ARRIVAL AT MANDARA’S COURT.
Before describing my first interview with Mandara, the chief of Moši, it
may be well to say a few explanatory words about his actual position and
previous career.
By Sir John Kirk’s advice I directed my steps to his kingdom and capital
in the first instance, for we both imagined that I had only to
conciliate this personage in order to be able to range free and
undisturbed over the whole of Kilima-njaro.
It was, however, a great mistake—though one I was a long time finding
out—because Mandara ruled over a very small tract of land, and only up
to 6000 feet altitude, and being at constant war with his neighbours,
and his little kingdom in a continual state of blockade, his protection
as far as it influenced a peaceful residence on the upper slopes of the
mountain was worse than useless. Had it not been that the time spent
perforce in Mandara’s country was of little use for natural history
purposes—for I could not forget that I had come out principally to study
the alpine district near the snow-line, and not the rich but more
typically African fauna and flora at lower levels—I should little regret
the months I passed in Moši, for I regard Mandara as one of the most
remarkable Africans I have ever met. He is a man whose portrait should
be placed with certain others of his contemporaries, Rumanika, Mtesa,
the Kasongo, whose lineaments stand out sharply amid the obscurity of
Savage Africa, and whose names, so associated with the pioneers of
African exploration, will certainly not fall into oblivion.
As far as we can trust to his own traditions as to his ancestry, it
would appear that his grandfather was a younger brother of the ruling
chief of Mpoko, or Mpokomo, a state lying to the west of Moši. He seems
to have been a great warrior, and protected his few subjects so
zealously against the raids of the Masai (who at that time menaced the
very existence of the Čaga mountaineers), that he formed them in time
into a prosperous and thriving community. The origin or etymology of the
name Moši (pronounced in English “Moshy”) is not very clear. In the
language of Taveita it means “smoke,” which, from the fact that at all
times puffs of white smoke arising from the constant burning of weeds
are to be observed, when the land is seen from the plains below, is a
not improbable derivation; still it may be more likely drawn from some
term in Ki-čaga, the language of the country. As it is sometimes
pronounced Muši or Muži, I thought it might have been akin to the common
Bantu word “muǰi,” a _town_ or _settlement_; but as that term becomes
“muri” in Ki-čaga, I am still at a loss. However this may be, Moši is
the well-known name on Kilima-njaro of the little state founded, as
tradition goes, by Mandara’s grandfather. This hero is supposed to have
fallen in battle with the Masai, and his second—some say his third—son
inherited the power. He strengthened his position by marriage, and
espoused several princesses of the reigning families in the vicinity of
his kingdom. From one of these was born Mandara, or as he appears first
to have been called, Makindara. The explanation of his name, like that
of his state, is not so clear in meaning as are most specimens of
African nomenclature. His own subjects pronounce it “Maṅdara”
(Mangdara), and the other inhabitants of the mountain “Makiṅdara.” I
have sometimes fancied it might be a contraction and corruption of
Maṅge-ndara = Maṅdara, viz. the Chief Ndara.
Mandara’s mother seems to have been a very shrewd and clever woman, and
under her long regency the state of Moši flourished. Apparently in those
happy days peace prevailed among all the sections of the Čaga people
inhabiting Kilima-njaro. Or at least there were no internecine wars, and
the only conflicts were occasional skirmishes with the Masai, whenever
those rovers tried to extend their cattle-raids to the mountain
pastures. But then came the cursed slave-traders—the Swahili Arabs, or
Arabized Mohammedan half-breeds—from the Zanzibar coast. Finding the
united inhabitants of Čaga[11] too strong to submit to forcible
slave-raiding or kidnapping, they tried to effect their purpose by
introducing discord into the local politics. Selecting some particular
chief—especially a young, ambitious man like Mandara, when he commenced
to reign—they gave him rich presents, and filled him with flattering
speeches, and persuaded him that if he took advantage of the unprepared
state of some of his neighbours, and suddenly marched an army into their
territory, he might not only reign as paramount chief over Čaga, but
would also make a nice fortune out of the sale of slaves. Mandara was
not loth to play the _rôle_ of conqueror. He had made friends with the
Masai and even obtained their assistance, and he therefore proceeded,
under the instigations of the Arabs, to harry, burn, kill, and enslave
his peaceful neighbours and countrymen of many little Čaga states. For
some time he carried all before him, and the Kilima-njaro market was a
famous one for the slave-traders of Mombasa. Mandara, and other chiefs
whom in turn they induced to play the same policy, supplied them with
slaves at about the cost of two dollars each, and though quite fifty per
cent. of them died before reaching the coast—for these poor mountaineers
cannot stand the climate of the plains, and perish of fever and
nostalgia—still the remainder being remarkable for their skill in
agriculture, fetched a high price among the wealthy Mohammedan
landowners of Zanzibar. At length a reaction took place. The outraged
Wa-čaga formed a league (which is still in force) against Mandara in
defence of their hearths and homes, and in spite of his valorous army
and his skilful defence, the fortune of war so far turned against him,
that he was compelled to fly from his country as an exile. When this
reverse in his fortunes took place is not very clear, and Mandara
himself is reserved on the subject; but it would seem to have been some
ten years ago. The causes which led to his reinstatement are also left
to conjecture; but I fancy that his enemies, content with their revenge,
retired from his country, and that Mandara, with the help of his
friends, the agricultural Masai of Aruša, was enabled to return to Moši.
Since then his martial ardour has somewhat cooled, and although he still
devotes much time and attention to the drill of his army (which consists
perhaps of 1000 men, the pick of Moši’s manhood), it is more for
purposes of defence. He occupies at present somewhat the position, in
Kilima-njaro politics, of a Napoleon who has returned from Elba, but
prudently avoids a Waterloo.
Though this remarkable savage never, in his most successful days, ruled
over a larger territory than the postal area of London, yet the fame of
his intelligence, his kingly manners, and his bravery extended far and
wide in Central Africa, borne by the Swahili traders, who journeyed in
all directions between the Victoria Nyanza and the Indian Ocean.
Slave-traders and slave-kidnappers though these men are, their influence
over Africa has had a certain civilizing tendency.
These strange Arab mongrels, who have become almost an independent race,
merit the designation of Africa’s land-carriers, They journey for
purposes of trade over nearly all the district which lies between the
Victoria Nile, Abyssinia, the great lakes, the Upper Congo, and the
Zambesi. After visiting such a chief as Mandara they may find themselves
at the court of Mtesa, the late chief of the Uganda, and they will carry
the fame of one king to another. Mandara alleges that he held
communication (I suppose this consisted in the transmission of Arabic
compliments) with Mtesa of Uganda, and with Mirambo of Unyamwesi, by
means of such far-travelling traders as Jumba Kimemeta, in whose company
Mr. Thomson crossed Masai-land. This is quite possible; at any rate
through the Swahili merchants Mandara first heard of her Majesty the
Queen, of Sir John Kirk (the “Baloza”), and of Sayyid Barghash of
Zanzibar. The same itinerant pedlars informed this Central African
savage, who has never been thirty miles from his birthplace, nor visited
a civilized settlement, nor seen the ocean, or a ship, of the leading
factors in Oriental politics, how the Waingrezi (English) possessed
India; how the Wa-fransa (French) had tried to conquer Madagascar with
their “manowari” (men-of-war); and how the Wa-dachi (Deutsche = Germans)
were making treaties with the chiefs of Usagara. It is no doubt largely
through Swahili merchants that the mind of Mandara has been prepared,
since my departure, for the acceptance of the suzerainty of Sayyid
Barghash of Zanzibar. He was shrewd enough to know that before the
advent of Europeans he could not stand alone, and he greatly dreaded the
coming of French or Germans. His suspicions and fears of these two
leading European nations were positively ridiculous, considering that
they both ignored his existence, and had never at any time evinced the
slightest wish to annex Kilima-njaro. All that he knew of them was of
course derived from the exaggerated accounts of the Wa-swahili, and it
is a curious thing that these people of the Zanzibar coast should so
detest the French and Germans. Some of the traders, I know, confuse the
Belgians with the French, and imagine it is the former nation that has
(happily) abstracted the Upper Congo from the slave-and-ivory-hunting
operations of the Zanzibaris. But what can these people have known of
Germany and the Germans hitherto to bear so marked a grudge against the
children of the Fatherland? Curiously enough the European power most
liked and respected by the Zanzibar traders is England, though for half
a century we have tried our hardest to ruin the slave-trade, on which
the prosperity of the Zangian Arabs has been so largely based. Yet every
bombardment or capture of slave-daus only seems to add to our prestige,
and the fame of the mighty English “manowari,” and the quiet, resolute
man who directs their operations, is yearly carried farther and farther
into Central Africa by the very men who have suffered most by our
anti-slavery policy. It is really astonishing to find that there are
villages on Kilima-njaro where the naked and savage inhabitants know of
no other fact beyond their physical horizon, except that towards the
rising sun there is a vast sheet of water, on which mighty iron canoes
deal indiscriminate death to the enemies of a great white man, sometimes
called the “Baloza,”[12] who is the sultan of the coast.
Pursuant to these ideas Mandara had sent presents and greetings to Sir
John Kirk, seeking his friendship, and during my stay on the mountain,
Mandara applied to me for a Union Jack to fly over his mud and wattle
citadel, as a sign that he was under the protection of my country. As I
feared this emblem of just rule might be made to cover a multitude of
sins committed in its name, and that the slave-raids of this African
prince might be justified by the British ensign which his bandits would
flaunt before them, I transmitted this request to the consideration of
Sir John Kirk. Various complications prevented its concession, and
eventually, frightened at the rumoured coming of the Germans, Mandara
accepted the suzerainty of the Sultan of Zanzibar.
Mandara has seen all the Europeans who have ever visited Kilima-njaro.
Rebmann, the missionary who first told us snow-mountains existed in
Africa, passed through his country, when Mandara was, according to his
own account, about three years old. Von der Decken—still remembered as
the “Baroni”—came thither when the chief of Moši was a youth and under
the tutelage of his mother. Mandara received the missionary New on his
first journey to the mountain, and enabled him to make his two partial
ascents, in one of which he just reached the snow-line.
On his second visit to Kilima-njaro in 1873, Mr. New was robbed of all
his valuables by Mandara, and retired broken-hearted to the coast. Mr.
Joseph Thomson fell into his clutches in 1883, on his journey to
Masai-land, and though he was forced to make a much more generous
present than he at first intended, yet he frequently admits that Mandara
afterwards treated him and his caravan with really royal hospitality.
Before I arrived in his country he had made friends with Sir John Kirk,
and I took with me important letters from our Consul-General at
Zanzibar, officially recommending me to Mandara’s good offices, and
though in after-times you will see that I had very strained relations
with our variable friend, yet such was the respect he bore for the
wide-stretching English power, that, though he had me utterly
defenceless in his clutches, without the strength to resist or the means
to run away, and in spite of eager covetousness of my valuable property,
he never robbed me of a pennyworth _by force_, nor ever allowed his
people to do so.
Before coming to Kilima-njaro, I had read everything that was written
about Mandara, and my curiosity as to his appearance, and my anxiety as
to the impression I should create in his imagination, were excited to
the utmost. My vagrant habits have sometimes led to my being presented
to personages that the world holds distinguished, but in no case did I
ever anticipate an introduction to a temporal or spiritual magnate with
more anxiety than my first interview with the Sultan of Moši. I had
formed an exaggerated estimate of his power for good and evil, and
fancied that the fate of my expedition lay in his sable hands. Nor was I
alone in this impression, for the men of my caravan held Mandara in
excessive awe and dread, and the rabble of Rabai, who were already
grovelling before him, would have cut my throat cheerfully if that had
been pleasing to the great chieftain, in whose power they were. To do
Mandara honour—for I was told by my men that he was very sensitive as to
appearances, and measured a man by his cloth—I had donned a white shirt
with a collar in which some little starch remained, a smart coat, and
patent leather boots, and this attire, although perhaps becoming, was
uncomfortable at the close of a long, hot march, when I wished to unbend
in easy costume. I therefore hoped that the ordeal might soon be over.
Presently, whilst I was fidgeting about inside my tent, getting rather
tired of the intense curiosity I aroused among the simple country-folk,
who thronged the precincts of my camp and were not ashamed, like the
soldiers, to express their awe and surprise, I heard a distant shouting,
while loud cries and complaints arose nearer and nearer at hand, and
then were seen the civilian subjects of Mandara fleeing in all
directions, and being vigorously chased from the scene by a number of
lithe young men perfectly nude, and armed with long and supple wands.
These were the police of Moši, and their object was to disperse the
vulgar herd from the precincts of royalty, their sovereign being then on
his way to pay a visit to the white stranger. Kiongwe soon entered my
tent, and said in an agitated whisper, “Mandara has come, and is waiting
to greet you.” I left my tent in as composed a manner as possible, and
sought Mandara with my eyes. He was not difficult to distinguish from
his body-guard. With a natural instinctive feeling for effect he had
grouped his soldiers in a semicircle round him, and placed himself
somewhat in front, with a crescent of fierce-looking warriors behind,
each man holding his shining spear-blade erect and glistening, thereby
edging the dark background with a bright shimmering band of steel. The
first impression Mandara produced on me was that of a grand old woman!
The full, rounded, beardless face, the somewhat graceful column-like
neck, and full bosom, with above all the head-dress—a red handkerchief,
worn as women wear it in Zanzibar—and the sweeping folds of the long
faded cloth wound loosely round his body, gave one the impression of a
superb virago rather than of an African chief in the prime of life.
Mandara, like a towering sibyl of five feet ten inches, planted his
spear in the ground with an emphasis that long made the blade quiver,
gave me one very sharp look out of his only serviceable eye (the sight
of the other is destroyed), and then for the moment took no direct
notice of my presence, but commenced a long and animated chat with his
head policemen, listening apparently with much amusement to their
account of the summary way in which the populace had recently been
dispersed, and occasionally laughing in a right royal manner, showing,
as he did so, a splendid set of teeth.
At last I was nettled by this apparent disregard—it is always dangerous
to be too meek and unassuming with African chiefs—so I asked my head-man
in an audible tone which of the people present was Mandara, affecting to
search for him among the crowd. There was a silence. Then Kiongwe, in
the most cringing tone and manner, approached the chief with many a
deprecating salaam, affected to kiss his hand, and then begged to inform
him that his master, the white man from Zanzibar, the “Consul’s child,”
was here, and desired an interview. Mandara’s gaze now rested on me with
a benign and singularly winning smile, which effaced the preceding
impression that his somewhat heedless manner had produced. I advanced a
few steps and said, in rather a hesitating voice, in the middle of a
profound silence, “Sultan, the Baloza (Sir John Kirk) sends you many
greetings, and hopes you are well.” I had spoken in Swahili, and he
replied fluently in the same language, and in a voice pleasantly
modulated and different from the hoarse speech of his subjects, “Child
of the Baloza, I am pleased to see you. I like your face.” Then, after a
short pause, in which his dignity relaxed, he advanced towards me, took
my hand, and said, almost in a coaxing manner, “Tuzumgumze! Let us
chat.” At this signal all his followers and mine, who had hitherto stood
“at attention,” relaxed their attitudes with one accord. No one spoke,
but they all sat down, making as they did so that unanimous shuffling
which you hear in church when people arise from their knees and sit down
to arrange themselves for the sermon; and this analogy was further
carried out by the chorus of throat-clearings and hurried coughs which
rapidly went the round of my circle of listeners, who were desirous of
removing all physical obstacles which should prevent them from
thoroughly hearing and understanding the words of wit and wisdom about
to fall from our lips. The chief began the interrogatory. “What pretty
boots you have got on!” he said. To which I could think of nothing more
original to reply than, “Oh, do you think so?” “Yes, they are very
fine—‘vizuri sana;’ have you got a pair that would fit me?” This was a
question that required rather a diplomatic answer. I had but one pair of
patent leather shoes, and I judged from what I saw of Mandara’s foot
that they would be quite inadequately sized, so I replied, vaguely, “I
will look and see.” But the chief’s attention had already wandered to
other subjects. He pressed me with the most varied questions, sometimes
too impatient to wait for an answer. “What is the braid on your coat
made of?” “Silver.” “Is silver the same as that white stuff on the top
of Kilima-njaro?” “And have you come all this way from Ulaya (Europe) to
gather the glittering thing that makes Kibô shine in the sun?” “Why is
your sultan called Queeny?” “The Arabs tell me Queeny is a woman; is
that true?” “Did Queeny send you here?” “No; the Waalimu (wise men) of
England have sent me, so that I might see everything there was to be
seen on Kilima-njaro, and come home and tell them all about it.” “What
did they do that for?” “Because they love knowledge.” Mandara pondered a
moment, and then he glanced up and said quickly, “Look! you can write,
can’t you? All the Wa-zungu (white men) can. Very well. See everything
hereabouts—I will show you—and then write it all to the Waalimu of
Ulaya. Your men and mine shall take the letter to the coast, but you
shall stop with me, always—eh? Always. I like you; and besides, I want a
white man to teach me how to write, and to show my Ma-fundi (artificers)
how to make cannon, and instruct my soldiers to fight like the soldiers
of Sayyid Barghash of Zanzibar. You know Bwana Mafiu (General
Matthews[13])? Well, I want you to be my Bwana Mafiu.” I made no reply
to these embarrassing propositions, thinking it better to preserve a
discreet silence and gain my ends patiently. Then Mandara continued, in
a plaintive voice, “Bwana Tomsen (Mr. Joseph Thomson) came here; I liked
him; he was generous, and he spoke well of my country; but he would not
stop. ‘Baroni’ (Baron Von der Decken), and Bwana New (the missionary)
have both been here, but they came and went. Now,” he added, laughing
grimly, “the Baloza has sent you here to see me; well, I don’t want you
ever to go. Do you hear? (Usikia?) Never! Now, come along to my house
and show me the presents you have brought.” So the meeting was
adjourned. Mandara gathered up his skirts, not ungracefully, and stalked
off to his compound, whilst I hastily unpacked and arranged the gifts I
had brought him, which were as follows: A handsome embroidered “joho” or
Arab coat; a “kanzu” (long shirt-like garment); a “kilemba” (stuff for a
turban); several “vikoi” or waistbands, and a scarlet fez; a
musical-box, many coloured pictures, looking-glasses, mouse-traps,
knives, bells, two small barrels of gunpowder, boxes of caps, and a bar
of lead.
[Illustration:
Fig. 26.—Mandara’s Left Ear.
]
Accompanied by Kiongwe, Cephas, and others, I went to his
reception-shed. Here he was surrounded by the Swahili courtiers, and
seemed in a good humour, apparently appreciating the presents I had
brought. Whilst he was examining them, occasionally slapping his thigh
with a delighted gesture, or making a curious whistling sound with his
pursed-up lips, I had leisure to examine his appearance thoroughly. Of
fine height, as I have already observed, probably five feet ten or
eleven inches, his frame was splendidly modelled, though the rounded
form of his contour indicated a slight tendency to fleshiness. His face
was a peculiar one, rather broad across the cheek-bones, with fine
arched brows, good forehead, a slightly hooked nose, wide, thin-lipped
mouth, and firm, rounded, resolute chin. One eye, as has been already
remarked, was blind, and had a vacant glassy stare, but the other was
bright as an eagle’s, and lay glittering under an eagle’s brow. The
general aspect of his face, especially the hooked nose and high
cheek-bones, reminded me of the traditional likeness of the
North-American Red Indian Chief. Mandara’s ears, however, were all his
own. The fashion of his country and people he had certainly carried to
excess. The lobe of both ears had been pierced, and the distended
aperture of one had become so enlarged that a great wooden ring had been
forced into the centre. I can best explain it by a drawing, as words are
quite inadequate. Fortunately, although Mandara would never allow me to
take his portrait, I was once able surreptiously to sketch his left ear.
The lobe of the other ear was hung with a few small steel chains, and
was less remarkable. He had a row of splendid teeth, though there was a
slight, probably artificial, space in the centre of the upper incisors.
Through this aperture he would often squirt his saliva or his mouthful
of banana-beer whenever he grew animated. The colour of his skin was a
bluish brown, if you can realize such a combination—I mean a glossy
umber with a bloom on it—and there was an entire absence of hair on his
face, and the wool of his head was shaved close. As he says he can
remember Rebmann’s visit to Kilima-njaro (which took place in 1848), and
was about three or four years old at the time, his approximate age at
the present time would be about forty years. When I saw him he looked
somewhat older, but this is evidently due to premature age creeping over
him after a life of unrestrained passions. Mandara had a singularly
winning smile, utterly unlike the African grin. While his somewhat
curling, cruel lips would relax and display the glistening teeth, his
brows would be puckered in a half puzzled, half petulant manner, and at
the same time his one, round, living eye, into which all his strong
feeling was concentrated, gleamed and glanced with roguish merriment. As
he sat and played with his presents, like a great child, impatiently
wanting the Swahilis to explain everything in a breath, this smile would
constantly pass over his face, and lent it each time a very pleasing,
kindly look. He was evidently in a thoroughly good temper on the day of
my arrival. He listened attentively to the reading of Sir John Kirk’s
letter, examined the seals of the Consulate, asked numberless questions,
and chattered to me as freely as though we were old companions. All
questions about building, settling, choosing a site in his country, he
deferred to a lesser “palaver,” to be arranged by his attendants. Indeed
I noticed, that whenever Mandara wished to drive a hard bargain, and
this desire never deserted him even in his most gushing outbursts of
friendliness, he negotiated it through intermediaries, and never treated
directly with me on matters of business, having a royal dislike to
saying disagreeable things. Accordingly, on this occasion, when he had
exhausted his surprise and delight at the coloured pictures, when he had
ceased to turn the handle of the musical-box, and had rung all the bells
till their hammers were unhung, and, sure sign of an exhausted brain,
had begun to yawn, I craved permission to withdraw, which was gracefully
accorded, and I retired to my tent, followed by two Wa-čaga leading fat
sheep and carrying bananas as the Sultan’s contribution to my dinner.
Early the next morning I rose and dressed, and was some time performing
an unusually protracted toilet, for I had the rare opportunity of being
able to dress at my ease without pulling down the tent and hurrying off
the men with their loads. On raising the canvas flap, and going out into
the fresh morning sunlight, I was somewhat surprised to see Mandara with
a circle of soldiers round him inspecting my goods, and carrying on an
active conversation with the Zanzibaris. I saluted him gravely, but he
returned the greeting, as I thought, somewhat coldly. However, he came
and sat down in my deck-chair, and then cast his dangerous gaze around
my tent and its furniture. Singling out my dressing-bag he begged to
examine it, and I could not refuse; so he passed all its contents
through his hands, uttering constantly his curious whistling
exclamation, “Tu, tu, tu!” of admiring astonishment. He asked for
nothing but an old toothbrush, and though I proffered a new one in
exchange, he stuck to his first choice, and resolutely carried it off.
After he had left me his counsellors arrived, and the rest of the
morning was taken up in bargaining about the amount of goods to be paid
for a building-site and permanent settlement in Moši. I say “permanent
settlement” because Mandara declared at the time that this first payment
was to be the last, and that by coming to terms with his delegates I
purchased the land outright and for ever, retaining the power to sell or
otherwise dispose of it to any one else. This first agreement he never
repudiated, although we afterwards squabbled about the extent of my
plantations. The price for the land was fixed at 210 yards of American
sheeting, three dozen handkerchiefs, and about thirty pounds of red
beads, all of which were immediately paid, and we were informed that on
the morrow we might quit Mandara’s presence, and fix on any unoccupied
site that pleased us. These preliminaries concluded, I began to enjoy a
little well-earned repose, and settled down to sketch some of the
scenery, which was lovely enough to move even exclamations of admiration
from my stolid Zanzibaris. Above me, to the north, rose majestically the
snowy dome of Kibô,[14] untouched by mist, and clearly cut against the
smalt-blue sky. The middle distance was hidden, and the trees of the
foreground seemed to touch the snow with their waving tops. Below me, on
the other side, lay stretched a vast plain, marked, as on a map, with
rivers, mountains, and forests, and stretching away into hazy space,
where it mingled with the low-lying strata of cloud. We were only 3,500
feet above the sea at Mandara’s, and relatively at the very foot of the
mountain; but the view on all sides, above and below, was unusually
magnificent. I was interrupted in my sketching by a messenger from the
chief. I could not at first understand the import of his message, as he
spoke in Ki-čaga, but with the aid of an interpreter I ascertained he
bore a request that I would go and visit one of Mandara’s wives who was
sick. Hearing the cause of her indisposition was a virulent ulcer, I
took with me the necessary ointments, and followed the messenger alone,
being conducted to a quiet little square inside a palisade, where, in
three beehive huts, dwelt the three principal wives of Mandara. I was
introduced to the ailing lady, who scarcely glanced at me, merely
sticking out a leg, on which festered a hideous sore. She had been
fanning it to keep away the flies before my arrival, but now quietly
surrendered it to me, imagining, poor simple thing, that I should
immediately cure it. I explained to her, however, that recovery would be
slow and gradual. Then laving the ulcer in cold spring-water, which was
brought to me in a broken gourd, I applied to it the kind of ointment
recommended in my medicine-book, and, bandaging up her leg, added much
good advice, and left. I suppose my simple skill had made a due
impression, for I was hardly back in camp and sketching once more when
the messenger arrived again, informing me there were more of Mandara’s
wives needing my assistance, and insisting on my starting to see them
without delay. Feeling annoyed at these constant demands on my time and
medicine-chest, I nevertheless complied, in order to keep on good terms
with the chief, but this time I resolved to use a coarser and scarcely
less effectual remedy for open sores—paraffin—of which I had an ample
store. So, with a small tin of this mineral oil, more lint, and more
linen bandaging, I again followed the messenger, and this time was taken
to a different quarter, where I entered a large, low-pitched, round
building, with a peaked roof—in fact a big beehive hut. The interior
being only lighted by the low doorway, it was at first impossible to
distinguish anything in the gloom, especially as a curious odorous
steam, and the smoke of a wood fire mingled and rendered the obscurity
inside denser. At length, however, I could make out that the building
was divided into a certain number of stalls, separated in the centre by
a broad lane. On one side were milch cows, some four or five, each with
a calf, and each in her separate stall; on the other were about the same
number of women, one or two with children. They evinced little surprise
or amusement at seeing me, and all but the sick one went on with the
food-preparing avocations they were already engaged in. I dressed the
woman’s ulcer with paraffin, left her some oil for a further
application, and withdrew, half-stifled with the ammoniacal odours of
this stable-harem. Once more back in camp I had many further calls here
and there to visit patients and treat the most varied disorders, from a
broken arm to insanity and blindness. In all cases it was hoped that I
should effect immediate cures, and had I commenced a series of miracles,
no surprise would have been elicited, so great was the implicit faith in
a white man’s “healing-magic.” But now, somewhat nettled at the calm way
in which I was ordered about, I intimated that all who wished for
medicine or medical advice must come for it in person, and wait my
pleasure to be attended to. In no wise rebuffed, the subjects of Mandara
thronged the precincts of my tent, and would have overrun everything and
sullied all the clean appurtenances of my little habitation, had I not
formed a stout barrier of bales and boxes, and set a strong guard to
keep order among the rabble. Then one by one I saw the sick, the maimed,
the hopelessly diseased, and, in a few hours, had made more saddening
acquaintance with the ills that flesh is heir to—even in a pristine,
savage state—than had been afforded to me under any previous
circumstances of my wandering career. The whole of that evening I
patiently inquired into each complaint, and, to the best of my poor
ability, administered medical relief.