.M. the boat was manned again, and we rowed to the
scene of our midnight labours. The island was all but abandoned! Only a
few persons were left, and to them, with the aid of our interpreters, we
communicated our terms, viz., that we would occupy Vinya-Njara, and
retain all the canoes unless they made peace. We also informed them that
we had one prisoner, who would be surrendered to them if they availed
themselves of our offer of peace; that we had suffered heavily, and they
had also suffered; that war was an evil which wise men avoided; that if
they came with two canoes with their chiefs, two canoes with our chiefs
should meet them in mid-stream, and make blood-brotherhood; and that on
that condition some of their canoes should be restored, and we would
purchase the rest.
They replied that what we had spoken was quite true, but as their chiefs
were some distance away in the woods they must have time to communicate
with them, but that they would announce their decision next day. We then
left them, not, however, without throwing packets of shells towards
them, as an earnest of our wish to be friends, and rowed to our camp at
Vinya-Njara.
The forests for a distance of ten miles around Vinya-Njara were clear of
enemies. The friendly natives of Mpika Island came down to our
assistance in negotiating a peace between us and the surly chiefs, who
had all withdrawn into the forests on the right bank.
_Dec. 22._—On the 22nd of December, the ceremony of blood-brotherhood
having been formally concluded, in midriver, between Safeni and the
chief of Vinya-Njara, our captive and fifteen canoes were returned, and
twenty-three canoes were retained by us for a satisfactory equivalent,
and thus our desperate struggle terminated. Our losses at Vinya-Njara
were four killed and thirteen wounded.
In the afternoon, Tippu-Tib, Sheikh Abdallah, and Muini Ibrahim declared
their intention of returning to Nyangwé by another route, and with such
firmness of tone that I renounced the idea of attempting to persuade
them to change their decision. Indeed, the awful condition of the sick,
the high daily mortality, the constant attacks on us during each
journey, and the last terrible struggle with Vinya-Njara, had produced
such dismal impressions on the minds of the escort that no amount of
money would have bribed the undisciplined people of Tippu-Tib to have
entertained for a moment the idea of continuing the journey.
Though eight marches were still wanting to complete the twenty camps
from Wané-Kirumbu, in Uregga, I felt that their courage was exhausted. I
therefore consented to release Tippu-Tib from his engagement, on
condition that he used his influence with the people of the Expedition
to follow me. He consented to do so, and in consideration for his
services thus far and the calamities that his people had undergone, I
distributed the following gifts:—
To Tibbu-Tib, a draft for 2,600 dollars, 1 riding-ass, 1 trunk, 1 gold
chain, 30 doti of fine cloth, 150 lbs. of beads, 16,300 shells, 1
revolver, 200 rounds of ammunition, 50 lbs. of brass wire.
” Sheikh Abdallah, 20 doti of cloth.
” Muini Ibrahim, 10 doti of cloth.
” Bwana Abed, the guide, 10 doti of cloth.
” Bwana Hamadi, 5 doti of cloth.
” ” Cheché, 5 doti of cloth.
” ” Khamis, 5 doti of cloth.
” 50 of his principal men, 2 doti of cloth.
” 90 of his escort, 1 doti of cloth.
” each of the Wangwana chiefs, 2½ doti of cloth.
” each of the Wanyamwezi and Wangwana of the Expedition, 1½ doti of
cloth.
” each woman and boy, 1 doti of cloth.
It was then announced that—inasmuch as my duty compelled me to endeavour
to do my utmost to trace the great river to the sea, and as the chiefs
and the principal men of the Expedition were resolved to follow me
wherever I should lead them—on the fifth day from then we should strike
our camp, and form a new and separate camp, and that on the sixth day we
should embark, and begin our journey down the river to the ocean—or to
death.
Said I: “Into whichever sea this great river empties, there shall we
follow it. You have seen that I have saved you a score of times, when
everything looked black and dismal for us. That care of you to which you
owe your safety hitherto, I shall maintain, until I have seen you safe
and sound in your own homes, and under your own palm-trees. All I ask of
you is, perfect trust in whatever I say. On your lives depends my own;
if I risk yours, I risk mine. As a father looks after his children, I
will look after you. It is true we are not so strong as when the
Wanyaturu attacked us, or when we marched through Unyoro to Muta Nzigé,
but we are of the same band of men, and we are still of the same spirit.
Many of our party have already died, but death is the end of all; and if
they died earlier than we, it was the will of God, and who shall rebel
against His will? It may be we shall meet a hundred wild tribes yet,
who, for the sake of eating us, will rush to meet and fight us. We have
no wish to molest them. We have moneys with us, and are, therefore, not
poor. If they fight us, we must accept it as an evil, like disease,
which we cannot help. We shall continue to do our utmost to make
friends, and the river is wide and deep. If we fight, we fight for our
lives. It may be that we shall be distressed by famine and want. It may
be that we shall meet with many more cataracts, or find ourselves before
a great lake, whose wild waves we cannot cross with these canoes; but we
are not children, we have heads, and arms, and are we not always under
the eye of God, who will do with us as He sees fit? Therefore, my
children, make up your minds as I have made up mine, that, as we are now
in the very middle of this continent, and it would be just as bad to
return as to go on, we shall continue our journey, that we shall toil
on, and on, by this river and no other, to the salt sea.”[10]
-----
Footnote 10:
A poetical friend on hearing this address brought to my notice a
remarkable coincidence. In one of Tennyson’s poems, Ulysses addresses
his followers thus:—
“My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads: come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the happy isles
And see the great Achilles whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
-----
A loud shout of applause greeted me as I concluded, and Manwa Sera
followed it up, and in a few spirited words said that they were bound to
let the Wanyamwezi see of what stuff the sea children were made, and,
turning to the Arabs, he asked them to look at the black men who were
about to perform what they dreaded. Uledi, the coxswain, on behalf of
the boat-boys, said that I was their father, and though every one else
should refuse to move farther, Frank and I might step into the boat, and
he and his friends would dare the long journey that very day!
There was ample work for us all before setting out on our adventurous
journey. Food had to be procured and prepared for at least twenty days.
Several of the canoes required to be repaired, and all to be lashed in
couples, to prevent them from capsizing; and special arrangements
required to be made for the transport of three riding-asses, which we
had resolved upon taking with us, as a precaution in the event of our
being compelled to abandon the canoes and to journey along the banks.
_Dec. 25._—Christmas Day we passed most pleasantly and happily, like men
determined to enjoy life while it lasted. In the morning we mustered all
the men, and appointed them to their respective canoes. Names taken from
those British cruisers which had become familiar to the east coast
people were also given to them by the Zanzibaris, amid loud laughter,
except to half-a-dozen which Frank and I reserved to bear such names as
we selected for them.
1. The exploring boat, Lady Alice.
2. Ocean, commanded by Frank.
3. Livingstone.
4. Stanley.
5. Telegraph.
6. Herald.
7. Jason.
8. Argo.
9. Penguin.
10. Wolverine.
11. Fawn.
12. Glasgow (flag-ship, commanded by Manwa Sera).
13. London Town.
14. America.
15. Hart.
16. Daphne.
17. Lynx.
18. Nymph.
19. Vulture.
20. Shark.
21. Arab.
22. Mirambo.
23. Mtesa.
Canoe races were afterwards instituted between the various vessels, and
to the crews who excelled were awarded gifts of cloth. The afternoon was
celebrated by foot-races, in which, for the sake of the prizes offered,
the Arabs joined, occasioning much amusement to the people. The great
event was the race between the famous Tippu-Tib and Francis Pocock. The
Arab prepared himself with unusual determination to compete for the
prize, a richly chased silver goblet and cup, one of the presents
bestowed on me before leaving England. The course was 300 yards, from
end to end of the village street. Though Frank exerted himself to the
utmost, the sinews of the muscular Arab carried him to the front at the
finish by 15 yards. Then the little boys of the Expedition competed with
the little boys of the escort, and finally ten young women were induced
to attempt to compete for a prize, and their presence on the racecourse
convulsed the hundreds assembled to witness the unusual scene. Some were
very ungainly and elephantine in their movements, especially Muscati,
the wife of the chief Safeni, but others were most graceful of body and
lithe of limb, and raced with the swiftness of Atalanta. But the girl
Khamisi of Zanzibar was declared the winner.
A dance, by a hundred Wanyamwezi, adorned in all the feathered glory and
terror of war, with sounding drums and melodious blasts from ivory
horns, terminated the extraordinary festivities.
_Dec. 26._—On the 26th Tippu-Tib gave a banquet of rice and roasted
sheep to the Expedition, and malofu, or palm-wine, from Mpika Island,
assisted to maintain the high spirits and sanguine prospects of success
with which these cheery proceedings, festivities, and sports inspired
us.
The next day at dawn we embarked all the men, women, and children, 149
souls in all, and the riding-asses of the Expedition, and, telling
Tippu-Tib we should on the morrow pull up stream and descend the river
close to the village of Vinya-Njara for a last farewell, we pulled
across to the islet near the right bank, where we constructed a rude
camp for the only night we should remain.
When I ascertained, after arrival, that every soul connected with the
Expedition was present, my heart was filled with a sense of confidence
and trust such as I had not enjoyed since leaving Zanzibar.
In the evening, while sleep had fallen upon all save the watchful
sentries in charge of the boat and canoes, Frank and I spent a serious
time.
Frank was at heart as sanguine as I that we should finally emerge
somewhere, but, on account of the persistent course of the great river
towards the north, a little uneasiness was evident in his remarks.
“Before we finally depart, sir,” said he, “do you really believe, in
your inmost soul, that we shall succeed? I ask this because there are
such odds against us—not that I for a moment think it would be best to
return, having proceeded so far.”
“Believe? Yes, I do believe that we shall all emerge into light again
some time. It is true that our prospects are as dark as this night. Even
the Mississippi presented no such obstacles to De Soto as this river
will necessarily present to us. Possibly its islands and its forests
possessed much of the same aspect, but here we are at an altitude of
sixteen hundred and fifty feet above the sea. What conclusions can we
arrive at? Either that this river penetrates a great distance north of
the Equator, and, taking a mighty sweep round, descends into the
Congo—this, by the way, would lessen the chances of there being many
cataracts in the river;—or that we shall shortly see it in the
neighbourhood of the Equator, take a direct cut towards the Congo, and
precipitate itself, like our Colorado river, through a deep cañon, or
down great cataracts; or that it is either the Niger or the Nile. I
believe it will prove to be the Congo; if the Congo, then there must be
many cataracts. Let us only hope that the cataracts are all in a lump,
close together.
“Any way, whether the Congo, the Niger, or the Nile, I am prepared,
otherwise I should not be so confident. Though I love life as much as
you do, or any other man does, yet on the success of this effort I am
about to stake my life, my all. To prevent its sacrifice foolishly I
have devised numerous expedients with which to defy wild men, wild
nature, and unknown terrors. There is an enormous risk, but you know the
adage, ‘Nothing risked, nothing won.’
* * * * * * * *
“Now look at this, the latest chart which Europeans have drawn of this
region. It is a blank, perfectly white. We will draw two curves just to
illustrate what I mean. One shows the river reaching the Equator and
turning westward. Supposing there are no cataracts, we ought to reach
‘Tuckey’s Furthest’ by the 15th of February; but if the river takes that
wider sweep from 2° north of the Equator, we may hope to reach by the
15th of March, and, if we allow a month for cataracts or rapids, we have
a right to think that we ought to see the ocean by either the middle or
the end of April, 1877.
“I assure you, Frank, this enormous void is about to be filled up. Blank
as it is, it has a singular fascination for me. Never has white paper
possessed such a charm for me as this has, and I have already mentally
peopled it, filled it with most wonderful pictures of towns, villages,
rivers, countries, and tribes—all in the imagination—and I am burning to
see whether I am correct or not. _Believe?_ I see us gliding down by
tower and town, and my mind will not permit a shadow of doubt. Good-
night, my boy! Good-night! and may happy dreams of the sea, and ships,
and pleasure, and comfort, and success attend you in your sleep! To-
morrow, my lad, is the day we shall cry—‘Victory or death!’”
[Illustration: “TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN.”]
CHAPTER VII.
Farewell to Tippu-Tib—Attacked from both banks—The fat savage takes a
bad shot at me—In the home of the elephants—Insect life—Under
covert—The Lowwa river—A storm on the river—New Year’s Day—Bullets
against spears—“Sennenneh!”—Tempting the female mind—The reward of a
good deed—A river armada: crocodile boats—Betwixt cataracts and
cannibals.
_Dec. 28._—The crisis drew nigh when the 28th of December dawned. A grey
mist hung over the river, so dense that we could not see even the palmy
banks on which Vinya-Njara was situated. It would have been suicidal to
begin our journey on such a gloomy morning. The people appeared as
cheerless and dismal as the foggy day. We cooked our breakfasts in order
to see if, by the time we had fortified the soul by satisfying the
cravings of the stomach, the river and its shores might not have resumed
their usual beautiful outlines, and their striking contrasts of light
and shadow.
Slowly the breeze wafted the dull and heavy mists away until the sun
appeared, and bit by bit the luxuriantly wooded banks rose up solemn and
sad. Finally the grey river was seen, and at 9 A.M. its face gleamed
with the brightness of a mirror.
“Embark, my friends! Let us at once away! and a happy voyage to us.”
The drum and trumpet proclaimed to Tippu-Tib’s expectant ears that we
were ascending the river. In half an hour we were pulling across to the
left bank, and when we reached it a mile above Vinya-Njara we rested on
our oars. The strong brown current soon bore us down within hearing of a
deep and melodious diapason of musical voices chanting the farewell
song. How beautiful it sounded to us as we approached them! The dense
jungle and forests seemed to be penetrated with the vocal notes, and the
river to bear them tenderly towards us. Louder the sad notes swelled on
our ears, full of a pathetic and mournful meaning. With bated breath we
listened to the rich music which spoke to us unmistakably of parting, of
sundered friendship, a long, perhaps eternal farewell. We came in view
of them as, ranged along the bank in picturesque costume, the sons of
Unyamwezi sang their last song. We waved our hands to them. Our hearts
were so full of grief that we could not speak. Steadily the brown flood
bore us by, and fainter and fainter came the notes down the water, till
finally they died away, leaving us all alone in our loneliness.
But, looking up, I saw the gleaming portal to the Unknown: wide open to
us and away down, for miles and miles, the river lay stretched with all
the fascination of its mystery. I stood up and looked at the people. How
few they appeared, to dare the region of fable and darkness! They were
nearly all sobbing. They were leaning forward, bowed, as it seemed, with
grief and heavy hearts.
“Sons of Zanzibar,” I shouted, “the Arabs and the Wanyamwezi are looking
at you. They are now telling one another what brave fellows you are.
Lift up your heads and be men. What is there to fear? All the world is
smiling with joy. Here we are altogether like one family, with hearts
united, all strong with the purpose to reach our homes. See this river;
it is the road to Zanzibar. When saw you a road so wide? When did you
journey along a path like this? Strike your paddles deep, cry out
Bismillah! and let us forward.”
Poor fellows! with what wan smiles they responded to my words! How
feebly they paddled! But the strong flood was itself bearing us along,
and the Vinya-Njara villages were fast receding into distance.
Then I urged my boat’s crew, knowing that thus we should tempt the
canoes to quicker pace. Three or four times Uledi, the coxswain,
gallantly attempted to sing, in order to invite a cheery chorus, but his
voice soon died into such piteous hoarseness that the very ludicrousness
of the tones caused his young friends to smile even in the midst of
their grief.
We knew that the Vinya-Njara district was populous from the numbers of
natives that fought with us by land and water, but we had no conception
that it was so thickly populated as the long row of villages we now saw
indicated. I counted fourteen separate villages, each with its
respective growth of elais palm and banana, and each separated from the
other by thick bush.
Every three or four miles after passing Vinya-Njara, there were small
villages visible on either bank, but we met with no disturbance,
fortunately. At 5 P.M. we made for a small village called Kali-Karero,
and camped there, the natives having retired peacefully. In half an hour
they returned, and the ceremony of brotherhood was entered upon, which
insured a peaceful night. The inhabitants of Rukura, opposite us, also
approached us with confidence, and an interchange of small gifts served
us as a healthy augury for the future.
_Dec. 29._—On the morning of the 29th, accompanied by a couple of
natives in a small fishing-canoe, we descended the river along the left
bank, and, after about four miles, arrived at the confluence of the
Kasuku, a dark-water stream of a hundred yards’ width at the mouth.
Opposite the mouth, at the southern end of Kaimba—a long wooded island
on the right bank, and a little above the confluence—stands the
important village of Kisanga-Sanga.
Below Kaimba Island and its neighbour, the Livingstone assumes a breadth
of 1800 yards. The banks are very populous: the villages of the left
bank comprise the district of Luavala. We thought for some time we
should be permitted to pass by quietly, but soon the great wooden drums,
hollowed out of huge trees, thundered the signal along the river that
there were strangers. In order to lessen all chances of a rupture
between us, we sheered off to the middle of the river, and quietly lay
on our paddles. But from both banks at once, in fierce concert, the
natives, with their heads gaily feathered, and armed with broad black
wooden shields and long spears, dashed out towards us.
Tippu-Tib before our departure had hired to me two young men of
Ukusu—cannibals—as interpreters. These were now instructed to cry out
the word “Sennenneh!” (“Peace!”), and to say that we were friends.
But they would not reply to our greeting, and in a bold peremptory
manner told us to return.
“But we are doing no harm, friends. It is the river that takes us down,
and the river will not stop, or go back.”
“This is our river.”
“Good. Tell it to take us back, and we will go.”
“If you do not go back, we will fight you.”
“No, don’t; we are friends.”
“We don’t want you for our friends; we will eat you.”
But we persisted in talking to them, and as their curiosity was so great
they persisted in listening, and the consequence was that the current
conveyed us near to the right bank; and in such near neighbourhood to
another district, that our discourteous escort had to think of
themselves, and began to skurry hastily up river, leaving us unattacked.
[Illustration: WAR DRUMS OF THE TRIBES OF THE UPPER LIVINGSTONE.]
The villages on the right bank also maintained a tremendous drumming and
blowing of war-horns, and their wild men hurried up with menace towards
us, urging their sharp-prowed canoes so swiftly that they seemed to skim
over the water like flying-fish. Unlike the Luavala villagers, they did
not wait to be addressed, but as soon as they came within fifty or sixty
yards they shot out their spears, crying out, “Meat! meat! Ah! ha! We
shall have plenty of meat! Bo-bo-bo-bo, Bo-bo-bo-bo-o o!”
Undoubtedly these must be relatives of the terrible “Bo-bo-bo’s” above,
we thought, as with one mind we rose to respond to this rabid man-eating
tribe. Anger we had none for them, it seemed to me so absurd to be angry
with people who looked upon one only as an epicure would regard a fat
capon. Sometimes also a faint suspicion came to my mind that this was
all but a part of a hideous dream. Why was it that I should be haunted
with the idea that there were human beings who regarded me and my
friends only in the light of meat? Meat! _We?_ Heavens! what an
atrocious idea!
“Meat! Ah! we shall have meat to day. Meat! meat! meat!”
There was a fat-bodied wretch in a canoe, whom I allowed to crawl within
spear-throw of me; who, while he swayed the spear with a vigour far from
assuring to one who stood within reach of it, leered with such a clever
hideousness of feature that I felt, if only within arm’s length of him,
I could have bestowed upon him a hearty thump on the back, and cried out
applaudingly, “Bravo, old boy! You do it capitally!”
Yet not being able to reach him, I was rapidly being fascinated by him.
The rapid movements of the swaying spear, the steady wide-mouthed grin,
the big square teeth, the head poised on one side with the confident
pose of a practised spear-thrower, the short brow and square face, hair
short and thick. Shall I ever forget him? It appeared to me as if the
spear partook of the same cruel inexorable look as the grinning savage.
Finally, I saw him draw his right arm back, and his body incline
backwards, with still that same grin on his face, and I felt myself
begin to count, one, two, three, four—and _whizz!_ The spear flew over
my back, and hissed as it pierced the water. The spell was broken.
It was only five minutes’ work clearing the river. We picked up several
shields, and I gave orders that all shields should be henceforth
religiously preserved, for the idea had entered my head that they would
answer capitally as bulwarks for our canoes. An hour after this we
passed close to the confluence of the Urindi—a stream 400 yards in width
at the mouth, and deep, with water of a light colour and tolerably
clear.
We continued down river along the right bank, and at 4 P.M. camped in a
dense low jungle, the haunt of the hippopotamus and elephant during the
dry season. When the river is in flood, a much larger tract must be
under water.
The left bank was between seventy and eighty feet high; and a point
bearing from camp north-west was about one hundred and fifty feet high.
The traveller’s first duty in lands infested by lions and leopards, is
to build a safe corral, kraal, or boma, for himself, his oxen, horses,
servants; and in lands infested like Usongora Meno and Kasera—wherein we
now were—by human lions and leopards, the duty became still more
imperative. We drew our canoes, therefore, half-way upon the banks, and
our camp was in the midst of an impenetrable jungle.
On the high bluffs opposite was situated Vina-Kya. The inhabitants at
once manned their drums and canoes, and advanced towards our camp. We
could not help it. Here we were camped in a low jungle. How could the
most captious, or the most cruel, of men find any cause or heart to
blame us for resting on this utterly uninhabitable spot? Yet the savages
of Vina-Kya did. Our interpreters were urged to be eloquent. And indeed
they were, if I may judge by the gestures, which was the only language
that was comprehensible to me. I was affected with a strange, envious
admiration for those two young fellows, cannibals it is true, but
endowed, none the less, with a talent for making even senseless limbs
speak—and they appeared to have affected the savages of Vina-Kya also.
At any rate, the wild natures relented for that day; but they promised
to decapitate us early in the morning, for the sake of a horrid barbecue
they intended to hold. We resolved not to wait for the entertainment.
_Dec. 30._—At dawn we embarked, and descended about two miles, close to
the right bank, when, lo! the broad mouth of the magnificent Lowwa, or
Rowwa river burst upon the view. It was over a thousand yards wide, and
its course by compass was from the south-east, or east-southeast true. A
sudden rainstorm compelled us to camp on the north bank, and here we
found ourselves under the shadows of the primeval forest.
Judging from the height and size of these trees, I doubt whether the
right bank of the Livingstone at the mouth of the Lowwa river was ever
at any time inhabited. An impenetrable undergrowth consisting of a
heterogeneous variety of ferns, young palms, date, doum, _Raphia
vinifera_, and the _Mucuna pruriens_—the dread of the naked native for
the tenacity with which its stinging sharp-pointed bristles attach
themselves to the skin—masses of the capsicum plant, a hundred species
of clambering vines, caoutchouc creepers, llianes, and endless lengths
of rattan-cane intermeshed and entangled, was jealously sheltered from
sunlight by high, over-arching, and interlacing branches of fine grey-
stemmed Rubiaceæ, camwood and bombax, teak, elais palms, ficus, with
thick fleshy leaves, and tall gum-trees. Such is the home of the
elephants which through this undergrowth have trodden the only paths
available. In the forks of trees were seen large lumps, a spongy
excrescence which fosters orchids and tender ferns, and from many of the
branches depended the Usneæ moss in graceful and delicate fringes. Along
the brown clayey shores, wherever there is the slightest indentation in
the banks and still water, were to be found the Cyperaceæ sedge, and in
deeper recesses and shallow water the papyrus.
In such cool, damp localities as the low banks near the confluence of
these two important streams, entomologists might revel. The Myriapedes,
with their lengthy sinuous bodies of bright shiny chocolate or deep
black colour, are always one of the first species to attract one’s
attention. Next come the crowded lines of brown, black, or yellow ants,
and the termites, which, with an insatiable appetite for destruction,
are ever nibbling, gnawing, and prowling. If the mantis does not arrest
the eye next, it most assuredly will be an unctuous earth caterpillar,
with its polished and flexible armour, suggestive of slime and nausea.
The mantis among insects is like the python among serpents. Its strange
figure, trance-like attitudes, and mysterious ways have in all countries
appealed to the imagination of the people. Though sometimes five inches
in length, its waist is only about the thickness of its leg. Gaunt,
weird, and mysterious in its action, it is as much a wonder among
insects as a mastodon would be in a farmyard. The ladybird attracts the
careless eye, as it slowly wanders about, by its brilliant red, spotted
with black—but if I were to enter into details of the insect life I saw
within the area of a square foot, an entire chapter might readily be
filled. But to write upon the natural wonders of the tropics seems
nowadays almost superfluous; it is so well understood that in these
humid shades the earth seethes with life, that in these undrained
recesses the primitive laboratory of nature is located, for disturbing
which the unacclimatised will have to pay the bitter penalty of malarial
fever.
One hears much about the “silence of the forest,” but the tropical
forest is not silent to the keen observer. The hum and murmur of
hundreds of busy insect tribes make populous the twilight shadows that
reign under the primeval growth. I hear the grinding of millions of
mandibles, the furious hiss of a tribe just alarmed or about to rush to
battle, millions of tiny wings rustling through the nether air, the
march of an insect tribe under the leaves, the startling leap of an
awakened mantis, the chirp of some eager and garrulous cricket, the buzz
of an ant-lion, the roar of a bullfrog. Add to these the crackle of
twigs, the fall of leaves, the dropping of nut and berry, the occasional
crash of a branch, or the constant creaking and swaying of the forest
tops as the strong wind brushes them or the gentle breezes awake them to
whispers. Though one were blind and alone in the midst of a real
tropical forest, one’s sense of hearing would be painfully alive to the
fact that an incredible number of minute industries, whose number one
could never hope to estimate, were active in the shades. Silence is
impossible in a tropical forest.
About ten o’clock, as we cowered in most miserable condition under the
rude, leafy shelters we had hastily thrown up, the people of the wooded
bluffs of Iryamba, opposite the Lowwa confluence, came over to see what
strange beings were those who had preferred the secrecy of the
uninhabited grove to their own loud roystering society. Stock still we
sat cowering in our leafy coverts, but the mild reproachful voice of
Katembo, our cannibal interpreter, was heard labouring in the interests
of peace, brotherhood, and goodwill. The rain pattered so incessantly
that I could from my position only faintly hear Katembo’s voice
pleading, earnestly yet mildly, with his unsophisticated brothers of
Iryamba, but I felt convinced from the angelic tones that they would act
as a sedative on any living creature except a rhinoceros or a crocodile.
The long-drawn bleating sound of the word “Sen-nen-neh,” which I heard
frequently uttered by Katembo, I studied until I became quite as
proficient in it as he himself.
Peace was finally made between Katembo on the one hand and the canoemen
of Iryamba on the other, and they drew near to gaze at their leisure at
one of the sallow white men, who with great hollow eyes peered, from
under the vizor of his cap, on the well-fed bronze-skinned aborigines.
After selling us ten gigantic plantains, 13 inches long and 3 inches in
diameter, they informed us that we had halted on the shore of Luru, or
Lulu, in the uninhabited portion of the territory of Wanpuma, a tribe
which lived inland; that the Lowwa came from the east, and was formed of
two rivers, called the Lulu from the north-east, and the Lowwa from the
south-east; that about a day’s journey up the Lowwa river was a great
cataract, which was “very loud.”
The Livingstone, from the base of Iryamba bluffs on the left bank to our
camp on the right bank, a mile below the confluence, was about two
thousand yards in width. By dead reckoning we ascertained the latitude
to be south 1° 28′, or 24 miles north of the Urindi affluent of the
Livingstone, 95 miles north of the Lira, and 199 geographical miles
north of the mouth of the Luama affluent.
The relative rank of these four great tributaries may be estimated by
their width, at or near the confluence. The Luama was 400 yards wide;
the Lira 300 yards, but deep; the Urindi, 500 yards; the Lowwa, 1000
yards. The parallel of latitude in which the Lowwa mouth is situated is
fifty miles north of the extreme north end of Lake Tanganika. From all I
could gather by a comparison of names and the relative authenticity of
my informants, I am inclined to believe that the sources of this last
great river may be placed near the south-west corner of Lake Muta-Nzigé;
also, that the Urindi’s head streams must approach the sources of the
Luanda, which joins the Rusizi, and flows into Lake Tanganika, and that
the Lira must drain the country west of Uvira.
The length of the Urindi river, which empties into the Livingstone only
fifteen miles south of the Lowwa, may be estimated by a glance at the
course of the Luama, which I followed from its source to its confluence
with the Lualaba. In the same manner, the Lira’s course and length may
be judged.
The growing importance and volume of the tributaries as we proceed north
also proves a northern prolongation of the mountain chain, which shuts
in Tanganika on the west, and probably a slight deflection to the
eastward. It will be observed also that while the Luama, the Lulindi,
the Kunda, the Kariba, the Rumuna, the Kipembwé, the Lira, Urindi, and
Lowwa rivers all issue from the country east, within a length of about
two hundred miles of the Livingstone, we have only discovered two
comparatively small rivers, the Ruiki and the Kasuku, issuing from the
west side during the same course. The nature of the eastern country may
be judged after a study of the chapter descriptive of our journey from
Lake Tanganika to the mouth of the Luama.
At 2 P.M. we left our camp in the forest of Luru, and pulled across to
the Iryamba side of the Livingstone. But as soon as the rain had ceased,
a strong breeze had risen, which, when we were in mid-river, increased
to a tempest from the north, and created great heavy waves, which caused
the foundering of two of our canoes, the drowning of two of our men,
Farjalla Baraka and Nasib, and the loss of four muskets and one sack of
beads. Half-a-dozen other canoes were in great danger for a time, but no
more fatal accidents occurred.
I feared lest this disaster might cause the people to rebel and compel
me to return, for it had shocked them greatly; but I was cheered to hear
them remark that the sudden loss of their comrades had been ordained by
fate, and that no precautions would have availed to save them. But
though omens and auguries were delivered by the pessimists among us, not
one hazarded aloud the belief that we ought to relinquish our projects;
yet they were all evidently cowed by our sudden misfortune.
_Dec. 31._—On the 31st, the last day of the year 1876, we resumed our
voyage. The morning was beautiful, the sky blue and clear, the tall
forest still and dark, the river flowed without a ripple, like a solid
mass of polished silver. Everything promised fair. But from the island
below, the confluence of the Lowwa and the Livingstone, the warning drum
sounded loudly over the river, and other drums soon echoed the dull
boom.
“Keep together, my men,” I cried, “there may be hot work for us below.”
We resolved to keep in mid-stream, because both the island and the left
bank appeared to be extremely populous, and to paddle slowly and
steadily down river. The canoes of the natives darted from either shore,
and there seemed to be every disposition made for a furious attack; but
as we drew near, we shouted out to them, “Friends, Sennenneh! Keep away
from us. We shall not hurt you; but don’t lift your spears, or we’ll
fight.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, wherein spears were clashed against
shields, and some fierce words uttered, but finally the canoes drew
back, and as we continued to paddle, the river with its stiff current
soon bore us down rapidly past the populous district and island.
Before we finally passed by the latter, we came to another island which
was uninhabited, and, after descending by a narrow channel, we crossed
the mouth of a stream about twenty-five yards wide, flowing from the
west side, in which were several small canoes and some dozen fishermen,
lifting their nets from among the sedge.
At noon of this day we came to the southern end of an uninhabited low
and sandy island, where I ascertained the latitude to be south 1° 20′
30″. The altitude, above sea-level, of the river at this place is 1729
feet.
South of this position we struck across to the right bank again and
discovered a small river 40 yards wide at the mouth, nearly opposite
which, about mid-stream, are five low and bush-covered islets. After
descending some five miles we formed our camp in the woods on the right
bank.
_Jan. 1._—The beginning of the new year, 1877, commenced, the first
three hours after sunrise, with a delicious journey past an uninhabited
tract, when my mind, wearied with daily solicitude, found repose in
dwelling musingly upon the deep slumber of Nature. Outwardly the forest
was all beauty, solemn peace, and soft dreamy rest, tempting one to
sentiment and mild melancholy. Though it was vain to endeavour to
penetrate with our eyes into the dense wall of forest—black and
impervious to the sunlight which almost seemed to burn up the river—what
could restrain the imagination? These were my calm hours, periods when
my heart, oblivious of the dark and evil days we had passed, resolutely
closed itself against all dismal forebodings, and revelled in the
exquisite stillness of the uninhabited wilderness.
But soon after nine o’clock we discovered we were approaching
settlements, both on islands and on the banks, and again the hoarse war-
drums awaked the echoes of the forest, boomed along the river, and
quickened our pulses.
We descend in close order as before, and steadily pursue our way. But,
heading us off, about ten long canoes dart out from the shadow of palmy
banks, and the wild crews begin to chant their war-songs, and now and
then, in attitudes of bravado and defiance, raise spears and shields
aloft and bring them downward with sounding clash.
As we approached them we shouted out “Sen-nen-neh”—our Sesame and
Shibboleth, our watchword and countersign. But they would not respond.
Hitherto they had called us Wasambye; we were now called Wijiwa (people
of the sun?); our guns were called Katadzi, while before they were
styled Kibongeh, or lightning. Katembo was implored to be eloquent, mild
of voice, pacific in gesture.
They replied, “We shall eat Wajiwa meat to-day, Oho, we shall eat Wajiwa
meat!” and then an old chief gave some word of command, and at once 100
paddles beat the water into foam, and the canoes darted at us. But the
contest was short, and we were permitted to pursue our voyage.
The river, beyond these islands, expanded to a breadth of 3000 yards:
the left bank being high, and the right low. At noon we were in south
latitude 1° 10′.
Five miles below, the river narrowed to about 2800 yards, and then we
floated down past an uninhabited stretch, the interval affording us
rest, until, reaching the southern end of a large island, we camped,
lest we might be plunged into hostilities once more.
_Jan. 2._—The second of January was a lively day. We first ran the
gauntlet past Mirembuka, an exciting affair, and next we were challenged
by Mwana-Mara’s fierce sons, who were soon joined by Mwana Vibondo’s
people, and about 10.30 A.M. we had to repulse an attack made by the
natives of Lombo a Kiriro. We had fought for three hours almost without
a pause, for the Kewanjawa and Watomba tribe from the left bank had
joined in the savage mêlée, and had assisted the tribes of the right
bank. Then for an hour we had rest; but after that we came to islands,
which we afterwards discovered were called Kibombo, and, finding the
tribe of Amu Nyam preparing for battle with animation, we took advantage
of one of the group to see if we could not negotiate a peaceful passage
before risking another fight. The latitude of this island was south 0°
52′ 0″.
Katembo, our interpreter, and his friend, were despatched in a canoe
manned by eight men, halfway to the shore, to speak fair and sweet words
of peace to the Amu Nyam. No verbal answer was given to them, but they
had to retreat in a desperate hurry before a rapidly advancing crowd of
canoes. The Amu Nyams had evidently not had time to be undeceived by
their friends above, for they came up with a dauntless bearing, as
though accustomed to victory. Yet we held out copper armlets and long
strings of shells to them, vociferously shouting out “Sen-nen-neh,” with
appropriate and plausible gestures. They laughed at us; and one fellow,
who had a mighty door-like shield painted black with soot, using his
long spear as an index finger, asked us—if Katembo spoke correctly—if we
thought we could disappoint them of so much meat by the presents of a
few shells and a little copper.
Our canoes were lying broadside along the reedy island, and as soon as
the first spears were thrown, the Wangwana received orders to reply to
them with brass slugs, which created such a panic that a couple of shots
from each man sufficed to drive them back in confusion. After a while
they recovered, and from a distance began to fly their poisoned arrows;
but the Sniders responded to them so effectually that they finally
desisted, and we were again free from our meat-loving antagonists.
About 2 P.M. we dropped down river again a few miles, and at 4.30 P.M.
halted to camp at an old clearing on the right bank. Had we dared, we
might have continued our journey by night, but prudence forbade the
attempt, as cataracts might have been more disastrous than cannibals.
Near sunset we were once more alarmed by finding arrows dropping into
the camp. Of course there was a general rush to the guns; but, upon
noting the direction whence the arrows came, I ordered the people simply
to go on about their duties as though nothing had occurred, while I sent
twenty men in two canoes down the river with instructions to advance
upon the enemy from behind, but by no means to fire unless they were
overwhelmed in numbers.
Just at dark our canoes came back with three prisoners bound hand and
foot. Except the poor dwarf at Ikondu up river, I had not seen any human
creatures so unlovable to look at. There was no one feature about them
that even extravagant charity could indicate as elevating them into the
category of noble savages. I do not think I was prejudiced; I examined
their faces with eyes that up to that time had gazed into the eyes of
over five hundred thousand black men. They were intolerably ugly. I
would not disturb them, however, that evening, but releasing their feet,
and relaxing the bonds on their arms, appointed Katembo and his friend
to keep them company and feed them, and Wadi Rehani to stimulate the
keepers to be hospitable.
_Jan. 3._—By the morning they were sociable, and replied readily to our
questions. They were of the Wanongi—an inland tribe—but they had a small
fishing village about an hour’s journey below our camp called Katumbi. A
powerful tribe called the Mwana Ntaba occupied a country below Katumbi,
near some falls, which they warned us would be our destruction. On the
left side of the river, opposite the Mwana Ntaba, were the Wavinza,
south of a large river called the Rumami, or Lumami. The great river on
which we had voyaged was known to them as the Lowwa.
As we stepped into our canoes we cut their bonds and permitted the
unlovable and unsympathetic creatures to depart, a permission of which
they availed themselves gladly.
The banks were from 10 to 30 feet high, of a grey-brown clay, and steep
with old clearings, which were frequent at this part until below
Katumbi. Half an hour afterwards we arrived at a channel which flowed in
a sudden bend to the north-east, and, following it, we found ourselves
abreast of a most populous shore, close to which we glided. Presently
several large canoes appeared from behind an island to our right, and
seemed to be hesitating as to whether they should retreat or advance.
The “Open Sesame”—“Sen-nen-neh!”—was loudly uttered by Katembo with his
usual pathetic, bleating accent, and to our joy the word was repeated by
over a hundred voices. “Sen-nen-neh! Sennenneh! Sennenneh!”—each voice
apparently vying with the other in loudness. The river bore us down, and
as they would not shorten the distance, we thought it better to keep
this condition of things, lest the movement might be misconstrued, and
we might be precipitated into hostilities.
For half an hour we glided down in this manner, keeping up a constant
fire of smiling compliments and pathetic Sennennehs. Indeed, we were
discovering that there was much virtue in a protracted and sentimental
pronunciation of Sen-nen-neh! The men of the Expedition, who had
previously ridiculed with mocking Ba-a-a-a-as, the absurd moan and
plaintive accents of Sen-nen-neh, which Katembo had employed, now
admired him for his tact. The good natives with whom we were now
exchanging these suave, bleating courtesies proved to us that the true
shibboleth of peace was to prolong each word with a quavering moan and
melancholic plaint.
We came to a banana grove of a delicious and luxuriant greenness, which
the shadowy black green of the antique forest behind it only made more
agreeable and pleasant. Beyond this grove, the bank was lined by
hundreds of men and women, standing or sitting down, their eyes directed
towards our approaching flotilla.
“Sen-nen-neh!” was delivered with happy effect by one of the boat-boys.
A chorus of Sen-nen-nehs, long-drawn, loud, and harmonious, quickly
following the notes of the last syllable, burst from the large assembly,
until both banks of the great river re-echoed it with all its
indescribable and ludicrous pathos.
The accents were peaceful, the bearing of the people and the presence of
the women were unmistakably pacific, so the word was given to drop
anchor.
The natives in the canoes, who had hitherto preceded us, were invited to
draw near, but they shrugged their shoulders, and declined the
responsibility of beginning any intercourse with the strangers. We
appealed to the concourse on the banks, for we were not a hundred feet
from them. They burst out into a loud laughter, yet with nothing of
scorn or contempt in it, for we had been so long accustomed to the
subtle differences of passion that we were by this time adepts in
discovering the nicest shades of feeling which wild humanity is capable
of expressing. We held out our hands to them with palms upturned, heads
sentimentally leaning on one side, and, with a captivating earnestness
of manner, begged them to regard us as friends, strangers far from their
homes, who had lost their way, but were endeavouring to find it by going
down the river.
The effect is manifest. A kind of convulsion of tenderness appears to
animate the entire host. Expressions of pity break from them, and there
is a quick interchange of sympathetic opinions.
“Ah,” thought I, “how delighted Livingstone would have been had he been
here to regard this scene! Assuredly he would have been enraptured, and
become more firmly impressed than ever with the innocence and
guilelessness of true aborigines,” and I am forced to admit it is
exceedingly pleasant, but—I wait.
We hold up long necklaces of beads of various colours to view: blue,
red, white, yellow, and black.
“Ah-h-h,” sigh a great many, admiringly, and heads bend towards heads in
praise and delight of them.
“Come, my friends, let us talk. Bring one canoe here. These to those who
dare to approach us.” There is a short moment of hesitation, and then
some forms disappear, and presently come out again bearing gourds,
chickens, bananas, and vegetables, &c., which they place carefully in a
small canoe. Two women step in and boldly paddle towards us, while a
deathly silence prevails among my people as well as among the aborigines
on the bank.
I observed one or two coquettish airs on the part of the two women, but
though my arm was getting tired with holding out so long in one position
those necklaces of glorious beads, I dared not withdraw them, lest the
fascination might be broken. I felt myself a martyr in the cause of
public peace, and the sentiment made me bear up stoically.
“Boy,” I muttered, in an undertone, to Mabruki, my gun-bearer, “when the
canoe is alongside, seize it firmly and do not let it escape.”
“Inshallah, my master.”
Nearer the canoe came, and with its approach my blandness increased, and
further I projected my arm with those beads of tempting colours.
At last the canoe was paddled alongside. Mabruki quietly grasped it. I
then divided the beads into sets, talking the while to Katembo—who
translated for me—of the happiness I felt at the sight of two such
beautiful women coming out to see the white chief, who was so good, and
who loved to talk to beautiful women. “There! these are for you—and
these are for you,” I said to the steerswoman and her mate.
They clapped their hands in glee, and each woman held out her presents
in view of the shore people; and hearty hand-claps from all testified to
their grateful feelings.
The women then presented me with the gourds of malofu—palm-wine—the
chickens, bananas, potatoes, and cassava they had brought, which were
received by the boat’s crew and the interested members of the Expedition
with such a hearty clapping of hands that it sent the shore people into
convulsions of laughter. Mabruki was now told to withdraw his hand, as
the women were clinging to the boats themselves, and peace was assured.
Presently the great native canoes drew near and alongside the boat,
forming dense walls of strange humanity on either side.
“Tell us, friends,” we asked, “why it is you are so friendly, when those
up the river are so wicked?”
Then a chief said, “Because yesterday some of our fishermen were up the
river on some islets near Kibombo Island, opposite the Amu-Nyam
villages; and when we heard the war-drums of the Amu-Nyam we looked up,
and saw your canoes coming down. You stopped at Kibombo Island, and we
heard you speak to them, saying you were friends. But the Amu-Nyam are
bad; they eat people, we don’t. They fight with us frequently, and
whomsoever they catch they eat. They fought with you, and while you were
fighting our fishermen came down and told us that the Wajiwa” (we) “were
coming; but they said that they heard the Wajiwa say that they came as
friends, and that they did not want to fight. To-day we sent a canoe,
with a woman and a boy up the river, with plenty of provisions in it. If
you had been bad people, you would have taken that canoe. We were behind
the bushes of that island watching you; but you said ‘Sen-nen-neh’ to
them, and passed into the channel between the island and our villages.
Had you seized that canoe, our drums would have sounded for war, and you
would have had to fight us, as you fought the Amu-Nyam. We have left our
spears on one of those islands. See, we have nothing.”
It was true, as I had already seen, to my wonder and admiration. Here,
then, I had opportunities for noting what thin barriers separated
ferocity from amiability. Only a couple of leagues above lived the
cannibals of Amu-Nyam, who had advanced towards us with evil and
nauseous intentions; but next to them was a tribe which detested the
unnatural custom of eating their own species, with whom we had readily
formed a pact of peace and goodwill!
They said their country was called Kankoré, the chief of which was
Sangarika, and that the village opposite to us was Maringa; and that
three miles below was Simba-Simba; that their country was small, and
only reached to the end of the islands; that after we had passed the
islands we should come to the territory of the Mwana Ntaba, with whom we
should have to fight; that the Mwana Ntaba people occupied the country
as far as the falls; that below the falls were several islands inhabited
by the Baswa, who were friends of the Mwana Ntaba. It would be
impossible, they said, to go over the falls, as the river swept against
a hill, and rolled over it, and tumbled down, down, down, with whirl and
uproar, and we should inevitably get lost. It would be far better, they
said, for us to return.
The strange disposition to rechristen the great river with the name of
its last great affluent, was here again exemplified, for the Kankoré
tribe called the river at the falls the Rumami, or Lumami, and it became
known no more as the Lowwa.
Other information we received was that the Watwa and Waringa tribes
lived on the other side of the Lumami. The dwarfs, called Wakwanga, were
said to be in a south-west direction. The Wavinza occupied the tract
between the Lumami and the Lowwa opposite to us. The Bakutzi, or Wakuti,
live west across the Lumami, which agrees with Abed the guide’s story.
On the right bank are situate Kankura, Mpassi, and Mburri; the chief of
the last-mentioned country being Mungamba. There is also a tribe called
the Ba-ama, whose chief, Subiri, trades in dogs and shells. Dogs are
considered by the Ba-ama as greater delicacies than sheep and goats. But
we were specially instructed to beware of the Bakumu, a powerful tribe
of light-complexioned cannibals, who came originally from the north-
east, and who, armed with bows and arrows, had conquered a considerable
section of Uregga, and had even crossed the great river. They would
undoubtedly, we were told, seek us out and massacre us all.
The Kankoré men were similar in dress and tattooing to the Waregga,
through whose forests we had passed. The women wore bits of carved wood
and necklaces of the Achatina fossil shell around their necks, while
iron rings, brightly polished, were worn as armlets and leg ornaments.
_Jan. 4._—Having obtained so much information from the amiable Kankoré,
we lifted our stone anchors and moved gently down stream. Before each
village we passed groups of men and women seated on the banks, who gave
a genial response to our peaceful greeting.
We were soon below the islands on our left, and from a course north by
west the river gradually swerved to north by east, and the high banks on
our right, which rose from 80 to 150 feet, towered above us, with grassy
breaks here and there agreeably relieving the sombre foliage of groves.
About 2 P.M., as we were proceeding quietly and listening with all our
ears for the terrible falls of which we had been warned, our vessels
being only about thirty yards from the right bank, eight men with
shields darted into view from behind a bush-clump, and shouting their
war-cries, launched their wooden spears. Some of them struck and dinted
the boat deeply, others flew over it. We shoved off instantly, and
getting into mid-stream found that we had heedlessly exposed ourselves
to the watchful tribe of Mwana Ntaba, who immediately sounded their
great drums, and prepared their numerous canoes for battle.
[Illustration: MWANA NTABA CANOE (THE “CROCODILE”).]
Up to this time we had met with no canoes over fifty feet long, except
that antique century-old vessel which we had repaired as a hospital for
our small-pox patients; but those which now issued from the banks and
the shelter of bends in the banks were monstrous. The natives were in
full war-paint, one half of their bodies being daubed white, the other
half red, with broad black bars, the _tout ensemble_ being unique and
diabolical. There was a crocodilian aspect about these lengthy vessels
which was far from assuring, while the fighting men, standing up
alternately with the paddlers, appeared to be animated with a most
ferocious cat-o’-mountain spirit. Horn-blasts which reverberated from
bank to bank, sonorous drums, and a chorus of loud yells, lent a fierce
éclat to the fight in which we were now about to be engaged.
We formed line, and having arranged all our shields as bulwarks for the
non-combatants, awaited the first onset with apparent calmness. One of
the largest canoes, which we afterwards found to be 85 feet 3 inches in
length, rashly made the mistake of singling out the boat for its victim;
but we reserved our fire until it was within fifty feet of us, and after
pouring a volley into the crew, charged the canoe with the boat, and the
crew, unable to turn her round sufficiently soon to escape, precipitated
themselves into the river and swam to their friends, while we made
ourselves masters of the _Great Eastern_ of the Livingstone. We soon
exchanged two of our smaller canoes and manned the monster with thirty
men, and resumed our journey in line, the boat in front acting as a
guide. This early disaster to the Mwana Ntaba caused them to hurry down
river, blowing their horns, and alarming with their drums both shores of
the river, until about forty canoes were seen furiously dashing down
stream, no doubt bent on mischief.
At 4 P.M. we came opposite a river about 200 yards wide, which I have
called the Leopold River, in honour of his Majesty Leopold II., King of
the Belgians, and which the natives called either the Kankora, Mikonju,
or Munduku. Perhaps the natives were misleading me, or perhaps they
really possessed a superfluity of names, but I think that whatever name
they give it should be mentioned in connection with each stream.
Soon after passing by the confluence, the Livingstone, which above had
been 2500 yards wide, perceptibly contracted, and turned sharply to the
east-north-east, because of a hill which rose on the left bank about 300
feet above the river. Close to the elbow of the bend on the right bank
we passed by some white granite rocks, from one to six feet above the
water, and just below these we heard the roar of the First Cataract of
the Stanley Falls series.
But louder than the noise of the falls rose the piercing yells of the
savage Mwana Ntaba from both sides of the great river. We now found
ourselves confronted by the inevitable necessity of putting into
practice the resolution which we had formed before setting out on the
wild voyage—to conquer or die. What should we do? Shall we turn and face
the fierce cannibals, who with hideous noise drown the solemn roar of
the cataract, or shall we cry out “Mambu Kwa Mungu”—“Our fate is in the
hands of God”—and risk the cataract with its terrors!
Meanwhile, we are sliding smoothly to our destruction, and a decision
must therefore be arrived at instantly. God knows, I and my fellows
would rather have it not to do, because possibly it is only a choice of
deaths, by cruel knives or drowning. If we do not choose the knives,
which are already sharpened for our throats, death by drowning is
certain. So finding ourselves face to face with the inevitable, we turn
to the right bank upon the savages, who are in the woods and on the
water. We drop our anchors and begin the fight, but after fifteen
minutes of it find that we cannot force them away. We then pull up
anchors and ascend stream again, until, arriving at the elbow above
mentioned, we strike across the river and divide our forces. Manwa Sera
is to take four canoes and to continue up stream a little distance, and,
while we occupy the attention of the savages in front, is to lead his
men through the woods and set upon them in rear. At 5.30 P.M. we make
the attempt, and keep them in play for a few minutes, and on hearing a
shot in the woods dash at the shore, and under a shower of spears and
arrows effect a landing. From tree to tree the fight is continued until
sunset, when, having finally driven the enemy off, we have earned peace
for the night.
Until about 10 P.M. we are busy constructing an impenetrable stockade or
boma of brushwood, and then at length, we lay our sorely fatigued bodies
down to rest, without comforts of any kind and without fires, but (I
speak for myself only) with a feeling of gratitude to Him who had
watched over us in our trouble, and a humble prayer that His protection
may be extended to us, for the terrible days that may yet be to come.
CHAPTER VIII.
Fighting betimes—Blazing a path—We take an island by storm—A
desperate dilemma—Road-making under fire—A miraculous escape—A
terrible march—Peace by stratagem—Below the Fifth Cataract—Our
cannibal captives—Fighting the Wana-Rukura—The Wana-Rukura
islanders—Approaching the Seventh Cataract—A deserted island—The
Seventh Cataract of the Stanley Falls—The first of the
cataracts—Clear of the Stanley Falls.
_Jan. 5._—At 4 A.M. of the 5th of January we were awake, cooking betimes
the food that was to strengthen us for the task that lay before us,
while the screaming lemur and the soko still alarmed the dark forest
with their weird cries.
We were left undisturbed until 8 A.M. when the canoes of the Mwana Ntaba
were observed to cross over to the left bank, and in response to their
signals the forest behind our camp was soon alive with wild men. Frank
distributed thirty rounds to each of the forty-three guns which now
remained to us. Including my own guns, we possessed only forty-eight
altogether, as Manwa Sera had lost four Sniders in the Ukassa Rapid, and
by the capsizing of the two canoes in the tempest, which struck us as we
crossed the Livingstone below its confluence with the Lowwa, we had lost
four muskets. But more terrible for our enemies than Sniders or muskets
was the courage of despair that now nerved every heart and kept cool and
resolute every head.
By river the cannibals had but little chance of success, and this the
Mwana Ntaba after a very few rounds from our guns discovered; they
therefore allied themselves with the Baswa tribe, which during the night
had crossed over from its islands, below the first falls. Until 10 A.M.
we held our own safely in the camp; but then breaking out of it, we
charged on the foe, and until 3 P.M. were incessantly at work. Ten of
our men received wounds, and two were killed. To prevent them becoming
food for the cannibals, we consigned them to the swift brown flood of
the Livingstone.
The Mwana Ntaba and the Baswas at length retired, and though we
momentarily expected a visit from them each day, for the next two or
three days we were unmolested.
_Jan. 6._—Early on the morning of the 6th I began to explore the First
Cataract of the Stanley Falls. I found a small stream about two hundred
yards wide, separated by a lateral dyke of igneous rocks from the main
stream, which took the boat safely down for a couple of miles. Then
presently other dykes appeared, some mere low narrow ridges of rock and
others, much larger and producing tall trees, inhabited by the Baswa
tribe. Among these islets the left stream rushed down in cascades or
foamy sheets, over low terraces, with a fall of from one foot to ten
feet. The Baswas, no doubt, have recently fled to these islets to seek
refuge from some powerful tribe situated inland west of the river.
The main stream, 900 yards wide, rushed towards the east-north-east,
and, after a mile of rapids, tilted itself against a hilly ridge that
lay north and south, the crest of which was probably 300 feet above the
river. With my glass, from the fork of a tree twenty feet above the
ground, I saw at once that a descent by the right side was an
impossibility, as the waves were enormous, and the slope so great that
the river’s face was all a foam; and that at the base of the hilly ridge
which obstructed its course the river seemed piling itself into a watery
bank, whence it escaped into a scene of indescribable confusion down to
the horror of whirling pools, and a mad confluence of tumbling rushing
waters. It was now quite easy to understand why our friends the Kankoré
people, in attempting to illustrate the scene at the First Cataract,
placed one hand overlapping the other—they meant to say that the water,
driven with impetuosity against the hill, rose up and overlapped the
constant flow from the steep slope.
I decided, therefore, to go down along the left stream, overland, and to
ascertain the best route, I took eight men with me, leaving five men to
guard the boat. Within two hours we had explored the jungle, and
“blazed” a path below the falls—a distance of two miles.
Then returning to camp I sent Frank off with a detachment of fifty men
with axes, to clear the path, and a musket-armed guard of fifteen men,
to be stationed in the woods parallel with the projected land route,
and, leaving a guard of twenty men to protect the camp, I myself rowed
up river along the left bank, a distance of three miles. Within a bend,
a mile above our camp, I discovered a small black-water river, about
forty yards wide, issuing from the southwest, which I named Black River,
from the colour of its water. Two miles above this, the affluent Lumami,
which Livingstone calls “Young’s River,” entered the great stream, by a
mouth 600 yards wide, between low banks densely covered with trees. At
noon I took an observation of the sun—the declination of which being
south gave me a clear water horizon—and ascertained it to be south
latitude 0° 32′ 0″.
_Jan. 7._—By noon of the 7th, having descended with the canoes as near
as prudence would permit to the first fall of the left stream, we were
ready for hauling the canoes overland. A road, fifteen feet in width,
had been cut through the tangle of rattan, palms, vines, creepers and
brushwood, tolerably straight except where great forest monarchs stood
untouched, and whatever brushwood had been cut from the jungle had been
laid across the road in thick piles. A rude camp had also been
constructed half-way on the river side of the road, into which
everything was conveyed. By 8 A.M. we had hauled the canoes over one
mile of ground.
_Jan. 8._—The next day, while the people were still fresh, we buckled on
to the canoes and by 3 P.M. of the 8th had passed the falls and rapids
of the First Cataract, and were afloat in a calm creek between Baswa
Island and the left bank!
Not wishing to stay in such a dangerous locality longer than was
absolutely necessary, we re-embarked, and descending cautiously down the
creek, came in a short time to the great river, with every prospect of a
good stretch of serene water. But soon we heard the roar of another
cataract, and had to hug the left bank closely. Then we entered other
creeks, which wound lazily by jungle-covered islets, and after two miles
of meanderings among most dismal islands and banks, emerged in view of
the great river, with the cataract’s roar sounding solemnly and terribly
near. As it was near evening, and our position was extremely unpleasant,
we resolved to encamp for the night at an island which lay in mid-
stream. Meanwhile, we heard drums and war-horns sounding on the left
bank, and though the islanders also responded to them, of the two evils
it was preferable to risk an encounter with the people of the island
rather than with those of the main, until we could discover our
whereabouts. We had no time for consultation, or even thought—the
current was swift, and the hoarse roar of the Second Cataract was more
sonorous than that of the first, thundering into our affrighted ears
that, if we were swept over, destruction, sudden and utter, awaited us.
The islanders were hostilely alert and ready, but, spurred on by our
terror of the falls, we drove our vessels straight on to the bank, about
500 feet above the falling water. In fifteen minutes we had formed a
rude camp, and enclosed it by a slight brushwood fence, while the
islanders, deserting the island, crossed over to their howling, yelling
friends on the left bank. In a small village close to our camp we found
an old lady, of perhaps sixty-five years of age, who was troubled with a
large ulcer in her foot, and had therefore been unable to escape. She
was a very decent creature, and we carried her to our camp, where, by
dressing her foot and paying her kind attentions, we succeeded in making
her very communicative. But Katembo could understand only very few words
of her speech, which proved to me that we were rapidly approaching lands
where no dialect that we knew would be available.
We managed to learn, however, that the name of the island was Cheandoah,
or Kewandoah, of the Baswa tribe; that the howling savages on the left
bank were the renowned Bukumu—cannibals, and most warlike; that the
Bakumu used bows and arrows, and were the tribe that had driven the
Baswa long ago to seek refuge on these islands. When we asked her the
name of the river she said Lumami was the name of the left branch, and
the Lowwa of the right branch. She gave the word Kukeya as indicating
the left bank, and Ngyeyeh for the right bank. Waki-biano, she said, was
the name of the large island which we had passed when we saw the
villages of the Baswa below the first cataract. The words Ubi, or
Eybiteri, we understood her to employ for the Falls as being utterly
impassable.
_Jan. 9._—During the morning of the 9th we explored the island of
Cheandoah, which was much longer than we at first supposed. It was
extremely populous, and contained five villages. We discovered an
abundance of spears here and ironware of all kinds used by the natives,
such as knives, hammers, hatchets, tweezers, anvils of iron, or, in
other words, inverted hammers, borers, hole-burners, fish-hooks, darts,
iron rods; all the spears possessed broad points, and were the first of
this style I had seen. Almost all the knives, large and small, were
encased [Illustration: A BASWA KNIFE.] in sheaths of wood covered with
goat-skin, and ornamented with polished iron bands. They varied in size,
from a butcher’s cleaver to a lady’s dirk, and belts of undressed
goatskin, of red buffalo or antelope hide, were attached to them for
suspension from the shoulders. There were also seen here iron bells,
like our cow and goat bells, [Illustration: STYLE OF KNIVES.] curiously
carved whistles, fetishes or idols of wood, uncouth and rudely cut
figures of human beings, brightly painted in vermilion, alternating with
black; baskets made of palm fibre, large wooden and dark clay pipes,
iron rings for arms and legs, numerous treasures of necklaces of the
_Achatina monetaria_, the black seeds of a species of plantain, and the
crimson berries of the _Abrus precatorius_; copper, iron, and wooden
pellets. [Illustration: BASWA BASKET AND COVER.] The houses were all of
the gable-roofed pattern which we had first noticed on the summit of the
hills on which Riba-Riba, Manyema, is situate; the shields of the Baswa
were also after the same type.
The vegetation of the island consisted of almost every variety of plant
and tree found in this region, and the banana, plantain, castor-oil,
sugar-cane, cassava, and maize flourished; nor must the oil-palm be
forgotten, for there were great jars of its dark-red butter in many
houses.
The grand problem now before me was how to steer clear of the Bukumu
savages of the left bank, whose shouts and fierce yells came pealing to
our ears, and were heard even above the roar and tremendous crash of the
cataract. As I travelled round the island, many desperate ideas
suggested themselves to me, and if I had been followed by a hundred
practised and daring men it might have been possible to have dragged the
canoes the length of the island past the first terrace of the cataract,
and, after dashing across to Ntunduru Island, to have dragged them
through its jungle and risked the falls by Asama Island; but there were
not thirty men in the entire Expedition capable of listening to orders
and implicitly obeying instructions.
[Illustration: THE DESPERATE SITUATION OF ZAIDI, AND HIS RESCUE BY
ULEDI, THE COXSWAIN OF THE BOAT.]
To the east of Cheandoah the right branch was again forked by another
island, and the whole face of the river was wild beyond description, and
the din of its furious waves stunning; while the western branch, such
was its force, went rushing down a terrace, and then swept round in an
extensive whirlpool with a central depression quite eighteen inches
below the outer rim. We pushed a rotten and condemned canoe above the
fall, watched it shoot down like an arrow, and circle round that
terrible whirling pool, and the next instant saw it drawn in by that
dreadful suction, and presently ejected stern foremost 30 yards below.
Close to the bank were nooks and basin-like formations in the trap
rocks, in which every now and again the water became strongly agitated,
and receding about twelve inches, would heave upwards with a rushing and
gurgling that was awful.
_Jan. 10._—There was only one way to resolve the problem, and that was
to meet the Bakumu and dare their worst, and then to drag the canoes
through the dense forest on the left bank. Accordingly, we prepared for
what we felt assured would be a stubborn contest. At early dawn of the
10th of January, with quick throbbing pulses, we stole up river for
about a mile, and then with desperate haste dashed across to the shore,
where we became immediately engaged. We floated down to the bend just
above the cataract, and there secured our boats and canoes out of the
influence of the stream. Leaving Frank with eight musketeers and sixty
axes to form a stockade, I led thirty-six men in a line through the
bushes, and drove the united Baswa and Bakumu backward to their
villages, the first of which were situated a mile from the river. Here a
most determined stand was made by them, for they had piled up heaps of
brushwood, and cut down great trees to form defences, leaving only a few
men in front. We crept through the jungle on the south side and
succeeded in forcing an entrance, and driving them out. We had thus won
peace for this day, and retreated to our camp. We then divided the
Expedition into two parties, or relays, one to work by night, the other
by day, after which I took a picked body of pioneers with axes and guns
and cut a narrow path three miles in length, which brought us opposite
Ntunduru Island, blazing the trees as a guide, and forming rude camps at
intervals of half a mile. Material—dried palm branches and bundles of
cane smeared over with gum frankincense—was also brought from the
village to form lights for the working parties at night: these were to
be fastened at elevated positions on trees to illuminate the jungle.
_Jan. 11._—We were not further disturbed during this day. In the evening
Frank began his work with fifty axemen, and ten men as scouts deployed
in the bushes in front of the working parties. Before dawn we were all
awakened, and, making a rush with the canoes, succeeded in safely
reaching our first camp by 9 A.M. with all canoes and baggage. During
the passage of the rear-guard the Bakumu made their presence known to us
by a startling and sudden outburst of cries; but the scouts immediately
replied to them with their rifles, and maintained their position until
they were supported by the other armed men, who were now led forward as
on the day before. We chased the savages two miles inland, to other
villages which we had not hitherto seen, and these also we compelled
them to abandon.
_Jan. 12._—In the evening, Frank, who had enjoyed but a short rest
during the day, manfully set to work again, and by dawn had prepared
another three-quarters of a mile of road. At 10 A.M. of the 12th, by
another rush forward, we were in our second camp. During this day also
there was a slight interchange of hostilities, but, being soon released
from the savages, the day party was able to prepare half a mile of good
road, which Frank during the night was able to extend to a mile and a
quarter. By 5 P.M. of the 13th therefore we were safe in our third camp.
Excepting Kachéché and a few men detailed as sentries, we all rested for
this night, but in the morning, refreshed from our labours, made the
fourth and final rush, and thus, after seventy-eight hours’ terrific
exertion, succeeded in reaching the welcome river and launching our
canoes.
The Bakumu, utterly disheartened by their successive punishments and bad
success, left us alone to try our hands at the river, which, though
dangerous, promised greater progress than on land. The following two
days’ accounts of our journey are extracted from my journal:—
“_January 14._—As soon as we reached the river we began to float the
canoes down a two-mile stretch of rapids to a camp opposite the south
end of Ntunduru Island. Six canoes were taken safely down by the
gallant boat’s crew. The seventh canoe was manned by Muscati, Uledi
Muscati, and Zaidi, a chief. Muscati, the steersman, lost his presence
of mind, and soon upset his canoe in a piece of bad water. Muscati and
his friend Uledi swam down the furious stream to Ntunduru Island,
whence they were saved by the eighth canoe, manned by stout-hearted
Manwa Sera, and Uledi, the coxswain of the Lady Alice; but poor Zaidi,
the chief, paralysed by the roar of the stream, unfortunately thought
his safety was assured by clinging to his canoe, which was soon swept
past our new camp, in full view of those who had been deputed with
Frank to form it, to what seemed inevitable death. But a kindly
Providence (which he has since, himself gratefully acknowledged) saved
him even on the brink of eternity. The great fall at the north end of
Ntunduru Island happens to be disparted by a single pointed rock, and
on this the canoe was driven, and, borne down by the weight of the
waters, was soon split in two, one side of which got jammed below, and
the other was tilted upward. To this the almost drowned man clung,
while perched on the rocky point, with his ankles washed by the
stream. To his left, as he faced up-stream, there was a stretch of 50
yards of falling water; to his right were nearly fifty yards of
leaping brown waves, while close behind him the water fell down sheer
six to eight feet, through a gap 10 yards wide, between the rocky
point on which he was perched and a rocky islet 30 yards long.
“When called to the scene by his weeping friends, from my labours
upriver, I could scarcely believe my eyes, or realise the strange
chance which placed him there, and, certainly, a more critical
position than the poor fellow was in cannot be imagined. The words
‘there is only a step between me and the grave’ would have been very
appropriate coming from him. But the solitary man on that narrow-
pointed rock, whose knees were sometimes washed by rising waves, was
apparently calmer than any of us; though we could approach him within
fifty yards he could not hear a word we said; he could see us, and
feel assured that we sympathised with him in his terrible position.
“We then, after collecting our faculties, began to prepare means to
save him. After sending men to collect rattans, we formed a cable, by
which we attempted to lower a small canoe, but the instant it seemed
to reach him the force of the current hurrying to the fall was so
great that the cable snapped like pack-thread, and the canoe swept by
him like an arrow, and was engulfed, shattered, split, and pounded
into fragments. Then we endeavoured to toss towards him poles tied to
creepers, but the vagaries of the current and its convulsive heaving
made it impossible to reach him with them, while the man dared not
move a hand, but sat silent, watching our futile efforts, while the
conviction gradually settled on our minds that his doom, though
protracted, was certain.
“Then, after anxious deliberation with myself, I called for another
canoe, and lashed to the bow of it a cable consisting of three one-
inch rattans twisted together and strengthened by all the tent ropes.
A similar cable was lashed to the side, and a third was fastened to
the stern, each of these cables being 90 yards in length. A shorter
cable, 30 yards long, was lashed to the stern of the canoe, which was
to be guided within reach of him by a man in the canoe.
“Two volunteers were called for. No one would step forward. I offered
rewards. Still no one would respond. But when I began to speak to
them, asking them how they would like to be in such a position without
a single friend offering to assist in saving them, Uledi, the
coxswain, came forward and said, ‘Enough, master, I will go. Mambu Kwa
Mungu’—‘My fate is in the hands of God’—and immediately began
preparing himself, by binding his loincloth firmly about his waist.
Then Marzouk, a boat-boy, said, ‘Since Uledi goes, I will go too.’
Other boat-boys, young Shumari and Saywa, offered their services, but
I checked them, and said, ‘You surely are not tired of me, are you,
that you all wish to die? If all my brave boat-boys are lost, what
shall we do?’
“Uledi and his friend Marzouk stepped into the canoe with the air of
gladiators, and we applauded them heartily, but enjoined on them to be
careful. Then I turned to the crowd on the shore who were manning the
cables, and bade them beware of the least carelessness, as the lives
of the three young men depended on their attention to the orders that
would be given.
“The two young volunteers were requested to paddle across river, so
that the stern might be guided by those on shore. The bow and side
cables were slackened until the canoe was within twenty yards of the
roaring falls, and Uledi endeavoured to guide the cable to Zaidi, but
the convulsive heaving of the river swept the canoe instantly to one
side, where it hovered over the steep slope and brown waves of the
left branch, from the swirl of which we were compelled to draw it.
Five times the attempt was made, but at last, the sixth time,
encouraged by the safety of the cables, we lowered the canoe until it
was within ten yards of Zaidi, and Uledi lifted the short cable and
threw it over to him and struck his arm. He had just time to grasp it
before he was carried over into the chasm below. For thirty seconds we
saw nothing of him, and thought him lost, when his head rose above the
edge of the falling waters. Instantly the word was given to ‘haul
away,’ but at the first pull the bow and side cables parted, and the
canoe began to glide down the left branch with my two boat-boys on
board! The stern cable next parted, and, horrified at the result, we
stood muttering ‘La il Allah, il Allah,’ watching the canoe severed
from us drifting to certain destruction, when we suddenly observed it
halted. Zaidi in the chasm clinging to his cable was acting as a
kedge-anchor, which swept the canoe, against the rocky islet. Uledi
and Marzouk sprang out of the canoe, and leaning over assisted Zaidi
out of the falls, and the three, working with desperate energy,
succeeded in securing the canoe on the islet.
“But though we hurrahed and were exceedingly rejoiced, their position
was still but a short reprieve from death. There were fifty yards of
wild waves, and a resistless rush of water, between them and safety,
and to the right of them was a fall 300 yards in width, and below was
a mile of falls and rapids, and great whirlpools, and waves rising
like little hills in the middle of the terrible stream, and below
these were the fell cannibals of Wane-Mukwa and Asama.
“How to reach the islet was a question which now perplexed me. We tied
a stone to about a hundred yards of whipcord, and after the twentieth
attempt they managed to catch it. To the end of the whipcord they tied
the tent rope which had parted before, and drawing it to our side we
tied the stout rattan creeper, which they drew across taut, and
fastened to a rock, by which we thought we had begun to bridge the
stream. But night drawing nigh, we said to them that we would defer
further experiment until morning.
“Meantime the ninth canoe, whose steersman was a supernumerary of the
boat, had likewise got upset, and he out of six men was drowned, to
our great regret, but the canoe was saved. All other vessels were
brought down safely, but so long as my poor faithful Uledi and his
friends are on the islet, and still in the arms of death, the night
finds us gloomy, sorrowing and anxious.
“_January 15._—My first duty this morning was to send greetings to the
three brave lads on the islet, and to assure them that they should be
saved before they were many hours older. Thirty men with guns were
sent to protect thirty other men searching for rattans in the forest,
and by nine o’clock we possessed over sixty strong canes, besides
other long climbers, and as fast as we were able to twist them
together they were drawn across by Uledi and his friends. Besides, we
sent light cables to be lashed round the waist of each man, after
which we felt trebly assured that all accidents were guarded against.
Then hailing them I motioned to Uledi to begin, while ten men seized
the cable, one end of which he had fastened round his waist. Uledi was
seen to lift his hands up to heaven, and waving his hand to us he
leapt into the wild flood, seizing the bridge cable as he fell into
the depths. Soon he rose, hauling himself hand over hand, the waves
brushing his face, and sometimes rising over his head, until it seemed
as if he scarcely would be able to breathe, but by jerking his body
occasionally upward with a desperate effort, he so managed to survive
the waves and to approach us, where a dozen willing hands were
stretched out to snatch the half-smothered man. Zaidi next followed,
but after the tremendous proofs he had given of his courage and
tenacious hold we did not much fear for his safety, and he also
landed, to be warmly congratulated for his double escape from death.
Marzouk, the youngest, was the last, and we held our breaths while the
gallant boy was struggling out of the fierce grasp of death. While yet
midway the pressure of water was so great that he lost his hold of two
cables, at which the men screamed in terror lest he should relax his
hold altogether from despair, but I shouted harshly to him, ‘Pull
away, you fool. Be a man,’ at which with three hauls he approached
within reach of our willing hands, to be embraced and applauded by
all. The cheers we gave were so loud and hearty that the cannibal
Wane-Mukwa must have known, despite the roar of the waters, that we
had passed through a great and thrilling scene.”
At the northern end of Ntunduru Island four separate branches rushing
down from between Cheandoah and its neighbours unite, and their united
waters tumble into one huge boiling, heaving cauldron, wherein mounds of
water are sometimes lifted upward, and are hurled down several feet with
tremendous uproar, along an island between Ntunduru and Asama. The
distance is only about a mile and a half, and the breadth is but 500
yards, but it presents one of the wildest water scenes conceivable.
To avoid this terrific locality, it was now necessary to cut a road,
nearly three miles in length, to the quiet creek flowing between Asama
Island and the left bank. Spurs from inland like “hogs’ backs,” which
projected into that boiling gulf, compelled us to make detours, which,
though they lengthened our toil, rendered the transport of our vessels
overland much easier. Minute red ants covered every leaf of the shrubby
Asclepiadæ, and attacked the pioneers so furiously that their backs were
soon blistered, while my scalp smarted as though wounded with a steel
comb. A species of burr-bearing and tall spear-grass, which covered what
formerly must have been inhabited ground, also tormented us. The men,
however, on approaching this ground, armed themselves with heavy sticks,
marched steadily in line, and beat down the growth before them, thus
forming a road 30 feet in width. By night we were only a few hundred
yards from the creek.
_Jan. 16, 17._—In order to prevent the cannibals of Asama Island and the
Wané-Mukwa from being aware of our purpose, we returned to our camp
opposite Ntunduru Island, and during the 16th and 17th of January were
employed in dragging our canoes to the end of the road, perfectly
screened from observation by the tall wild grass and shrubs. Though
fearfully tired after this steady strain on our energies, an hour before
dawn we rose, and, arming ourselves with poles, crushed through the
remaining 300 yards of grass by sunrise.
The people of Asama Island soon roused one another with most heroic and
stunning crashes on their huge drums, and launched their war-canoes, of
which they had a great number, excellently built; but as our existence
depended upon our dash, twenty men only were reserved to guard the road,
while Frank and Manwa Sera, with the assistance of every other healthy
man, woman, and child, hauled the canoes to the landing-place. Though
the Asamas made but little resistance to our embarking, they attacked us
as soon as we began to move with a frenzy which, had it not been so
perilous to our poor hunted selves, I might have heartily applauded. I
had recourse to a little strategy. Manwa Sera was told to loiter behind
with one-half of the canoes and land his party on the island above,
while I made a bold push at the savages and landed below. We in the
advance at once charged on the war-canoes, shouting and drumming, and
making up in noise what we lacked in numbers, and having descended a
mile, suddenly made for the island at a low landing-place, and while the
savages were confused at this manœuvre I detached twenty men and sent
them up to meet Manwa Sera and his party, and in a short time they had
captured two villages, with all the non-combatant inhabitants, besides a
large herd of goats and sheep. When these were brought to the landing-
place where the war-canoes were still engaged with us, they were shown
to the warriors, and out of sheer surprise hostilities ceased, and the
war canoes retired to the left bank of the stream to consider what they
should do. Meantime Katembo was industrious in making himself understood
by the women, and we made great progress in calming their fears, but we
did not quite succeed until I opened a bag of shells, and distributed a
few to each person with appropriate soothing tones. The Asamas opposite,
though still sullen in their canoes, were not disinterested spectators
of what was transpiring, and they were soon communicating with their
relatives and children, asking what we were doing. While my people were
busy surrounding the landing-place with a brushwood fence, the
negotiations for peace and goodwill proceeded. At noon a canoe with two
men cautiously approached us, and while it was still hesitating to
comply with our request to come alongside, one of my boat-boys
dexterously grasped it and brought it near, while the word “Sennenneh”
was loudly repeated. Into this as a beginning we put six women, three
children, and some goats, and shoved it off towards the cannibal
warriors, who could scarcely believe their senses until the canoe was
safe in their hands. Then it seemed as though their sullenness was
conquered, for presently five men and a chief approached, who likewise,
receiving presents of shells and a few pieces of cloth, entered
zealously into the strangely formed compact of peace, and sealed it by
permitting themselves to be inoculated with the blood of the Wangwana in
small incisions made in the arms. Every captive, every goat and fowl was
religiously surrendered, while shouts of applause from both parties rent
the air.
It could not be expected, of course, that they should feel at once like
old friends after the fury of the early morning, but sunset found some
dozens of men in our camp without arms in their hands, responding as
well as they were able to our numerous queries about the geography of
the country. Our people also traversed the southern end of the island
with perfect confidence, and neither side had cause to regret having
become friends.
Human skulls ornamented the village streets of the island, while a great
many thigh-bones and ribs and vertebræ lay piled at a garbage corner,
bleached witnesses of their hideous carnivorous tastes. Like the
Waregga, the Asama wore caps of lemur, monkey, otter, goat, red buffalo
and antelope skin, with long strips of fur or the tails dropped behind.
Palms, bananas, cassava, red pepper, maize, and sugar-cane flourished;
their houses were large, though not so neat as those at Vinya-Njara.
Fish-nets and baskets lay scattered around in abundance, while great
bundles of iron and wooden spears proved that the Asamas were as warlike
as they were industrious.
The islanders were not ungrateful, for they supplied us, by order of the
chief, with sufficient bananas to settle our canoes deeply in the water,
which proved that, provided one were well able to defend oneself, and
were his superior in force, even a cannibal could show that he was
possessed of human qualities.
_Jan. 19._—On the 19th we resumed our voyage, gliding down the stream
that flowed between Asama Island and the left bank. The river’s course
had continued a (magnetic) north-north-easterly course ever since we had
left the confluence of the Leopold with the Livingstone, which caused
serious doubts in my mind for a time as to whether my boiling-points
might not be in error. It certainly caused me to believe that
Livingstone’s hypothesis is correct after all, though the great river
itself, by its vast magnitude, breadth, and depth, was a decided protest
against such a proposition.
At the foot of the Fifth Cataract, which fell at the south end of Asama
Island, the altitude of the river was about 1630 feet above the
ocean—after Kew corrections—and we were in about south latitude 0° 23′
0″, just 270 geographical miles south of where the Nile was known to
have an altitude of 1525 feet above the sea. The river, at a stage where
I expected to see it at least incline to the west, ran due north-north-
east.
Four soundings were obtained during the forenoon of the 19th: 33 feet,
40 feet, 47 feet, and 41 feet respectively, where the left branch flowed
at the rate of about two knots an hour past Asama.
The left bank rose from the low swampy level to beautiful bluffs, 60,
80, and 100 feet high, garnished with a magnificent forest of tall
trees, amid which were frequently seen the Elais, wild date, and Hyphene
palms.
North of Asama the river widened to the stately breadth of 2000 yards.
On the right were the Wané-Mpungu and the Wané-Kipanga tribes, but I was
told by one of the Asama islanders that they were inland people of
Uregga. I have been struck with the similarity of some of these names
with those given me by Rumanika of Karagwé. For instance, one of the
native names—Mikonju—of the Leopold River. Might not the man who gave us
the information have intended it for a tribe called Wakonju—people of
Ukonju—who, according to Rumanika, were cannibals, and occupied a
country west of Muta-Nzigé? The “Wané-Mpungu” has a remarkable
resemblance to the Mpundu, described by the same authority.
In about south latitude 14′ we discovered a small river 40 yards wide at
the mouth entering the Livingstone from the left bank, nearly opposite
Kyya Kamba Island.
In the afternoon we passed several old settlements, which were probably
abandoned because of the Wakumu, who are the great dread of this section
on both banks. One of these old settlements is called Kyyo Kaba. Just
below on the right bank, opposite Kanjebé Islands, is Aruko country, a
district of Uregga, and on the left is Wandeiwa, separated from Kyyo
Kaba by a small sluggish creek 20 yards wide.
We camped on the night of the 19th on the right bank in what we believed
to be a market-place. The green was inviting, the trees were
patriarchal, the forest at the hour approaching sunset was lonely, and
we flattered ourselves that before the next sun was sufficiently high to
cause the natives to appear at the market-place, we should have
departed. I also flattered myself that I was tolerably well acquainted
with the arts of savages, but my astonishment was very great to find
myself but a novice after all, for in the morning one of my people came
to inform me, with a grave face, that we were netted!
“Netted,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“True, master; there is a tall high net round the camp from above to
below, and the net is made of cord.”
“Ah, if there is a net, there must be men behind waiting to spear the
game.”
I called Manwa Sera, and gave him thirty men, ordering him to pull up
river half a mile or so, and after penetrating into the woods behind our
camp, to lie in wait near some path which led to the market-place on
which we were encamped. After waiting an hour to give the men time, we
blew a loud blast on the horn as a signal, and sent four men with
shields to cut the net, while ten men with guns, and thirty men with
spears, stood by ready to observe what happened. While the net was being
cut, four or five heavy spears came hurtling from the bushes. We fired
at random into the bushes, and made a rush forward, and saw several
forms run swiftly away from the vicinity of the camp. Soon I heard a few
of my men utter sharp screams, and saw them hop away, with blood
streaming from their feet, while they cried, “Keep away from the path”;
“Get away from the road.”
Upon examining the paths we discovered that each bristled with sharp-
pointed splinters of the Pennisetum reed-cane, which had pierced the
men’s feet to the bone. However, the ambuscade had been very successful,
and had captured eight of the Wané-Mpungu without an accident or the
firing of a shot. The savages were not unpleasant to look at, though the
prejudices of our people made them declare that they smelled the flesh
of dead men when they caught hold of their legs and upset them in the
road! Each man’s upper row of teeth was filed, and on their foreheads
were two curved rows of tattoo-marks; the temples were also punctured.
Katembo questioned them, and they confessed that they lay in wait for
man-meat. They informed us that the people inland were Waregga, but that
the Wakumu, coming from the eastward, were constantly in the habit of
fighting the Waregga; that the Waregga were black, like the Wané-Mpungu,
but that the Bakumu were light-complexioned, like a light-coloured
native of Zanzibar whom they pointed to. The captives also declared that
their village was an hour’s journey from the camp, that they ate old men
and old women, as well as every stranger captured in the woods. Our
three asses seemed to awe them greatly, and when one of them was led up
to the asses he begged so imploringly that we would be merciful that we
relented. We obtained considerable amusement from them; but at 9 A.M. we
embarked them in our canoes to show us the falls, which they said we
should meet after four hours’ journey.
We struck across river to the left bank, which was high and steep. An
hour afterwards we saw rounded hills on both banks approaching each
other; but our guides said there was no danger at Kabombo, as they were
called. Still hugging the left bank, we presently came to a curious
cavern in a smooth water-worn porphyry rock, which penetrated about a
hundred feet within. At first I thought it to be the work of human
hands, but examination of it proved that in old times there had extended
a ledge of this porphyry rock nearly across river, and that this cavern
had been formed by whirling eddies. At the farther end there are three
modes of exit to the high ground above. Some natives had scrawled
fantastic designs, squares and cones, on the smooth face of the rock,
and, following their example, I printed as high as I could reach the
title of our Expedition and date of discovery, which will no doubt be
religiously preserved by the natives as a memento of the white man and
his people who escaped being eaten while passing through their country.
Two miles below we came to some rocky straits and the ten islets of
Kabombo. The current ran through these at the rate of about five knots
an hour, but, excepting a few eddies, there was nothing to render the
passage difficult. Down to this point the course of the great river had
been north-east, north-north-east, and east-north-east, but below it
sheered to north. On our right now began the large country of Koruru,
and on our left Yambarri.[11]
-----
Footnote 11:
Colonel Long, of the Egyptian army, on his way to the Nyam-Nyam
country, in 1874, met with a tribe called the Yanbari, in about 5°
north latitude.
-----
We descended rapidly for two miles down the river, here about two
thousand yards wide, after which the hoarse murmur of falls was again
heard. Our cannibal guides warned us not to venture near the left bank,
and, relying on their information, we approached the Sixth Cataract
along the right bank, and camped not four hundred yards from an island
densely inhabited by a tribe of the Waregga called Wana-Rukura.
[Illustration: CAVERN, NEAR KABOMBO ISLANDS.]
We here released our cannibal guides, and surrendered their weapons to
them. They availed themselves of their liberty by instantly running
along the river bank up the river. We were not long left unmolested in
our jungle camp, for while we were still engaged in constructing a
stockade, war-cries, horns, and drums announced the approach of the
ever-fierce aborigines; and in a short time we were hotly engaged. In an
hour we had driven them away. Following them up rapidly a little
distance we came to a large village, where we discovered three or four
women well advanced in years, and, in order to obtain information of the
country and its inhabitants, conveyed them to camp, where we began to
practise such arts of conciliation and kindness as calm and soothe the
fears of excited captives, and which had been so successful up river.
We had hardly returned to camp before a larger force—the inhabitants of
the islands—appeared in head-dresses of parrot-feathers, and skull-caps
of civet, squirrel, goat, and “soko,” and with a bold confidence born of
ignorance made a rush upon the stockade. The attack was promptly
repelled, and in turn we attacked, driving the savages back step by
step, and following them to a creek about fifty yards wide, into which
they sprang to swim to their island. Two of the wounded warriors we
caught and conveyed to our camp, where their wounds were dressed, and
other attentions paid to them, which were much appreciated by them.
The pioneers were during the afternoon engaged in cutting a broad road
to the creek past the first fall, and by sunset our canoes and boat were
dragged out of the river into the stockade, ready for transport
overland.
_Jan. 20._—The morning of the 20th was occupied in hauling our vessels
into the creek, which the flying Waregga islanders had first shown to
us, and, by desperate labour, the whole Expedition was able to move from
the right bank across the creek to the island.
During the night the Wana-Rukura had abandoned the large island at its
northern end, and thus we were left happily undisturbed in our
occupation of it to obtain a few hours’ deserved rest.
_Jan. 23._—The Sixth Cataract is caused by a broad dyke of greenish
shale, projecting from the base of the tall bluffs on the left bank of
the river. Being of many thin strata, the current has succeeded in
quarrying frequent gaps through it, one of which on the left side, where
the current is greatest, and the scene of raging waters wildest, is very
deep and wide. Nearer the right bank the cataract has more the aspect of
furious rapids; and a narrow branch has been formed between the numerous
Wana-Rukura islets and the right bank, which drops over a dozen low
terraces from 6 inches to 2 feet, and a series of shallow rapids for a
distance of six miles, when it has reached the level of the main river
below the Sixth Cataract. By noon of the 23rd we had succeeded in
clearing this cataract without loss of life or serious accident.
We were very patient with our captives, and succeeded in inducing them
to be communicative, but unhappily we understood but little of what they
so volubly imparted to us. But what we did learn was interesting.
They had heard of Ruanda, and indicated for it an east-north-east
direction; and also of the Wakombeh, or Wabembé, cannibals, who occupy
the country between Goma and Uvira, and most certainly a large tract
north-north-west from Tanganika. The Bakumu were the tribe that had
first attacked us, of which the four middle-aged females from the
village of Wati-Kytzya were representatives. They were much lighter-
coloured than the Wana-Rukura islanders. I feel convinced that these
Bakumu must be a branch of the Wanya-Ruanda, for they have a great many
of those facial Ethiopic characteristics which elevate that great nation
above the ordinary negroid type. Ukumu is said to extend very far to the
east, and must therefore lie between Northern and Southern Uregga. The
king is said to be called Sarindi, and his village was pointed out as
being east. The negative “Nangu,” which the women employed, is the same
as that used by the natives of Ruanda, Unyoro, Usongora, Uzongora,
Wanyambu, Watusi, and Wakerewé.
“Ubingi” signified rapid river with the Waregga, Bakumu, and Baswa
tribes; and “Chare-reh” means the gentle flow of water. The word
“Mavira” with the Waregga is used to denote rocks; while the Bakumu,
Baswa, Southern Waregga, Wabwiré, and Wenya employ the word “Matari.”
Two miles below the Sixth Cataract of the Stanley Falls we came to a bit
of bad water; but, after successfully passing it, we halted an hour on
the right bank to discharge the captives who belonged to the Wana-Rukura
tribe and the Bakumu. The two wounded warriors had behaved very
patiently during their four days’ stay with us, and were progressing
favourably. Meanwhile we had employed every leisure hour in endeavouring
to master the rudiments of their language, and I had obtained a list of
nearly two hundred words from them, with which, if the people below
spoke it, we might be able to communicate a little with them.
At noon of January 20, we landed on the first island of the Wana-Rukura,
and found the south latitude, by solar observation, 0° 2′ 0″. Noon of
the 23rd, having meanwhile passed the Sixth Cataract, we found ourselves
four miles north of the Equator by observation.
Three miles below the rapids we passed a small river about thirty yards
wide entering the Livingstone between high banks, and soon after the
right and left bank, rising up to hills, approached each other within
seven hundred yards, and there seemed to be every prospect of another
cataract. As we rushed through the straits, I dropped the lead with
twenty fathoms of line into the river, but found no bottom, but I could
not repeat the experiment, as the rapidity of the current compelled me
to be mindful of my course, and everybody in the canoes was trusting to
my guidance.
At ten miles north of the Equator, below the straits, we crossed to the
left bank, and occupied the village of Utikera, the sole inhabitant
remaining being one very reserved old man. Utikera is situated opposite
the three rocky islands of Mikuna. I suspect this settlement was
abandoned because of some war that had taken place between them and some
more powerful tribes down river, for according to all appearance the
people must have left several days previously. Indeed the old man as
much as indicated this, though we were not certain that we understood
him. The village was large, and constructed after the pattern of those
up-river already described.
_Jan. 24._—On the 24th we halted to repair the boat and canoes, and the
next day resumed our journey. The course of the Livingstone from the
Sixth Cataract to the straits near Utikera had been north-north-west; it
now ran north-west by west, with a breadth of 2000 yards. We preferred
the right bank again, and soon entered a deep branch between a long and
exceedingly picturesque island and a low shore, edged with mangrove
brushwood. When about halfway, we heard the hoarse rumble of rapids on
the left branch, but the right was undisturbed. The island we discovered
to be about ten miles in length, and soon after passing three small
islands the roar of the seventh and last cataract of the Stanley Falls
burst upon our ears with a tremendous crash.
It was soon evident that the vicinity of the last fall was as thickly
peopled as any of the Stanley series, for the sonorous boom of the great
war-drums was soon heard mustering every stray and loitering fisherman
from the creeks, and every hunter from the woods that clothed the bank,
to the war. While I wondered at the senseless hate and ferocity which
appeared to animate these primitive aborigines, we were compelled to
adopt speedy measures for defence and security; for these people, if
confident in numbers, do not require much time to snatch up their spears
and shields and rush to the fight. Accordingly, dropping down as near to
the first line of broken water as prudence would permit me, we seized
upon a position in the dense forest, and, posting the riflemen in a
crescent form in our front, busied ourselves as usual with axes in
heaping up a high and dense wall of brushwood for our protection. By the
time this had been completed, the Wenya were on us with a determined
impetuosity that would have been fatal to us had we been taken
unprepared. Again and again they tried to break through the concealed
musketeers, but they were utterly unable to pierce within view of our
camp. The loud notes of their war-horns, of which they seemed to possess
an unusual number, rang through the forest with wailing notes, and the
great drums at the numerous villages which commanded the narrows through
which the great river precipitated itself, responded with energy to the
signals transmitted to them.
At sunset they abandoned the unavailing assault, and, to guard against
any nocturnal surprise, we piled up more brushwood, and drew the boat
and canoes out of the water on land. I resolved to make a bold stroke
early next morning, and by appearing in front of their villages before
cockcrow, to occupy some place near the falls which would enable Frank
and a few of the chiefs to begin transporting the vessels overland, and
to continue the work even though we might be actively engaged by the
Wenya.
_Jan. 25._—At 5 A.M. I led thirty-five men from the camp, and after a
desperate struggle through the tangled jungle emerged near the place
where the right bank swept round to the straits, over and above which a
large number of villages were situated. A shallow branch, 40 yards wide,
supplied by thin streams of water that poured down a dyke of loose rocks
20 feet high from the great river, separated the right bank from the
point occupied by the settlements. During the wet months it was evident
that this dyke must be washed by a furious cataract, and that the right
branch is then almost impassable, and it is for this reason probably
that the locality was chosen by the Wenya. At this season, however, we
crossed over to the inhabited island without trouble, and resolved to
guard the approach to this branch. From our camp to this point there was
not the slightest danger to fear from the river; and Uledi and his boat-
mates were therefore signalled to bring the boat and canoes near to the
dyke.
[Illustration: THE SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS.]
After waiting until 9 A.M. for the islanders to begin their attack, I
sent a few scouts through the brushwood to ascertain what the Wenya were
doing, and within an hour they returned to say that nothing could be
heard of them. Moving forwards by the path, we discovered to our good
fortune that the people had abandoned the island apparently. The extent
of the villages proved them to be a populous community, and the manner
in which they were arranged gave them an appearance resembling a town on
the Upper Nile. Each village, however, was distinct from the next,
though only short distances separated them, and each possessed four or
five streets 30 feet wide, running in parallel lines, with cross alleys
leading from one side of the village to the other. The entire population
of this town or cluster of villages might be moderately estimated at
6000. On the opposite side was another large community, whose
inhabitants manned every rock to gaze at us in perfect security, for,
since they could not hurt us, we certainly entertained no designs
against them.
The Livingstone from the right bank across the island to the left bank
is about 1300 yards broad, of which width 40 yards is occupied by the
right branch, 760 yards by the island of the Wenya, 500 yards by the
great river. Contracted to this narrow space, between the rocky and
perpendicular bluffs of the island and the steep banks opposite, the
uproar, as may be imagined, is very great. As the calm river, which is
1300 yards wide one mile above the falls, becomes narrowed, the current
quickens, and rushes with resistless speed for a few hundred yards, and
then falls about 10 feet into a boiling and tumultuous gulf, wherein are
lines of brown waves 6 feet high leaping with terrific bounds, and
hurling themselves against each other in dreadful fury.
[Illustration: PIKE, STANLEY FALLS.]
Until I realized the extent of the volume that was here precipitated, I
could hardly believe that it was indeed a vast river that was passing
before me through this narrowed channel. I have seen many waterfalls
during my travels in various parts of the world, but here was a
stupendous river flung in full volume over a waterfall only 500 yards
across. The river at the last cataract of the Stanley Falls does not
merely _fall_: it is precipitated downwards. The Ripon Falls at the
Victoria Lake outlet, compared to this swift descent and furious on-
rush, were languid. The Victoria Nile, as it swept down the steep
declivity of its bed towards Unyoro, is very pretty, picturesque, even a
sufficiently exciting scene; but the Livingstone, with over ten times
the volume of the Victoria Nile, though only occupying the same breadth
of bed, conveys to the sense the character of irresistible force, and
unites great depth with a tumultuous rush.
[Illustration:
FISH, SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS.
28 inches long; 16 inches round body; round snout; no teeth; broad
tail; large scales; colour, pale brown.
]
A solar observation taken opposite the last of the Stanley Falls proved
the latitude to be north 0° 15′ 0″, or seventeen miles north of the
first broken water of the Sixth Cataract; and a few miles below the
falls, on the 28th of January, we obtained north latitude 0° 20′ 0″. By
boiling point I ascertained that the declination was nearly 120 feet in
these twenty-two miles, the altitude above sea at the Seventh Cataract
being 1511 feet. As there are only seven miles really occupied by the
Sixth and Seventh Cataracts, the intermediate fifteen miles being calm
flowing water, we may not be far wrong in giving the slope of the river
at the two falls a declination of 17 feet to the mile.
[Illustration:
FISH, STANLEY FALLS.
Fine scales; weight, 23 lbs.; thick broad snout; 26 small teeth in
upper jaw, 23 teeth in lower jaw; broad tongue; head, 11 inches
long.
]
The rocky point of the left bank was formerly connected with the rocky
island of the Wenya by a ridge, which appears to have fallen southward,
judging from the diagonal strata, but since that period the river has
worn down this obstruction, and the cataract is now about three hundred
yards south-east of the straits, pounding away at the ledge with the
whole of its force.
A glance at the sketch of the Seventh Cataract of the Stanley Falls
shows a line of tall poles planted below the falls, which assist us not
only to form some estimate of the depth of the water, but also of the
industry of the Wenya. A space of about 300 yards, in the middle of the
falls, is unapproachable, but to a distance of 100 yards on each side,
by taking advantage of the rocks, the natives have been enabled to fix
upright heavy poles, 6 inches in diameter, to each of which they attach
enormous fish-baskets by means of rattan-cane cables. There are probably
sixty or seventy baskets laid in the river on each side, every day; and
though some may be brought up empty, in general they seem to be
tolerably successful, for out of half-a-dozen baskets that my boatmen
brought up next day for examination twenty-eight large fish were
collected, one of which—a pike—was 40 inches long, 24 inches round the
body, and weighed 17 lbs.
Higher up the river we had also been accustomed to see piles of oysters
and mussel-shells along the banks, especially while passing the lands of
the Upper Wenya, between Rukombeh’s landing near Ukusu and the First
Cataract of Stanley Falls. These in some instances, might be taken as
the only remaining traces of departed generations of Wenya, settled here
when, through internecine troubles, they had been ejected from some more
favoured locality.
The Wenya of the Seventh Cataract struck me as being not only more
industrious than the aboriginal Baswas, but also more inventive than any
we had yet seen, for in their villages we discovered square wooden
chests, as large as an ordinary portmanteau, wherein their treasures of
beads and berries, large oyster and mussel-shells, were preserved. The
paddles were beautiful specimens, made out of wood very much resembling
mahogany; a vast quantity of half-inch cord made out of Hyphene palm and
banana-fibre was also discovered. In almost every house, also, there
were one or more ten-gallon earthenware jars filled with palm butter,
while ivory seemed to be a drug, for we found three large tusks entirely
rotten and useless, besides numbers of ivory war-horns, and ivory
pestles for pounding cassava into flour.
[Illustration: PALM-OIL JAR AND PALM-WINE COOLER.]
After building another camp above the creek-like branch near the right
bank, we availed ourselves of some of the numerous piles of poles which
the Wenya had cut for sinking in the river to lay a roadway over the
rocks, from the level of the great river down to the lower level of the
creek, and by night the boat and canoes were in the water and out of
danger.
_Jan. 27._—The next day, while descending this creek, we were attacked
both from front and rear, and almost the whole of the afternoon we were
occupied in defending a rude camp we had hastily thrown up, while our
non-combatants lay sheltered by a high bank and our canoes. Towards
sunset the savages retired.
[Illustration: MOUTH OF DRUM.]
[Illustration: WOODEN SIGNAL DRUM OF THE WENYA OR WAGENYA AND THE TRIBES
ON THE LIVINGSTONE.]
[Illustration: DRUMSTICKS, KNOBS BEING OF INDIA-RUBBER.]
_Jan. 28._—On the morning of the 28th we resumed our labours with
greater energy, and by 10 A.M. we were clear of the last of the Stanley
Falls, thus closing a series of desperate labours, which had occupied us
from the 6th of January, a period of twenty-two days, during the nights
and days of which we had been beset by the perverse cannibals and
insensate savages who have made the islands amid the cataracts their
fastnesses, and now—
“Our troubled thoughts to distant prospects leap,
Desirous still what flies us to o’ertake;
For hope is but the dream of those that wake.
But looking back we see the dreadful train
Of woes anew, which, were we to sustain,
We should refuse to tread the path again.”
CHAPTER IX.
Again in open water—Frank Pocock feels the position—The Mburra or
Yaryembi—A running fight—“Ya-Mariwa! Ya-Mariwa!”—Our tactics of
capture—Monster spears—Growing weary of fighting for life—The power
of laughter—Fish creeks—A wasp swarm of canoes—Another invincible
armada—A village of ivory—Relics of cannibal feasts—The Wellé of
Schweinfurth—Hunted to despair—Their meat escapes the cannibals—Wild
nature—Among friendly natives—The Congo!
_Jan. 28._—We hastened away down river in a hurry, to escape the noise
of the cataracts which, for many days and nights, had almost stunned us
with their deafening sound.
The Livingstone now deflected to the west-north-west, between hilly
banks—
“Where highest woods, impenetrable
To star, or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad
And brown as evening.”
We are once again afloat upon a magnificent stream, whose broad and
grey-brown waters woo us with its mystery. We are not a whit dejected
after our terrible experiences; we find our reward in being alive to
look upon wild nature, and a strange elasticity comes over us. The boat-
boys amuse me by singing their most animating song, to which every
member of our Expedition responds with enthusiasm. The men, women, and
children are roused to maintain that reckless, exuberant spirit which
assisted me to drive through the cannibal region of the Stanley Falls,
for otherwise they might lose that dash and vigour on which depends our
success. They are apt, if permitted thinking-time, to brood upon our
situation, to become disquieted and melancholy, to reflect on the fate
of those who have already been lost, and to anticipate a like dolorous
ending to their own lives.
I thought even Frank was half affected by the sudden cessation of
trouble, and the sight of the now broad tranquil river to which we had
been a stranger for some time; for after the boat-boys had become hoarse
from chanting, his voice was heard in a doleful and sad strain, of which
the words were as follows:—
“The home land, the fair land,
Refuge for all distressed,
Where pain and sin ne’er enter in,
But all is peace and rest.
The home land! I long to meet
Those who have gone before;
The weeping eyes and weary feet
Rest on that happy shore.
The home land, the bright land!
My eyes are filled with tears,
Remembering all the happy band,
Passed from my sight for years.
When will it dawn upon my soul?
When shall I meet that strand?
By night and day I watch and pray
For thee, dear, blest home land.”
I thought the voice trembled as the strain ended; and, lest I should be
affected also, by no means a desirable thing, I said cheerily, “Frank,
my dear fellow, you will make everybody cry with such tunes as those;
they are too lachrymose altogether for our present state. The men are so
weak and excited that mournfulness will derange their nerves, and make
us all utterly unfit for the work before us. Choose some heroic tune,
whose notes will make us all feel afire, and drive our canoes down
stream as though we were driven by steam.”
“All right, sir,” he replied with a bright, cheerful face, and sang the
following:—
“Brightly gleams our banner,
Pointing to the sky,
Waving wanderers onward
To their home on high.
Journeying o’er the desert
Gladly thus we pray,
And with hearts united
Take our heavenward way.”
“Ah, Frank, it is not the heavenward way you mean, is it? I should think
you would prefer the homeward way, for that is the way I pray to be
permitted to lead you.”
“How do you like this, sir?” he asked.
“My God, my Father, while I stray,
Far from my home, in life’s rough way,
O teach me from my heart to say,
Thy will be done.
“Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not,
Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done.
“What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved no longer nigh!
Submissive would I still reply,
Thy will be done.”
“Frank, you are thinking too much of the poor fellows we have lately
lost. It is of no use, my son; we have taken the bit in our teeth, and
must drive on—drive right through to the sea. The time for regret and
sorrow will come by and by, but just now we are in the centre of Africa;
savages before you, savages behind you, savages on either side of you.
Onward, I say; onward to death, if it is to be. I will not listen to
regrets now. Sing, my dear Frank, your best song.”
He responded by singing:—
“Onward, Christian soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus
Going on before!”
This was too much for me. I saw that he was in a serious and religious
vein of mind, and refrained therefore from disturbing him further. The
boat-boys now resumed their barbarous but exhilarating chorus, and again
the woods on either side re-echoed with the stirring notes of our boat-
song.
At 3 P.M. we arrived at a fine river, 300 yards wide at the mouth, which
flowed from the east-south-east, with low wooded banks on either side.
After proceeding a mile, we discovered another branch of the same river,
about 300 yards wide, the two branches joining at about, two miles
above. Subsequently we received two names for it—the Mburra and the
Yaryembi—but I believe the Mburra is the correct title for the joint
river.
The great stream a mile below the confluence opened out again into a
breadth of 2000 yards, and was soon disparted by the broad and fertile
island of Ukioba into two branches of equal breadth. We preferred the
right branch, which had a course north-west by north for about two
miles, when it again deflected to west-north-west. Much of the right
bank showed a horizontal substructure of sandstone, with about 10 feet
of alluvium above it, and ranged from 20 to 100 feet in height, wooded
throughout, except at market-greens and old settlements.
We prepared to camp at one of these abandoned settlements, but a
neighbouring community at Usimbi advanced to contest our right to remain
on the soil of Koruru, and obliged us to continue our journey. We then
chose the lower end of the Ukioba Island, nearly opposite Usimbi; but
the stupid aborigines could not understand this forbearance, and,
manning their canoes, called on the Wakioba to unite with them in
expelling us. This compelled us to defend ourselves, which ended in the
dispersion of the people of Koruru, and the capture of one of their war-
vessels and five men.
Their canoes differed from those above the Stanley Falls, being
capacious, flat-bottomed scows, dug out of a fragrant gum-tree (probably
of the genus Boswellia), which grows to very large dimensions in the
forests.
_Jan. 29._—On the morning of the 29th we crossed the river, and finding
Usimbi abandoned, entered it. The arrangement of the villages was the
same as with the Wenya at the Stanley Falls, possessing lateral and
transverse streets at right angles, and not consisting, as those on the
Upper Livingstone, of one long street. Each house also possessed a
court, neatly surrounded with a fence of upright logs. Behind, or on the
inland side, the village was protected by two deep ditches, the earth
from the excavations being thrown inwards. In the middle of what seemed
to be a principal street was a rude wooden figure of a bearded man,
under a small conical-shaped roof, which was supported by nine ivory
tusks, raised upon a platform of tamped clay, and carefully swept,
showing that great care was bestowed upon it. The people appear to have
considerable faith in a whitewash of cassava meal, with which they had
sprinkled the fences, posts, and lintels of doors, and the stems of the
ficus, planted for shade here and there in small plazas. Great drums, 6
feet long, 3 feet deep, and 2 feet wide, resting on broad and solid
legs, and carved out of a single log also stood in the plazas.
We released our captives, and then crying out “Bismillah!” continued our
voyage down river, which had a breadth of 2500 yards below Ukioba
Island. Both banks were high, steep, and wooded. The right bank showed a
reddish and rippled sandstone up to a foot above the water-line for a
few miles below Usimbi. But the substructure afterwards changed to a
greyish calcareous rock, with a perpendicular face varying from 20 to 50
feet high. Numerous creeks, 20 and 25 yards wide, emptied into the great
river from the right bank.
At noon, when approaching a large village, we were again assaulted by
the aborigines. We drove them back, and obtained a peaceful passage past
them, until 1 P.M. During this interval I obtained an observation for
latitude, and ascertained we had reached north latitude 0° 22′ 29″.
From 1 P.M. we were engaged with a new tribe, which possessed very large
villages, and maintained a running fight with us until 4 P.M., when,
observing the large village of Ituka below us, and several canoes
cutting across river to head us off, we resolved to make our stand on
the shore. Material for constructing a boma was soon discovered in the
outlying houses of the village, and by five o’clock we were tolerably
secure on the edge of the steep banks—all obstructions cleared away on
the land side, and a perfect view of the river front and shore below us.
[Illustration: SHIELDS OF ITUKA PEOPLE.]
The savages were hideously be-painted for war, one-half of their bodies
being white, the other ochreous. Their shields were oblong squares,
beautifully made of rattan-cane, light, tough, and to spears and knives
impenetrable. A square slab of ebony wood with a cleat, and one long
thin board placed lengthways, and another crossways, sufficed to stiffen
them. Shouting their war-cries—“Ya-Mariwa! Ya-Mariwa!”—they rushed on
our boma fences like a herd of buffaloes several times, in one of which
charges Muftah Rufiji was killed, a broad spear-blade sharp as a razor
ripping nearly eight inches of his abdomen open; another man received a
wound from a spear, which had glanced along his back. As the heavy
spears hurtled through the boma, or flew over it, very many of us had
extremely narrow escapes. Frank, for instance, avoided one by giving his
body a slight jerk on one side. We, of course, had the advantage, being
protected by doors, roofs of houses, poles, brushwood, and our great
Mwana-Ntaba shields, which had been of invaluable use to us, and had
often in the heat of fights saved us and made us almost invulnerable.
From the Ruiki river up to this afternoon of January 29th we had fought
twenty-four times, and out of these struggles we had obtained sixty-five
door-like shields, which upon the commencement of a fight on the river
at all times had been raised by the women, children, and non-combatants
as bulwarks before the riflemen, from behind which, cool and confident,
the forty-three guns were of more avail than though there were 150
riflemen unprotected. The steersmen, likewise protected, were enabled to
steer their vessels with the current while we were engaged in these
running fights. Against the spears and arrows the shields were
impervious.
At sunset our antagonists retired, leaving us to dress our wounds and
bury our dead, and to prepare for the morrow by distributing a new store
of cartridges; and, after waiting until 9 A.M. next day unattacked, we
sailed out and embarked once more.
Below Ituka the river was deflected to north-west by west by a long
ridge called Tugarambusa, from 300 to 500 feet high, with perpendicular
red cliffs for four miles, until terminated by a point 300 feet high,
the summit of which was crowned with a fine forest. Beyond the point we
were sheltered by a sandstone bluff, and steep slopes covered by
beautiful ferns, and shrubby trees with blossoms like lilacs, which
exhaled a delightful fragrance. On the lower portions of the banks,
where landslips had occurred, we observed a reddish sandstone capped by
yellow clay.
After six miles of these high banks the river flowed west by north half
west, while the high banks already mentioned became a ridge, running
north-west, leaving a lower level at its base extending to the river,
which was highly populous and cultivated.
_Jan. 30._—About ten o’clock of the 30th another conflict began, in the
usual way, by a determined assault on us in canoes. By charging under
cover of our shields we captured one canoe and eight men, and withdrew
to a low grassy islet opposite Yangambi, a settlement consisting of five
populous villages. We had discovered by this that nothing cowed the
natives so much as a capture, and as it was the most bloodless mode of
settling what might have been a protracted affair, I had adopted it.
Through our captives we were enabled to negotiate for an unmolested
passage, though it involved delay and an expenditure of lung force that
was very trying; still, as it ended satisfactorily in many ways, it was
preferable to continued fighting. It also increased our opportunities of
knowing who our antagonists were, and to begin an acquaintance with
these long-buried peoples.
We understood a captive to say that the river here was called Izangi,
that the settlements on the right bank were in the country of Koruru,
and that on the left bank still extended the country of Yambarri, or
Vambari.
When the natives observed us preparing to halt on the grassy islet
directly opposite their villages, with their unfortunate friends in our
power, they withdrew to their village to consult. The distance between
our grassy islet and the right bank was only 500 yards, and as it was
the eastern bank the sun shone direct on them; enabling me, with the aid
of a field-glass, to perceive even the differences of feature between
one man and another.
Though hostilities had ceased, the drumming continued with unabated
fury; bass and kettle-drums gave cut a thunderous sound, which must have
been heard to an immense distance. The high ridge, which was three miles
behind Yangambi, exhibited cultivated slopes and many villages, which
discharged their hundreds to the large council-circle sitting down in
view of us. Many of the aborigines paraded up and down the banks for our
benefit, holding up to our view bright spear-blades, 6 feet in length
and 6 inches broad! the sight of which drew curious remarks from my
hard-pressed followers.
One, named Mpwapwa, cried out, “Oh, mother, those fellows mean to split
a man in two with such spears as those!” Another said, “No, man, those
are the spears from their idol temples, for mere show; for were a man to
be carved with such a big spear, there would be nothing left of him.”
But Baraka, the humourist, opined they were intended to spit children
on. A chorus of war-cries sometimes broke out from the immense concourse
of people, wherein we could distinguish very plainly the words “Ya,
Mariwa!”
While all this was at its height, and as we were unable to comprehend
anything that the natives bawled out to us, we placed our captives in
their canoe, and, giving each a few shells, motioned them to depart. As
the warriors on the bank saw their friends return, they all gathered
round the landing-place, and, as they landed, asked scores of questions,
the replies to which elicited loud grunts of approval and wonder. The
drumming gradually ceased, the war-cries were heard no more, the people
left their processions to crowd round their countrymen, and the enormous
spear-blades no longer flashed their brightness on us. We waited about
an hour, and, taking it for granted that after such a signal instance of
magnanimity they would not resume their hostile demeanour, we quietly
embarked, and glided down the river unopposed.
Not desirous of risking another encounter this day, we sought the
shelter of a wooded island opposite an uninhabited forest, and arranged
ourselves in the wild woods with due regard to safety. Yet we were not
unobserved. Some stray fishermen gave notice to the populous settlements
below, and a furious drumming at once began from each bank, which was
maintained without intermission until morning.
The river was gradually increasing in breadth; from 3000 yards it grew
to 4000 yards wide. Islands also were more numerous, with dense roofs of
green foliage upheld by the trunks of the tall patriarchs. We were
getting weary of fighting every day. The strain to which we were exposed
had been too long, the incessant, long-lasting enmity shown to us was
beginning to make us feel baited, harassed, and bitter. Dared we but
dash down by night? Ah, but who could tell us what lay below! Whom could
we ask, when everything in the shape of man raised his spear and
screamed his rage at us as soon as we were observed!
So we emerged out of the covert and forest shades of the island with
soured and embittered feelings. But we would cling to the islands, and
close our ears against their infernal noise, and turn our eyes
resolutely away from the advancing cannibals until they came within
spear-throw of us, and then, why—we will fight again.
_Jan. 31._—We did cling to the islands. An enormous breadth of river—on
our right and on our left—separated us from either bank, but it was
totally insufficient to win a free passage. We must either sacrifice a
few men or women or children to their lust for human meat, or we must
sacrifice a few cartridges. Fourteen canoes already lying in wait below
Divari Island surprised us by their ferocious precipitancy, but we
preferred to lose the cartridges, and after delivering over to them a
sufficient number, we crossed the river again, lest there might be more
canoes lying in wait, and followed the right bank, where we had a short
tussle with a few more Wariwa canoes at Yavunga, which, fortunately for
us, was the last trouble we experienced on the 31st. The people of
Irendé and Uganja on the left bank had behaved as boisterously as those
of Yavunga, and had offended our ears with bold demands for our flesh,
and had even affected a chase; but the defeated heroes of Yavunga
advised them not to be absurd.
About 10 A.M. we approached, after quite an interval of peace—two
hours!—another settlement on the right bank. We sheered off again to the
islands. The river was evidently getting wider, and with its increased
width the banks became lower, and no longer showed those picturesque
hills, tall, wooded ridges, brown, red, or grey bluffs capped with the
forest marvels of the tropics, which had so often elicited our
admiration. Grassy islets alternated with wooded ones, and these are the
haunts of the salt-makers, who extract salt out of the lye. Opposite a
large palisaded village called Mawembé, which was holding a market even
then, we came to a grassy islet, where were two women in a canoe. We
ceased paddling at once. Our blandishments were most effectual on them.
They laughed so loud that it appeared as if the market people at
Mawembé, 1500 yards from us, must have heard them. Out of real sympathy
we too laughed—but whether they were victims of our blandishments or we
of theirs, would be difficult to tell. I had heard of the power of
negroes to laugh, but I had never realised their powers so thoroughly as
when these two women lay back, opened their mouths, and gave forth those
surprising volumes of laughter that so perfectly captivated us. They
understood the value of beads, and we tossed ten necklaces to them; but
all we could understand from them was that the great palisaded village
was Mawembé and the country Koruru.
The current finally swept us out of sight of them, and three miles below
we discovered another palisaded village, for which we could obtain no
name. Grassy islets vomited smoke in dense clouds, but man was such an
obnoxious animal in these regions that we dared not seek his
acquaintance. At noon I obtained an altitude of the sun, and ascertained
that we had reached north latitude 0° 35′ 50″.
The right bank here rose again, high and steep, shadowed with a glorious
forest, the islands were wooded to an intense blackness, and between
them flowed the river in broad bands of silver. The left bank was so far
off that we obtained no view of it! In a recess amid palms and vines and
patriarchal trees, bound together by giant creepers of ficus and
serpent-like lengths of _Calamus secundiflorus_, we sheltered our weary
souls, and thought to do honour to the deity of those lonesome woods,
who had reserved this loneliness to protect us in our outlawed state.
_Feb. 1._—The sun came out above the forest, round and large and bright,
shooting broad gleams of light into the island shades, and lighting up
their gloom until they seemed most envied retreats. Not for us, however.
Destiny urged us on. There were no retreats for us. Man refused us, and
the forest rejected us, for it had nothing to support us.
Almost straight the river flows—north-west half west. The right bank, to
which we again cling, is steep and high, and crowned with solemn woods.
At the water line is yellow clay; above it, alluvium and vegetable
mould, on which a hundred varieties of tropical plants flourish.
Presently we are made aware that we are approaching settlements, by a
number of ditches excavated in the lower banks, at an obtuse angle to
the course of the river, which during the flooding season will become
filled by the full river and the resort of numerous fish. We had
observed this before. The larger islands and banks ever since leaving
the Stanley Falls, exhibited proofs of that love of the natives for fish
which has stimulated them to undertake these laborious excavations,
often over a hundred yards in length, to plait huge basket-traps and
reedy fences at the mouths of creeks, to manufacture coils of stout rope
out of plantain and palm (Hyphene) fibre, large cord nets, to plant
great poles in the middle of cataracts, and undeterred by its dangers,
to risk their lives daily in fish-catching.
About 8 P.M. we came in view of a market-place, near which there were
scores of small canoes. The men at once rushed into them, and advanced
all round us. We refrained a long time, but finally, as they began to
get brave by our quiescence, and to launch their wooden spears, which
they proceeded to do unanimously as soon as somebody cried out
“Mutti”—sticks—we were obliged to reply to them with a few shots, which
compelled them to scamper away ahead of us. Drums then awakened the
whole country, and horns blew deafening blasts. Some canoes
pertinaciously followed us. We came about 10 A.M. to another market-
green. Here, too, warriors were ready, and the little canoes, like
wasps, hovered round us, and again we had recourse to our weapons. The
little canoes with loud threats disappeared quickly down river: the land
warriors rushed away into the woods. We did not wish to hurry, because
the faster we proceeded the quicker we found we were involved in
trouble. We therefore loitered languidly: rest was so rare that it
became precious when we obtained it.
At noon I observed the sun, and found we were in north latitude 0° 50′
17″. We resumed our journey, rowing at a steady though not a fast pace.
We had descended the river for about an hour when we came again in sight
of those waspish little canoes, and from the left bank, 3000 yards off,
canoes were seen heading across the river at a terrific pace, while
horns blew and drums beat. We heard shouts of defiance, or threats, we
knew not which—we had become indifferent to the incessant noise and
continued fury.
In these wild regions our mere presence excited the most furious
passions of hate and murder, just as in shallow waters a deep vessel
stirs up muddy sediments. It appeared to be a necessity, then why should
we regret it? Could a man contend with the inevitable?
At 2 P.M., heralded by savage shouts from the wasp swarm, which from
some cause or other are unusually exultant, we emerge out of the shelter
of the deeply wooded banks in presence of a vast affluent, nearly 2000
yards across at the mouth. As soon as we have fairly entered its waters,
we see a great concourse of canoes hovering about some islets, which
stud the middle of the stream. The canoe-men, standing up, give a loud
shout as they discern us, and blow their horns louder than ever. We pull
briskly on to gain the right bank, and come in view of the right branch
of the affluent, when, looking up stream, we see a sight that sends the
blood tingling through every nerve and fibre of the body, arouses not
only our most lively interest, but also our most lively apprehensions—a
flotilla of gigantic canoes bearing down upon us, which both in size and
numbers utterly eclipse anything encountered hitherto! Instead of aiming
for the right bank, we form in line, and keep straight down river, the
boat taking position behind. Yet after a moment’s reflection, as I note
the numbers of the savages, and the daring manner of the pursuit, and
the desire of our canoes to abandon the steady compact line, I give the
order to drop anchor. Four of our canoes affect not to listen, until I
chase them, and threaten them with my guns. This compelled them to
return to the line, which is formed of eleven double canoes, anchored 10
yards apart. The boat moves up to the front, and takes position 50 yards
above them. The shields are next lifted by the non-combatants, men,
women, and children, in the bows, and along the outer lines, as well as
astern, and from behind these, the muskets and rifles are aimed.
[Illustration: MONSTER CANOE.]
We have sufficient time to take a view of the mighty force bearing down
on us, and to count the number of the war-vessels which have been
collected from the Livingstone and its great affluent. There are fifty-
four of them! A monster canoe leads the way, with two rows of upstanding
paddles, forty men on a side, their bodies bending and swaying in unison
as with a swelling barbarous chorus they drive her down towards us. In
the bow, standing on what appears to be a platform, are ten prime young
warriors, their heads gay with feathers of the parrot, crimson and grey:
at the stern, eight men, with long paddles, whose tops are decorated
with ivory balls, guide the monster vessel; and dancing up and down from
stem to stern are ten men, who appear to be chiefs. All the paddles are
headed with ivory balls, every head bears a feather crown, every arm
shows gleaming white ivory armlets. From the bow of the canoe streams a
thick fringe of the long white fibre of the Hyphene palm. The crashing
sound of large drums, a hundred blasts from ivory horns, and a thrilling
chant from two thousand human throats, do not tend to soothe our nerves
or to increase our confidence. However, it is “neck or nothing.” We have
no time to pray, or to take sentimental looks at the savage world, or
even to breathe a sad farewell to it. So many other things have to be
done speedily and well.
As the foremost canoe comes rushing down, and its consorts on either
side beating the water into foam, and raising their jets of water with
their sharp prows, I turn to take a last look at our people, and say to
them:—
“Boys, be firm as iron; wait until you see the first spear, and then
take good aim. Don’t fire all at once. Keep aiming until you are sure of
your man. Don’t think of running away, for only your guns can save you.”
Frank is with the _Ocean_ on the right flank, and has a choice crew, and
a good bulwark of black wooden shields. Manwa Sera has the _London
Town_—which he has taken in charge instead of the _Glasgow_—on the left
flank, the sides of the canoe bristling with guns, in the hands of
tolerably steady men.
The monster canoe aims straight for my boat, as though it would run us
down; but, when within fifty yards off, swerves aside, and, when nearly
opposite, the warriors above the manned prow let fly their spears, and
on either side there is a noise of rushing bodies. But every sound is
soon lost in the ripping, crackling musketry. For five minutes we are so
absorbed in firing that we take no note of anything else; but at the end
of that time we are made aware that the enemy is reforming about 200
yards above us.
Their blood is up now. It is a murderous world, and we feel for the
first time that we hate the filthy, vulturous ghouls who inhabit it. We
therefore lift our anchors, and pursue them up-stream along the right
bank, until rounding a point we see their villages. We make straight for
the banks, and continue the fight in the village streets with those who
have landed, hunt them out into the woods, and there only sound the
retreat, having returned the daring cannibals the compliment of a visit.
While mustering my people for re-embarkation, one of the men came
forward and said that in the principal village there was a “Meskiti,” a
“pembé”—a church, or temple, of ivory—and that ivory was “as abundant as
fuel.” In a few moments I stood before the ivory temple, which was
merely a large circular roof supported by thirty-three tusks of ivory,
erected over an idol 4 feet high, painted with camwood dye, a bright
vermilion, with black eyes and beard and hair. The figure was very rude,
still it was an unmistakable likeness of a man. The tusks being wanted
by the Wangwana, they received permission to convey them into the
canoes. One hundred other pieces of ivory were collected, in the shape
of log wedges, long ivory war-horns, ivory pestles to pound cassava into
meal and herbs for spinach, ivory armlets and balls, and ivory mallets
to beat the fig-bark into cloth.
[Illustration: THE FIGHT BELOW THE CONFLUENCE OF THE ARUWIMI AND THE
LIVINGSTONE RIVERS.]
The stores of beautifully carved paddles, 10 feet in length, some of
which were iron-pointed, the enormous six-feet-long spears, which were
designed more for ornament than use, the splendid long knives, like
Persian kummars, and bright iron-mounted sheaths with broad belts of red
buffalo and antelope-hide, barbed spears, from the light assegai to the
heavy double-handed sword-spear, the tweezers, hammers, prickers, hole-
burners, hairpins, fishhooks, arm and leg-rings of iron and copper, iron
beads and wrist-bands, iron bells, axes, war-hatchets, adzes, hoes,
dibbers, &c., proved the people on the banks of this river to be clever,
intelligent, and more advanced in the arts than any hitherto observed
since we commenced our descent of the Livingstone. The architecture of
their huts, however, was the same, except the conical structure they had
erected over their idol. Their canoes were much larger than those of the
Mwana Ntaba, above the Stanley Falls, which had crocodiles and lizards
carved on them. Their skull-caps of basket-work, leopard, civet, and
monkey skins, were similar to those that we had observed in Uregga.
Their shields were like those of the Wariwa. There were various
specimens of African wood-carving in great and small idols, stools of
ingenious pattern, double benches, walking-staffs, spear-staffs, flutes,
grain-mortars, mallets, drums, clubs, troughs, scoops and canoe-balers,
paddles, porridge spoons, &c. Gourds also exhibited taste in
ornamentation. Their earthenware was very superior, their pipes of an
unusual pattern—in short, everything that is of use to a well-found
African village exhibited remarkable intelligence and prosperity.
Evidences of cannibalism were numerous in the human and “soko” skulls
that grinned on many poles, and the bones that were freely scattered in
the neighbourhood, near the village garbage heaps and the river banks,
where one might suppose hungry canoe-men to have enjoyed a cold
collation on an ancient matron’s arm. As the most positive and downright
evidence, in my opinion, of this hideous practice, was the thin forearm
of a person that was picked up near a fire, with certain scorched ribs
which might have been tossed into the fire after being gnawed. It is
true that it is but circumstantial evidence, yet we accepted them as
indubitable proofs. Besides, we had been taunted with remarks that we
would furnish them with meat supplies—for the words _meat_ and _to-day_
have but slight dialectic difference in many languages.
[Illustration: PADDLE OF THE ARUWIMI CANNIBALS.]
We embarked in our canoes at 5 P.M., and descending the affluent came to
the confluence again, and then, hugging the right bank, appeared before
other villages; but after our successful resistance to such a
confederation of chiefs and the combined strength of three or four
different tribes, it was not likely that one small settlement would risk
an encounter. We anchored about 50 yards from the shore. Two old men
advanced to the edge of the steep bank and rattled pebbles, which were
enclosed in basket-work, towards us. We sat perfectly still for about
five minutes regarding them, and then we endeavoured to open a
conversation with them. We could understand but a few dozen words, which
we had managed to pick up. We understood them, however, to say that the
river where we had just had the fight was called the Aruwimi, that the
right branch of the great river was called Irondo, and the left, Rinda;
that the district between the confluence of the Aruwimi and the
Livingstone was Isangi, in Koruru. The country on the left bank was
still Yambarri, or Vambari, but ahead, or below Yambarri, were the
Baonda and the Wakunga; on the right bank, below them, were the
Bemberri.
The direction of the Aruwimi was from east-north-east magnetic, or
north-east true. It emptied into the Livingstone at a point three
hundred and forty geographical miles north of Nyangwé. Though
comparatively shallow and studded with islands, it is the most important
affluent of the Livingstone from the countries east. I have no
hesitation in pronouncing it to be the Wellé of Schweinfurth. The report
that he received from the natives, that the Wellé at a long distance
from the Monbuttu “widened into a boundless expanse of water,” and that
its general direction was west or north of west, ought not to receive
greater credence than the report which the natives all along the
Livingstone gave me, that the great river went “north, ever north.” As
we follow the Luama from its source to the great river, and know the
utmost reach north of the Tanganika, and have touched more than once
that central elevated region in whose bosom are found the Lakes Albert
Muta-Nzigé, Alexandra, and Tanganika, we may be supposed to have a
rational idea of the eastern and western watershed of the central
regions. If we continue our suppositions, which are founded upon a long
study of the hydrographical system of this region, we may suppose the
Wellé to drain the most extreme north-eastern corner of the Livingstone
basin, and, imitating the curve of the mighty river, to maintain a
north-westerly and westerly direction for a degree, or perhaps two
degrees, and then, skirting closely the watershed that separates the
basin of the Livingstone from that of the south-western Nile, the Benué,
and the Shari basins, to meet some obstructing hill, and be deflected
south-west into the Livingstone. In the same manner as we suppose the
course of the Wellé to be, the Luama proceeds north from Southern Goma
to Umené, then west, through Manyema to the Lualaba. The Urindi is
reported to flow in the same manner, but the best example of this
curious curve which belongs to the system of the Livingstone is the
great river itself, which maintains a northerly course for over twelve
degrees of latitude, a westerly course across three degrees of
longitude, and a south-westerly or a diagonal course across ten degrees
of longitude. The largest southern influent of the Livingstone flows
1100 miles northward before it turns west and south-west. The course of
the Kwango and the Lumami are other evidences to prove that this
extraordinary curve is a characteristic of the river system of the
Livingstone and its feeders.
If other evidences were wanting to confirm this supposition, I might
point to the cannibalistic propensities of the people, their superiority
in the domestic arts of the African, the weapons and shields, their
idols, their peculiar canoes, the stores of camwood, the prodigious
height and girth of trees, the character of the vegetation—which
resembles what the German traveller has written of the Monbuttu and
Wellé valley.
At the same time one must not forget that there is a remarkable
similarity between all the west coast tribes, from Lake Chad to Loanda,
which proves, in my opinion, the non-existence of those Mountains of the
Moon which have been drawn across Africa since Ptolemy’s time.
Schweinfurth crossed the watershed from the Nile side to the Wellé while
scarcely observing the difference of altitude. In the same manner one
might travel from Ituru to Unyanyembé without observing that he had
crossed the water-parting that separates the extreme southern sources of
the Nile from the extreme sources of Lake Tanganika’s principal
affluent.
We felt it to be unwise to stay long in the vicinity of such powerful,
well-equipped, and warlike tribes. We therefore lifted anchor, and began
to descend the stream; but as we turned away the savages lined the
banks, beat their drums, shouted their war-cries, and performed for our
edification the gymnastics of a true aboriginal fight. It never entered
their heads that they had given us provocation, and had but lately
charged us in mid-river with the fell purpose of destroying every soul,
that we had behaved kindly to them, or that we had attempted, though
ineffectually, to make friends with them. Had their canoes not fled up
river, I verily believe that our turning away would have been the signal
for another attack on us.
This last of the twenty-eight desperate combats which we had had with
the insensate furies of savage-land began to inspire us with a suspicion
of everything bearing the least semblance of man, and to infuse into our
hearts something of that feeling which possibly the hard-pressed stag
feels when, after distancing the hounds many times, and having resorted
to many stratagems to avoid them, wearied and bathed with perspiration,
he hears with terror and trembling the hideous and startling yells of
the ever-pursuing pack. We also had laboured strenuously through ranks
upon ranks of savages, scattered over a score of flotillas, had endured
persistent attacks night and day while straggling through them, had
resorted to all modes of defence, and yet at every curve of this fearful
river the yells of the savages broke loud on our ears, the snake-like
canoes darted forward impetuously to the attack, while the drums, and
horns, and shouts raised fierce and deafening uproar. We were becoming
exhausted. Yet we were still only on the middle line of the continent!
We were also being weeded out by units and twos and threes. There were
not thirty in the entire Expedition that had not received a wound. To
continue this fearful life was not possible. Some day we should lie
down, and offer our throats like lambs to the cannibal butchers.
It was getting near sunset, and, looking round for a suitable place to
camp for the night, I observed that the river since the accession of the
Aruwimi had spread to an immense width. Instead of consisting of a right
and a left branch, separated by a single line of islands, there were now
from three to six branches, separated from each other by series of long
islands, densely clothed with woods, their ends overlapping one another.
Common sense suggested that where there was such breadth there could be
no cataracts. So, when almost inclined to despair, I pointed out the
island channels to the people, and told them that Allah had provided
means of escape. Near sunset we sheered off towards the islands, entered
a dark channel about one hundred yards wide, and after an hour drew our
canoes alongside, and, having fastened them, prepared to bivouac in the
island forest.
_Feb. 2._—Next day we clung to the channel; but as the islands lay
sometimes diagonally across the stream, we finally emerged in view of
the Bemberri, too late to return. Immediately they called up their
people to war, with a terrible racket of drums; and about fifteen large
canoes dashed out to meet us. But after the Aruwimi flotilla this number
was contemptible; we drove them away, followed them to their villages,
and compelled them to seek shelter in the woods. Then the word was given
that every man should provide himself with bananas and cassava. This was
done, and we re-embarked. Before, however, we could find another opening
amongst the islands, other villages discovered us, and again a terrific
dinning rose, which inspired even fishing-boys to acts of ferocious
valour. These we permitted to exhibit for our benefit the utmost rage
they were capable of, except actually to throw their spears. Whenever
they threatened to launch their weapons, a furious demonstration with
our long oars was sufficient to send them skimming away. They followed
us three or four miles, sending out every now and then wailing notes,
which, from the frequent recurrence of the word _meat_, we understood to
be expressions of regret that they were unable to secure the “meat”
which was running away from them.
Finally we discovered a channel flowing between a series of islands,
which we gladly entered, and our young tormentors turned back and left
us to pursue our way alone. From Bemberri the course of the great river
varied from north-west by north half north, north-north-west, north by
west, and north-west. I missed the latitude on February 2.
The following entries are from my note book:—
“_Feb. 3._—General course of river from morning until noon, north-
west. At noon ascertained our latitude to be north of the equator 1°
29′ 1″.
“We endeavoured to do our best to avoid conflict with the savages, and
this required great judgment and constant watching of the channels. We
happily succeeded, though a little after noon it became extremely
doubtful, for it seems that we edged a little too much to the left
bank in our eagerness to avoid all channels that might take us to the
right. The Barundu, of whom we heard yesterday, sighted us, as we
passed a gap between the islands, and instantly manned eighteen large
war-canoes. But as we had obtained a start of them we pulled
desperately down river among the islands, leading them a chase of
eight miles or so, when they returned.
“Livingstone called floating down the Lualaba a foolhardy feat. So it
has proved, indeed, and I pen these lines with half a feeling that
they will never be read by any man; still, as we persist in floating
down according to our destiny, I persist in writing, leaving events to
an all-gracious Providence. Day and night we are stunned with the
dreadful drumming which announces our arrival and presence on their
waters. Either bank is equally powerful. To go from the right bank to
the left bank is like jumping from the frying-pan into the fire. As we
row down amongst these islands, between the savage countries on either
side of us, it may well be said that we are ‘running the gauntlet.’
“_Feb. 4._—We had a glimpse of numerous villages between the island
gaps, but we pushed rapidly through, and at noon had attained to north
latitude 1° 45′ 40″. The general course of the river since noon
yesterday has been north-north-west.
“_Feb. 5._—At noon to-day we obtained by solar observation north
latitude 1° 51′ 17″. General course of the river was north-north-west.
“_Feb. 6._—A little before we sought our camp amid the islands, the
river for the first time deflected west. All this morning its course
was from west half south to west by north. Our observations at noon
showed we had not made quite a mile of northing, for our north
latitude was 1° 51′ 59″. The Livingstone is now from four to seven
miles across from bank to bank. So far as we can see through a glass,
the banks are very low, from 6 to 10 feet high, capped with woods. The
islands are also densely wooded.
“We have had in this extraordinary journey by river all the terrors as
well as pleasures of river life. We now glide down narrow streams,
between palmy and spicy islands, whose sweet fragrance and vernal
colour causes us to forget at moments our dangerous life. We have
before us the winding shores of islands crowned with eternal spring-
life and verdure. Teak and cotton-wood, the hyphene, borassus, wild
date, and Guinea oil-palms, the tall serpent-like rattan, with its
pretty, drooping feathery leaves; the bushy and many-rooted mangrove,
the towering gum, the shea-butter tree, the _Ficus kotschyana_, the
branchy _Tamar indica_, with an undergrowth of extraordinary variety.
Along the banks, especially wherever there is a quiet nook, thrive
dense growths of the _Arundo phragmites_ grass, whose long, bright
green leaves we hear rustle as we glide by before the breeze blowing
up river; here and there the _Papyrus antiquorum_, or a specimen of
the _Edemone mirabilis_, or Eschinomenæ. In the calm tepid waters of
the little creeks that wind in mazy curves between low islands a
wonderful variety of aquatic plants is discovered; various species of
Nymphæa, with white or lavender-coloured flowers, and, woven with
their slender stalks, the broad-leafed Vallisneria, and amongst them,
modest and of a pretty green, the rosette-shaped _Pistia stratiotes_.
In thick hedges bordering either side of the creeks are vigorous
growths of ever-fresh-looking ferns.
“In the undergrowth, where the giant trees are wanting, we find the
anoma flourish best, their clusters of crimson fruit, growing at the
base of the stalk, serving me for a tartish dessert, and their grains,
commonly called “grains of paradise,” being sought after by the bhang
smokers of my Expedition to sweeten their breath and increase saliva.
The leaves are always of a fresh green, and give one a true idea of a
tropical forest and moist, warm climate. Not far off from these is the
_Phrynium ramosissimum_, whose broad and long fronds serve to thatch
the natives’ huts and fishers’ sheds, or to fold their cassava bread,
or for platters and salt-baskets, or for storing the minnows or
whitebait for market. You may also see here the _Strelitza vagina_, or
the wild banana, or the violet-tree, and the oil-berry tree, the black
ivory nut-tree, which might be made a valuable article of commerce;
the _Semicarbus anacardium_, commonly called the marking-ink plant,
the _Encephastos Aldensteini_, the ginger plant, the dragon’s blood
tree, various species of the Verbenaceæ, such as the _Vitex umbrosa_,
the physic nut-tree (_Jatrophe purgans_), which is frequently
associated with Muzimus, especially by Wakerewé and Wajiji, and the
brilliant bloom of a Loranthus or species of Liliaceæ in flower, will
not fail to be noted as one dreamily glides by these unknown islets,
full of treasures to bewitch a botanist, and wherein the enterprising
merchant might find profit.
“Some other pleasures we have are in watching a sunny bank, where we
may rest assured the crocodile lies dreaming of fish banquets, and
whence he will rise and plunge with a startling splash; or in watching
the tricks of some suspicious and watchful behemoth, whose roar has
its volume redoubled as it is reverberated from shore to shore in
these eerie wilds.
Our terrors are numerous. First, the rocks and rapids, the plunging
cataract and whirling pool, which fortunately are passed, and which we
pray we shall not have to encounter again. Then the sudden storm,
which now blows each day up river, and, first wrinkling the face of
the river, soon raises heavy brown waves, like those of a lake, which,
having already suffered from, we are careful to avoid; but the
greatest danger, an ever-recurring one, is that which we have to
encounter each time the wild howling cannibal aborigines observe us.
Indeed, the sense of security is short-lived, our pleasure evanescent;
but the sense of danger is always present, and pervades our minds
whether in our sleeping or our waking hours.
“_Feb. 7._—Obtained no latitude. It has been a tempestuous day. Great
heavy swells rolled up river in our front, and the wind howled and
shrieked so through the dismal glades that we became quite gloomy. To
add to our troubles, our food is finished; we have no more, and to
attempt to obtain it will cost human life. Empty stomachs serve to
render the prospects in unknown and wild regions still darker. We have
three asses with us; but then my people have grown to look at them as
fellow-members of the Expedition. They say they will die first, but
the faithful asses which have accompanied us so far the people say
shall not be touched. So far so good; but what are we to do? Late at
night the chiefs came to me and declared they must have food to-
morrow. I told them they should have it, that from the first village
we saw we should go and demand it.
“_Feb. 8._—Thank God! An anxious day has terminated with tranquillity
to long-disturbed minds. We are camped on a small jungle-covered islet
in north latitude 1° 40′ 44″ by observation, and east longitude 21° 4′
by acct. Opposite, at 500 yards’ distance, on the left bank, is the
village of Rubunga, in Nganza. On the right bank, at 1700 yards’
distance from us, is the large town of Gunji.
“Our course yesterday was west by south, and to-day west-south-west.
We embarked at 7 A.M., and rowed past a very long wooded island, which
lay on our left. At 8 A.M., we began to observe on the right bank a
long hilly ridge, with cultivated slopes, and a dense population,
which we later learned was called Upoto—or Mbapoto, as one man called
it. I solemnly addressed my people, and, while telling them to prepare
every weapon, gun, spear, axe, and knife, reminded them that it was an
awful thing to commence hostilities, whether for food or anything
else. They groaned in spirit, and asked me what they should do when
their bowels yearned for something to satisfy its cravings; and though
there was an abundance of copper, brass, iron, shells, beads, and
cloth, nobody would sell even a small piece of cassava to them, or
even look at them without manifesting a thirst for their blood.
“I had prepared the brightest and most showy wares close by me, and
resolved to be as cunning and patient as a serpent in this
intercourse. At 11 A.M. we sighted the village of Rubunga, and, giving
instructions to Frank not to approach nearer to me than a quarter of a
mile with the canoes, we rowed steadily down until within a few
hundred yards of it, when we lay-to on our oars. Presently three
canoes advanced to meet us without the usual savage demonstrations.
Not even a drum was beaten, a horn blown, or a cry uttered. This was
promising. We tried the words ‘Sen-nen-neh!’ ‘Cha-re-reh!’ in soft,
mild, melodious strains. They ran away. Things appeared gloomy again.
However, patience.
“We had reserved one banana and a piece of cassava. We had our mouths
and our stomachs with us. An appropriate gesture with the banana to
the mouth, and a gentle fondling with a puckered stomach, would, we
thought, be a manner of expressing extreme want, eloquent enough to
penetrate the armoured body of a crocodile. We came opposite the
village at 30 yards’ distance, and dropped our stone anchor, and I
stood up with my ragged old helmet pushed back far, that they might
scrutinise my face, and the lines of suasion be properly seen. With
the banana in one hand, and a gleaming armlet of copper and beads of
various colours in the other, I began the pantomime. I once knew an
idiot in Brusa, Asia Minor, who entreated me for a para in much the
same dumb strain that I implored the assembled, hundreds of Rubunga to
relax that sullen sternness, that uncompromising aspect, that savage
front, and yield to the captivating influence of fair and honest
barter. I clashed the copper bracelets together, lovingly handled the
bright gold-brown of the shining armlet, exposed with all my best
grace of manner long necklaces of bright and clean _Cypræa moneta_,
and allured their attention with beads of the brightest colours. Nor
were the polished folds of yellow brass wire omitted; and again the
banana was lifted to my open mouth. Then what suspense, what patience,
what a saint-like air of resignation! Ah, yes! but I think I may be
pardoned for all that degrading pantomime. I had a number of hungry,
half-wild children; and through a cannibal world we had ploughed to
reach these unsophisticated children of nature.
“We waited, and at length an old chief came down the high bank to the
lower landing near some rocks. Other elders of the people in head-
dresses of leopard and civet skin joined him soon, and then all sat
down. The old chief nodded with his head. We raised our anchor, and
with two strokes of the oars had run our boat ashore, and, snatching a
string or two of cowries, I sprang on land, followed by the coxswain
Uledi, and in a second I had seized the skinny hand of the old chief,
and was pressing it hard for joy. Warm-hearted Uledi, who the moment
before was breathing furious hate of all savages, and of the
procrastinating old chief in particular, embraced him with a filial
warmth. Young Saywa, and Murabo, and Shumari, prompt as tinder upon
all occasions, grasped the lesser chiefs’ hands, and devoted
themselves with smiles and jovial frank bearing to conquer the last
remnants of savage sullenness, and succeeded so well that in an
incredibly short time the blood-brotherhood ceremony between the
suddenly formed friends was solemnly entered into, and the irrevocable
pact of peace and goodwill had been accomplished!
“The old chief pointed with his finger to the face of Frank, which
shone white amongst the dusky bodies of his comrades, and I beckoned
to him. The canoes were all to anchor 100 yards off shore, but Frank
was required to respond to the chief of Rubunga’s wish for friendship.
We distributed presents to each native, and in return we received
great bunches of mellow, ripe, and green bananas, as well as of fish.
It was agreed between us that we should encamp on this little islet,
on which we find ourselves to-night, with a feeling as though we were
approaching home.
“Before leaving the chief of Rubunga’s presence, I asked him the name
of the river, in a mongrel mixture of Ki-swahili, Kinyamwezi, Kijiji,
Ki-regga, and Ki-Kusu. He understood after a while, and replied it was
‘Ibari.’ But after he had quite comprehended the drift of the
question, he replied in a sonorous voice, ‘_Ikutu ya Kongo!_’
“There had really been no doubt in my mind since we had left the
Stanley Falls that the terrible river would prove eventually to be the
river of Congoland, but it was very agreeable to be told so.
“We have received food sufficient to last us for this day. The native
women require a longer time to muster courage to make the acquaintance
of the strangers, and have postponed their visit until to-morrow. A
grand market for our special benefit is to be held on this island. The
drums of Rubunga will be beaten to-morrow morning, not for war, but to
summon the aborigines to come forward with provisions to sell. In the
meantime hunger has been expelled, the gnawing emptiness has been
banished, and our long-harassed minds are at rest. May this happy
friendship be the first of many more!”
CHAPTER X.
High art in tattooing—Suspicious friendliness—Friends or foes?—A
treacherous attack—The fauna of the Livingstone—Among the
“Houyhynyms”—The “Yaha-ha-has”—Frank’s courage and narrow escape—Our
fight with the Bangala—The mirage on the river—The great tributary
of the Livingstone—Among friends.
_Feb. 9._—While we rested on the jungle-covered islet opposite Rubunga,
we experienced that repose of spirits which only the happy few who know
neither care nor anxiety can enjoy. For the first time for many weeks we
had slept well. There was no simulation in the cheerful morning
greetings which were passed from one man to another. That wide-eyed
suspicious look and the swift searching glance of distrust had toned
down, and an unreserved geniality pervaded the camp.
About 9 A.M. the first canoe arrived, and its occupants received warm
and hearty welcome. Soon others arrived, while the big market-drum
continued to hasten the natives from both banks—from Rubunga and Urangi
on the left, and Gunji and Upoto on the right. In light, swift, elegant
canoes, of the caique pattern, the people brought fresh and dried fish,
snails, oysters, mussels, dried dogs’-meat, live dogs and goats,
bananas, plantains, robes of grass cloth, cassava tubers, flour and
bread of the consistence of sailor’s “duff,” spears, knives, axes,
hatchets, bells, iron bracelets and girdles, in fact everything that is
saleable or purchasable on the shores of the Livingstone. The knives
were singular specimens of the African smith’s art, being principally of
a waving, sickle-shaped pattern, while the principal men carried brass-
handled weapons, 18 inches long, double-edged, and rather wide-pointed,
with two blood channels along the centre of the broad blade, while near
the hilt the blade was pierced by two quarter-circular holes, while the
top of the haft was ornamented with the fur of the otter.
The aborigines dress their hair with an art peculiar to the Warua and
Waguha, which consists in wearing it in tufts on the back of the head,
and fastening it with elegantly shaped iron hairpins—a fashion which
also obtains among many kitchen maids in England. Tattooing is carried
to excess, every portion of the skin bearing punctured marks, from the
roots of the hair down to the knees. Their breasts are like hieroglyphic
parchment charts, marked with _raised_ figures, ledges, squares,
circles, wavy lines, tuberose knots, rosettes, and every conceivable
design. No colouring substance had been introduced into these incisions
and punctures; the cuticle had simply been tortured and irritated by the
injection of some irritants or air. Indeed, some of the glossy
tubercules, which contained air, were as large as hens’ eggs. As many as
six thin ledges marked the foreheads from temple to temple, as many ran
down each cheek, while from lower eyelid to base of septum curved wavy
lines; the chin showed rosettes, the neck seemed goitrous with the large
vesicular protuberances, while the front parts of their bodies afforded
broad fields upon which the native artist had displayed the exuberant
fertility of his genius. To such an extent is this fashion carried that
the people are hideously deformed, many of them having quite unnatural
features and necks.
[Illustration: KNIVES, RUBUNGA.]
To add to the atrocious bad taste of these aborigines, their necklaces
consisted of human, gorilla, and crocodile teeth, in such quantity in
many cases that little or nothing could be seen of the neck. A few
possessed polished boars’ tusks, with the points made to meet from each
side.
Blood-brotherhood was a beastly cannibalistic ceremony with these
people, yet much sought after, whether for the satisfaction of their
thirst for blood, or that it involved an interchange of gifts, of which
they must needs reap the most benefit. After an incision was made in
each arm, both brothers bent their heads, and the aborigine was observed
to suck with the greatest fervour, whether for love of blood or excess
of friendship it would be difficult to say. Having discovered our
liberality, they became arrant beggars, and difficult to satisfy. Copper
was despised, but brass wire was gold—anything became purchasable with
it except canoes.
The most curious objects we discovered at Rubunga were four ancient
Portuguese muskets, at the sight of which the people of the Expedition
raised a glad shout. These appeared to them certain signs that we had
not lost the road, that the great river did really reach the sea, and
that their master was not deluding them when he told them that some day
they would see the sea.
In reply to our questions as to where they had obtained them, they said
from men in canoes from Bankaro, Bangaro, Mangara, or, as the word
finally settled down, from Mangala, who came once a year to buy ivory.
These traders were black men, and they had never heard of white men or
of Arabs. One or two of their people had visited Mangala, and from these
great travellers I obtained the following list of places—which
geographers will do well to study—which they had heard of as being down
river:
Iringi.
Mpakiwana.
Ukataraka.
Marunja.
Ikonogo.
Bubeka.
Imemé.
Ikandawanda.
Mpungu (river entering from left bank).
Mangala.
Ibeko.
Iregweh.
Bateké.
Ikumu.
Irebu.
The nations reported to be below Rubunga were Bakongo, Mberri, Wakomera,
Wyyaka, Baurengeri, Mangala.
_Feb. 10._—On the morning of the 10th of February natives from down
river appeared to escort us, and our friends of Rubunga also despatched
a canoe and five men to introduce us to Urangi. In about two hours we
arrived at the very populous settlement of Urangi, consisting of several
villages almost joining one another.
In order that there should be no possible chance of a rupture, we
prepared to camp on a very long wooded island, on a beautiful green
thoroughly shaded by forest patriarchs. Our appearance was the signal
for a great number of the elegant canoes of this region to approach us.
These ranged in length from 15 to 45 feet, and were manned by from one
person to twenty men, according to their size. Beautifully carved and
perfectly shaped, their crews, standing, and armed with powerful paddles
of light wood, propelled them along at the rate of six knots an hour.
They were as different in form and design from those monsters up river
as the natives themselves were. It was very curious to watch this
transition from one tribal peculiarity and custom to another. It was
evident that these tribes never traded with those above. I doubt whether
the people of Urangi and Rubunga are cannibals, though we obtained proof
sufficient that human life is not a subject of concern with them, and
the necklaces of human teeth which they wore were by no means
assuring—they provoked morbid ideas.
We received a noisy and demonstrative welcome. They pressed on us in
great numbers, which, considering our late eventful life, did not tend
to promote that perfect feeling of security which we had briefly tasted
at Rubunga. Still we bore it good-humouredly. If geniality, frankness,
sociability are the best weapons with which to treat savage man, we
showed ourselves adepts and practised professors of the art. I did not
observe the least shadow of a frown, sulkiness, doubt, or suspicion on
the face of any man, woman, or child connected with the Expedition. As
for Frank and myself, our behaviour was characterized by an angelic
benignity worthy of canonization. I sat smiling in the midst of a
tattooed group, remarkable for their filed teeth and ugly gashed bodies,
and bearing in their hands fearfully dangerous-looking naked knives or
swords, with which the crowd might have hacked me to pieces before I
could have even divined their intentions.
But presently murmurs were heard, and finally the camp was in an uproar.
One man complained of his mat being stolen, another of his knife,
another of his cloth, another of his store of beads; three or four
spears were next abstracted; and finally, the thieving culminated in two
guns being stolen. Fortunately, however, the thieves were apprehended
before they had succeeded in effecting their escape. Then a new order of
things was determined upon. We fell back upon the old rule of never
forgetting that an unsophisticated savage was not trustworthy, except
when your eyes were on him. We built a boma, and refused admission to
the camp, but a market was fixed in a special place without, where, the
natives were told, those who possessed articles for sale would find
purchasers. The chiefs agreed to this, and friendship and fraternity
were apparently as much in demand as before the little disturbance,
since no one had been injured, and the losses had been borne without
reprisals.
[Illustration: DOUBLE IRON BELLS OF URANGI.]
At 5 P.M. the great chief of Urangi made his presence known by sounding
his double iron gong. This gong consisted of two long iron bell-shaped
instruments, connected above by an iron handle, which, when beaten with
a short stick with a ball of indiarubber at the end, produced very
agreeable musical sounds. He received a kindly reception; and though he
manifested no desire nor declared any intention of reciprocating our
gift, he did not leave our camp dissatisfied with his present. He loudly
proclaimed to the assembly on the river something to the effect that I
was his brother; that peace and goodwill should prevail, and that
everybody should behave, and “make plenty of trade.” But on his
departure his people became roguish and like wild children. Scores of
canoes flitted here and there, up and down, along the front of the camp,
which gave us opportunities of observing that every person was tattooed
in the most abominable manner; that the coiffeur’s art was carried to
perfection; that human teeth were popular ornaments for the neck; that
their own teeth were filed; that brass wire to an astonishing quantity
had been brought to them by the Bangala; as they had coils of it upon
their arms and legs, and ruffs of it resting on their shoulders; that
while the men wore ample loin-coverings of grass cloth, their women went
naked; that ivory was to be purchased here to any amount, and that palm-
wine had affected the heads of a great many. We also discovered that
Urangi possessed about a dozen muskets.
From a friend of mine, who paid me much attention, I ascertained that
three hours from Urangi inland was a large market-town, called Ngombé,
whither the Barangi frequently went with fish, dried and fresh, to
purchase cassava, bananas, ground nuts, and palm-oil; that palm-trees
were as thick as a forest inland; that on the right bank below Gunji are
three districts, Umangi, Ukeré, and Mpisa; that the river on the right
side is known as Ukeré, while that which rolls by Urangi is called
Iringi.
At sunset our strange friends departed, and paddled across river to
their villages, very amiably disposed, if one might judge from smiles
and pleasant nods of the head. At 8 P.M. a terrific drumming and some
half a dozen musket-shots were heard from the Urangi villages. We
supposed them to be dancing and enjoying their palm-wine, the delicious
and much-esteemed _malofu_. Sometimes we heard, amid a deathly silence,
also the voice of a man, who might be reading a proclamation or
delivering a lecture, for all we understood. The voice was clearly
audible, but the words were not. Finally, about midnight I slept.
_Feb. 11._—An hour before dawn we were alert, preparing our morning
meal, packing up, delivering instructions, and observing other customs
preparatory to starting the Expedition anew on the voyage.
A little after sunrise our guides of Urangi, who had shown us the way
from Rubunga, appeared, according to their promise to escort us to
another tribe below. For their good nature we gave an earnest of our
liberal purpose. We then embarked.
As we began to move from our camp we observed scores of canoes
approaching us from Urangi, across the wide branch that separated our
island from the villages. This was so natural that we paid no attention
to it, yet we thought a greater number of men manned them than on the
previous day. But for ten minutes we glided down smoothly and agreeably.
Suddenly I heard a shot and a whistling of slugs in the neighbourhood of
the boat. I turned my head, and observed the smoke of gunpowder drifting
away from a native canoe. Yet we could scarcely realise that our friends
had so soon become enemies, until one of my people cried out, “Master,
one of our men is killed. The people are firing at us.” Simultaneously
with the shot I observed our guides had darted away in their canoe, and
it dawned on my mind that the whole was a preconcerted arrangement.
Anxious for the safety of the Expedition, I permitted my canoes to float
by me, and then formed them in line, the boat in the rear, and thus we
began the fight. The natives advanced on us in gallant style, and after
firing their heavily charged guns withdrew rapidly again to reload, and
in the meantime the wooden assegais were launched with a marvellous
dexterity, and the beautiful canoes skimmed about like flying fish here
and there with bewildering evolutions and wonderful velocity and grace.
Of course the shields were raised like bulwarks around our flotilla, and
the fire from behind them was deadly; while though we in the boat were
conspicuous marks, we could not be touched owing to our rapidity of
fire. But they persistently followed us until the natives of the
district of Mpakiwana heard the firing and rushed to the assault, and
maintained it with a pertinacity that made us almost despair. About noon
we discovered a channel leading among the islands, which we followed,
soon becoming involved once more among the mazy laybrinths of the
winding creeks.
Our course may be ascertained, if I state that a little above Urangi we
were in north latitude 1° 36′ 0″, and at noon of the 11th, about twenty
miles westward of the Urangi, we obtained north latitude 1° 41′ 0″.
The islands are much more numerous below Rubunga, and are marvels of
vegetation, producing greater varieties of the palm species than those
above. Though gigantic trees of the class already mentioned are as
numerous, they are much more shrouded by masses of palm-vegetation,
vines, and creepers, from the observation of the river voyager. As the
banks here rise only from 5 to 10 feet above the surface of the river,
they are subject to inundation when the river is in flood, and in many
parts there are swampy depressions, favourable to dense growths of
rattan and young palms. These low islands are haunted by many pests. As
we glided by them during the day, we were subject to the attacks of
vicious gad-flies and the tsetsé, and at night mosquitoes were so
abundant that we obtained but little sleep. The murmur of the vast
multitude of these insects sounded during the night to our half-waked
senses like the noise of advancing savages, and until the wee hours of
the morning the continual flip-flap of branches of the fig-tree, with
which the worried mortals had armed themselves, annoyed my drowsy ears.
We obtained just a glimpse of Ukatakura, or, as it is sometimes called,
Ukaturaka, as we hastened from one island channel to another. We were
followed by five or six canoes for a distance of five miles, but we
finally escaped them.
_Feb. 12._—The 12th of February was passed without alarm; the islands
were still increasing in number; the river was immensely wide, extending
over seven miles. We obtained once a distant view of a village on the
right bank. Low islands of alluvial sand, which shot forth rich crops of
the _Arundo phragmites_ grass, _Papyrus antiquorum_, and many other
varieties of the Cyperaceæ, became more numerous. These were the haunts
of Marabu storks, Balearic cranes, the short-legged _Balæniceps Rex_,
flamingoes, spur-winged geese, flocks of wild duck, divers, kingfishers,
egrets, black as well as white ibis, and snipe. Any number of birds for
meat might easily have been obtained, were it not that a single shot
would have entailed a combat with musket-armed men. Our only hope of
escape from this region was by avoiding ferocious man.
On one of these islands we saw an elephant with a pair of magnificent
tusks, but he was as safe from us as though we had been unarmed; and on
a reedy island of considerable length we saw a herd of red buffalo,
which are smaller and very different generally from the black buffalo of
the eastern half of the continent. But though we pined for meat, and
were accustomed, in countries where strangers are not hunted for their
lives, to devote much time to hunting, still we dared not fire. The
lives of many men—our own and the natives’—depended on our forbearance.
The higher and more wooded islands swarm with baboons, the _Cynocephalus
porcarius_, the night-waking lemur, and diminutive long-tailed monkeys.
Once a beating of the bushes caused me to look quickly up, and I had
just a glimpse of a large species of monkey of a bearded kind, standing
up; but the current was inexorable, and we were at that time rowing
rapidly, so that it was useless to hope to be able to find him.
The channels swarmed with Amphibia—the hippopotamus, crocodile, and
monitor. Frequently at the lower end of islands, spits of white gleaming
sand were observed, with two or three bloated and monstrous crocodiles
basking on them, while smaller ones, at a respectful distance from the
sires, imitated their lifelessness, until the splash of our oars caused
them, sires and young alike, to hurry waddling to their deep homes.
A remarkable feature of the river was its immunity from snags. A few
gigantic trees, it is true, were seen stranded on a gleaming islet of
sand, but those dangerous obstacles of navigation, so frequent in
American rivers, are very rare on the Livingstone. This may be accounted
for, perhaps, by the fact that its bed is harder and more compact, and
contains a less tenacious alluvium than the river beds of North America.
Yet landslips are frequent, and the banks of islands exhibit many
prostrate forest monarchs; but by steering a few feet beyond these our
descent was never interrupted by any obstructing branch or snag.
_Feb. 13._—On the morning of the 13th we passed either the mouth of a
channel 500 yards wide, or a river—the Sankuru (?)—to our left. We
certainly thought it was a mere island channel, until we became
surprised at its great length, and still more surprised when, turning
round a bend, we discovered ourselves in the presence of a large number
of villages. It was too late to return. The great war-drums and horns
thundered through the woods, and startled the wild echoes of many a
forested isle. With an intuitive feeling that we should again “catch
it,” and become soon engaged in all the horrors of savage warfare, we
prepared with all the skill in our power to defend ourselves. The women
and children were told to lie down in the bottom of the canoes, and the
spearmen to “stand by shields” to protect the riflemen. At this time we
possessed only thirty-nine guns—nineteen Sniders and twenty
muskets—besides my own rifles. When within 300 yards of the first
settlement, we sheered off into mid-river and paddled slowly down in
close line, the boat in the advance, with a vague sense that there would
be no rest for us until we either sank into the grave or Providence
should endow us with wings to enable us to vanish from this fearful
savage world.
The first war-cries that rang out as the beautiful but cruel canoes
skimmed towards us reminded me of the “Houyhynyms,” for, to express
correctly the neighing sounds of the warriors of Marunja, their cry
ought to be spelled “Yaha-ha-ha.” But in tone it was marvellously like a
neighing chorus of several full-blooded stallions. Had I not been able
to ascertain the names of these tribes, I should certainly have been
justified in stating that after the “Ooh-hu-hus” we encountered the “Bo-
bo-bos,” and after a dire experience with the fierce “Bo-bo-bos” we met
the terrible “Yaha-ha-has.” Any traveller who should succeed me would be
certain to remark upon the fidelity of the novel classification.
For my part I must confess to having been charmed into a dangerous
inactivity by the novelty of the human cries, so much so that, before I
was on the alert, there were three canoes in front of me, and over the
gunwales I saw nine bright musket barrels aimed at me. As my position
was in the bow of the boat while leading the Expedition down river, I
soon became the target for a few more, as the swift gliding canoes were
propelled in a crescent form in our front. But, as on several other
occasions, I was saved, because my very appearance startled them. Had I
been a black man I should have long before been slain; but even in the
midst of a battle, curiosity, stronger than hate or bloodthirstiness,
arrested the sinewy arm which drew the bow, and delayed the flying
spear. And now, while their thin flint hammers were at full cock, and
the fingers pressing the triggers of the deadly muskets, the savages
became absorbed in contemplating the silent and still form of a kind of
being which to them must have appeared as strange as any unreal being
the traditions of their fathers had attempted to describe. “_White!_”
Of course the slightest movement on my part would have been instantly
followed by my death. Though it was unpleasant to sit and feel oneself
to be a target for so many guns, yet it was the wisest plan. While I was
the object of curiosity to a large party, Frank was no less the centre
of attraction to a number of men that hovered on our left flank, and our
asses shared with us the honour of being wonders to the aborigines.
Katembo attempted to open a conversation with them, and by surprising
them with the question if they were Marunja we obtained a knowledge as
to whom we were indebted for these unpleasant honours. And I believe it
was to Katembo that we owed the rupture of the charm of curiosity, for
five minutes afterwards, when we had descended nearly two miles in
silence below their villages, a vicious black aborigine fired and killed
Rehani, one of our finest men. Instinctively the Wangwana raised their
shields, and, rowing up swiftly to meet them, to defend the people like
a hen her chickens, the boat opened its battery of small arms to avenge
the death of Rehani, and in thirty minutes the seventy musket-armed
canoes of the Marunja were retreating to a more respectful distance.
After following us for five miles they abandoned the pursuit, and we
happily saw no more of them.
At noon we obtained an observation, north latitude 1° 28′ 0″, while at
noon of the 12th we were in north latitude 1° 36′ 0″. Our course among
the islands had ranged from west half north to west-south-west.
After we had escaped the Marunja, we crept from channel to channel and
creek to creek, which wound in and out between island groves, until
night, when we encamped, to undergo the usual nightly tortures of the
light-coloured mosquitoes of the Livingstone.
We had discovered on several islands, since leaving Urangi, small camps,
consisting of, perhaps, a dozen small grass huts or sheds, which had, no
doubt, been the temporary shelter erected by some trading tribe below,
and, as we heard from the aborigines of Rubunga the power of the Mangala
highly extolled, we came to the conclusion that upon arriving in the
Bangala’s country we should be freed from all strife and danger.
_Feb. 14._—During the forenoon of the 14th of February, while anxiously
looking out lest we should be taken by some erratic channels in view of
other villages, we arrived at the end of an island, which, after some
hesitation, we followed along the right. Two islands were to the right
of us, and prevented us from observing the mainland. But after
descending two miles we came in full view of a small settlement on the
right bank. Too late to return, we crept along down river, hugging the
island as closely as possible, in order to arrive at a channel before
the natives should sight us. But, alas! even in the midst of our prayers
for deliverance, sharp quick taps on a native kettledrum sent our blood
bounding to the heart, and we listened in agony for the response.
Presently one drum after another sounded the alarm, until the Titanic
drums of war thundered the call to arms.
In very despair, I sprang to my feet, and, addressing my distressed and
long-suffering followers, said, “It is of no use, my friends, to hope to
escape these bloody pagans. Those drums mean war. Yet it is very
possible these are the Bangala, in which case, being traders, they will
have heard of the men by the sea, and a little present may satisfy the
chiefs. Now, while I take the sun you prepare your guns, your powder and
bullets, see that every shield is ready to lift at once, as soon as you
see or hear one gun-shot. It is only in that way I can save you, for
every pagan now, from here to the sea, is armed with a gun, and they are
black like you, and they have a hundred guns to your one. If we must
die, we will die with guns in our hands like men. While I am speaking,
and trying to make friendship with them, let no one speak or move.”
We drew ashore at the little island, opposite the highest village, and
at noon I obtained my observation north latitude 1° 7′ 0″. Meanwhile
savage madness was being heated by the thunder of drums, canoes were
mustering, guns were being loaded, spears and broadswords were being
sharpened, all against us, merely because we were strangers, and afloat
on their waters. Yet we had the will and the means to purchase amity. We
were ready to submit to any tax, imposition, or insolent demand for the
privilege of a peaceful passage. Except life, or one drop of our blood,
we would sacrifice anything.
Slowly and silently we withdrew from the shelter of the island and began
the descent of the stream. The boat took position in front, Frank’s
canoe, the _Ocean_, on the right, Manwa Sera’s, _London Town_, to the
left. Beyond Manwa Sera’s canoe was the uninhabited island, the great
length of which had ensnared us, and hedged us in to the conflict. From
our right the enemy would appear with muskets and spears, and an
unquenchable ferocity, unless we could mollify him.
We had left Observation Island about half a mile behind us when the
prows of many canoes were seen to emerge out of the creek. I stood up
and edged towards them, holding a long piece of red cloth in one hand,
and a coil of brass wire in another. We rested on our oars, and the men
quietly placed their paddles in their canoes, and sat up, watchful, but
ready for contingencies. As we floated down, numbers of canoes advanced.
I hailed the natives, who were the most brilliantly decorated of any yet
seen. At a distance they all appeared to wear something like English
University caps, though of a white colour. There was a great deal of
glitter and flash of metal, shining brass, copper, and bright steel
among them.
The natives returned no answer to my hail; still I persisted, with the
same artfulness of manner that had been so successful at Rubunga. I
observed three or four canoes approaching Frank’s vessel with a most
suspicious air about them, and several of their canoes menacing him, at
which Frank stood up and menaced them with his weapon. I thought the act
premature, and ordered him to sit down, and to look away from them. I
again raised the crimson cloth and wire, and by pantomime offered to
give it to those in front, whom I was previously addressing; but almost
immediately those natives who had threatened Frank fired into my boat,
wounding three of my young crew—Mambu, Murabo, and Jaffari—and two more
natives fired into Frank’s canoe, wounding two—Hatib and Muftah. The
missiles fired into us were jagged pieces of iron and copper ore
precisely similar to those which the Ashantees employed. After this
murderous outrage there was no effort made to secure peace. The shields
were lifted, and proved capital defences against the hail of slugs.
Boat, shields, and canoes were pitted, but only a few shields were
perforated.
The conflict began in earnest, and lasted so long that ammunition had to
be redistributed. We perceived that, as the conflict continued, every
village sent out its quota. About two o’clock a canoe advanced with a
swaggering air, its crew evidently intoxicated, and fired at us when
within thirty yards. The boat instantly swept down to it and captured
it, but the crew sprang into the river, and, being capital swimmers,
were saved by a timely arrival of their friends. At three o’clock I
counted sixty-three opposed to us. Some of the Bangala—which they
disclosed themselves by their peculiar cries, “Yaha-ha-ha, Ya Bangala!”
“Ya Bangala! Yaha-ha-ha!”—distinguished themselves by an audacity and
courage that, for our own sakes, I was glad to see was not general.
Especially one young chief, distinguished by his head-dress of white
goat-skin, and a short mantle of the same material, and wreaths of thick
brass wire on neck, arms and legs, sufficient, indeed, to have protected
those parts from slugs, and proving him to be a man of consequence. His
canoe mates were ten in number; and his steersman, by his adroitness and
dexterity, managed the canoe so well that after he and his mates had
fired their guns, he instantly presented its prow and only a thin line
of upright figures to our aim. Each time he dashed up to deliver his
fire all the canoes of his countrymen seemed stimulated by his example
to emulate him. And, allowing five guns on an average to each of the
sixty-three canoes, there were 315 muskets opposed to our forty-four.
Their mistake was in supposing their slugs to have the same penetrative
effect and long range as our missiles had. Only a few of the boldest
approached, after they had experienced our fire, within a hundred yards.
The young chief already mentioned frequently charged to within fifty
yards, and delivered a smashing charge of missiles, almost all of which
were either too low or too high. Finally Manwa Sera wounded him with a
Snider bullet in the thigh. The brave fellow coolly, and in presence of
us all, took a piece of cloth and deliberately bandaged it, and then
calmly retreated towards shore. The action was so noble and graceful
that orders were given to let him withdraw unmolested. After his
departure the firing became desultory, and at 5.30 P.M. our antagonists
retired, leaving us to attend to our wounded, and to give three hearty
cheers at our success. This was our thirty-first fight on the terrible
river—the last but one—and certainly the most determined conflict that
we had endured.
My gossipy friend at Urangi had stated to me that the Bangala, when they
visited his country, were in the habit of carrying things with a high
hand, that they frequently indulged in shooting in the most
indiscriminate manner at everything if angered, that they were very
“hot”. But I never expected they would have indulged their “hot-
headedness” at the expense of people who might be called relations of
those who had supplied them with guns and powder. It is evident,
however, to me that, enterprising as the Bangala are, they have never
ascended the Livingstone higher than Upoto, otherwise they must
certainly have been compelled to measure their strength against the
cannibals of the Aruwimi.
The Bangala may be said to be the Ashantees of the Livingstone River,
though their country has comparatively but a small populated river
front. Their villages cover at intervals—of a mile or half a mile—a line
of ten miles. They trade with Ikengo and Irebu down the river all the
ivory they have purchased from Upoto, Gunji, Mpisa, Ukeré, Rubunga,
Urangi, Mpakiwana, and Marunja. I observed soon after the fight began
that many canoes emerged out of a river coming from a northerly
direction. For a long period the river of Bangala has appeared on West
African maps as the Bancaro river. The word Bangala, which may be
pronounced Bangara, Bankara, or Bankaro, signifies the people of Mangala
or Mangara, Mankara or Mankaro. I have simply adopted the more popular
term.
Unquestionably the Bangala are a very superior tribe. I regret very much
the singular antipathy they entertain towards strangers, which no doubt
they will continue to show until, like the Ashantees, they have been
taught by two or three sharp fights to lessen their pretensions to make
targets of aborigines and strangers. While the Bangala are permitted to
pass Ikengo to Irebu, the people of Ikengo and Irebu are not privileged
to ascend the river beyond Bangala.
We continued our journey on this eventful day until an hour after
sunset, when we proceeded to establish a camp at the head of a narrow
tortuous channel, which lost itself amid the clusters of small islets.
_Feb. 15._—On the 15th, at noon, we reached north latitude 0° 58′ 0″.
The strong winds which at this season blow daily up river impeded our
journey greatly. They generally began at 8 A.M. and lasted until 3 P.M.
When narrow channels were open to us we were enabled to proceed without
interruption, but when exposed to broad open streams the waves rose as
high as 2 feet, and were a source of considerable danger. Indeed, from
the regularity and increased force of the winds, I half suspected at the
time that the Livingstone emptied into some vast lake such as the
Victoria Nyanza. The mean temperature in the shade seldom exceeds 74°
Fahr., and the climate, though not dry, was far more agreeable than the
clammy humidity characteristic of the east coast. The difference between
the heat in this elevated region and that of the east coast was such
that, while it was dangerous to travel in the sun without a sun-umbrella
near the sea on the east coast, a light double-cotton cloth cap saved me
from feeling any inconvenience when standing up in the boat under a
bright glaring sun and cloudless sky. While sitting down in the boat, a
few minutes was sufficient to convince me it was dangerous without an
umbrella, even here. While at work at the Stanley Falls the umbrella was
not used. The nights were uncomfortable without a blanket, and sometimes
even two were desirable.
The winds which prevail at this season of the year are from the south-
west, or south, which means from the temperate latitude of the South
Atlantic, and slightly chilled in their passage over the western ranges.
In the early morning the thermometer was often as low as 64°. From 10
A.M. to 4 P.M. it ranged from 75° to 85° Fahr. in the shade; from 4 P.M.
to sunset it ranged from 72° to 80°. From the 12th January until the 5th
March we experienced no rain.
One remarkable fact connected with our life in this region is, that
though we endured more anxiety of mind and more strain on the body, were
subject to constant peril, and fared harder (being compelled for weeks
to subsist on green bananas, cassava, and sugarless tea, and those
frequently in scanty quantities), we—Frank and I—enjoyed better health
on the Livingstone than at any other period of the journey; but whether
this unusual health might not be attributed to having become more
acclimatized is a question.
The mirage on the Livingstone was often ludicrously deceptive, playing
on our fears at a most trying period, in a manner which plunged us from
a temporary enjoyment of our immunity from attack into a state of
suspicion and alarm, which probably, in nine cases out of ten, arose out
of the exaggerated proportions given to a flock of pelicans or wild
geese, which to our nerves, then in a high state of tension, appeared to
be a very host of tall warriors. A young crocodile basking on a sandy
spit appeared to be as large as a canoe, and an ancient and bleached
tree a ship.
_Feb. 17._—At noon of the 17th we had reached north latitude 0° 18′ 41″,
our course during the 16th and 17th having been south-west, but a little
before sunset the immense river was gradually deflecting to south.
Since the 10th we had been unable to purchase food. The natives had
appeared to be so unapproachable, that again the questions naturally
arose in each mind, “Where shall we obtain food?” “What shall we do?”
“What will be the end of all this?” “Whither, oh whither are we going?”
My poor people had been elevated to a high pitch of exultation when they
had first seen the four muskets at Rubunga. They regarded them as the
beginning of the end. But now? “Ah, whither are we going on this cruel,
cruel river?”
Yet they bore the dire period with Spartan stoicism. They were convinced
that, had it been in my power, they should never have suffered from
scarcity. They had become trained to rely on my judgment and discretion,
and with a child-like faith they trusted me. Knowing this but too well,
my anxiety to show myself worthy of their love and duty was increased. I
might delay procuring food for their safety, but human beings cannot
live on air. But where should I get it, when the mere sight of us put
the natives into a rage for murder? How was food to be obtained if the
sound of our voices was followed instantly with deadly missiles?
I quote the following from my note-book:—
“_Feb. 18, 1877._—For three days we have been permitted, through the
mercy of God, to descend this great river uninterrupted by savage
clamour or ferocity. Winds during two days seriously impeded us, and
were a cause for anxiety, but yesterday was fine and calm, and the
river like a sheet of burnished glass; we therefore made good
progress. In the afternoon we encountered a native trading expedition
from Ikengo in three canoes, one of which was manned by fifteen
paddlers, clothed in robes of crimson blanket cloth. We hailed them,
but they refused to answer us. This sight makes me believe the river
must be pretty free of cataracts, and it may be that there are no more
than the Sundi cataract, and the Falls of Yellalla, reported by Tuckey
in 1816, otherwise I cannot account for the ascent of three trading
vessels, and such extensive possession of cloth and guns, so far up
the river.
“Since the 10th February we have been unable to purchase food, or
indeed approach a settlement for any amicable purpose. The aborigines
have been so hostile, that even fishing-canoes have fired at us as
though we were harmless game. God alone knows how we shall prosper
below. But let come what may, I have purposed to attempt communicating
with the natives to-morrow. A violent death will be preferable to
death by starvation.
“At 7 A.M. we were on the Equator again, and at noon I obtained an
observation which showed we were 0° 17′ 59″ south latitude, as our
course has been nearly straight south since yesterday 5 P.M.
“_Feb. 19, 1877._—This morning we regarded each other as fated victims
of protracted famine, or the rage of savages, like those of Mangala.
But as we feared famine most, we resolved to confront the natives
again. At 10 A.M., while we were descending the Livingstone along the
left bank, we discovered an enormous river, considerably over a
thousand yards wide, with a strong current, and deep, of the colour of
black tea. This is the largest influent yet discovered, and after
joining the Livingstone it appeared to command the left half to
itself—it strangely refuses to amalgamate with the Livingstone, and
the divisional line between them is plainly marked by a zigzag ripple,
as though the two great streams contended with one another for the
mastery. Even the Aruwimi and the Lowwa united would not greatly
exceed this giant influent. Its strong current and black water
contrast very strongly with the whitey-brown Livingstone. On the upper
side of the confluence is situate Ibonga, but the natives, though not
openly hostile, replied to us with the peculiar war-cries ‘Yaha-ha-
ha!’
“We continued our journey, though grievously hungry, past Bwena and
Inguba, doing our utmost to induce the staring fishermen to
communicate with us, without any success. They became at once
officiously busy with guns, and dangerously active. We arrived at
Ikengo, and as we were almost despairing, we proceeded to a small
island opposite this settlement and prepared to encamp. Soon a canoe
with seven men came dashing across, and we prepared our moneys for
exhibition. They unhesitatingly advanced, and ran their canoe
alongside us. We were rapturously joyful, and returned them a most
cordial welcome, as the act was a most auspicious sign of confidence.
We were liberal, and the natives fearlessly accepted our presents, and
from this giving of gifts we proceeded to seal this incipient
friendship with our blood with all due ceremony.
“After an hour’s stay with us they returned to communicate with their
countrymen, leaving one young fellow with us, which was another act of
grace. Soon from a village below Ikengo two more canoes came up with
two chiefs, who were extremely insolent and provoking, though after
nearly two and a half years’ experience of African manners we were not
to be put out of temper because two drunken savages chose to be
overbearing.
“It is strange, if we consider of what small things pride is born. The
European is proud of his pale colour, and almost all native Africans
appear to be proud because they are black. Pride arises most naturally
from a full stomach. Esau, while hungry, forgot his birthright and
heritage, because of weakened vitals. I forgot mine because my stomach
had collapsed through emptiness. The arrogance of the two chiefs of
Ikengo was nourished by a sense of fulness. I presume, were the
contents of their stomachs analysed, we should find them consist of
undigested manioc, banana, with a copious quantity of fluid. What
virtues lie in these that they should be proud? Their bodies were
shrouded with a grass cloth, greasy and black from wear. Their weapons
were flintlocks loaded with three inches of powder and three of slugs.
Yet they were insufferably rude!
“By-and-by they cooled down. We got them to sit and talk, and we
laughed together, and were apparently the best of friends. Of all the
things which struck their fancy, my note-book, which they called
‘tara-tara,’ or looking-glass, appeared to them to be the most
wonderful. They believed it possessed manifold virtues, and that it
came from above. Would I, could I, sell it to them? It would have
found a ready sale. But as it contains records of disaster by flood
and fire, charts of rivers and creeks and islands, sketches of men and
manners, notes upon a thousand objects, I could not part with it even
for a tusk of ivory.
“They got angry and sulky again. It was like playing with and coaxing
spoiled children. We amused them in various ways, and they finally
became composed, and were conquered by good nature. With a generous
scorn of return gifts, they presented me with a gourdful of palm-wine.
But I begged so earnestly for food that they sent their canoes back,
and, while they sat down by my side, it devolved upon me until their
return to fascinate and charm them with benignant gestures and broken
talk. About 3 P.M. provisions came in basketfuls of cassava tubers,
bananas, and long plantains, and the two chiefs made me rich by their
liberality, while the people began also to thaw from that stupor into
which impending famine had plunged them. At sunset our two friends,
with whom I had laboured with a zealot’s enthusiasm, retired, each
leaving a spear as a pledge with me that they would return to-morrow,
and renew our friendly intercourse, with canoe-loads of provisions.
“_Feb. 20, 1877._—My two friends, drunk no longer, brought most
liberal supplies with them of cassava tubers, cassava loaves, flour,
maize, plantains, and bananas, and two small goats, besides two large
gourdfuls of palm-wine, and, what was better, they had induced their
countrymen to respond to the demand for food. We held a market on
Mwangangala Island, at which there was no scarcity of supplies; black
pigs, goats, sheep, bananas, plantains, cassava bread, flour, maize,
sweet potatoes, yams, and fish being the principal things brought for
sale.
“The tall chief of Bwena and the chief of Inguba, influenced by the
two chiefs of Ikengo, also thawed, and announced their coming by
sounding those curious double bell-gongs, and blowing long horns of
ivory, the notes of which distance made quite harmonious. During the
whole of this day life was most enjoyable, intercourse unreservedly
friendly, and though most of the people were armed with guns there was
no manifestation of the least desire to be uncivil, rude, or hostile,
which inspired us once more with a feeling of security to which we had
been strangers since leaving Urangi.
“From my friends I learned that the name of the great river above
Bwena is called Ikelemba. When I asked them which was the largest
river, that which flowed by Mangala, or that which came from the
south-east, they replied that though Ikelemba river was very large it
was not equal to the ‘big river.’
“They also gave me the following bit of geography, which, though a
little inaccurate, is interesting:—
_Left Bank._ _Right Bank._
From Ikengo, in Nkonda, to Ubangi 7 hours.
Ubangi to Irebu 1 day.
Float down by Irebu 3 days.
Thence to Ukweré 1 day.
” ” Nkoko Ngombé 1 ”
” ” Butunu 1 ”
” ” Usini 1 ”
” ” Mpumba 7 hours.
” ” Nkunda 3 days.
” ” Bolobo 4 ”
From Bolobo to
Mompurengi 7 hours.
Thence to Isangu 7 ”
Isangu to Mankonno 4 hours.
” ” Chumbiri 4 ”
” ” Misongo 4 ”
” ” Nkunda 10 days.
” ” First Cataract
(Livingstone
Falls) 1 day.
“The Barumbé are a powerful tribe south-east of Ikengo, left bank.
They are probably a sub-tribe of Barua. Bunga is on the right bank.
Ubangi is a country which commences opposite Ikengo on the right bank
and faces Irebu. Not a single name, except Bankaro, can I recognize of
all that is published on Stanford’s library map of Africa which I
possess. It is clear, then, that above the cataract, which is said to
be about thirty days from Ikengo, nothing was ever known by Europeans.
I wonder whether this cataract is the Sundi cataract reported by
Tuckey? The distance, which the natives give as 30 days, may be but 15
days according to our rate of travel.
“Every weapon these natives possess is decorated with fine brass wire
and brass tacks. Their knives are beautiful weapons, of a bill-hook
pattern, the handles of which are also profusely decorated with an
amount of brass-work and skill that places them very high among the
clever tribes. These knives are carried in broad sheaths of red
buffalo-hide, and are suspended by a belt of the same material.
Besides an antique flintlock musket, each warrior is armed with from
four to five light and long assegais, with staves being of the
_Curtisia faginea_, and a bill-hook sword. They are a finely-formed
people, of a chocolate brown, very partial to camwood powder and palm
oil. Snuff is very freely taken, and their tobacco is most pungent.
“_Feb. 21._—This afternoon at 2 P.M. we continued our journey. Eight
canoes accompanied us some distance, and then parted from us, with
many demonstrations of friendship. The river flows from Ikengo south-
westerly, the flood of the Ikelemba retaining its dark colour, and
spreading over a breadth of 3000 yards; the Livingstone’s pure whitey-
grey waters flow over a breadth of about 5000 yards, in many broad
channels.”
[Illustration: THE ATTACK OF THE SIXTY-THREE CANOES OF THE PIRATICAL
BANGALA.]
CHAPTER XI.
Running the gauntlet—Kindly solitudes—Amina’s death—The humanizing
effects of trade apparent—“The most plausible rogue of all
Africa”—The king of Chumbiri; his hospitality, wives, possessions,
and cunning—Making up a language—Pythons—The Ibari Nkutu or the
Kwango—Treacherous guides—The Stanley Pool—Chief Itsi of Ntamo—We
have to give up our big goat—River observations.
_Feb. 22._—From the left bank we crossed to the right, on the morning of
the 22nd, and, clinging to the wooded shores of Ubangi, had reached at
noon south latitude 0° 51′ 13″. Two hours later we came to where the
great river contracted to a breath of 3000 yards, flowing between two
low rocky points, both of which were populous, well cultivated, and rich
with banana plantations. Below these points the river slowly widened
again, and islands well wooded, as above river, rose into view, until by
their number they formed once more intricate channels and winding
creeks.
Desirous of testing the character of the natives, we pulled across to
the left bank, until, meeting with a small party of fishermen, we were
again driven by their ferocity to seek the untravelled and unpopulated
island wildernesses. It was rather amusing than otherwise to observe the
readiness of the savages of Irebu to fire their guns at us. They
appeared to think that we were human waifs without parentage,
guardianship, or means of protection, for their audacity was excessive.
One canoe with only four men dashed down at us from behind an island
close to the left bank, and fired point-blank from a distance of 100
yards. Another party ran along a spit of sand and coolly waited our
approach on their knees, and, though we sheered off to a distance of 200
yards from them, they poured a harmless volley of slugs towards us, at
which Baraka, the humourist, said that the pagans caused us to “eat more
iron than grain.”
Such frantic creatures, however, could not tempt us to fight them. The
river was wide enough, channels innumerable afforded us means of
escaping from their mad ferocity, and if poor purblind nature was so
excessively arrogant, Providence had kindly supplied us with crooked by-
ways and unfrequented paths of water which we might pursue unmolested.
_Feb. 23._—At noon of the 23rd we had reached 1° 22′ 15″ south latitude.
Strong gales met us during each day. The islands were innumerable,
creeks and channels winding in and out amongst the silent scenes. But
though their general appearance was much the same, almost uniform in
outline and size, the islands never became commonplace. Was it from
gratitude at the security they afforded us from the ruthless people of
these regions? I do not know, but every bosky island into whose dark
depths, shadowed by impervious roofs of foliage, we gazed had about it
something kindly and prepossessing. Did we love them because, from being
hunted by our kind, and ostracized from communities of men, we had come
to regard them as our homes? I cannot tell, but I shall ever and for
ever remember them. Ah, had I but space, how I would revel in
descriptions of their treasures and their delights! Even with their gad-
flies and their tsetsé, their mosquitoes and their ants, I love them.
There was no treachery or guile in their honest depths; the lurking
assassin feared their twilight gloom; the savage dared not penetrate
their shades without a feeling of horror; but to us they were refuges in
our distress, and their solitudes healed our woes. How true the words,
“Affliction cometh not out of the dust, nor doth trouble spring out of
the ground.” Innocence and peace dwelt in the wilderness alone. Outside
of them glared the fierce-eyed savage, with malice and rage in his
heart, and deadly weapons in his hand.
To us, then, these untenanted islets, with their “breadths of tropic
shade, and palms in clusters,” seemed verily “knots of paradise.” Like
hunted beasts of the chase, we sought the gloom and solitude of the
wilds. Along the meandering and embowered creeks, hugging the shadows of
the o’erarching woods, we sought for that safety which man refused us.
_Feb. 24._—The great river grew sea-like in breadth below Irebu on the
morning of the 24th; indeed, it might have been 100 miles in breadth for
aught we knew, deep-buried as we were among the islands. Yet there were
broad and deep channels on every side of us, as well as narrow creeks
between lengthy islands. The volume of water appeared exhaustless,
though distributed over such an enormous width. There was water
sufficient to float the most powerful steamers that float in the
Mississippi. Here and there amongst the verdured isles gleamed broad
humps of white sand, but on either side were streams several hundred
yards wide, with as much as three fathoms’ depth of water in the
channels.
At noon we reached south latitude 1° 37′ 22″. The Mompurengi natives
appeared on an island and expressed their feelings by discharging two
guns at us, which we did not resent, but steadily held on our way. An
hour afterwards faithful Amina, wife of Kachéché, breathed her last,
making a most affecting end.
Being told by Kachéché that his poor wife was dying, I drew my boat
alongside of the canoe she was lying in. She was quite sensible, but
very weak. “Ah, master!” she said, “I shall never see the sea again.
Your child Amina is dying. I have so wished to see the cocoanuts and the
mangoes; but no—Amina is dying—dying in a pagan land. She will never see
Zanzibar. The master has been good to his children, and Amina remembers
it. It is a bad world, master, and you have lost your way in it. Good-
bye, master; do not forget poor little Amina!”
While floating down, we dressed Amina in her shroud, and laid her
tenderly out, and at sunset consigned her body to the depths of the
silent river.
_Feb. 25._—The morning of the 25th saw us once again on the broad stream
floating down. We got a view of the mainland to the right, and
discovered it to be very low. We hurried away into the island creeks,
and floated down amongst many reedy, grassy islets, the haunt of bold
hippopotami, one of which made a rush at a canoe with open mouth, but
contented himself fortunately with a paddle, which he crunched into
splinters.
At noon we had reached south latitude 1° 58′ 12″. About 4 P.M. we came
to what appeared to be a river, 1500 yards wide, issuing from north-
north-east, while the course that we had followed was from the north-
east during the afternoon. It was quite free from islets, and this made
me suspect it was a separate river. The main river was here about six
miles wide.
_Feb. 26._—During our voyage on the 26th, the grassy islets became more
frequent, inhabited by the flamingo, pelican, stork, whydahs, ibis,
geese, ducks, &c. The saltmakers find a great source of wealth in the
grasses; and the smoke of their fires floated over the country in
clouds.
At 10 A.M. the Levy Hills rose into view about two miles beyond the
river on the left bank, which as we neared Kutumpuku approached the
river, and formed a ridge. Instantly the sight of the approaching hills
suggested cataracts and the memories of the terrific struggles we had
undergone in passing the Stanley Falls were then brought vividly to our
mind. What should we do with our sadly weakened force, were we to
experience the same horrible scenes again?
At noon I took an observation and ascertained that we were in south
latitude 2° 23′ 14″. Edging off towards the right bank, we came to a
creek, which from the immense number of those amphibious animals, I have
called “Hippopotamus Creek.” Grass-covered islets, innumerable to us as
we passed by them, were on either side. When about half-way through this
creek we encountered seven canoes, loaded with men, about to proceed to
their fishing haunts. Our sudden meeting occasioned a panic among the
natives, and as man had hitherto been a dreaded object, it occasioned us
also not a little uneasiness. Fortunately, however, they retreated in
haste, uttering their fearful “Yaha-ha-has,” and we steadily pursued our
way down river, and about 3 P.M. emerged in view of the united stream,
4000 yards wide, contracted by the steep cultivated slopes of Bolobo on
the left, and by a beautiful high upland—which had gradually been
lifting from the level plains—on the right bank.
For a moment, as we issued in view of the stream, with scores of native
canoes passing backwards and forwards, either fishing or proceeding to
the grassy islets to their fish-sheds and salt-making, we feared that we
should have another conflict; but though they looked at us wonderingly,
there was no demonstration of hostility. One man in a canoe, in answer
to our question, replied that the bold heights 200 feet above the river,
which swarmed with villages, was Bolobo. Being so near the border of the
savage lands above, we thought it safer to wait yet one more day before
attempting further intercourse with them.
_Feb. 27._—On the 27th, during the morning, we were still among islets
and waving branches, but towards the afternoon the islets had
disappeared, and we were in view of a magnificent breadth of four miles
of clear water. On our left the cultivated uplands of Bolobo had become
elevated into a line of wooded hills, and on our right the wall of the
brown grassy upland rose high and steep, broken against the sky-line
into cones.
Gradually the shores contracted, until at 3 P.M. the right bank
deflected to a south-east course, and finally shot out a long rocky
point, which to us, accustomed to an enormous breadth of river, appeared
as though it were the commencement of a cataract. We approached it with
the utmost caution, but on arriving near it we discovered that the
mirage had exaggerated its length and height, for between it and the
left bank were at least 2500 yards of deep water.
The time had now come when we could no longer sneak amongst reedy
islets, or wander in secret amongst wildernesses of water; we must once
more confront man. The native, as we had ascertained opposite Bolobo,
was not the destructive infuriate of Irebu or Mompurengi, or the frantic
brute of Mangala and Marunja. He appeared to be toning down into the
MAN, and to understand that others of his species inhabited this globe.
At least, we hoped so. We wished to test the accuracy of this belief,
and now eagerly searched for opportunities to exchange greetings, and to
claim kindred with him. As we had industriously collected a copious
vocabulary of African languages, we felt a certain confidence that we
had been sufficiently initiated into the science of aboriginal language
to be able to begin practising it.
Behind the rocky point were three natives fishing for minnows with hand-
nets. We lay-to on our oars and accosted them. They replied to us
clearly and calmly. There was none of that fierce fluster and bluster
and wild excitement that we had come to recognize as the preliminary
symptoms of a conflict. The word _ndu_—brother—was more frequent. To our
overtures of friendship there was a visible inclination of assent; there
was a manifest desire to accept our conciliatory sentiments; for we
received conciliatory responses. Who could doubt a pacific conclusion to
the negotiations? Our tact and diplomacy had been educated in a rough
school of adversity. Once the attention of the natives had been
arrested, and their confidence obtained, we had never failed to come to
a friendly understanding.
They showed us a camping-place at the base of the brown grassy upland,
in the midst of a thin grove of trees. They readily subscribed to all
the requirements of friendship, blood-brotherhood, and an exchange of a
few small gifts. Two of them then crossed the river to Chumbiri, whose
green wooded slopes and fields, and villages and landing-place, were
visible, to tell the king of Chumbiri that peaceable strangers desired
friendship with him. They appeared to have described us to him as most
engaging people, and to have obtained his cordial co-operation and
sympathy in a very short time, for soon three canoes appeared conveying
about forty men, under three of his sons, who bore to us the royal
spear, and several royal gifts, such as palm-wine, a goat, bananas, and
a chicken to us, and a hearty welcome from the old king, their father,
with the addition of a promise that he would call himself the next day.
[Illustration: THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.]
_Feb. 28._—About 9 A.M. of the 28th the king of Chumbiri appeared with
_éclat_. Five canoes filled with musketeers escorted him.
Though the sketch above is an admirable likeness of him, it may be well
also to append a verbal description. A small-eyed man of about fifty or
thereabout, with a well-formed nose, but wide nostrils and thin lips,
clean-shaved, or rather clean-plucked, with a quiet yet sociable
demeanour, ceremonious, and mild-voiced, with the instincts of a greedy
trader cropping out of him at all points, and cunning beyond measure.
The type of his curious hat may be seen on the head of any Armenian
priest. It was formed out of close-plaited hyphene-palm fibre,
sufficiently durable to outlast his life, though he might live a
century. From his left shoulder, across his chest, was suspended the
sword of the bill-hook pattern, already described in the passages about
Ikengo. Above his shoulder stood upright the bristles of an elephant’s
tail. His hand was armed with a buffalo’s tail, made into a fly-flapper,
to whisk mosquitoes and gnats off the royal face. To his wrist were
attached the odds and ends which the laws of superstition had enjoined
upon him, such as charm-gourds, charm-powders in bits of red and black
flannel, and a collection of wooden antiquities, besides a snuff-gourd
and a parcel of tobacco-leaves.
[Illustration: GREAT PIPE OF KING OF CHUMBIRI.]
The king’s people were apparently very loyal and devoted to him, and his
sons showed remarkable submissiveness. The little snuff-gourd was in
constant requisition, and he took immoderate quantities, inhaling a
quarter of a tea-spoonful at a time from the palm of his hand, to which
he pressed his poor nose until it seemed to be forced into his forehead.
Immediately after, one of his filially-affectionate children would fill
his long chibouque, which was 6 feet in length, decorated with brass
tacks and tassels of braided cloth. The bowl was of iron, and large
enough to contain half an ounce of tobacco. He would then take two or
three long-drawn whiffs, until his cheeks were distended like two
hemispheres, and fumigate his charms thoroughly with the smoke. His sons
then relieved him of the pipe, at which he snapped his fingers—and
distended their cheeks into hemispherical protuberances in like manner,
and also in the same way fumigated their little charms; and so the
chibouque of peace and sociability went the round of the circle, as
though it was a council of Sioux about to hold a pow-wow, and as the
pipe passed round there was an interchange of finger-snaps in a
decorous, grave, and ceremonious style.
Our intercourse with the king was very friendly, and it was apparent
that we were mutually pleased. The only fault that I, as a stranger,
could find in him was an excessive cunning, which approached to the
sublime. He had evidently cultivated fraud and duplicity as an art, yet
he was suave and wheedling. Could I complain? Never were people so
willing to be victimized. Had we been warned that he would victimize us,
I do not think that we should have refused his friendship.
An invitation was extended to us to make his own village our home. We
were hungry; and no doubt we were approaching cataracts. It would be
welcome knowledge to know what to expect below in that broad defile
filled by the great river; what peoples, countries, tribes, villages,
rivers we should see; if the tribes were amenable to reason in the
unknown country; if white men had ever been heard of; if there were
cataracts below, and if they were passable. We accepted the invitation,
and crossed the river, drums and double bell-gongs sounding the peaceful
advance of our flotilla upon Chumbiri.
We were proud of our reception by the dames of Chumbiri. Loyal and
submissive to their king, they exhibited kindly attentions to the
strangers. We held a grand market, and won the natives’ hearts by our
liberality. Back rations for several days were due to our people, and,
filled with an extravagant delight—even as Frank and I were—they
expended their ration moneys with a recklessness of consequences which
only the novelty of the situation explained. We had arrived at port, and
weather-beaten voyagers are generally free with their moneys upon such
occasions.
The dames at Chumbiri were worth seeing, even to us, who were sated with
the thousand curious things we had met in our long travels. They were
also pretty, of a rich brown colour many of them, large-eyed, and finely
formed, with a graceful curve of shoulder I had not often observed. But
they were slaves of fashion. Six-tenths of the females wore brass
collars 2 inches in diameter; three-tenths had them 2½ inches in
diameter; one-tenth were oppressed with collars 3 inches in diameter;
which completely covered the neck, and nearly reached the shoulder ends.
Fancy the weight of 30 lbs. of brass, soldered permanently round the
neck! Yet these oppressed women were the favourite wives of Chumbiri!
And they rejoiced in their oppression!
I believe that Chumbiri—who, as I said, was a keen and enterprising
trader, the first aboriginal African that might be compared to a
Parsee—as soon as he obtained any brass wire, melted it and forged it
into brass collars for his wives. That the collars were not larger may
be attributed, perhaps, to his poverty. He boasted to me he possessed
“four tens” of wives, and each wife was collared permanently in thick
brass. I made a rough calculation, and I estimated that his wives bore
about their necks until death at least 800 lbs. of brass; his
daughters—he had six—120 lbs.; his favourite female slaves about 200
lbs. Add 6 lbs. of brass wire to each wife and daughter for arm and leg
ornaments, and one is astonished to discover that Chumbiri possesses a
portable store of 1396 lbs. of brass.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE KING’S WIVES AT CHUMBIRI.]
I asked of Chumbiri what he did with the brass on the neck of a dead
wife. Chumbiri smiled. Cunning rogue; he regarded me benevolently, as
though he loved me for the searching question. Significantly he drew his
finger across his throat.
The warriors and young men are distinguished for a characteristic style
of hair-dressing, which belongs to Uyanzi alone. It is arranged into
four separate plaits, two of which overhang the forehead like lovers’
curls. Another special mark of Uyanzi are two tattooed lines over the
forehead. In whatever part of the lower Livingstone these peculiarities
of style may be seen, they are indubitably Wy-yanzi, or natives of
Uyanzi.
The country of Uyanzi embraces many small districts, and extends along
the left bank of the great river, from Bolobo, in south latitude 2° 23′
14″, to the confluence of the Ibari Nkutu, or river of Nkutu, and the
Livingstone, in 3° 14′ south latitude. The principal districts are
Bolobo, Isangu, Chumbiri, Musevoka, Misongo, and Ibaka. Opposite is the
country of the Bateké, a wilder tribe than the Wy-yanzi, some of the
more eastern of whom are professed cannibals. To the north is the
cannibal tribe of the Wanfuninga, of ferocious repute, and dreaded by
the Wy-yanzi and Bateké.
The language of Uyanzi seemed to us to be a mixture of almost all
Central African dialects. Our great stock of native words in all
dialects proved of immense use to me; and in three days I discovered,
after classifying and comparing the words heard from the Wy-yanzi with
other African words, that I was tolerably proficient, at least for all
practical purposes, in the Kiyanzi dialect.
_Mar. 7._—On the 7th March we parted from the friendly king of Chumbiri,
with an escort of forty-five men, in three canoes under the leadership
of his eldest son, who was instructed by his father to accompany us as
far as the pool, now called Stanley Pool, because of an incident which
will be described hereafter.
For some reason we crossed the river, and camped on the right bank, two
miles below Chumbiri. At midnight the Wy-yanzi awoke us all by the
fervour with which they implored their fetishes to guide us safely from
camp to camp, which they named. As they had been very successful in
charming away the rain with which we had been threatened the evening
before, our people were delighted to hear them pray for success, having
an implicit faith in them.
Just below our camp the river contracted to 2500 yards, between two high
hilly banks, and 400 to 600 feet high.
_Mar. 8._—A violent rain-storm began at 8 A.M. of the 8th, which lasted
four hours. We then made a start, but after an hour of our company the
escort lagged behind, but told us to continue our journey, as they would
overtake us. Though I strongly suspected that the Wy-yanzi intended to
abandon us, we could find no reasonable cause to doubt them, and
therefore proceeded without them until near sunset. We camped in the
midst of a dense jungly forest. About an hour after, the camp was
alarmed by the shrieks of a boy, who was about to be attacked by a
python, which vanished in the woods when the people rushed to the
rescue. The boy said he had hailed it at first, imagining it to be one
of his friends. In half an hour the python, or another one, was
discovered in a different part of the camp, about to embrace a woman in
its folds; but this time, after tremendous excitement, the monster was
despatched. It measured only 13 feet 6 inches in length, and 15 inches
round the thickest part of the body.
_Mar. 9._—At early dawn we continued our journey along the right bank,
and about 7 A.M. discovered a rapid river about two hundred and fifty
yards wide, having two mouths, to which I have given the name of Lawson
River, after Mr. Edward Levy Lawson. The water was of a very light
colour.
[Illustration: SON OF THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.]
The water of the Ikelemba river, which enters the Livingstone above
Ikengo in about 12′ south latitude, did not commingle with that of its
great recipient until both had flowed side by side in the same bed for
about 130 miles, or near Bolobo. Its strong-tea-coloured water had now
quite changed the complexion of the Livingstone; for, while above Bolobo
it had a clear whitey-grey colour, it was now of a deep brown. The other
tea-coloured rivers, such as the Ruiki, Kasuku, and Black, above the
Stanley Falls, had soon become absorbed by the waters of the
Livingstone.
Below the last affluent the Livingstone narrowed to 1500 yards, and
flowed with a perceptibly quickened current through the deep chasm in
the table-land, the slopes of which were mostly uninhabited; but on the
summit near the verge, on either side, villages, banana plantations, and
other signs of population were visible.
I tossed my lead into the stream in this comparatively narrow channel,
and obtained at the first cast 158 feet; half an hour afterwards I
obtained 163; a third time, 79 feet.
On our left, in south latitude 3° 14′ 4″, we came to the Ibari (river)
Nkutu, issuing from east-north-east through a deepening cleft in the
table-land, and 450 yards wide at the mouth, a powerful and deep river.
There is no doubt that this Ibari-Nkutu is the Coango or Kwango of the
Portuguese, the sources of which Livingstone crossed, on his way to
Loanda in 1854, and which takes its rise in the watershed that separates
the basin of the great river from that of the Zambezi.
Six miles below the confluence of the Nkutu river with the Livingstone
we drew our vessels close to a large and thick grove, to cook breakfast,
and with a faint hope that in the meantime our guides would appear.
Fires were kindled, and the women were attending to the porridge of
cassava flour for their husbands. Frank and I were hungrily awaiting our
cook’s voice to announce our meal ready, when, close to us, several loud
musket-shots startled us all, and six of our men fell wounded. Though we
were taken considerably at a disadvantage, long habit had taught us how
to defend ourselves in a bush, and a desperate fight began, and lasted
an hour, ending in the retreat of the savages, but leaving us with
fourteen of our men wounded. This was our thirty-second fight, and last.
After the wounded had been tended, and breakfast despatched, we
proceeded down river, and two miles below we discovered the settlement
to which our late antagonists belonged. But we continued our journey
until 2 P.M., when, coming to a small island, we disembarked. At 4 P.M.
our long absent guides appeared, and, as they were disinclined to halt,
we followed them down river, until they stopped at a large settlement
called Mwana Ibaka, which occupied a low semi-circular terrace at the
base of tall hills. Imagining that there was not the slightest fear of a
rupture after being heralded by our friends, we steered for the shore;
but as we approached, the shore swarmed with hundreds of excited men,
with brass-banded muskets in their hands. Through sheer surprise at the
frantic savagery so suddenly displayed, we floated down dangerously near
the aiming men, before we observed that our guides were making violent
gestures for us to move off. This recalled us to our senses, and we
rowed away before the fierce people had drawn trigger. Three miles below
we encamped on the right bank, and at sunset our guides appeared, but
halted on the left bank.
_Mar. 10._—On the morning of the 10th, at 6 A.M., the downward voyage
was continued, between lofty and picturesque shores, here bold and
precipitous, there wooded from base to summit—here great hill shoulders
sloping abruptly to the edge of the deep river, there retreating into
wooded valleys between opposing ridges. Our guides overtook us, but they
would hold no conversation with us, until, arriving at the woods of
Ndandé-Njoko, at 10 A.M., they changed their minds, crossed over to the
right bank, and halted for breakfast. We also stopped, and renewed our
intercourse with them, while they began vehemently to excuse themselves
from being the cause of Mwana Ibaka’s outrageously wild conduct, and of
not warning us of the murderous community which had attacked us in the
grove the day previous, and which had caused us such a grievous loss. We
excused them gladly, and then took an opportunity of promising more
brass wire to them if they would accompany us to the cataract; but our
friends required it in advance. But having already been paid at Chumbiri
most bounteously for services which they had as yet shown no disposition
to give, and as we felt assured they would not fulfil any new
engagement, we resolved to depend upon ourselves.
When I came to reflect upon the manner we had been treated above river
by the cannibals who had netted us in at the Sixth Cataract of the
Stanley Falls, and the extraordinarily cunning king of Chumbiri and his
sons, I perceived that the conduct of both had alike sprung from
contempt of people of whom they knew nothing. Though I have seen five
hundred African chiefs, it may not be amiss to record here my firm
belief that the mild-voiced king of Chumbiri is the most plausible rogue
of all Africa.
Near sunset we camped in a little cove below precipitous red cliffs,
which had contracted the river to 1000 yards in width. The upper parts
of these cliffs consisted of hard grey sandstone, overlying a soft red
sandstone.
_Mar. 11._—The 11th of March was passed without further incident than
the usual storm—south-wester—which blew almost every day, and often made
the river dangerous to low-board river canoes. The river was very deep,
and flowed with a current of 3 knots an hour, and varied in width from
1000 to 1400 yards, pent in by the steep but wooded slopes of the hilly
ridges that rose to the height of 600 feet above us. Red buffaloes and
small antelope were abundant on the right bank, but not even a shot
dared we fire, lest it might startle some frenzied savage to sound the
call to war, and so alarm the people at the cataract the terrors of
which we were constantly exaggerating in our thoughts.
_Mar. 12._—About 11 A.M. of the 12th, the river gradually expanded from
1400 yards to 2500 yards, which admitted us in view of a mighty breadth
of river, which the men at once, with happy appropriateness, termed “a
pool.” Sandy islands rose in front of us like a sea-beach, and on the
right towered a long row of cliffs, white and glistening, so like the
cliffs of Dover that Frank at once exclaimed that it was a bit of
England. The grassy table-land above the cliffs appeared as green as a
lawn, and so much reminded Frank of Kentish Downs that he exclaimed
enthusiastically, “I feel we are nearing home.”
While taking an observation at noon of the position, Frank, with my
glass in his hand, ascended the highest part of the large sandy dune
that had been deposited by the mighty river, and took a survey of its
strange and sudden expansion, and after he came back he said, “Why, I
declare, sir, this place is just like a pool; as broad as it is long.
There are mountains all round it, and it appears to me almost
circular.”[12]
-----
Footnote 12:
Frank described the crater of an extinct volcano, which is six miles
in length and four miles wide, as described more in detail
subsequently.
-----
“Well, if it is a pool, we must distinguish it by some name. Give me a
suitable name for it, Frank.”
“Why not call it ‘Stanley Pool,’ and these cliffs ‘Dover Cliffs’? For no
traveller who may come here again will fail to recognize the cliffs by
that name.”
Subsequent events brought these words vividly to my recollection, and in
accordance with Frank’s suggestion I have named this lake-like expansion
of the river from Dover Cliffs to the first cataract of the Livingstone
Falls—embracing about thirty square miles—the Stanley Pool. The latitude
of the entrance from above to the pool was ascertained to be 4° 3′ south
latitude.
The left shore is occupied by the populous settlements of Nshasa,
Nkunda, and Ntamo. The right is inhabited by the wild Bateké, who are
generally accused of being cannibals.
Soon after we began our descent of the pool, skirting the right shore,
we observed a chalky mount, near which were two or three columns of the
same material. From a cove just below emerged two or three Bateké
canoes, the crews of which, after collecting their faculties, consented
to show us the cataract, the noise of which, as they attempted to
describe it, elicited roars of laughter from the members of the
Expedition. This outburst of loud merriment conquered all reluctance on
the part of the Bateké to accompany us.
After winding in and out of many creeks which were very shallow, we
approached the village of Mankoneh, the chief of the Bateké. His people
during the daytime are generally scattered over these sandy dunes of the
Stanley Pool attending to their nets and fish-snares, and to protect
themselves from the hot sun always take with them several large mats to
form sheds. Mankoneh, to our great delight, was a bluff, hearty, genial
soul, who expressed unbounded pleasure at seeing us; he also volunteered
to guide us to the falls. He was curious to know how we proposed
travelling after arriving near them, for it was impossible, he said, to
descend the falls. By a ludicrous pantomime he led us to understand that
they were something very fearful.
A few hundred yards below his village the pool sharply contracted, and
the shore of Ntamo—a projecting point from the crescent-shaped ridge
beyond—appeared at a distance of 2000 yards. It was then that we heard
for the first time the low and sullen thunder of the first cataract of
the Livingstone Falls.
Slowly Mankoneh, in his canoe, glided down towards it, and louder it
grew on the ears, until when within one hundred yards of the first line
of broken water he pointed forward, and warned us not to proceed
farther. We made for the shore, and found ourselves on a narrow ledge-
like terrace bristling with great blocks of granite, amidst a jungly
tangle, which grew at the base of high hills. Here, after a short busy
period with axe and machete, we constructed a rude camp. The only level
spot was not six feet square.
Mankoneh, the Bateké chief, pointed out to us the village of Itsi, the
chief of Ntamo, which is situate on the left bank, in a line with the
beginning of the first cataract, and spoke of Itsi with great respect,
as though he were very powerful.
About 5 P.M. a small canoe was observed to cross over to our side from
the left bank, a mile above the falls. The canoe-men, through the
representations of our hearty friend Mankoneh, were soon induced to land
in our camp to converse with the white men, and before long we had
succeeded in making them feel quite at home with us. As they were in a
quiver of anxious desire to impart to the chief Itsi all the wonderful
things they had witnessed with us, they departed about sunset, solemnly
promising we should see the famous Itsi of Ntamo next morning.
Lashing our canoes firmly lest an accident should happen during the
night, we turned to our rude huts to sleep in peace. We were all very
hungry, as we had been able to purchase nothing from the natives since
leaving Chumbiri five days before, and we had been more than usually
improvident, having placed far too much reliance on the representations
so profusely made to us by the mild-voiced but cunning king of Chumbiri.
From very shame I refrain from publishing the stores of goods with which
I purchased the glib promises of assistance from Chumbiri, not one of
which were realized.
_Mar. 13._—Morning of the 13th of March found us, from the early hours
of dawn, anxiously waiting the arrival of Itsi of Ntamo and the
reappearance of Mankoneh. From our camp we might easily with a glass
note any movement on the other bank. At 9 A.M.—Itsi evidently was not an
early riser—a large canoe and two consorts, laden with men, were seen
propelled up stream along the left bank, and a mile above the landing-
place to cross the river at a furious pace. The rows of upright figures,
with long paddles, bending their bodies forward in unison, and their
voices rising in a swelling chorus to the sound of the steady beat of a
large drum, formed a pretty and inspiring sight. Arriving at the right
bank, with a perfect recklessness of the vicinity of the falls, they
dashed down towards our camp at the rate of six knots an hour. The large
war-canoe, though not quite equal to the monster of the Aruwimi in size,
was a noble vessel, and Itsi, who was seated in state “mid-ship,” with
several grey-headed elders near him, was conscious, when he saw our
admiration, that he had created a favourable impression. She measured 85
feet 7 inches in length, 4 feet in width, and was 3 feet 3 inches deep.
Her crew consisted of sixty paddlers and four steersmen, and she carried
twenty-two passengers, close-packed, besides, making a total of eighty-
six persons. The other two canoes carried ninety-two persons altogether.
We cordially invited Itsi and his people to our camp, to which they
willingly responded. Some grass, fresh cut, in anticipation of the visit
of our honourable friends, had been strewn over a cleared space close to
the stream, and our best mats spread over it.
There were four or five grey-headed elders present, one of whom was
introduced as Itsi. He laughed heartily, and it was not long before we
were on a familiar footing. They then broached the subject of blood-
brotherhood. We were willing, but they wished to defer the ceremony
until they had first shown their friendly feelings to us. Accordingly
the old man handed over to me ten loaves of cassava bread, or cassava
pudding, fifty tubers of cassava, three bunches of bananas, a dozen
sweet potatoes, some sugar-cane, three fowls, and a diminutive goat. A
young man of about twenty-six years made Frank’s acquaintance by
presenting to him double the quantity I received. This liberality drew
my attention to him. His face was dotted with round spots of soot-and-
oil mixture. From his shoulders depended a long cloth of check pattern,
while over one shoulder was a belt, to which was attached a queer medley
of small gourds containing snuff and various charms, which he called his
Inkisi. In return for the bounteous stores of provisions given to Frank
and myself, as they were cotton- or grass-cloth-wearing people, we made
up a bundle of cloths for each of the principals, which they refused, to
our surprise. We then begged to know what they desired, that we might
show our appreciation of their kindness, and seal the bond of
brotherhood with our blood.
The young man now declared himself to be Itsi, the king of Ntamo; the
elder, who had previously been passed off for the king, being only an
ancient councillor.
It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, though there was nothing
very regal or majestic about him, unless one may so call his munificent
bounty to Frank, as compared to the old man’s to me. We finally
prevailed upon Itsi to inform us what gift would be pleasing to him.
He said, “I want only that big goat; if you give me that, I shall want
nothing more.”
The “big goat” which he so earnestly required was the last of six
couples I had purchased in Uregga for the purpose of presentation to an
eminent English lady, in accordance with a promise I had made to her
four years previously. All the others had perished from heat apoplexy,
sickness, and want of proper care, which the terrible life we had led
had prevented us from supplying. This “big goat” and a lion-like ram,
gigantic specimens of the domestic animals of Manyema and Uregga, were
all that survived. They had both become quite attached to us, and were
valued companions of a most eventful journey of 1100 miles. I refused
it, but offered to double the cloths. Whereupon Itsi sulked, and
prepared to depart, not, however, before hinting that we should find it
difficult to obtain food if he vetoed the sale of provisions. We coaxed
him back again to his seat, and offered him one of the asses.
The possession of such a “gigantic” animal as an ass, which was to him
of all domestic animals a veritable Titanosaurus, was a great
temptation; but the shuddering women, who feared being eaten by it,
caused him to decline the honour of the gift. He now offered three goats
for what appeared to him to be the “largest” goat in Africa, and boasted
of his goodness, and how his friendship would be serviceable to me,
whereas, if he parted in anger, why, we should be entirely at his mercy.
The goat was therefore transferred to his canoe, and Itsi departed for
Ntamo as though he were in possession of a new wonder.
Our provisions were only sufficient to prove what appetites we
possessed, and not to assuage them: all were consumed in a few minutes,
and we were left with only hopes of obtaining a little more on the next
day.
_Mar. 14._—On the 14th Itsi appeared with his war-canoe at 9 A.M.,
bringing three goats and twenty loaves of cassava bread and a few
tubers, and an hour afterwards Nchuvira, king of Nkunda, Mankoneh, chief
of the Bateké fishermen near the Stanley Pool, and the king of Nshasa,
at the south-east end of the Stanley Pool, arrived at our camp with
several canoe crews. Each of the petty sovereigns of the districts in
our neighbourhood contributed a little, but altogether we were only able
to distribute to each person 2 lbs. of eatable provisions. Every chief
was eager for a present, with which he was gratified, and solemn
covenants of peace were entered into between the whites and the blacks.
The treaty with Itsi was exceedingly ceremonious, and involved the
exchange of charms. Itsi transferred to me, for my protection through
life, a small gourdful of a curious powder, which had rather a saline
taste, and I delivered over to him, as the white man’s charm against all
evil, a half-ounce vial of magnesia; further, a small scratch in Frank’s
arm, and another in Itsi’s arm, supplied blood sufficient to unite us in
one and indivisible bond of fraternity. After this we were left alone.
An observation by boiling-point, above the First Cataract of the
Livingstone Falls, disclosed to us an altitude of 1147 feet above the
ocean. At Nyangwé the river was 2077 feet. In 1235 miles therefore there
had been only a reduction of 930 feet, divided as follows:—
Feet. Distance Fall per Mile.
in Miles.
Nyangwé 2077 }
4 miles below seventh cataract, }
Stanley Falls 1511 } 327 20 inches.
—— }
Feet 566 }
4 miles below seventh cataract, }
Stanley Falls 1511 }
River at Ntamo, above first } 898 5 inches nearly.
cataract, Livingstone Falls 1147 } River
—— } uninterrupted.
Feet 364
CHAPTER XII.
The struggle with the river renewed—Passing the “Father”—In the
“Cauldron”—Poor Kalulu!—Soudi’s strange adventures—At the “Whirlpool
Narrows”—Lady Alice Rapids—Our escape from death—“Isles of
Eden”—Thieves amongst us—The Inkisi Falls—The canoes dragged over
the mountain—Trade along the Livingstone—Ulcers and entozoa—An
artful compound.
_Mar. 15._—The wide wild land which, by means of the greatest river of
Africa, we have pierced, is now about to be presented in a milder aspect
than that which has filled the preceding pages with records of desperate
conflicts and furious onslaughts of savage men. The people no longer
resist our advance. Trade has tamed their natural ferocity, until they
no longer resent our approach with the fury of beasts of prey.
It is the dread river itself of which we shall have now to complain. It
is no longer the stately stream whose mystic beauty, noble grandeur, and
gentle uninterrupted flow along a course of nearly nine hundred miles,
ever fascinated us, despite the savagery of its peopled shores, but a
furious river rushing down a steep bed obstructed by reefs of lava,
projected barriers of rock, lines of immense boulders, winding in
crooked course through deep chasms, and dropping down over terraces in a
long series of falls, cataracts, and rapids. Our frequent contests with
the savages culminated in tragic struggles with the mighty river as it
rushed and roared through the deep, yawning pass that leads from the
broad table-land down to the Atlantic Ocean.
Those voiceless and lone streams meandering between the thousand isles
of the Livingstone; those calm and silent wildernesses of water over
which we had poured our griefs and wailed in our sorrow; those woody
solitudes, where nightly we had sought to soothe our fevered brows, into
whose depths we breathed our vows; that sea-like amplitude of water
which had proved our refuge in distress, weird in its stillness, and
solemn in its mystery, are now exchanged for the cliff-lined gorge,
through which with inconceivable fury the Livingstone sweeps with
foaming billows into the broad Congo, which, at a distance of only 155
geographical miles, is nearly 1100 feet below the summit of the first
fall.
_Mar. 16._—On the 16th of March, having explored as far as the Gordon-
Bennett River, and obtained a clear idea of our situation during the
15th, we began our labours with energy. Goods, asses, women, and
children, with the guard under Frank, first moved overland to a
temporary halting-place near the confluence. Then manning the boat, I
led the canoe-men from point to point along the right bank, over the
first rapids. We had some skilful work to perform to avoid being swept
away by the velocity of the current; but whenever we came to rocks we
held the rattan hawsers in our hands, and, allowing the stream to take
them beyond these dangerous points, brought them into the sheltered lee.
Had a hawser parted nothing could have saved the canoe or the men in it,
for at the confluence of the Gordon-Bennett with the great river the
entire river leaps headlong into an abyss of waves and foam. Arriving in
the Gordon-Bennett, we transported the Expedition across, and then our
labours ended at 5 P.M. for the day.
Itsi of Ntamo had informed us there were only three cataracts, which he
called the “Child,” the “Mother,” and the “Father.” The “Child” was a
two hundred yards’ stretch of broken water; and the “Mother,” consisting
of half a mile of dangerous rapids, we had succeeded in passing, and had
pushed beyond it by crossing the upper branch of the Gordon-Bennett,
which was an impetuous stream, 75 yards wide, with big cataracts of its
own higher up. But the “Father” is the wildest stretch of river that I
have ever seen. Take a strip of sea blown over by a hurricane, four
miles in length and half a mile in breadth, and a pretty accurate
conception of its leaping waves may be obtained. Some of the troughs
were 100 yards in length, and from one to the other the mad river
plunged. There was first a rush down into the bottom of an immense
trough, and then, by its sheer force, the enormous volume would lift
itself upward steeply until, gathering itself into a ridge, it suddenly
hurled itself 20 or 30 feet straight upward, before rolling down into
another trough. If I looked up or down along this angry scene, every
interval of 50 or 100 yards of it was marked by wave-towers—their
collapse into foam and spray, the mad clash of watery hills, bounding
mounds and heaving billows, while the base of either bank, consisting of
a long line of piled boulders of massive size, was buried in the
tempestuous surf. The roar was tremendous and deafening. I can only
compare it to the thunder of an express train through a rock tunnel. To
speak to my neighbour, I had to bawl in his ear.
The most powerful ocean steamer, going at full speed on this portion of
the river, would be as helpless as a cockle-boat. I attempted three
times, by watching some tree floated down from above, to ascertain the
rate of the wild current, by observing the time it occupied in passing
between two given points, from which I estimate it to be about thirty
miles an hour!
_Mar. 17._—On the 17th, after cutting brushwood and laying it over a
path of 800 yards in length, we crossed from the upper branch of the
Gordon-Bennett to the lower branch, which was of equal breadth, but 20
feet below it. This enabled us the next day to float down to the
confluence of the lower branch with the Livingstone. We could do no more
on this day; the people were fainting from lack of food.
_Mar. 18._—On the 18th, through the goodwill of Mankoneh, the chief of
the Bateké, we were enabled to trade with the aborigines, a wild and
degraded tribe, subsisting principally on fish and cassava. A goat was
not to be obtained at any price, and for a chicken they demanded a gun!
Cassava, however, was abundant.
From the confluence we formed another brush-covered road, and hauled the
canoes over another 800 yards into a creek, which enabled us to reach,
on the 20th, a wide sand-bar that blocked its passage into the great
river. The sand-bar, in its turn, enabled us to reach the now moderated
stream, below the influence of the roaring “Father,” and to proceed by
towing and punting half a mile below to an inlet in the rocky shore.
Gampa, the young chief of this district, became very friendly, and
visited us each day with small gifts of cassava bread, a few bananas,
and a small gourd of palm-wine.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE RIGHT BRANCH, FIRST CATARACT, OF THE
LIVINGSTONE FALLS, FROM FOUR MILES BELOW JUEMBA ISLAND.]
_Mar. 21._—On the 21st and the two days following we were engaged in
hauling our vessels overland, a distance of three-quarters of a mile,
over a broad rocky point, into a bay-like formation. Gampa and his
people nerved us to prosecute our labours by declaring that there was
only one small cataract below. Full of hope, we halted on the 24th to
rest the wearied people, and in the meantime to trade for food.
[Illustration: OVER ROCKY POINT CLOSE TO GAMPA’S.]
_Mar. 25._—The 25th saw us at work at dawn in a bad piece of river,
which is significantly styled the “Cauldron.” Our best canoe, 75 feet
long, 3 feet wide, by 21 inches deep, the famous _London Town_,
commanded by Manwa Sera, was torn from the hands of fifty men, and swept
away in the early morning down to destruction. In the afternoon, the
_Glasgow_, parting her cables, was swept away, drawn nearly into mid-
river, returned up river half a mile, again drawn into the depths,
ejected into a bay near where Frank was camped, and, to our great joy,
finally recovered. Accidents were numerous; the glazed trap rocks,
washed by the ever-rising tidal-like waves, were very slippery,
occasioning dangerous falls to the men. One man dislocated his shoulder,
another was bruised on the hips, and another had a severe contusion of
the head. Too careless of my safety in my eagerness and anxiety, I fell
down, feet first, into a chasm 30 feet deep between two enormous
boulders, but fortunately escaped with only a few rib bruises, though
for a short time I was half stunned.
_Mar. 27._—On the 27th we happily succeeded in passing the fearful
Cauldron, but during our last efforts the _Crocodile_, 85 feet 3 inches
long, was swept away into the centre of the Cauldron, heaved upward,
whirled round with quick gyrations, and finally shot into the bay north
of Rocky Island, where it was at last secured. The next day we dropped
down stream, and reached the western end of the bay above Rocky Island
Falls.
Leaving Frank Pocock as usual in charge of the camp and goods, I
mustered ninety men—most of the others being stiff from wounds received
in the fight at Mwana Ibaka and other places—and proceeded, by making a
wooden tramway with sleepers and rollers, to pass Rocky Island Falls.
Mpwapwa and Shumari, of the boat’s crew, were sent to explore meanwhile,
for another inlet or recess in the right bank. By 2 P.M. we were below
the falls, and my two young men had returned, reporting that a mile or
so below there was a fine camp, with a broad strip of sand lining a bay.
This animated us to improve the afternoon hours by attempting to reach
it. The seventeen canoes now left to us were manned according to their
capacity. As I was about to embark in my boat to lead the way, I turned
to the people to give my last instructions—which were, to follow me,
clinging to the right bank, and by no means to venture into mid-river
into the current. While delivering my instructions, I observed Kalulu in
the _Crocodile_, which was made out of the _Bassia Parkii_ tree, a hard
heavy wood, but admirable for canoes. When I asked him what he wanted in
the canoe, he replied, with a deprecating smile and an expostulating
tone, “I can pull, sir; see!” “Ah, very well,” I answered.
The boat-boys took their seats, and, skirting closely the cliffy shore,
we rowed down stream, while I stood in the bow of the boat, guiding the
coxswain, Uledi, with my hand. The river was not more than 450 yards
wide; but one cast of the sounding-lead close to the bank obtained a
depth of 138 feet. The river was rapid, with certainly a 7-knot current,
with a smooth greasy surface, now and then an eddy, a gurgle, and gentle
heave, but not dangerous to people in possession of their wits. In a
very few moments we had descended the mile stretch, and before us, 600
yards off, roared the furious falls since distinguished by the name
“Kalulu.”
[Illustration: AT WORK PASSING THE LOWER END OF THE FIRST CATARACT OF
THE LIVINGSTONE FALLS, NEAR ROCKY ISLAND.]
With a little effort we succeeded in rounding the point and entering the
bay above the falls, and reaching a pretty camping-place on a sandy
beach. The first, second, and third canoes arrived soon after me, and I
was beginning to congratulate myself on having completed a good day’s
work, when to my horror I saw the _Crocodile_ in mid-river far below the
point which we had rounded, gliding with the speed of an arrow towards
the falls over the treacherous calm water. Human strength availed
nothing now, and we watched it in agony, for I had three favourites in
her—Kalulu, Mauredi, and Ferajji; and of the others, two, Rehani Makua
and Wadi Jumah, were also very good men. It soon reached the island
which cleft the falls, and was swept down the left branch. We saw it
whirled round three or four times, then plunged down into the depths,
out of which the stern presently emerged pointed upward, and we knew
then that Kalulu and his canoe-mates were no more.
[Illustration: DEATH OF KALULU.]
Fast upon this terrible catastrophe, before we could begin to bewail
their loss, another canoe with two men in it darted past the point,
borne by irresistibly on the placid but swift current to apparent, nay,
almost certain destruction. I despatched my boat’s crew up along the
cliffs to warn the forgetful people that in mid-stream was certain
death, and shouted out commands for the two men to strike for the left
shore. The steersman by a strange chance shot his canoe over the falls,
and, dexterously edging his canoe towards the left shore a mile below,
he and his companion contrived to spring ashore and were saved. As we
observed them clamber over the rocks to approach a point opposite us,
and finally sit down, regarding us in silence across the river, our pity
and love gushed strong towards them, but we could utter nothing of it.
The roar of the falls completely mocked and overpowered the feeble human
voice.
Before the boat’s crew could well reach the descending canoes, the
boulders being very large and offering great obstacles to rapid
progress, a third canoe—but a small and light one—with only one man, the
brave lad Soudi, who escaped from the spears of the Wanyaturu assassins
in 1875, darted by, and cried out, as he perceived himself to be
drifting helplessly towards the falls, “La il Allah, il Allah” (There is
but one God), “I am lost, Master?” He was then seen to address himself
to what fate had in store for him. We watched him for a few moments, and
then saw him drop. Out of the shadow of the fall he presently emerged,
dropping from terrace to terrace, precipitated down, then whirled round,
caught by great heavy waves, which whisked him to right and left, and
struck madly at him, and yet his canoe did not sink, but he and it were
swept behind the lower end of the island, and then darkness fell upon
the day of horror. Nine men lost in one afternoon!
This last accident, I was told, was caused by the faithlessness of the
crew. One man, utterly unnerved by his fear of the river, ran away and
hid in the bushes; the two others lost their hold of the tow-ropes, and
thus their comrade was carried into the swift centre.
_Mar. 30._—On the 30th of March a messenger was despatched to Frank to
superintend the transport of the goods overland to where I had arrived
with the boat. The natives continued to be very amiable, and food was
abundant and cheap. They visited our camp from morning to night,
bringing their produce from a great distance. They are a very gentle and
harmless tribe the Western Bateké, and distinguishable by four
cicatrices down each cheek. They are also remarkable for their numerous
bird-snares—bird lime being furnished by the _Ficus sycamorus_—and
traps. About sunset a wide-spreading flock of large birds like parrots
passed north-east over our camp, occupying nearly half an hour in
passing. They were at too great an altitude to be recognized. Lead-
coloured water-snakes were very numerous, the largest being about 7 feet
in length and 2½ inches in diameter.
Confined within the deep narrow valley of the river, the hills rising to
the height of about 800 feet above us, and exposed to the continued
uproar of the river, we became almost stunned during our stay of the
31st.
_April 1._—On the 1st of April we cleared the Kalulu Falls, and camped
on the right bank below them. Our two absentees on the left side had
followed us, and were signalling frequently to us, but we were helpless.
The next day we descended a mile and a half of rapids, and in the
passage one more canoe was lost, which reduced our flotilla to thirteen
vessels.
About 2 P.M., to the general joy, appeared young Soudi and our two
absentees, who the day before had been signalling us from the opposite
side of the river!
Soudi’s adventures had been very strange. He had been swept down over
the upper and lower Kalulu Falls and the intermediate rapids, and had
been whirled round so often that he became confused. “But clinging to my
canoe,” he said, “the wild river carried me down and down, and down from
place to place, sometimes near a rock, and sometimes near the middle of
the stream, until an hour after dark, when I saw it was near a rock; I
jumped out, and, catching my canoe, drew it on shore. I had scarcely
finished when my arms were seized, and I was bound by two men, who
hurried me up to the top of the mountain, and then for an hour over the
high land, until we came to a village. They then pushed me into a house,
where they lit a fire, and when it was bright they stripped me naked and
examined me. Though I pretended not to understand them, I knew enough to
know that they were proud of their prize. They spoke kindly to me, and
gave me plenty to eat; and while one of them slept, the other watched
sharp lest I should run away. In the morning it was rumoured over the
village that a handsome slave was captured from a strange tribe, and
many people came to see me, one of whom had seen us at Ntamo and
recognized me. This man immediately charged the two men with having
stolen one of the white man’s men, and he drew such a picture of you,
master, with large eyes of fire and long hair, who owned a gun that shot
all day, that all the people became frightened, and compelled the two
men to take me back to where they had found me. They at once returned me
my clothes, and brought me to the place near where I had tied my canoe.
They then released me, saying, ‘Go to your king; here is food for you;
and do not tell him what we have done to you; but tell him you met
friends who saved you, and it shall be well with us.’”
The other two men, seeking for means to cross the river, met Soudi
sitting by his canoe. The three became so encouraged at one another’s
presence that they resolved to cross the river rather than endure
further anxiety in a strange land. Despair gave them courage, and though
the river was rapid, they succeeded in crossing a mile below the place
they had started from, without accident.
_April 3._—On the 3rd of April we descended another mile and a half of
dangerous rapids, during which several accidents occurred. One canoe was
upset which contained fifty tusks of ivory and a sack of beads. Four men
had narrow escapes from drowning, but Uledi, my coxswain, saved them. I
myself tumbled headlong into a small basin, and saved myself with
difficulty from being swept away by the receding tide.
Our system of progress was to begin each day with Frank leading the
Expedition overland to a camp at the head of some inlet, cove, or
recess, near rapids or falls, where, with the older men, women, and
children, he constructed a camp; the working party, consisting of the
younger men, returning to assist me with the canoes down to the new
camp. Anxious for the safety of the people, I superintended the river
work myself, and each day led the way in the boat. On approaching rapids
I selected three or four of the boat’s crew (and always Uledi, the
coxswain), and clambered along the great rocks piled along the base of
the steeply sloping hills, until I had examined the scene. If the rapids
or fall were deemed impassable by water, I planned the shortest and
safest route across the projecting points, and then, mustering the
people, strewed a broad track with bushes, over which, as soon as
completed, we set to work to haul our vessels beyond the dangerous
water, when we lowered them into the water, and pursued our way to camp,
where Frank would be ready to give me welcome, and such a meal as the
country afforded.
At Gamfwé’s the natives sold us abundance of bread, or rolls of pudding,
of cassava flour, maize, cassava leaves, water-cresses, and a small
Strychnos fruit and, for the first time, lemons. Fowls were very dear,
and a goat was too expensive a luxury in our now rapidly impoverishing
state.
_April 8._—On the 8th we descended from Gamfwé’s to “Whirlpool Narrows,”
opposite Umvilingya. When near there we perceived that the eddy tides,
which rushed up river along the bank, required very delicate and skilful
manœuvring. I experimented on the boat first, and attempted to haul her
by cables round a rocky point from the bay near Whirlpool Narrows. Twice
they snapped ropes and cables, and the second time the boat flew up
river, borne on the crests of brown waves, with only Uledi and two men
in her. Presently she wheeled into the bay, following the course of the
eddy, and Uledi brought her in-shore. The third time we tried the
operation with six cables of twisted rattan, about 200 feet in length,
with five men to each cable. The rocks rose singly in precipitous masses
50 feet above the river, and this extreme height increased the
difficulty and rendered footing precarious, for furious eddies of past
pages had drilled deep circular pits, like ovens, in them, 4, 6, even 10
feet deep. However, with the utmost patience we succeeded in rounding
these enormous blocks, and hauling the boat against the uneasy eddy tide
to where the river resumed its natural downward flow. Below this, as I
learned, were some two miles of boisterous water; but mid-river, though
foaming in places, was not what we considered dangerous. We therefore
resolved to risk it in mid-stream, and the boat’s crew, never backward
when they knew what lay in front of them, manned the boat, and in
fifteen minutes we had taken her into a small creek near Umvilingya’s
landing, which ran up river between a ridge of rocks and the right bank.
This act instilled courage into the canoe-men, and the boat-boys having
voluntered to act as steersmen, with Frank as leader, all manned the
canoes next morning, and succeeded in reaching my camp in good time
without accident, though one canoe was taken within 200 yards of Round
Island Falls, between Isameh’s and Umvilingya’s.
At this place Frank and I treated ourselves to a pig, which we purchased
from the chief Umvilingya for four cloths, we having been more than two
weeks without meat.
_April 10._—On the 10th, having, because of illness, entrusted the boat
to Manwa Sera and Uledi, they managed to get her jammed between two
rocks near the entrance to Gavubu’s Cove, and, as the after-section was
sunk for a time, it appeared that the faithful craft would be lost here
after her long and wonderful journey. Springing from my bed upon hearing
of the threatened calamity, I mustered twenty active men and hastened to
the scene, and soon, by inspiring every man to do his best, we were able
to lift her out of her dangerous position, and take her to camp
apparently uninjured.
_April 11._—The lower end of Gavubu’s Cove was reached on the 11th, and
the next day by noon the land party and canoes were taken safely to the
lower end of Gamfwé’s Bay. As our means were rapidly diminishing in this
protracted struggle we maintained against the natural obstacles to our
journey, we could only hope to reach the sea by resolute and continual
industry during every hour of daylight. I accordingly instructed the
canoe-men to be ready to follow me, as soon as they should be informed
by a messenger that the boat had safely arrived in camp.
The commencement of “Lady Alice Rapids” was marked by a broad fall, and
an interruption to the rapidly rushing river by a narrow ridgy islet of
great rocks, which caused the obstructed stream to toss its waters in
lateral waves against the centre, where they met waves from the right
bank, and overlapping formed a lengthy dyke of foaming water.
Strong cane cables were lashed to the bow and stern, and three men were
detailed to each, while five men assisted me in the boat. A month’s
experience of this kind of work had made us skilful and bold. But the
rapids were more powerful, the river was much more contracted, and the
impediments were greater than usual. On our right was an upright wall of
massive boulders terminating in a narrow terrace 300 feet high; behind
the terrace, at a little distance, rose the rude hills to the height of
1200 feet above the river; above the hills rolled the table-land. On our
left, 400 yards from the bouldery wall, rose a lengthy and stupendous
cliff line topped by a broad belt of forest, and at its base rose three
rocky islets, one below another, against which the river dashed itself,
disparting with a roaring surge.
We had scarcely ventured near the top of the rapids when, by a careless
slackening of the stern cable, the current swept the boat from the hands
of that portion of her crew whose duty it was to lower her carefully and
cautiously down the fall, to the narrow line of ebb flood below the
rocky projection. Away into the centre of the angry, foaming, billowy
stream the boat darted, dragging one man into the maddened flood, to
whom, despite our awful position, I was able to lend a hand and lift
into the boat.
“Oars, my boys, and be steady! Uledi, to the helm!” were all the
instructions I was able to shout, after which, standing at the bow of
the boat, I guided the coxswain with my hand; for now, as we rode
downwards furiously on the crests of the proud waves, the human voice
was weak against the overwhelming thunder of the angry river. Oars were
only useful to assist the helm, for we were flying at a terrific speed
past the series of boulders which strangled the river. Never did the
rocks assume such hardness, such solemn grimness and bigness, never were
they invested with such terrors and such grandeur of height, as while we
were the cruel sport and prey of the brown-black waves, which whirled us
round like a spinning top, swung us aside, almost engulfed us in the
rapidly subsiding troughs, and then hurled us upon the white, rageful
crests of others. Ah! with what feelings we regarded this awful power
which the great river had now developed! How we cringed under its
imperious, compelling, and irresistible force! What lightning
retrospects we cast upon our past lives! How impotent we felt before it!
“La il Allah, il Allah!” screamed young Mabruki. “We are lost!—yes, we
are lost!”
After two miles we were abreast of the bay, or indentation, at which we
had hoped to camp, but the strong river mocked our efforts to gain it.
The flood was resolved we should taste the bitterness of death. A sudden
rumbling noise, like the deadened sound of an earthquake, caused us to
look below, and we saw the river heaved bodily upward, as though a
volcano was about to belch around us. Up to the summit of this watery
mound we were impelled; and then, divining what was about to take place,
I shouted out, “Pull, men, for your lives!” A few frantic strokes drove
us to the lower side of the mound, and before it had finished subsiding,
and had begun its usual fatal circling, we were precipitated over a
small fall, and sweeping down towards the inlet into which the Nkenké
Cataract tumbled, below the lowest lines of breakers of the Lady Alice
Rapids. Once or twice we were flung scornfully aside, and spun around
contemptuously, as though we were too insignificant to be wrecked; then,
availing ourselves of a calm moment, we resumed our oars, and soon
entering the ebb-tide, rowed up river and reached the sandy beach at the
junction of the Nkenké with the Livingstone. Arriving on shore, I
despatched Uledi and young Shumari to run to meet the despairing people
above, who had long before this been alarmed by the boat-boys, whose
carelessness had brought about this accident, and by the sympathizing
natives who had seen us, as they reported, sink in the whirlpools. In
about an hour a straggling line of anxious souls appeared; and all that
love of life and living things, with the full sense of the worth of
living, returned to my heart, as my faithful followers rushed up one
after another with their exuberant welcome to life which gushed out of
them in gesture, feature, and voice. And Frank, my amiable and trusty
Frank, was neither last nor least in his professions of love and
sympathy, and gratitude to Him who had saved us from a watery grave.
The land party then returned with Frank to remove the goods to our new
camp, and by night my tent was pitched within a hundred yards of the
cataract mouth of the Nkenké. We had four cataracts in view of us: the
great river which emptied itself into the bay-like expanse from the last
line of the Lady Alice Rapids; two miles below, the river fell again, in
a foamy line of waves; from the tall cliffs south of us tumbled a river
400 feet into the great river; and on our right, 100 yards off, the
Nkenké rushed down steeply like an enormous cascade from the height of
1000 feet. The noise of the Nkenké torrent resembled the roar of an
express train over an iron bridge; that of Cataract River, taking its
400-feet leap from the cliffs, was like the rumble of distant thunder;
the “Lady Alice’s” last line of breakers, and its fuming and fretting
flanks, was heard only as the swash of waves against a ship’s prow when
driven by a spanking breeze against a cross sea; while the cataract
below lent its dull boom to swell the chorus of angry and falling
rivers, which filled our ears with their terrific uproar.
Very different was this scene of towering cliffs and lofty mountain
walls, which daily discharged the falling streams from the vast uplands
above and buried us within the deafening chasm, to that glassy flow of
the Livingstone by the black eerie forests of Usongora Meno and Kasera,
and through the upper lands of the cannibal Wenya, where a single
tremulous wave was a rarity. We now, surrounded by the daily terrors and
hope-killing shocks of these apparently endless cataracts, and the loud
boom of their baleful fury, remembered, with regretful hearts, the
Sabbath stillness and dreamy serenity of those days. Beautiful was it
then to glide among the lazy creeks of the spicy and palm-growing isles,
where the broad-leafed Amomum vied in greenness with the drooping fronds
of the Phrynium, where the myrrh and bdellium shrubs exhaled their
fragrance side by side with the wild cassia, where the capsicum with its
red-hot berries rose in embowering masses, and the Ipomœa’s purple buds
gemmed with colour the tall stem of some sturdy tree. Environed by most
dismal prospects, for ever dinned by terrific sound, at all points
confronted by the most hopeless outlook, we think that an Eden which we
have left behind, and this a watery hell wherein we now are.
[Illustration: THE NKENKÉ RIVER ENTERING THE LIVINGSTONE BELOW THE LADY
ALICE RAPIDS.]
Though our involuntary descent of the Lady Alice Rapids from Gamfwé’s
Bay to Nkenké River Bay—a distance of three miles—occupied us but
fifteen minutes, it was a work of four days, viz. from the 13th to the
16th inclusive, to lower the canoes by cables. Experience of the vast
force of the flood, and the brittleness of the rattan cables, had
compelled us to fasten eight cables to each canoe, and to detail five
men to each cable for the passage of the rapids. Yet, with all our
precautions, almost each hour was marked with its special accident to
man or canoe. One canoe, with a man named Nubi in it, was torn from the
hands of forty men, swept down two miles, and sunk in the great
whirlpool. Nubi clung to his vessel, until taken down a second time,
when he and the canoe were ejected fifty yards apart, but being an
expert swimmer he regained it in the Nkenké basin, and astride of its
keel was circling round with the strong ebb tide, when he was saved by
the dashing Uledi and his young brother Shumari.
While returning to my labours along the bouldery heap which lined the
narrow terrace opposite the islets, I observed another canoe, which
contained the chief Wadi Rehani and two of my boat-bearers, Chiwonda and
Muscati, drifting down helplessly near the verge of some slack water.
The three men were confused, and benumbed with terror at the roar and
hissing of the rapids. Being comparatively close to them, on the edge of
a high crag, I suddenly shot out my voice with the full power of my
lungs, in sharp, quick accents of command to paddle ashore, and the
effect was wonderful. It awoke them like soldiers to the call of duty,
and after five minutes’ energetic use of their paddles they were saved.
I have often been struck at the power of a quick, decisive tone. It
appears to have an electric effect, riding rough-shod over all fears,
indecision, and tremor, and, just as in this instance, I had frequently
up river, when the people were inclined to get panic-stricken, or to
despair, restored them to a sense of duty by affecting the sharp-
cutting, steel-like, and imperious tone of voice, which seemed to be as
much of a compelling power as powder to a bullet. But it should be
remembered that a too frequent use of it spoils its effect.
[Illustration: “LADY ALICE” OVER THE FALLS.]
_April 18._—On the 18th we descended from Nkenké Bay to a lengthy
indentation behind two islands above Msumbula. In shooting the rapids
one canoe was wrecked, but fortunately a large canoe which had been lost
up river was recovered by paying a small present to the amiable Bateké
fishermen. At this camp we discovered that our people were robbing me in
the most shameless manner, and I was indebted for this discovery to
Frank, whose duty as camp-keeper and leader of the land party gave him
opportunities for detecting the rapid diminution of our stores. A search
was instituted without warning, and a hundredweight or two of purloined
beads and shells were discovered. The boldest thief, fearing punishment,
absconded, and never returned.
_April 19, 21._—The next day, after Frank had transported the goods and
moved his party to a new camp, we descended two miles of dangerous
rapids and whirlpools, and on the 20th I led the way in my boat and
proceeded a distance of four miles, forming camp behind some small
islets, near which the river expanded to a width of about eight hundred
yards. By three in the afternoon the land party had also arrived. On the
21st we dropped down, without difficulty, a distance of two miles, and
camped for the first time in Babwendé territory.
Nsangu, a village of the Basessé, was opposite, crowning with its palms
and fields a hilly terrace, projected from the mountain range, at whose
richly wooded slopes or cliffy front, based with a long line of great
boulders, we each day looked from the right bank of the river. The
villagers sent a deputation to us with palm-wine and a small gift of
cassava tubers. Upon asking them if there were any more cataracts they
replied that there was only one, and they exaggerated it so much that
the very report struck terror and dismay into, our people. They
described it as falling from a height greater than the position on which
their village was situated, which drew exclamations of despair from my
followers. I, on the other hand, rather rejoiced at this, as I believed
it might be “Tuckey’s Cataract,” which seemed to be eternally receding
as we advanced. While the Bateké above had constantly held out
flattering prospects of “only one more” cataract, I had believed that
one to be Tuckey’s Cataract, because map-makers have laid down a great
navigable reach of river between Tuckey’s upper cataract and the Yellala
Falls—hence our object in clinging to the river, despite all obstacles,
until that ever-receding cataract was reached.
The distance we had laboured through from the 16th of March to the 21st
of April inclusive, a period of thirty-seven days, was only 34 miles!
Since the Basessé fishermen, “who ought to know” we said, declared there
was only this tremendous cataract, with a fall of several hundred feet,
below us, we resolved to persevere until we had passed it.
_April 22, 23._—During the 22nd and 23rd we descended from opposite
Nsangu, a distance of five miles, to below Rocky Island Falls, and
during the three following days we were engaged in the descent of a six-
mile stretch, which enabled us to approach the “terrific” falls
described by the Basessé at Nsangu. Arriving at camp with my canoe
party, I instantly took my boat’s crew and explored the ground. The
“Falls” are called Inkisi, or the “Charm”; they have no clear drop, but
the river, being forced through a chasm only 500 yards wide, is flanked
by curling waves of destructive fury, which meet in the centre, overlap,
and strike each other, while below is an absolute chaos of mad waters,
leaping waves, deep troughs, contending watery ridges, tumbling and
tossing for a distance of two miles. The commencement of this gorge is a
lengthy island which seems to have been a portion or slice of the table-
land fallen flat, as it were, from a height of 1000 feet. More
geologically speaking, it is a mile-long fragment of the gneissic
substructure of the table-land which appears to have suddenly subsided,
retaining its original horizontal stratification. On the sides, however,
the heaps of ruin, thick slabs, and blocks of trap rock bear witness to
that sudden collapsing from beneath which undoubtedly formed this chasm.
The natives above Inkisi descended from their breezy homes on the table-
land to visit the strangers. They were burning to know what we intended
to do to extricate ourselves from the embarrassing position in which we
found ourselves before these falls. I had already explored the ground
personally twice over, and had planned a dozen ways to get over the
tremendous obstacle. I had also ascended to the table-land to take a
more general view of the situation. Before replying to their questions,
I asked if there was another cataract below. “No,” said they, “at least
only a little one, which you can pass without trouble.”
“Ah,” thought I to myself, “this great cataract then must be Tuckey’s
Cataract, and the ‘little one,’ I suppose, was too contemptible an
affair to be noticed, or perhaps it was covered over by high water, for
map-makers have a clear, wide—three miles wide—stream to the falls of
Yellala. Good! I will haul my canoes up the mountain and pass over the
table-land, as I must now cling to this river to the end, having
followed it so long.”
My resolution was soon communicated to my followers, who looked
perfectly blank at the proposition. The natives heard me, and, seeing
the silence and reluctance of the people, they asked the cause, and I
told them it was because I intended to drag our vessels up the mountain.
“Up the mountain!” they repeated, turning their eyes towards the
towering height, which was shagged with trees and bristling with crags
and hill fragments, with an unspeakable look of horror. They appeared to
fancy the world was coming to an end, or some unnatural commotion would
take place, for they stared at me with lengthened faces. Then, without a
word, they climbed the stiff ascent of 1200 feet, and securing their
black pigs, fowls, or goats in their houses, spread the report far and
wide that the white man intended to fly his canoes over the mountains.
On the other hand, the amiable Basessé, on the left table-land across
the river, had gathered in hundreds on the cliffs overlooking the Inkisi
Falls, in expectation of seeing a catastrophe, which certainly would
have been worth seeing had we been so suicidally inclined as to venture
over the falls in our canoes—for that undoubtedly was their idea. It was
strange with what poor wits the aborigines of these new and exhumed
regions credited us. These people believed we should be guilty of this
last freak of madness just as the Wana Mpungu believed we should blindly
stumble into their game-nets, and the Wy-yanzi of Chumbiri believed
that, having been cheated out of 300 dollars’ worth of goods, we should,
upon the mere asking, be cheated again. Indeed, I observe that, wherever
I go, savage and civilized man alike are too apt to despise each other
at first, and that, when finally awakened to some sense of consideration
for each other, they proceed to the other extreme, and invest one
another with more attributes than they really possess.
Having decided upon the project, it only remained to make a road and to
begin, but in order to obtain the assistance of the aborigines, which I
was anxious for in order to relieve my people from much of the fatigue,
the first day all hands were mustered for road making. Our numerous
axes, which we had purchased in Manyema and in Uregga, came into very
efficient use now, for, by night, a bush-strewn path 1500 yards in
length had been constructed.
_April 26._—By 8 A.M. of the 26th our exploring-boat and a small canoe
were on the summit of the table-land at a new camp we had formed. As the
feat was performed without ostentation and, it need not be told, without
any unnatural commotion or event—the pigs had not been frightened, the
fowls had not cackled uneasily, goats had not disappeared, women had not
given birth to monsters—the native chiefs were in a state of agreeable
wonder and complimentary admiration of our industry suitable for the
commencement of negotiations, and after an hour’s “talk” and convivial
drinking of palm-wine they agreed, for a gift of forty cloths, to bring
six hundred men to assist us to haul up the monster canoes we possessed,
two or three of which were of heavy teak, over 70 feet in length, and
weighing over three tons. A large number of my men were then detailed to
cut rattan canes as a substitute for ropes, and as many were brittle and
easily broken, this involved frequent delays. Six men under Kachéché
were also despatched overland to a distance of ten miles to explore the
river, and to prepare the natives for our appearance.
_April 28._—By the evening of the 28th all our vessels were safe on the
highest part of the table-land. Having become satisfied that all was
going well in camp, and that Manwa Sera and his men were capable of
superintending it, with the aid of the natives, I resolved to take Frank
and the boat’s crew, women, and children, and goods of the Expedition,
to the frontier of Nzabi, and establish a camp near the river, at a
point where we should again resume our toil in the deep defile through
which the mighty river stormed along its winding course.
The Babwendé natives were exceeding friendly, even more so than the
amiable Bateké. Gunpowder was abundant with them, and every male capable
of carrying a gun possessed one, often more. Delft ware and British
crockery were also observed in their hands, such as plates, mugs,
shallow dishes, wash-basins, galvanized iron spoons, Birmingham cutlery,
and other articles of European manufacture obtained through the native
markets, which are held in an open space between each district. For
example, Nzabi district holds a market on a Monday, and Babwendé from
Zinga, Mowa farther down, and Inkisi, and Basessé, from across the river
attend, as there is a ferry below Zinga, and articles such as European
salt, gunpowder, guns, cloth, crockery, glass, and iron ware, of which
the currency consists, are bartered for produce such as ground-nuts,
palm-oil, palm-nuts, palm-wine, cassava bread and tubers, yams, maize,
sugar-cane, beans, native earthenware, onions, lemons, bananas, guavas,
sweet limes, pine-apples, black pigs, goats, fowls, eggs, ivory, and a
few slaves, who are generally Batekéé or Northern Basundi. On Tuesday
the district above Inkisi Falls holds its market, at which Mowa, Nzabi,
and the district above Inkisi attend. On Wednesday the Umvilingya,
Lemba, and Nsangu districts hold a market. On Thursday most of the
Babwendé cross the river over to Nsangu, and the Basessé have the honour
of holding a market on their own soil. On Friday the market is again
held at Nzabi, and the series runs its course in the same order. Thus,
without trading caravans or commercial expeditions, the aborigines of
these districts are well supplied with almost all they require without
the trouble and danger of proceeding to the coast. From district to
district, market to market, and hand to hand, European fabrics and wares
are conveyed along both sides of the rivers, and along the paths of
traffic, until finally the districts of Ntamo, Nkunda, and Nshasa obtain
them. These then man their large canoes and transfer them to Ibaka,
Misongo, Chumbiri, and Bolobo, and purchase ivory, and now and then a
slave, while Ibaka, Misongo, Chumbiri, and Bolobo transport the European
fabrics and wares to Irebu, Mompurengi, Ubangi, and Ikengo, and Ikengo
conveys them to the fierce Bangala, and the Bangala to the Marunja,
Mpakiwana, Urangi, Rubunga in Nganza Gunji, and finally to Upoto—the
present ultimate reach of anything arriving from the west coast. By this
mode of traffic a keg of powder landed at Funta, Ambriz, Ambrizette, or
Kinsembo, requires about five years to reach the Bangala. The first
musket was landed in Angola in about the latter part of the fifteenth
century, for Diogo Cão only discovered the mouth of the Congo in 1485.
It has taken 390 years for four muskets to arrive at Rubunga in Nganza,
965 miles from Point de Padrão, where Diogo Cão erected his memorial
column in honour of the discovery of the Congo.
We discovered cloth to be so abundant amongst the Babwendé that it was
against our conscience to purchase even a fowl, for naturally the nearer
we approached civilization cloth became cheaper in value, until finally
a fowl cost four yards of our thick sheeting! Frank and I therefore
lived upon the same provisions as our people. Our store of sugar had run
out in Uregga, our coffee was finished at Vinya Njara, and at Inkisi
Falls our tea, alas! alas! came to an end. To guard against
contingencies—for I thought it possible that, however desperately we
strove to proceed towards the Western Ocean, we might have been
compelled to return to Nyangwé—I had left at Nyangwé, in charge of Abed
bin Salem, three tins of tea and a few other small things. At this
juncture, how we wished for them!
Yet we could have well parted with a large stock of tea, coffee, and
sugar in order to obtain a pair of shoes apiece. Though I had kept one
pair of worn-out shoes by me, my last new pair had been put on in the
jungles of doleful Uregga, and now six weeks’ rough wear over the gritty
iron and clink-stone, trap, and granite blocks along the river had
ground through soles and uppers, until I began to feel anxious. As for
Frank, he had been wearing sandals made out of my leather portmanteaus,
and slippers out of our gutta-percha pontoon; but climbing over the
rocks and rugged steeps wore them to tatters in such quick succession,
that it was with the utmost difficulty that I was enabled, by appealing
to the pride of the white man, to induce him to persevere in the
manufacture of sandals for his own use. Frequently, on suddenly arriving
in camp from my wearying labours, I would discover him with naked feet,
and would reprove him for shamelessly exposing his white feet to the
vulgar gaze of the aborigines! In Europe this would not be considered
indelicate, but in barbarous Africa the feet should be covered as much
as the body; for there is a small modicum of superiority shown even in
clothing the feet. Not only on moral grounds did I urge him to cover his
feet, but also for his own comfort and health; for the great cataract
gorge and table-land above it, besides abounding in ants, mosquitoes,
and vermin, are infested with three dangerous insects, which prey upon
the lower limbs of man—the “jigga” from Brazil, the guinea-worm, and an
entozoon, which, depositing its eggs in the muscles, produces a number
of short, fat worms and severe tumours. I also discovered, from the
examples in my camp, that the least abrasion of the skin was likely, if
not covered, to result in an ulcer. My own person testified to this, for
an injury to the thumb of my left hand, injured by a fall on the rocks
at Gamfwé’s, had culminated in a painful wound, which I daily
cauterized; but though bathed, burned, plastered, and bandaged twice a
day, I had been at this time a sufferer for over a month.
At this period we were all extremely liable to disease, for our system
was impoverished. Four of my people suffered from chronic dysentery and
eight from large and painful ulcers; the itch disease was rabid—about a
dozen of the men were fearful objects of its virulence, though they were
not incapacited from duty—and there were two victims of a low fever
which no medicine seemed to relieve.
In the absence of positive knowledge as to how long we might be toiling
in the cataracts, we were all compelled to be extremely economical. Goat
and pig meat were such luxuries that we declined to think of them as
being possible with our means; tea, coffee, sugar, sardines, were fast
receding into the memory-land of past pleasures, and chickens had
reached such prices that they were rare in our camp. We possessed one
ram from far Uregga, and Mirambo, the black riding-ass—the other two
asses had died a few weeks before—but we should have deserved the name
of cannibals had we dared to think of sacrificing the pets of the camp.
Therefore—by the will of the gods—contentment had to be found in boiled
“duff,” or cold cassava bread, ground-nuts, or pea-nuts, yams, and green
bananas. To make such strange food palatable was an art that we
possessed in a higher degree than our poor comrades. They were supplied
with the same materials as we ourselves, but the preparation was
different. My dark followers simply dried their cassava, and then
pounding it made the meal into porridge. Ground-nuts they threw into the
ashes, and when sufficiently baked ate them like hungry men.
For me such food was too crude: besides, my stomach, called to sustain a
brain and body strained to the utmost by responsibilities, required that
some civility should be shown to it. Necessity roused my faculties, and
a jaded stomach goaded my inventive powers to a high pitch. I called my
faithful cook, told him to clean and wash mortar and pestle for the
preparation of a “high art” dish. Frank approached also to receive
instructions, so that, in my absence, he might remind Marzouk, the cook,
of each particular. First we rinsed in clear cold brook-water from the
ravines some choice cassava or manioc tops, and these were placed in the
water to be bruised. Marzouk understood this part very well, and soon
pounded them to the consistence of a green porridge. To this I then
added fifty shelled nuts of the _Arachis hypogœa_, three small specimens
of the _Dioscorea alata_ boiled and sliced cold, a tablespoonful of oil
extracted from the _Arachis hypogœa_, a tablespoonful of wine of the
_Elais Guineensis_, a little salt, and sufficient powdered capsicum.
This imposing and admirable mixture was pounded together, fried, and
brought into the tent, along with toasted cassava pudding, hot and
steaming, on the only Delft plate we possessed. Within a few minutes our
breakfast was spread out on the medicine chest which served me for a
table, and at once a keen appetite was inspired by the grateful smell of
my artful compound. After invoking a short blessing, Frank and I
rejoiced our souls and stomachs with the savoury mess, and flattered
ourselves that, though British paupers and Sing-Sing convicts might fare
better perhaps, thankful content crowned our hermit repast.
CHAPTER XIII.
Glorious timber—Cutting canoes—Frank suffers from ulcers—The episode of
the fetished axe—Rain-gauge readings—The rise of the river—“Goee-
Goees”—The _Lady Alice_ breached for the first time—A painful
discovery: Uledi’s theft—His trial and release—The burning of
Shakespeare—The bees of Massassa—Local superstitions—Frank’s cheery
character.
_April 29._—On the morning of the 29th of April, after giving the
necessary instructions to Manwa Sera and his brother chiefs, and
obtaining the promise of the Babwendé elders that they would do their
utmost to help in transporting the vessels over the three miles of
ground between Inkisi Falls and Nzabi, I led the caravan, loaded with
the goods, down to a cove at the upper end of Nzabi. After erecting a
rude camp, the more active men were directed to reascend the table-land
to their duty, and in the afternoon two men were despatched to the old
chief of Nzabi, desiring him to come and visit me. Meanwhile I explored
a thick forest of tall trees, that flourished to an immense height along
a narrow terrace, and up the steep slopes of Nzabi. For though cliffs
were frequent on the left side of the river, a steep wooded slope
distinguished the right side, especially along the whole front of Nzabi.
As I wandered about among the gigantic trees, the thought struck me
that, while the working parties and natives were hauling our vessels a
distance of three miles over the table-land, a new canoe might be built
to replace one of the nine which had been lost; but in order to obviate
any rupture with our new friends, I resolved to wait until the next day,
when the subject could be broached to the king.
Meanwhile, with Uledi, the coxswain, young Shumari, his brother, and
their cousin Saywa, I went about, tape-line in hand, surveying the
glorious timber, and from my note-book I take the following particulars,
jotted down during the ramble:—
“Three specimens of cotton-wood. The largest, close to the cove,
measured in girth 13 feet 6 inches; trunk unbranched for about 60 feet;
its cotton used as tinder by the Babwendé. Eight specimens of the
_Bassia Parkii_—or Shea butter-tree; bark rough, and 1½ inch thick;
exudes a yellowish-white sticky matter, which my boat-boys called its
“milk”: splendid timber, core dark and very hard; outside wood from two
to three inches deep and whiter, easily worked; largest measured 12 feet
round; height of unbranched stem, 55 feet: others measured 10, 11·9, 10
and 10½ feet. Ten specimens of the _Ficus Kotschyana_—or Mku, as Uledi
called it; bark half an inch thick; largest, 13 feet in girth. Many
specimens of African silver beech, African ash, wild olive, _Zygia_ sp.,
or Mkundi—largest, 24 feet circumferential measurement—acacia, catechu
(?), _Grewia_ sp., Mkuma; good timber tree, for small canoes. A glorious
_Tamarindus Indica_, with amplitude of crown branching far, and dense; 9
feet round. Several specimens of Rubiaceæ and Sterculiaceæ, candleberry-
tree, the _Lophira alata_, Balsomodendrons, _Landolphia florida_ (?), an
india-rubber-producing creeper in very large numbers. Proteas, several
Loranthaceæ, ivory button or nut-trees, wild betel, _Anacardium
occidentale_, or cashew-tree, cola-nut-tree, wild mango-tree, _Jatropha
curcas_ (physic-nut tree), Kigelias, several _Acacia Arabicas_ near the
river, within a few feet of the cove, and other gums. _Euphorbia
antiquorum_ and _E. Caput-Medusæ_ on the craggy ground above the cove.
Orchids upon humus-covered granite fragments, and far aloft in the forks
of trees; as well as several species of ferns and aloes, and wild pine-
apples upon the rock-strewn slopes.”
Though there were a number of large and noble trees to choose from, I
fixed upon a species of Burseraceæ, Boswellia, or gum-frankincense tree,
10 feet round at the base, and with 40 feet of branchless stem, which
grew about a hundred yards from our camp. We “blazed” very many of the
largest species with our hatchets, in order to discover the most
suitable for lightness and softness, with sufficient strength, and the
“ubani” or “lubani” as the Wangwana called it was pronounced the best. I
discovered that the largest trees grew on the narrow terrace, which was
from one hundred to two hundred yards wide, and about forty feet above
the river; but this Boswellia grew about fifty yards above the terrace
on the slope; from this the slope rose to the height of 1000 feet, at an
angle of 45°, densely covered along its whole length with magnificent
timber.
_April 30._—The next day the chief came. He was a fine genial old man,
bald-headed and jovial-featured; and would have made an admirable Uncle
Tom. It was not long before we perfectly understood each other. He gave
me permission to choose any of the largest trees in his country, and
promised to visit me each day while in the cove. Meanwhile, as an
earnest of his friendship, he begged my acceptance of a gourdful of
palm-wine, and some ripe plantains, guavas, and papaws.
_May 1._—On the 1st May, Uledi, with a cry of “Bismillah!” at the first
blow, struck his axe into the tree, and two others chimed in, and in two
hours, with a roaring crash which made the deep gorge of the river
return a thundering echo, the ubani fell; but, alas! it fell across a
gigantic granite rock, about thirty feet square. And then began the work
of rolling the great tree by means of enormous levers, with cables of
ficus attached to the end, and the suspended weight of fifteen people,
and by noon, to the astonishment of the natives, it was lengthways along
the ground. I measured out the log, 37 feet 5 inches; depth, 2 feet;
breadth, 2 feet 8 inches, and out of this we carved the _Stanley_ canoe,
in place of the unfortunate _Stanley_ which had been irretrievably lost
on the 1st of April. In order to ensure both speed and systematic work,
each of the boat’s crew, who were now converted into shipbuilders, was
allotted 3½ feet as his share, with a promise of reward proportionate to
the skill and energy which he displayed. It was refreshing to see,
during the whole time he was employed on it, how Uledi swung his axe
like a proficient workman who loved his work. He never gave a half-
hearted stroke, but drove his axe into the tree with a vigour which was
delightful to regard, eliciting the admiration of the aborigines, who
would stand round us for hours wondering at the fact that there lived a
man who could thus lend every fibre of his body to mere work, and was an
enthusiast to duty. On the 8th the canoe was finished, except for a few
finishing touches, which were entrusted to the chief carpenter of the
Expedition, Salaam Allah.
Having yet a few days to spare, we cut another huge tree down—a teak—to
replace the little _Jason_ that Soudi Turu had lost at Kalulu Falls,
which occupied us until the 16th, with fifteen men employed. It
measured, when completed, 45 feet long, 2 feet 2 inches beam, and 18
inches deep, and was flat-bottomed, after the model of the Wyyanzi
canoes.
[Illustration: THE NEW CANOES, THE “LIVINGSTONE” AND THE “STANLEY.”]
_May 15._—In the meantime Manwa Sera was steadily advancing each day
from 500 to 800 yards, according to the nature of the ground, and by the
evening of the 15th was in our camp to receive a hearty meed of praise
for the completion of his task. It was singular, however, how quickly
the people became demoralized the moment I turned away. The natives
brought various complaints of robbery of fowls and spoliation of cassava
gardens against them, and one, Saburi Rehani, was a prisoner in their
hands, or, in other words, was liable to be sold by them unless redeemed
by me. I spent an entire day in the negotiation of his freedom, but
finally he was purchased by me for 150 dollars’ worth of cloth, which
most wofully diminished my stock. Naturally this excessive price paid
for the release of a thief drew most energetic threats from me should
any crime of this nature be repeated. But my men had borne themselves in
the most admirable manner since leaving Uguha, and, after crossing
through a furnace of fire side by side with me, it would have been
unnatural for me to have judged them very severely. At the same time the
evil-dispositioned were not to be allowed to sacrifice the lives of
their fellows either by slow hunger or in violent conflicts for their
sakes. Frequent redemptions of thieves from the hands of those they had
spoliated would at this period have ended in beggary and starvation. It
was therefore explained, for the fiftieth time, that persons arrested by
the natives while in the act of stealing would be left in their hands.
_May 16._—During the afternoon of the 16th we embarked the goods, and
the canoe-men, skirting the base of the rocky line, descended one mile
to Nzabi Creek, which proved a calm haven, separated from the river by a
rugged line of massive blocks, and after we had entered by the narrow
entrance we obtained a view of the wide mouth of a ravine, which was
like a deep indentation in the mountain line. From base to summit the
table-land was wooded, and very many noble bombax and straight-shafted
teaks rose above the grove in this happy and picturesque mountain fold.
After such a gigantic task as that of hauling the canoes up 1200 feet of
a steep slope, and over three miles of ground, and then lowering them
1200 feet into the river again, the people deserved a rest. In the
meantime, as absolute idleness would have been subversive of that energy
which had to characterize us during this period, we set to work cutting
down-a teak-tree, and for this job selected forty men, twenty of whom
were allotted to Frank for nightwork, and twenty I reserved for a day
party. The tree was 13 feet 3 inches in circumference, and when
prostrate we possessed a clear branchless log 55 feet in length.
It was at this period that Frank began to be troubled with a small
pimple on each foot, and even then he neglected the advice I persisted
in giving him to protect them from being tainted by the poisonous fœtor
which flies extracted from the exposed sores of the Wangwana. There was
one poor fellow in our camp named Feruzi who was now in the seventh
month of this virulent disease, and was a frightful object. Both of his
feet were almost in a state of mortification, and the leg bones were
attacked. That part of the camp devoted to the victims of this ulcerous
disease was prudently avoided by the natives, many of whom bore the
scars of ancient ulcers. Safeni, my coxswain on the Victoria Nyanza, and
who was also the second in rank and influence among the chiefs, adopted
a very singular treatment, which I must confess was also wonderfully
successful. This medicine consisted of a mixture of powder of copper and
child’s urine painted over the wound with a feather twice a day, over
which he placed some fine cotton. In six weeks five patients recovered
completely. The Babwendé have recourse to green herb poultices, and some
of their medicines were sold to us for the sick, but I failed to observe
any improvement. One kind, however, which was the powdered core of some
tree, appeared to have a soothing effect.
The old chief of Nzabi informed us, to our astonishment that five falls
were still below us, which he called Njari Nseto, Njari Kwa Mowa, or
river at Mowa, Njari Zinga, or river opposite Zinga, Njari Mbelo, or
Mbelo’s river, and Njari Suki, or Suki’s river, the Babwendé term for
river being Njari.
_May 18._—On the 18th five of our axes required to be repaired, and
Kachéché, who had some days before returned from his explorations below,
and confirmed the news given to us by Nzabi’s chief, was sent above to
the table-land to seek a smithy. As a market-place is like a stock
exchange to the natives of this region, most of the blacksmiths were
absent, and Kachéché had proceeded for a long distance into the
interior, when he came across a tribe north of Nzabi, armed with bows
and arrows, and who were called Bizu-Nseké. A few seconds’ acquaintance
with them sufficed to prove to Kachéché that he had overstepped the
boundaries of the peaceable, and accordingly he and his fellows fled for
their lives, not unquickened by flying arrows. When almost in despair of
discovering a native mechanic, he at last came to a forge between Mowa
and Nzabi, the owner of which undertook the job of repairing the axes.
The blacksmith’s children were playing about close to the anvil while he
was at work, and it happened that a piece of glowing hot iron to be
welded to an axe flew off on being struck and seared a child’s breast,
whereupon the father got into a fearful rage and beat the war-drum,
which soon mustered scores of his countrymen prepared for battle, but as
yet quite ignorant of the cause. Kachéché, however, was a man of tact,
and, knowing himself innocent, folded his hands, and appealed to the
good sense of the people. But the angered father averred that the axe
was fetish, and that as Kachéché had brought the fetished instrument he
was guilty of malevolence, for only the property of an evilly disposed
person could have wrought such hurt to an innocent child. While the
argument was at its height the chief of Nzabi happily appeared on his
way home from Mowa market, and through his influence the affair was
compromised by Kachéché promising to pay fifteen cowries extra to the
blacksmith. Hearty laughing, a convivial drink all round of palm-wine,
hand-shakes, and many terrible stories of fetish wonders dispelled the
little black cloud.
_May 22._—On the 22nd of May the magnificent teak canoe _Livingstone_,
perfectly complete, was launched with the aid of one hundred happy and
good-humoured natives, into the Nzabi Creek, in presence of the Nzabi
chief and his three wives. In order to prove its capacity we embarked
forty-six people, which only brought its gunwales within six inches of
the water. Its measurements were 54 feet in length, 2 feet 4 inches
deep, and 3 feet 2 inches wide. With the completion of this third canoe,
our flotilla now consisted of twelve large canoes and one boat, the
whole being of sufficient capacity to transport the Expedition should we
ever be fortunate enough in arriving at that “Tuckey’s Cataract” of
which I was in search.
The rainy days of this season, which began at the change of the fifth
moon, were as follows:—
1877. Feb. 24 Short shower. │1877. ” 19 Rain during night.
” 27 ” ” │ ” 20 ” ” ”
” 28 ” ” │ ” 21 ” ” ”
March 2 ” ” │ ” 22 ” ” ”
” 5 Severe ” │ ” 23 ” ” ”
” 7 ” ” │ ” 25 Severe ” ”
” 8 6 hours. │ ” 26 ” ” ”
” 9 4 ” │ ” 27 ” ” ”
April 3 } │ ” 28 ” ” ”
” 4 } From 2 to 6 hours’ │ ” 26 ” ” ”
” 5 } showers during the │ May 1 ” ” morning.
” 6 } early morning. │ ” 3 ” all day.
” 7 } │ ” 4 6 hours.
” 11 } │ ” 10 5 ”
” 12 } │ ” 15 Noon.
” 13 } │ ” 16 Afternoon.
” 14 } Long showers from │ ” 17 ”
” 15 } the afternoon into │ ” 19 Night.
” 16 } the night. │ ” 20 ”
” 17 } │ ” 21 4 hours, forenoon.
” 18 } │
Between the 15th of November and the 16th of January I recorded thirty-
two rainy days, the total rainfall being of 115 hours’ duration. Between
the 16th of January and the 24th of February no rain fell, but between
the 24th of February and the 21st of May there was a total of thirty-
nine rainy days. This interval composed the later or greater Masika, or
monsoon.
On the 26th of April I observed the River begin to rise, but moving from
Inkisi Falls to Nzabi Cove on April the 29th, I had better opportunities
of testing the rate of the rise while cutting out my canoe, viz. until
the afternoon of the 16th of May.
My notes regarding the rise were as follows:—
1877. April 30 3 inches
May 1 3 ”
” 2 4 ”
” 3 4 ”
” 4 4½ ”
” 5 5 ”
” 6 5¾ ”
” 7 8 ”
” 8 9 ”
” 9 9 ”
” 10 9½ ”
” 11 10 ”
” 12 11 ”
” 13 13 ”
” 14 13 ”
” 15 12 ”
” 16 11½ ”
—-—
135¼ ”
—-—
or 11 feet 3¾ inches within 17
days.
At Nzabi Creek the registered rise was as follows:—
1877. May 17 10 inches.
” 18 10 ”
” 19 9 ”
” 20 8½ ”
” 21 7 ”
” 22 6 ”
—-—-
50½ ” = 4 feet 2½
inches.
—-—-
During these storms of rain, the thunder-claps were fully as loud as
those on the Victoria Nyanza during the rainy season of 1875, and the
lightning fully as fierce, being quivering, flaring pennants of flame,
accompanied by bursting shocks, in apparently such close proximity that
we felt frequently half stunned by the sound, and dazed by the
coruscating displays of the electric flame. The deep chasm in which we
were pent while the season was at its height increased the sound and re-
echoed it from side to side, until each thunder-clap was protracted like
a file-fire of artillery. Our position at Nzabi Cove was by no means
enviable or desirable, though our experiences did not nearly realize all
that we had anticipated. As we were encamped on a low terrace, which was
only 30 feet above the river when we first arrived, we feared that, at a
period when it was rising so rapidly, a sudden increase of 20 or 30 feet
was quite “on the cards,” from what we remembered of the sudden creation
of rivers in Ugogo, where a few moments before, dry, sandy water-courses
were alone visible. The increasing fury of the mighty stream, the
deepening roar of the falls, the formation of new rapids, the booming
chorus of a score of torrents precipitated in leaping columns from the
summit of the opposite cliffs a height of 400 feet into the river, the
continuous rain, the vivid flashes of lightning, and the loud thunder
which crackled and burst overhead with overwhelming effect, sufficed to
keep alive the anticipation of terrors happily never realized.
_May 23._—The chief of Nzabi received in return for his fine trees and
the cordial assistance and uniform kindness he had extended to us, a
gift of goods, which exceeded even his hopes. The people were
sufficiently rested after this agreeable interlude to resume the
dangerous passage of the cataracts, and on the 23rd we made a movement
down to the west end of Nzabi Creek, and began hauling the canoes over
the rocky ridge which separated us from another small creek lower down.
The next day we were also clear of the lower creek, and descended a
mile, by which feat we had succeeded in getting below the Nséto Falls.
_May 25._—On the 25th, Frank Pocock, being too lame, from his ulcers, to
travel overland, the conduct of the canoe-party was given to Manwa Sera
and Chowpereh, and the care of the boat to Uledi, the coxswain. Besides
Frank, there were thirteen persons afflicted with ulcerous sores,
dysentery, and general debility; upon whom, on account of their utter
inability to travel by land or climb over the rocks, the humourist
Baraka had bestowed, out of his fertile brain, the sobriquet of Goee-
Goee, a term quite untranslatable as regards its descriptive humour,
though “despairing, forlorn, good-for-nothings” would be a tolerably
fair equivalent. With decent, sober Christian souls the party would have
been distinguished as the “sick list”; but Baraka was not a Christian,
but a reckless good-natured _gamin_, of Mohammedan tendencies. Turning
to Frank, he said to him, with a broad grin, “Ah, ha! is our little
master become a Goee-Goee too? Inshallah! we shall all become Goee-Goees
now, if our masters get on the list.” Frank laughingly assented, and
hobbled to the boat to take a seat.
[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE TABLE-LAND NEAR MOWA.]
I led the active members of the Expedition and the women and children up
the mountain from the lower Nzabi Creek, and, having well surmounted the
table-land, struck west from Nzabi to Mowa, a distance of three miles.
The plateau was a rolling country, and extremely picturesque in the
populated part which bordered the river, thickly sprinkled with clusters
of the guinea-palm and plantain groves, under which nestled the elegant
huts of the Babwendé. This palm furnishes the natives with a delicious
wine, and also with a yellow butter, which may be turned into a good
burning oil, an unguent for the body, or an oil for stewing their
provisions, bananas, yams, or potatoes; or served up with herbs,
chicken, and chilies, for “palm-oil chop”; or as an excellent sop, when
hot, for their cassava pudding.
[Illustration: CUTTING OUT THE NEW “LIVINGSTONE” CANOE.]
At the third mile we turned down a broad and steep ravine, escorted by
scores of gentle and kind people, and descended to the debouchure of a
mountain brook, which empties into a deep bay-like indentation below the
lower Mowa Falls. As we approached the bottom the Mowa became visible.
It consists of a ledge of igneous rocks, pumice and ironstone, rising 20
feet or so above the water, and though extending nearly three-fourths
across, is pierced by various narrow clefts which discharge as many
streams into the bay below. At the left side, between the end of the
ledge and the perpendicular cliffs of iron-tinted rock, the river
contracts, and in mighty waves leaps down with a terrific, torrent-like
rush, whirling pools, and heaving mounds. From the debouchure of the
brook by which we enter upon the scene to the cliffs across is about
1800 yards; the ledge of the Mowa rocks above it extends probably 800
yards, while the river beyond occupied perhaps 500 yards. The streams
from the great river which falls into the bay through the gaps of the
ledge have a drop of 12 feet; the great river itself has no decided
fall, but, as already described, is a mere rush, with the usual
tempestuous scene.
We occupied a beautiful camping place above the Mowa, on a long stretch
of pure white river sand, under the shadow of such an upright and high
cliff that the sunshine did not visit us until 9 A.M. I travelled up
over the rocks until I reached a point at the base of which the Upper
Mowa rapids broke out into waves, with intervals of unruffled glassy
slope, and here I stood for an hour, pondering unspeakable things, as I
listened to the moan and plaint of the tortured river. Far away below me
extended the great cleft of the table-land, of savagely stern aspect,
unmarked by aught to relieve its awful lonely wildness, with mountain
lines on the right and on the left rising to 1500 feet, and sheer, for
half their height, from unknown depths of water. The stately ranks of
tall trees that had dignified the right side of the river at Nzabi up to
the summit of the table-land, are exchanged from the Mowa down to
Mpakambendi, for clear rock walls of from 300 to 600 feet high,
buttressed by a thin line of boulders or splintered rock slabs of
massive size.
One of the boys announced the boat coming. It soon appeared, Frank
standing up in the bow, and Uledi, as usual, at the helm; but as this
was the first time Frank had played the pioneer over cataracts, I
observed he was a little confused—he waved his hand too often, and
thereby confused the steersman—in consequence of which it was guided
over the very worst part of the rapids, and though we signalled with
cloth we were unheeded, and the boat, whose timbers had never been
fractured before, now plunged over a rock, which crashed a hole 6 inches
in diameter in her stern, and nearly sent Frank headlong over the bow.
Naturally there was a moment of excitement, but by dint of shouting,
frantic gestures, and energy on the part of the crew, the poor wounded
boat was brought towards shore, with her bow in the air and her stern
buried.
“Ah, Frank! Frank! Frank!” I cried, “my boat, my poor boat, after so
many thousands of miles, so many cataracts, to receive such a blow as
this on a contemptible bit of rapids like the Upper Mowa!” I could have
wept aloud; but the leader of an Expedition has but little leisure for
tears, or sentiment, so I turned to repair her, and this, with the aid
of Frank, I was enabled to do most effectually in one day.
_May 27._—All the canoes arrived successfully during the 25th and 26th
without accident. On the 27th, after first conveying the goods of the
Expedition and forming a new camp, below the Lower and Greater Mowa
Falls, on a projection of terrace extending from the debouchure of the
Mowa Brook, which overhung the Mowa Cove, we dropped our canoes down
along the bank and through a cleft in the ledge already described, and
by 3 P.M. had passed the Great Mowa Falls, and everybody was safe in
camp.
An event occurred this day which I shall never forget. I would gladly
leave it out, but as the historian of the journey, may not do so. It
touches human nature, and reveals its weakness, despite the possession
of grand and noble, even matchless, qualities. The incident relates to
Uledi, the coxswain of the _Lady Alice_, the best soldier, sailor, and
artisan, and the most faithful servant, of the Expedition. Up to this
date Uledi had saved thirteen persons from drowning. Simply because I
wished it he had risked his own life to save the lives of others; and
this heroic obedience, though it did not really elevate him much above
the other first-class men of the Expedition, such as Manwa Sera the
chief, Safeni the councillor, Wadi Rehani the storekeeper, and Kachéché
the detective, had endeared him to me above all the rest. Uledi was not
a handsome man; his face was marred by traces of the small-pox, and his
nostrils were a little too dilated for beauty; but “handsome is that
handsome does.” He was not a tall man; he was short, and of compact
frame; but every ounce of his strength he devoted to my service. I never
sought in him for the fine sentiments which elevate men into heroes; but
the rude man, with his untutored, half-savage nature, was always at my
service. He was a devotee to his duty, and as such he was ennobled; he
was affectionately obedient, as such he was beloved; he had risked his
life many times, for creatures who would never have risked their own for
his; as such he was honoured. Yet—this ennobled, beloved and honoured
servant—ah! I regret to speak of him in such terms—_robbed me_.
After we had all reached camp, the boy Majwara came to me in the waning
afternoon, and reported that in the transport of goods from the Upper
Mowa camp a sack of beads had been ripped open, and a considerable
quantity of the beads abstracted.
Beads abstracted! at such a period, when every bead is of more value to
me than its bulk in gold or gems, when the lives of so many people
depend upon the strictest economy, when I have punished myself by the
most rigid abstinence from meat in order to feed the people!
“Who was the thief, Majwara? Speak, and I will make an example of him.”
He was not sure, but he thought it must be Uledi. “_Uledi!_ not Uledi
the cox-swain?”
“Yes,” Majwara replied timidly.
Uledi was called, and while he was kept waiting Kachéché was called and
told in Uledi’s presence—while I watched his face—to seize upon
everything belonging to him and his wife, and to produce everything
before me unopened. Uledi was asked to confess if he possessed any beads
to which he had no right. He replied: “None.” Kachéché was then told to
open his mat, and in the mat were discovered over five pounds of the
fine Sami Sami beads, sufficient for nearly two days’ provisions for the
whole Expedition! He was placed under guard.
At sunset, after the Mowa natives had retired, the people of the
Expedition—men, women, and children—were mustered. I addressed them
seriously. For a long time, I said, both Frank and I had seen it
necessary to exercise the strictest economy, and had sacrificed for the
general good all our rights and privileges of investing moneys from the
general store towards our own comfort, and had simply considered
ourselves in the light of stewards of the goods for the public benefit.
But it had been obvious to us for some time that the goods were rapidly
diminishing during their transit from camp to camp over the rocks and
table-land, and we had found it totally impossible to protect the goods
from peculation, or to animate the people with our own fears that we
should be reduced to starvation long before reaching the sea at the
present rate of consumption. Entreaties we had perceived to be of no
avail. There were some amongst them, it appeared, who through greed were
resolved to cause everybody to suffer; yet if people died through hunger
there was not the slightest doubt but that the dying would impute blame
to us for having reduced them to such straits. To prevent the calamity
which would surely follow absolute poverty, it was our duty to see that
some measures should be adopted to punish those who would provoke such
frightful suffering. A man had been found that afternoon with a large
stock of beads, which he had filched from the general store—that man was
Uledi. What ought to be done with him?
After much urging, Manwa Sera, the chief, said that it was a very hard
case, seeing it was Uledi. Had it been any of the Goee-Goees, men who
had for months been tenderly cared for, who had not toiled from morn to
eve in the cataracts, nor borne the fatigue and toil of the day; who had
never been distinguished for worth, but were always a shiftless and
cowardly set, he would have given his vote for drowning him by hanging a
great stone to his neck and pitching him into the river; but as it
happened to be Uledi, he therefore proposed that he should receive a
thorough flogging, to deter others from repeating the crime. The votes
of the chiefs were in accord with Manwa Sera’s, and three-fourths of the
people cried out for “flogging.”
Then I turned to the boat’s crew, and said, “Now, you boys, you who know
Uledi so well, and have followed him like children through a hundred
rough scenes, speak, what shall be done to him?”
Mpwapwa, whose duty was to watch the boat in camp, and who was one of
the most reliable and steady men, replied, “Well, master, it is a hard
question. Uledi is like our elder brother, and to give our voice for
punishing him would be like asking you to punish ourselves. But the
fathers of the people have demanded that he shall be beaten, and I am
only like a boy among them. Yet, master, for our sakes beat him only
just a little. Mpwapwa has said.”
[Illustration: PASSING NSÉTO FALLS.]
“And you, Marzouk—Uledi’s companion on the rock at the fourth cataract
of the Stanley Falls—what do you say?”
“Verily, master, Mpwapwa has spoken what my tongue would have uttered,
yet I would say, remember it is Uledi.”
“And you, Shumari, who are Uledi’s brother, what punishment shall I mete
to this thief who would starve everybody, you and me?”
“Ah, dear master, your words are as lead. Spare him! It is true Uledi
has stolen, and he has done very wrong. He is always stealing, and I
have scolded him often for it. I have never stolen. No man can accuse me
of taking that which did not belong to me, and I am but a boy, and Uledi
is my elder. But please, master, as the chiefs say he must be flogged,
give me half of it; and knowing it is for Uledi’s sake I shall not feel
it.”
“Now, Saywa, you are his cousin, what do you say? Ought not Uledi to
receive the severest punishment to prevent others from stealing?”
“Will the master give his slave liberty to speak?”
“Yes, say all that is in your heart, Saywa.”
Young Saywa advanced, and kneeling, seized my feet and embraced them,
and then said:—
“The master is wise. All things that happen he writes in a book. Each
day there is something written. We, black men, know nothing, neither
have we any memory. What we saw yesterday is to-day forgotten. Yet the
master forgets nothing. Perhaps if the master will look into his books
he may see something in it about Uledi. How Uledi behaved on Lake
Tanganika; how he rescued Zaidi from the cataract; how he has saved many
men whose names I cannot remember from the river, Bill Alli, Mabruki,
Kom-Kusi, and others; how he worked harder on the canoes than any three
men; how he has been the first to listen to your voice always; how he
has been the father of the boat-boys, and many other things. With Uledi,
master, the boat-boys are good, and ready; without him they are nothing.
Uledi is Shumari’s brother. If Uledi is bad, Shumari is good. Uledi is
my cousin. If, as the chiefs say, Uledi should be punished, Shumari says
he will take a half of the punishment; then give Saywa the other half,
and set Uledi free. Saywa has spoken.”
“Very well,” I said. “Uledi, by the voice of the people, is condemned,
but as Shumari and Saywa have promised to take the punishment on
themselves, Uledi is set free, and Shumari and Saywa are pardoned.”
Uledi, upon being released, advanced and said, “Master, it was not Uledi
who stole. It was the devil which entered into his heart. Uledi will be
good in future, and if he pleased his master before he will please his
master much more in time to come.”
_May 28._—On the 28th the natives appeared in camp by the hundred, to
wonder, and barter, and be amused. Mowa is divided into two districts,
governed by four kings. The brook, which empties into the cove,
separates the two districts, which united are not more than eight square
miles. The two principal chiefs are Manwana and Kintu.[13] Each vied
with the other in supplying Frank and myself with palm-wine, cassava
bread, and bananas, in the hope, of course, of receiving munificent
gifts in return, for the natives of this region are too poor to make
gratuitous gifts to the Mundelé or merchant, as I was called, who is
supposed to be a rich man, and who ought by all natural laws to respond
liberally to their gifts. Yet the Babwendé are not illiberal, and my
people gave them great credit for hospitality. They invariably, if any
of the Wangwana passed them during their drinking bouts, proffered a
glassful of their wine and some cassava bread.
-----
Footnote 13:
It is rather singular that at such a vast distance from Uganda I
should find the name of the Lost Patriarch, so celebrated in the
traditional history of that country..
-----
The Babwendé have one peculiarity which is rather startling at first to
a stranger. When, for instance, they have visited the camp bringing with
them small gifts of wine and bread, and having seated themselves for a
sociable chat, they suddenly begin grinding their teeth, as though in a
mad rage! After a while we discovered that it was only a habit of the
Babwendé and the Bakongo.
Many of the Babwendé from below Nzabi, as far as Manyanga, have been
once in their lives to the sea, to the ports of Kinsembo, Kinzau, Mkura,
Mkunga, Mbala, and a few had been to Embomma. They are consequently
amiable, and disposed to be civil to strangers, though very little is
required to stir them to fighting pitch, and to discharge their heavily
loaded guns at strangers or at one another. The theft of the smallest
article, or a squabble with a native, would be at once resented. Writing
on paper, taking observations, sketching or taking notes, or the
performance of any act new or curious to them, is sufficient to excite
them to hostilities.
On the third day of our stay at Mowa, feeling quite comfortable amongst
the people, on account of their friendly bearing, I began to write down
in my note-book the terms for articles in order to improve my already
copious vocabulary of native words. I had proceeded only a few minutes
when I observed a strange commotion amongst the people who had been
flocking about me, and presently they ran away. In a short time we heard
war-cries ringing loudly and shrilly over the table-land. Two hours
afterwards, a long line of warriors, armed with muskets, were seen
descending the table-land and advancing towards our camp. There may have
been between five hundred and six hundred of them. We, on the other
hand, had made but few preparations except such as would justify us
replying to them in the event of the actual commencement of hostilities.
But I had made many firm friends amongst them, and I firmly believed
that I would be able to avert an open rupture.
When they had assembled at about a hundred yards in front of our camp,
Safeni and I walked up towards them, and sat down midway. Some half-
dozen of the Mowa people came near and the shauri began.
“What is the matter, my friends?” I asked. “Why do you come with guns in
your hands in such numbers, as though you were coming to fight? Fight!
Fight us, your friends! Tut! this is some great mistake, surely.”
“Mundelé,” replied one of them, a tall fellow with a mop-head which
reminded me of Mwana Saramba, who had accompanied me round Lake
Victoria—“our people saw you yesterday make marks on some tara-tara”
(paper). “This is very bad. Our country will waste, our goats will die,
our bananas will rot, and our women will dry up. What have we done to
you, that you should wish to kill us? We have sold you food, and we have
brought you wine, each day. Your people are allowed to wander where they
please, without trouble. Why is the Mundelé so wicked? We have gathered
together to fight you, if you do not burn that tara-tara now before our
eyes. If you burn it we go away and shall be friends as heretofore.”
I told them to rest there, and left Safeni in their hands as a pledge
that I should return. My tent was not fifty yards from the spot, but
while going towards it my brain was busy in devising some plan to foil
this superstitious madness. My note-book contained a vast number of
valuable notes; plans of falls, creeks, villages, sketches of
localities, ethnological and philological details, sufficient to fill
two octavo volumes—everything was of general interest to the public. I
could not sacrifice it to the childish caprice of savages. As I was
rummaging my book box, I came across a volume of Shakespeare (Chandos
Edition), much worn and well thumbed, and which was of the same size as
my field-book; its cover was similar also, and it might be passed for
the note-book provided that no one remembered its appearance too well. I
took it to them.
“Is this the tara-tara, friends, that you wish burnt?”
“Yes, yes, that is it!”
“Well, take it, and burn it or keep it.”
“M—m. No, no, no. We will not touch it. It is fetish. You must burn it.”
“I! Well, let it be so. I will do anything to please my good friends of
Mowa.”
We walked to the nearest fire. I breathed a regretful farewell to my
genial companion, which during many weary hours of night had assisted to
relieve my mind when oppressed by almost intolerable woes, and then
gravely consigned the innocent Shakespeare to the flames, heaping the
brush-fuel over it with ceremonious care.
“Ah-h-h,” breathed the poor deluded natives, sighing their relief. “The
Mundelé is good—is very good. He loves his Mowa friends. There is no
trouble now, Mundelé. The Mowa people are not bad.” And something
approaching to a cheer was shouted among them, which terminated the
episode of the Burning of Shakespeare.
The boat had been in a leaky condition ever since she had received the
shock at the Upper Mowa, and her constant portage by the falls of the
Livingstone, the constant change from dry heat to wet, had almost ruined
her, yet we persisted in caulking and repairing her. Some of the
natives, observing my anxiety to render her water-tight, offered to
bring me a substance which, they said, would be effectual for the
purpose. In a few hours they had brought me a mixture of india-rubber
and palm-butter. We experimented with it instantly, but it was a very
poor substitute for pitch, and I expressed my dissatisfaction with it.
[Illustration:
THE CIRCUMNAVIGATORS OF THE VICTORIA NYANZA AND LAKE TANGANIKA, AND
EXPLORERS OF THE
ALEXANDRA NILE AND LIVINGSTONE (CONGO) RIVER.
]
_June 1._—Then a nephew of Manwana offered to show his friend Kachéché
something else which would be much better. Accordingly, the next
morning, at 10 A.M. of the 1st of June, Kachéché and the native brought
about thirty pounds of bees-wax, a very dark substance, which, had it
not been for the diminutive bees which clung to it, might have been
mistaken for pitch. Subsequently I proceeded myself to the source of the
supply, and discovered about a hundredweight of bees-wax attached to a
lofty fragment of rock near Massassa Falls. These bees are of a dark
brown colour, short and dumpy, about one-half the length of the ordinary
honey-bee. At several places between Massassa and Mowa there were
similar large secretions of wax on the cliffy rocks.
Another valuable article of commerce besides the bees-wax and india-
rubber found here was the gum copal—not, however, amongst the
possessions of the natives. We were first attracted to it at Kalulu
Falls by the great quantities discovered between the rocks. One man
collected about fifty pounds of it, under the impression that he would
be able, on reaching the coast, to sell it for a few pice. Poor fellow!
He had but little idea of what was in store for him and all of us,
before we should arrive at the sea. The appearance of the substance
proved that it had been long immersed in water. My own opinion is that
it is fossilized gum carried down by the Livingstone river. On Cheandoah
Island, a cake 15 lbs. in weight was discovered, besides many small
pieces of two or three pounds’ weight, of the mellow red and pale white
variety.
The Babwendé are too rich in palm-oil to employ the gum, frankincense,
and myrrh, and the other resins of the Burseraceæ, as the Waregga and
natives of Karuru do, for lights. Of india-rubber the Mowa possess large
quantities, as their wooded ravines and the right slopes of the great
river furnish them with inexhaustible supplies. One enterprising fellow
carried one load of it to sell to the Ba-Zombo, but he received so
little cloth for it that he repented of the speculation.
The commercial enterprise of the Babwendé has never recovered from the
effects of the melancholy termination to a great caravan which they
despatched some years ago. A disease which they say attacked the bowels
broke out among them, and but few returned to their native land. The
Basundi, who live to the west-north-west of Mowa, seldom venture near
the verge of the Livingstone’s chasm, from which the loud waters send up
sometimes an appalling volume of sound. Should the wind bear the noise
of the falls to their ears while at the _zandu_, or market, they place
their hands over their ears and immediately withdraw, or should they by
accident wander near the river, and from some point observe it, they
instantly veil their eyes and hurry away.
One of the first customs obtaining among this tribe which first attracts
the traveller’s attention is that of mourning. The heavily loaded
muskets are announcing their grief at all hours, and a statistician
would find it an easy matter to ascertain the death-rate of any of these
districts, as well as the sex and age of the deceased, by reckoning the
number of shots fired. Six announce a child’s death, ten that of a
woman, and fifteen that of a man, the fire being directed at the bananas
and palms, in the belief that the death was either caused by bad bananas
or through some fault in the palm-juice.
In Mowa Cove are kept about a dozen small fishing canoes, which are cut
out of the soft and light Rubiaceæ. For besides the cane-nets which are
towing at the mouth of the several narrow falls over the Mowa rock-
ledge, each night the Mowa fishermen enter their canoes with cord nets,
and ply about the little cove to catch the whitebait, which they attract
by torch-lights. Also, like sailing skippers whistling for a breeze, the
natives appear to think that whistling charms the minnows, and all night
long may be heard the peculiar sounds.
A traveller in these regions, where the people are so superstitious, is
liable at any moment to be the object of popular fury. Aneurism might
strike down a person while trading in his camp, or while standing
carelessly upon a rock he might fall and meet an instantaneous death; a
disease like cholera or typhus might attack a settlement, a fatal
accident with a gun cause loss of life, or apoplexy overtake a
gormandizing chief, but everything would be charged to the malevolent
influence of the traveller. Indeed, they are rather partial to “wars,”
it appears to me. An accident happened to a Mowa man at the Zinga Falls,
and the Zinga district had at once to muster its warriors to resist an
invasion from Mowa. A Zinga chief named Ndala owed a Mowa elder twenty-
five cloths, but the credit he had received for one moon he extended to
two, and at the end of two moons, being still unable to pay, he was
fiercely attacked by the natives of Mowa.
_June 2._—An exploration of the river as far as the Zinga Falls—which is
two miles below Mowa—made by Manwa Sera, comforted us, for he reported
that the river between Mowa and Zinga was not so difficult as many parts
we had successfully passed, and that with a little caution no great
danger was to be apprehended. On the 2nd of June I proceeded with him as
far as Massassa Falls, along the summit of the lofty precipices. At
Massassa terminates the comparatively narrow-walled channel, through
which the river tumbles uneasily from the Mowa Falls and the lower basin
down (by the Massassa Falls) into the Bolo-bolo—“quiet-quiet”—basin. On
account of the great width of the Mowa basin, 1800 yards, the river
rolls from above through its 500-yards-wide cleft in the ledge, streams
along in a furious billowy course for a mile, and at Massessé seems to
slack its current. Here the river, heaving upward, discharges a portion
of its volume backward along its flanks, which, sweeping along the base
of the Mowa cliffs, flows upstream until it enters the Mowa Cove. Then,
after darting into the tongue-like cove like a tidal flow, it quickly
subsides, and retreating along the base of the Mowa ledge, after a
circuit of two miles, meets with the great falls and billowy rapids,
where there is a wild contention between the two opposing currents. From
Massessé the river resumes its rapid flow downwards, ruffled at
projections into waves, but generally with an apparently calm face,
though curling and gurgling ominously, until, approaching Massassa
Point, one mile below Massessé, it drives against outstanding boulders,
rises into curling waves on either side, which meet in mid-river 200
yards below: crest strikes crest, wave meets wave, and mutually overlap
and wrestle, then subside, then heave aloft again in deep-brown surge
and sounding tops. A half-mile length of wild waters rolls thus to Bolo-
bolo basin, where they are finally gathered into a tranquil pool—hence
the name.
While standing upon the summit of the high cliff-walls which encircle
the crater-like pool, the frantic Massassa appears tame. Even wilder
Zinga, one and a half miles below, and Ingulufi below that, are reduced
to mere whitey flakes of water. If we step down, however, close to them,
they become terrible enough to those purposing to try their terrors in a
canoe.
Half-way to the Zinga Falls from Massassa, in the middle of the concave
cliffs, falls the Edwin Arnold River, in a long cascade-like descent
from the height of the table-land, with a sheer drop of 300 feet. While
it rolls calmly above, this river has a width of 50 yards, and an
average depth of 3 feet.
As usual, Frank Pocock and I spent our evening together in my tent. The
ulcers by which he was afflicted had by this time become most virulent.
Though he doctored them assiduously, he was unable to travel about in
active superintendence of the men; yet he was seldom idle. Bead-bags
required sewing, tents patching, and clothes becoming tattered needed
repairing, and while he was at work his fine voice broke out into song,
or some hymn such as he was accustomed to sing in Rochester Church.
Joyous and light-hearted as a linnet, Frank indulged for ever in song,
and this night the crippled man sang his best, raising his sweet voice
in melody, lightening my heart, and for the time dispelling my
anxieties. In my troubles his face was my cheer; his English voice
recalled me to my aims, and out of his brave bold heart he uttered, in
my own language, words of comfort to my thirsty ears. Thirty-four months
had we lived together, and hearty throughout had been his assistance,
and true had been his service. The servant had long ago merged into the
companion; the companion had soon become a friend. At these nightly
chats, when face looked into face, and the true eyes beamed with
friendly warmth, and the kindly voice replied with animation, many were
the airy castles we built together, and many were the brilliant
prospects we hopefully sketched. Alas! alas!
[Illustration: THE MASSASSA FALLS, AND THE ENTRANCE INTO POCOCK BASIN,
OR BOLOBOLO POOL.]
CHAPTER XIV.
“I fruitless mourn to him who cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.”
GRAY.
Leaving Mowa—The whirling pools of Mowa—The _Jason_ swept over the
falls—The “Little Master” drowned—Too brave!—“Ah, Uledi, had you but
saved him!”—The sympathy of the savages.
_June 3._—The fatal 3rd of June found us refreshed after our halt of
seven days, and prepared to leave Mowa to proceed to Zinga, there to
establish a new camp above its great cataract, while the canoes should
be leisurely taken down with such caution as circumstances demanded.
Kachéché and Wadi Rehani, the store-keeper, who, in the absence of
Frank, were deputed to look after the land party, mustered their
following at break of day, which consisted of such invalids as were able
to travel by land, the women and children, and sixty men carrying the
stores, tents, and equipments of the Expedition.
Meanwhile, it was my duty to endeavour to reach Zinga—only two miles off
by river, while the circuitous route by land was fully three miles—in
advance of the land party, in order to prepare the aborigines for the
reception of the Expedition. As I set out from Mowa Cove, Frank crawled
on hands and knees to a rock overlooking the river to watch us depart,
and the same feeling attracted Manwa Sera and the natives to the spot.
Clinging close to the rock-lined shore, we rowed out of the cove, in
full view of the river and all its terrors. For three-fourths of a mile
to our left the river stormed down with long lines of brown billows.
Arriving at Massessé Point, or the neck of the walled channel which
separates Pocock Basin below from Mowa Basin, the river relaxed its
downward current, and discharged fully a sixth of its volume to the
right, which, flowing against the sharp edges and projections of the
Mowa cliffs, raised many a line of low waves, and rolling towards us
obliged us to hug the cliffs and take to our cables. But the base of the
cliffs in many places afforded no means of foothold, and, after a long
and patient attempt at passing those sharp angles, we were compelled to
abandon it and endeavour to breast the strong current of the eddy with
our oars. While, however, there was a strong current running against the
base of the Mowa cliffs and washing its boulders, there was also a slope
towards the vicinity of the giant billows discharged from the cataract;
and though we strenuously strove to keep midway between the cliffs and
the torrent-like career of the stream to the left, it became evident to
us that we were perceptibly approaching it. Then a wild thought flashed
across my mind that it would be better to edge along with it than to
contend against the eddy with our heavy, leaky boat, and we permitted
ourselves to be carried near its vicinity with that intention; but on
nearing the rushing stream we observed in time that this was madness,
for a line of whirlpools constantly plays between the eddy and the down
stream, caused by the shock of the opposing currents. The down stream is
raised like a ridge, its crest marked by ever-leaping waves, shedding a
great volume over its flanks, which comes rushing to meet that which is
ejected by the eddy. The meeting of these two forces causes one to
overlap the other, and in the conflict one advances or recedes
continually, and the baffled volumes create vortices, around which are
wheeling bodies of water of great velocity, until the cavities are
filled, when the whole becomes replaced by watery masses rising like
mounds. Every minute in endless and rapid succession these scenes
transpire. Such a one commenced before our terrified eyes. A whirlpool
had ceased revolving for a brief moment, and in its place there rose one
of those mounds whose rising volumes and horrid noise inspired the
desire to flee the scene. Fearing we should be unable to escape, I
doffed coat, shoes, and belt, and motioning to Uledi to keep off, I
shouted to the boat’s crew to do their best or die. Even had my actions
not been sufficiently significant of our dangerous position, the
stunning uproar would have informed them that we had been rash to
approach the terrible scene. Therefore, following the upheaved and
ejected waters, we retreated from the aqueous mound, for in its sudden
subsidence lay danger, but were halted on the verge of the fatal pit
which had now begun to replace the mound, and which angrily yawned
behind the stern of our boat. Desperately we rowed, happily maintaining
our position until a second convulsion occurred, by the efflux of which
we finally escaped.
The boat was by this time half full of water. Our repairs were found to
have been utterly insufficient, and we resolved therefore upon returning
to camp to renew the attempt in the new _Jason_, as its swiftness would
enable us to force our way against the current of the eddy, and reach
Massassa. When we returned to Mowa it was ten o’clock, and the boat-boys
were fatigued with their desperate exertions, and, probably unwilling to
risk the terrors of the river without fortifying themselves, had
scattered to search for food. But, unable to control my anxiety about
the reception of the Expedition by the Zinga chiefs, I concluded that,
in the absence of Frank, it would be unwise to delay appearing at the
new camp and secure their goodwill while we should be engaged with the
passage of the several falls.
I accordingly delivered my instructions to Manwa Sera, who had always
shown himself a trustworthy man, saying, “When the boat’s crew have
returned, give them that best light canoe—the _Jason_; tie ropes along
the sides, with strong cables at each end. Tell them to keep close to
the Mowa side, and pick their way carefully down river, until they come
to Massassa. On arriving there Uledi will be able to judge whether it
can be passed in a canoe, or whether we shall have to take the canoes
over the rocks. Above all things tell him to be careful, and not to play
with the river.”
Turning to Frank, I told him I should hurry to Zinga, and after
arranging with the chiefs would send him his breakfast and hammock; and
if I found the men still there I would detail six to carry him; if the
men were not there he might, upon the arrival of the hammock, take the
first men he saw, and follow me overland.
It was high noon when I arrived at our new camp, which was constructed
on Zinga Point, about a hundred feet above the great cataract. There
were four kings present, and hundreds of natives, all curious to view
the Mundelé. Though somewhat noisy in their greetings, we were soon on
an amicable footing, especially when a young fellow named Lazala began
to ask me if I were “Ingiliz, Francees, Dytche, or Portigase.” Lazala
further named many seaport towns he had visited, and discharged his
knowledge of the manners and customs of the whites by the sea with a
refreshing volubility. The great waves along the sea-beach he described
in a characteristic manner as being “Mputu, putu-putu, just like the big
waves of Zinga!” Whereupon a fast and sure friendship was soon
established, which was never broken.
At 1 P.M. breakfast was despatched to Frank, through Majwara, Benni, and
Kassim, and men were sent with a net-hammock.
The Zinga kings and most of their people had ascended to their homes
above, on the plateau; and in my camp there were about fourteen able-
bodied men besides the sick and women. And about three o’clock I took my
seat on a high rock above the falls, to watch for Uledi, as from the
Zinga Point, with a field-glass, I was enabled to view the river across
Bolo-bolo basin, both Massassa Falls and Massessé Rapids, and nearly up
to the Upper Mowa Falls. I was not long in my position before I observed
something long and dark rolling and tumbling about in the fierce waves
of Massassa. It was a capsized canoe, and I detected the forms of
several men clinging to it!
I instantly despatched Kachéché, Wadi Rehani, and ten men, with cane-
ropes, to take position in the bight in Bolo-bolo, near which I knew, by
the direction of the waves, the current would carry them before sweeping
them down towards Zinga. Meanwhile I watched the wrecked men as they
floated through the basin. I saw them struggling to right the canoe. I
saw them lift themselves on the keel, and paddling for dear life towards
shore, to avoid the terrible cataract of Zinga. Finally, as they
approached the land, I saw them leap from the wreck into the river, and
swim ashore, and presently the unfortunate _Jason_, which they had but a
moment before abandoned, swept by me with the speed of an arrow, and
over the cataract, into the great waves and the soundless depths of
whirlpools, and so away out of sight.
Bad news travels fast. Kachéché, breathless with haste and livid with
horror, announced that out of the eleven men who had embarked in the
canoe at Mowa, eight only were saved.
“Three are lost!—and—_one of them is the little master_!”
“_The little master_, Kachéché?” I gasped. “Surely not the little
master?”
“Yes, he is lost, master!”
“But how came he in the canoe?” I asked, turning to Uledi and his
dripping comrades, who had now come up, and were still brown-faced with
their late terrors. “Speak, Uledi, how came he—a cripple—to venture into
the canoe?”
In response to many and searching questions I obtained the following
account.
As Uledi and his comrades were about to push off, Frank had crawled up
near the river and bade them stop and place him in. Uledi expostulated
with him, upon the ground that I had not mentioned anything about taking
him, and Manwa Sera, in charge of the canoes, hurried up and coaxingly
tried to persuade him not to venture, as the river was bad; but he
repelled them with all a sick man’s impatience, and compelled the crew
to lift him into the canoe. The _Jason_, being swift and well-manned,
was propelled against the eddy with ease, and in half an hour it was
racing over the small rapids of Massessé down river. As they approached
Massassa, which was only a mile below Massessé, the booming of the
cataract made Uledi anxious not to venture too near, until he had viewed
the falls, and for that purpose, with Frank’s permission, he skirted the
intermediate cliffs, until they came to a little cove just above the
Massassa, where the crew held on to the rocks. Uledi soon climbed upward
and proceeded to the rocks overhanging the fall, where he was enabled to
view the extent of the danger at a glance. After only a few minutes’
absence he returned to Frank, who was still seated in the bottom of the
canoe, and addressing him said:—
“Little master, it is impossible to shoot the falls, no canoe or boat
can do it and live.”
“Bah!” said Frank contemptuously, “did I not see as we came down a strip
of calm water on the left which by striking across river we could easily
reach?”
“But, master, this fall is not directly across river, it is almost up
and down (diagonally); the lower part on the left being much farther
than that which is on the right, and which begins to break close by
here. I tell you the truth,” rejoined Uledi, as Frank shook his head
sceptically, “little master, I have looked at all the fall, and I can
see no way by water; it will be death to make the trial.”
“Well,” said Frank, “what shall we do?”
“We must send to the master,” replied Uledi, “and tell him that we have
brought our canoe to Massassa. Meantime we can tie up our canoe here
until he comes.”
“And what is to become of me?” asked Frank.
“We will not be long before we are back with a kitanda” (hammock), “and
you will reach camp by night.”
“What, carry me about the country like a worthless Goee-Goee,” he
replied, “for all the natives to stare at me? No, indeed! Anyhow, I must
wait here all day without food, eh?”
“It will not be long, master; in a quarter of an hour I can reach camp,
and in another half I can be back, bringing food and hammock.”
“Oh, it’s all mighty fine,” replied Frank, his temper rising at the idea
of being carried, which he supposed would cause him to be made a
laughing-stock to everybody. “I don’t believe this fall is as bad as you
say it is. The noise is not like that of the fall which we have passed,
and I feel sure if I went to look at it myself I would soon find a way.”
“Well, if you doubt me, send Mpwapwa and Shumari and Marzouk to see, and
if they say there is a road I will try it if you command me.”
Then Frank despatched two of them to examine, and after a few moments
they returned, saying it was impassable by water.
Frank laughed bitterly, and said, “I knew what you would say. The
Wangwana are always cowardly in the water; the least little ripple has
before this been magnified into a great wave. If I had only four white
men with me I would soon show you whether we could pass it or not.”
Frank referred, no doubt, to his companions on the Medway or Thames, as
by profession he was a bargeman or waterman, and being a capital swimmer
had many a time exhibited to the admiring people, especially at Nzabi
creek, his skill in the art of swimming and diving. At the death of
Kalulu he expressed great surprise that not one of the five then lost
had been saved, and declared his conviction that Kalulu Falls would
never have drowned him, upon which I had described a whirlpool to him,
and when, with an apparent instinct for the water, he sought occasions
to exhibit his dexterity, I had cautioned him against being too
venturesome, and kept him to his land duties. The success of Nubi, who
was also a good swimmer, at the whirlpool of the Lady Alice Rapids,
confirmed him in his idea that a perfect swimmer ran no danger from
them. At this moment he forgot all my caution, and probably his high
spirit had secretly despised it. But he was also goading brave men to
their and his own destruction. His infirmity manifested itself in
jeering at the men for whom with me he had not sufficient adjectives at
command to describe their sterling worth; for he, as well as I, was well
aware of Uledi’s daring, and of his heroic exploit at the Fifth Cataract
of the Stanley Falls he was himself a witness. Poor Frank, had some good
angel but warned me of this scene, how easily he had been saved!
“Little master,” said the coxswain gravely, stung to the quick, “neither
white men nor black men can go down this river alive, and I do not think
it right that you should say we are afraid. As for me, I think you ought
to know me better. See! I hold out both hands, and all my fingers will
not count the number of lives I have saved on this river. How then can
you say, master, I show fear?”
“Well, if you do not, the others do,” retorted Frank.
“Neither are they nor am I afraid. We believe the river to be impassable
in a canoe. I have only to beckon to my men, and they will follow me to
death—and it is death to go down this cataract. We are now ready to hear
you command us to go, and we want your promise that if anything happens,
and our master asks, ‘Why did you do it?’ that you will bear the blame.”
“No, I will not order you. I will have nothing to do with it. You are
the chief in this canoe. If you like to go—go, and I will say you are
men, and not afraid of the water. If not, stay, and I shall know it is
because you are afraid. It appears to me easy enough, and I can advise
you. I don’t see what could happen.”
Thus challenging the people to show their mettle, poor Frank steadily
hastened his fate.
Uledi then turned to the crew, and said, “Boys, our little master is
saying that we are afraid of death. I know there is death in the
cataract, but come, let us show him that black men fear death as little
as white men. What do you say?”
“A man can but die once.” “Who can contend with his fate?” “Our fate is
in the hands of God!” were the various answers he received.
“Enough, take your seats,” Uledi said.
“You are men!” cried Frank, delighted at the idea of soon reaching camp.
“Bismillah” (“in the name of God”), “let go the rocks, and shove off!”
cried the coxswain.
“Bismillah!” echoed the crew, and they pushed away from the friendly
cove.
In a few seconds they had entered the river; and, in obedience to Frank,
Uledi steered his craft for the left side of the river. But it soon
became clear that they could not reach it. There was a greasy
slipperiness about the water that was delusive, and it was irresistibly
bearing them broadside over the falls; and observing this, Uledi turned
the prow, and boldly bore down for the centre. Roused from his seat by
the increasing thunder of the fearful waters, Frank rose to his feet,
and looked over the heads of those in front, and now the full danger of
his situation seemed to burst on him. But too late! They had reached the
fall, and plunged headlong amid the waves and spray. The angry waters
rose and leaped into their vessel, spun them round as though on a pivot,
and so down over the curling, dancing, leaping crests they were borne,
to the whirlpools which yawned below. Ah! then came the moment of
anguish, regret and terror.
“Hold on to the canoe, my men; seize a rope, each one,” said he, while
tearing his flannel shirt away. Before he could prepare himself, the
canoe was drawn down into the abyss, and the whirling, flying waters
closed over all. When the vacuum was filled, a great body of water was
belched upwards, and the canoe was disgorged into the bright sunlight,
with several gasping men clinging to it. When they had drifted a little
distance away from the scene, and had collected their faculties, they
found there were only eight of them alive; and, alas for us who were
left to bewail his sudden doom! there was no white face among them. But
presently, close to them, another commotion, another heave and belching
of waters, and out of them the insensible form of the “little master”
appeared, and they heard a loud moan from him. Then Uledi, forgetting
his late escape from the whirling pit, flung out his arms, and struck
gallantly towards him, but another pool sucked them both in, and the
waves closed over them before he could reach him; and for the second
time the brave coxswain emerged, faint and weary—but Frank Pocock was
seen no more.
“My brave, honest, kindly-natured Frank, have you left me so? Oh, my
long-tried friend, what fatal rashness! Ah, Uledi, had you but saved
him, I should have made you a rich man.”
“Our fate is in the hands of God, master,” replied he, sadly and
wearily.
Various were the opinions ventured upon the cause which occasioned the
loss of such an expert swimmer. Baraka, with some reason, suggested that
Frank’s instinctive impulse would have been to swim upward, and that
during his frantic struggle towards the air he might have struck his
head against the canoe. Shumari was inclined to think that the bandages
on his feet might have impeded him; while Saywa thought it must have
been his heavy clothes which prevented the full play of the limbs
required in such a desperate situation.
All over Zinga, Mbelo, and Mowa the dismal tidings spread rapidly. “The
brother of the Mundelé is lost—lost at Massassa,” they cried; and,
inspired by pure sympathy, they descended to Zinga, to hear how the
fatal accident occurred. Good, kindly Ndala—who came accompanied by his
wives, and with a true delicacy of feeling would not permit the natives
to throng about me, but drove them outside the camp, where they might
wonder and gossip without disturbing us—old Monango, Kapata, and tall,
good-natured Itumba, and a few of the principal men, were alone
admitted.
After hearing the facts, Ndala informed me there was no doubt that it
was the “bad fetish” of Massassa people, and he proposed that the four
kings of Zinga and the three kings of Mbelo should unite and completely
destroy the Massassa people for their diabolical act. Said they, “It is
not the first time an accident has happened at Massassa; for, about two
months ago, one of our men, while standing on the rock, suddenly fell
into the river, and was never seen again; and one of Mowa’s people has
also been lost there in the same way.”
The suggestion that it was the fetish of Massassa which had caused this
sudden and sharp calamity was natural to the superstitious and awed
natives; but in a few words I informed them that I blamed no man for it.
“Say, Mundelé,” asked Ndala suddenly, “where has your white brother gone
to?”
“Home.”
“Shall you not see him again?”
“I hope to.”
“Where?”
“Above, I hope.”
“Ah! we have heard that the white people by the sea came from above.
Should you see him again, tell him that Ndala is sorry, and that he is
angry with Massassa for taking him from you. We have heard from Mowa
that he was a good, kind man, and all Zinga shall mourn for him. Drink
the wine of our palms, Mundelé, and forget it. The Zinga palms are known
throughout the lands of the Babwendé, and our markets are thronged with
buyers. The Zinga wine will comfort you, and you will not be troubled
with your sorrow.”
Sympathy, real and pure sympathy, was here offered after their lights,
which, though rude, was not unkind. The large crowds without spoke
together in low subdued tones, the women gazed upon me with mild eyes,
and their hands upon their lips, as though sincerely affected by the
tragic fate of my companion.
The effect on the Wangwana was different. It had stupefied them,
benumbing their faculties of feeling, of hope, and of action. From this
date began that exhibition of apathetic sullenness and lack of feeling
for themselves, and for their comrades, which distinguished their after-
life in the cataracts. The slightest illness would cause them to lean
against a rock, or crouch by the fire in the posture of despair. They
never opened their lips to request help or medicine, and as they were
inaccessible to solicitude for themselves, they had none to bestow on
others. After this fatal day I could scarcely get a reply to my
questions when anxious to know what their ailments were. Familiarity
with many forms of disease, violent and painful deaths, and severe
accidents had finally deadened, almost obliterated, that lively fear of
death which they had formerly shown.
As I looked at the empty tent and the dejected, woe-stricken servants, a
choking sensation of unutterable grief filled me. The sorrow-laden mind
fondly recalled the lost man’s inestimable qualities, his extraordinary
gentleness, his patient temper, his industry, cheerfulness, and his
tender friendship; it dwelt upon the pleasure of his society, his
general usefulness, his piety, and cheerful trust in our success with
which he had renewed our hope and courage; and each new virtue that it
remembered only served to intensify my sorrow for his loss, and to
suffuse my heart with pity and regret, that after the exhibition of so
many admirable qualities and such long faithful service he should depart
this life so abruptly, and without reward.
[Illustration:
In Memoriam.
FRANCIS JOHN POCOCK.
_Drowned June 3, 1877._
]
When curtained about by anxieties, and the gloom created by the almost
insurmountable obstacles we encountered, his voice had ever made music
in my soul. When grieving for the hapless lives that were lost, he
consoled me. But now my friendly comforter and true-hearted friend was
gone! Ah, had some one but relieved me from my cares, and satisfied me
that my dark followers would see their Zanjian homes again, I would that
day have gladly ended the struggle, and, crying out, “Who dies earliest
dies best,” have embarked in my boat and dropped calmly over the
cataracts into eternity.
The moon rose high above the southern wall of the chasm. Its white
funereal light revealed in ghostly motion the scene of death to which I
owed the sundering of a long fellowship and a firm-knit unity. Over the
great Zinga Fall I sat for hours upon a warm boulder, looking up river
towards the hateful Massassa, deluding myself with the vain hope that by
some chance he might have escaped out of the dreadful whirlpool,
picturing the horrible scene which an intense and morbid imagination
called up with such reality, that I half fancied that the scene was
being enacted, while I was helpless to relieve.
How awful sounded the thunders of the many falls in the silent and calm
night! Between distant Mowa’s torrent-rush, down to Ingulufi below, the
Massessé, Massassa, and Zinga filled the walled channel with their fury,
while the latter, only 30 yards from me, hissed and tore along with
restless plunge and gurgle, and roaring plunged, glistering white, into
a sea of billows.
Alas! alas! we never saw Frank more. Vain was the hope that by some
miracle he might have escaped, for eight days afterwards a native
arrived at Zinga from Kilanga, with the statement that a fisherman,
while skimming Kilanga basin for whitebait, had been attracted by
something gleaming on the water, and, paddling his canoe towards it, had
been horrified to find it to be the upturned face of a white man.
CHAPTER XV.
Mutiny in the camp—Again among the cataracts—Frank’s body found—The fall
of the Edwin Arnold River—Tired out!—Wholesale desertion—More
cataracts—“Good-bye, my brother, nothing can save you!”—Rushing
blindly on—Saved again!—The _Jason_ found.
“_June 4._—We are all so unnerved with the terrible accident of
yesterday that we are utterly unable to decide what is best to do. We
have a horror of the river now, and being far apart—over eighty men
being at Mowa—we are unable to communicate with each other, for the
journey overland to Mowa is long and fatiguing. The natives of Zinga
strongly sympathize with me, which is a consolation in my affliction.
“_June 5._—My troubles increase. A messenger came this morning from
Manwa Sera bearing the terrible news that the people have mutinied and
refuse to work. They say they would prefer hoeing for the heathen to
following me longer, for they say that the end of all will be death. The
Mowa natives have also infected them with their silly superstitions, by
talking about the Spirits of the Falls, for it appears that the late
catastrophe has elicited a host of legends in connection with Massassa.
Had we sacrificed a goat to the two falls, they say, the accident would
never have occurred! Though Muslims by profession, my people are also
heathen. But I have not myself recovered from the shock, and I judge
their feelings by my own, therefore it is better they should rest where
they are.
“_June 9._—I left Zinga before dawn with Uledi and the boat’s crew,
travelling along the river, and took a closer view of Massassa, and the
cove where they had halted their canoe. Poor, rash Frank! had he only
crawled over the rocks a few yards he would have realized the
impossibility of safely shooting the Massassa. The rocky projections,
which raise the curling waves in mid-river, are single blocks from 10 to
40 feet high piled one above another, lying at the base of a steep cliff
of Massassa. The cliff is of course impassable, as it is from three
hundred to four hundred feet high. The colossal size of the blocks is a
serious impediment. The falls we have had enough of, at least for the
present. From Massassa I proceeded to Mowa, and reasoned with the men.
They were extremely depressed, rueful of face, and apparently sunk in
despair. Only Manwa Sera, the chiefs, and boat’s crew seemed alive to
the fact that necessity compelled us to move, before starvation overtook
us. They would not be convinced that it was best to struggle on.
However, I would even begin to battle with the falls once more; and
after a little persuasion I succeeded in inducing the boat’s crew to man
one of the canoes, and to take it to the cove whither they had taken the
unfortunate _Jason_, before they had been rash enough to listen to a
sick man’s impatience. The feat was successful; the canoe was lashed to
the rocks and a guard of ten men set over it. This act seemed to
encourage the Wangwana to believe that there was no danger after all as
far, at any rate, as the cove. At sunset I reached Zinga again, terribly
fatigued.
“_June 10._—The full story of the sufferings I have undergone cannot be
written, but is locked up in a breast that feels the misery into which I
am plunged neck-deep. Oh! Frank, Frank, you are happy, my friend.
Nothing can now harrow your mind or fatigue your body. You are at rest
for ever and for ever. Would that I were also! While I was absent
yesterday from Zinga, a man lost to all feeling, Saburi Rehani,
proceeded to steal the cassava of the natives, which of course raised
their ire, and for a period things were very gloomy this morning.
However, a liberal payment of cloth has quenched the sulkiness of the
Zingaese, and Saburi was punished. I have now three camps, one at Zinga,
one at Massassa, and the other at Mowa, and I was not able to leave
Zinga before noon because of Saburi’s robbery. The boat’s crew took
another canoe down to Massassa in the afternoon, and at 5 P.M. I was
obliged to clamber over the mountains, walk round Pocock Pool, and down
to Zinga again, where I have just arrived, weak, fainting, and
miserable.
“_June 11._—The body of Frank was found in Kilanga basin three days ago
by a native fisherman, as it was floating about, but the horrified man
would not touch it. The body was on its back, the upper part nude, he
having torn his shirt away to swim. It is to be regretted that the body
was thus left to float a dishonoured spectacle; and Ndala, king of
Zinga, also grieves that it was not brought ashore for respectful
burial.
“_June 12._—Crossed again to Massassa, and four more canoes have been
brought to the cove, without accident.
“_June 13 and 14._—Sick of a fever; but in the meantime I am gratified
to hear that Manwa Sera has been successful in bringing all the canoes
down to Massassa, and that all the people have finally left Mowa.
[Illustration: FALL OF THE EDWIN ARNOLD RIVER INTO THE POCOCK BASIN.]
“_June 15._—At early dawn proceeded up the Zinga mountain, skirted the
Pocock Pool, crossed the Edwin Arnold River, and descended to Massassa.
A grove covered the top of the cliff, and the axe-men were detailed to
cut down branches, which those without axes conveyed to fill the deep
pits between the several colossal blocks. Others were employed in fixing
two rows of piles in the cove, sinking the ends between the boulders,
which, when filled with brush, might enable us to draw the canoes
upward.
“_June 18._—The last three days have witnessed some hard work. To the
astonishment of the aborigines, Massassa Point has been covered from end
to end, a distance of 600 yards, with brushwood, in some places 40 feet
thick, and three canoes have been hauled successfully past the falls,
and dropped into Pocock Basin. Leaving instructions with Manwa Sera, I
manned the canoes and proceeded to Zinga by water. Mid-way, as we
skirted the base of the lofty cliffs, we came to a fine fall of the
Edwin Arnold River, 300 feet deep. The cliff-walls are so perpendicular,
and the rush of water so great from the cascades above, that the river
drops on the boulders below fully thirty feet from the cliffs base.
“_June 19._—The canoes have all, thank Heaven! passed the dread
Massassa, and are safe at Zinga, about two hundred yards above the Zinga
Fall. I ventured into nearly the middle of the Pocock Pool to-day, about
seven hundred yards below where Frank lost his life, and sounding I
obtained 55 fathoms, or 330 feet, of water; then rowing steadily towards
Edwin Arnold Fall, it slowly decreased to 35 feet, the lead striking
hard against the submerged rocks.”
By the 17th I observed that the river had fallen 9 feet since the third
of the month, and that the Massassa was much milder than on the fatal
3rd. Zinga is, however, just as wild as at first, and it is evident that
the channel of the fall is much obstructed by boulders.
It is worthy of notice that each fall is known by the natives of the
opposing banks under different names. “Zinga” is only employed by the
Babwendé, who occupy the table-land on the right side of the river; the
Bassessé, on the left side, call it “Bungu-Bungu.”
The fish-laws are very strict here. The people descend to the Zinga Fall
each day about 7 A.M., and at the same time the Bassessé may be seen
descending the opposite mountain, for both sides of the fall have their
respective large boulders, amongst which the full swollen river rushes
impetuously in narrow foamy channels, where the nets are placed. On the
Zinga side, as many as thirty nets are placed, but no man may lift a net
until one of the kings, or one of their sons, is present, and the half
of the produce is equitably divided among the kings Ndala, Mpako, and
Monango, and each king has his separate rock on which his share is laid.
If the Zinga folks have had a fortunate find in their nets, they
announce it by a loud shout to the Bassessé on the opposite side; and
the Bassessé, on successful mornings, take care to express their luck
with equal spirit and animation. The pike and cat-fish, the silurus, the
water-snake and eel, and the various fish found in the African lakes and
rivers, I find to be common to the Livingstone also.
Several of the boulders of the Zinga cataract are covered by a species
of Podostomaceæ, which while the river covers them are green and fresh,
resembling sea-weed, and affording the natives a kind of spinach; when
the river recedes, the weed soon withers and becomes shrivelled up.
To-day, for the first time, I heard of the Kwango from a man who has
visited Embomma, which I believe to mean the “place of the king” in the
language of Babwendé, and to be synonymous with Kwikuru in Unyamwezi,
and Kibuga in Uganda. They point it out as being west. They have a
curious idea in their heads that I must have come from some place south
of the Bakonga country, and floated down some great body of water; and,
lest their superstitious heads should find something objectionable in my
coming down the great river, I have been very reticent.
They call the Livingstone the Bilumbu at Nzabi, which may be interpreted
“day.” At Zinga they call it Mwana Kilunga, the “lord of the ocean.”
Mputu, though signifying sea, also means “the sea along the coast,” most
probably the surf. The Babwendé term for “river” is Njari.[14] A
constant companion of the Babwendé is the haversack net, made out of the
Hyphene palm fibre. I was reminded, as I looked at each native bearing
this net-pouch with him, of the traveller’s satchel carried by tourists
in Europe.
-----
Footnote 14:
In the Bunda language a river is Mikoko, which would be spelt by the
Portuguese Micoco. I have a suspicion that there never was a king
called Micoco, that the natives meant Micoco, the great river. Hence
the profound mystery attached to his locality.
-----
Along the cataracts in the Babwendé country there is no game. The noise
of gunpowder, more than its destructiveness, has driven the game into
the lands occupied by the silent-weaponed tribes. But there is a species
of small bush antelope, and the coney, which is still hunted by the
natives with their dogs—animals of the normal pariah class.
“_June 20._—As we began to lay brushwood along the tracks this morning,
by which we are to haul our canoes from the Pocock Basin past the Zinga
point into the basin below, the people stirred about so languidly and
sullenly that I asked what was the matter. One fellow, remarkable for
nothing but his great size and strength, turned round and said sharply,
‘We are tired, and that’s what’s the matter,’ which opinion one-third
did not hesitate to confirm. Such a spirit being most serious in these
days of scant food and hard toil—men, like beasts of prey, being
governed by the stomach—I invited the people together to rehearse their
grievances and to describe their wrongs. They could say nothing, except
that they were tired and were not going to work more. Death was in the
river; a wearisome repetition of frightful labour waited for them each
day on the rocks; their stomachs were hungry, they had no strength. Said
I, ‘And I have none, my friends, I assure you. I am as hungry as any of
you. I could get meat to make me strong, but it would be robbing you. I
am so tired and sorry that I could lie down smiling and die. My white
brother, who was lost the other day, is far happier than I. If you all
leave me, I am safe, and there is no responsibility on me. I have my
boat, and it is in the river. The current is swift, the fall is only a
few yards off. My knife can cut the rope, and I shall then go to sleep
for ever. There are the beads; take them, do what you will. While you
stay with me, I follow this river until I come to the point where it is
known. If you don’t stay with me, I still will cling to the river, and
will die in it.’ I walked away from them. One man, Safeni, the coxswain
at Bumbireh, on being asked by a disaffected body of men what was best
to be done, said, ‘Let us pack up and be gone. We shall die anyhow,
whether we stay here or whether we travel.’ They were not long in
following his counsel, and filed up the steep ascent to the table-land,
thirty-one in number. One of the tent-boys came to announce the fact. On
ascertaining that the infection was not general, I then resolved that
they should not endanger their own lives or the lives of the faithful,
and called Kachéché and Manwa Sera to follow and plead with them. They
overtook them five miles from here, but only received a determined
refusal to return, and persisted in continuing their journey. Meanwhile
the faithful are at work.
“_June 21._—Despatched Kachéché and Manwa Sera again early this morning
to cut off the fugitives, to inform the chiefs in advance that my people
were not to be permitted to pass them, but, if they persisted in going
beyond them, to lay hands on them and bind them until I could arrive on
the scene. The chiefs seconded me so well that they beat their war-drum,
and the mock excitement was so great that the mutineers were halted, and
I learn by my two men that they already regret having left their camp.
“_June 22._—Again Kachéché and Manwa Sera returned to the mutineers, who
were fifteen miles away from here, and, promising them pardon and
complete absolution of the offence, succeeded, with the aid of the
friendly chiefs, in inducing them to return, sadder and wiser men, to
resume their duties, and so to enable me to triumph over these
obstacles.
“_June 23._—We commenced our work this morning, assisted by 150 Zinga
natives, and by 10 A.M. had succeeded in drawing three canoes up the
200-foot steep to the level of the rocky point. The fourth canoe was the
new _Livingstone_, which weighed about three tons. It was already 20
feet out of the water, and we were quite confident we should be able
with 200 men to haul her up. But suddenly the rattan and _Ficus
elastica_ cables snapped, and with the rapidity of lightning the heavy
boat darted down the steep slopes into the depths. The chief carpenter
of the Expedition, who had superintended its construction, clung to it
under the idea that his single strength was sufficient to stay its rapid
downward descent, and he was dragged down into the river, and, unable to
swim, scrambled into the canoe. Uledi sprang after the carpenter, as the
men remembered that he could not swim, and, reaching the canoe, cried
out to him to jump into the river and he would save him. ‘Ah, my
brother,’ the unfortunate man replied, ‘I cannot swim.’ ‘Jump, man,
before it is too late! You are drifting towards the cataract!’ ‘I am
afraid.’ ‘Well, then, good-bye, my brother; nothing can save you!’ said
Uledi as he swam ashore, reaching it only 50 feet above the cataract. A
second more and the great canoe, with Salaam Allah in it, was swept down
over the cataract, and was tossed up and down the huge waves until
finally a whirlpool received it. I reckoned fifty-four during the time
it was under water; then it rose high and straight out of the depths,
the man still in it. Again it was sucked down, revolving as it
disappeared, and in a few seconds was ejected a second time, the man
still in it. A third time it was drawn in, and when it emerged again
Salaam Allah had disappeared. The fleet-footed natives and the boat’s
crew had started overland to Mbelo Ferry, and shouted out the warning
cries to the ferrymen, who were at once on the alert to save the canoe.
After riding high on the crests of the waves of the Ingulufi Rapids, the
_Livingstone_ canoe entered the calmer waters of the crossing-place,
and, in view of all gathered to witness the scene, wheeled round five
times over the edge of a large whirlpool and disappeared for ever! It is
supposed that she was swept against the submerged rocks beneath, and got
jammed; for though there is a stretch of a mile of quiet water below the
pool, nothing was seen of her up to sunset, five hours after the
catastrophe. Two of the new canoes are thus lost, and another good man
has perished. The Wangwana take this fatal accident as another
indication of the general doom impending over us. They think the night
of woe approaching, and even now, as I write, by the camp-fires they are
counting up the lost and dead. Poor people! Poor me!
[Illustration: THE CHIEF CARPENTER CARRIED OVER ZINGA FALL.]
“_June 24._—We were five hours engaged in hauling the _Glasgow_, our
longest canoe, up a hill 200 feet, with over two hundred men. Of the
smaller canoes we ran up three. It has been my policy to excite the
people, with whatever tends to keep them from brooding over our losses,
with wine, drums, and music, which I purchase liberally, because, though
apparently extravagant at such a period, it is really the most
economical.
“I hear of a place called Kakongo below, where the natives intend to
fight me—for the glory of it, it seems, for so far reports have all been
in our favour. No native has been injured by me wilfully, neither have I
permitted injury to be done them from any of my people. Strong in my
innocence, and assured that they shall have the first fire, it is a
matter of unconcern. If we do not fear terrible Nature in this region,
we certainly shall not step aside for the vaunts or threats of savages.
“_June 25._—At dawn of day we were up and began to lower the boat and
canoes into the basin below Zinga. By night, thank God, all our flotilla
was beyond the cataract. The Zingaese say there are only the Ingulufi,
Mbelo, and Ntombo Mataka Falls—three more falls!—and the last, I hope,
will prove to be ‘Tuckey’s Cataract,’ with fair sailing down to the
Yellala Falls; and then, with bowed heads, we will travel for the sea as
only hungry men can travel.
“_June 26._—I intrusted to Wadi Rehani and Kachéché the task of taking
the goods overland to Mbelo Falls, while I passed the day at Zinga. A
month ago we descended the Upper Mowa Falls; it is still in sight of me,
being only three miles off. Three miles in thirty days, and four persons
drowned even in this short distance!
“_June 27._—Again I led the way this morning, round the Zinga basin, and
approached the Ingulufi Rapids. We sought a channel between a few
scattered boulders which stood close to shore and disparted the ever
vexed river, and having examined the stream, and finding it to be mere
rapids, without those fatal swirling vortices, dashed over the waves
into the Mbelo basin. Reaching camp, which was at the top of a 300-foot
cliff, we halted for a hermit’s lunch on bananas, and, wishing to
inspire once more that spirit which was almost quenched by our late
accidents, at 1 P.M. I descended the cliff again by means of ladders of
rattan-cane, which for the last 30 feet enabled us to reach the water-
line, and embarked. Cautiously we moved along—ten men to the cane-cables
at bow and stern—and step by step, with a prudence born of perfect
knowledge of its dangers, we approached the Mbelo Falls. It was almost
another copy of the Lady Alice Rapids: the river was just as confined;
rocky islets rose to the left of us; the cliffs towered upward, dwarfing
us into mere minute atoms compared to the colossal height of cliffy
front and tree-clad slopes, which ran steep from the cliffy verge to the
level of the table-land. The river roared as loudly, the white-brown
waves were as menacing, the massive rock-fragments hung toppling over
their bases. As we neared a great rock looming in front of us in the
water, we saw a channel between it and the shore; and while our eyes
were fixed upon that narrow thread-like stream, with the dear hope that
it would enable us to triumph over the difficulty of Mbelo, the
faithless stern-cable parted, the river just then gave an uneasy heave,
which snapped the bow-cable, and again were we borne, on the crests of
the wild waves, into mid-channel; rocks, boulders, and cliffs flying
past us with incredible rapidity. There were six men in the boat besides
myself, and Uledi was at the helm, calm, cool, and confident. Our
feelings are, however, different to those which filled us during a
similar period of danger. There are certain voices whispering, ‘What
will be, will be,’ ‘One cannot escape the inevitable,’ and such like, so
that the sense of danger is somewhat blunted. Those lively fears which
once oppressed us we know no more. Nerve and soul have alike been
deadened by oft-seen woes, oft-felt strokes of misfortune. We have wept
so often we can weep no more: we have suffered so much we cannot suffer
more. Thus the ridgy waves which pelt us, and their rude strength and
giant force, awe us not. The cliff-walls rising in solemn majesty up to
the zenith, the dark shaggy lines of trees, the fury of waters, the
stern rigidness of the stupendous heights, we reck not of. ‘What is to
be, will be.’ We are past the Mbelo Falls, and a stream, brown-black and
menacing, enters the main river from behind the rock islets; we are
whirled round twice by the eddying pool, precipitated into a dancing,
seething, hissing cauldron, just as if the river was boiling over. A
sharp angular edge of mountain cliff, as though of a fortress, is past,
and away down stream we dart, racing amid noise and waves and foam, when
the cold grey cliffs drop sheer down, and finally emerge in Nguru basin,
borne on a slackened current; and it is then we sigh, and murmur ‘Saved
again!’ With nothing of triumph, nothing of the flashing glitter of
proud eyes, but subdued and grateful, we seek the sandy beach of
Kilanga.
“Leaving four men at Kilanga in charge of the boat, I crossed the little
brook that divided the district of Kilanga from Nguru, and proceeded to
meet the terror-stricken multitude, who could scarcely believe their
eyes when they saw me advancing towards them. I was like one risen from
the dead to them. ‘Yes, we shall reach the sea, please God!’ said they.
‘We see the hand of God, now. But you must not tempt the wicked river
any more, master. We shall do it ourselves. Better far that we die than
you. You shall not go to the river again until we are beyond the falls.’
Poor dear souls, they made me forgive them all. How bitter had my
thoughts been lately; but this genuine expression of love and devotion
healed the sickened soul, and infused new vigour into it, until I felt
again that old belief that success would finally reward us.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The above, faithfully transcribed from my note-book, convey, more truly
than any amount of after-written descriptions, the full sense of the
miserable scenes we endured during that fatal month of June 1877. Four
days after my last narrow escape we succeeded, by patience, great
caution, and laborious toil, in escaping past the dread Mbelo and
reaching Kilanga, happily without further accident, but not without
incident; for amongst the lower rocks of Nguru basin, left high and dry
by the subsiding river, we discovered the _Jason_, broken in half, the
two portions being about fifty feet apart; and midway between them was
the almost mummied body of Jumah, the guide, lying on its face, with its
arms outstretched. This Jumah was one of the two drowned with Francis
Pocock on the fatal 3rd of June, and while Uledi and his comrades were
wondering what had become of the two Wangwana who had so suddenly sunk
out of sight, and endeavouring to right the canoe as they drifted
through the Pocock Basin, he must have been clinging to one of the
cables beneath it.
The last day of our stay at Mbelo was marked by the death of the poor
ram, which had accompanied us ever since we left the cheerless gloom of
the Uregga forests, by a fall from the cliffs.
CHAPTER XVI.
Final warnings against theft—Humiliating a protectionist—Kindly
tribes—Five of the Expedition abandoned to slavery for theft—Safeni
goes mad from joy—Goaded to crime—Ali Kiboga’s adventures—The
cataract of Isangila—Only five marches from white faces!—Staunch to
the death—Rum—My appeal to Embomma—The forlorn hope—The “powerful
man” insults us—Struggling on—“We are saved, thank God!”—“Enough
now; fall to”—My letter of thanks—Approaching civilization—Amongst
whites—Boma—The Atlantic Ocean.
_July 6._—Strongly impressed with the knowledge that nothing but a
persevering, persistent, even impetuous advance towards the sea could
now save us from the pangs of famine, we only halted two days at
Kilanga. Therefore on the 6th July the goods were transported to a
distance of two miles to Kinzoré, beyond the district Suki, or “Hair.”
Having ascertained that no rapids of a dangerous nature, during the
quick recession of the flood, troubled the narrow and tortuous gap,
Uledi was directed to lead the canoes past Kinzoré and camp to
Mpakambendi, which enabled us to move forward next morning to join them
without delay or accident.
Mpakambendi terminates the narrow, walled chasm which we had followed
since leaving the Kalulu Falls, and in which we had spent 117 days—that
is, from 29th March to 6th July. The distance from Mpakambendi to Ntamo
along the course of the river is only 95 geographical miles, and we were
131 days effecting this journey! At Mpakambendi the defile through which
the river rushes opens to a greater width, and the mountains slope away
from it with a more rounded contour, and only at intervals do they drop
down abrupt in cliffs. Consequently the river expands, and, being less
tortured by bouldery projections and cliffy narrows, assumes somewhat of
a milder aspect. This is due to the change in the character of the
rocks. Above, we had horizontally stratified gneiss and sandstone with
an irregular coping of granite masses, and here and there a protrusion
of the darker trappean rocks. Below Mpakambendi, the river is disturbed
by many protruded ledges of the softer greenish shales, which have been
so pounded and battered by the river that we have merely rapids without
whirlpools and leaping waves to interrupt our descent. Every other mile
or so of the river shows symptoms of interruption, and its surface is
here marked by thin lines of low waves, and there by foamy stretches.
From Mpakambendi to the rounded mount-shoulder on which Nsenga is
situate stretches about a mile and a half of calm river, deep and
majestic, and a long strip of land along the right side affords
admirable camping-places or sites for fishing-stations.
The Wangwana still persisted in robbing the natives. Two were here
apprehended by them for stealing the fowls and maltreating the women,
and of course I had either to redeem them or leave them in the hands of
those whom they had injured. We consented to redeem them, and paid so
largely that it left us nearly beggared and bankrupt. Again a warning
was given to them that such a course must end in my abandoning them to
their fate, for they must never expect me to use force to release them
from the hands of the natives, or to adopt any retaliatory measures on
behalf of thieves.
Two poor souls succumbed to life’s trials and weariness here—one of them
from mortification supervening on ulcers; the other of chronic
dysentery. This latter disease worried many of the people, and scant and
poor food had reduced us all to hideous bony frames.
The Western Babwendé, from Mpakambendi to the lands of the Basundi are
wilder in appearance than those farther east, and many adopt the mop
head, and bore the lobes of their ears, like the Wasagara and Wagogo on
the east side of the continent. Some Bakongo and Bazombo natives of
Congo and Zombo were seen here as they were about to set off east for a
short trading trip. It appeared to me on regarding their large eyes and
russet-brown complexions that they were results of miscegenation,
probably descendants of the old Portuguese and aborigines; at least,
such was my impression, but if it is an erroneous one, the Bakongo and
Bazombo are worthy of particular study for their good looks and clear
brown complexions. They are of lower stature than the negro Babwendé,
Basessé, and Bateké.
They did not seem to relish the idea of a white Mundelé in a country
which had hitherto been their market, and they shook their heads most
solemnly, saying that the country was about to be ruined, and that they
had never known a country but was injured by the presence of a white
man. Poor aboriginal conservatives! But where is the white or the black,
the yellow or the red man who does not think himself happier with his
old customs than with new? The history of mankind proves how strong is
the repugnance to innovations. I questioned an old growler who was
rapidly beginning to win sympathizers among my Babwendé friends by
asking him in their presence where he obtained his gun.
“From the Mputu” (coast), said he.
“Where did you obtain that fine cloth you wear?”
“From the Mputu.”
“And those beads, which certainly make you look handsome?”
He smiled. “From the Mputu.”
“And that fine brass wire by which you have succeeded in showing the
beauty of your clear brown skin?”
He was still more delighted. “From the Mputu; we get everything from the
Mputu.”
“And wine too?”
“Yes.”
“And rum?”
“Yes.”
“Have the white men been kind to you?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Now,” said I, turning to my Babwendé friends, “you see this man has
been made happy with a gun, and cloth, and beads, wire, wine, and rum,
and he says the white men treat him well. Why should not the Babwendé be
happier by knowing the white men? Do you know why he talks so? He wants
to sell those fine things to the Babwendé himself, for about double what
he paid for them. Don’t you see? You are wise men.”
The absurd aboriginal protectionist and conservative lost his influence
immediately, and it appeared as though the Babwendé would start a
caravan instantly for the coast. But the immediate result of my
commercial talk with them was an invitation to join them in consuming a
great gourdful of fresh palm-wine.
_July 10._—On the 10th of July we embarked the goods, and descended two
miles below Mpakambendi, and reached the foot of the Nsenga Mount. The
next day we descended in like manner two miles to the lofty mountain
bluff of Nsoroka, being frequently interrupted by the jagged shaly dykes
which rose here and there above the stream, and caused rapids.
Two miles below Nsoroka we came to Lukalu, which is a point projecting
from the right bank just above the Mansau Falls and Matunda Rapids,
which we passed by a side-stream without danger on the 13th. Between
Matunda Rapids and Mansau Falls, we were abreast of Kakongo, that
warlike district of which we had heard. But though they crossed the
river in great numbers, the men of Kakongo became fast friends with us,
and I was so successful with them that five men volunteered to accompany
me as far as the “Njali Ntombo Mataka Falls,” of which we had heard as
being absolutely the “last fall.” “Tuckey’s Cataract,” no doubt, I
thought, for it was surely time that, if there was such a fall, it ought
to be seen.
Below Matunda Falls, in the district of Ngoyo, are a still more amiable
people than the Upper Babwendé, who share the prevalent taste for boring
their ears and noses. We held a grand market at Ngoyo, at which bananas,
pine-apples, guavas, limes, onions, fish, cassava bread, ground-nuts,
palm-butter, earthenware pots, baskets, and nets, were exchanged for
cloth, beads, wire, guns, powder, and crockery.
_July 16._—On the 16th, accompanied by our volunteer guides, we embarked
all hands, and raced down the rapid river a distance of three miles to
the great cataract, which on the right side is called Ntombo Mataka, and
on the left Ngombi Falls, or Njali Ngombi. On the right side the fall is
about 15 feet, over terraces of lava and igneous rocks; on the left it
is a swift rush, as at Mowa, Ntamo, Zinga, Inkisi, with a succession of
leaping waves below it.
There was a large concourse of natives present, and all were exceedingly
well-behaved and gentle. Three chiefs, after we had camped, advanced and
offered their services, which were at once engaged, and the next morning
409 natives conveyed the canoes and boat below the fall in admirable
style, though one small canoe was wrecked. They expressed as much
concern about the accident as though they had been the authors of it,
but I paid them even more liberally than I had contracted for, and the
utmost good feeling prevailed. Indeed, the chiefs were so grateful that
they offered to take the canoes themselves a distance of three miles to
the sand-beaches on the right bank opposite Kinzalé Kigwala—and the
offer was gladly accepted.
The Ntombo Mataka people I regarded as the politest people I had
encountered in Africa, and they certainly distinguished themselves by a
nobility of character that was as rare as it was agreeable.
Arrived at the beautiful camping-place below the falls, I proceeded in a
canoe to a cluster of low rocky islets, to view the cataract which we
had so agreeably and pleasantly passed, and it struck me at the time
that this was the great cataract described by Tuckey as being above that
“Farthest,” which has been printed on so many charts. The cataract has a
formidable appearance from the centre of the river as one looks upward,
and during the rainy season the whole of the rocky dyke is covered with
water, which would then give a direct fall of 20 feet. The natives of
Ntombo Mataka were not aware of any more obstructions below of any
importance. About five miles north-north-east of this point is the large
and popular market-place of Manyanga, where the natives of Ngoyo,
Kakongo, Ntombo Mataka, Ngombi, Ilemba, Kingoma, Kilanga, Kinzoré, Suki,
Nguru, Mbelo, Zinga, Mowa, and Nzabi, up river, meet the natives of
Ndunga, Mbu, Bakongo, and Bassessé.
_July 19._—On 19th of July we cautiously descended three miles to
Mpangu, on the right bank. From the slope of the table-land there is
projected a line of lower hills, tawny with sere and seeding grass, and
gently sloping sides, smooth shores marked by extensive lengths of
sandbanks, and here and there on the lower levels a cassava garden. But
though the river is much wider, the rapids are frequent, rocky
projections from the schistose rocks on the right breaking the river’s
surface, while along the centre sweeps the mighty stream fiercely and
hoarsely.
The schistose dykes which thus interrupt the river are from a few
hundred yards to a mile apart, and between them, in the intermediate
spaces, lie calm basins. Nor is the left bank free from them, though all
the force of the river has been for ages mainly directed against it.
_July 20._—We descended on the 20th to Mata river, on both sides of
which the natives were sulky, and disposed to resent our approach, but
no outbreak occurred to mar our peaceful progress to the sea. They would
not, however, part with food except at extravagant prices. They are
devoted to whitebait or minnow-catching, which they dry on the rocks for
sale in the markets, and here, all day long, we found them, crouched
behind the shelter of large rocky fragments with their enormous hand-
nets resting close by them, whistling to the minnows. As soon as the
shoal advanced about them, they swam out in a body forming line with
their nets laid diagonally across in front of them to meet the shoal;
and then, returning to the shore, would empty their “finds” on a large
slab-like rock, amid boasts, and jests, and rude excitement. At the same
time the canoes would be employed skirmishing in the deeper portions,
and the crews with the handle of their hand-nets laid under their legs,
paddling up and down with long silent strokes, would thus secure large
hauls.
By a daring rush down river we passed the rapids of Ungufu-inchi, and,
proceeding six miles along low sandy shores, and alluvial folds between
low hills, we came to the rapids between Kilemba and Rubata, and were
halted abreast of the Rubata Cauldron, near the village of Kibonda,
which occupies the summit of a bluff opposite Elwala river on the left
bank.
The natives here are given up to the cultivation of ground-nuts and
cassava, and minnow-catching. Food was therefore so scarce, and so
unsuitable for the preservation of working men’s strength, that our
sick-list was alarmingly increased. The Basundi are a most wretched,
suspicious, and degraded race, quarrelsome, and intensely disposed to be
affronted. I was unable to purchase anything more than a few ground-
nuts, because it involved such serious controversy and chaffer as
sickened the hungry stomach. The Wangwana were surprised, after their
recent experiences, to meet people more extortionate than any they had
yet seen, and who abated nothing of the high demands they made. One of
them, unable to obtain food, proceeded to the cassava gardens and coolly
began to dig up a large stock of tubers, and when warned off behaved
very violently. The natives, indisposed to brook this, closed round him,
and, binding him hand and foot, carried him to their village.
On hearing of it I despatched men to ascertain the truth, and they
brought the chief and some of his elders to camp to obtain the price of
his freedom. Unfortunately the price was so large—being four times the
total value of all our store—that, despite all our attempts to induce
them to lower their demands, we saw that the captive was doomed. One of
my chiefs suggested that we should lay hands on the chief of Kibonda,
and retain him until Hamadi, the captive, was released; but this
suggestion I positively refused to entertain for one moment. We were too
poor to buy his freedom, and it would have been an injustice to employ
violence. He was therefore left in captivity.
_July 24._—I hoped this would have stopped the Wangwana from venturing
to appropriate the property of such determined aborigines; but on the
24th, after descending 3½ miles to Kalubu, another man was arrested for
theft of fowls and cloth. The case was submitted to the captains and
members of the Expedition, and it was explained to them, that if the
man’s liberty could be purchased, half of the goods were at their
disposal; but that if they determined to fight for his release, they
must give me warning, so that I might move down river with those who
preferred to be guided by me. The captains unanimously condemned him to
captivity, and their decision was gravely delivered in presence of all.
Just above Kalubu, on the right side of the river, a lofty reddish cliff
stands, which, upon examination, presents many traces of igneous
eruptions. From the elbow below it are visible the remains of an old
cataract, and lava is so abundant that it gives quite a volcanic
appearance to the scene. A lofty ridge south of Kalubu strikes towards
the north-north-east, and formed a notable feature as we descended from
Mata river.
_July 25._—Four miles farther down brought us, on the 25th, to a little
cove above Itunzima Falls, where was another furious display of the
river, and a most dangerous cataract. Crossing over to the left bank, we
succeeded next day in passing it, after a laborious toil of eight hours,
and camped in a beautiful bend below.
At this camp we first met natives who were acquainted with the name
Yellala, but they informed us that there were several great rapids below
Itunzima, upon which I finally abandoned the search for “Tuckey’s
Cataract,” and instead of it strove to ascertain if any were acquainted
with the name of “Sangalla.” None of them had ever heard of it; but they
knew “Isangila,” which we were informed was about five days’ journey by
water; but that no native journeyed by river, it being too dangerous.
The Wangwana, weakened by scant fare and suffering from pining vitals,
were intensely affected when I announced to them that we were not far
from the sea. Indeed one poor fellow—distinguished in the first volume
as the coxswain of the _Lady Alice_ during the adventurous
circumnavigation of Lake Victoria—was so intoxicated with joy that he
became outrageous in his behaviour. Still I did not suspect that this
was madness, and when he advanced to me and embraced my feet, saying,
“Ah, master ! El hamd ul Illah! We have reached the sea! We are home! we
are home! We shall no more be tormented by empty stomachs and accursed
savages! I am about to run all the way to the sea, to tell your brothers
you are coming!” the idea of his lunacy was far from my mind. I
attributed his tears and wildness simply to excess of emotion and
nervous excitement. I replied to him soothingly; but he, seizing his
parrot and placing it on his shoulder, plunged into the woods. After a
few seconds’ reflection, it occurred to me that the man was a lunatic,
and I sent three men instantly to bring him back, and to recover him by
force if necessary; but after four hours’ search they returned
unsuccessful, and I never saw the sage Safeni more. We probably might
have been able to recover him after several days’ search; but valuable
as he had been, and dear as he was, death by starvation threatened us
all, and we were compelled to haste—haste away from the baleful region
to kinder lands.
_July 26._—On the 26th of July I obtained by observation south latitude
5° 9′.
From the bend below Itunzima Falls we had a straight stretch of four
miles, on a river which recalled to our minds reminiscences of the
quiet-flowing stream below Chumbiri. Clinging to the left, we had a
glorious grey sandbank, backed by growths of wild olive and a narrow
belt of forest trees, in which the tracks of game were numerous. The
right bank was similar, and dome-like hills rose conspicuous in a deep
fold of the retreating table-land.
We reached at the end of this course, on the left bank, a small quiet
river, 30 yards wide at the mouth, entering the Livingstone between
steep alluvial banks about 20 feet high. The table-land had approached
the river again, and formed a high point opposite the place where the
little river debouched, and, directly below it, roared and thundered
another cataract. A large island rose, high, rocky, and steep, from the
centre. To the right it was utterly impassable; but after examining the
rapids on the left, and discovering that the main force of the stream
was on the other side, we raced down the waters with all hands on board
without accident.
_July 28._—On the 28th we began our journey early, and discovered that
the river was still much obstructed, rapids roaring at every short
distance, and requiring caution and vigilance. By noon however we had
passed four series without trouble. Above the islet line above Kilolo I
found we had reached south latitude 5° 19′.
There are but few natures among my own race, either in Europe or
America, who would not feel a curious pleasure in, and envy me the
opportunity of, exploring the beautiful and endless solitudes of this
region, were they but certain that they would be sustained the while by
nourishing food, and be secure from fatal harm. For in all civilized
countries that I have travelled in, I have observed how very large a
number of people indulge this penchant for travel in such unfrequented
corners and nooks of wild woodland, glen, or heath as present themselves
near home. I myself was conscious that the table-land on both sides of
the Livingstone, with its lofty ridges, which ran away north or south to
some complicated watershed, enclosing, no doubt, some awesome glens and
solemn ravines, or from whose tops I might gaze upon a world of wild
beauty never seen before, presented to me opportunities of exploring
such as few had ever possessed: but, alas! all things were adverse to
such pleasure; we were, to use a Miltonian phrase, subject to the
“hateful siege of contraries.” The freshness and ardour of feeling with
which I had set out from the Indian Ocean had, by this time, been quite
worn away. Fevers had sapped the frame; over-much trouble had strained
the spirit; hunger had debilitated the body, anxiety preyed upon the
mind. My people were groaning aloud; their sunken eyes and unfleshed
bodies were a living reproach to me; their vigour was now gone, though
their fidelity was unquestionable; their knees were bent with weakness,
and their backs were no longer rigid with the vigour of youth, and life,
and strength, and fire of devotion. Hollow-eyed, sallow, and gaunt,
unspeakably miserable in aspect, we yielded at length to imperious
nature, and had but one thought only—to trudge on for one look more at
the blue ocean.
[Illustration: CAMP AT KILOLO.]
Rounding, after a long stretch of tolerably calm water, a picturesque
point, we view another long reach, and halfway on the left bank we camp.
Maddened by sharp pangs of hunger, the people soon scatter about the
district of Kilolo. What occurs I know not. Likely enough the wretched
creatures, tormented by the insufferable insolence of the aborigines,
and goaded by a gnawing emptiness, assisted themselves with the wanton
recklessness of necessity, and appropriated food unpaid for. While I am
seated among a crowd from the right bank, who have come across the river
to elate me with stories of white men whom they have seen by the sea,
and from whom I learn the news that there are whites like myself at
Embomma, I hear shots on the cultivated uplands; and though I pretend to
take no interest in them, yet a bitter, restless instinct informs me
that those shots have reference to myself; and presently the people
return, some with streaming wounds from oxide of copper pellets and iron
fragments which have been fired at them. Uledi comes also, bearing a
mere skeleton on his back, whom, with his usual daring, he has rescued
from the power of the men who would shortly have made a prisoner of him;
and he and the rest have all a horrible tale to tell. “Several men have
been captured by the natives for stealing cassava and beans.”
“Why did you do it?”
“We could not help it,” said one. “Master, we are dying of hunger. We
left our beads and moneys—all we had—on the ground, and began to eat,
and they began shooting.”
In a very short time, while they are yet speaking, a large force of
natives appears, lusty with life and hearty fare, and, being angered,
dare us, with loaded guns, to fight them. A few of the men and chiefs
hasten to their guns, and propose to assume the defensive, but I
restrain them, and send my native friends from the right bank to talk to
them; and, after two hours’ patient entreaties, they relax their
vindictiveness and retire.
When I muster the people next morning, that we may cross the river to
Nsuki Kintomba, I discover that six men have been wounded, and three,
Ali Kiboga,[15] Matagera, and Saburi Rehani, have been detained by the
infuriated villagers. It would have been merely half an hour’s quick
work, not only to have released the three captives, but to have obtained
such an abundance of food as to have saved us much subsequent misery,
but such an act would have been quite contrary to the principles which
had governed and guided the Expedition in its travels from the eastern
sea. Protection was only to be given against a wanton assault on the
camp and its occupants; arms were only to be employed to resist
savagery; and though, upon considering the circumstances, few could
blame the hungry people from appropriating food, yet we had but sympathy
to give them in their distress. Sad and sorrowful, we turned away from
them, abandoning them to their dismal fate.
-----
Footnote 15:
Some two or three months after we had left Loanda, Ali Kiboga escaped
from his captivity, and after a desperate journey, during which he
must have gone through marvellous adventures, succeeded in reaching
Boma, whence he was sent to Kabinda, thence by the Portuguese gunboat
_Tamega_ to San Paulo de Loanda. After a short stay at Loanda, the
United States corvette _Essex_, Captain Schley, took him to Saint
Helena, and thence, through the kindness of the captain of one of
Donald Currie’s Cape Line steamers, he was carried gratuitously to
Cape Town. Again the Samaritan act of assisting the needy and
distressed stranger was performed by the agent of the Union Steamship
Company’s line, who placed him on board the _Kaffir_, which was bound
for Zanzibar. It is well known that soon after leaving Table Bay the
_Kaffir_ was wrecked. From the _Cape Times_, February 19, 1878, I clip
the following, in spite of its compliment to myself: “On the bow were
some natives of Zanzibar. Among them was the man who had gone through
Africa with Stanley. This man was supposed to have been drowned with
four others. But early in the morning he was found very snugly lying
under a tent made of a blanket, with a roaring fire before him. Of all
the wrecked people that night there was no one who had been more
comfortable than Stanley’s Arab. The power of resource and the genius
of the master had evidently been imparted in some degree to the man.”
-----
The river between Kilolo and Nsuki Kintomba was about fourteen hundred
yards wide, and both banks were characterized by calm little bays,
formed by projected reefs of schistose rock. Just above Nsuki Kintomba a
range of mountains runs north-west from some lofty conical hills which
front the stream. Below a pretty cove, overhung by a white chalky cliff,
in the centre of which there stood a tree-covered islet, we occupied a
camp near a high and broad tract of pure white sand.
The inhabitants of the settlement on the right side were unfriendly and
they had little, save ground-nuts and cassava, to sell. Whether
embittered by the sterility of their country, or suffering from some
wrongs perpetrated by tribes near Boma, they did not regard our advent
to their country with kindly eyes by any means. Indeed, since leaving
Ntombo Mataka we had observed a growing degradation of the aborigines,
who were vastly inferior in manners and physical type to the Babwendé.
They talked “largely,” but we had been accustomed to that, and our sense
of self-respect had long ago become deadened. We obtained a little
food—a supply of ground-nuts and bitter cassava; otherwise we must have
died.
_July 30._—On the 30th of July we continued our journey along the right
bank. We first passed several serrated schistose reefs; and behind these
we saw a deep creek-like cove—no doubt the Covinda Cove of Tuckey.
Observing at Rock Bluffs Point that the river was ruffled by rocks, we
struck again to the left bank, and, following the grove-clad bend, we
saw a fine reach of river extending north-west by north, with a breadth
of about eighteen hundred yards. Again we crossed the river to the right
bank, and a mile from Rock Bluffs Point came to some rapids which
extended across the river. We passed these easily, however, and
continued on our journey under the shelter of brown stone bluffs, from
fifty to eighty feet high. On the left side of the river I observed a
line of rock-islets close to the shore. At the end of this long reach
was a deep bend in the right bank, through which a lazy creek oozed
slowly into the Livingstone. From this bend the great river ran south-
south-west, and the roar of a great cataract two miles below became
fearfully audible, and up from it light clouds of mist, and now and then
spray showers, were thrown high into view. Towering above it, on the
left, was the precipitous shoulder of a mountain ridge, the summit of
which appeared crescent-shaped as we approached it from above. Picking
our way towards it cautiously, close to projected reefy points, behind
which are the entrances to the recesses in the mountainous bank already
described, we arrived within fifty yards of the cataract of Isangila, or
Tuckey’s “Second Sangalla.”
We drew our boat and canoes into a sandy-edged basin in the low rocky
terrace, and proceeded to view the cataract of Isangila. On the left
rises the precipitous shoulder of a mountain ridge, the highest summit
of which may be 900 feet. On the right a naked and low rocky terrace is
projected from a grassy and gently sloping shelf a mile deep, above
which the table-land rises 1200 feet with steep slopes. The rocky
terrace appears to be covered by the river in the flood season, but at
this period it is contracted to a width of 500 yards. The fall is in the
shape of a crescent, along which arise at intervals rocky protuberances
of an iron-rust colour, seven in number, one of which, near the middle
of the stream, is large enough to be called an islet, being probably a
hundred yards in length. Near the right side there is a clear drop of 10
feet, and close below it another drop of 8 feet; on the left side the
river hurls itself against the base of the cliff, and then swerves
abruptly aside to a south-west-by-south direction; it bounds down the
steep descent in a succession of high leaping billows, along a wild
tempestuous stretch of a mile and a half in length, disparted in its
course by a lofty island, below which it sweeps round into an ample
sand-lined basin on the left bank, south of the cataract. To study the
nature of the ground I proceeded to a point opposite this basin, and
observed the river continue in a westerly course (magnetic). There are
abundant traces of lava in the neighbourhood of this cataract, and the
cliffs opposite have the appearance of rock subjected to the influence
of a fierce fire.
After about two hours’ stay here, the inhabitants of Mwato Zingé, Mwato
Wandu, and Mbinda visited us, and we soon became on terms of sociable
and friendly intercourse with them; but, unfortunately, they possessed
nothing but ground-nuts, bitter cassava, and a few bananas. A couple of
goats were purchased at a ruinous price; a handful of ground-nuts cost a
necklace of beads, while cowries were worthless. Rum, gunpowder, and
guns would have purchased ample supplies; but such things required a
railway for transportation, and our own guns we could not part with. One
chief from the left bank above the cataract came over with his little
boy, a pure albino, with blue eyes, curly white hair, and a red skin, of
whom he appeared to be very proud, as he said he was also a little
Mundelé. The old chief’s hands were bleached in the palms, and in
various parts of the body, proving the origin of the peculiar disease.
We received the good news that Embomma was only five days’ journey,
rated thus:—
From Isangila to Inga 1 day.
” Inga ” Boondi ”
” Boondi ” Ntabo ”
” Ntabo ” Bibbi ”
” Bibbi ” Embomma ”
We heard also that there were three great cataracts below Isangila, and
“any number” of intermediate “Mputu-putu-putu” rapids. The cataracts
were Nsongo Yellala, a larger one than either Isangila, Yellala, or
Ngufu.
There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that the Isangila cataract
was the second Sangalla of Captain Tuckey and Professor Smith, and that
the Sanga Yellala of Tuckey and the Sanga Jelalla of Smith was the
Nsongo Yellala, though I could not induce the natives to pronounce the
words as the members of the unfortunate Congo Expedition of 1816 spelled
them.[16]
-----
Footnote 16:
I ascertained, upon studying carefully the accounts of the Congo
Expedition of 1816, that Professor Smith’s account in many respects is
much more reliable than Captain Tuckey’s. Professor Smith gives the
river above Isangila a general width of about one English mile, which
is quite correct, and at a place which the officers reached on the 8th
September, 1816, he estimates the width to be about half a Danish
mile, which Captain Tuckey has unaccountably extended to about four or
five English miles, that is to say, from 6640 to 8800 yards! Captain
Tuckey, according to Stanford’s Library Map of 1874, places the second
Sangalla by dead reckoning in east longitude 14° 36′, south latitude
4° 59′, which is very far from being its position. On July 28, 1877, I
obtained south latitude 5° 19′ by observation. Captain Tuckey is,
however, more reliable in his orthography than the botanist of his
Expedition. Both gentlemen have unaccountably passed the largest fall,
viz., Nsongo Yellala, with but a mere word of mention.
-----
As the object of the journey had now been attained, and the great river
of Livingstone had been connected with the Congo of Tuckey, I saw no
reason to follow it farther, or to expend the little remaining vitality
we possessed in toiling through the last four cataracts.
I announced, therefore, to the gallant but wearied Wangwana that we
should abandon the river and strike overland for Embomma. The delight of
the people manifested itself in loud and fervid exclamations of
gratitude to Allah! Quadruple ration-money was also distributed to each
man, woman, and child; but owing to the excessive poverty of the
country, and the keen trading instincts and avaricious spirit of the
aborigines, little benefit did the long-enduring, famine-stricken
Wangwana derive from my liberality.
_July 31._—Fancy knick-knacks, iron spears, knives, axes, copper, brass
wire, were then distributed to them, and I emptied the medicine out of
thirty vials; and my private clothes-bags, blankets, waterproofs, every
available article of property that might be dispensed with, were also
given away, without distinction of rank or merit, to invest in whatever
eatables they could procure. The 31st of July was consequently a busy
day, devoted to bartering, but few Wangwana were able to boast at
evening that they had obtained a tithe of the value of the articles they
had sold, and the character of the food actually purchased was
altogether unfit for people in such poor condition of body.
At sunset we lifted the brave boat, after her adventurous journey across
Africa, and carried her to the summit of some rocks about five hundred
yards north of the fall, to be abandoned to her fate. Three years
before, Messenger of Teddington had commenced her construction; two
years previous to this date she was coasting the bluffs of Uzongora on
Lake Victoria; twelve months later she was completing her last twenty
miles of the circumnavigation of Lake Tanganika, and on the 31st of
July, 1877, after a journey of nearly 7000 miles up and down broad
Africa, she was consigned to her resting-place above the Isangila
Cataract, to bleach and to rot to dust!
* * * * * * * *
_Aug. 1._—A wayworn, feeble, and suffering column were we when, on the
1st of August, we filed across the rocky terrace of Isangila and sloping
plain, and strode up the ascent to the table-land. Nearly forty men
filled the sick list with dysentery, ulcers, and scurvy, and the victims
of the latter disease were steadily increasing. Yet withal I smiled
proudly when I saw the brave hearts cheerily respond to my encouraging
cries. A few, however, would not believe that within five or six days
they should see Europeans. They disdained to be considered so credulous,
but at the same time they granted that the “master” was quite right to
encourage his people with promises of speedy relief.
So we surmounted the table-land, but we could not bribe the wretched
natives to guide us to the next village. “Mirambo,” the riding-ass,
managed to reach half-way up the table-land, but he also was too far
exhausted through the miserable attenuation which the poor grass of the
western region had wrought in his frame to struggle further. We could
only pat him on the neck and say, “Good-bye, old boy; farewell, old
hero! A bad world this for you and for us. We must part at last.” The
poor animal appeared to know that we were leaving him, for he neighed
after us—a sickly, quavering neigh, that betrayed his excessive
weakness. When we last turned to look at him he was lying on the path,
but looking up the hill with pointed ears, as though he were wondering
why he was left alone, and whither his human friends and companions by
flood and field were wandering.
After charging the chief of Mbinda to feed him with cassava leaves and
good grass from his fields, I led the caravan over the serried levels of
the lofty upland.
At the end of this district, about a mile from Mwato Wandu, we appeared
before a village whose inhabitants permitted us to pass on for a little
distance, when they suddenly called out to us with expostulatory tones
at an almost shrieking pitch. The old chief, followed by about fifty
men, about forty of whom carried guns, hurried up to me and sat down in
the road.
In a composed and consequential tone he asked, “Know you I am the king
of this country?”
I answered mildly, “I knew it not, my brother.”
“I am the king, and how can you pass through my country without paying
me?”
“Speak, my friend; what is it the Mundelé can give you?”
“Rum. I want a big bottle of rum, and then you can pass on.”
“Rum?”
“Yes, rum, for I am the king of this country!”
“Rum!” I replied wonderingly.
“Rum; rum is good. I love rum,” he said, with a villainous leer.
Uledi, coming forward, impetuously asked, “What does this old man want,
master?”
“He wants rum, Uledi. Think of it!”
“There’s rum for him,” he said, irreverently slapping his Majesty over
the face, who, as the stool was not very firm, fell over prostrate.
Naturally this was an affront, and I reproved Uledi for it. Yet it
seemed that he had extricated us from a difficult position by his
audacity, for the old chief and his people hurried off to their village,
where there was great excitement and perturbation, but we could not stay
to see the end.
Ever and anon, as we rose above the ridged swells, we caught the glimpse
of the wild river on whose bosom we had so long floated. Still white and
foaming, it rushed on impetuously seaward through the sombre defile.
Then we descended into a deep ravine, and presently, with uneasy
throbbing hearts, we breasted a steep slope rough with rock, and from
its summit we looked abroad over a heaving, desolate, and ungrateful
land. The grass was tall and ripe, and waved and rustled mournfully
before the upland breezes. Soon the road declined into a valley, and we
were hid in a deep fold, round which rose the upland, here to the west
shagged with a thin forest, to the north with ghastly sere grass, out of
which rose a few rocks, grey and sad. On our left was furze, with scrub.
At the bottom of this, sad and desolate, ran a bright crystal brook. Up
again to the summit we strove to gain the crest of a ridge, and then,
down once more the tedious road wound in crooked curves to the depth of
another ravine, on the opposite side of which rose sharply and steeply,
to the wearying height of 1200 feet, the range called Yangi-Yangi. At 11
A.M. we in the van had gained the lofty summit, and fifteen minutes
afterwards we descried a settlement and its cluster of palms. An hour
afterwards we were camped on a bit of level plateau to the south of the
villages of Ndambi Mbongo.
The chiefs appeared, dressed in scarlet military coats of a past epoch.
We asked for food for beads. “Cannot.” “For wire?” “We don’t want wire!”
“For cowries?” “Are we bushmen?” “For cloth?” “You must wait three days
for a market! If you have got rum you can have plenty!!” Rum ! Heavens !
Over two years and eight months ago we departed from the shores of the
Eastern Ocean, and they ask us for rum!
Yet they were not insolent, but unfeeling; they were not rude, but
steely selfish. We conversed with them sociably enough, and obtained
encouragement. A strong healthy man would reach Embomma in three days.
Three days! Only three days off from food—from comforts—luxuries even!
Ah me!
_Aug. 2._—The next day, when morning was greying, we lifted our weakened
limbs for another march. And such a march!—the path all thickly strewn
with splinters of suet-coloured quartz, which increased the fatigue and
pain. The old men and the three mothers, with their young infants born
at the cataracts of Massassa and Zinga, and another near the market town
of Manyanga, in the month of June, suffered greatly. Then might be seen
that affection for one another which appealed to my sympathies, and
endeared them to me still more. Two of the younger men assisted each of
the old, and the husbands and fathers lifted their infants on their
shoulders and tenderly led their wives along.
Up and down the desolate and sad land wound the poor, hungry caravan.
Bleached whiteness of ripest grass, grey rock-piles here and there,
looming up solemn and sad in their greyness, a thin grove of trees now
and then visible on the heights and in the hollows—such were the scenes
that with every uplift of a ridge or rising crest of a hill met our
hungry eyes. Eight miles our strength enabled us to make, and then we
camped in the middle of an uninhabited valley, where we were supplied
with water from the pools which we discovered in the course of a dried-
up stream.
Our march on the third day was a continuation of the scenes of the day
preceding until about ten o’clock, when we arrived at the summit of a
grassy and scrub-covered ridge, which we followed until three in the
afternoon. The van then appeared before the miserable settlement of
Nsanda, or, as it is sometimes called, Banza (town) N’sanda N’sanga.
Marching through the one street of the first village in melancholy and
silent procession, voiceless as sphinxes, we felt our way down into a
deep gully, and crawled up again to the level of the village site, and
camped about two hundred yards away. It was night before all had
arrived.
_Aug. 4._—After we had erected our huts and lifted the tent into its
usual place, the chief of Nsanda appeared, a youngish, slightly made
man, much given to singing, being normally drunk from an excess of palm-
wine. He was kindly, sociable—laughed, giggled, and was amusing. Of
course he knew Embomma, had frequently visited there, and carried
thither large quantities of _Nguba_ ground-nuts, which he had sold for
rum. We listened, as in duty bound, with a melancholy interest. Then I
suddenly asked him if he would carry a _makanda_, or letter, to Embomma,
and allow three of my men to accompany him. He was too great to proceed
himself, but he would despatch two of his young men the next day. His
consent I obtained only after four hours of earnest entreaty. It was
finally decided that I should write a letter, and the two young natives
would be ready next day. After my dinner—three fried bananas, twenty
roasted ground-nuts, and a cup of muddy water, my usual fare now—by a
lamp made out of a piece of rotten sheeting steeped in a little palm-
butter I wrote the following letter:—
“Village of Nsanda, _August 4, 1877_.
“_To any Gentleman who speaks English at Embomma._
“DEAR SIR,
“I have arrived at this place from Zanzibar with 115 souls, men,
women and children. We are now in a state of imminent starvation. We can
buy nothing from the natives, for they laugh at our kinds of cloth,
beads, and wire. There are no provisions in the country that may be
purchased, except on market days, and starving people cannot afford to
wait for these markets. I, therefore, have made bold to despatch three
of my young men, natives of Zanzibar, with a boy named Robert Feruzi, of
the English Mission at Zanzibar, with this letter craving relief from
you. I do not know you; but I am told there is an Englishman at Embomma,
and as you are a Christian and a gentleman, I beg you not to disregard
my request. The boy Robert will be better able to describe our lone
condition than I can tell you in this letter. We are in a state of the
greatest distress; but if your supplies arrive in time, I may be able to
reach Embomma within four days. I want three hundred cloths, each four
yards long, of such quality as you trade with, which is very different
from that we have; but better than all would ten or fifteen man-loads of
rice or grain to fill their pinched bellies immediately, as even with
the cloths it would require time to purchase food, and starving people
cannot wait. The supplies must arrive within two days, or I may have a
fearful time of it among the dying. Of course I hold myself responsible
for any expense you may incur in this business. What is wanted is
immediate relief; and I pray you to use your utmost energies to forward
it at once. For myself, if you have such little luxuries as tea, coffee,
sugar, and biscuits by you, such as one man can easily carry, I beg you
on my own behalf that you will send a small supply, and add to the great
debt of gratitude due to you upon the timely arrival of the supplies for
my people. Until that time I beg you to believe me,
“Yours sincerely,
“H. M. STANLEY,
“Commanding Anglo-American Expedition
for Exploration of Africa.
“P.S.—You may not know me by name I therefore add, I am the person that
discovered Livingstone in 1871.—H. M. S.”
I also wrote a letter in French, and another in Spanish as a substitute
for Portuguese, as I heard at Nsanda that there was one Englishman, one
Frenchman, and three Portuguese at Embomma; but there were conflicting
statements, some saying that there was no Englishman, but a Dutchman.
However, I imagined I was sure to obtain provisions—for most European
merchants understand either English, French, or Spanish.
The chiefs and boat’s crew were called to my tent. I then told them that
I had resolved to despatch four messengers to the white men at Embomma,
with letters asking for food, and wished to know the names of those most
likely to travel quickly and through anything that interposed to prevent
them; for it might be possible that so small a number of men might be
subjected to delays and interruptions, and that the guides might loiter
on the way, and so protract the journey until relief would arrive too
late.
The response was not long coming, for Uledi sprang up and said, “Oh,
master, don’t talk more; I am ready now. See, I will only buckle on my
belt, and I shall start at once, and nothing will stop me. I will follow
on the track like a leopard.”
“And I am one,” said Kachéché. “Leave us alone, master. If there are
white men at Embomma, we will find them out. We will walk, and walk, and
when we cannot walk we will crawl.”
“Leave off talking, men,” said Muini Pembé, “and allow others to speak,
won’t you? Hear me, my master. I am your servant. I will outwalk the
two. I will carry the letter, and plant it before the eyes of the white
men.”
“I will go too, sir,” said Robert.
“Good. It is just as I should wish it; but, Robert, you cannot follow
these three men. You will break down, my boy.”
“Oh, we will carry him if he breaks down,” said Uledi. “Won’t we,
Kachéché?”
“Inshallah!” responded Kachéché decisively. “We must have Robert along
with us, otherwise the white men won’t understand us.”
_Aug. 5._—Early the next day the two guides appeared, but the whole of
the morning was wasted in endeavouring to induce them to set off. Uledi
waxed impatient, and buckled on his accoutrements, drawing his belt so
tight about his waist that it was perfectly painful to watch him, and
said, “Give us the letters, master! we will not wait for the pagans. Our
people will be dead before we start. Regard them, will you! They are
sprawling about the camp without any life in them. Goee—Go-ee—Go-ee.”
Finally, at noon, the guides and messengers departed in company.
Meanwhile a bale of cloth and a sack of beads were distributed, and the
strongest and youngest men despatched abroad in all directions to forage
for food. Late in the afternoon they arrived in camp weakened and
dispirited, having, despite all efforts, obtained but a few bundles of
the miserable ground-nuts and sufficient sweet potatoes to give three
small ones to each person, though they had given twenty times their
value for each one. The heartless reply of the spoiled aborigines was,
“Wait for the zandu,” or market, which was to be held in two days at
Nsanda; for, as amongst the Babwendé, each district has its respective
days for marketing. Still what we had obtained was a respite from death;
and, on the morning of the 5th, the people were prepared to drag their
weary limbs nearer to the expected relief.
Our route lay along the crest of a ridge, until we arrived at a narrow
alluvial valley, in which the chief village of the Nsanda district is
situate, amidst palms, ground-nut, and cassava gardens, and small
patches of beans, peas, and sweet potatoes. From this valley we ascended
the grassy upland, until we came to what we might call Southern Nsanda.
We had proceeded about two hundred yards beyond it when a powerful man,
followed by a large crowd, advanced toward us, and, like him near Mwato
Wandu, demanded to know why we passed through without payment.
“Payment! Payment for what? Look at my people; they are skin and bone.
They are dying for want of food in your country. Brother, stand off, or
these men will be smelling food for themselves, and I would not stop
them.”
He became outrageous; he called for his gun; his followers armed
themselves. Observing matters getting serious, I disposed as a
precautionary measure twenty men as skirmishers in front of the road and
ten in rear, leaving the goods and sick people in the centre. Word was
then given to the powerful man that they had better not shoot, for our
people were angry, and were very different from any they had seen, and
nothing could stop them if they began; and it was possible they might
eat every soul in Nsanda. I observed that the last sentence had a potent
effect; the angry demonstrations were followed by a loud consultation;
the loud consultation subsided into whispers, and soon the “powerful
man” said “Enough,” and we advanced towards each other, laughed, and
shook hands heartily. At this juncture appeared the chief of the central
village, who had furnished us with guides, and he, upon hearing of the
intended injury to the Mundelé, insisted upon the “powerful man”
bringing forth a gourd and jug and wash-basin full of palm-wine, and
sealing our friendship by a “drink all round;” which was done, and I
promised to send the “powerful man” a present of a bottle of rum from
Embomma.
At 3 P.M., after a march of twelve miles, the van of the Expedition
descended the slope of the high wood-covered ridge of Ikungu, whence the
populous valley of Mbinda lay revealed. Halfway down the slope we
camped, being in view of eighteen villages. The entire population of
Mbinda—the valley, or basin, derives its name from the south-eastern
ridge, which is called Mbinda—I roughly estimated at being about three
thousand souls. Each of these villages bears a different name, but the
entire number is under three chiefs, who are styled “kings,” and are
extremely absurd in their pomposity. The people are sufficiently
amiable, but terribly extortionate and grasping, and so niggardly and
close in trade that the Wangwana became more and more weakened.
Festishism is carried to an extraordinary extent. Idols of wood,
tolerably well carved, are numerous, and the various ceremonies
practised by these people would fill a volume. Some hideous and ghostly
objects, with chalked bodies, wearing skirts of palm-leaves or grass,
hovered about at respectful distance, and I was told by the chief of
Nsanda that they had been lately circumcised. Ground-nuts are the chief
produce here, as well as of all the region from Manyanga of the
Babwendé, because they are in demand by the merchants of Embomma. By
means of the markets held alternately in each district, the ground-nuts
are being brought from immense distances. But while their cultivation
retards exploration, it proves that the natives are willing to devote
themselves to any branch of agriculture that may be profitable. In
former days the slave and the ivory-trade supported a vast portion of
this region, but perceiving that slaves are not now in demand, and ivory
not abundant enough to be profitable, the natives have resorted to the
cultivation of ground-nuts for the supply of the Europeans at Embomma,
palms for the sake of their intoxicating juice, and only a few small
patches of beans, vetches, sweet potatoes, &c., for home consumption.
[Illustration: MBINDA CEMETERY.]
Close to our camp was a cemetery of a village of Mbinda. The grave-
mounds were neat, and by their appearance I should judge them to be not
only the repositories of the dead, but also the depositories of all the
articles that had belonged to the dead. Each grave was dressed out with
the various mugs, pitchers, wash-basins, teapots, kettles, glasses, gin,
brandy, and beer bottles, besides iron skillets, kettles, tin watering-
pots, and buckets; and above the mound thus curiously decorated were
suspended to the branch of a tree the various net haversacks of palm-
fibre in which the deceased had carried his ground-nuts, cassava bread,
and eatables. The various articles of property thus exhibited,
especially the useful articles, had all been purposely rendered useless,
otherwise I doubt if, with all their superstition, thieves could have
been restrained from appropriating them.
_Aug. 6._—On the 6th we roused ourselves for a further effort, and after
filing through several villages separated from each other by intervals
of waste land, we arrived at 9 A.M. near Banza Mbuko. Haggard, woe-
begone invalids, with bloated faces, but terribly angular bodies, we
sought a quiet spot a mile beyond the outermost village of the
settlement. Mbinda’s wooded ridge was in view, and Ikungu’s bearded
summits were fast receding into distance and obscurity. Banza Mbuko
seemed prosperous; the inhabitants appeared to be well fed, but, as
though we were denizens of another world, nothing of warm sympathy could
I detect in the face of any one of all those that gazed on us. Ah! in
what part of all the Japhetic world would such a distressed and woful
band as we were then have been regarded with such hard, steel-cold eyes?
Yet not one word of reproach issued from the starving people; they threw
themselves upon the ground with an indifference begotten of despair and
misery. They did not fret, nor bewail aloud the tortures of famine, nor
vent the anguish of their pinched bowels in cries, but with stony
resignation surrendered themselves to rest, under the scant shade of
some dwarf acacia or sparse bush. Now and then I caught the wail of an
infant, and the thin voice of a starving mother, or the petulant
remonstrance of an older child; but the adults remained still and
apparently lifeless, each contracted within the exclusiveness of
individual suffering. The youths, companions of Uledi, and the chiefs,
sat in whispering groups, removed from the sick and grieving, and darkly
dotted the vicinity of the tent; the childless women were also seen by
twos and threes far apart, discussing, no doubt, our prospects, for at
this period this was the most absorbing topic of the camp.
Suddenly the shrill voice of a little boy was heard saying, “Oh! I see
Uledi and Kachéché coming down the hill, and there are plenty of men
following them!”
“What!—what!—what!” broke out eagerly from several voices, and dark
forms were seen springing up from amongst the bleached grass, and from
under the shade, and many eyes were directed at the whitened hill-slope.
“Yes; it is true! it is true! La il Allah il Allah! Yes; el hamd ul
Illah! Yes, it is food! food! food at last! Ah, that Uledi! he is a
lion, truly! We are saved, thank God!”
Before many minutes, Uledi and Kachéché were seen tearing through the
grass, and approaching us with long springing strides, holding a letter
up to announce to us that they had been successful. And the gallant
fellows, hurrying up, soon placed it in my hands, and in the hearing of
all who were gathered to hear the news I translated the following
letter:—
“EMBOMMA, “6.30 A.M.,
“ENGLISH FACTORY. “BOMA, _6th August, 1877_.
“H. M. STANLEY, Esq.
“DEAR SIR,
“Your welcome letter came to hand yesterday, at 7 P.M. As soon
as its contents were understood, we immediately arranged to despatch to
you such articles as you requested, as much as our stock on hand would
permit, and other things that we deemed would be suitable in that
locality. You will see that we send fifty pieces of cloth, each 24 yards
long, and some sacks containing sundries for yourself; several sacks of
rice, sweet potatoes, also a few bundles of fish, a bundle of tobacco,
and one demijohn of rum. The carriers are all paid, so that you need not
trouble yourself about them. That is all we need say about business. We
are exceedingly sorry to hear that you have arrived in such piteous
condition, but we send our warmest congratulations to you, and hope that
you will soon arrive in Boma (this place is called Boma by us, though on
the map it is Em-bomma). Again hoping that you will soon arrive, and
that you are not suffering in health,
“Believe us to remain,
“Your sincere friends,
“HATTON & COOKSON.
(_Signed_) “A. DA MOTTA VEIGA.
“J. W. HARRISON.”
Uledi and Kachéché then delivered their budget. Their guides had
accompanied them halfway, when they became frightened by the menaces of
some of the natives of Mbinda, and deserted them. The four Wangwana,
however, undertook the journey alone, and, following a road for several
hours, they appeared at Bibbi after dark. The next day (the 5th), being
told by the natives that Boma (to which Embomma was now changed) was
lower down river, and unable to obtain guides, the brave fellows
resolved upon following the Congo along its banks. About an hour after
sunset, after a fatiguing march over many hills, they reached Boma, and,
asking a native for the house of the “Ingreza” (English), were shown to
the factory of Messrs. Hatton and Cookson, which was superintended by a
Portuguese gentleman, Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, and Mr. John W. Harrison,
of Liverpool. Kachéché, who was a better narrator than Uledi, then
related that a short white man, wearing spectacles, opened the letter,
and, after reading awhile, asked which was Robert Feruzi, who answered
for himself in English, and, in answer to many questions, gave a summary
of our travels and adventures, but not before the cooks were set to
prepare an abundance of food, which they sadly needed, after a fast of
over thirty hours.
By this time the procession of carriers from Messrs. Hatton and
Cookson’s factory had approached, and all eyes were directed at the
pompous old “capitan” and the relief caravan behind him. Several of the
Wangwana officiously stepped forward to relieve the fatigued and
perspiring men, and with an extraordinary vigour tossed the
provisions—rice, fish, and tobacco bundles—on the ground, except the
demijohn of rum, which they called pombé, and handled most carefully.
The “capitan” was anxious about my private stores, but the scene
transpiring about the provisions was so absorbingly interesting that I
could pay no attention as yet to them. While the captains of the messes
were ripping open the sacks and distributing the provisions in equal
quantities, Murabo, the boat-boy, struck up a glorious loud-swelling
chant of triumph and success, into which he deftly, and with a poet’s
licence, interpolated verses laudatory of the white men of the second
sea. The bard, extemporizing, sang much about the great cataracts,
cannibals, and pagans, hunger, the wide wastes, great inland seas, and
niggardly tribes, and wound up by declaring that the journey was over,
that we were even then smelling the breezes of the western ocean, and
his master’s brothers had redeemed them from the “hell of hunger.” And
at the end of each verse the voices, rose high and clear to the chorus—
“Then sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended;
Sing aloud, O friends, sing to this great sea.”
“Enough now; fall to,” said Manwa Sera, at which the people nearly
smothered him by their numbers. Into each apron, bowl, and utensil held
out, the several captains expeditiously tossed full measures of rice and
generous quantities of sweet potatoes and portions of fish. The younger
men and women hobbled after water, and others set about gathering fuel,
and the camp was all animation, where but half an hour previously all
had been listless despair. Many people were unable to wait for the food
to be cooked, but ate the rice and the fish raw. But when the provisions
had all been distributed, and the noggin of rum had been equitably
poured into each man’s cup, and the camp was in a state of genial
excitement, and groups of dark figures discussed with animation the
prospective food which the hospitable fires were fast preparing, then I
turned to my tent, accompanied by Uledi, Kachéché, the capitan, and the
tent-boys, who were, I suppose, eager to witness my transports of
delight.
With profound tenderness Kachéché handed to me the mysterious bottles,
watching my face the while with his sharp detective eyes as I glanced at
the labels, by which the cunning rogue read my pleasure. Pale ale!
Sherry! Port wine! Champagne! Several loaves of bread, wheaten bread,
sufficient for a week. Two pots of butter. A packet of tea! Coffee!
White loaf-sugar! Sardines and salmon! Plum-pudding! Currant,
gooseberry, and raspberry jam!
The gracious God be praised for ever! The long war we had maintained
against famine and the siege of woe were over, and my people and I
rejoiced in plenty! It was only an hour before we had been living on the
recollections of the few pea-nuts and green bananas we had consumed in
the morning, but now, in an instant, we were transported into the
presence of the luxuries of civilization. Never did gaunt Africa appear
so unworthy and so despicable before my eyes as now, when imperial
Europe rose before my delighted eyes and showed her boundless treasures
of life, and blessed me with her stores.
When we all felt refreshed, the cloth bales were opened, and soon,
instead of the venerable and tattered relics of Manchester, Salem, and
Nashua manufacture, which were hastily consumed by the fire, the people
were reclad with white cloths and gay prints. The nakedness of want, the
bare ribs, the sharp protruding bones were thus covered; but months must
elapse before the hollow sunken cheeks and haggard faces would again
resume the healthy bronze colour which distinguishes the well-fed
African.
My condition of mind in the evening of the eventful day which was
signalized by the happy union which we had made with the merchants of
the west coast, may be guessed by the following letter:—
“BANZA MBUKO, _August 6, 1877_.
“MESSRS. A. DA MOTTA VEIGA AND J. W. HARRISON,
EMBOMMA, CONGO RIVER.
“GENTLEMEN,
“I have received your very welcome letter, but better than
all, and more welcome, your supplies. I am unable to express just at
present how grateful I feel. We are all so overjoyed and confused with
our emotions, at the sight of the stores exposed to our hungry eyes—at
the sight of the rice, the fish, and the rum, and for me—wheaten bread,
butter, sardines, jam, peaches, grapes, beer (ye gods! just think of
it—three bottles pale ale!) besides tea and sugar—that we cannot
restrain ourselves from falling to and enjoying this sudden bounteous
store—and I beg you will charge our apparent want of thankfulness to our
greediness. If we do not thank you sufficiently in words, rest assured
we feel what volumes could not describe.
“For the next twenty-four hours we shall be too busy eating to think of
anything else much; but I may say that the people cry out joyfully,
while their mouths are full of rice and fish, ‘Verily, our master has
found the sea, and his brothers, but we did not believe him until he
showed us the rice and the pombé (rum). We did not believe there was any
end to the great river; but, God be praised for ever, we shall see white
people to-morrow, and our wars and troubles will be over.’
“Dear Sirs—though strangers, I feel we shall be great friends, and it
will be the study of my lifetime to remember my feelings of
gratefulness, when I first caught sight of your supplies, and my poor
faithful and brave people cried out, ‘Master, we are saved!—food is
coming!’ The old and the young—the men, the women, the children—lifted
their wearied and worn-out frames, and began to chant lustily an
extemporaneous song, in honour of the white people by the great salt sea
(the Atlantic) who had listened to their prayers. I had to rush to my
tent to hide the tears that would issue, despite all my attempts at
composure.
“Gentlemen, that the blessing of God may attend your footsteps
whithersoever you go is the very earnest prayer of
“Yours faithfully,
“HENRY M. STANLEY,
“Commanding Anglo-American Expedition.”
_Aug. 7._—At the same hour on the morning of the 7th that we resumed the
march, Kachéché and Uledi were despatched to Boma with the above letter.
Then surmounting a ridge, we beheld a grassy country barred with seams
of red clay in gullies, ravines, and slopes, the effects of rain,
dipping into basins with frequently broad masses of plateau and great
dyke-like ridges between, and in the distance south-west of us a lofty,
tree-clad hill-range, which we were told we should have to climb before
descending to N’lamba N’lamba, where we proposed camping.
Half an hour’s march brought us to a market-place, where a tragedy had
been enacted a short time before the relief caravan had passed it the
day previous. Two thieves had robbed a woman of salt, and, according to
the local custom which ordains the severest penalties for theft in the
public mart, the two felons had been immediately executed, and their
bodies laid close to the path to deter others evilly disposed from
committing like crimes.
At noon we surmounted the lofty range which we had viewed near Banza
Mbuko, and the aneroid indicated a height of 1500 feet. A short distance
from its base, on two grassy hills, is situate N’lamba N’lamba, a
settlement comprising several villages, and as populous as Mbinda. The
houses and streets were very clean and neat; but, as of old, the natives
are devoted to idolatry, and their passion for carving wooden idols was
illustrated in every street we passed through.
[Illustration:
GROUP OF MR. STANLEY’S FOLLOWERS AT KABINDA, WEST COAST OF AFRICA,
JUST AFTER CROSSING THE “DARK CONTINENT.”
(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips, of Kabinda._)
]
_Aug. 8._—On the 8th we made a short march of five miles to N’safu, over
a sterile, bare, and hilly country, but the highest ridge passed was not
over 1100 feet above the sea. Uledi and Kachéché returned at this place
with more cheer for us, and a note acknowledging my letter of thanks.
In a postscript to this note, Mr. Motta Veiga prepared me for a
reception which was to meet me on the road halfway between N’safu and
Boma; it also contained the census of the European population, as
follows:—
“Perhaps you do not know that in Boma there are only eleven
Portuguese, one Frenchman, one Dutchman, one gentleman from St.
Helena, and ourselves (Messrs. Motta Veiga and J. W. Harrison),
Messrs. Hatton and Cookson being in Liverpool, and the two signatures
above being names of those in charge of the English factory here.”
_Aug. 9._—On the 9th of August, 1877, the 999th day from the date of our
departure from Zanzibar, we prepared to greet the van of civilization.
From the bare rocky ridges of N’safu there is a perceptible decline to
the Congo valley, and the country becomes, in appearance, more sterile—a
sparse population dwelling in a mere skeleton village in the centre of
bleakness. Shingly rocks strewed the path and the waste, and thin sere
grass waved mournfully on level and spine, on slope of ridge and crest
of hill; in the hollows it was somewhat thicker; in the bottoms it had a
slight tinge of green.
We had gradually descended some five hundred feet along declining spurs
when we saw a scattered string of hammocks appearing, and gleams of
startling whiteness, such as were given by fine linen and twills.
A buzz of wonder rang along our column.
Proceeding a little farther, we stopped, and in a short time I was face
to face with four white—ay, truly white men!
As I looked into their faces, I blushed to find that I was wondering at
their paleness. Poor pagan Africans—Rwoma of Uzinja, and man-eating
tribes of the Livingstone! The whole secret of their wonder and
curiosity flashed upon me at once. What arrested the twanging bow and
the deadly trigger of the cannibals? What but the weird pallor of myself
and Frank! In the same manner the sight of the pale faces of the Embomma
merchants gave me the slightest suspicion of an involuntary shiver. The
pale colour, after so long gazing on rich, black and richer bronze, had
something of an unaccountable ghastliness. I could not divest myself of
the feeling that they must be sick; yet, as I compare their complexions
to what I now view, I should say they were olive, sunburnt, dark.
Yet there was something very self-possessed about the carriage of these
white men. It was grand; a little self-pride mixed with cordiality. I
could not remember just then that I had witnessed such bearing among any
tribe throughout Africa. They spoke well also; the words they uttered
hit the sense pat; without gesture, they were perfectly intelligible.
How strange! It was quite delightful to observe the slight nods of the
head; the intelligent facial movements were admirably expressive. They
were completely clothed, and neat also; I ought to say immaculately
clean. Jaunty straw hats, coloured neck-ties, patent-leather boots,
well-cut white clothes, virtuously clean! I looked from them to my
people, and then I fear I felt almost like being grateful to the Creator
that I was not as black as they, and that these finely-dressed, well-
spoken whites claimed me as friend and kin. Yet I did not dare to place
myself upon an equality with them as yet; the calm blue and grey eyes
rather awed me, and the immaculate purity of their clothes dazzled me. I
was content to suppose myself a kind of connecting link between the
white and the African for the time being. Possibly familiarity would
beget greater confidence.
They expressed themselves delighted to see me; congratulated me with
great warmth of feeling, and offered to me the “Freedom of Boma!” We
travelled together along the path for a mile, and came to the frontier
village of Boma, or Embomma, where the “king” was at hand to do the
honours. My courteous friends had brought a hamper containing luxuries.
Hock and champagne appeared to be cheap enough where but a few hours
previous a cup of palm-wine was as precious as nectar; rare dainties of
Paris and London abundant, though a short time ago we were stinted of
even ground-nuts. Nor were the Wangwana forgotten, for plenty had also
been prepared for them.
My friends who thus welcomed me amongst the descendants of Japhet were
Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, Senhores Luiz Pinto Maroo, João Chaves, Henrique
Germano Faro, and Mr. J. F. Müller, of the Dutch factory. They had
brought a hammock with them, and eight sturdy, well-fed bearers. They
insisted on my permitting them to lift me into the hammock. I declined.
They said it was a Portuguese custom. To custom, therefore, I yielded,
though it appeared very effeminate.
[Illustration:
THE RECUPERATED AND RECLAD EXPEDITION AS IT APPEARED AT ADMIRALTY
HOUSE, SIMON’S TOWN, AFTER OUR ARRIVAL ON H.M.S. ‘INDUSTRY.’
]
It was a gradual slope through a valley, which soon opened into a low
alluvial plain, seamed here and there with narrow gullies, and then over
the heads of the tall grass as I lay in the hammock I caught a glimpse
of the tall square box of a frame-house, with a steep roof, erected on
rising ground. It brought back a host of old recollections; for
everywhere on the frontiers of civilization in America one may see the
like. It approached nearer and larger to the view, and presently the
hammock was halted by whitewashed palings, above which the square two-
storied box rose on piles with a strangeness that was almost weird. It
was the residence of those in charge of the English factory.
Looking from the house, my eyes rested on the river. Ah! the hateful,
murderous river, now so broad and proud and majestically calm, as though
it had not bereft me of a friend, and of many faithful souls, and as
though we had never heard it rage and whiten with fury, and mock the
thunder. What a hypocritical river! But just below the landing a steamer
was ascending—the _Kabinda_, John Petherbridge, master. How civilization
was advancing on me! Not a moment even to lie down and rest! Full-
blooded, eager, restless, and aggressive, it pressed on me, and claimed
me for its own, without allowing me even the time to cast one
retrospective glance at the horrors left behind. While still overwhelmed
by the thought, the people of the Expedition appeared, pressing forward
to admire and gaze wide-eyed at the strange “big iron canoe,” driven by
fire on _their_ river; for there were several Wanyamwezi, Waganda, and
east coast men who would not believe that there was anything more
wonderful than the _Lady Alice_.
Our life at Boma,[17] which lasted only from 11 A.M. of the 9th to noon
of the 11th, passed too quickly away; but throughout it was intensest
pleasure and gaiety.
-----
Footnote 17:
There were three little banquets given me at Boma, and I do believe
everybody toasted me, for which I felt very much obliged.
-----
There are some half-dozen factories at Boma, engaging the attention of
about eighteen whites. The houses are all constructed of wooden boards,
with, as a rule, corrugated zinc roofs. The residences line the river
front; the Dutch, French, and Portuguese factories being west of an
isolated high square-browed hill, which, by-the-bye, is a capital site
for a fortlet; and the English factory being a few hundred yards above
it. Each factory requires an ample courtyard for its business, which
consists in the barter of cotton fabrics, glass-ware, crockery, iron-
ware, gin, rum, gums and gunpowder, for palm-oil, ground-nuts, and
ivory. The merchants contrive to exist as comfortably as their means
will allow. Some of them plant fruits and garden vegetables, and
cultivate grape-vines. Pine-apples, guavas and limes may be obtained
from the market, which is held on alternate days a short distance behind
the European settlement.
Though Boma is comparatively ancient, and Europeans have had commercial
connections with this district and the people for over a century, yet
Captain Tuckey’s description of the people, written in 1816—their
ceremonies and modes of life, their suspicion of strangers and
intolerance, their greed for rum and indolence, the scarcity of food—is
as correct as though written to-day. The name “Boma,” however, has
usurped that of “Lombee,” which Captain Tuckey knew; the _banza_ of
Embomma being a little distance inland. In his day it was a village of
about one hundred huts, in which was held the market of the banza, or
king’s town.
The view inland is dreary, bleak, and unpromising, consisting of grassy
hills, and of a broken country, its only boast the sturdy baobab, which
relieves the nakedness of the land. But—fresh from the hungry wilderness
and the land of selfish men, from the storm and stress of the cataracts,
the solemn rock defiles of the Livingstone, and the bleak table-land—I
heeded it not. The glowing warm life of Western civilization, the
hospitable civilities and gracious kindnesses which the merchants of
Boma showered on myself and people, were as dews of Paradise, grateful,
soothing, and refreshing.
_Aug. 11._—On the 11th, at noon, after a last little banquet and songs,
hearty cheers, innumerable toasts, and fervid claspings of friendly
hands, we embarked. An hour before sunset the “big iron canoe,” after a
descent of about thirty-five miles, hauled in-shore, on the right bank,
and made fast to the pier of another of Hatton and Cookson’s factories
at Ponta da Lenha, or Wooded Point. Two or three other Portuguese
factories are in close neighbourhood to it, lightening the gloom of the
background of black mangrove and forest.
[Illustration]
1. Wife of Murabo.│4. Half caste of │7. Wife of Manwa │10. Wife of Muscati.
│ Gambaragara, whom│ Sera. │
│ Wadi Rehani │ │
│ married. │ │
2. ” Robert.│5. Zaidi’s wife. │8. ” Chowpereh.│11. ” Chiwonda.
3. ” Mana │6. Wife of Wadi │9. ” Muini │12. ” Multa.
Koko. │ Baraka. │ Pembé. │
After a very agreeable night with our hospitable English host, the
_Kabinda_ was again under way.
The puissant river below Boma reminded me of the scenes above Uyanzi;
the colour of the water, the numerous islands, and the enormous breadth
recalled those days when we had sought the liquid wildernesses of the
Livingstone, to avoid incessant conflicts with the human beasts of prey
in the midst of Primitive Africa, and at the sight my eyes filled with
tears at the thought that I could not recall my lost friends, and bid
them share the rapturous joy that now filled the hearts of all those who
had endured and survived.
A few hours later and we were gliding through the broad portal into the
Ocean, the blue domain of civilization!
Turning to take a farewell glance at the mighty River on whose brown
bosom we had endured so greatly, I saw it approach, awed and humbled,
the threshold of the watery immensity, to whose immeasurable volume and
illimitable expanse, awful as had been its power, and terrible as had
been its fury, its flood was but a drop. And I felt my heart suffused
with purest gratitude to Him whose hand had protected us, and who had
enabled us to pierce the Dark Continent from east to west, and to trace
its mightiest River to its Ocean bourne.
[Illustration:
AT REST: MY QUARTERS AT KABINDA BY THE SEA.
(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips._)]
]
CONCLUSION.
Kabinda—San Paulo de Loanda—Simon’s Bay—Cape Town—Natal—Zanzibar—Joy of
the returned—The martyrs to geography—Reverie—Laus Deo!
_Aug. 12-20._—After steaming northward from the mouth of the Congo for a
few hours, we entered the fine bay of Kabinda, on the southern shores of
which the native town of that name in the country of Ngoyo is situate.
On the southern point of the bay stands a third factory of the
enterprising firm of Messrs. Hatton and Cookson, under the immediate
charge of their principal agent, Mr. John Phillips. A glance at the
annexed photograph will sufficiently show the prosperous appearance of
the establishment, and the comfortable houses that have been
constructed. The Expedition received a cordial welcome from Messrs.
Phillips, Wills, Price, and Jones, and I was housed in a cottage
surrounded by gardens and overlooking the glorious sea, while the people
were located in a large shed fronting the bay.
The next morning, when I proceeded to greet the people, I discovered
that one of the Wangwana had died at sunrise; and when I examined the
condition of the other sufferers it became apparent that there was to be
yet no rest for me, and that to save life I should have to be assiduous
and watchful. But for this, I should have surrendered myself to the joys
of life, without a thought for myself or for others, and no doubt I
should have suffered in the same degree as the Wangwana from the effects
of the sudden relaxation from care, trouble, or necessity for further
effort. There were also other claims on my energies: I had to write my
despatches to the journals, and to re-establish those bonds of
friendship and sympathetic communion that had been severed by the lapse
of dark years and long months of silence. My poor people, however, had
no such incentives to rouse themselves from the stupor of indifference,
as fatal to them as the cold to a benighted man in a snowy wilderness.
Housed together in a comfortable, barrack-like building, with every
convenience provided for them, and supplied with food, raiment, fuel,
water, and an excess of luxuries, nothing remained for them to do; and
the consequence was, that the abrupt dead-stop to all action and
movement overwhelmed them, and plunged them into a state of torpid
brooding from which it was difficult to arouse them.
[Illustration:
EXPEDITION AT KABINDA.
(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips._)]
]
The words of the poet—
“What’s won is done: Joy’s soul lies in the doing”—
or, as Longfellow has it—
“The reward is in the doing.
And the rapture of pursuing
Is the prize”—
recurred to me, as explaining why it was that the people abandoned
themselves to the dangerous melancholy created by inactivity. I was
charmed by it myself; the senses were fast relapsing into a drowsy
state, that appeared to be akin to the drowsiness of delirium. No novel
or romance interested me, though Mr. Phillips’s cottage possessed a
complete library of fiction and light reading. Dickens seemed rubbish,
and the finest poems flat. Frequently, even at meals, I found myself
subsiding into sleep, though I struggled against it heroically; wine had
no charm for me; conversation fatigued me. Yet the love of society, and
what was due to my friendly hosts, acted as a wholesome restraint and a
healthy stimulant; but what had the poor, untutored black strangers,
whose homes were on the east side of the continent, to rouse them and to
stimulate them into life?
“Do you wish to see Zanzibar, boys?” I asked.
“Ah, it is far. Nay, speak not, master. We shall never see it,” they
replied.
“But you will die if you go on in this way. Wake up—shake
yourselves—show yourselves to be men.”
“Can a man contend with God? Who fears death? Let us die undisturbed,
and be at rest for ever,” they answered.
Brave, faithful, loyal souls! They were, poor fellows, surrendering
themselves to the benumbing influences of a listlessness and fatal
indifference to life! Four of them died in consequence of this strange
malady at Loanda, three more on board H.M.S. _Industry_, and one woman
breathed her last the day after we arrived at Zanzibar. But in their sad
death, they had one consolation, in the words which they kept constantly
repeating to themselves—
“We have brought our master to the great sea, and he has seen his white
brothers, La il Allah, il Allah!—There is no God but God!” they said—and
died.
It is not without an overwhelming sense of grief, a choking in the
throat and swimming eyes, that I write of those days, for my memory is
still busy with the worth and virtues of the dead. In a thousand fields
of incident, adventure, and bitter trials they had proved their staunch
heroism and their fortitude; they had lived and endured nobly. I
remember the enthusiasm with which they responded to my appeals; I
remember their bold bearing during the darkest days; I remember the
Spartan pluck, the indomitable courage with which they suffered in the
days of our adversity. Their voices again loyally answer me, and again I
hear them address each other upon the necessity of standing by the
“master.” Their boat-song, which contained sentiments similar to the
following:—
The pale-faced stranger, lonely here,
In cities afar, where his name is dear,
Your Arab truth and strength shall show;
He trusts in us; row, Arabs, row”—
despite all the sounds which now surround me, still charms my listening
ear.
_Aug. 21-Sept. 27._—The Expedition, after a stay of eight days at
Kabinda, was kindly taken on board the Portuguese gunboat _Tamega_,
Commander José Marquez, to San Paulo de Loanda. The Portuguese officers
distinguished themselves by a superb banquet, and an exhibition of
extraordinary courtesy towards myself and great sympathy towards my
followers. Two gentlemen, Major Serpa Pinto and Senhor José Avelino
Fernandez, who were on board, extended their hospitalities so far as to
persuade me to accompany them to their residence in the capital of
Angola. To house the 114 Wangwana who accompanied me was a great task on
the liberality of these gentlemen, but the Portuguese Governor-General
of Angola nobly released them and myself from all obligations, and all
the expenses incurred by us from the 21st of August to the 27th of
September were borne by the colony. One of the first acts of Governor-
General Albuquerque was to despatch his aide-de-camp with offers of
assistance, money, and a gunboat to convey me to Lisbon, which received,
as it deserved, my warmest thanks. The Portuguese Commodore gave a
banquet to the Portuguese explorers, Major Serpa Pinto, Commander Brito
Capello, and Lieutenant Roberto Ivens, who were about setting out for
the exploration of the Kunené or Nourse river, as far as Bihé, thence to
Lake Nyassa and Mozambique, and upon the festive occasion they honoured
me. The Board of Works at Loanda also banqueted us royally; as also did
Mr. Michael Tobin, the banker, while Mr. Robert Newton was unceasing in
his hospitalities.
The Government hospital at Loanda was open to the sick strangers; Doctor
Lopez and his assistants daily visited the sick ward of our residence,
and a trained nurse was detailed to attend the suffering. Pure
Samaritanism animated the enthusiastic Senhor Capello, and free
unselfish charity inspired my friend Avelino Fernandez to watch and tend
the ailing, desponding, and exhausted travellers.
With a generosity unequalled, Serpa Pinto distributed a large sum of
money among them, that they might be enabled to suit their sick cravings
as they pleased in the markets.
Nor must the English officers of the Royal Navy be forgotten for their
chivalrous kindness. I shall ever remember Captain Maxwell Heron, of
H.M.S. _Seagull_, and Captain D. Hopkins, British Consul, as my friends;
and so also Captain John Childs Purvis, of H.M.S. _Danae_, who, when I
was wondering whether I should be compelled to lead the Wangwana across
the continent to their homes, solved my doubts and anxieties by offering
the Expedition a passage to Cape Town in H.M.S. _Industry_, Commander R.
C. Dyer. The offer of the Portuguese Governor-General to convey me in a
gunboat to Lisbon, and the regular arrivals of the Portuguese mail
steamers, were very tempting, but the condition of my followers was such
that I found it impossible to leave them. I resolved therefore to
accompany them to the Cape of Good Hope.
The cordial civilities that were accorded to us at Loanda were succeeded
by equally courteous treatment on board the _Industry_. Her officers,
Captain Dyer, Assistant-Surgeon William Brown, and Paymaster Edwin
Sandys, assisted me to the utmost of their ability in alleviating the
sufferings of the sick and reviving the vigour of the desponding. But
the accomplished surgeon found his patients most difficult cases. The
flame of life flickered and spluttered, and to fan it into brightness
required in most of the cases patience and tact more than medicine. Yet
there was a little improvement in them, though they were still heavy-
eyed.
_Oct. 21-Nov. 6._—Upon arriving at Simon’s Bay, Cape of Good Hope, on
the 21st of October, I was agreeably surprised by a most genial letter,
signed by Commodore Francis William Sullivan, who invited me to the
Admiralty House as his guest, and from whom during the entire period of
our stay at the Cape we met with the most hearty courtesy and
hospitality. He had also made preparations for transporting the
Expedition to Zanzibar, when a telegram from the Lords of the British
Admiralty was received, authorizing him to provide for the transmission
of my followers to their homes, an act of gracious kindness for which I
have recorded elsewhere my most sincere thanks.
Had we been able to accept all the invitations that were showered upon
us by the kind-hearted colonists of South Africa, from Cape Town to
Natal, it is possible we might still be enjoying our holiday at that
remote end of Africa, but her Majesty’s ship could not be delayed for
our pleasure and gratification. But during the time she was refitting,
the authorities of Cape Town and Stellenbosch, through the influence of
Lady Frere, Commodore Sullivan, and Captain Mills, Colonial Secretary,
exerted themselves so zealously to gratify and honour us, that I
attribute a large share of the recovery in health of my followers to the
cordial and unmistakable heartiness of the hospitalities they there
enjoyed. Here the Wangwana saw for the first time the “fire-carriage,”
and, accompanied by Commodore Sullivan, the Dean of Cape Town and
several of the leading residents of the Cape, the Expedition was whirled
to Stellenbosch at the rate of thirty miles an hour, which, of all the
wonders they had viewed, seemed to them the most signal example of the
wonderful enterprise and superior intelligence of the European. Lady
Frere and Commodore Sullivan devised several entertainments for the
Wangwana; and the “Great Lady,” as they called Lady Frere, presented
men, women, and children with many useful souvenirs of their visit to
the Governor’s palace. The Prime Minister, Mr. Molteno, in the name of
the colony, re-clothed them with comfortable “jerseys,” which were
suitable and necessary in the cold and raw climate. A special evening
was devoted to them at the theatre, at which the acrobats received
thunderous applause, the most hearty that was probably ever accorded
them. Nor must I forget the credit due to the journalists of the
metropolis of Cape Colony, who with unanimous cordiality tendered me and
mine honours such as are worthy of being treasured. But there was one
illustrious figure absent from the festive occasions to which his
presence would have given _éclat_—I mean Sir Bartle Frere. I should have
been glad to have thanked him for the kindness he has uniformly shown to
me, and for his chivalrous defence of me while absent, and to have shown
my followers the sterling friend of that pious hero whose bones many of
them assisted to carry from the distant camp on Lake Bemba to the Indian
Ocean.
I ought not to omit describing a little episode that occurred soon after
our arrival in Simon’s Bay. For the first three days after landing at
Simon’s Town, blustering gales prevented me from returning to the ship.
The people thereupon became anxious, and wondered whether this distant
port was to terminate my connection with them. On returning to the ship,
therefore, I found them even more melancholy than when I had left them.
I asked the reason.
“You will return to Ulyah” (Europe), “of course, now.”
“Why?”
“Oh, do we not see that you have met your friends, and all these days we
have felt that you will shortly leave us?”
“Who told you so?” I asked, smiling at the bitterness visible in their
faces.
“Our hearts; and they are very heavy.”
“Ah! And would it please you if I accompanied you to Zanzibar?”
“Why should you ask, master? Are you not our father?”
“Well, it takes a long time to teach you to rely upon the promise of
your father. I have told you, over and over again, that nothing shall
cause me to break my promise to you that I would take you home. You have
been true to me, and I shall be true to you. If we can get no ship to
take us, I will walk the entire distance with you until I can show you
to your friends at Zanzibar.”
“Now we are grateful, master.”
I observed no sad faces after this day, and Captain Dyer and his
officers noticed how they visibly improved and brightened up from this
time.
On the 6th of November H.M.S. _Industry_ was equipped and ready for her
voyage to Zanzibar. To the last moment the gallant commodore was
consistent in his kindness, and the blue-jackets of the _Active_ cheered
us heartily as we steered out of Simon’s Bay. On the twelfth of the
month the _Industry_ dropped anchor in the harbour of Natal to coal, and
until the fourteenth the Natal press and the mayor of the city of
D’Urban contributed generously to the courtesies and genial memories we
retain of the rising and prosperous states of South Africa.
Fourteen days afterwards the palmy island of Zanzibar rose into sight,
and in the afternoon we were bearing straight for port.
As I looked on the Wangwana, and saw the pleasure which now filled every
soul, I felt myself amply rewarded for sacrificing several months to see
them home. The sick had, all but one, recovered, and they had improved
so much in appearance that few, ignorant of what they had been, could
have supposed that these were the living skeletons that had reeled from
sheer weakness through Boma.
The only patient who had baffled our endeavours to restore her to health
was the woman Muscati, unfortunate Safeni’s wife. Singular to relate,
she lived to be embraced by her father, and the next morning died in his
arms, surrounded by her relatives and friends. But all the others were
blessed with redundant health—robust, bright, and happy.
And now the well-known bays and inlets, and spicy shores and red-tinted
bluffs of Mbwenni, enraptured them. Again they saw what they had often
despaired of seeing: the rising ridge of Wilezu, at the foot of which
they knew were their homes and their tiny gardens; the well-known
features of Shangani and Melindi; the tall square mass of the Sultan’s
palace. Each outline, each house, from the Sandy Point to their own
Ngambu, each well-remembered bold swell of land, with its glories of
palm and mango-tree, was to them replete with associations of bygone
times.
The captain did not detain them on board. The boats were all lowered at
once, and they crowded the gangway and ladder. I watched the first boat-
load.
To those on the beach it was a surprise to see so many white-shirted,
turbaned men making for shore from an English man-of-war. Were they
slaves—or what? No; slaves they could not be, for they were too well
dressed. Yet what could they be?
The boat-keel kissed the beach, and the impatient fellows leaped out and
upwards, and danced in ecstasy on the sands of their island; they then
kneeled down, bowed their faces to the dear soil, and cried out, with
emotion, their thanks to Allah! To the full they now taste the sweetness
of the return home. The glad tidings ring out along the beach, “It is
Bwana Stanley’s expedition that has returned.”
Then came bounding toward them their friends, acquaintances, countrymen,
demanding ever so many questions, all burning to know all about it.
Where had they been? How came they to be on board the man-of-war? What
had they seen? Who was dead? Where is So-and-so? You have gone beyond
Nyangwé to the other sea? Mashallah!
The boats come and go.
More of the returned braves land, jump and frisk about, shake hands,
embrace firmly and closely; they literally _leap_ into each other’s
arms, and there are many wet eyes there, for some terrible tales are
told of death, disaster, and woe by the most voluble of the narrators,
who seem to think it incumbent on them to tell all the news at once. The
minor details, which are a thousand and a thousand, shall be told to-
morrow and the next day, and the next, and for days and years to come.
The ship was soon emptied of her strange passengers. Captain Sullivan,
of the _London_, came on board, and congratulated me on my safe arrival,
and then I went on shore to my friend Mr. Augustus Sparhawk’s house. We
will pass over whatever may have transpired among the reunited friends,
relatives, acquaintances, &c., but I will give substantially what
Mabruki, a stout, bright-eyed lad, the Nestor of the youths during the
expedition, related of his experiences the next day.
“Well, Mabruki, tell me, did you see your mother?” Mabruki, knowing I
have a lively curiosity to know all about the meeting, because he had
been sometimes inclined to despair of seeing poor old “mamma” again,
relaxes the severe tightness of his face, and out of his eyes there
pushes such a flood of light as shows him to be brimful of happiness,
and he hastens to answer, with a slight bob of the head—
“Yes, master.”
“Is she quite well? How does she look? What did she say when she saw her
son such a great strong lad? Come, tell me all about it.”
“I will tell you—but ah! she is old now. She did not know me at first,
because I burst open the door of our house, and I was one of the
foremost to land, and I ran all the way from the boat to the house. She
was sitting talking with a friend. When the door opened she cried out,
‘Who?’
“‘Mi-mi, ma-ma. It is I, mother. It is I—Mabruki, mother. It is I,
returned from the continent.’
“‘What! Mabruki, my son!’
“‘Verily it is I, mother.’
“She could scarcely believe I had returned, for she had heard no news.
But soon all the women round about gathered together near the door,
while the house was full, to hear the news; and they were all crying and
laughing and talking so fast, which they kept up far into the night. She
is very proud of me, master. When the dinner was ready over twenty sat
down to share with us. ‘Oh!’ they all said, ‘you are a man indeed, now
that you have been farther than any Arab has ever been.’”
Four days of grace I permitted myself to procure the thousands of rupees
required to pay off the people for their services. Messages had also
been sent to the relatives of the dead, requesting them to appear at Mr.
Sparhawk’s, prepared to make their claims good by the mouths of three
witnesses.
On the fifth morning the people—men, women, and children—of the Anglo-
American Expedition, attended by hundreds of friends, who crowded the
street and the capacious rooms of the Bertram Agency, began to receive
their well-earned dues.
The women, thirteen in number, who had borne the fatigues of the long,
long journey, who had transformed the stern camp in the depths of the
wilds into something resembling a village in their own island, who had
encouraged their husbands to continue in their fidelity despite all
adversity, were all rewarded.
The children of the chiefs who had accompanied us from Zanzibar to the
Atlantic, and who, by their childish, careless prattle, had often
soothed me in mid-Africa, and had often caused me to forget my
responsibilities for the time, were not forgotten. Neither were the tiny
infants—ushered into the world amid the dismal and tragic scenes of the
cataract lands, and who, with their eyes wide open with wonder, now
crowed and crooned at the gathering of happy men and elated women about
them—omitted in this final account and reckoning.
The second pay-day was devoted to hearing the claims for wages due to
the faithful dead. Poor faithful souls! With an ardour and a fidelity
unexpected, and an immeasurable confidence, they had followed me to the
very death. True, negro nature had often asserted itself, but it was
after all but human nature. They had never boasted that they were
heroes, but they exhibited truly heroic stuff while coping with the
varied terrors of the hitherto untrodden and apparently endless wilds of
broad Africa.
The female relatives filed in. With each name of the dead, old griefs
were remembered. The poignant sorrow I felt—as the fallen were named
after each successive conflict in those dark days never to be forgotten
by me—was revived. Sad and subdued were the faces of those I saw, as sad
and subdued as my own feelings. With such sympathies between us we soon
arrived at a satisfactory understanding. Each woman was paid without
much explanation required—one witness was sufficient. There were men,
however, who were put to great shifts. They appeared to have no
identity. None of my own people would vouch for the relationship; no
respectable man knew them. Several claimed money upon the ground that
they were acquaintances; that they had been slaves under one master, and
had become freemen together on their master’s death. Parents and true
brothers were not difficult to identify. The settlement of the claims
lasted five days, and then—the Anglo-American Expedition was no more.
_Dec. 13._—On the 13th of December the British India Steam Navigation
Company’s steamer _Pachumba_ sailed from Zanzibar for Aden, on board
which Mr. William Mackinnon had ordered a state room for me. My
followers through Africa had all left their homes early that they might
be certain to arrive in time to witness my departure. They were there
now, every one of them arrayed in the picturesque dress of their
countrymen. The fulness of the snowy dish-dasheh and the amplitude of
the turban gave a certain dignity to their forms, and each sported a
light cane. Upon inquiring I ascertained that several had already
purchased handsome little properties—houses and gardens—with their
wages, proving that the long journey had brought, with its pains and
rough experience, a good deal of thrift and wisdom.
When I was about to step into the boat, the brave, faithful fellows
rushed before me and shot the boat into the sea, and then lifted me up
on their heads and carried me through the surf into the boat.
We shook hands twenty times twenty, I think, and then at last the boat
started.
I saw them consult together, and presently saw them run down the beach
and seize a great twenty-ton lighter, which they soon manned and rowed
after me. They followed me thus to the steamer, and a deputation of them
came on board, headed by the famous Uledi, the coxswain; Kachéché, the
chief detective; Robert, my indispensable factotum; Zaidi, the chief,
and Wadi Rehani, the storekeeper, to inform me that they still
considered me as their master, and that they would not leave Zanzibar
until they received a letter from me announcing my safe arrival in my
own country. I had, they said, taken them round all Africa to bring them
back to their homes, and they must know that I had reached my own land
before they would go to seek new adventures on the continent,
and—simple, generous souls!—that if I wanted their help to reach my
country they would help me!
They were sweet and sad moments, those of parting. What a long, long and
true friendship was here sundered! Through what strange vicissitudes of
life had they not followed me! What wild and varied scenes had we not
seen together! What a noble fidelity these untutored souls had
exhibited! The chiefs were those who had followed me to Ujiji in 1871;
they had been witnesses of the joy of Livingstone at the sight of me;
they were the men to whom I entrusted the safeguard of Livingstone on
his last and fatal journey, who had mourned by his corpse at Muilala,
and borne the illustrious dead to the Indian Ocean.
And in a flood of sudden recollection, all the stormy period here ended
rushed in upon my mind; the whole panorama of danger and tempest through
which these gallant fellows had so staunchly stood by me—these gallant
fellows now parting from me. Rapidly, as in some apocalyptic vision,
every scene of strife with Man and Nature through which these poor men
and women had borne me company, and solaced me by the simple sympathy of
common suffering, came hurrying across my memory; for each face before
me was associated with some adventure or some peril, reminded me of some
triumph or of some loss. What a wild, weird retrospect it was, that
mind’s flash over the troubled past! So like a troublous dream!
And for years and years to come, in many homes in Zanzibar, there will
be told the great story of our journey, and the actors in it will be
heroes among their kith and kin. For me, too, they are heroes, these
poor ignorant children of Africa, for, from the first deadly struggle in
savage Ituru to the last staggering rush into Embomma, they had rallied
to my voice like veterans, and in the hour of need they had never failed
me. And thus, aided by their willing hands and by their loyal hearts,
the Expedition had been successful, and the three great problems of the
Dark Continent’s geography had been fairly solved.
LAUS DEO!
APPENDIX.
SIMPLE RULES FOR PRONOUNCING AFRICAN WORDS.
The letter _u_, —inning or ending a word, is sounded like _oo_, or the
French _ou_, thus: Uchungu—Ouchungou, or
Oochungoo.
— ” _a_, whether at the commencement, middle, or termination of a
word, sounds like _ah_, thus: Asama,
or Ahsahmah.
— ” _e_, either commencing or terminating a word, as in the Yoruba
word éwuré, sounds like ehwureh.
” — _i_, when beginning a word, as in the Kinyamwezi term ifisi,
sounds like _i_ in the English words
if, is, it, in, ill; when it terminates
the word, _i_ has the shortened sound of _ee_; thus,
ifisi, with a phonetical exactitude,
would be spelled ifeesee.
The consonant M used as a prefix, as in Mtu, has a shortened sound of
Um. The South African colonists, I observe, invariably spell this
abbreviated sound as Um, as in Umtata, Umgeni, Umzila, which travellers
in Equatorial Africa would spell Mtata, Mgeni, Mzila.
------------------
The prefix Ki, as in Ki-Swahili or Ki-Sagara, denotes language of
Swahili or Sagara. The prefix U represents country; Wa, a plural,
denoting people; M, singular, for a person, thus:—
U—Sagara. Country of Sagara.
Wa—Sagara. People of Sagara.
M—Sagara. A person of Sagara.
Ki—Sagara. Language of Sagara, or after the custom, manner,
or style of Sagara, as English stands in like
manner for anything relating to England.
┌──────────┬─────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ENGLISH. │KI-SWAHILI. │KI-SAGARA. │KI-GOGO. │KI-NYAMWEZI. │KI-SUKUMA. │KI-NYAMBU. │KI-GANDA. │
├──────────┼─────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │moyyi │mwe │limonga │solo │limo │nyimo │emu │
│Two │mbiri │wawiri │megeteh │biri │iwiri │ziviri │mbiri │
│Three │tato │watato │madato │tato │idato │sato │sato │
│Four │ena │ena │maena │ena │ena │nyineh │nya │
│Five │tano │tano │mahano │tano │tano │nysano │tano │
│Six │seta │seta │tandato │mkaga │tandato │mkaga │mkaga │
│Seven │saba │mfungati │mpungata │musamvu │mpungati │musamvu │musamvu │
│Eight │nani │minana │mnani │mnaneh │nani │mnana │mnana │
│Nine │kenda │kenda │mikenda │sienda │kenda │mwenda │mwenda │
│Ten │kumi │kumi │kumi │ikumi │ikumi │chumi │kumi │
│Eleven │kumi na moyyi│kumi na mwe │kumi na monga │kumi na imwe │kumi na limo │. . │kumi n’emu │
│Twelve │kumi na mbiri│kumi na awiri │kumi na megeteh│kumi na wiri │kumi ne wiri │. . │kumi n’mbiri │
│Thirteen │kumi na tato │kumi na watato │kumi na madato │kumi na sato │kumi ne idato │. . │kumi na sato │
│Fourteen │kumi na ena │kumi na ena │kumi na maena │kumi na ind │kumi na ena │. . │kumi na n’ya │
│Fifteen │kumi na tano │kumi na tano │kumi na mahano │kumi ni tano │kumi ni tano │. . │kumi na tano │
│Sixteen │kumi na seta │kumi na seta │kumi na tandato│kumi na mukaga │kumi na tandato│. . │kumi na mkaga │
│Seventeen │kumi na saba │kumi na fungati│kumi na │kumi na musamvu│kumi na │. . │kumi na musamvu│
│ │ │ │ mpungata │ │ mpungati │ │ │
│Eighteen │kumi na nani │kumi na minana │kumi na mnana │kumi na mnaneh │kumi ni nani │. . │kumi na mnana │
│Nineteen │kumi na kenda│kumi na kenda │kumi na kenda │kumi na sienda │kumi na kenda │. . │kumi na mwenda │
│Twenty │makumi-mawiri│mirongo-nawiri │makumi-megeteh │makumi-awiri │makumi-awiri │machumi-nawiri │kumi na wiri │
│Thirty │makumi-matato│mirongo-midato │kumi megeteh na│makumi-asato │makumi-adato │. . │kumi asato │
│ │ │ │ monga │ │ │ │ │
│Forty │makumi-maena │mirongo-maena │kumi megeteh na│makumi-aena │makumi aena │. . │kumi aana │
│ │ │ │ megeteh │ │ │ │ │
│Fifty │makumi-matano│mirongo-mitano │kumi megeteh na│makumi-atano │makumi atano │. . │kumi atano │
│ │ │ │ madata │ │ │ │ │
│Sixty │makumi-seta │mirongo-seta │makumi-tandato │makumi-mkaga │makumi atandato│. . │n’kaga │
│Seventy │makumi-saba │mirongo-fungati│makumi-mpungata│makumi-musamu │pungati │. . │samvu │
│Eighty │makumi-manani│mirongo-minana │makumi-mnana │makumi-munaneh │na minani │. . │kinana │
│Ninety │makumi-kenda │mirongo-kenda │makumi-n’kenda │makumi-sienda │na kenda │. . │kenda │
│Hundred │mia │mirongo-kumi │igana │igana │igana │igana │kikumi │
│Man │mtu │mutu │muntu │muntu │munhu │muntu │muntu │
│Woman │mwana-mke │mdereh │mchekuru │mukima │kima │mukazi │m’kazi │
│Cow │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │ente │n’te │
│Dog │m’bwa │suku │dibwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │
│Goat │m’buzi │mpeneh │mpeneh │m’buzi │m’buri │m’buzi │n’buzi │
│Sheep │kondoe │nhoro │n’koro │kolo │n’holo │ntama │n’diga │
│Foot │m’gu │wyu │kigereh │lugeri │lugeri │kirengi │kigeri │
│Finger │kidori │kidori │kahla │liala │liala │rukumu │n’garu │
│Head │kichwa │mutwi │litwe │itwe │m’twe │mutwe │m’twe │
│Stool │kiti │ligoda │kigoda │iteweh │isumbi │ntewi │n’tewi │
│Box │b’weta │.. │mtundu │iweta │iweta │terekero │bweta │
│Canoe │m’tumbwi │.. │.. │bwato │wato │amato │ryato │
│Paddle │kafi │.. │.. │msaha │ngyehi │ngassi │n’kassi │
│Tree │m’ti │mutti │biki │mutti │m’ti │mutti │mutti │
│House │niumba │niumba │n’ganda │numba │numba │enshu │myu │
│Arrow │m’shari │muvi │n’songa │wambi │songa │mwambi │kasari │
│Gourd │kibuyu │nhungu │toma │sikondo │suha │kisisi │kitta │
│Knife │kisu │magi │mwereh │keri │lushu │mwiyu │kambi │
│Bow │uta or mpindi│uta │pindi │utta │uta │uta │mtego │
│Spear │m’kuki │mgoha │mgoha │sumo │kima │ichumo │fumo │
│Chicken │kuku │nguku │nguku │koko │ngoko │enguku │n’koko │
│Pool │ziwa │didimazi │irambo │iziwa │irambo │kesero │kidiwa │
│Small Lake│kiziwa │.. │.. │.. │.. │.. │kiyanja-anja │
│Large Lake│ziwa │ziwa │.. │irambo │niyanza │niyanja │nyanja ngazi │
│River │m’toni │m’korongo │mongo │mongo │mongo │hamuga │mug-ga │
│Water │maji │maji │marenga │minzi │minzi │madzi │mazi │
│Fire │moto │moto │moto │muriro │moto │muriro │muriro │
│Air │baridi │mbeho │mbeho │mtaka │mbeho │rugoiye │mpewo │
│Smoke │moshi │mosi │liosh │lionsi │liochi │moshi │mukka │
│Sun │jiwa │jiwa │izuwa │iziowa │rimi │enzuwa │njiwa │
│Moon │mwezi │mrengi │mrengi │mwezi │mwezi │hwezi │mwezi │
│Stars │niota │nirezi │ntondwa │sonda │sonda │.. │m’yenyi │
│Sky │wingu │vundeh │vundeh │irundi │irundeh │vireh │bireh │
│Rain │mvuhha │mvula │tonya │mvula │mbula │enzura │nkuva │
│Lion │simba │simba │simba │simba │simba │ntari │porogoma │
│Leopard │chuwi │chuwi │nsuwi │ngwi │suwi │engo │ngo │
│Hyena │fisi │visi │biti │ifisi │iviti │mpisi │mpisi │
│Fish │sumaki │somba │chomba │somba │somba │nswi │chakulira │
│Meat │nyama │nyama │nyama │nama │nama │ehnyama │nyama │
│Bird │ndegeh │ndegeh │ndegeh │noni │noni │kihungu │nyonni │
│Country │in-chi │kirunga │hasi │siaro │chalo │itaka │ikaro │
│Mountain │mlima │kigongo │itunda │itunda │itunda │arusosyi │rusosyi │
│Hill │kirima │kirima │kigongo │vigongo │vigongo │kavanga │kusosyi │
│Plain │bondeh, │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│ │or m’buga │ruanja │nika │miwondeh │mbuga │ruweyah │rusenyi │
│Food │chakula │ugali │uhemba │ugali │ugali │vyakulya │mer-reh │
│Stick │fimbo │m’hando │mranga │muranga │mlanga │n’koni │muggo │
│Cloth │n’guo │suke │mwenda │mwenda │mwenda │mwenda │rugoyi │
│Potatoes │viazzi │mhoka │niumbu │kafu │numbu │vijumba │rumondeh │
│Banana │n’dizi │n’howo │matokeh │matokeh │madogeh │kitokeh │tokeh │
│Salt │chumvi │munyu │munyu │mwenu │munu │munyu │munyu │
│Flour │oonga │usagi │usagi │ufuma │usu │usu │nsano │
│Farm │shamba │mugunda │mlegeheh │migunda │m’gunda │dimiro │rusuko │
│Road │injia │njia │njira │n’zira │n’zira │muhanda │kuvo │
│Stone │jiweh │dibwé │dibwé │igwé │iweh │ivareh │jinja │
│Island │kisiwa │. . │. . │. . │. . │kizinga │kisinga │
│Eye │gicho │gicho │diso │diso │diso │riso │diso │
│Nose │pua │pua │mpula │nindo │nindo │nindo │nindo │
│Mouth │kinwa │lulaka │kinwa │mulomo │m’lomo │amunwa │kamwa │
│Teeth │jino │meno │meno │lino │lino │hamyeno │dinyo │
│Lips │m’domo │mulomo │m’lomo │mulomo │iromo │minwa │mumwa │
│Ears │muskio │gutwi │makutu │matwi │matwi │matwi │kutu │
│Hair │n’yuweri │n’weri │muwiri │misasi │uvwiri │hysokeh │ruviri │
│Tongue │urimi │lulimi │lulimi │lulimi │ulimi │harurimi │dlimi │
│Hand │m’kono │ganja │muoko │kuoko │kono │akibatu │kibatu │
│Hide │ngozi │kwaru │nchingo │ndiri │diri │ruhu │diva │
│Leaf │jani │jani │mahanzi │mawasi │maswa │ikivavi │karagara │
│Day │mchana │hamisi │kinguru │siku │siku │musana │misana │
│Night │usiku │kiro │kiro │ufuku │uziku │chiro │kiro │
│Walk │kutembea │kudowara │kudowala │kwiumba │kwiumba │kuvunga │kuchara │
│Run │kukimbia │kutijia │kumaaka │kwiruka │kupera │kwiruka │kuduna │
│Jump │kuruka │kujumha │. . │kuguluka │kuguluka │yaguruka │kuvuka │
│Sleep │kulala │kugona │kugona │kulala │kulala │kuviyama │kwevaka │
│Dream │ku-otta │njozi │nalota │nalotera │nalotera │narosereh │kulota │
│Darkness │jiza │finji │kutitu │lizima │giti │kwagwiteh │kizi-kiza │
│Thanks │kushukuru │. . │. . │. . │. . │nepanzi │twiyanzi │
│Father │baba │baba │tata │tata │bava │tata │kitangi │
│Mother │mama │mye-yi │ya ya │mayu │mayu │maweh │n’yabo │
│Brother │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │mrumuna │mganda │
│Dead │kufa │usira │sakapa │kufwa │kufwa │akavireh │afudeh │
│No │akuna │kuduhu │kuliza │wengo │kuduhu │nangu │nedda │
│Yes │ndio │mboga │vivyo │kwa-kwené │osheneh │mpaho │botyo │
│Good day │yambo │mbukwa │mbukwa │uhoro │mwadira, or │usivireji, or │utyano │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │angaruka │mirembe │. . │
└──────────┴─────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
These seven columns are original, collected by myself.
┌──────────┬─────────────┬─────────────┬────────────┬────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │ KI-JIJI. │ KI-GUHA. │ WEST │ MARUNGU, │ KI-BISA. │ INTERIOR │EAST MANYEMA. │
│ │ │ │ MANYEMA. │ URUNGU, │ │ UNYORO. │ │
│ │ │ │ │ UEMBA, AND │ │ │ │
│ │ │ │ │ UFIPA. │ │ │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼────────────┼────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │mwé │imo │omosa │kimwé │imo │chimwé │jumo │
│Two │wawiri │wawiri │babiri │fiwiri │siviri │biri │mabiri │
│Three │watatu │wasato │wasato │vitato │sitato │asato │basatua │
│Four │wa-ena │waana │wanachi │vineh │sineh │ina │bana │
│Five │wa-tano │wa-tano │watano │vitano │sisano │itano │batano │
│Six │watandatu │mutanda │mutuba │vitandato │mtanda │mkaga │mutuwa │
│Seven │ndwi │musambo │musambo │mtanda │mfungati │musanju │musambo │
│Eight │minani │muwanda │muhanda │mnaneh │kinani │mnana │mu-anda │
│Nine │kienda │kitema │ketema │kampusyo │mwenda │mwenda │kitema │
│Ten │wachumi │kumi │ikumi │sumi │irikumi │ichumi │nikumi │
│Eleven │chumi na mwé │. . │ikumi na │. . │ikumi narrimo │ichumi na rimo │kumi na yumo │
│ │ │ │ nundomo │ │ │ │ │
│Twelve │chumi na wiri│. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na subiri │ichumi na │kumi na wawiri │
│ │ │ │ wawiri │ │ │ ziviri │ │
│Thirteen │chumi na │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na sitato │ichumi na isato│kumi na wasato │
│ │ watatu │ │ wasato │ │ │ │ │
│Fourteen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na sineh │ichumi na ina │kumi na wana │
│ │ │ │ wanachi │ │ │ │ │
│Fifteen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na sisano │ichumi na itano│kumi na watano │
│ │ │ │ watano │ │ │ │ │
│Sixteen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na mtanda │ichumi na mkaga│kumi na mtuwa │
│ │ │ │ mutuba │ │ │ │ │
│Seventeen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na fungati│ichumi na │kumi na musambo│
│ │ │ │ musambo │ │ │ musanju │ │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na kinani │ichumi na mnana│kumi na muanda │
│ │ │ │ muhanda │ │ │ │ │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │ikumi na │. . │kumi na mwenda │ichumi na │kumi na kitema │
│ │ │ │ kitema │ │ │ mwenda │ │
│Twenty │. . │makumi mawiri│makumi awiri│. . │a makumi naviri│makumi awiri │makumi-awari │
│Thirty │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi yatato│makumi asato │. . │
│Forty │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi maena │. . │. . │
│Fifty │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi │. . │. . │
│ │ │ │ │ │ amasano │ │ │
│Sixty │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi mtanda│. . │. . │
│Seventy │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi │. . │. . │
│ │ │ │ │ │ fungati │ │ │
│Eighty │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi │. . │. . │
│ │ │ │ │ │ ukumaneh- │ │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ ukumaneh │ │ │
│Ninety │. . │. . │. . │. . │a makumi mwenda│. . │. . │
│Hundred │igana │lukama │lukama │. . │ikikumi │igana │lukama │
│Man │muntu │muntu │mundu │muntu │muntu │muntu │mbandu │
│Woman │m’goreh │m’kazyana │mkazi │mwanakazi │mwanakazi │mkazi │mkazi │
│Cow │inka │. . │n’gombé │vingombé │ingombé │n’té │n’gombé │
│Dog │m’bwa │imbwa │imbwa │kabwa │kabwa │m’bwa │imbwa │
│Goat │m’peneh │mbusi │m’buzi │m’buzi │m’buzi │m’buri │mbuzi │
│Sheep │n’tama │mkoko │mkoko │mikoko │impanga │n’tama │mukoko │
│Foot │maguru │kuguru │maholu │magassa │amoru │virengi │ma-ulu │
│Finger │urutoké │minwé │misani │kiara │munwé │rukumu │minwé │
│Head │mutwé │kitwi │mutwi │kitwé │mutwé │mutwi │muswé │
│Stool │n’teweh │kiwala │kibara │n’teweh │kipuna │antewi │kikala │
│Box │. . │. . │kirindo │n’fua │. . │terekera │kirindo │
│Canoe │uwato │mbwato │bwato │uwato │bwato │awato │wato │
│Paddle │magefi │magafi │ngafi │mikingi │inkafi │n’kassi │ngafi │
│Tree │iwitti │mutti │mutti │fimutti │umutti │ekiti │mutyo │
│House │nzu │sibo │ndabu │nganda │nganda │enzu │kendeh │
│Arrow │myambi │misari │masoma │mifwi │mufwi │mwambi │masoma │
│Gourd │kisawo │kiasa │kiasa │nsupa │nsupa │kisisi │kisawa │
│Knife │n’tambi │luheté │rubahu │mwereh │mwereh │kyeyu │luweteh │
│Bow │muwheto │utawako │uta │uta │uvuta │mtego │butta │
│Spear │chumo │fumu │itumo │fumo │ifumo │chumo │fumu │
│Chicken │n’koko │n’guku │n’goko │n’goko │ingoko │engoko │solo │
│Pool │kitanga │kiziwa │kiziwa │kirambi │kirambeh │viasero │kiziwa │
│Small Lake│kitanga │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│Large Lake│tanganika │nduyi │luchi │kimumana │umumana │niyanza │lugi │
│River │mugezi │mututo │luchi │mulonga │muronga │hamwiga │amema │
│Water │na-mazi │mema │machi │amenzi │amenzi │mansi │mema │
│Fire │muchanwa │muriro │tuya │muriro │muriro │muriro │muriro │
│Air │mbeho │masika │masika │ukupema │ukupema │vikoi │masika │
│Smoke │numusi │mosi │muki │ikiunsi │ikunzi │mwika │mozi │
│Sun │izuwa │yuwa │juwa │akazua │akasua │rizowa │muninya │
│Moon │ukwezi │mwesi │sungi │mwezi │mwezi │kwezi │mwango │
│Stars │masata │kangemo gemo │kangamina │ntanda │intanda │hamunyoni │kangumina │
│Sky │ijuru │yulu │ijulu │mavimbi │mavimbi │haruguru │nikuni │
│Rain │mvula │vula │mbula │infula │n’fula │enzula │vula │
│Lion │n’tari │ntambwé │ndambwé │msimba │kalamo │ntari │ndambwi │
│Leopard │ngwé │ningé │ingwé │kabwima │mbwiri │engo │ningwi │
│Hyena │fisi │kimbwi │kimbwi │kimbwi │ikimbwi │mpissi │gimbwi │
│Fish │nsiwi │nyama na mema│nyama-chi │isawi │nswi │nchwi │nyama na mema │
│ │ │ │ machi │ │ │ │ │
│Meat │nyama │nyama │nyama │inama │inama │nyama │nyama │
│Bird │nzewa │nkoni │koni │fioni │ifijoni │kinoni │tuni │
│Country │insi │mwaro │musengeh │ikaro │ikaro │ensi │kibaro │
│Mountain │musosyi │ninguru │ngulu │mpiri │urupiri │arusosyi │ulyangulu │
│Hill │musosyi │mutenda │mukuna │utupiri │utulima │akasosyi │ulyanngongo │
│Plain │nika │lungu │kungu │mwirungu │mwirungu │aruseni │lilungu │
│Food │viribwa │viriasi │viribwa │uwali │ubwari │vyakulya │virivwa │
│Stick │n’koni │kakoi │fimbo │kamama │uwembea │n’koni │miti │
│Cloth │mwenda │mariwa │kiramba │nsaro │nsaro │mienda │nguo │
│Potatoes │virumbu │virumbu │kasenga │ifiumbu │ifiumbu │vitakuli │bihama │
│Banana │tokeh │matokeh │n’doso │mikondeh │mikondeh │kitokeh │ma-ondeh │
│Salt │munyu │munyu │musiki │mikereh │mikeri │munyu │mungwa │
│Flour │nfu │ushyeh │bunga │uvunga │uvunga │buro │vunga │
│Farm │mrima │mavala │ishio │mavala │amavala │hanimiro │makunda │
│Road │njira │inchira │injila │munsira │inzira │muhanda │munzira │
│Stone │iwuyeh │dibwé │dibwé │iribwé │iribwé │ivari │mabwé │
│Island │kirira │. . │. . │kisera │kisinziri │. . │. . │
│Eye │amaso │liso │diso │amenso │irinso │hariso │meso │
│Nose │izulu │mohembé │mohembé │mona │umona │hanindo │muwembeh │
│Mouth │kanwa │kukanwa │kanwa │akanwa │akanwa │hamunwa │kanywa │
│Teeth │amenyo │meno │mino │ameno │ameno │hamano │meno │
│Lips │munwa │miromo │molomo │miromo │mulomo │hamuromo │mulomo │
│Ears │ugutwi │makutwi │magutwi │amatwi │amatwi │amatwi │makusweh │
│Hair │uzwiri │n’yuweri │suki │musisi │musisi │isokeh │n’weli │
│Tongue │uru-rimi │ulim │lulimi │ululimi │ulurimi │harurimi │durimi │
│Hand │kiganza │m’kono │maboko │minwé │amaboko │haruwatu │maboko │
│Hide │muwiri │kisewa │kesewa │kiganda │impapa │haru │kisewa │
│Leaf │muvavi │mejani │gani │mavula │ifijani │ikivavi │tubizi │
│Day │izuwa │juwa │juwa │chingulo │akazua │m’sana │juwa │
│Night │uchugo │ufuku │utu │uvusiku │avasiku │hakiro │mufuku │
│Walk │kugenda │mukwenda │kwenda │kwangala │kutandala │kuunga │kusumuka │
│Run │asimba │washuka │lubilu │uriviro │uriviro │eyeruka │luvilo │
│Jump │mkwiruka │kutambuka │kusuluka │kiruka │ukukiruka │uguruka │watambuka │
│Sleep │alaly-yeh │nakarala │kusama │kusendama │kusendama │kuvyama │jenala-eanga │
│Dream │kulota │kulota │kulota │viroto │viroto │ndosireh │falota │
│Darkness │. . │mufito │ikunyi │nfinsi │nfinsi │liala ula │nikunyi │
│Thanks │wakora │ki-ini │chuwo, │nyikuta │nyikuta │wiansi │ngahyi │
│ │ │ │ wodoko │ │ │ │ │
│Father │data │tutu │ntata │tata │tata │tata │nitutu │
│Mother │mama │nana │nené │yangu │ma-yo │maweh │yeh-yi │
│Brother │mwen-eweh │mukingu wami │motaaneh │mwyeki │munangi │munu muna │mwina │
│Dead │afwieh │akufa │kukwa │infwa │ukufa │iwafwa │wafwa │
│No │atayeh │a-ha │kusikiendo │yo │tapari │n’ga │utoko │
│Yes │ayé │eh │wowo │eh │eh │niho │eh │
│Good day │. . │ayu-muga │bakwenu │mapola │mapola │ulije-liota │utengo │
└──────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┴────────────┴────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
These seven columns are original, collected by myself.
┌──────────┬─────────────┬────────────┬────────────┬────────────┬────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │ KI-YAU. │ KI-NYASSA. │ MAFITTÉ OR │ KI-RORI. │ BAREGGA. │ KI-KUSU. │ KI-YANZI. │ KI-BWENDÉ. │
│ │ │ │ WATUTA. │ │ │ │ │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼────────────┼────────────┼────────────┼────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │jumo, or │kimodzi │. . │. . │chamojé │kechi │mosyeh │mosi │
│ │ yumpepeh │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Two │wawiri │vi-wiri │. . │. . │ibi │kipeh │mwé │miolé │
│Three │watatu │vitatu │. . │. . │isato │isato │siti │mitato │
│Four │mcheché │vinyé │. . │. . │inya │kenem │ina │miya │
│Five │msano │visano │. . │. . │koboko │kiano │mitano │vitano │
│Six │musano na │visano na │. . │. . │mutuba │usha-malo │mtuba │misamba │
│ │ jumo │kimodzi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Seven │musano na │visano na │. . │. . │. . │sambeli │musamvu │sambwari │
│ │ wiri │vi-wiri │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Eight │musano na │visano na │. . │. . │chinana │inanem │mwambi │nana │
│ │ watatu │vitatu │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Nine │musano na │visano na │. . │. . │. . │di-vwa │bwa │vwa │
│ │ mcheché │vinyé │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Ten │ikumi │chikumi │. . │. . │ikama │vu-um │kumi │kumi │
│Eleven │. . │pambula na │. . │. . │. . │vu-ndomo │. . │. . │
│ │ │modzi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Twelve │. . │pambula na │. . │. . │. . │vu-nduafé │. . │. . │
│ │ │ziviri │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Thirteen │. . │pambula na │. . │. . │. . │vu-ndasato │. . │. . │
│ │ │sitato │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fourteen │. . │pampula na │. . │. . │. . │vu-ndanem │. . │. . │
│ │ │sineh │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fifteen │. . │pambula na │. . │. . │. . │vu-nda-atano │. . │. . │
│ │ │isano │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Sixteen │. . │pambula │. . │. . │. . │vu-nda-asamalo │. . │. . │
│ │ │isano na │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Seventeen │. . │ [imodzi│. . │. . │. . │vu-nda-sambeli │. . │. . │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │vu-nda-inanem │. . │. . │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │vu-nda-divwa │. . │. . │
│Twenty │makumi gaviri│makumi │. . │. . │. . │um-apé │. . │kumi miolé │
│ │ │mawiri │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Thirty │makumi gatato│makumi │. . │. . │. . │um-asato │. . │kumi mitato │
│ │ │madatu │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Forty │makumi │makumi manyé│. . │. . │. . │u-m-amem │. . │kumi miya │
│ │ mcheché │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fifty │makumi musano│makumi asano│. . │. . │. . │u-m-atano │. . │. . │
│Sixty │makumi musano│. . │. . │. . │. . │u-m-asamalo │. . │. . │
│ │ na rimo │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Seventy │makumi musano│. . │. . │. . │. . │u-m-asambeli │. . │. . │
│ │ na wawiri │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Eighty │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │u-ma-inanem │. . │. . │
│Ninety │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │u-m’difwa │. . │. . │
│Hundred │makumi mikumi│. . │. . │. . │. . │lukama │. . │mukama │
│Man │mundu │muntu │muntu │munhu │mutu │untu │mutu │muntu │
│Woman │wakongweh │mkazi │wakazi │mudara │mukazi │omoto │m’kali │mikento │
│Cow │ngombé │ngombé │zinkomo │ingombé │. . │. . │. . │n’gombi │
│Dog │m’hwa │garu │inja │m’bwa │m’bwa │mvwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │
│Goat │mbuzi │mbuzi │imbuzi │mpeneh │mburi │mburi │ntawa │kombo │
│Sheep │kondolo │dira │perereh │nkhoro │memé │ogoko │memé │memé │
│Foot │makongolo │mwendo │imiendo │miguru │tindé │igulu │likuru │ntambi │
│Finger │kahla │kahla │nikidori │kidori │numi │beo │musi │m’lembo │
│Head │m’twé │mutu │rikanda │mutwé │mutchwi │utwé │mpu │n’tu │
│Stool │kitengu │mpando │ligoda │kigoda │kitumbi │uti │. . │. . │
│Box │ibweta │. . │likala │ifiyo │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│Canoe │wato │bwato │uwato │ruwato │mato │wato │mato │malungu │
│Paddle │mparisiro │n’kafi │inkafi │rukhafi │nkafi │kafi │. . │nkafi │
│Tree │mtera │mtengo │mtera │ripiki │kiti │iti │muiti │mutti │
│House │niumba │niumba │inyumba │iritembé │nyumba │lum │. . │manzu │
│Arrow │mpamba │mpariro │muvvi │misari │. . │lole │. . │. . │
│Gourd │ngembo │chigubu │chigugu │lunguru │kikuru │ohombo │. . │. . │
│Knife │kipula │chipula │mageh │magi │obeo │lukula │biereh │mbelé │
│Bow │ukunjeh │uta │iutta │kiwutta │. . │uta │. . │mikeleh │
│Spear │lipanga │ntungo │mkondo │mharara │tumu │likonga │ikongo │wiyongé │
│Chicken │n’guku │n’kuku │inkuku │inkuku │koko │koko │nsusu │nsusu │
│Pool │itamanda │tawareh │. . │masiwa │. . │ijuwa │. . │. . │
│Small Lake│. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │}iruwa │. . │. . │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ { │ │ │
│Large Lake│. . │niyanja │inyanja │inyanja │. . │} │. . │. . │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ { │ │ │
│River │luzulo │msinjeh │mfureni │mhkhogo │ikingi │okedi │ibari │njali │
│Water │mesi │madzi │magassi │merenga │myé │ashi │. . │maza │
│Fire │moto │moto │mubasso │moto │kasa │njo │. . │tia │
│Air │mbepo │mpepo │impepo │impepo │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│Smoke │liosi │motsi │iriosi │mosi │muki │oringa │. . │. . │
│Sun │lyua │ndzua │idzua │irijua │iowa │onya │ikanga │ntangu │
│Moon │mwezi │mwezi │inyanga │mwesi │meri │weri │nsungi │ngonda │
│Stars │ndondwa │ntondwa │n’kanyesi │vinyota │kendi-kendi │toto │. . │. . │
│Sky │liundeh │mitambo │likuturuka │irivingu │itu-kutcha │i-ubenvula │. . │s’lu │
│Rain │ula │mvula │imvula │imfura │mbura │mvula │. . │mavula │
│Lion │lisimba │mkango │kawangu │nyerupara │. . │kimbungu │. . │. . │
│Leopard │kisuwi │n’yalugwé │idumo │nduma │kengé │kom │. . │ngo │
│Hyena │litunu │fissi │ifisi │nfisi │. . │tambwé │. . │. . │
│Fish │somba │nsomba │sinjoka │nswi │mfi │lusi │. . │mbisi │
│Meat │nyama │nyama │in’yama │in’yama │nyama │nyama │. . │mbisi │
│Bird │kigijuni │balameh │nyama zani │inyuni │kokombiri │filu │. . │. . │
│Country │kirambo │dziko │isi │inhi │kanda │welu │. . │n’si │
│Mountain │itumbi │piri │ligomo │vidunda │keoma │ukunji │. . │izuru │
│Hill │katundulima │kapiri │kagomo │kidunda │. . │selemoto │mbenga │. . │
│Plain │irambo │dambo │kuridambo │imbuga │itondo │osuwé │. . │batto │
│Food │chakulya │chakudya │chigesa │ugali │mata │uma │. . │ulya │
│Stick │ngolombeh │ndodo │intonga │n’kwegu │cheti │yanga │. . │mukawa │
│Cloth │nguo │nsaro │zinyula │mwenda │nturu │ukisi │. . │. . │
│Potatoes │batata │batata │chimungurwé │madulé │. . │kilunga │. . │chikwa │
│Banana │magombo │ntochi │zinkho │nkho │mama │likondo │. . │makondé │
│Salt │geteh │mchereh │mkireh │munyu │mu-u │luweho │. . │mungwa │
│Flour │utandi │ufa │mpupu │utini │umata │okula │. . │muyaka │
│Farm │mgunda │munda │kuminda │migunda │. . │ikambwa │. . │kugata │
│Road │itala │n’jira │injira │inzira │ingeya │ugulu │. . │makanga │
│Stone │liganga │mwala │diranga │ijua │i-wé │div-weh │ibwa: pl. maba │. . │
│Island │kirumba │kirumba │rizinga │irisiwa │kititi │kisiwa │. . │. . │
│Eye │liso │diso │meso │ameho │liso │chu │liso │diso │
│Nose │lupula │mpuno │impuno │impura │moembi │ulu │juru │mbombo │
│Mouth │pakanwa │kamwa │ikamwa │rumiro │kama │uniwa │munya │nwa │
│Teeth │dino │dzino │imeno │meno │meno │wyenyu │. . │meno │
│Lips │ngomo │mlomo │mlomo │muromo │mitutu │elomo │. . │. . │
│Ears │mapikaniro │kutu │makutu │burukutu │kuta │atum │itoi │kutu │
│Hair │umbo │sitsi │zifwiri │n’yeri │mbi │divu │nsueh │suki │
│Tongue │lulimi │dilimi │lulimi │urumiri │chiami │lulim │. . │. . │
│Hand │mkono │dzanja │nimikono │mavokho │makasa │lani │liboko │moko │
│Hide │lipendeh │n’guo │kisango │nkwembi │okowa │lowa │. . │. . │
│Leaf │masamba │samba │inyasi │risori │. . │adilu │ikuku │mkobo │
│Day │musi │mtzana │diranga │pamunsi │utukutcha │lososi │. . │bilumbu │
│Night │kiro │usiku │usiku │pakiro │utagwyra │u-chu │. . │. . │
│Walk │kwenda-genda │kwienda-enda│kusasira │gendanga │itungu │seteta │. . │. . │
│Run │ku-utuka │kutamanga │kujujima │ruviro │okobé │luwango │. . │. . │
│Jump │usumba │kulumpa │ulapora │kurukha │ky-yé │tamba │. . │. . │
│Sleep │ugona │kugona │kugona │kwigona │kulama │jetama │ngori │. . │
│Dream │usagamira │kulota │zindoto │sindoto │. . │dotalo │. . │. . │
│Darkness │kipi │m’dima │mudima │ndisisa │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│Thanks │kulomba- │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│ │ mulungu │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Father │atati │atateh │uvava │uheso │moma │ya-oneh │tara │tata │
│Mother │amau │amai │himama │nineso │inawé │mboneh │mama │mama │
│Brother │mpwanga │mpwanga │mana-kwetu │lukholo │meya │kadiwem │ndu │ndugu │
│Dead │awireh │kufa │afireh │afwireh │kukinduka │utuvweh │afua │. . │
│No │ngwamba │parijeh │paribé │pasiri │. . │kwapa │. . │. . │
│Yes │yereyo │kodi │ye-u │nipereré │. . │lumbweh │. . │. . │
│Good day │kivera │ulimoyo │tu-kooneh │ajageh │. . │we-mweh │. . │. . │
└──────────┴─────────────┴────────────┴────────────┴────────────┴────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
These eight columns are original, collected by myself.
┌──────────┬─────────────┬─────────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │ KAKONGO AND │ KI-RUA.[A] │ M’FAN │ UKANDA.[B] │ ADUMAS. │ UKOA, OR │ KAFIR. │
│ │ KABINDA.[A] │ │(USSEYBAS).[B] │ │ │ M’BONGO.[C] │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼─────────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────────┤
│One │bosa │kamo │fo │moti │mo │boko │nyé │
│Two │kwali │tuwili │beji │bali │yoli │wuma │bilé │
│Three │tato │tusatu │la │eato │eato │motadi │tatu │
│Four │n-na │tuna │nai │na │na │kongoli │né │
│Five │tano │tutano │tané │ota │bitano │mongobi │hlané │
│Six │sambanu │tusamba │kamé │motoba │samon │diata │itatisitupa │
│Seven │sambwali │tusambalawili │jenyoi, or │napo │somnbo │mendjeiba │kombisa │
│ │ │ │ jonyoi │ │ │ │ │
│Eight │na-na │mwanda │wonum │enana │ponmbo │kocu dnjeila │ishiyangalobilé │
│Nine │ev-wa │kitema │ebu │buka │liboi │monkonyolo │isishiyangalobilé │
│Ten │ikumi │di kumi, or kikwi│ayomi │djema │comi │monkonmokoi │ishumi │
│Eleven │. . │di kumi na kamo │. . │edjima moti │comi na l’no │. . │ishumi li-na-nyé │
│Twelve │. . │di kumi na tuwili│. . │. . │comi na jolé │. . │ishumi li-nabilé │
│Thirteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-nesitatu │
│Fourteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-na-ni │
│Fifteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-nenhlanu │
│Sixteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-ne- │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ tatisitupa │
│Seventeen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-na- │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ kombisa │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-na- │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ shiyangalobilé │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ishumi li-na- │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ isishiyangalobilé│
│Twenty │makumi-wali │vikwi viwili │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi amabilé │
│Thirty │makumi-tato │vikwi visatu │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi amatatu │
│Forty │makumi-na │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi amané │
│Fifty │makumi-tano │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi amahlanu │
│Sixty │makumi- │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi │
│ │ sambanu │ │ │ │ │ │ atatisitupa │
│Seventy │lusambwala- │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi akombisa │
│ │ n’kama │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Eighty │lunana-n’kama│. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ ashiyangalobilé │
│Ninety │luvwala- │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │amashumi │
│ │ n’kama │ │ │ │ │ │ isishiyangalobilé│
│Hundred │n’kama │katwa │kama (?) │kama (?) │kama (?) │. . │ikulu │
│Man │muntu │muntu │efan voklé │momei neto │libolu (?) │milumé │indoda │
│Woman │m’chento │mkazi │munga │mento │kasou, or kasa │beito │umfazi │
│Cow │n’gombi │n’gombé │nia │djoma │maré │gongué │inkomo │
│Dog │m’bwa │m’bwa │m’vu │m’fa │m’buandi │buandé (?) │inja │
│Goat │n’kombo │mbuzi │golé kaba │kaba moi │laba │bodi │imbuzi │
│Sheep │me-mé │mkoko │galé toma │donbo │monka dombé │. . │imvu │
│Foot │kulu │uswaya │akulubo │winhé │litambi │dibombo │inyawo │
│Finger │nzala │minwé │onu, or unu │mon shalei │monlembo │malomé │umunwé │
│Head │m’tu │kutwé │. . │. . │. . │. . │ikanda, or inhloko │
│Stool │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │isihlalu │
│Box │bubulu │kip[=o]wu │evora │egala, or egara│egara │. . │umpongolo │
│Canoe │bwato │wato │bia │bongo │bongo │boielo │umkumbana │
│Paddle │chiela │kwuho │oka │yokabi │ikapi │. . │ipini │
│Tree │mti │chiti │ili │eteitei │mouté │kananya │umuti │
│House │bwala │mzuo │n’dar │daka │jo │dongu │intlu │
│Arrow │. . │mikétu │m’boyé │manbanjei │. . │. . │umcibityelo │
│Gourd │. . │mungu │. . │. . │. . │. . │iselwa │
│Knife │mbelé │lupété │aukan │vekuma │beidi │m’beidi (?) │umkwa │
│Bow │. . │uta │ekulara m’bei │. . │munayé │. . │umcibityelo │
│Spear │. . │mkové │muku │gonga │ikongo │. . │umkonto │
│Chicken │nsusu │. . │ku, or n’ku │susu │kuba dsudsu (?)│kuba │inyané │
│Pool │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │isiziba │
│Small Lake│. . │ru-wa │. . │. . │. . │. . │umsinga │
│Large Lake│. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │
│River │nzali │luwi │lo │bulomebé │bagni-dali- │. . │umfula │
│ │ │ │ │ │ dsali │ │ │
│Water │mlangwa, or │méma │majime osi │manngi │manba │mandiba │amanzi │
│ │ mazzi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fire │mbazu │miriro │doit │bibu │m’bao │isako │umlilo │
│Air │mpemo │. . │. . │pejiei │teino (wind) │. . │umoya │
│Smoke │muisi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │umusi │
│Sun │ntangu │minyia │viei │konmbé │vadu │eimejo │ilanga │
│Moon │ngonda │kwési │. . │. . │. . │. . │inyanga │
│Stars │. . │kanyenya │. . │. . │. . │. . │ikanyezi │
│Sky │li-ilu │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │izulu │
│Rain │mvula │mvula │. . │. . │. . │. . │imvula │
│Lion │chingumbu │tambu │. . │. . │. . │. . │igonyama │
│Leopard │ngo │ngé │n’zé │jeigo │ebabi │bongonjo │ingwé │
│Hyena │. . │kumungu │zoé │. . │. . │. . │impisi │
│Fish │mfu │mwita wa luwi │béluné │. . │inzanga │. . │inhlanzi │
│Meat │mbizi │. . │vité │muma │bolu │beseibo │inyama │
│Bird │. . │nguni │. . │. . │. . │. . │inyoni │
│Country │. . │n’shi │. . │. . │. . │. . │ilizwé │
│Mountain │mula │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │umango │
│Hill │. . │m’kuna │. . │. . │. . │. . │ithaba │
│Plain │ntando │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │itafa │
│Food │bilya │wulio, or viliwa │vité │niuma │bolu │beseibo │ukuhla │
│Stick │mpu │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │uluti │
│Cloth │. . │mbwisha │. . │. . │. . │. . │indwangu │
│Potatoes │mbala │kulungu │amon-a │fagola │fanetei │ileilo │amazembané │
│Banana │ntutu │makondé │isu-ikomé │motabo │icomako │monbungei │ukova │
│Salt │nsalo │mwèpu │ny fu │vianga │. . │. . │momunya │
│Flour │falinya │ukula │. . │. . │. . │. . │impupa │
│Farm │. . │kurimi │. . │. . │. . │. . │ilizwé │
│Road │nzili │mishinda │. . │. . │. . │. . │inhlela │
│Stone │(pl.) manya :│uivé │. . │. . │. . │. . │ilityé │
│ │ llianya │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ (s.) │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Island │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │isihlenga │
│Eye │lieso │masa │dicé │incho │disu │di-so (?) │iliso │
│Nose │i-ilu │miona │dji │pumbo │jolo │mukomba │impumlo │
│Mouth │muno │makanu │. . │. . │. . │. . │umlomo │
│Teeth │meno │néno │. . │. . │. . │. . │amazinyo │
│Lips │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │udebé (s.) │
│Ears │ukutu │matwi │. . │. . │. . │. . │inhlebé (pl.) │
│Hair │lenjé │mwèné │. . │. . │. . │. . │unwelé │
│Tongue │lulaka │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ulimi │
│Hand │koko │. . │akluoa │misabi │ekoka │kaka │isanhla │
│Hide │m’kandi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │isikumba │
│Leaf │utiti │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │iquabi │
│Day │lumbo │mfuko │. . │. . │. . │. . │ilanga │
│Night │bwilo │cholwa │. . │. . │. . │. . │ubusuku │
│Walk │liata │kananga │. . │. . │. . │. . │hamba │
│Run │. . │enda uviro │amana │otsi-i │esili, or tili │avolé │gijima │
│Jump │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │gqita │
│Sleep │lala │lala │. . │. . │. . │. . │ubutongo │
│Dream │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ipupa │
│Darkness │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ubumnyana │
│Thanks │ntondesi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ukunaneka │
│Father │tata │tata │tara │teita │tata │. . │baba │
│Mother │mama │lolo │nané │i-ya │gu │. . │mamé │
│Brother │nkomba │tula │. . │. . │. . │. . │umné │
│Dead │ufwiré │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │abafeleyo │
│No │vé │vituu │koko │geilé │abisi, or ubiki│. . │ca; ai; qa │
│ │ │ │ │ │ (“no more”) │ │ │
│Yes │ngeté │. . │ain │ini-ein │mezali │andéké-oié │ewe; yebo │
│Good day │keba-bota │. . │bolo │ntchi koié │maso koi │chika │valisela │
└──────────┴─────────────┴─────────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────────┘
Footnote A:
The first two columns are original, collected by myself.
Footnote B:
These four are kindly furnished by M. Ed. Marche, of the Ogowai
Exploration, conformed to the English system by myself.
Footnote C:
Furnished by Rev. Robert Moffat.
┌──────────┬─────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │SECHWANA.[D] │ JALIF. │ SÚSÍ. │ TIMANÍ. │ MANDINGO. │ SOKNA AND │ BORNU. │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ TUARIK. │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │fiwé │ben │kiring │pen │. . │idgen │tílo │
│Two │peri │yar │far-ing │prung │. . │sunn │andí │
│Three │tharo │niet │shuk-ing │tisas │. . │shard │yaskú │
│Four │nné │nianett │nari │pánli │. . │erbar (Ar.) │daigú │
│Five │tlhano │gurum │shuli │tomát │. . │(All the │ugú │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ numbers │ │
│Six │thataro │gurum ben │shinié │rokin │. . │above three are│araskú │
│Seven │shupa │gurum yar │shulifiring │dayring │. . │the same as in │tuller │
│Eight │gohèra meberi│gurum niet │shulimashukung │daysas │. . │Arabic.) │oskú │
│Nine │gohéra o lé │gurum niant │shulimang │dayuga │. . │. . │lekár │
│ │ moñué │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Ten │leshomé │fué │fuang │tofot │. . │. . │maigú │
│Eleven │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco o lé │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ moñué │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Twelve │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco mé │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ beri │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Thirteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco meraro│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fourteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco mené │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Fifteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ metlhano │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Sixteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ meratharo │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Seventeen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco é │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ shupa │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Eighteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco é hèra│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ meberi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Nineteen │leshomé lé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ moco é hèra│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ o lé moñué │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Twenty │mashomé │nill │mawhinia │tofot marung │. . │. . │ │
│ │ maberi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Thirty │mashomé │fanever │tongashukúng │tofot masas │. . │. . │maigú lata │
│ │ mararo │ │ │ │ │ │ maigú │
│Forty │mashomé mané │nianet fué │tonganana │tofot manlu │. . │. . │ │
│Fifty │mashomé │guaum fué │tongashulang │tofot tomat │. . │. . │ │
│ │ matlhano │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Sixty │mashomé │guaum ben fué │tongashini │tofot rokin │. . │. . │ │
│ │ maratharo │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Seventy │mashomé é │guaum yar fué │tongashulifring │tofot dayring │. . │. . │ │
│ │ shupa │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Eighty │mashomé a │guaum niet fué │tongashulimashakung│tofot daysas │. . │. . │ │
│ │ hèra maberi│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Ninety │mashomé a │guaum nianet │tongashulimanáné │tofot danygah │. . │. . │ │
│ │ hèra o lé │ fué │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ moñué │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Hundred │sekholu │temer │kimé │tofot tofot │. . │. . │jarrú │
│Man │monona │gour │. . │. . │mo, or fato │mar │kúa │
│Woman │mosari │diguen │. . │. . │moosea │tamtút │mata │
│Cow │khomo é │. . │ninkgeginé │. . │. . │lebgurr │fai │
│ │ namagari │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Dog │ncha │. . │. . │. . │. . │edé │ │
│Goat │pori │phas │shi │. . │. . │teaghsi │ │
│Sheep │ñku │zedré │juhé │. . │. . │tíle, or utus │ │
│Foot │lonao │. . │. . │. . │. . │sishkunt │shié │
│Finger │monuana │baram (pl.) │. . │. . │boalla ronding │. . │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ (pl.) │ │ │
│Head │tlogo │bop │hung hungji │. . │run │ighrof │kela │
│Stool │serulo │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Box │lethulé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Canoe │mokoro │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Paddle │sehuri │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Tree │setlhari │garallun │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│House │ntlo │. . │bankhi │. . │. . │sashka │ │
│Arrow │mochwi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Gourd │sego │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Knife │thipa │. . │finé │. . │. . │uzal │ │
│Bow │bora │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Spear │lerumo │. . │. . │. . │. . │tagarit │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ (_jeríd_) │ │
│Chicken │kokoana │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Pool │mogobé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Small Lake│letsa │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Large Lake│letsa-yé- │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ legolu │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│River │molapo (or “a│. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│ │ valley”) │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Water │metsé │dok │. . │. . │gi │aman │anki │
│Fire │molelo │. . │. . │. . │. . │isghráran, and │kanno │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ timsi │ │
│Air │pheho │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Smoke │mosi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sun │letsatsi │burham safara │shugé │. . │tílí │sefúkt │kú │
│Moon │nueri │burham lion │kigé │. . │koro │tajíri │kengál │
│Stars │dinaleri │. . │. . │. . │. . │erán │shilluga │
│Sky │legorimo │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Rain │pula │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Lion │tau │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Leopard │nkué │. . │shuko shé │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Hyena │phiri │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Fish │tlapi │quienn │. . │. . │. . │khút (Ar.) │boné │
│Meat │nama │. . │. . │. . │. . │aksúm (_flesh_,│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ tagilla) │ │
│Bird │nonyané │. . │. . │. . │. . │azdiah │ongúdo │
│Country │lehatsé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Mountain │thaba │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Hill │thabana │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Plain │motlhaba │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Food │liyo │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Stick │tsamma │. . │. . │. . │. . │tagaghrít │ │
│Cloth │letsela, khai│. . │. . │. . │. . │melf (Ar.) │ │
│Potatoes │makhuilé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Banana │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Salt │lechoai │. . │. . │. . │. . │tísant │ │
│Flour │bopi │. . │. . │. . │. . │aruna │ │
│Farm │tsimo │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Road │tsela │. . │kirá │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Stone │leinchué │. . │. . │. . │. . │teghrúghan │kau │
│Island │sekiri │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Eye │leitlo │. . │. . │. . │. . │tiat │shim (pl.) │
│Nose │nko │bauané │nieué │. . │nung │laksham │kensha │
│Mouth │molomo │guémin │dé │. . │da │eemi │ │
│Teeth │meno │guené │. . │. . │. . │. . │timmi │
│Lips │melomo │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Ears │ditsebé │. . │. . │. . │. . │tamazúkh │ │
│Hair │moriri │cayor │. . │. . │. . │zaú │kondoli │
│Tongue │lolemé │lamin │ning ningjé │. . │ning │. . │ │
│Hand │seatla │baram │. . │. . │boalla, ronding│fús │moskú │
│Hide │letlalo │. . │. . │. . │. . │illam (leather │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ or skin) │ │
│Leaf │tsebé │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Day │letsatsi │. . │hi │. . │. . │azill │kú │
│Night │bosigo │. . │qué │. . │. . │yettí │búné │
│Walk │sepela │. . │. . │. . │. . │achel │ │
│Run │taboga │. . │gee fé │. . │. . │uzzel, or azzil│ │
│Jump │tlola │. . │tubang fé │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sleep │robala │. . │. . │. . │. . │kúnem │ │
│Dream │lora │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Darkness │lehihi │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Thanks │maleboga │guérum nalá │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Father │rara │bail │taffé │. . │fa │. . │abbah │
│Mother │ma │dé │inga │. . │ba │. . │yané │
│Brother │mokauleñué │rak gour │tarahunjia │. . │ba dingkea │nitta │ │
│Dead │shulé │. . │. . │. . │. . │utima │nowé │
│No │nya │dhiett │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Yes │è │ouaa │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Good day │salasentlé │dhïarakio │. . │currea │. . │. . │ │
└──────────┴─────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
-----
Footnote D:
Furnished by Rev. Robert Moffat.—The other six columns from various
authors.
-----
┌────────────┬─────────────┬────────────┬────────────┬──────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │ SAKATÚ. │ TIMBUCTOO. │ SOUDAN, OR │ TIBBU. │ HOTTENTOT. │ YORUBA.[E] │ MAKUA. │
│ │ │ │ HAVUSA. │ │ │ │ │
├────────────┼─────────────┼────────────┼────────────┼──────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │. . │. . │daya │trono │ko-isé │eni : ọkan │ │
│Two │. . │. . │biú │chew │ka-msé │edzì │ │
│Three │. . │. . │okú │agozu │arusé │ẹta │ │
│Four │. . │. . │fúdú │tuzzao │gna-to-i │ẹrin : mẹrin │ │
│Five │. . │. . │biät │fo │metuka │arun │ │
│Six │. . │. . │shidda │dessí │krubi │ẹfa │ │
│Seven │. . │. . │bokkoi │tútúsú │gna tigna │edźé │ │
│Eicht │. . │. . │tokkos │usú │gninka │ẹdźọ : mẹdźọ │ │
│Nine │. . │. . │tara │issí │tuminkma │ẹsan │ │
│Ten │. . │. . │goma │mordum │gomatsé │èéwa │ │
│Eleven │. . │. . │goma shadaya│. . │. . │ọkanlá │ │
│Twelve │. . │. . │goma biu │. . │. . │edźilá │ │
│Thirteen │. . │. . │goma okú │. . │. . │ẹtalá │ │
│Fourteen │. . │. . │goma fúdú │. . │. . │erinlá │ │
│Fifteen │. . │. . │goma biät │. . │. . │ẹẹdógun │ │
│Sixteen │. . │. . │goma shidda │. . │. . │ẹrindilógun │ │
│Seventeen │. . │. . │goma bokkoi │. . │. . │ẹtadilógun │ │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │goma tokkos │. . │. . │édźidilógun │ │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │goma tara │. . │. . │óḳandilógun │ │
│Twenty │. . │. . │asherin │. . │. . │ogún │ │
│Thirty │. . │. . │thalatin │. . │. . │ọgbón │ │
│Fortv │. . │. . │(and so on │. . │. . │ogodźi : òdźi │ │
│Fifty │. . │. . │to 100, as │. . │. . │ádọta │ │
│Sixty │. . │. . │in Arabic.) │. . │. . │ogọta : ota │ │
│Seventy │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ádorin │ │
│Eighty │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ọgọrin : ọrin │ │
│Ninety │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ádọrun │ │
│Hundred │. . │. . │darí │. . │. . │ọgọrun : orún │ │
│Man │efillo │ahinda │. . │aaih │kupp │ọkọnri : ènia │mo-lú-mé │
│Woman │debbo │afintú │. . │adi │. . │obiri : obinri │mut-té-á-na │
│Cow │nagga │abari │sania │farr │gós : góossa │malù │ │
│Dog │kutúrú │. . │karré │. . │arikié : tutu :│adzá │ma-la-po-a │
│ │ │ │ │ │ tup │ │ (_im-pum-pes_│
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │at Dos Santos) │
│Goat │bäia │eggshi │. . │. . │. . │akẹ : èkiri : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ ewurẹ : orukọ│ │
│Sheep │balú │taili │. . │hadinni │gona │águtan │ │
│Foot │koinka │edthi │. . │. . │. . │ẹ̀sẹ │ │
│Finger │honedú (pl.) │beddi (pl.) │fershi (pl.)│. . │. . │ika │ │
│Head │hora │agodi │. . │dafú │. . │eri : ori │mú-rú │
│Stool │. . │. . │. . │. . │nenamhop │aga : akpoti │ │
│Box │. . │. . │sandúk │. . │geip │akpoti : ago : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ bata │ │
│Canoe │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │fatẹ̀lẹ, ọ̀kọ, │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ ọkpẹrẹ │ │
│Paddle │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │adźẹ : walami │ │
│Tree │barkihi │esheri │. . │. . │. . │igi │it-tu-va │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ (_matuvi_ at │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ Dos Santos) │
│House │ura │bactú │ │. . │geihep : omma │ilé │é-nú-ba │
│Arrow │lebbo │. . │kibbia │. . │. . │ọfa │é-ta-ra (pl.) │
│Gourd │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ademo : aha : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ àgbé : │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │agbedzolo : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ akpala : ato │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ : igbodzé : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ igba │ │
│Knife │lab │. . │. . │. . │nórap │obé │ │
│Bow │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ọrun │múr-ra │
│Spear │ghembirri │. . │. . │. . │. . │ẹśin : ọ̀kọ │lé va ga │
│Chicken │gertúka │. . │kazá │kokaiya │. . │adírẹ : adié │ │
│Pool │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │àbata │ │
│Small Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │} adagun │ │
│Large Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │} │ │
│River │lana │bori │. . │. . │. . │òdo : ikpa òdo │ú-ré-ah │
│Water │ghium │ami │. . │. . │kamma │omi : òdo │ma-zé │
│Fire │eeta │ofi │uta │uní │ei : eip : neip│ina │múr-ro │
│Air │. . │. . │. . │aí │. . │afẹfẹ : ẹfufu │ │
│Smoke │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ẹfi : fin : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ efin │ │
│Sun │maanga │ofitti │. . │túggú │. . │órun │ezú-a │
│Moon │laighroo │hitti │. . │aowrí │. . │ośukpa : ośu │má-ré │
│Stars │caudié │. . │. . │. . │. . │irawọ (sing.) │tau-d’wa │
│Sky │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ọrun │ │
│Rain │ghium │. . │. . │. . │. . │èdzi : òdźo │ │
│ │ ghiwondi │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Lion │jagerri │. . │. . │. . │káma │kéniú │ │
│Leopard │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ekun : dzakumó │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ ogidan │ │
│Hyena │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │koríko : │kezúmba │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ ikoriko │ │
│Fish │. . │. . │kívi │. . │. . │ẹdźa │o’pah │
│Meat │niri │taasú │náma │yinni │kop │ẹran : ośeśé │ená ma │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ (_inhama_ at │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │Dos Santos) │
│Bird │súdú │. . │súnsú │wúgghé │. . │eiy[é.] │nú né │
│Country │. . │. . │gari │. . │. . │ile ilu │ │
│Mountain │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │òkẹ │ma-go │
│Hill │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │òke : okiti èbé│ │
│Plain │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │kpẹtẹlè │ │
│Food │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ondźẹ : idźẹ : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ dzidzẹ : │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │fẹdźẹfẹdźé │ │
│Stick │leddi │esheri │. . │aka │. . │igi │ │
│Cloth │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │aśo │ │
│Potatoes │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │kukunduku │ │
│Banana │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ọgẹdé │ │
│Salt │. . │. . │. . │gilaili │. . │ìyo : ọrẹrẹ │maka │
│Flour │kiandi │. . │. . │. . │. . │élubo : iyẹfun │ │
│Farm │. . │. . │. . │. . │komma │oko │ │
│Road │. . │. . │. . │. . │kudu │ọ̀na : ikpa- │é-pé-ro │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ [ò.]na │ │
│Stone │búddi │. . │. . │aai │. . │okuta : okó │ │
│Island │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │adadò : idado :│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ erekuśu │ │
│Eye │gitta │aiti │iddo │soaa │mu (s.), mum │odźú │mé-to (pl.) │
│ │ │ │ │ │ (pl.) │ │ │
│Nose │hinari │hoshti │. . │scha │köyp │imọ │ │
│Mouth │kondúkkú │fetti │. . │ichí │. . │ẹnu │ya-mí │
│Teeth │nia │. . │. . │. . │kom (sing.) │akoko : ehin : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ eyin (all │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ sing.) │ │
│Lips │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │eté (sing.) │ │
│Ears │leppi │. . │kúnneh │. . │. . │etí (sing.) │né-á-ro (s.) │
│Hair │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │irọn │ká-rá-ré │
│Tongue │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ahọ́ n : awọ̣̣́n │ │
│Hand │jungo │akhúd │. . │awana │. . │ọwọ́ │ │
│Hide │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │àwọ : bata │ │
│Leaf │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ewẹ́ │ │
│Day │hansi │. . │rana │. . │. . │idzọ́ : odzọ │ │
│Night │ghem │. . │. . │. . │. . │òru │ │
│Walk │jiadú │kaedodi │. . │. . │. . │rìn │ │
│Run │endogga │. . │. . │. . │susé kon (run │sá : salọ́h : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ away) │ saré : súré │ │
│Jump │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │be : fò │ │
│Sleep │fokadaan │auti │bershi │. . │om │idzika : │a-rú-bá │
│ │ │ │ (asleep) │ │ │ odzúorùn : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ orùn │ │
│Dream │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │alá : odzuala :│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ odzuran │ │
│Darkness │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │biri : biribirì│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ : okun : │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │okunkun │ │
│Thanks │allah imoghni│. . │. . │. . │. . │ọkpé │ │
│Father │babama │abbi │. . │. . │ambup : tikkop │babá : ọba │sé-té │
│Mother │imáma │emmi │. . │. . │andes : tissos │abíamo : ìyà : │má-má │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ yeyé iyè │ │
│Brother │maúna (elder │kati │kani │. . │karup : ticak- │ará : arakọuri │mo-rú-ko │
│ │ b.); │ │ │ │ wa │ : abùro │ │
│ │minia │. . │. . │. . │. . │egbou │ │
│ │ (younger │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ b.) │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Dead │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │kú : daké : okú│o-kú-ah │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ wo │ │
│No │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │kinidbźẹbẹ : │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ kurumu : │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │nadwo : nn │ │
│Yes │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │behe-ni : ẹyi :│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ hẹ : │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │hẹrji : ọhan │ │
│Good day │. . │. . │. . │. . │dabé : da-beté │adziré : akuoro│ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ (_good │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ morning_) │ │
└────────────┴─────────────┴────────────┴────────────┴──────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
The first five columns from books.
-----
Footnote E:
According to Rev. Mr. Bowen, American Missionary.
-----
┌────────────┬─────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH. │ MOUJAO. │ SOMÁLI. │ HURRUR. │ GALLA. │ ADAIEL. │ DANAKIL. │
├────────────┼─────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │. . │k’ow │a-had │to ko │see Danakil │inni-ké │
│Two │. . │lebba │ko-út : koté │lum-ma │. . │lum-meh │
│Three │. . │sud-dé │shísté │sed-dé │. . │sud-dé-o │
│Four │. . │af-fur │har-rut │af-fúr │. . │fé-ré │
│Five │. . │shau │ham-míst │shun │. . │ko-no-zou │
│Six │. . │l’éh │sedíst │ja │. . │lé-hé-zé │
│Seven │. . │t’dub-ba │sáté │toor-bah │. . │mel-hé-né │
│Eight │. . │sé deid │sút │sed-dét │. . │bá-há-ra │
│Nine │. . │sug-gál │zeytan │sug-gul │. . │sé-ga-la │
│Ten │. . │tubbáu │assir │kú-dun │. . │thub-ban │
│Eleven │. . │kow-é-tub-báu │assé á had │kúda-tok │. . │thubbau-ketea │
│Twelve │. . │lebbé-a-tub-báu│assé á kót │kuda-lum-ma │. . │thubbau ké │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │lunemeh │
│Thirteen │. . │sud-dé-a-tub- │etc. etc. │etc. etc. │. . │etc. etc. │
│ │ │báu │ │ │ │ │
│Fourteen │. . │etc. etc. │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Fifteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sixteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Seventeen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Twenty │. . │leh-bah-tun │kú-é-ya │. . │. . │lubba-tunna │
│Thirty │. . │sud-dun │sassa │. . │. . │sud-dum │
│Forty │. . │affar-tun │er-bah │. . │. . │moro-tum │
│Fifty │. . │shan-é-tun │hem-sa │. . │. . │kum-tum │
│Sixty │. . │leh-tun │sis-sah │. . │. . │la-tum-ma │
│Seventy │. . │t’dub-ba-tun │sa-tes-sir │. . │. . │melhin-a-tumma │
│Eighty │. . │sedeit-tun │su-tes-sir │. . │. . │bahar-tumma │
│Ninety │. . │suggal-tun │they-tá-neh │. . │. . │sega-la-tumma │
│Hundred │. . │bogal │buk-ka-la │. . │. . │ból │
│Man │ma-lop-wa-nah│ningha │abbok │ná má │adma │ka-bunt │
│Woman │mé-kou-gwé │maak-ta │edok : l’doatch│né té │bar-ra │ak-bo-eta │
│Cow │. . │lo │laám │sou-a │la │la │
│Dog │um-pu-a │a-é │búché │sir-ré │kub-ba │kúta │
│Goat │. . │ar-ré │dow │rée │dubbila │illa │
│Sheep │. . │. . │tai │holá │murrú │merwa │
│Foot │. . │og │. . │fá-na │. . │ │
│Finger │. . │. . │. . │koba │. . │ │
│Head │mu-tu-wé │mud-dah │rús │má-tá │mú-i-ya │am-mo │
│Stool │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Box │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Canoe │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Paddle │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Tree │meré │. . │luf-fo │mo-u-ka │. . │ai-eb │
│House │a-um-ba │fé-ras │gáal : gar │. . │. . │arré : bura │
│Arrow │im-pam-ba(pl)│. . │in nach (pl.) │. . │. . │ │
│Gourd │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Knife │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │gil-lé │
│Bow │o-kú-á-zé │. . │dé-gan │. . │. . │ │
│Spear │le-pán-gá │wur-rum │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Chicken │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Pool │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Small Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Large Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│River │. . │. . │zer │leg-ga │. . │we’ah │
│Water │mé-ze │bé-yú │mé │besham │li │le’h │
│Fire │mo-to │dob │is-sat │é-bid-deh │gi-rá │gira │
│Air │. . │. . │dúf │bú-bé │ar-hú │a-hy-ta, or │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │sako │
│Smoke │. . │kaik(also used │sún │du-gé │. . │ │
│ │ │for _tobacco_) │ │ │ │ │
│Sun │d’yúva │ghurrah │eer │addu │a-i-ro │ay-é-ro │
│Moon │múei-zé │tai ya │werhé │djé-á : ba-té │al-sa │alsa : berra │
│Stars │to-u’n-du-wa │hed-du-go │sú-wí(sing.) │ur-jé : té- │ur-túk- │é-túk-ta : arra│
│ │ │ │ │yu(sing.) │ta(sing.) │ │
│Sky │. . │. . │sem-mé │. . │. . │ambú-ré │
│Rain │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Lion │. . │. . │ze-nab │ko-ba : bo-ki- │rú-bú │róbé │
│ │ │ │ │ré │ │ │
│Leopard │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Hyena │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Fish │dé tu no │werrá bé │wé-rá-bah │. . │. . │ │
│Meat │sóm-bah │. . │tu-lum │búr-tú-mé │kul-lum │cul-lum │
│Bird │né ya mah │il-lib │busser │. . │. . │nado │
│Country │nú né │shim beir │úf, or aláté │shimberrs-tillé│kin-kro │kimbeir │
│Mountain │matúm-bé │bo ro │sa-ré │gá-rá │al-li │al-la │
│Hill │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Plain │. . │bú’n-a │a-go-bar │dud-da │. . │ │
│Food │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Stick │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Cloth │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Potatoes │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Banana │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Salt │jé-té │us-sub-bo │. . │ussú │. . │ │
│Flour │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Farm │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Road │é-tal-la │. . │. . │ugah │. . │ │
│Stone │. . │lug-kah │ún │da-ga : hegga │da-a │dáta : é-ya │
│Island │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Eye │mé-zo (pl.) │ill (pl.) │ain │hed-ja │. . │in-té (pl.) │
│Nose │. . │san │úf │fun-yán │. . │san-na │
│Mouth │oun-wa │off │aóf │af-fan │. . │af-fa │
│Teeth │. . │il-luk │sin │il-kaé │. . │bu-dé-na │
│Lips │. . │. . │luf-luf │. . │. . │wog-gu-ba │
│Ears │ma-kút-wé(s.)│deg │u’thun(sing.) │gúra(sing.) │. . │ai-té(sing.) │
│Hair │húm-po │te-mo │tche-gur │re-feu-sa │. . │do-gur-ta │
│Tongue │. . │ar-rub │ar-rát │ar-rub-ba │. . │ar-rub-ba │
│Hand │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │gub-ba │
│Hide │. . │. . │goga │it-til-lé │caf-té │ │
│Leaf │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Day │. . │. . │oj │er-ra │. . │al-hu : assaak │
│Night │. . │. . │mis-sheit │ul-kun │. . │bher-ra │
│Walk │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Run │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Jump │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sleep │a-gó-né │sé-oh’ │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Dream │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Darkness │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Thanks │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Father │at té-a-té │ab-bai : ilba-á│ou │ab-bo │yi abba │ab-ba │
│Mother │a má vo │oyú │ae, or éé │bo-lé-sa : │yi no │yin-na │
│ │ │ │ │addir │ │ │
│Brother │allúmbo │wel-laì │. . │o-bo-la │. . │ina │
│Dead │ou-wi-ré │. . │. . │. . │. . │rub-bé │
│No │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Yes │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Good day │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
└────────────┴─────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
These six are quoted from Henry Salt, the Abyssinian traveller.
┌────────────┬─────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐
│ ENGLISH │ ARKIKO │ SHIHO │ ADAREB AND │ DARFÚR. │ AMHÁRIC. │
│ │(ABYSSINIA). │ (ABYSSINIA.) │ BISHARM. │. . │ │
├────────────┼─────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤
│One │anté │inek │en-gat │dik │aud │
│Two │killi │lamina │ma-lúb │ou │quillet │
│Three │sé-lass │adda │míh │ees │sost │
│Four │ubah │af-fur │ud-dig │ougal │ar-rut │
│Five │amús │kón │ib │os │au-mist │
│Six │sús │léh │sug-gúr │sitta-sun-dík │sé-dist │
│Seven │subhú │mel-hén │ser-é-máb │subha │sub-hat │
│Eight │thé-man │bahr │sum-hai │themaniar │sé-mint │
│Nine │tsé │sug-gal │shed-ig │tissé │zetti │
│Ten │as-sur │tum-mun │tum-mún │ashurer : weja │assir │
│Eleven │assur-anté │in-ket-kit-a- │tum-nug-gir │. . │assir aud │
│ │ │mum │ │ │ │
│Twelve │. . │. . │tum n’mal lúb │. . │etc. etc. │
│Thirteen │. . │. . │etc. etc │. . │ │
│Fourteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Fifteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sixteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Seventeen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Eighteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Nineteen │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Twenty │assera │lam-mat-an │tug-gúg │wing-ou │háh │
│Thirty │selassa │zez-zun │. . │wing-ees │selassa │
│Forty │erbah │me-ro-tun │. . │wing-ougeval │erbah │
│Fifty │com-sa │kun-tun │. . │etc. etc. │com-sa │
│Sixty │sissa │la-hé-tun │. . │. . │sit-sa │
│Seventy │sub-ha │mel-hen-tummum │. . │. . │sub-hah │
│Eighty │thé-má-ni-yah│bahr-tum-mum │. . │. . │semániyah │
│Ninety │lissal │bolé-sugga-la │. . │. . │zetté nah │
│Hundred │meté │ból │. . │mea │mé to │
│Man │nas │é-úté │gál-tuk │dwo-tók │wónd │
│Woman │esít │nú-ma │tu-kut │yau-qué │sét │
│Cow │whud │la │o-sha │o-o │laam : freda │
│Dog │kulp │kerré │wo-yas │assa │wi-sha │
│Goat │tullé │la │to-nai │de-u │fé-el │
│Sheep │mud-uf │edo-é-dutta │o-na │doháh’-fun │bug │
│Foot │. . │. . │. . │. . │schamá-ig-gér │
│Finger │. . │. . │té-bal-lé (pl.)│to-ring-a │sat (pl.) │
│Head │ras │am-mo │ig-gré-má │tub-bo │ros │
│Stool │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Box │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Canoe │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Paddle │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Tree │it-chet │in-kia-ra │. . │ku-ru │záf │
│House │bít │az-ré │o-gu │. . │beit : a-dé │
│ │ │ │ │ │rash │
│Arrow │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Gourd │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Knife │. . │. . │wan-ja │. . │ │
│Bow │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Spear │. . │ma-ha-ré │tof-nah │. . │ │
│Chicken │dur-ho │dur-ho │ad-di-ro │. . │ │
│Pool │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Small Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Large Lake │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│River │. . │. . │. . │mud-díl : lo- │bahr │
│ │ │ │ │long │ │
│Water │mi │lé │o-yum │ké-ro │wá-há │
│Fire │es-saat │gé-ra │to-né │. . │a’sat │
│Air │né fas │a-ha │. . │do-lah │né-fás │
│Smoke │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sun │tsai │ai-ro │to-ín │dú-lé │tsai │
│Moon │wer-hé │al-sa │té-dái │do al │tckerka │
│Stars │kó-kub │it-túk │hai-ek │wir-ré │quo-kub (sing.)│
│Sky │as-tur │ar-ran │. . │jou-il │ │
│Rain │zé-nab │rób │. . │. . │zinám │
│Lion │i-ut │lu-bok │wó-ad-dé │mú-rú │anbassa │
│Leopard │hum-mum │ar-ré-é-tun │wo-é-am │ja-ra │ │
│Hyena │ke-rai │man-qu-la │kerai │to-ro │ │
│Fish │as-sur │as-sur │wa-assu │. . │as-sa │
│Meat │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Bird │ou-af │al-lúm │kelai │. . │wóf │
│Country │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Mountain │. . │. . │. . │fúgú │tarara │
│Hill │dubr │kur-ma │or-ba │. . │amba │
│Plain │gá-dúm │dug-gé │. . │ju-da │mé-da │
│Food │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Stick │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Cloth │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Potatoes │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Banana │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Salt │igger │é-ba │mi-luk │. . │ │
│Flour │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Farm │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Road │gubbé’ │ar-ra │. . │. . │ │
│Stone │bnu-net │dak │owí │dé-do │dengea │
│Island │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Eye │en │in-té │té-lé-lé (pl.) │nú mé (pl.) │ain │
│Nose │auf │san │og-nuf │dár-mé │af-int-cha │
│Mouth │af │af │. . │u-do │af │
│Teeth │i-nob │é-kok │o-yuf │dug-gé │ters │
│Lips │. . │. . │am-bá-ro │. . │ │
│Ears │iz-un (sing.)│o-qua (sing.) │on-gué-loh │delo │djó-ro │
│Hair │. . │. . │ta-mo │nú-lú-eng-ir │tsé-gur │
│Tongue │. . │. . │mé-dá-bo │. . │mel-as │
│Hand │. . │. . │. . │dou-ga-suru │edje-kind │
│ │ │ │ │(_right_); │ │
│ │. . │. . │. . │doug-ogu-ro │(also _arm_) │
│ │ │ │ │(_left_) │ │
│Hide │. . │. . │. . │. . │corvetté │
│Leaf │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Day │um-mel │. . │om-bé │. . │kán │
│Night │la-lé │ber │ou-ad │. . │memfak-lé-lit │
│ │ │ │ │ │(midnight) │
│Walk │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Run │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Jump │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Sleep │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Dream │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Darkness │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Thanks │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Father │. . │. . │. . │abbú │abáté │
│Mother │. . │. . │. . │um-mé │enáté │
│Brother │. . │. . │nab-ba-sal │. . │wan-dim-é (pl.)│
│Dead │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│No │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Yes │. . │. . │. . │. . │ │
│Good day │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │
└────────────┴─────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘
From Salt.
ALTITUDES ABOVE OCEAN LEVEL OF THE FOLLOWING IMPORTANT POSITIONS,
COMPUTED FROM THE FORMULA ACCORDING TO REGNAULT’S
TABLES, BY SELWYN SCHOFIELD SUGDEN, NAVIGATING LIEUTENANT, ROYAL NAVY.
┌────────┬──────────────────────────────────────────────┬──────────┬────────┬────────┬──────────┬────────────┬────────────┐
│ │ │ │ │ │ Air │Result with │Result │
│ Dates. │ Places. │ Boiling-│Boiling-│Boiling-│ Temper- │Thermometer │with Kew │
│ │ │ point │ point │ point │ ature │No. 1 │Observatory │
│ │ │ No. 1. │ No. 2. │ No. 3. │ Fahr. │Uncorrected.│Corrections.│
├────────┼──────────────────────────────────────────────┼──────────┼────────┼────────┼──────────┼────────────┼────────────┤
│ │ Boiling-point │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ ° ′ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ 1877 │{ 30 feet above } Corrected 212·0 │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Aug. 18│{ the ocean } Uncorrected 212·6 │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │{ at Kabinda } Temp. air, Fahr. 75·0 │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ 1875 │ │ ° ′ │ ° ′ │ ° ′ │ ° │feet. │feet. │
│March 3│ Kagehyi, 30 feet above Lake Victoria Level │ 205·60 │ 205·5 │ . . │ 80· │3526* │4247 │
│ ” 6│ Kagehyi, Lake Victoria level │ 205·75 │ . . │ . . │ 81· │3464* │4184 } │
│ ” 11│ End of Speke Gulf, on islet 5 feet │ 205·68 │ . . │ . . │ 80· │3461* │4240 } │
│ │ above lake level │ . . │ . . │ . . │ . . │. . │. . } † │
│ ” 16│ North end of Majita, Bird Rocks, 10 │ 205·75 │ . . │ . . │ 83· │3471* │4192 } │
│ │ feet above lake level │ . . │ . . │ . . │ . . │. . │. . } │
│ ” 21│ Bridge Island, lake level │ 205·80 │ . . │ . . │ 79· │3400* │4119 } │
│ ” 26│ Island near Namungi, 2 feet above lake │ 205·85 │ . . │ . . │ 80· │3403* │4122 } │
│ │ level │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│April 12│ Ulagalla, Mtesa’s capital │ 205·45 │ . . │ . . │ 82. │3643 │4366 │
│ ” 21│ Dumo, Lake Victoria level │ 205·85 │ . . │ . . │ 81· │3478* │4126 } │
│ May 1│ Refuge Island, 10 feet above lake │ 205·75 │ . . │ . . │ 84· │3474* │4196 } † │
│Oct. 20│ Ripon Falls, outlet of Lake Victoria, lake │ 205·90 │ . . │ . . │ 87· │3369* │4093 } │
│ │ level │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Dec. 27│ Wakassi river, Uganda, on Katonga river │ 205·80 │ . . │ . . │ 77· │3394 │4111 │
│ │ Mean level of Lake Victoria │ . . │ . . │ . . │ . . │. . │4185 │
│ 1876 │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Jan. 9│ Uzimba, Muta-Nzigé lake │ 204·80 │ 204·8 │ 204·85 │ 83· │4000 │4724 │
│ ” 10│ West Benga. Unyoro │ 204·00 │ . . │ . . │ 84· │4477 │5202 │
│ May 19│ Malagarazi river, Uvinza Ferry, near Ugaga │ 206·40 │ . . │ . . │ 91· │3085 │3811 │
│June 3│ Lake Tanganika, at Ujiji │ 207·8 │ . . │ . . │ 76· │2228 │2942 } │
│ ” 4│ ” ” ” {│ 207·8 │ . . │ . . │ 76· │2228 │2942 } │
│ ” 4│ ” ” ” A.M. {│ 208·1 │ . . │ . . │ 73· │2046 │2698 } │
│ ” 4│ ” ” ” {│ 207·8 │ . . │ . . │ 84· │2244 │2904 } │
│ ” 4│ ” ” ” P.M. {│ 208·0 │ 208·1 │ . . │{ 80· }│2120 │2719 } │
│ ” 5│ ” ” ” │ . . │ 207·9 │ 207·9 │{ 81· }│. . │. . } │
│ ” 13│ ” ” Kabogo cape │ 207·9 │ . . │ . . │ 70· │2156 │2807 } │
│ ” 20│ ” ” Kabogo Island │ 208·2 │ . . │ . . │ 75· │1994 │2648 } ‡ │
│ ” 24│ ” ” Kipendi Point │ 208·2 │ . . │ . . │ 85· │2014 │2675 } │
│ ” 30│ ” ” Kirungwé cape │ 208·0 │ . . │ . . │ 74·5 │2110 │2701 } │
│July 2│ ” ” Extreme south end of lake │ 207·9 │ . . │ . . │ 82· │2182 │2840 } │
│ ” 2│ ” ” ” ” │ 207·9 │ . . │ . . │ 81·5 │2180 │2837 } │
│ ” 5│ ” ” Rufuvu river │ 208·1 │ . . │ . . │ 83· │2066 │2667 } │
│ ” 9│ ” ” Mapota │ 208·1 │ . . │ . . │ 70· │2041 │2784 } │
│ ” 9│ ” ” ” │ 208·1 │ . . │ . . │ 75· │2051 │2799 } │
│ ” 11│ ” ” Mamwendé │ 208·0 │ . . │ . . │ 75· │2110 │2706 } │
│ ” 15│ ” ” Lukuga river (mouth of) │ 208·0 │ . . │ . . │ 78· │2115 │2713 } │
│Nov. 2│ Nyangwé, Livingstone river │ 209·1 │ . . │ . . │ 79· │1480 │2077 │
│ ” 29│ Mburri’s, on Livingstone river │ 209·6 │ . . │ . . │ 82· │1192 │1791 │
│Dec. 31│ At confluence of Lowwa and Livingstone │ 209·7 │ . . │ . . │ 79· │1132 │1729 │
│ │ rivers │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ 1877 │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │
│Jan. 20│ Above Wana-Rukura, Stanley Falls │ 209·9 │ 209·8 │ 209·0 │ 80· │1019 │1614 │
│ ” 27│ Below Wenya village, Stanley Falls │ 210·0 │ . . │ . . │ 88· │968 │1511 │
│Feb. 16│ 20 miles south of Mangala country │ 210·2 │ . . │ . . │ 86· │850 │1392 │
│ ” 28│ Bolobo, latitude 2° 12′ s. │ 210·7 │ . . │ . . │ 76· │554 │1089 │
│March 14│ Stanley Pool, above Livingstone Falls │ 210·6 │ 210·55 │ 210·6 │ 76· │611 │1147 │
│April 11│{ 1 mile above Cataract river, or Round }│ 210·8 │ . . │ . . │ 93· │505 │1050 │
│ │{ Island Rapids, Livingstone Falls }│ . . │ . . │ . . │ . . │. . │ │
│July 10│ Mbewa, below Kionzo Rapids, Livingstone │ 211·4 │ . . │ . . │ 84· │154 │692 │
│ │ Falls │ │ │ │ │ │ │
└────────┴──────────────────────────────────────────────┴──────────┴────────┴────────┴──────────┴────────────┴────────────┘
† Altitudes of Lake Victoria.
‡ Altitudes of Lake Tanganika.
┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Kew Observatory Corrections. │
├────────────────┬────────────────┬────────────────┤
│Thermometer No. │Thermometer No. │Thermometer No. │
│ 1. │ 2. │ 3. │
├────────────────┼────────────────┼────────────────┤
│ ° ° ′│ ° ′│ ° ′│
│ 200 -1·10│ 200 -0·40│ 200 - 0·15│
│ 205 -0·90│ 205 -0·45│ 205 - 0·20│
│ 212 -0·60│ 212 -0·45│ 212 - 0·20│
└────────────────┴────────────────┴────────────────┘
Given at Kew, February 1878.
(Signed) G. M. WHIPPLE,
_Superintendent_.
POSITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING PLACES.
──────────┬─────────────────────────────┬───────────┬───────┬──────────┬───────
Dates. │ Places. │Longitudes.│D.R. or│Latitudes.│D.R. or
│ │ │Obser- │ │Obser-
│ │ │vation.│ │vation.
──────────┼─────────────────────────────┼───────────┼───────┼──────────┼───────
1874. │ │ ° ′ │ │ ° ′ │
Dec. 13 │ Mpwapwa, Usagara │ 36 26 E. │ Obs. │ 6 17 S. │ Obs.
” 15 │ Chunyu │ 36 21 ” │ ” │ 6 14 ” │ ”
” 18 │ Chikombo, Ugogo │ 36 4 ” │ ” │ 6 8 ” │ D.R.
” 31 │ Mukondoku, Ugogo │ 35 14 ” │ ” │ 6 16 ” │ Obs.
1875. │ │ │ │ │
Jan. 9 │ Uveriveri │ 35 2 ” │ ” │ 5 36 ” │ ”
” 15 │ Suna │ 35 11 ” │ ” │ 5 20 ” │ D.R.
” 22 │ Vinyata │ 35 2 ” │ ” │ 4 50 ” │ ”
” 30 │ Mgongo Tembo │ 34 34 ” │ ” │ 4 44 ” │ Obs.
Feb. 3 │ Verge of Luwamberri Plain │ 34 12 ” │ ” │ 4 37 ” │ D.R.
” 11 │ Mombiti Usukuma │ 33 58 ” │ ” │ 4 0 ” │ Obs.
” 18 │ Usiha, E. │ 33 48 ” │ ” │ 3 38 ” │ D.R.
” 24 │ S. Usmau │ 33 27 ” │ ” │ 2 50 ” │ ”
” 25 │ Gambachika │ 33 17 ” │ ” │ 2 33 ” │ Obs.
Mar. 7 │ Kagehyi, Lake Victoria │ 33 14 ” │ ” │ 2 21 ” │ ”
” 9 │ Natwari Island │ 33 28 ” │ ” │ 2 23 ” │ D.R.
” 10 │ Bay south of Iramba │ 33 29 ” │ ” │ 2 20 ” │ ”
” 11 │ Speke Gulf │ 33 54 ” │ ” │ 2 15 ” │ ”
” 18 │ Igengi │ 33 43 ” │ ” │ 1 28 ” │ ”
” 19 │ Island in Urieri Bay │ 33 49 ” │ ” │ 1 27 ” │ ”
” 20 │ Shirati │ 34 17 ” │ ” │ 1 9 ” │ ”
” 22 │ Twin Islands │ 34 37 ” │ ” │ 0 28 ” │ Obs.
” 25 │ Ngevi Island │ 34 10 ” │ ” │ 0 10 N. │ ”
” 28 │ Mombiti │ 33 47 ” │ ” │ 0 12 ” │ ”
April 2 │ Buka │ 32 58 ” │ ” │ 0 12 ” │ D.R.
” 10 │ Mtesa’s Camp │ 32 41 ” │ ” │ 0 21 ” │ ”
” 17 │ Usavara │ 32 37 ” │ ” │ 0 16 ” │ Obs.
” 17 │ S. extremity of │ │ │ │
│ Murchison’s Bay │ │ │ 0 5 ” │ ”
” 20 │ Cape Bujaju, N. side │ │ │ 0 14 S. │ ”
Nov. 17 │ Nakavija │ 32 18 E. │ Obs. │ 0 9 N. │ ”
” 19 │ Jumba’s Cove │ 32 7 ” │ ” │ 0 5 S. │ ”
April 21 │ Dumo │ 31 49 ” │ ” │ 0 33 ” │ D.R.
” 22 │ Isangu │ 31 45 ” │ ” │ 0 40 ” │ ”
” 23 │ Bugavu │ . . │ . . │ 0 56 ” │ Obs.
│ Weza │ 31 57 E. │ Obs. │ 1 2 ” │ D.R.
” 24 │ 6 miles S. of Kagya │ 31 58 ” │ ” │ 1 9 ” │ Obs.
│ Makongo, Uzongora │ 31 57 ” │ ” │ 1 15 ” │ D.R.
” 25 │ Musira Island, N. side │ 31 57 ” │ ” │ 1 17 ” │ Obs.
” 30 │ Refuge Island │ . . │ │ 2 8 ” │ ”
May 2 │ E. end of Komeh Island │ 32 41 E. │ Obs. │ 2 8 ” │ ”
” 4 │ S. end of Wiru │ 33 1 ” │ ” │ 2 7 ” │ ”
” 8 │ Kagehyi │ 33 14 ” │ ” │ 2 21 ” │ ”
Dec. 13 │ Musovorva │ 31 28 ” │ ” │ 0 2 N. │ ”
” 14 │ Myembé-Gambui │ 31 31 ” │ ” │ 0 5 ” │ D.R.
” 16 │ Ruwewa │ 31 29 ” │ ” │ 0 9 ” │ ”
” 27 │ W. of Wakassi river │ 31 13 ” │ ” │ 0 10 ” │ ”
1876. │ │ │ │ │
Jan. 4 │ Ruoko, Unyoro │ 30 51 ” │ ” │ 0 3 ” │ ”
” 7 │ W. Benga │ 30 37 ” │ ” │ 0 5 ” │ ”
” 10 │ Uzimba │ 30 17 E. │ Obs. │ 0 7 S. │ D.R.
” 21 │ Kitera, Uganda │ 31 30 ” │ ” │ 0 13 N. │ ”
” 23 │ Kissosi (West Base) │ 31 37 ” │ ” │ 0 7 ” │ ”
Feb. 5 │ Karugawa, or Charugawa │ 31 22 ” │ ” │ 0 57 S. │ ”
Mar. 2 │ Rumanika’s lake, E. side │ 31 0 ” │ ” │ 1 39 ” │ Obs.
│ Windermere │ │ │ │
” 7 │ Village of Kazinga │ . . │ . . │ 1 38 ” │ ”
” 8 │ 2½ miles N. of Kazinga on │ . . │ . . │ 1 40 ” │ ”
│ river │ │ │ │
” 10 │ 2 miles N. of Unyamubi │ 30 59 E. │ Obs. │ 1 53 ” │ ”
│ Island │ │ │ │
” 11 │ Lake Ihema │ 30 49 ” │ ” │ 1 50 ” │ ”
” 12 │ Kazinga, Lake Windermere │ 31 0 ” │ ” │ 1 38 ” │ ”
” 28 │{ South extreme central arm }│ 30 55 ” │ ” │ 2 6 ” │ ”
│{ off Uhimba }│ │ │ │
April 3 │ Marurama, or Kafurra’s │ 31 2 ” │ ” │ 2 27 ” │ D.R.
June 5 │ Ugoy or Ugoi, Ujiji │ 30 7 ” │ ” │ 4 55 ” │ ”
” 15 │ 3½ miles S. of Sigunga │ 30 32 ” │ ” │ 5 33 ” │ Obs.
│ Island │ │ │ │
” 16 │ Southern beach of Urimba │ 30 37 ” │ ” │ 5 48 ” │ ”
” 18 │ Karinzi Point │ 30 19 ” │ ” │ 6 0 ” │ D.R.
” 19 │ Ulambula │ 30 28 ” │ ” │ 6 21 ” │ ”
” 20 │ Kabogo Island │ 30 26 ” │ ” │ 6 25 ” │ Obs.
” 21 │{ 1 mile off Rugufu, E. by }│ 30 38 ” │ ” │ 6 30 ” │ D.R.
│{ S. from Ponda’s }│ │ │ │
” 23 │{ Conical Hill, Ruhinga, }│ 30 51 ” │ ” │ 6 45 ” │ ”
│{ S.E. by S. }│ │ │ │
” 24 │ W. of Karema │ 31 5 ” │ ” │ 6 55 ” │ Obs.
” 25 │ Kipendi Point │ 31 2 ” │ ” │ 7 0 ” │ ”
” 26 │ Mpimbwé cape │ 30 57 ” │ ” │ 7 2 ” │ ”
” 27 │ Mwekavanga │ 31 0 ” │ ” │ 7 32 ” │ ”
” 28 │ From Mtosi to Msamba │ 31 10 ” │ ” │ 7 43 ” │ ”
│ Island │ │ │ │
” 29 │ Wanpembé │ 31 12 ” │ ” │ 7 52 ” │ D.R.
” 30 │ From Zinga river │ 31 14 ” │ ” │ 7 55 ” │ Obs.
July 1 │ Kirungwé cape │ 31 18 ” │ ” │ 8 13 ” │ ”
” 2 │ Kantamba Point │ 31 25 ” │ ” │ 8 28 ” │ ”
” 3 │ From Still Cove │ 31 27 ” │ ” │ 8 35 ” │ ”
” 4 │{ Kapata river, S. end of }│ 31 22 ” │ ” │ 8 47 ” │ ”
│{ Lake Tanganika }│ │ │ │
” 5 │ From Mwangala │ 31 13 ” │ ” │ 8 45 ” │ ”
” 6 │ From Umisepa │ 31 3 ” │ ” │ 8 32 ” │ ”
” 7 │ Rufuvu river │ 30 53 ” │ ” │ 8 32 ” │ D.R.
” 8 │ Kasawa Point │ 30 53 ” │ ” │ 8 22 ” │ Obs.
” 9 │ Mapota │ 30 36 ” │ ” │ 7 55 ” │ ”
” 11 │ Kaweré │ 30 33 ” │ ” │ 7 41 ” │ ”
” 13 │ Mount Murumbi │ .. │ .. │ 6 55 ” │ ”
” 14 │ 10 miles S. of Muganza │ 29 48 E. │ Obs. │ 6 37 ” │ ”
” 15 │ South of Mirembwé cape │ .. │ . . │ 6 8 ” │ ”
” 16 │ Mouth of Lukuga river │ 29 36 E. │ Obs. │ 5 55 ” │ D.R.
” 20 │ Kirindi Island │ 29 50 ” │ ” │ 5 44 ” │ Obs.
” 22 │ 3 miles N. of Kawasindi │ 29 33 ” │ ” │ 5 27 ” │ ”
│ Island │ │ │ │
” 23 │ Mkizamba, Goma │ │ . . │ 5 12 ” │ ”
” 24 │ 6 miles S. of Musama │ 29 21 E. │ Obs. │ 4 56 ” │ ”
” 25 │ 3 miles N. of Kaganza │ 29 22 ” │ ” │ 4 35 ” │ D.R.
” 26 │ 3 miles S. of Kiukwe │ 29 31 ” │ ” │ 4 34 ” │ ”
│ E. side of Ubwari │ 29 28 ” │ ” │ 4 3 ” │ Obs.
│ Kikamba │ 29 30 E. │ Obs. │ 4 22 S. │ D.R.
” 27 │ Opposite Kiunzu │ 29 21 ” │ ” │ . . │ &
” 29 │ Kioga │ 29 50 ” │ ” │ 4 10 S. │ D.R.
Aug. 2 │ Ugoy, Ujiji │ 30 9 ” │ ” │ 4 54 ” │ ”
” 28 │{ Mouth of Malagarazi }│ 30 27 ” │ ” │ 5 15 ” │ ”
│{ river, Lake Tanganika }│ │ │ │
Sept. 3 │ M’sehazy Haven │ 30 20 ” │ ” │ 5 27 ” │ ”
” 14 │ Arab crossing-place │ 29 48 ” │ ” │ 5 48 ” │ ”
” 25 │ Mulolwa’s │ 29 5 ” │ ” │ 5 33 ” │ ”
” 28 │ Kumbila │ 28 42 ” │ ” │ 5 13 ” │ ”
” 29 │ Walumbu │ 28 38 ” │ ” │ 5 7 ” │ ”
Oct. 1 │ Kajunju │ 28 30 ” │ ” │ 5 2 ” │ ”
” 2 │ Kagongwé │ 28 22 ” │ ” │ 4 53 ” │ ”
” 5 │ Uhombo │ 28 9 ” │ ” │ 4 43 ” │ ”
” 8 │ Ka-Bambarré │ 27 55 ” │ ” │ 4 32 ” │ Obs.
” 15 │ Kabungwé │ 27 19 ” │ ” │ 4 36 ” │ D.R.
” 17 │ Mpungu │ 26 50 ” │ ” │ 4 48 ” │ ”
” 20 │ Mwana Mamba │ 26 34 ” │ ” │ 4 31 ” │ ”
” 25 │ Benangongo │ 26 24 ” │ ” │ 4 22 ” │ ”
” 26 │ Kankumba │ 26 17 ” │ ” │ 4 20 ” │ ”
” 27 │ Nyangwé │ 26 16 ” │ ” │ 4 15 ” │ Obs.
Nov. 8 │ Mpotira │ 26 25 ” │ ” │ 4 6 ” │ D.R.
” 9 │ Kianga │ 26 18 ” │ ” │ 4 0 ” │ ”
” 12 │ Mirimo │ 26 17 ” │ ” │ 3 50 ” │ ”
” 14 │ Wané Kamankua │ 26 5 ” │ ” │ 3 48 ” │ ”
” 16 │ Wané Kirumbu │ 26 0 ” │ ” │ 3 42 ” │ ”
” 18 │ Kampunzu │ 25 53 ” │ ” │ 3 37 ” │ ”
” 19 │{ Rukombeh’s crossing, }│ │ ” │ 3 34 ” │ Obs.
│{ Livingstone river }│ │ │ │
” 24 │ Mouth of Ruiki river │ 25 33 ” │ Obs. │ 3 26 ” │ D.R.
” 27 │{ N.E. bend confluence of }│ 25 32 ” │ ” │ 3 20 ” │ ”
│{ little river S. of }│ │ │ │
│{ Hilly Ridge }│ │ │ │
──────────┴─────────────────────────────┴───────────┴───────┴──────────┴───────
INDEX.
———●———
Abdallah, alias Muini Kibwani, ii. 99-100, 105-7, 117;
bin Suliman, 6.
Abdul Aziz, late Sultan of Turkey, ii. 93.
Abed, son of Jumah, ii. 77, 100, 170;
Abed bin Salim, 90-2, 280.
_Abrus precatorius_, ii. 178.
Acacia, i. 81, 85, 104, 129, 316, 362; ii. 16, 18, 108, 284.
_Achatina monetaria_, ii. 104-6;
fossil shell, 170, 178.
Ajawas Universities, Mission fights with, i. 60.
Akalunga, village of slavers, ii. 31.
Akanyaru Lake, i. 364, 367-8.
Akida, i. 191.
Albert lake, ii. 215.
Albert Nyanza, i. 234, 316.
Albinoes, ii. 341.
Alexandra lake, ii. 215.
Alexandra Nile River (Kagera), i. 15, 167-9, 305-6, 315, 352-5, 360-2,
363-5, 367, 370, 372, 375-7, 399.
Alexandra Nyanza, i. 376-7.
Alice Island, i. 174, 176-7, 186-7.
Ali Kiboga, ii. 338.
Almass, king of Uganda, i. 274.
Aloes, i. 174, 362; ii. 284.
Alsassi, i. 89.
Amina, wife of Kachéché, ii. 243.
_Amoma_, ii. 102, 273.
_Amphibia_, ii. 244—_see_ “Hippopotamus,” &c.
Amu-Nyam villages, ii. 87, 164-5, 169.
_Anacardium occidentale_, ii. 284.
Andrew of Zanzibar, i. 341.
Angels, Mtesa’s curiosity concerning, i. 251-2.
Ankori district, i. 233, 285, 289, 340.
Antari, king of Ihangiro, i. 179, 193, 213, 218, 219, 222-4, 294.
Antelope, i. 104; ii. 23, 64, 82, 185, 254, 321.
Ant-lion, ii. 160.
Ants, i. 173; ii. 94, 108, 159, 242, 183;
for sale, 82.
Arabs, colonists in interior, i. 35-6;
at Kafurro, 355-8;
blackmail levied from, 390;
at Ujiji, 400;
opinion in Uganda of, 251, 254;
Mirambo and the Arabs, 389;
ii. 2, 4, 6 (Mswahili), 7, 16, 42, 49, 52, 54, 62.
_Arachis hypogœa_, ii. 282.
Arms of savages, i. 89, 98, 125, 134, 180;
poisoned arrows, 175;
red-hot arrows, 283;
iron armour, 283;
“howitzers” and Brown Besses, 257;
bull-hide shields, 290;
of Waganda, 322;
of Rumanika, 371-2.
Arms—of Ujiji, ii. 3;
Manyema, 64, 68, 69, 94;
Uregga, 109, 114;
of the Livingstone, 124, 135;
of Bakuma, 177, 204, 206, 233, 240.
Arnold, Mr. Edwin, i. 4;
Mount E.A., 339.
Aruko, country of, ii. 187.
_Arundo phragmites_, ii. 218, 229.
Aruwimi river, ii. 214, 240;
cannibals, 235;
flotilla, 170.
Asama, island of, ii. 179-83, 284-6.
_Asclepiadæ_, ii. 183.
Ash, African, ii. 284.
Ashantee, ii. 234.
Asses, our, i. 56, 83, 86, 107; ii. 66, 258;
Mirambo, the riding-ass, 343.
Astaboras, i. 9;
Astosabos, 9;
Astopas, 9;
Astopus, 10—“tributaries of the Nile.”
Ba-ama, a tribe, ii. 170.
Baboons, i. 366; ii. 107, 229.
Babwendé, ii. 275, 278-9, 284, 288, 292, 298, 314, 320-1, 329-30, 339,
350.
Bagamoyo, i. 51, 71, 73;
arrival at, 55;
disturbance at, 56-9;
Notre Dame de B., 62, 122; ii. 49.
Bakongo tribe, ii. 224, 329.
Bakuma, a tribe, ii. 177, 178-80, 191.
Bakusa, a tribe, ii. 100, 126, 131.
Bakutzi, or Wakuti, ii. a tribe, 170.
Bald Mount, ii. 42.
Balearic cranes, ii. 229.
_Balæniceps rex_, ii. 229.
_Balsamodendron_, ii. 284.
Bandits of Africa, ii. 17, 20-22—_see_ “Mirambo,” “Watuta.”
Bangala, “the Ashantees of the Livingstone,” ii. 232, 234, 279.
Bangwé Island, ii. 9, 13;
channel, 48.
Bankaro, ii. 240.
Banza Mbuko, camp at, ii. 355.
Baobab-tree, i. 71, 79, 104, 108.
Baondo tribe, ii. 214.
Baraka, boatman, i. 150, 179, 180, 183, 187;
tribe, ii. 206, 241, 291;
Farjalla, 162.
Barangi tribe, ii. 226.
Barghash, Sultan of Zanzibar—_see_ “Seyyid Barghash.”
Baris, murderers of Colonel Linant de Bellefonds, i. 166.
Barker, Frederick, engaged, i. 4;
at Zanzibar, 49;
with the Expedition on march, 82, 86, 91, 95, 118, 122;
sickness and death, 189, 191.
Barker’s Island, i. 178.
Barua tribe, ii. 100.
Barumbé tribe, ii. 240.
Basessé, a tribe, ii. 275-6, 277-9;
river, 320, 329.
_Bassia Parkii_, ii. 264, 284.
Basundi tribe, ii. 329, 333.
Baswas, a tribe, ii. 175, 177-8, 179.
Bateké, ii. 224;
fishermen, 255, 258-262, 266, 274-5;
country of, 255, 278.
Batwa, or Watwa, the dwarf people, i. 368.
Bays, gulfs, and creeks—_see_ “Bazzi,” “Beatrice,” “Buka,” “Grant,”
“Ikungu,” “Kadzi,” “Lugumbwa,” “Mikindini,” “Monyono,” “Mori,”
“Nakidimo,” “Speke”—_see_ “Gulfs.”
Bazombo tribe, ii. 329.
Bazzi Bay, i. 146.
Bdellium, ii. 273.
Beads, variety in favour with Wa-Nguru, i. 72;
with Warimi, 90;
with Muiwanda, 133;
“Sofi,” ii. 3;
“Samé-samé,” 4, 295;
Mutanda, 4.
Beatrice Gulf, i. 21, 340, 344, 369, 377; ii. 14.
Beech (African silver), ii. 284.
Bees and wax, ii. 301.
Beetles, ii. 108.
Bellefonds, Colonel Linant de, i. 161, 166, 186, 348.
Bells, i. 110.
Bemba Lake, scene of Livingstone’s death, i. 1, 19, 20; ii. 86-7, 367.
Bemberri tribe, ii. 214.
Benangongo, ii. 89.
Bennett, Mr. J. Gordon—_see_ Gordon Bennett.
Benué, basin of, ii. 215.
Betel-nut, ii. 284.
Bhang-smoking, i. 56, 67, 397; ii. 146.
Bible, translating the, i. 158, 164, 252-4.
“_Big head_,” i. 351, 387, 397—_see_ “Magassa”,“Sambuzi”, “Blackmail.”
Billali, the gun-boy, i. 73; ii. 16, 297.
Bilumbu (“the Livingstone”), ii. 321.
Bird-lime, &c., ii. 266.
Birds, ii. 42—_see_ “Ornithology.”
Bisa (Livingstone’s death), ii. 76.
Black buffalo, ii. 229.
“Black ivory nut” tree, ii. 219, 284.
Blackmail, i. 353, 375-6, 380, 388-91.
Black river, ii. 176, 251.
Blood-brotherhood, with Mganga, i. 97-9;
with Komeh, 210;
with Mirambo, 387; ii. 220, 223, 238, 246, 257;
Uregga, 114;
Wenya, 129;
on the Livingstone, 139, 146-7.
Boa constrictors, ii. 82.
Boars, ii. 223.
Boat, _Lady Alice_, i. 4, 47, 48, 117, 121;
afloat on Lake Victoria, 123.
Boat’s crew, ii. 14, 119—_see_ “Uledi,” &c.
Bolobo district, ii. 240, 244, 250-1, 279.
“Boma,” a palisade, ii. 81, _sqq._
Boma Kiengo, or Msera, i. 382.
Bombax, i. 173; ii. 107, 122, 137, 159, 287.
Bongo Island, ii. 17.
Borassus palm, i. 103; ii. 19, 27, 218.
_Boswellia_, ii. 284.
Botany—acacia, i. 81, 85, 104, 129, 316, 362;
aloes, 174, 362;
cotton-wood, 315, 372;
Doum-palms, 81;
Eschinomenæ, 129;
Euphorbias, 85, 109-10, 129, 362;
fig-trees, 143, 155, 315;
fruit—grains, gum-trees, 85, 129, 155, 315-6, 362;
jasmine, 173;
llianes, 126, 129, 173, 316, 366;
mangroves, 131, 137;
Mimosa, 105;
Mvulé, orchids, 174, 177;
palms, papyrus, pine-apple, 129, 174;
potato-plant, spear-grass, sycamore, 208, 316;
tamarind, tamarisk, teak, 173, 315;
Elais palm, ii. 122, 155, 159, 186;
Aloes, 284;
Raphia vinifera, 94, 108, 159;
Panicum (grass), 89, 132;
Amomum, 102, 219, 273;
Carpodinæ, 102;
Vernonia Senegalensis, 102;
Rubiaceæ, 105, 137, 159, 284, 302;
Bombax, 107, 122, 137, 159, 287;
Ficus elastica, 108, 114, 159;
Mvulé, 108;
Ironwood, 122, 137;
red-wood, 137;
wild date, 8, 159, 186, 218;
stink-wood, 137;
Lophira alata, 284;
Hyphene palm, 186, 197, 209, 211, 218;
Calamus secundiflorus, 209;
Pennisetum cane, 187;
fig. 48—_see_ “Ficus” Phrynium, 132, 218, 273;
Pistia stratiotes, 137, 143, 218;
Mucuna pruriens, 159;
Cyperaceæ, 159;
Abrus precatorius, 178;
Asclepiadæ, 183;
ferns, 108, 159, 284;
spear-grass, 108, 183;
Mimosas, 108;
water-cane, 108;
orchids, 108, 159;
tamarisks, 108;
Llianes, 108, 159;
rattans, 108, 113, 159, 176, 181, 204, 218, 228, 261;
mangrove, 192, 218;
camwood, 131, 159, 215;
Doum-palms, 159;
Curtisia faginea, 240;
capsicum, 159, 273;
caoutchouc, 159;
Burseraceæ, 284;
gum-trees, 159, 203, 218;
Usneæ moss, 159;
castor-oil, 178;
cotton-wood, 218, 284;
pepper, 185;
Shea butter-tree, 218, 284;
Ficus Kotschyana, 218, 284;
Tamar Indica, 218, 284;
Arundo phragmites, 218, 229;
papyrus, 14, 46, 159, 218, 229;
Guinea palms, 1, 4, 56, 65, 218, 292;
papaws, 1, 42, 95, 285;
yams, 2, 94, 279, 281;
sweet potatoes, 2, 56, 94, 168, 348;
teak, 2, 14, 19, 42, 122, 159, 218, 285, 287, 289;
Ipomœa, 273;
pomegranates, 1, 42, 95;
acacia, 16, 19, 108, 284;
convolvuli, 61;
wood-apple, 54;
pine-apple, 94, 95, 279, 284, 331;
custard-apple, 54;
nux-vomica, 54;
damson, 54;
laurel, 70;
Eschinomenæ, 42, 218;
sycamore, 42;
“Owindi,” 25;
Edemone mirabilis, 218;
Nymphæa, 218;
Strelitza vagina, 219;
“black ivory nut,” 219, 284;
Verbenaceæ, 219;
Vitex umbrosa, 219;
Jatrophe purgans, 219, 284;
Loranthus, 219, 284;
Liliaceæ, 219;
“dragon’s wood-tree,” 219;
oilberry-tree, 219;
violet-tree, 219;
Ficus sycamorus, 266;
Bassia Parkii, 264, 284;
Sterculiaceæ, 284;
“candle-berry”-tree, 284;
Balsamodendrons, 284;
Landolphia florida, 284;
Proteas, 284;
betel-nuts, 284;
Anacardium occidentale, 284;
cola-nut-tree, 284;
mango, 284;
catechu, 284;
olive, 284;
ash (African), 284;
beech (African silver), 284;
guavas, 279, 285, 331;
Boswellia, 284;
Euphorbia antiquorum, 284;
E. Caput-Medusæ, 284—_see_ “Vegetables,” “Fruit,” “Crops,” “Palms,”
“Forests,” “Canes,” “Gums.”
Bridge Island, i. 130, 132.
Broad-tailed sheep, ii. 3, 4.
Bubeka, ii. 224.
Buffalo, i. 104, 295; ii. 19, 23, 54, 123, 185, 229, 247, 254.
Bugavu, village of, i. 231.
Bageyeya, island of, i. 140.
Bugomba, i. 221, 311, 344, 346, 347;
punished, 351.
Bujaju—_see_ “Ujaju,”
Buka Bay, i. 143, 144-6.
Bukhet, “the pilot,” i. 44.
“Bull,” i. 6, 67, 381-2.
Bull-frog, ii. 160.
Bumbireh Island, i. 174, 178, 186, 188, 215-6, 224, 226-7.
Bunga district, ii. 240.
Burdett-Coutts Islands, i. 128.
Burning of Shakespeare, ii. 300.
Burrup, Rev., i. 60.
_Burseraceæ_, ii. 284—_see_ “Gums.”
Burton Gulf, ii. 45-6.
Burton, Lieut. R. F., ‘On the Nile,’ i. 8-11, 12-13, 16.
Butunu, ii. 240.
Buyramembé, ii. 19;
headlands, 21.
Bwana Abdallah, ii. 136.
Bwana Abedi, ii. 82-3.
Bwana Shokka, master of the axe, ii. 100.
Bwena, village, ii. 239.
Bwera, country of, i. 330.
Bwina, chief of, i.] 211.
_Calamus secundiflorus_, ii. 209.
Cameron, i. 17, 18, 21, 59;
Stanley mistaken for, 160-1; ii. 31, 34-6.
Cameron Bays, ii. 31.
Cameron, Lieut., ii. 8, 9, 66, 74-5, 85.
Camp at Nakaranga, i. 243-4.
Camps—_see_ “Itinerary,” in Appendix.
Cam-wood, ii. 131, 159, 215.
“Candleberry”-tree, ii. 284.
Canes, reeds, sedge, grasses, sugar-cane, cane grasses, &c., ii. 14,
16, 18, 23, 32, 36, 38, 40, 42, 46, 48;
huts of, 56, 61-2, 72, 89;
Panicum, 89, 98;
settees of, 105;
cloth, 114, 258;
papyrus, 14, 40, 46, 159, 218, 229;
Calamus, 209;
Pennisetum, 187;
water-cane, 108;
Cyperaceæ, 159;
spear-grass, 108, 183;
rattans, 103, 113, 159, 176;
cables of, 181-3, 204, 218, 228, 261.
Cannibals, i. 368; ii. 155, 164, 174, 185, 207, 213;
Wabembé, 44-6;
Manyema, &c., of the Livingstone, 5-7, 53, 82, 112, 135.
Canoes of Ugamba, i. 134;
of Waganda, 144;
Mtesa’s, 147-8;
at Sessé, 167-8;
Lukongeh’s, 200;
foundering on the lake, 204-7;
“the hippopotamus,” 208;
Uganda, 220;
Bumbireh, 222, 238;
Waganda war-canoes, 245-6;
Wavuma, 257;
of Arabs, ii. 2;
of Wajiji, 5-14;
of Wenya, 90, 145;
of Mwang Ntaba, 171, 211-12, 213, 222, 224;
of Bangala, 234;
of Ntamo, 257;
the Expedition making canoes, 285-9.
Caoutchouc—_see_ “Ficus.”
Cape Town, ii. 300.
Capes, headlands, &c.—_see_ “Column Point,” “Castle Point,” “Kalavera,”
“Kahangwa,” “Kantentieh,” “Kalambwé,” “Karamba,” “Kiringi,”
“Kiruji,” “Kipimpi,” “Kipendi,” “Kungwé,” “Mbwenni,” “Muri,”
“Mdanga,” “Massessé,” “Panza,” “Rock Bluff,” “Tembwé,” “Ubwari.”
Capsicum, ii. 159, 273.
“Captain,” the dog, i. 6, 67.
_Carpodinæ_, ii. 102.
Cassava, or manioc, i. 118 _sqq._; ii. 3, 44, 65, 131-2, 178, 222, 226,
239, 257.
Castle Point, ii. 26.
Castor-oil, ii. 178.
“Castor,” the dog, i. 6, 67.
Cat, ii. 20.
Cataracts, ii. 96, 117, 151-2, 197, 240, 259, 263, 281-2, 331;
“child,” “mother,” and “father,” 261;
fifth, 311;
sixth, 189-97, 253;
seventh, 196-7.
Catechu, ii. 284.
Cat-fish, ii. 321.
Cattle, i. 83;
of Suna, 90;
of Usiha, 107, 111, 118, 129;
of Gambaragara, 336, 369;
broad-tailed sheep, ii. 3, 4;
goats, 60, 258;
pig, 94, 123, 279, 277;
cattle, 3, 4. 13, 48, 56, 94.
“Cauldron, The,” ii. 263.
Causeway to Ingira Island, i. 249-50.
Cereals—_see_ “Crops.”
Chabogwé settlements, ii. 132.
Chad, Lake, ii. 215.
Chaga promontory, i. 133-4, 286.
Chagwé, i. 238.
Chakavola, ii. 24.
Chakiomi, i. 369.
Chalula, chief, i. 82-3.
“_Chambarango_” of Uganda, i. 148, 160, 237, 260.
Chambezi, i. 19.
Character of African races—Wangwana, i. 36-41, 43;
Wanyamwezi, 41-3;
the Expedition, 56;
of Mgongo Tembo, 102;
of Kaduma, 119-20;
Ugamba, 134;
at Namungi, 137;
Waganda, sense of “chaff,” 149-50;
of Mtesa, 152-4, 157-8, 239, 317-20;
Magassa’s, 163, 166;
lake-tribes, 175-6;
of Lukongeh, 194-5;
boat’s-crew, 206;
Bumbireh, 214-8;
Katekiro, 249;
Waganda, 319-20;
Sambuzi, 333-4;
Wanya-Ruanda, 357, 376-7;
Mirambo, 386-7;
Rumanika, 359, 371-2;
of Wajiji, ii. 3;
Arabs of Wajiji, 53;
Ruga-Ruga, 17;
Wabwari, 44;
Watembi, 45;
of Expedition, 51-2;
cannibals of Mtowa, 53-4;
Uhombo, 57;
Manyema, 66-8;
Arabs at Nyangwé, 73, 91-3, 99-100;
Exp., 85;
Mtagomoyo, 93;
Wané Kirumbu, 109—_see_ “Cannibals,” 155-213, 253;
Western Bateké, 266, 275;
Babwendé, 298-9.
Charms, &c.—_see_ “Magic, &c.”
Charugawa village, i. 350.
Chawasimba Point, i. 168, 232.
Cheandoah, or Kewandoah, an island, ii. 177.
Chickens, ii. 3, 56, 60, 69, 94, 168;
varieties of, 184, 246, 257, 262.
Chikanga district, i. 394.
Chimpanzee, ii. 33-104.
Chiwanuko Island, i. 166, 168.
Chiwyu, camp at, i. 91;
death of E. Pocock, 91-3, 94.
Chowpereh, i. 44-5; ii. 291.
Christianity in Africa, i. 59, 63, 158-9, 164, 174, 195, 252, 253-4,
263-4, 318, 329.
Christmas Day, ii. 149.
Chumbiri (king of), ii. 240, 246, 248-50, 253, 335.
Chunyu, nitrous waters of, i. 76, 77-8.
Church in Uganda, i. 328.
Chwa, son of Kintu, i. 273.
Civet, ii. 104, 114, 190, 213, 220.
Climate, ii. 236.
Coal, ii. 114.
Coango, ii. 252.
Coffee, i. 33, 315.
Cola-nut, ii. 284.
Colorado river, ii. 151.
Column Point, ii. 25.
Comoro Islands, i. 60.
Coney, ii. 321.
Congo (Kongo), i. 21, 161; ii. 151, 329, 341, 355;
valley, 357-361;
river of, 221—_see_ “Lualaba.”
Congorido, i. 71, 77.
Convolvuli, ii. 61.
Copper, ii. 79, 113, 178, 220, 223.
Cotton-wood, i. 315, 372; ii. 218, 284.
Covinda Cove (of Tuckey), ii. 339.
Cranes, i. 95, 104.
Creepers, ii. 61, 101.
Crew of _Lady Alice_—_see_ “Expedition.”
Cricket, ii. 160.
Crocodiles, i. 127;
(educated), 198; ii. 14, 141, 160, 219, 223, 229, 237;
(the boat), 264-5.
Crops cassava, ii. 3, 42, 65, 131-2, 178, 222, 226, 239, 257, 275, 281-
2, 331;
grain and pulse crops (millet, rice, beans, vetches, maize, wheat),
3, 5, 9, 56, 60, 65, 67, 69, 91, 94, 95;
sugar-cane, 2, 3, 56, 94, 131, 132, 178, 257, 279;
pepper, 185;
betel-nut, 284—_see_ “Vegetables,” “Fruit.”
_Curtisia faginea_, ii, 240.
Custard-apple, ii. 54.
Cutting the canoes adrift, ii. 145.
_Cynocephalus porcarius_, ii. 229.
_Cyperaceæ_ (sedge), ii. 159.
_Daily Telegraph_, mission from, i. 2, 3;
farewell dinner from, 6, 163, 232.
Dallington, “the Scripture-reader,” i. 59, 252, 352.
Damson, ii. 54.
Dance of kings, i. 211.
Date-palms, ii. 8, 159, 186.
Deaths—
Edward Pocock, i. 91;
Kaif Halleck, 97;
Frederick Barker, 189;
Mabruki “Speke,” and others, 190-1;
from small-pox at Ujiji, ii. 49;
Amina, 243;
Kalulu, 265;
Frank Pocock, 315.
Deer—_see_ “Antelope.”
Desertions from the Expedition, i. 77, 81, 82; ii. 50, 322;
Kalulu, 51-2, 88.
Dews, ii. 107-8, 153, 159.
Dialects, ii. 3, 31, 61, 96, 191, 245, 250, 321.
Dickinson, Rev. Mr., i. 60.
Diseases, i. 83, 90, 191-2, 367;
dysentery, 90;
leprosy, 364;
ophthalmia, 83;
typhus, 91, 106;
elephantiasis, 364—_see_ “Leprosy,” “Fever,” “Dysentery,” “Typhoid
fever,” “Ulcers,” “Pleurisis,” “Small-pox.”
Diver, ii. 42, 141, 229.
Dobo, under shelter at, i. 128.
Dogara—_see_ “Whitebait.”
Dogs, i. 5, 67, 370;
used in war, 121, 282, 284, 370;
of Expedition, fondness of Waganda kings for dogs, 273, 284;
unclean, ii. 55;
eaten, 170, 222, 321—_see_ “Bull,” “Jack,” “Nero,” “Castor,”
“Captain,” &c.
Domesticated animals—
fowls, sheep, ii. 3, 4;
asses, 66, 343;
pigs, 94, 123, 277;
cat, 20;
dogs, 55, 170, 222, 321;
goats, 60, 258;
guinea-fowls, 91;
pigeons, 91—_see_ “Cattle” and “Chickens.”
Donkeys—_see_ “Asses.”
Doum-palms, i. 81; ii. 159.
Dover cliffs, ii. 254.
“Dragon’s-blood” tree, ii. 219.
Dress—
Wa-Nguru, i. 72;
Warimi, 89;
Abaddi, 109;
Maheta, 132;
Muiwanda, 133;
Waganda, 144;
Magassa, 145;
Katekiro, 148, 237;
Mtesa’s courtiers, 148, 152;
pages, 151;
Mbugu, 155;
Mtesa, 151, 160, 235, 310;
his sailors, 235;
warriors, subject tribes, 236;
Wakerewé, 200;
Mirambo and his men, 385-6;
Rumanika, 361;
of Wajiji, ii. 3;
Waguha, 40-1;
Uhombo, 58, 59;
Manyema, 64;
Kiussi, 106;
Wavinza, 113, 154—_see_ “Hair-dressing.”
Ducks, i. 88, 95, 104, 187;
wild, ii. 229, 243.
Dudoma settlement, i. 79.
Dugumbi, the patriarch of Nyangwé, ii. 94.
Duma river, i. 124,
Dumo in Uganda, i. 168, 232-3.
Dwarf land, i. 368.
Dwarfs, ii. 79, 81, 134, 170.
Dysentery, i. 90; ii. 127, 281, 291, 329.
“Earth caterpillar,” ii. 159.
Eastern Usiha, i. 106.
“_Eating up_” lands and owner, i. 301-5, 351-2.
Edwin Arnold river, ii. 304, 320.
Eel, ii. 321.
_Edemone mirabilis_, ii. 218.
Egrets, ii. 229.
Elais palm, ii. 122, 155, 159, 186.
Elders of villages, i. 90, 230-1.
Elephantiasis, i. 364.
Elephants, at Uhumba, i. 79;
eating a putrid, 87;
near Suna, 88;
Monangah, 106;
in Uganda, 274, 295;
legends of, 373-4; ii. 113, 159, 229, 247.
Elwala river, ii. 333.
Elwani village, ii. 37.
Embomma, ii. 298, 321, 337, 341, 345, 347, 349, 350, 355, 357.
Entomology—locusts, “lake of,” ii. 71;
grasshoppers (for sale), 94;
beetles, 108;
ants, 82, 94, 108, 159, 183, 242;
mantis, 159;
earth caterpillar, 159;
ladybirds, 159;
cricket, 159;
ant-lion, 160;
gadflies, 228, 242;
tsetsé, 228, 242;
mosquitoes, 228, 232, 242, 247;
“jigga,” 280;
guinea-worm, 280;
entozoa, 280;
bees, 301.
Eschinomenæ, i. 129; ii. 42, 218.
Ethnology, i. 25-6, 34-42, 63, 197, 368; ii. 3, 63, 83, 134-5, 188,
191, 329—_see_ “Legends,” “Habits,” “Character,” “Dialect,”
“History.”
Euphorbias, i. 85, 109-10, 129, 362.
_Euphorbia antiquorum_, ii. 284;
_Caput-Medusæ_, 284.
Expedition, embarks, and starts towards the Dark Continent, i. 54;
first trouble, 57;
first step for the interior, 64;
number, 65;
arrives at Rosako, 70;
Mamboya, 73;
Mpwapwa, 76;
western end of Ugogo, 84;
wilderness of Uveriveri, 86, 91, 97, 108;
fights with Ituru, 94, 95, 101;
arrives at Mgongo Tembo, 102-3;
crosses Luwamberri Plain, 104-5;
crosses Monangah river, 106;
arrives at Lake Victoria, 111;
circumnavigation of Lake Victoria, 123-89;
embarks for Refuge Island, 203;
arrives at Mahyiga Island, 212;
fights with Bumbireh Island, 215-27;
arrives at Dumo, 231-3;
departs for Muta Nzigé Lake, 330;
arrives at Muta Nzigé Lake, 344;
arrives at Karagwé, 353, 374;
arrives at Ugoy or Ujiji, on Lake Tanganika, 400—_see_ “Pocock,”
“Uledi,” “Kachéché,” “Shumari,” “Baraka,” “Billali,” “Manwa Sera,”
“Feruzi,” “Mabruki,” “Soudi,” “Khamis,” “Kalulu,” “Marzouk,”
“Hamadi,” “Jumah,” “Saburi,” “Wadi Rehani,” “Safeni,” “Saywa,”
“Mpwapwa,” “Muftah,” “Salaam Allah,” “Robert,” “Majwara,” “Zaidi”;
_also_ “Organization” and “Wangwana.”
Falls, cataracts, rapids—_see_ “Cataracts,” 96; “Ingulufi,” “Inkisi,”
“Isangila,” “Itunzima,” “Kalulu,” “Lady Alice,” “Livingstone,”
“Mbembu,” “Massassa,” “Matunda,” “Mowa,” “Mputu,” “Pocock,” “Ripon,”
“Round Island,” “Cauldron,” “Sangalla,” “Stanley,” “Ubi,” “Ukassa,”
“Ungufu,” “Whirlpool Narrows,” “Yellala,” “Zinga.”
Famine, i. 86, 88; ii. 325, 344.
Farjalla Christie, i. 44, 100.
Feathers, head-dresses of, ii. 64.
Ferns, i. 379; ii. 108, 159, 284.
Ferris remodels the _Lady Alice_, i. 47.
Feruzi, Robert, i. 159, 187; ii. 287, 346, 353.
Fever, i. 83, 90, 191-2, 367; ii. 138, 281, 336.
_Ficus_, ii. 48;
_elastica_, 108, 114, 159;
cables of, 323;
_Kotschyana_, 218, 284;
_sycamorus_, 266.
Field-larks, i. 104.
Fifth cataract, ii. 311.
Fights of Expedition, i. 96-102, 140, 183;
in camp, 208, 228, 350; ii. 7, 13, 128, 136, 139, 144, 171;
on the River, 122, 254.
Fig-trees, i. 143, 155, 315; ii. 48.
Fipa, country of, ii. 22-5.
Fire in the camp, i. 268.
Fire in the forest, ii. 32.
Firearms in Uganda, “Brown Bess,” i. 257.
Firi Niambi, ii. 135.
Fish-eagle, ii. 42, 131.
Fish-hawks, i. 104.
Fishing, i. 117-8, 123, 177;
and fishermen, &c., ii. 3;
the legend of the lake, 10-12;
“nika,” 12;
women fishing, 64-5, 94-6;
the Wenya, 96, 130, 143, 162;
on the Mata river, 197, 209, 243, 245, 302, 320, 333—_see_
“Ichthyology.”
Flamingoes, i. 104; ii. 229, 243.
Forbearance, examples of our, i. 216-7.
Forest fire in, ii. 32—_see_ “Wood.”
Forests—of Kawendé, ii. 15;
of Manyema, 61;
of Uregga, 78;
of the Lowwa, 159;
of Asama, 186, 208, 242, 283;
“the pagans’ forest,” 98 _sqq._;
people of, 115;
silence in, 160, 205;
legends of the, 76, 83, 115—_see_ “Manyema,” “Miketo,” “Mitamba,”
“Ukaranga,” “Uregga.”
Forge, ii. 288;
in Uregga, 110;
Ndandé-Njoko, 253.
Fruit, of Refuge Island, i. 187, 211;
of Africa, melons, papaws, bananas, 322, 324;
plantains, etc., 299 _sqq._; ii. 54, 61, 94;
papaws, 1, 42, 95, 285;
ground-nuts, 3, 65, 94, 132, 226, 279, 331, 339, 340, 348, 350;
oil-nuts, and oil of, 2, 3-4, 56, 65, 84, 279, 284, 292;
pomegranates, 1, 42, 95;
tamarind, 19, 122, 218, 284;
wood-apple, 54;
pine-apple, 94, 95, 279, 284, 331;
custard-apple, 54;
damson (wild African), 54;
limes (sweet), 42, 95, 279, 331;
lemons, 42, 95, 268, 279, 331;
date palms, 8, 158, 186, 218;
Owindi, 25;
fig, 48;
mango (wild), 284;
olive, 284, 335;
guavas, 279, 285, 331.
Funeh Islands, ii. 24.
Fundi Rehani, murderer of Membé, i. 209.
Gabunga, chief admiral of Uganda, i. 167.
Gadflies, ii. 228, 242.
Gambachika, i. 110.
Gambaragara, i. 336.
Game, ii. 335—_see_ “Sport.”
Gamfwa, rocks at, ii. 280;
bay, 269, 270, 273.
Gavubu’s Cove, ii. 270.
Geese, i. 95, 104; ii. 16, 229, 237, 243.
“Geographical Society of Karagwé,” i. 367, 371.
Geography—_see_ “Physical Geography.”
Geology—of Usagara Range, i. 76;
Uyanzi, 85;
Matongo basin, 94;
Mangura, 103;
Luwamberri, 105;
Monangah, 106;
Usiha, 107-9;
Bridge Island, 130;
Rubaga Hill, 156;
Lupassi Point, 169;
Musira Island, 175;
Wezi, 194, 316, 338, 341, 355;
Ihema, 364;
Uhumba, 374; ii. 19, 21-6, 31-2, 39-40, 55, 66, 127, 178, 276, 292,
328, 334—_see_ “Watersheds,” “Volcanic phenomena.”
Gezeh river, ii. 21.
Giraffe, i. 104.
Gnu, i. 104.
“_Go and die on the Nyanza_,” i. 188.
Goats, ii. 60, 258.
Goatskins, i. 315.
“Goee-Goee,” ii. 291, 296, 310.
Gogo, Goma, and Gombe rivers, i. 105, 396.
Goma mountain range, ii. 24, 169, 170, 191;
island, 42-3;
Northern Goma, 4, 5, 44-60, 114;
Southern, 215.
Gondoroko, Ismailia, i. 166, 238.
Goods of Expedition, i. 3, 64;
beads and cloth, 72, 90, 133.
Gordon Bennett, Mr. J., i. 3;
Mount G. B., 317, 335, 339;
river, ii. 261-2.
Gordon Pasha, i. 166, 328.
Gorilla, ii. 33;
bones, 59, 223.
Gori river, i. 130.
Goshi, headlands of, i. 130.
Grains, wheat, rice, maize, sesamum, millet, i. 33, 34 _sqq._, 315,
380—_see_ “Crops.”
“Grains of Paradise,” ii. 218.
Grant, Capt. J. A., i. 1, 14, 16, 152, 296.
Grant Bay, i. 235.
Grasses—_see_ “Canes,” &c.
Grasshoppers, ii. 94.
Graves at Mbinda, ii. 350.
_Great Eastern_ of the Livingstone, ii. 172.
Ground-nuts, ii. 3, 65, 94, 132, 226, 279, 331, 339, 340, 348;
export trade in, 350.
Guavas, ii. 279, 285, 331.
Guinea-fowls, i. 104; ii. 91.
Guinea-palms, ii. 1, 3, 56, 65, 218, 292.
Guinea-worm, ii. 280.
Gulfs, bays, &c.—_see_ “Beatrice,” “Burton,” “Cameron,” “Gavubu’s
cove,” “Igangwé cove,” “Kasuma,” “Kirando,” “Limba,” “Lukuga creek,”
“Numbi cove,” “Simon’s Bay.”
Gum-trees and gums, i. 85, 129, 155, 315-6, 362;
Meliaca, ii. 203;
gum-trees, 159, 203, 218;
myrrh, 273, 301;
bdellium, 273;
Burseraceæ, 284;
gum-frankincense-trees, 273, 301;
gum copal, 301.
Gunji, ii. 219, 222, 226, 235, 279.
Habits and customs—Zanzibar, i. 24-42, 117, 133-4;
Wakerewé, 198, 200;
Bumbireh, 214;
Waganda, 236, 299, 322, 325, 335-6;
Ujiji, ii. 6, 13, 20;
Waguha, 41;
Ubugwé, 54;
Uhombo, 56, 60;
Manyema, 63, 68;
Nyangwé, 73, 104-5;
Uregga, 109.
Hail, i. 137, 139, 188.
Hair-dressing—Wa-Nguru, i. 72;
at Muiwanda, 133;
Wanyamwezi pagazi, 111; ii. 249;
of Uguha, 40-1;
Ubujwé, 54, 64;
(beards), 71.
Haji Abdallah, ii. 135.
Hamadi, i. 66;
left captive, ii. 334.
Hamed Ibrahim, i. 35, 356.
Hamoida, “the faithful,” i. 44, 46, 136, 187.
Hartebeest, i. 104, 331.
Hatton and Cookson, ii. 362.
Hawk, ii. 131.
Heat, ii. 236.
Herodotus, i. 7-10.
Heroes of Africa: of Uganda, i. 270-298;
“Tippu Tib,” 42;
“Kasindula,” “Kibaga,” 275;
Kimera, 274;
Wakinguru, 281;—_see_ “Mirambo.”
Hippopotamus, i. 125, 127, 129, 133, 185, 190, 200, 362; ii. 219, 229.
History, Zanzibar peoples, i. 36-8;
sultan of, 32-4;
Ukerewé, 196;
Uganda, 270-98;
Watuta, 392;
of Manyema, ii. 96-7;
of Wané-Rukura, 191.
Honey, i. 231; ii. 3, 94.
Hot springs (Mtagata), i. 360, 364, 366-7;
of Usongora, 370; ii. 55.
Hulwa, i. 110.
Humid shades, ii. 159, 236.
Huts—of Kagehyi, i. 114;
of Wavuma, 141;
of Usavara, 148;
of Waganda, 156-7, 237;
Waganda army, 243;
Waganda peasants, 300-3, 338;
of Serombo, 383-4;
of Ujiji, ii. 1;
Ponda, 20;
Kawelé, 48;
Uhombo, 57;
change of style in, 60;
Manyema Mtuyu, 72;
of Nyangwé, 91;
Uregga, 104;
Wenya, 122;
Ikondu, 133, 137;
of Babwendé, 283.
Hyenas, i. 75, 382.
_Hyphene_ palm, ii. 197;
fibre of, 197, 209, 211, 218.
Ibaka, ii. 279.
Ibari Nkutu river, ii. 221, 250, 252.
Ibeko, ii. 224.
Ibis, i. 104; ii. 131, 229, 243.
Ibonga, ii. 238.
Ichthyology—fishing, fishermen, &c., ii. 3, 10, 12;
“the Nika,” 12, 65, 94-6, 131, 143, 162, 195;
“whitebait,” 3, 219, 302, 316, 333;
eel, 321;
pike, 195, 321;
“minnows,” 219, 245, 333;
Silurians, 321;
catfish, 321.
Igangwé cove, ii. 22;
Point, 22.
Igira village, camp at, i. 103-4.
Igusa district, products of, i. 118, 123;
treachery of, 191.
Ihangiro country, i. 217-31.
Ihema island and lake, i. 364.
Ikandawanda, ii. 224.
Ikelemba, ii. 239;
river, 240, 251.
Ikengo, ii. 236, 238;
district, 240, 247, 251, 279.
Ikondu, dwarf of, ii. 132-3, 135, 137, 165.
Ikonogo, ii. 224.
Ikungu Bay, i. 128;
Ikungu, ii. 349;
hills of, 240, 351.
“Ikutu ya Kongo,” ii. 221.
Imemé, ii. 224.
Indian corn, ii. 60, 65, 67, 69.
_Industry_, H.M.S., ii. 366.
Inga, ii. 341.
Ingezi, reed-covered river, i. 353, 362-4, 368.
Ingira Island, i. 238, 244-67.
Inguba, ii. 238, 239.
Ingulufi Rapids, ii. 324;
basin, 303, 316, 325.
Inkisi Falls, ii. 276-7, 278, 280, 283, 290, 331;
Basessé, 278.
Insameh, ii. 269.
Ipomœa, ii. 273.
Iramba, i. 106.
Irangara islands, i. 127.
Irebu, ii. 240, 241, 245;
district, ii. 236, 240.
Iregweh, ii. 224.
Ireko, ii. 224.
Irendé, people of, ii. 208.
Irieni, i. 128-9.
Iringi river, ii. 224, 227.
Iroba Island, i. 212;
insulted by crews of, 214-5;
capture of king of, 216;
release, 216;
capture of Shekka, 216, 218;
conciliated, 221, 224, 229.
Irondo river, ii. 214.
Iron-wood, ii. 122, 137.
Irwaji islands, i. 245;
natives of, 286.
Iryamba, place, ii. 160-2.
Isangila, cataract of, ii. 334, 340, 341.
Isangu, ii. 214, 240.
Ishmaels of Africa, i. 391.
Islam in Africa: in Uganda, i. 164, 240, 253—_see_ “Zanzibar,” “Arabs.”
Islands i.—_see_ “Alice,” “Barker’s,” “Bridge,” “Bumbireh,” “Burdett-
Coutts,” “Chagwé,” “Chiwanuko,” “Comoro,” “Ingira,” “Iroba,”
“Irangara,” “Irwaji,” subject to Uganda, 362;
“Lake Islands,” 369;
“Ito,” “Kabuzzi,” “Kamassi,” “Kankorogo,” “Karara,” “Kasengé,”
“Kazaradzi,” “Kerengé,” “Kindevi,” “Kiregi,” “Kishakka,” “Kitaro,”
“Kitenteh,” “Kiwa,” “Kunene”,” “Lulamba,” “Mabibi,” “Mahyiga,”
“Miandereh,” “Musira,” “Muzimu,” “Mysomeh,” “Nameterré,”
“Namungi,” “Natwari,” “Ngevi,” “Nifuah,” “Observation,” “Refuge,”
“Rionga’s,” “Rumondo,” “Sessé,” “Shiza,” “Singo,” “Soweh,”
“Ihema,” “Ukara,” “Ukerewé,” “Usama,” “Usuguru,” “Uvuma,”
“Wawizua”; ii. “Asama,” “Bangwé,” “Bongo,” “Cheandoah,” “Funeh,”
“Goma,” “Kabombo,” “Kankumba,” “Karamba,” “Kasengé,” “Kavala,”
“Kyyo Kaba,” “Murikwa,” “Matura,” “Makokomo,” “Mitandeh,”
“Mkerengi,” “Mpika,” “Mwangangala,” “Ntunduru,” “Observation,”
“Rocky,” “Round,” “Spirit,” “Ukioba,” “Uvitera.”
Isossi (Mount), i. 362.
Itawa river, i. 105.
Itawagumba, i. 207.
Ito Island, i. 187, 207.
Itsi, chief of Ntamo, ii. 256-7;
Kintu, chief of Mowa, 298.
Ituka village, ii. 203-5.
Itumbi (Sultan Mpamira’s), i. 79.
Itunzima falls, ii. 334-5.
Ituru, i. 69, 94, 101, 103; ii. 52, 90, 216.
Ivory, i. 315; ii. 3, 4, 66, 68-9, 76;
in dwarfland, 77, 83, 197;
a land of ivory, 92, 101, 212, 226, 235, 279, 350, 360.
Iwanda, i. 366.
Izanjeh, camp at, i. 95, 97.
Izangi river, ii. 206.
“Jack,” i. 67, 74, 370.
Jack’s Mount, i. 234.
Jasmine, i. 173.
Jason, ii. 285, 307, 308, 327.
_Jatrophe purgans_, ii. 219;
_curcas_, 284.
Jay, i. 95.
“Jigga” worm, ii. 280.
Jinja, i. 243, 292.
Jiweni, “the stones,” i. 81, 88.
Johanna men, ii. 52.
“Jojussu,” the king of war-drums, i. 268.
Josephus on Nile, i. 9.
Juma Merikani, i. 35, 42 ; ii. 75, 327.
_Kabaka_ of Uganda—_see_ “Mtesa.”
Ka-Bambarré, ii. 62-3.
_Kabinda_, ship, ii. 359-61, 365;
bay of, 362, 365.
Kabogo river, ii. 13, 16, 19, 43, 53;
cape, 43, 50;
river, 43;
place, 50.
Kabombo Isles, ii. 188.
Kabungwé, ii. 69-70.
Kabuzzi Island, i. 369.
Kachéché (the detective), i. 44, 77, 89, 96, 122, 191, 349, 350-1;
the “Weasel,” ii. 51, 117, 121-2, 181, 278, 288-9, 294, 301, 305,
308-9, 322-3, 325, 347-8, 351, 357, 373.
Kaduma, Prince of Kagehyi, i. 114-7, 119-20, 126, 190-3, 200, 209-10.
Kadzi Bay, i. 144, 147.
Kafisya district, ii. 21-2.
Kafurro, i. 355-6, 358, 364, 372, 375.
Kaganzu village, ii. 44.
Kagayyo, i. 362.
Kagehyi, i. 111;
arrival at, 112-3;
welcomed to, 114;
in camp at, 115-7;
becomes a trade centre, 118-9;
prince of, 120-1;
preparations for leaving, 122;
last sight of, 126;
return to, 188-9;
Barker’s death at, 190;
treachery at, 191;
rest and fever, 192;
hostile neighbours, 193;
in search of canoes to, 194-5;
return to Kagehyi, 202;
half the expedition leaves, 203;
fight among the remainder, 208-9;
final departure from, 209;
village, ii. 87.
Kagera—_see_ “Alexandra Nile.”
Kagongwé village, ii. 56.
Kaguru, i. 72, 286.
Kahanda river, ii. 34.
Kahangwa cape, ii. 39, 40.
Kaif Halleck murdered, i. 95-7, 101.
Kajumba, son of Suna II., i. 295.
Kajurri bay and village, i. 223.
Kakoko, Kananga, and Ruhinda, sons of Rumanika, i. 374.
Kakongo district, ii. 325, 328.
Kakungu village, ii. 26.
Kalambwé cape, ii. 31.
Kalavera Point, ii. 26.
Kali Karero, ii. 155.
Kalubu, ii. 334.
Kalulu, ii., 51, 70, 89, 90;
Falls, 264-5, 267, 285, 301, 310, 328.
Kamalondo river, ii. 35.
Kamanya, king of Uganda, i. 282-3, 286, 298.
Kamassi Island, i. 127.
Kamiera, Chwa’s son, i. 273.
Kamiru, king, i. 294.
Kamolondo lake, ii. 86.
Kampunzu, ii. 111-12, 114.
Kangau, i. 148.
Kaniki cloth, i. 90.
Kankindwa, ii. 33.
Kankoré, ii. 169;
(Kankura), 170;
river, 172.
Kankorogo Island, i. 362.
Kankumba, camp, ii. 89-90;
island, 24.
Kantamba settlement, ii. 21.
Kantentieh Point, ii. 25.
Kanyera beads, i. 90.
Kapata stream, ii. 27.
Kapembwa, natural tower, ii. 28.
Karagwé, i. 119, 175, 232, 353-75;
king of, ii. 115;
lakes of, 14.
Karamba cape, ii. 44-5;
island, 155.
Karara Island, i. 368.
Karema district, ii. 22.
Kariba river, ii. 106, 162.
Karindi, or Kionga, district, ii. 103.
Karinzi cape, ii. 40.
Kasansagara river, ii. 45.
Kasenga river, ii. 34.
Kasengé, i. 12;
island, 17; ii. 40-2, 51.
Kasera district, ii. 158, 272.
Kasimbu district, ii. 5, 6, 13, 15.
Kasindula, the hero, i. 270, 292-3, 294.
Kasinga village, i. 364, 399.
Kasheshé, king of Uzimba, i. 369.
Kashongwa, i. 85.
Kasita, i. 369.
Kasongo, i. 21; ii. 75, 96, 124.
Kassanga, chief, ii. 53.
Kasuku, ii. 155, 251,
Kasuma inlet, ii. 19.
Katadzi “guns,” ii. 164.
Katavi spirits, ii. 53.
Katanga, ii. 87.
_Katekiro_ of Uganda, i. 148, 287;
(victories of), 296.
Katembo, interpreter, ii. 160, 164, 166, 168, 177, 184, 188, 231.
Kateyé, natural tower, ii. 28;
spirits, ii. 53.
Katonga river, i. 167, 233, 339.
Katumbi, ii. 166.
Katutwa, king of Utambara, i. 392.
_Kauta_ of Uganda, i. 148, 237, 312.
Kavala, Kirindi, Kivizi, islands, ii. 42.
Kavi river, i. 130.
Kawa Bay and river, ii. 27.
Kawangira district, i. 396.
Kawé-Niangeh, chief, ii. 34.
Kawelé, village of, ii. 48.
Kawendi, hills of, ii. 15, 17, 18, 19;
or Tongwé, 22.
Kazaradzi Island, i. 212.
Kerengé Island, i. 142.
Khamis bin Abdulla, i. 42;
son of Hamoida, 198;
the Baluch, 399; ii. 49, 150.
Khonko, chief, i. 82.
Kibaga, the flying warrior, i. 275.
Kibamba, dry bed of river, ii. 38.
Kibibi, natives of, i. 286.
Kibogora, king of Western Usui, i. 372, 375.
Kilolo, ii. 336, 339.
Kibonga, i. 167.
_Kibuga_ of Uganda, i. 157.
Kidudu Peak, i. 71.
Kiganda language, i. 135, 145, 159.
Kijaju, king of Komeh, i. 193, 210-11.
Kikoka, camp at, i. 67, 77.
Kikoma, camp at, i. 331.
Kikombo, or Chikombo, i. 78-9.
Kimera, the giant, i. 273-4.
Kindevi Island, i. 127.
Kingani river, i. 66-7.
Kingfishers, i. 104; ii. 229.
Kings of Uganda, i. 298;
of Ukerewé, 274.
Kingwana language, i. 134;
costume of, 151.
Kinoza, chief of Kioga, ii. 47.
Kinsembo, port of, ii. 298.
Kintu, chief of Mowa, ii. 298—_see_ “Legend of Blameless Priest.”
Kinyamwezi language, i. 135.
Kinzalé, ii. 332.
Kinzau, port of, ii., 298.
Kinzoré, ii. 328.
Kioga, place, ii. 47.
Kipembwé river, ii. 162.
Kipendi Point, ii. 23.
Kipimpi cape, ii. 31.
Kipingiri, chief of Lutari, i. 123, 190, 191, 208-9.
Kirando, bay of, ii. 24.
Kirango, one of the Wangwana, i. 181.
Kiregi islands, i. 126.
Kirembo-rembo (lightning), ii. 135.
Kiringi Point, ii. 44.
Kirudo, camp at, i. 144.
Kiruji cape, ii. 45.
Kirungwé, or Castle Point, ii. 26.
Kirurumo, fighting at, i. 85, 103.
Kishakka, island of, i. 295, 361, 369, 375;
tribe, ii. 3.
Kisorya, camp at, i. 201.
Kisui-Kachiambi, ii. 135-8.
Kisuka, point, i. 16.
Kiswahili language, i. 145, 252.
Kitagwenda, i. 369.
Kitalalo, chief of, i. 81-2, 96.
Kitangeh, i. 73;
basin of, 73.
Kitangulé river, i. 14, 353.
Kitari, royal sepulchre at, i. 196.
Kitaro Island, i. 125.
Kitenteh Island, i. 245, 286.
Kiteté, chief of Mpungu, ii. 71.
Kituka, or market, ii. 93.
_Kitunzi_ of Uganda, i. 148.
Kiumeh, or Chiuma-Nanga, chief, ii. 30.
Kiunyu village, ii. 46.
Kiussi, camp at, ii. 103.
Kivanga, peak of, ii. 16.
Kivu lake, i. 368.
Kiwa Island, i. 142, 147.
Kiwandaré mountains, i. 366.
Kiwesa, district, ii. 19, 21.
Kiwyeh, chief, i. 82.
Kiyanga, i. 355.
Kiyanja ridge, ii. 38-9.
Kiyanzi, dialect, ii. 250.
Kizambala, place, ii. 55, 63, 67.
Kizinga, bivouac at, i. 363.
Kiziwa, i. 353, 366.
Koki, i. 331.
Kokira, chief of Mtosi, ii. 25.
Komeh, i. 119, 207, 329.
Konduchi, i. 13, 51.
Kongo (Congo), i. 21, 161.
Koruru district, ii. 203, 206, 208, 214.
Kudu (antelope), i. 104.
Kunda river, ii. 89, 90, 94, 99, 102, 161.
Kundi village, ii. 55.
Kuneneh group, i. 127, 187, 203.
Kungwé cape, ii. 17, 39, 40;
mountains, 17;
peaks, 18;
future of, 19.
Kurereh, chief of Kyenzi, i. 191, 209.
Kutumpuku district, ii. 244.
Kwango river, ii. 215, 321.
Kwaniwa’s village, ii. 55.
Kyanga ridge, ii. 38.
Kyogia river, i. 330.
Kyozza, king of Northern Uzongora, i. 231, 294.
Kytawa, i. 218-9, 229, 294.
Kyya Kamba, island, ii. 186.
Laboré, scene of L. de Bellefonds’ murder, i. 166.
_Lady Alice_, lines of, i. 4;
remodelled, 48;
en route, 65;
equipped for the lake, 117;
on the lake, 123-234;
stowed away, 234;
on Windermere and the Karagwé streams, 361-2;
the Rapids, ii. 270-1, 272-3, 294, 310, 335, 359;
the boat, on Tanganika, 10, 47;
repaired, 95;
on Lualaba, 95, 114;
on the Livingstone, 114-341;
abandoned, 342.
Lady-birds, ii. 159.
Lady Frere, ii. 367.
Lakes—Tanganika, ii. 8-47;
Bemba, 86-7, 367;
Chad, 215;
Muta-Nzigé, 71;
Lincoln, 86;
Usukuma, 12;
Alexandra, 215;
Albert, 215;
Kamalondo, 86;
of Karagwé, 14;
_see_ “Albert Nyanza,” “Alexandra Nyanza,” “Beatrice Gulf,” “Bemba
lake,” “Ihema lake,” “Kivu,” “Lake Victoria,” “Luampula’s,”
“Meruré,” “Mkinyaga,” “Muta Nzigé,” “Outlet of Victoria Nyanza,”
“Rweru,” “Sivué,” “Tanganika,” “Ugombo,” “Uhimba lake,” “Victoria
Nyanza, “Windermere.”
Lambo village, ii. 55.
_Landolphia_, ii. 284.
Language, ii. 3, 96—_see_ “Dialects.”
Laurel-tree, ii. 70.
Lawson, Mount, i. 334.
Leehumwa, i. 79.
Leewumbu river, i. 94-5, 102, 105.
Legends, &c., i. 103;
of Lake Victoria, 121, 155, 196, 211;
of the Blameless Priest, 270-98;
geographical fables, 367, 371, 396;
superstitions, &c., ii. 26-8, 250, 298-9, 302, 313, 317.
Legends of the Lake, ii. 4, 10, 12, 17, 22, 44, 52;
of the forest, 77, 83, 115.
Lemons, ii. 42, 95, 268, 279.
Lemur, ii. 107, 174, 185, 229.
Leopards, i. 237, 285, 331, 382; ii. 82, 104, 106, 158, 213, 220.
Leopold river, ii. 172, 186.
Leprosy, i. 364.
Levy Hills, ii. 244.
Liendé village, ii. 29, 30.
Lightning, ii. 291.
_Liliaceæ_, ii. 219.
Limba creek, ii. 39.
Limes (sweet), ii. 42, 95, 279, 331.
Linant Island, i. 146.
Lincoln lake, ii. 86.
Lions, i. 71-4, 79, 87, 285, 331; ii. 158.
Lira river, ii. 135, 161-2.
Liuché river, i. 400; ii. 4, 13, 15.
Livingstone, Dr., death, i. 2;
funeral, 1, 3;
explorations of, 15, 18, 20, 44;
with the Universities’ Mission, 59, 60, 98, 152;
_Livingstone_ canoe, 330;
the “Livingstone” river, 18-21;
Dr. ii. 5, 6, 8-9, 16, 25, 30, 33, 44, 47, 52, 62, 66, 68, 75, 76,
85-6, 93, 112, 131;
the river (as the Lualaba), 95-114;
as “the Livingstone,” 114.
—— canoe, ii. 324.
—— Falls, ii. 255, _sqq._
Llianes (bridge of), i. 23, 126, 129, 173, 316, 366; ii. 108, 159.
Loanda, ii. 215, 252, 364.
Loangwa river, i. 19.
Lo Bengwella, i. 394.
Locusts, lake of, ii. 71.
Lofuku, Lofu, or Rubuku, river, ii. 33.
Lohugati river, i. 376, 379.
_London Town_ (canoe), ii. 233.
Long, Colonel, i. 296.
_Lophira alata_, ii. 284.
_Loranthus_, ii. 219, 284.
Lords of the cord, i. 285, 308, 312.
Lotus, ii. 30.
Lowwa, or Rowwa, river, ii. 159, 162, 169, 170, 174, 177, 238.
Luajerri river, i. 235.
Lualaba, Luapula, i. 19.
Lualaba river, ii. 50, 54, 65-6, 72, 73, 74, 87, 89-90, 94;
on the Lualaba, 95-114;
the name merged in the “Livingstone,” 114, 361.
Luama river, ii. 55, 56, 61, 65-6;
river and valley, 71-2, 73, 91, 96, 161-2, 215.
Luampula’s lake, i. 367.
Luapanya, chief of Wahika, ii. 131.
Lubangi river, ii. 56.
Lubugwé river, ii. 18.
Lugumbwa Creek, i. 71.
Luhola in Usongora, i. 369.
Luhye-ya ridge, ii. 72.
Luimbi, Luindi, Ruindi, or Lukuga river, i. 61; ii. 38.
Lukalu Point, ii. 331.
Lukanjah, i. 203, 207, 210, 215, 228, 229-30.
Lukoma, chief, i. 344.
Lukongeh, king of Ukerewé, furnishes canoes, i. 194;
life of, 196-201;
Mtesa’s alliance with, 329.
Lukuga creek, ii. 33-6, 40;
“river,” 8-9, 12, 39, 40.
Lulamba islands, i. 245;
natives of, 286.
Lulindi river, ii. 73.
Lumami river, ii. 77-79, 170;
or Young’s river, 176-77, 215.
Lumba river, ii. 39.
Lunangwa river, ii. 33.
Lupassi Point, i. 169.
Luru, or Lulu river, ii. 161-2.
Lusize, i. 17.
Lutari cape, i. 123, 190-1, 208-9.
Luwamberri, plains of, and river, i. 104-5, 108.
Luwegeri, or Luwajeri, “mother of the Lukuga,” ii. 12, 16, 38.
Lynx, i. 285.
Mabibi islands, i. 203.
Mabruki “Speke,” i. 44;
death, 191; ii. 84, 89, 112, 168-9, 271, 297, 370.
Machenché village, i. 81.
Machunda, king of Ukerewé, i. 198.
Mackenzie, Bishop, i. 59, 60.
Mackinnon (Mr. William), ii. 372.
Mafia islands, i. 33.
Mafitté—_see_ “Watuta.”
Maganga, chief of Rubago, i. 103, 396.
Magassa, the messenger and admiral, i. 145, 147-8, 163, 166, 176, 192-
3, 220, 302, 305, 348.
Magic, and magic doctors, &c., i. 83, 96, 103, 127, 197, 256-7, 263-7,
285, 300.
Magomero, mission at, i. 61.
Magu Hills, i. 118, 124, 128.
Maheta, or Mahata, country, i. 132-3.
Mahonga chief, ii. 46.
Mahyiga Island, eventful stay at, i. 212-30.
Majid, Prince, i. 47, 296.
Majita, Mount, i. 127, 189, 197.
Majwara, Pocock’s servant, ii. 70, 295.
Makindu river, i. 235.
Makokomo (island of), ii. 24, 33.
Makongo, ill-treatment at, i. 170-1, 176, 186, 231; ii. 114.
Makubika village, camp at, i. 72.
Malagarazi (or Meruzi) river i., 376, 379, 388, 396, 398; ii. 15, 17.
Malewa, chief of Mtiwi, i. 84-5.
Malofu, palm-wine, ii. 60, 65, 94, 131, 151, 168, 226, 239, 279, 289,
298.
Mamboya village, i. 72.
_Mammalia_—_see_ “Zoology.”
Manassa, heights of, i. 110.
Mangala, ii. 224, 232;
savages of, 238, 245.
Mango (wild), ii. 284.
Mangroves, i. 131, 137; ii. 192, 218.
Mangura, village of, i. 94, 181.
_Manikoos_, &c., i. 394.
Manioc—_see_ “Cassava.”
Mankoneh, chief of the Bateké, ii. 255-8.
Mankonno, ii. 240.
Mankorongo, king of Usui, i. 152, 193, 312, 320, 380.
Mansau Falls, ii. 331.
Mansumba village, camp at, i. 398.
Mansur bin Suliman, an Arab of Bagamoyo, i. 58-9, 65, 68.
Mantis, ii. 159.
Manufactures, ii. 178, 198, 212-14, 278;
of Ujiji, 3;
of Msamba, 25;
of Ubujwé, 55;
of Manyema, 65;
of Nyangwé, 93-5, 108;
of Uregga, 110;
of the Livingstone, 130-1.
Manwa Sera “Captain,” i. 44-5, 65, 87, 101, 191, 211, 214, 225, 344;
ii. 8, 128, 149, 173-4, 181, 184, 212, 232-3, 235, 263, 269, 278,
283, 286, 291, 294, 296, 303, 307, 309, 317, 320, 322-3, 354.
Manwana, chief of Mowa, ii. 298.
Manyanga district, ii. 298;
market town, 245.
Manyara, cones of, i. 133.
Manyema, ii. 5, 67, 76, 89, 94, 96, 100, 105, 110, 112, 135, 215, 277;
forests of, 61.
Maoorugungu, sub-chief, i. 313.
Mapota river, ii. 31.
Marabu storks, ii. 229.
Maramba (plantain-wine), ii. 11, 56, 94.
Marches, average of, i. 115.
Marenga Mkali, or “Bitter Water” wilderness, i. 78-9.
Marera district, ii. 94.
Marimbu, camp at, ii. 89.
Markets—Ujiji, ii. 3;
Msamba, 25;
Ubujwé, 55;
Manyema, 65;
Nyangwé, 93-5;
Uregga, 109;
of the Livingstone, 130-1, _sqq._
“Mars of Africa,” i. 384—_see_ “Mirambo.”
Marsawa, peak of, i. 137.
Marungu, mountains of, ii. 32.
Marunja districts, ii. 5, 13, 224, 235, 245;
warriors of, 230-2, 279.
Marya, camp at, i. 110.
Marzouk the boat-boy, i. 187; ii. 182-3;
the cook, 281, 297, 310.
Masai land, i. 130.
Masaka, village in Uddu, i. 305.
Masansi, ii. 45;
coffee of, 84.
Masari, a village, i. 106, 109.
Masaro, currency bead, ii. 3.
Mashakka, i. 124.
Masonga, hilly point, i. 127.
Masr (Cairo), i. 119, 159, 162.
Massassa and Massessé, ii. 301, 303-4, 307-321;
Point, 305-7;
Falls, 307-321, 345.
Massi-Kamba, sub-chief of Fipa, ii. 22.
Masuka, fruit-tree, ii. 54.
Masumami, chief of Kitalalo, i. 82.
Matabelés, i. 394.
Mata river, ii. 332, 334.
Matagera, left captive, ii. 338.
Matembé Point, i. 126.
Mateté (water-cane), i. 129, 143, 156; ii. 36.
Matonga, or custard-apple, ii. 54.
Matongo, small district, i. 94.
Matunda Falls, ii. 331.
Matura Island, ii. 135.
Mawembé village, ii. 208.
Mayangira village, i. 388.
Ma-Zombé village, ii. 26.
Mbala, port of, ii. 298.
Mbelo, village, ii. 313;
ferry, 323;
Falls, 325-6.
Mbembu (wood-apple), ii. 54.
Mberri tribe, ii. 224.
Mbinda, ii. 340;
chief, 343;
valley of, 349;
village of, 350;
ridge of, 351, 353.
Mburri, camp at, ii. 129, 170.
Mbwenni, site of mission, i. 28;
bluffs of, ii. 369.
_Mbugu_—_see_ “Dress.”
Mdanga cape, ii. 42-3.
Meginna (place), ii. 98, 113.
Membé murdered, i. 209.
Meruré (Lake), i. 365.
Meruzi—_see_ “Malagarazi.”
Messenger of Teddington, i. 3, 188.
Meteorology—Rain, i. 93, 128, 137, 140, 177;
wind, 124, 128, 139, 186, 188, 233, 365;
hail, 137, 139, 188;
temperature, 79, 126, 137, 340, 366; ii. 289, 319—_see_ “Rain,”
“Storms,” “Wind,” “Rise and fall of Rivers,” “Thermometer
readings.”
Mezinda district on Lake Victoria, camp at, i. 231.
Mfuteh, camp at, i. 71.
Mgassa, king of Ujiji, ii. 4.
Mgongo Tembo, “Elephant’s Back,” i. 94-5, 102-3.
Miandereh Island, eventful passage to, i. 203-5.
Micoco, (a fabulous king); river, ii. 115, 321.
Miketo forest, ii. 61;
district, 38-9.
Mikindini bay, i. 18.
Mikoko river, ii. 321.
Mikonju tribe, ii. 186.
Mimosa, i. 105, 125-9, 173; ii. 108.
Mineralogy—_see_ “Geology.”
Minnows, ii. 219, 245, 333.
Minza village, ii. 25.
Mirage, ii. 237, 245.
Mirambo, chief of the “Ruga-Ruga,” i. 85, 99, 103, 106, 134, 193, 311,
383-5;
makes blood-brotherhood, 386-7.
Mirimo, camp at, ii. 106.
Misongo village, ii. 240, 279.
Missions and mission work—Universities’ Mission, i. 59-62, 158-9;
converting Mtesa, 164, 174;
Lukongeh, 195, 251-2, 262-4, 318-19, 329.
Missossi Mount, ii. 43, 45.
Mist, ii. 153.
Mitamba, forest of, ii. 75, 94, 101, 116.
Mitandeh Islands, ii. 131.
Mitwanzi, old river bed, ii. 38.
Mizanza (Plain of), i. 81;
chief, 82.
Mkampemba, a village, ii. 39.
Mkasiwa, of Unyanyembé, i. 85, 387.
Mkerengi Island, ii. 24.
Mkigusa village, ii. 30.
Mkindo river, i. 72.
Mkinyaga lake and country, i. 368.
Mkombé river, ii. 22.
Mkumbiro, village of, i. 389.
Mkundi river, i. 72.
Mkunga, port of, ii. 298.
_M’kungu_, or chief, of Uganda, i. 302.
Mkura, port of, ii. 298.
Mkwanga, village, ii. 73.
Mkwenda, i. 148, 260.
Mohammed bin Gharib, governor of Ujiji, ii. 5, 9, 49, 67, 131;
bin sali, 5;
bin Sayid, 74, 77, 83, 93;
bin Soud, 73.
Mohuro, Mwitu, Mtambani, Msitu, names for the forest of Manyema, ii.
61-2.
_Mollusca_—oysters, ii. 197, 222;
mussels, 197, 222;
snails, 104, 222.
Mombasa, Methodist Free Church at, i. 51, 63, 164.
Mombiti, camp at, i. 105-7, 139, 140.
Mombiti-Uvuma, i. 216.
Mompara, or Para, Dr. Livingstone at, ii. 33.
Mompurengi, ii. 240.
Monangah river and valley, i. 94, 105-6, 108.
Monbuttu, river of, ii. 214-5.
Mondo, camp at, i. 109, 110.
Mongoose, ii. 104.
Monitors, i. 127; ii. 229.
Monkeys and skins, i. 110, 315, 366; ii. 59, 104, 105, 107, 114, 131,
185, 213, 229—_see_ “Baboons,” “Chimpanzee,” “Gorilla,” “Lemur,”
“Soko.”
_Mono Matapa_, i. 393.
Monyono bay, i. 146.
Mori Bay, i. 129.
Morongo, or the “Noisy Falls,” i. 361.
Mosquitoes, i. 123, 233, 363; ii. 46, 228, 232, 242, 247.
_Mother of the River_ at Jinga, i. 353.
_Mountains of the Moon_, reputed source of Nile, i. 10; ii. 216.
Mountains, peaks, hills, cones, &c.—_see_ “Arnold,” “Gambaragara,”
“Gordon Bennett,” “Isossi,” “Jack’s Mount,” “Kidudu,” “Magu,”
“Manyara,” “Mgongo Tembo,” “Pongwé,” “Rubaga,” “Sabaganzi’s,”
“Switzerland of Africa,” “Uddu, “Ufumbiro,” “Ukamba,” “Unyangwira,”
“Urirwi,” “Usambara,” “Wakuneh,” “Goma,” “Ikengo,” “Kawendi,”
“Kungwe,” “Levy,” “Marungu,” “Missossi,” “Mountains of the Moon,”
“Tongwé,” “Ulambola,” “Ussi,” “Yangi-yangi.”
Mowa (Upper), ii. 300, 325, 331;
Falls and Cove, 303, 305;
cliffs, 288, 278, 303;
market, 288, 292;
Falls, 292-3, 298-9;
fall, 308-9, 313, 316, 317, 318.
Mpakambendi, ii. 293, 329-31.
Mpakiwana district, ii. 224, 228, 235, 279.
Mpako, king of Zinga, ii. 320.
Mpanga river, i. 340.
Mpangu, camp at, ii. 332.
Mpani village, i. 243.
Mpassi district, ii. 170.
Mpika (island of), ii. 138, 145, 147, 151.
Mpimbwé cape, ii. 23-25.
Mpisa district, ii. 226, 235.
Mpororo, i. 367.
Mpotira, camp at, ii. 102.
Mpumba, ii. 240.
Mpundu, a race of dwarfs, i. 368.
Mpunga place, ii. 71-2.
Mputu, ii. 321, 330;
rapids, 341.
Mpwapwa, i. 76-7;
camp at, 76, 93; ii. 206, 264, 296, 297, 310.
Mrima coast, ii. 100.
Msamba Island, ii. 24-5;
bay, 25.
M’sehazy Haven, ii. 50.
Msené, camp at, i. 395.
Msenna, “the bully of Zanzibar,” i. 47, 73, 191, 209, 380.
Mshala river, i. 399; ii. 4.
Msossi, capital of Lukongeh, i. 197.
Msungu, or white man, i. 113.
Msuwa village, i. 70.
Mtagamoyo, ii. 77, 78, 80, 82, 93, 109.
Mtagata, hot springs of, i. 361, 365.
Mtambara river, ii. 46.
Mtambuko, king of Ankori, i. 233.
Mtombwa, natural tower, ii. 28.
Mtesa, emperor of Uganda, i. 84, 119—_see_ “Uganda,” “Character,”
“Dress,” and “Women.”
Mtiwi, camp at, i. 84-5.
Mtongoleh—_see_ “Titles.”
Mtosi, or Motoshi, camp at, ii. 25.
Mtowa, in Uguha, ii. 53.
Mtuyu, camp at, ii. 70, 71.
Muanza district, 13, i. 118, 193.
_Mucuna pruriens_, ii. 159.
Muftah Rufiji, killed, ii. 204;
Muftah, 234.
Mugolwé village, ii. 42.
Muhalala, camp at, i. 85.
Muhala, Muini, ii. 134.
Muini Dugumbi, of Nyangwé, ii. 68, 75, 91-3, 94.
Muini Ibrahim, ii. 100, 147, 117.
Muini Kheri, an Arab, i. 35, 399;
Dugumbi, an Arab, 35.
Muini Kheri, governor of Ujiji, ii. 2, 5-7, 9, 14.
Mukondoku district, i. 81-3.
Mukondokwa river, i. 76.
Muley bin Salim converts Mtesa to Islam, i. 152, 253.
Mungamba, chief of Mburri, ii. 170.
Muntawa cape, ii. 24.
Munulu river, i. 139.
Murambo, king of Usuguru, i. 134.
Murchison Cataracts, mission at, i. 60;
bay, 14, 146-7, 154, 163, 166.
Muri-Kiassi cape, ii. 33.
Murikwa Island, ii. 28.
Muriro, king, resort of slavers established by, ii. 31.
Muriwa creek, ii. 132.
Murumbi Mount, ii. 34.
Muscati, wife of Safeni, ii. 150, 181;
steersman, 181, 369;
name of an ass, 66.
Music, ii. 48, 73.
Musira Island, i. 171-6, 193.
Mussels, ii. 197, 222.
Muta-Nzigé, Mtesa provides escort to, i. 238;
scenery of, 317;
preparations for, 330;
camp at, 344-9, 352, 364;
lake, ii. 52, 87, 97, 99, 148, 186, 215—_see_ “Beatrice Gulf.”
Mutunda beads, i. 133; ii. 4.
Mutiny in the camp, ii. 323.
Mutwaré, or chief, i. 376, 398; ii. 2, 6;
of Ugoy, 5.
Muvari, i. 364.
Muvwo Point, i. 146.
Muzimu Island, i. 17;
spirits, ii. 10;
huts built for, 26;
the spirit island, 45-46.
_Muzimus_, or spirits—_see_ “Magic, &c.”
Mvomero, i. 72.
Mvulé-trees, i. 316; ii. 108.
Mwana Kilunga, name of the “Livingstone”, ii. 321.
Mwana Kusu, chief of Ka-Bambarré, ii. 62.
Mwana Mamba, chief of Tubanda, ii. 73, 84, 89, 93, 96.
Mwana Mpunda, ii. 73.
Mwana Ngombé, “lord of cows,” ii. 70.
Mwana Ngoy, a chief, ii. 63-4, 67.
Mwana Ntaba tribe, ii. 166;
territory, 169, 170-1, 175, 213.
Mwangangala Island, ii. 239.
Mwato Wandu village, ii. 343.
Mwende, Kivuké-vuké (“Go in peace”), ii. 139.
Mwerango river, i. 235, 271.
Mweré country, i. 193.
Mweru, lake, i. 19.
Mworongo, or Nawarongo, river, i. 364.
Myombo-trees, i. 87, 93, 102, 103.
Myonga, chief of Masumbwa, i. 388.
Myriapedes, ii. 108, 159.
Mysomeh Islands, i. 212.
Nabutari river, i. 337.
Nagombwa river, i. 235, 283.
Nakampemba, village of, ii. 126, 127.
Nakaranga, Mtesa’s camp at, i. 243, 269.
Nakasimbi village, ii. 99.
Nakidimo Creek, i. 131.
Na-Magongo Point, i. 243, 245, 247, 268.
Nameterré Island, i. 212.
Nankuma village, landing at, i. 234.
Namujurilwa, “the Achilles of Uganda,” i. 270, 287, 289, 290; ii. 70.
Namungi islands, i. 137, 286.
Napoleon Channel, i. 142, 158.
Natal, ii. 367, 368.
Natural History—_see_ “Zoology,” “Ornithology”, “Entomology,”
“Ichthyology,” “Reptiles,” “Botany,” “Geology,” “Meteorology.”
Natwari Island, i. 124.
Nawarongo, or Ruvuvu, river, i. 375.
Nchuvira, king of Nkunda, ii. 258.
Ndala of Zinga, ii. 313, 318.
Ndandé-Njoko, woods of, ii. 253.
Ndega, king of Serombo, i. 384.
Ndereh, the robbers’ village, ii. 17, 19, 20, 21.
Ndeverva village, i. 382.
Ndongo district, i. 353.
“Nero,” the retriever dog, i. 6, 67, 81.
Netted by cannibals, ii. 187.
_New York Herald_, mission from, i. 2, 3, 6;
letters to, 163, 232.
Neygano, i. 139.
Nganza district, ii. 219.
Ngevi Island, i. 134-5, 137, 216.
Ngoi, district on Alexandra Nile, i. 366.
Ngombé, king, ii. 79;
town, 226.
Ngoyo district, ii. 362.
Ngufu, Rapids of, ii. 341.
Nguru district, i. 71, 106;
basin, ii. 326-7.
Ngyeyeh river, ii. 177.
Niamtaga, village near Ujiji, i. 399.
Nicknames, ii. 70-1.
Nifuah Island, i. 126.
Niger river, ii. 151.
Nika (lake), probably named after an electric fish, ii. 12;
(plain), ii. 13.
_Nile_, i. 2, 7, 8,10, 11, 13, 14, 16, 18, 21, 283, 377;
White, 11, 13;
Victoria, 15, 235, 240, 283, 313, 370;
Alexandra, 167-9, 305-6, 315, 352, 353, 364, 365, 372, 375-7, 399;
ii. 14, 151, 152, 186;
Upper, 194;
Victoria, 195, 215-6.
Niranga (? Vinyata), basin of, i. 95.
Nkunda district, ii. 255, 258, 279.
Notre Dame de Bagomoyo, i. 59.
Nshasha district, ii. 258.
Nsongo Yellala, ii. 341.
Ntewi village, halt at, i. 233, 329.
Ntombo Mataka, ii. 339.
Ntondwé Island, ii. 27.
Ntunduru Island, ii. 179-80, 181-3.
Numbi, cove of, ii. 19.
_Nux-Vomica_, ii. 54.
Nyama, “meat,” ii. 112, _sqq._
Nyambarri village, halt at, i. 380-1.
Nyangwé, i. 21; ii. 7, 8, 68, 73, 74, 83-4, 85-6, 88, 90, 91, 93-4, 96,
98, 101, 107, 109, 114-5, 118, 147, 214, 259, 280, 370.
Nyassa, lake, i. 18, 60, 61.
Nyika, king of Gambaragara, i. 335-6; ii. 96.
_Nymphœa_, ii. 218.
Nyungu, chief, i. 85.
Nzabi, ii. 278;
district, 279, 283. 287, 288, 289, 291-3, 310, 321.
Observation Island, i. 129; ii. 233.
Ocean, canoe, ii. 233.
Officers—of R.N., ii. 366;
_Danae_, _Industry_ and _Seagull_, 366;
_Pachumba_, 372;
_Tamega_, 365;
_Kabinda_, 359;
_London_, 370.
Oil-berry tree, ii. 219.
Oil and oil-nuts, palm-oil and butter, ii. 2, 3, 4, 56, 65, 84, 292,
360.
Olive, ii. 284, 335.
Onions, ii. 279, 331.
Ophthalmia, i. 82.
Orchids, i. 174, 177; ii. 108, 159.
Organization of Expedition in England, i. 1-6;
at Zanzibar, 41, 54, 63; ii. 14, 49, 83, 90, 121, 147, 261, 268.
Ornithology—i. 94, 104;
cranes, ducks, 88, 95, 104, 187;
field-larks, 104;
fish-hawks, 104;
flamingoes, 104;
geese, 95, 104;
guinea-fowls, 104;
ibis, 104;
jay, 95;
kingfishers, 104;
parroquets, 95;
plover, 95;
snipe, 95;
spoonbills, 95, 104;
vulture, 104;
—ii. geese, 16, 229, 237;
guinea fowls, 91;
pigeons, 91;
birds, 42;
diver, 42, 229;
fish-eagles, 42, 131;
parrots, 60, 94, 131, 190, 266, 335;
Balearic cranes, 229;
Balæniceps Rex, 229;
flamingo, 229, 243;
ducks, 229, 243;
kingfishers, 229;
marabu, 229;
egrets, 229;
ibis, 131, 229, 243;
snipe, 229;
pelicans, 241, 243;
stork, 243;
whydahs, 243;
bird-lime, &c., 266;
hawk, 131—_see_ “Chickens.”
Otter, ii. 185.
Outlet of Tanganika, ii. 8, 9-47.
Outlet of Victoria Nyanza, i. 235—_see_ “Ripon Falls.”
_Owindi_, a fragrant berry, ii. 25.
Oysters, ii. 197, 222.
Pachumba, ii. 372.
Palms—cocoa-nut, i. 28;
guinea palm, ii.—1, 3, 56, 65, 218, 292;
oil-nuts and oil, 2, 3, 4, 56, 65, 84, 279, 292, 360;
wine, 11, 56, 60, 65, 94, 131, 168, 227, 239, 279, 289, 298;
date-palms, 8, 158, 186;
Elais palm, 122, 155, 158, 186;
Hyphene palm, 186;
fibre of, 197, 209, 211, 218;
doum-palms, 158;
Borassus palm, 19, 218—_see_ “Doum,” “Borassus.”
Pangani river, i. 130.
_Panicum_ grass, ii. 89, 132.
Panza Point, ii. 45-47.
Papaw, ii. 1, 42, 95, 285.
Papyrus, i. 233, 317, 331, 334, 353;
“Funzo,” 362; ii. 14, 36-7, 40, 46, 159, 218, 229.
Para, ii. 33;
guide, 10, 20-1, 25, 46—_see_ “Mompara.”
Parroquets, i. 95.
Parrots, ii. 60, 94, 105, 131, 190, 266, 335.
Peasants, or Kopi, of Uganda, i. 259, 299, 302.
Pelicans, ii. 237, 243.
Pemba, i. 33.
_Penguin_, ship, i. 18.
Pennell, Rev. Mr., i. 61.
_Pennisetum_ reed cane, ii. 187.
Pepper, ii. 185.
_Phrynium_, ii. 132, 218, 273.
Phunzé, chief, i. 389.
Physical geography, i.—_see_ “Plains,” “Rivers,” “Mountains,” “Bays,”
“Islands,” “Lakes,” “Capes,” “Falls,” “Channels”; ii. “Mountains,”
“Lakes,” “Rivers,” “Watersheds,” “Volcanic phenomena,” “Falls,”
“Cataracts,” “Rapids,” “Meteorology.”
Physic-nut, ii. 219.
Pigeons, ii. 91.
Pigs, ii. 94, 123, 277.
Pike, ii. 195, 321.
Pine-apple, wild, i. 129, 174, 177.
Pipes, i. 83.
Pistia plants, ii. 137, 143, 218.
Plains and basins—_see_ “Kitangeh,” “Luwamberri,” “Mizanza,” “Niranga
(? Vinyata),” “Monangah,” “Rufiji,” Salina,” “Shahshi,” “Tubugwé,”
“Uhumba,” “Uyagoma,” “Wagansu,” “Wagassi.”
Plantains, gigantic, ii. 80, 161.
Pleurisis, ii. 133.
Plover, i. 95.
Pocock, Edward, engaged, i. 5;
at Zanzibar, 48;
bugler of the Expedition, 66;
with the Expedition, 67, 73, 82, 86;
taken ill at Suna, 90, 91;
death of, 92.
Pocock, Francis John, engaged, i. 5;
at Zanzibar, 48;
with the Expedition, 48, 73, 82, 86;
at his brother’s death-bed, 90-2;
stockading camp against Wanyaturu, 95-9;
sights the lake, 111, 114;
at Kagehyi, 118, 122, 188;
at Barker’s death-bed, 190;
visits Lukongeh, 194, 201-2;
in charge at Refuge island, 210-12;
at Mahyiga, 219;
in council, 225; ii. 51, 85, 87-8, 113, 115, 120, 122, 128, 140-1,
144, 150-2, 179, 200-2, 212, 221, 233-4, 248, 254-5, 257-63, 269-
72, 280, 281, 287, 291, 293, 295, 304, 305, 308-13;
in Memoriam, 315-16, 318-19;
Pocock Pool, 320, 327, 357.
_Podostomaceæ_, ii. 321.
Poisoned arrows, i. 175; ii. 113, 135, 136, 140, 165.
Pokino, i. 305-6.
_Poli Poli_, i. 45—_see_ “Shauri.”
Polombwé cape, ii. 29.
Pombé, i. 117, 119, 120, 296, 326;
“test-beer,” 307-8; ii. 7, _sqq._
Pomegranate, ii. 1, 42, 95.
Pongwé (cones of), i. 71.
Ponta da Lenha, ii. 360.
Population, ii. 4.
Pontoons, i. 3, 330.
Potato-plant, traditions of, i. 271, 338, 385.
Prices of food, i. 109.
Prideaux, Captain, i. 52.
Primitive man, i. 133.
Proctor, Rev. Mr., i. 60.
Products, ii. 168-9, 197, 221-3, 226, 246, 268, 278-9, 331, 350, 387;
of Ujiji, 1, 3, 4, 6, 44, 54, 56, 61, 65, 69;
Nyangwé, 93-4;
of the Livingstone, 130, 132, 168, 178, 185, 222, 226, 240, 246, 257,
262.
Prime minister, ii. 367.
_Proteas_, ii. 284.
Puff-adder, ii. 107.
Purvis, Captain, ii. 366.
Pyramid Point, i. 125.
Python, ii. 107, 250.
.ix
.sp 1
.ix
Rabbai Mpia, mission at, i. 63.
Rain, i. 80, 84, 94, 104, 128, 137, 140, 178, 186-8; ii. 22, 35, 145,
160, 162, 250-1;
on Livingstone river, 289-90.
Rain-storm, ii. 158, 250.
Rainy season, i. 80-1, 106, 193, 396, 398.
_Raphia vinifera_, ii. 94, 108, 158.
Rapids, ii. 127-8.
Rattans, ii. 108, 113, 158, 176, 204, 218;
cables of, 181, 218, 228—_see_ “Canes.”
Red buffalo, ii. 185, 229, 247, 254.
Red-wood, ii. 137.
Reed—_see_ “Canes,” &c.
Refuge Island, i. 187, 207, 210, 211.
Rehani, ii. 231, 294.
Reptiles—crocodiles, ii. 14, 141, 160, 219, 223, 237;
boa-constrictor, 82;
viper, 107;
puff-adder, 107;
python, 107, 250;
water-snakes, 266, 321;
monitor, 229.
Rhinoceros, i. 89, 106, 365, 367, 372-3; ii. 160.
Riba-Riba chief, ii. 68.
Rinda river, ii. 214.
Rionga’s island, i. 235.
Ripon Falls, i. 14, 15, 166, 169, 235; ii. 195.
Rivers, i.—_see_ “Alexandra Nile,” “Congo,” “Chunyu,” “Gori,” “Gogo,”
“Goma,” “Gombe,” “Kagera,” “Katonga,” “Kavi,” “Kingani,” “Kongo,”
“Kyogia,” “Leewumbu,” “Liuché,” “Luajerri,” “Luindi,” “Loangwa,”
“Lualaba,” “Makindu,” “Malagarazi,” “Masonga,” “Mkindo,” “Mkundi,”
“Monangah,” “Mshala,” “Mukondokwa,” “Munulu,” “Mwerango Nile,”
“Nagombwa,” “Nawarongo,” “Pangani,” “Rovuma,” “Ruana,” “Rufiji,”
“Rusango,” “Rusizi,” “Ruvuvu,” “Rwizi,” “Rush-drains,” “Sagala,”
“Shimeeyu,” “Tubugwé,” “Urengo,” “Victoria Nile,” “Wami,” “White
Nile,” “Zambezi,” “Zedziwa”; ii. “Edwin Arnold,” “Aruwimi,” “Black,”
“Colorado,” “Elwala,” “Gezeh,” “Gordon Bennett,” “Ibari Nkutu,”
“Ikelemba,” “Iringi,” “Irondo,” “Izangi,” “Kabogo,” “Kahanda,”
“Kankoré,” “Kariba,” “Kasansagara,” “Kasenga,” “Kipembwé,” “Kunda,”
“Kwango,” “Leopold,” “Liuché,” “Lira,” “Livingstone,” “Lowwa,”
“Lualaba,” “Luama,” “Lubugwé,” “Lubangi,” “Luindi,” “Lukuga,”
“Lulindi,” “Lumami,” “Lumba,” “Luru,” “Luwegeri,” “Malagarazi,”
“Mata,” “Micoco,” “Mkombé,” “Monbuttu,” “Mshala,” “Mtambara,”
“Mwanakilunga,” “Ngyeyeh,” “Niger,” “Nile,” “Rinda,” “Rua,”
“Ruarowa,” “Rugumba,” “Rugunsi,” “Rubumba,” “Rugufu,” “Ruiki,”
“Ruguku,” “Rumami,” “Rumuna,” “Rungwa,” “Rusizi,” “Sankuru,”
“Ugalowa,” “Ugarowa,” “Ukeré,” “Victoria Nile,” “Wellé,” “Wenya,”
“Yaryembi,” “Young’s River,” “Zambezi.”
Robert, ii. 373.
Rock Bluff Point, ii. 339.
Rock salt, i. 75.
Rocky Island, ii. 264.
Rosako, village of, i. 70;
camp, ii. 49.
Round Island Falls, ii. 269.
Rovuma river, i. 18, 60.
Rowley, Rev. Mr., i. 60.
Rowwa—_see_ “Lowwa.”
Royal Geogr. Society, i. 11, 13.
Rua, i. 20, 35, 42;
river, ii. 8, 12, 54, 75.
Ruana river, i. 125.
Ruanda, empress of, country of, i. 357, 364, 367, 374;
district, ii. 53, 191.
Ruango, guide, ii. 8, 9.
Ruarowa (Lualaba), ii. 135.
Rubaga hills, i. 146, 156-7, 163.
Rubanga, village and chief, ii. 219, 221-2, 224, 227-8, 232, 233, 237,
279.
Rubata “cauldron,” ii. 333.
Rubeho (cones of), i. 78.
_Rubiaceæ_, ii. 105, 137, 159, 284, 302.
Rubumba, or Luvumba, river, ii. 46, 54.
Rubuku, or Lofuku, river, ii. 33.
Rubuti, village of, i. 71.
Ruemba, country of the Liemba lake, ii. 31.
Rufiji river, i. 33, 43;
delta, 51, 79, 82.
Rufuvu river and plain described by Dr. Livingstone, ii. 29, 30.
Ruga-Ruga bandits, ii. 17, 100—_see_ “Mirambo.”
Rugedzi Channel, i. 126, 196, 201.
Rugomero, king, i. 294.
Rugufu river, ii. 19, 21.
Ruguku river, ii. 25.
Rugumba river, ii. 53-4, 65.
Rugunsi river, ii. 106.
Ruhinda, founder of Ukerewé, i. 196;
son of Rumanika, 372.
Ruhinga settlement, ii. 21.
Ruigi, king of Uzimba, i. 340, 369.
Ruiki river, ii. 205, 251.
Ruindi, or Luindi, river, ii. 35.
Rukura district, ii. 155.
Rum, ii. 343.
Rumanika, king of Karagwé, i. 354, 357, 361, 364, 367, 372.
Rumami river, ii. 166;
falls of, 170—_see_ “Lumami.”
Rumondo Island, i. 212, 219.
Rumuna river, ii. 106.
Rungwa river, ii. 17.
Rura, chief of Nakaranga, i. 289, 292-3.
Rusango river, i. 340, 350.
“Rush-drains,” i. 334.
Rusizi river, i. 368; ii. 10.
Rusunzu, king of Zegi, i. 396-7.
Rutuku river, ii. 34.
Ruvuvu river, i. 368.
Rweru, lake, i. 361.
Ruwewa, halt at, i. 331.
Ruwinga, i. 395.
Ruwye-ya river, ii. 34.
Rwizi river, i. 368.
Rwoma, chief, i. 188, 193;
king of Uzinja, ii. 52, 357.
Saadani, i. 51, 55.
Sabadu, i. 221, 238, 285, 344.
Sabaganzi’s hill, i. 146;
the official, 148.
Saburi Rehani, ii. 286, 318, 338.
Safeni, i. 101, 170, 176, 183-4, 187;
“Wadi Safeni,” 44-5, 122; ii. 287, 294, 299, 322, 335, 369.
Sagala river, i. 397.
Salaam Allah, i. 208; ii. 134, 323-4.
“Salina,” i. 81.
Salt, rock salt, i. 75;
manufactured, 307, 345, 370-1, 399; ii. 3, 40, 94, 137, 143, 243,
278, 356.
Samba district, ii. 94.
Sambuzi, i. 167, 237, 260;
selected to escort me to the Muta Nzigé, 328, 335, 341;
determines to desert me, 346;
going to punishment, 353.
Samé samé beads, ii. 4, 295.
Samui village, i. 106.
Sangalla Falls, ii. 334, 341;
Sanga Yellala, 341—_see_ “Isangila.”
Sangarika, chief of Kankoré, ii. 169.
Sankuru river, ii. 230.
Saramba, the “guide” on Lake Victoria, i. 123, 141, 147, 149, 150, 181,
188, 190.
_Saruti_ of Uganda, i. 148.
Sayed bin Salim, Governor of Unyanyembé, ii. 7.
Saywa, ii. 128, 133, 181, 221, 283, 297-8, 313.
Schweinfurth, ii. 216.
Scudamore, Rev. Mr., i. 60.
_Seagull_, H.M.S., ii. 366.
Sebituané, first of Makololo kings, i. 394.
Sedge—_see_ “Canes,” &c.
Sekajuju, &c., i. 330, 346.
_Sekebobo_ of Uganda, i. 148, 160, 245, 247, 265, 292.
Sennené! (peace!) ii. 81, _sqq._
“Sennenneh,” ii. 155, 162, 164, 166.
Sentum and Sentageya, i. 167-8, 170-1.
Sepulchre of Ukerewé kings, i. 196-7.
Serombo district and village, in Unyamwezi, i. 383-7.
Sessé Island, i. 167-8, 233, 236, 286—_see_ “Wasessé.”
Setuba, i. 270, 290-1.
Seyyid Barghash, sultan of Zanzibar, i. 31-2;
abolition of slave-trade, 34;
country of, 34;
commercial enterprise,34;
name, 34.
Shahshi (plains of), i. 125, 128.
Shambala’s, mission to, i. 61.
Shari, basin of, ii. 215.
_Shauri_, i. 45, 59, 98, 116-19, 120;
“levees,” 151 _sqq._, 181, 195, 237, 258, 309.
Shea butter-tree, ii. 218, 284.
Sheep (broad-tailed), ii. 3, 4.
Shekka, king of Bumbireh, i. 181-3, 213-5, 218, 231.
Shepherd tribes, i. 73, 90, 108-9;
Wataturu, 196;
Ankori, 233;
Wavuma, 332;
Gambaragara and Usongora, 369;
Uwya, 175;
Uhamba, 374, 380—_see_ “Watuta.”
Shields (used for defence by Expedition), ii. 157, _sqq._—_see_ “Arms.”
Shimeeyu river, i. 94, 124, 169, 175.
Shirati district, i. 129-30.
Shirwa, i. 59.
Shizu Island, i. 127.
Shumari, i. 205-6; ii. 128, 129, 181, 221, 264, 272, 274, 283, 310.
_Silurus_, ii. 321.
Sima, i. 118, 124, 128.
Simba Mwenni village, i. 70, 72.
Simon’s Bay, ii. 366-8.
Singo Island, i. 187, 206.
Singwé, wild African damson, ii. 54.
Sivué lake, i. 397.
Slavery, at Zanzibar, i. 32-3, 36;
of a Bumbireh, 219;
Uganda, 238, 240;
of women, 241, 251-4.
Slaves, ii. 1, 2, 3;
prices of, 4, 6, 66, 92, 94, 100, 279, 350.
Slings, i. 135, 187, 207.
Small-pox, ii. 49, 127, 138.
Smith, Professor, ii. 341.
Snails, ii. 104, 222.
Snakes—_see_ “Reptiles.”
Snipe, i. 95; ii. 229.
Snow mountain, i. 336.
“Sofi” beads, ii. 4.
Soko, ii. 33, 61, 82, 107, 111, 112-3, 174, 190, 213.
Songs and music, i. 112, 211, 312, 321, 397; ii. 48, 73, 164, 200, 354.
Soudi, a youth, i. 98; ii. 266, 268, 285.
Sources of the Nile, i. 7-21;
Herodotus on, 7;
Burton, 8, 11, 164—_see_ “Nile.”
South Usmau, i. 110.
Soweh Island, i. 146-7.
Sparhawk, Mr. A., at Zanzibar, i. 24, 53; ii. 370.
Spear-grass, i. 129; ii. 108, 183.
Speke Gulf, i. 94, 122-5, 126, 128, 132, 188.
Speke, John Hanning, i. 1, 12, 15, 118, 151-2, 296, 372.
“Spirits of the Rocks,” dread of in Urungu, ii. 28.
Spirit Island, ii. 44;
“of the Falls,” 317.
Spoonbills, i. 95, 104.
Sport—ii. 27, 61, 336;
zebra, 16;
buffalo, 19, 23, 54, 123, 185, 229, 247, 254;
leopards, 106, 158, 213, 220;
elephants, 113, 157;
antelope, 23, 64, 82, 185, 254, 321;
hippopotamus, 158, 219, 229, 244;
lion, 158;
rhinoceros, 160;
geese, 16, 229, 237, 243;
ducks, 229, 243;
snipe, 229—_see_ “Zoology” and “Ornithology.”
Springbok, i. 104.
Squirrels, ii. 190.
Stanley Falls, ii. 96, 172, 195, 197, 199, 200, 203, 209-13, 244, 297,
175, 191, 192, 195, 236, 251, 253;
pool, 258.
Steere, Rev. E., Bishop, i. 61.
Stellenbosch, ii. 367.
_Sterculiaceæ_, ii. 284.
“Stink-wood,” ii. 137.
St. Joseph’s, i. 62.
St. Luke’s Gospel, i. 252.
Stork, ii. 243.
Storms, i. 124, 128, 134, 139, 140, 186, 188; ii. 30-1, 158, 162, 219,
236, 242, 250, 254, 289;
on Tanganika, 15, 22, 43.
_Strelitza vagina_, ii. 219.
_Strychnos_, ii. 268.
Subiri, chief of the Ba-ama, ii. 170.
Sugar-cane, ii. 2, 3, 56, 94, 131, 132, 178-80, 279.
Suki, district, ii. 328.
Suliman, a youth, murdered, i. 101.
Sullivan, Commodore, ii. 367, 370.
Sultan bin Kassim, ii. 6, 51.
Sultan Mpamira’s, i. 79.
Sultan of Zanzibar—_see_ “Seyyid Barghash.”
Suna, i. 87, 93, 218, 273, 284-5, 288, 326.
Sungoro Tarib, an Arab, i. 114, 116, 118, 122, 123, 192, 220.
Sunset, at Zanzibar, i. 30;
on the lake, 211.
Superstitions—_see_ “Legends,” &c.
Susa district, i. 130.
Swahili, ii. 61.
Sweet potatoes, ii. 2, 56, 94, 168, 348.
“Switzerland of Africa,” i. 340.
Sycamore, i. 208, 316; ii. 42.
Tamarind, i. 143, 155, 173, 315; ii. 19, 218, 284.
Tamarisk, i. 81; ii. 108.
_Tamega_, ship, ii. 338, 365.
Tanga, i. 51; ii. 42.
Tanganika, Lake, review of preceding explorations of, i. 3, 11, 13, 16,
18, 21, 42, 64, 119, 238;
arrival at lake, 399; ii. 5-6, 7-9, 12-15, 21-22, 24, 39-40, 47, 50-
1, 53, 61-2, 71, 87, 89, 96, 191, 215, 216, 297, 342.
Tarya Topan, i. 50, 53, 106.
Tata country, ii. 97, 98.
Tattooing extraordinary, ii. 223, 266.
Teak, i. 173, 315; ii. 1, 14, 42, 122, 159, 219, 285, 287, 289.
_Tekeh_, i. 307.
Tembwé headland, ii. 39-40.
Temperature—_see_ “Thermometer readings.”
Tempests—_see_ “Storms.”
“_The boat, oh! the boat_,” i. 204.
Theft in the camp, ii. 274, 286, 295, 329, 333, 338.
Thermometer readings, at Itumbi, i. 79;
Ituru, 94;
Kitaro, 126;
on the lake, 137;
Munulu river, 139, 340;
at Mtogata, 366; ii. 236;
readings of, 55;
(heat of forest), 101, 102;
range, 236.
“The Stones,” i. 81, 83.
Thunder, ii. 290.
Timber, ii. 284—_see_ “Forests,” “Botany,” “Wood.”
Tippu Tib, i. 42; ii. 74-7, 82-6, 88, 93, 97;
village, 99-101, 107, 108, 109, 114, 117, 122, 128, 134, 136, 138,
144, 147, 150-1, 153.
Tobacco, ii. 17, 92, 104, 131.
Tomatoes, ii. 3.
Tongwé, mountains of, ii. 16.
Tori, Mtesa’s factotum, i. 148, 160, 260, 314.
Tozer, Rev. Mr., i. 61.
Trade and trade prospects, Zanzibar, i. 31-4;
primitive trade, 118;
Uganda, 164, 175, 251, 285, 296, 315-6, 319, 356; ii. 168, 197, 221,
224, 226, 262, 278-9, 288, 331, 348, 349;
of Ujiji, 1-3, 4, 5, 6;
of Nyangwé, 93-6;
of the Livingstone, 130-1—_see_ “Zanzibar.”
Travel, rate of, i. 115.
Treachery, at Vinyata, i. 96-101;
at Maheta, 132;
at Ugamba, 136;
at Mombiti, 140;
at Uvuma, 140;
at Bumbireh, 179, 223;
at Kagehyi, 191;
of Wenya, ii. 120;
at Rubunga, 227.
Trees—_see_ “Wood.”
Tsetsé, ii. 228, 242.
Tubanda district, ii. 73.
Tubugwé (basin of), i. 75-6.
Tuckey’s Farthest, ii. 115, 152, 238, 275, 276, 289, 334, 360;
second cataract, 340;
Capt. T., 341.
Tugurambusa ridge, ii. 205.
_Twiyanzi_, i. 313, _sqq._
Typhoid fever, ii. 133.
Typhus and typhoid fever, i. 91, 106.
Ubagwé district, i. 389.
Ubangi district, ii. 240, 241, 279.
Ubembé district, ii. 39, 44.
Ubi, or Eybiteri, Falls, ii. 177.
Ubujwé country, ii. 54-5, 65.
Ubwari Island, i. 17, 18;
country, ii. 3, 45, 47.
Uchambi district, i. 117, 128.
Uddu, hills of, i. 167, 175, 305.
Ufumbiro mountains, i. 364-5.
Ugalowa, or Lualaba river, ii. 96.
Ugamba country, i. 134, 136-7.
Uganda, history of, i. 270-325;
stay in, 147-165, 233-333;
chiefs of, 239;
army and fleet of, 239-40, 245-6;
kings of, 298;
districts subject to, 315, 321, 338;
life and manners in, 299, 325-6, 328, 350-3; ii. 3, 64, 71, 87, 114,
298, 321—_see_ “Waganda.”
Ugarowa river, ii. 78.
Ugeyeya country, i. 121, 129-32, 175.
Ugingo Island, i. 129-30, 133.
Ugogo country, i. 78-81, 85, 91, 93, 95-97, 109, 164, 191.
Ugoi district, i. 364.
Ugombo (lake of), i. 75, 77-8.
Ugoweh, i. 131.
Ugoy district, ii. 1, 4, 15, 48.
Ugufu country, i. 375.
Uguha, i. 17;
district, ii. 3, 8, 12, 41, 51, 54, 114, 222, 286.
Ugungu district, i. 235, 282.
Uguru, ii. 4.
Uhha country, i. 364, 375, 392; ii. 3, 4, 6, 10, 12, 17, 39.
Uhimba lake, i. 372-4.
Uhombo village and district, ii. 57-8, 60, 63, 68.
Uhumba, plain of, i. 79.
Uhyeya district, ii. 55.
Ujaju district, or Bujaju, i. 168.
Ujiji country, i. 12, 16, 18, 20, 35, 46, 119, 120, 161, 163; ii. 1, 2,
4, 5, 6, 7, 8-9, 12, 13, 15, 21, 43, 47-8, 51-3, 68, 83, 86, 87, 94,
95, 117, 373.
Ukafu, district in Uganda, i. 142, 147.
Ukamba (peak), i. 72, 146.
Ukara (island), i. 119, 127.
Ukaranga forest, ii. 3, 4, 15, 51.
Ukataraka village, ii. 224, 228.
Ukassa, ii. 129, 130;
rapids, 174.
Ukedi country, i. 271.
Ukeré river and district, ii. 226, 235.
Ukerewé country, i. 12, 16, 121-6, 128, 175, 187—_see_ “Wakerewé.”
Ukimbu country, or Uyanzi, i. 81.
Ukioba Island, ii. 202, 203.
Ukombeh village, i. 388.
Ukongeh market, ii. 131.
Ukonju country, land of cannibals, i. 368.
Ukuna district, ii. 134, 191.
Ukusu district, ii. 78, 94, 137;
cannibals of, 155;
river, 197.
Ukwya, district of Ukerewé, i. 126.
Ulagalla, old capital of Uganda, i. 274, 330.
Ulambola Hills, ii. 13, 15, 18.
Ulcers, ii. 127, 133.
Uledi, the coxswain, i. 151, 205-6, 208; ii. 15, 125, 128, 133, 140-1,
144, 145, 154, 181-3, 194, 221, 268-72, 283, 285, 291, 294, 295,
297-8, 309-11, 312-14, 317, 323, 327, 328, 337, 344, 347, 351-3,
356-7, 373.
Ulimengo, “the joker,” i. 44.
Umangi district, ii. 226.
Umbiru Point, i. 146.
Umisepa village, ii. 29.
Umvilingya, ii. 269.
Ungomirwa, chief, i. 389.
Ungufu rapids, ii. 333.
Universities’ Mission, history of, i. 59, 63, 158.
Unjaku headland, i. 167, 245.
Unyambungu country, i. 368, 375.
Unyampaka country, i. 342, 369.
Unyamwezi country, i. 41, 95, 129, 380; ii. 3, 73, 321.
Unyangwira hills, i. 81.
Unya-Nsingé town, ii. 135, 136-8.
Unyanyembé district in Unyamwezi, i. 35, 59, 85, 102-3, 119, 120, 164,
193, 232, 330, 387; ii. 7, 71, 95, 216.
Unyoro country, i. 285, 290, 313; ii. 14, 71, 117, 148, 191, 195.
Uplands, i. 84, 93, 102.
Upoto, ridge ii. 219, 222, 235, 279.
Urambo, or Uyoweh, capital and district of King Mirambo, i. 387.
Urangi, series of villages, ii. 136, 224-7, 232, 235, 239, 279.
Uranja village, ii. 136.
Uregga, a forest land, ii. 78, 82-3, 98, 103, 110, 114, 170, 186, 213,
258, 277, 280, 281, 327.
Urengo, Ulengo, river, i. 20.
Uriambwa, the land of the tailed people, i. 368.
Urimba, i. 17;
camp at, ii. 16, 17.
Urimi district, i. 85, 191.
Urindi, ii. 3, 4, 47, 78, 94;
river, 135, 161, 215.
Urirwi Mountains, i. 110.
Urondogani district, i. 14, 283.
Urundi country, i. 364; ii. 39.
Urungu village, ii. 13, 40.
Ururi country, i. 121-3, 128-9, 175, 189—_see_ “Waruri.”
Usagara country, i. 72, 76, 78, 175.
Usagusi (village), i. 396.
Usako Ngongo market, ii. 130.
Usama Island, i. 137.
Usambara district, i. 128.
Usambiro district, i. 382.
Usanda, i. 106.
Usavara camp, i. 146-7, 155, 164, 238.
Usekké village and district, i. 81.
Usiha village, i. 106-8.
Usimbi village, ii. 203.
Usmau, i. 109, 118, 125.
Usneæ moss, ii. 159.
Usoga country, i. 133, 175, 271, 282-5—_see_ “Wasoga.”
Usongora district, i. 336, 344, 366, 369; ii. 71, 191, 272;
Meno, 78, 98, 158.
Usuguru Island, i. 133-4, 136-7, 188, 286.
Usui country, i. 152, 312, 366, 374.
Usukuma, i. 13, 94, 103, 108-9, 112, 118-19, 128, 138, 150, 157, 161-3,
188;
lake, ii. 12.
Ussi Hills, ii. 129.
Utambara, i. 392.
Utaturu country, i. 94, 103.
Utikera, village, ii. 192.
Utiri district, i. 129.
Utotera, slaves, ii. 100.
Utumbi islands, i. 368-9.
Uveriveri, jungles of, i. 87, 91, 97, 108.
Uvinza district, ii. 3, 6, 10, 12, 14, 17, 56, 111—_see_ “Wavinza.”
Uvira, i. 17;
district, ii. 3, 65, 191.
Uvitera Island, ii. 132.
Uvuma Island, i. 138, 140, 147, 175, 238, 245.
Uwya, ancient country, i. 175.
Uyagoma district, i. 376.
Uyanzi country, i. 81; ii. 249-50, 361.
Uzigé district, ii. 3.
Uzimba district, i. 340, 342, 369; ii. 89, 102, 105.
Uzinza country, i. 175, 329.
Uziri Island, i. 286.
Uzongora country, i. 168-9, 174-5, 211, 221, 231, 285.
Uzongoro district, ii. 342.
Uzura, ii. 71, 72, 73, 98.
Vegetables, i. 105;
beans, sweet potatoes, vegetable-marrow, peas, tomatoes, yams, 315;
ii. 3, 56, 94, 131;
yams, 2, 94, 279, 281;
sweet potatoes, 2, 56, 94, 168, 348;
tomatoes, 3;
onions, 95, 279, 331—_see_ “Cassava.”
Vegetation of Zanzibar, i. 23-7, 33;
Mpwapwa, 76;
Uyanzi, 85;
Usukuma, 105, 108;
Ururi, 129;
Buka, 143-4;
Uganda, 157, 163;
Musira Island, 172-3;
Alice Island, 177;
Refuge Island, 211;
Central Africa, 299, 300, 315—_see_ “Botany,” “Forests.”
_Verbenaceæ_, ii. 219.
Victoria Nile, i. 15, 235, 240, 283, 313, 370—_see_ “Nile.”
Victoria Nyanza—review of previous explorations of, i. 2, 11, 12, 15,
47, 64;
sighted by the Expedition, 111;
camp at, 113-5;
preparing for voyage of, 116, 120-2;
fables regarding, 121;
start on, 122;
circumnavigation on, 123, 146, 166-189;
crossing it on return to Uganda, 203, 232; ii. 14, 52, 67, 195, 236,
287, 299, 335, 342, 373.
Vina Kya village, ii. 158.
Vinya Njara, ii. 142, 143, 145, 151, 153, 155, 185, 280.
Vinyata district, i. 95-7, 100, 103.
Violet-tree, ii. 219.
Viper, ii. 107.
_Vitex umbrosa_, ii. 219.
Volcanic phenomena, i. 130, 307, 336, 360-4, 366-7, 370; ii. 55, 135.
Vultures, i. 104.
Wabembé cannibals, ii. 45.
Wabujwé, ii. 54, 55, 65.
Wa-Bumbireh—_see_ “Bumbireh.”
Wabwari tribe, ii. 44;
or Wasongora Meno tribe, 135.
Wadi Rehani, one of the Wangwana, coxswain, ii. 3, 93, 140, 166, 308,
325.
Wadi Safeni, ii. 9, 67.
Wafipa tribe, ii. 22.
Waganda, character of, i. 149, 151-3, 158, 239, 318-9, 320;
dress of, 144, 148, 151, 160, 226, 235, 237, 309—_see_ “Uganda,” i.
175, 212, 284, 286-9, 345-9; ii. 63, 359.
Wagansu, plain of, i. 131.
Wagassi, plain of, i. 131.
Wagenya, or Wenya tribe, ii. 90, 96, 120.
Wagogo, people of Ugogo, i. 85.
Wagoma, or Wabembi (cannibals), ii. 44.
Waguha tribe, ii. 12, 41, 54, 144, 222.
Wahha tribe, ii. 3—_see_ “Uhha.”
Wahuma shepherds, i. 218.
Wahumba, people of Masai, i. 83.
Wahya, Watambara, Wasumbwa, Waruri, Wakwya, Wazinga, i. 196.
Wahyeya, ii. 55.
Wajiji, people of Ujiji, i. 371; ii. 1-6, 9, 12, 21, 44, 219—_see_
“Ujiji.”
Wajika or Wamasai, i. 125.
Wajiwa (people of the sun), ii. 164, 169.
Wakara, people of Ukara Island, i. 119, 127.
Wakedi, people of Ukedi, i. 236, 282, 283.
Wakerewé, 175, 177, 196-8, 207—_see_ “Ukerewé.”
Wakimbu, tribe of, i. 85.
Wakinguru, the hero, i. 281, 282.
Wakombeh, or Wabembé, cannibals, ii. 191.
Wakonju, people of Ukonju, ii. 186.
Wakuneh, hills of, i. 130.
_Wakungu_, or chiefs, of Uganda, i. 151, 156
Wakwanga dwarfs, ii 170.
Walking-sticks, the custom of sending, i. 235.
Wamasai, the, i. 73.
Wami river, i. 71, 76.
Wana Rukura, ii. 190-2.
Wandui, a village, i. 108.
Wanekamankua, camp at, ii. 106.
Wané Mbeza, camp at, ii, 106.
Wané Kirumbu, camp at, ii. 108, 109, 147.
Wané Mpungu, ii. 186, 187, 277.
Wangwana, origin and character of, i. 36, 42;
habits tending to enervate, 44; ii. 48-51, 52, 73-4, 76, 116, 121-2,
140, 165, 212, 231, 287, 298, 310, 314, 318, 324, 329, 333, 335,
362, 367, 368—_see_ “Expedition,” 80, 85, 87, 88, 90, 96, 100,
106-7, 115, 135, 185, 342, 350, 353, 365.
Wanhinni, i. 106.
Wanpembé, camp at, ii. 25, 53.
Wanpuma territory, ii. 161.
Wanyamwezi, character of, i. 41-2; ii. 70, 85, 88, 100, 107, 113, 135,
149-50, 154, 359.
Wanya Ruanda, ii. 3, 191.
Wanyaturu, people of Ituru, i. 95, 99, 101, 382.
Wanyoro, attack on Col. Bellefonds, i. 166, 274.
War in Africa, its desultory character, i. 233-269;
legendary wars of Uganda, 270-98; ii. 68;
trivial causes of, 302—_see_ “Mirambo,” “Watuta.”
War costume—Warimi, i. 89;
Bumbireh, 183;
Waganda, 240;
Mtesa, 240, 256; ii. 155.
War-cries: “Hehu-a-hehu,” i. 97, 179;
“Kavya,” &c., 240-1, 247;
“Setuba,” 291, 337;
“Ooh-hu,” ii. 119, 123;
“Bo-bo, bo-bo,” 143, 156;
“Ya-Mariwa,” 204;
“Ya Bangala,” 234;
“Yaha-ha-ha,” 230 _sqq._
Waregga cannibals, ii. 82, 104-5, 114, 170, 185, 187, 190—_see_
“Uregga.”
Warimi, i. 89, 90, 91.
Wariwa canoes, ii. 208, 213.
Waruri, i. 128, 392—_see_ “Ururi.”
“Wasambye,” ii. 123, 126, 164.
Wasessé, i. 245—_see_ “Sessé.”
Wasoga, i. 236, 286-9—_see_ “Usoga.”
Wasongora Meno cannibals, ii. 82, 139, 272—_see_ “Usongora.”
Wasukuma, i. 85, 110, 117-8.
Wa-Swahili tribe, ii. 66, 74.
Wataturu shepherds, i. 196.
Water birds—_see_ “Geese,” “Diver,” “Balæniceps,” “Ducks,” “Egrets,”
“Ibis,” “Pelicans,” “Storks,” “Cranes.”
Water-buck, i. 104, 331.
Water-cane, ii. 36-8, 108—_see_ “Mateté.”
Water-shed at Kikombo, i. 78;
Uyagoma, 376; ii. 61, 216.
Water-snakes, ii. 266, 321.
Watongoleh—_see_ “Mtongoleh.”
Watuta, i. 193;
history of, 392-5; ii. 3 25, 191.
Watwa dwarfs, ii. 170.
Wavinzatribe, ii. 105, 113, 166, 170—_see_ “Uvinza.”
Wavira cannibal tribe, ii. 44.
Wavuma, i. 139, 141, 175, 217, 233, 247, 249, 256, 257, 260-1, 285.
Wawizua Islands, i. 212.
Wax, ii. 301.
Wazinza, people of Uzinza, i. 175.
Wazongora, people of Uzongora, i. 225, 230.
Weasel, ii. 70, 104.
Wellé of Schweinfurth, ii. 214-5;
valley, 215.
Wenya, ii. 119;
villages of, 121;
river, 122-3, 129, 193-7;
upper, 197-8;
cannibals, 277—_see_ “Wagenya.”
West, Rev. Mr., i. 61.
Western Unyamwezi, i. 85.
Weza, village of, i. 231;
rocks of, i. 108, 202; ii. 23.
Whindi, i. 55.
Whirlpool narrows, ii. 269.
White Africans, i. 335, 369, 370.
“Whitebait,” ii. 3, 219, 302, 316, 333.
“White man with the open hand,” i. 105.
White Nile, i. 11, 13.
Whydahs, ii. 243.
Wild boar, i. 88, 104.
Wild date, ii. 219.
Windermere lake, i. 361.
Winds, i. 8, 124, 128, 130, 131, 132, 134, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141,
176, 180, 188, 203, 208, 233, 365; ii. 28, 30, 31, 35-6, 37, 145,
162, 219, 236, 238, 242, 254;
on Tanganika, 15, 22, 43.
Wines—Malofu Maramba, i. 138, 145, 149, 170, 212, 326;
Zogga, ii. 11, 56, 94;
Malofu, 151, 168;
maramba, 11—_see_ also “Palm-wine.”
Wirigedi district, at east end of Speke Gulf, i. 119, 125, 175.
Wiru, coast of, i. 127, 188.
Witchcraft: wizards—_see_ “Magic.”
Women stolen by Expedition, i. 68;
of Abaddi, 109;
of Muiwanda, 133;
of Mtesa’s court and harem, 154, 161, 239, 241-2, 314, 326, 336;
wife of Kaduma, 209;
burnt in camp, 268;
wife of Kibaga, 275;
mother of Ma'-anda, 278;
captives in war, 289, 290, 294;
occupations of, 302;
relicts of Suna, 311;
empress of Ruanda, 356;
wife of Safeni, 393;
of Uhombo, ii. 59-60;
hidden by tribes, 71;
of Uregga, 114;
racing, 151;
Amina, 242;
bargaining with, 168;
captives, 184;
of Chumbiri, 249.
Wood, trees, timber, forests, i. 76, 77, 85, 108, 129, 143, 155, 172,
173, 190—_see_ “Forests,” “Botany.”
Wood-apple, ii. 54.
Wye, i. 128.
Wyyanzi, ii. 250;
of Chumbiri, 277;
canoes, 285.
Yambuyah, in Ukerewé, i. 126.
Yams, i. 315; ii. 2, 94, 279, 281.
Yangambi settlement, ii. 206.
Yangi-yangi hills, ii. 344.
Yaryembi river, ii. 202.
Yavunga district, ii. 208.
Yellala Falls, ii. 238, 275, 276, 325, 334, 341.
Young’s river—_see_ “Lumami.”
Zaidi, i. 44;
Zaidi Mganda, 44, 124; ii. 181-3, 297, 373.
Zambezi river, mission at, i. 59; ii. 86, 252.
Zanzibar, arrival at, i. 14, 21, 22;
vegetation of, 23;
harbour and beach, 23, 29;
friends at, 24;
life at, 24, 30, 43-7, 49, 51, 54-5, 68;
sultan of, 31-4;
commerce, 34;
productions by the Arabs, 34-36;
Arabs of, 34-6;
Wangwana, Watuma, 36-41;
Tarya Topan, 50;
residents of, 52;
missions at, 59-60, 62, 152;
Mnazimoya, 25, 27, 28;
Shangani Point, 25;
Malagash inlet, 28;
Mbwenni, 28;
Ngambu, 39, 40.
Zanzibar and Zanzibaris, ii. 6-8, 50, 52, 66, 75, 76, 85, 86, 91, 97,
150, 151, 154, 188, 243, 315, 338, 346-7, 357, 364, 366, 368, 371-4.
Zebras, i. 73-4, 104, 331; ii. 16.
Zedziwa river, i. 235.
Zegi in Uvinza, i. 396-398.
Ziba village, camp at, i. 234
Zimbao, capital of “Monomatapa,” i. 394.
Zinga Falls, ii. 303, 316, 317-23, 325, 331, 345;
river, 304, 305;
chiefs, 307;
Mowa, 278, 288, 308, 313, 314, 316;
palms of, 314.
Zingeh, i. 80;
Christmas Day at, 80-1.
Zogga (palm-wine), ii. 11, 56, 94.
Zongwé cape, ii. 32.
Zoology—antelope, i. 104;
baboons, 366;
buffalo, 104, 295;
crocodiles, 127, 198;
dogs, 121, 282, 370, 273, 274, 295, 374;
giraffe, 104;
gnu, 104;
hartebeest, 104, 421;
hippopotamus, 125, 127, 129, 133, 185, 190, 200, 362;
hyenas, 94, 382;
leopards, 237, 285, 331, 382;
lions, 71, 74, 79, 87, 285, 331;
lynx, 285;
monitors, 127;
monkeys, 110, 315, 366;
rhinoceros, 89, 135, 365-7, 373-4;
springbok, 104;
waterbuck, 104, 331;
wild boar, 88, 104;
zebra, 73-4, 104, 331;
weasel, ii. 70, 104;
broad-tailed sheep, 3, 4;
crocodiles, 14, 141, 160, 213, 219, 223, 229, 237;
zebra, 16;
buffalo, 19, 23, 54, 123, 185, 229, 247, 254;
leopards, 82, 104, 106, 158, 213, 220;
gorilla, 59, 223;
monkey, 59, 104, 106, 107, 114, 131, 185, 213, 229;
asses, 66, 258, 343;
elephants, 113, 157;
“soko,” 61, 82, 107, 111-3, 174, 190, 213;
pigs, 94, 123, 277;
cat, 20;
antelope, 23, 64, 82, 185, 254, 321;
dogs, 55, 170, 222, 321;
goats, 60, 258;
boars, 223;
coney, 321;
civet, 104, 114, 190, 213, 220;
mongoose, 104;
squirrel, 190;
baboons, 107, 229;
lemur, 107, 174, 185, 229;
otter, 185;
hippopotamus, 158, 219, 229, 224;
lion, 158;
rhinoceros, 160—_see_ “Ornithology,” “Entomology,” “Ichthyology,”
“Reptiles,” “Molluscs.”
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET
AND CHARING CROSS.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
In the list of full-page illustrations, #16 appears facing page 358, not
page 356. This has been corrected.
Minor lapses in punctuation in the Index have been corrected. However,
Where the sequence of pages in an entry are out of numerical order, no
changes were made.
In the Index entry for ‘Physical Geography’, the reader is directed to a
topic ‘Channels’, which does not exist. Likewise, there is no obvious
referrent for the topic ‘Rise and Fall of Rivers’.
There are several references in the index to ‘Jumah’, but only a entry
for ‘Juma Merikani’, an Arab trader, who in Volume 1 is called ‘Jumah
Merikani’, but in Volume 2, ‘Juma’. The ferences for ‘Juma’ in Volume 2
seems to confuse the two. The reference to p. 75 refers to Juma(h)
Merikano, but the reference to p. 327 refers to Abed bin Jumah (perhaps
Jumah’s son), a guide who died with Frank Pocock at Livingtone Falls.
At 219.2, a tropical fruit called ‘anoma’ is described. This may be
‘annona’ (or ‘anona’), though the fruit is described as ‘clusters of
crimson’, which does not seem to jibe with current images of the
species.
The index entry for ‘Mtongoleh’ refers the reader to the topic ‘Titles’,
which does not exist. There is no index topic (_per se_) for ‘Palm-
wine’; however, there is a reference to ‘Zogga’ (palm-wine).
The Index entry ‘Camps’ refers to ‘Itinerary’ in the Appendix preceding
the Index itself, presumably the dated table entitled ‘Positions of the
following Places’.
The page reference (ii., pp. 693-6) regarding the trade prospects in
Nyangwé is incorrect. It was most likely intended to be pp. 93-6, and
has been corrected.
Tnere are a number of discrepancies in the Index references, where the
index topics are spelled differently than in the text itself:
Igenku/Igenko, Isangalla/Isangila, Kpumpi/Kipimpi, Lukugu/Lukuga,
Lumani/Lumami, Alambola/Ulambola, Usongoro/Usongora, Uhamba/Uhumba,
Rumami/Rumani, Ruweru/Rweru, Shiza/Shizu, Monangeh/Monangah. To avoid
confusion, these have been corrected.
Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected,
and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the
original.
x.12 Ubujw[e/é] and Uguha Head-dress Replaced.
x.19 Ubujw[e/é] ”
3.15 the countries contiguous[ ]to Unyamwezi and Inserted.
Uganda
6.39 Bana M[o/a]kombé Replaced.
24.38 and that [N/M]pimbwé ridge ”
71.24 what had become of them[.] Added.
100.16 Tippu-Ti[p/b]’s Arab dependants Replaced.
128.28 into collis[i]on with the natives Inserted.
155.11 after passing Vin[j/y]a-Njara Replaced.
212.22 [Their] blood is up now. Restored
(probable).
220.14 However, patience[.] Added.
228.17 north latitude 1° 41′ 0″[.] ”
239.23 for a tusk of ivory[.] ”
253.17 the woods of Ndand[e/é]-Njoko Replaced.
290.35 = 4 feet [6/2]½ inches. Math error.
304i MAS[S]ASSA FALLS Inserted.
327.37 by a fall from the cliffs[.] Added.
369.40 their friends, acquaint[t]ances, countrymen Removed.
378.27 a m[u/a]kumi mwenda Replaced.
404.53 Kabu[ss/zz]i Replaced.Project Gutenberg
Through the Dark Continent, Vol. 2 (of 2) : $b or, The sources of the Nile around the Great Lakes of Equatorial Africa and down the Livingstone River to the Atlantic Ocean
Stanley, Henry M. (Henry Morton)