AN ANXIOUS PERIOD.
Believing myself to be secure for the present in Mandara’s friendship, I
resolved without further delay to send eighteen of my thirty Zanzibaris
to Sir John Kirk at Zanzibar, whither they could carry my first
collections of the fauna and flora of Kilima-njaro, and my despatches
laying before him the then existing state of affairs. Moreover, inasmuch
as I found my paucity of men a great obstacle in pursuing my
investigations and an altogether false economy, I desired Kiongwe, my
head-man, who went in charge of this caravan, to recruit for me thirty
or forty stout fellows in Zanzibar and bring them back with him,
together with a further supply of necessary goods.
Eighteen was a small number of men to send along the Pangani route to
Zanzibar, but fortunately, just as they were setting out on the journey,
Thomson’s friend, Jumba Kimemeta, arrived at Mandara’s (I am sorry to
say to purchase slaves[19]), and offered to escort them all the way to
the town of Pangani. I gladly accepted, but as the men were ready I did
not like to keep them hanging about idle in my settlement, so I sent
them on by themselves to Taveita to join Kimemeta there. Most fortunate
was it that I did so. Jumba Kimemeta started from Moši a day or two
afterwards, with the slaves purchased from Mandara. The Masai, knowing
this, lay in wait for him, attacked his caravan, routed it, and Jumba
only escaped by the skin of his teeth, losing slaves, oxen, and goods.
Had my men been with him, they would certainly have abandoned the
collections, and then nobody in England would have believed me when I
explained their loss.
Kiongwe was supposed to occupy a fortnight in journeying to the coast,
the same time in returning, while his work in Zanzibar would hardly
oblige him to remain there longer than a week or ten days; consequently
in six weeks at the most I might expect his arrival in Moši with the
reinforcement of men and goods.
Nevertheless it was with some presentiment of coming difficulties that I
bade him farewell on the morning of July 11th, and watched his little
band slowly wending their way out of my sight into the distant plain.
Yet he must be sent some time or other, and the present moment seemed
the most propitious.
After he had gone and my band of men was reduced to twelve, including
all hands, trouble was not long in coming. My chief collector, Mabruki,
had begun to grow very exacting. He received nearly double the wages of
my invaluable Indian servant and considerably more than the other
Swahili porters. His food allowance was also specially increased, and he
might have had anything in reason for the asking: not that he was a good
collector—far from it—but then he was better than nobody and, moreover,
was a very fair shot with the rifle. He enjoyed, indeed, sallying out
into the lower country near the base of the mountain and stalking
antelopes, but this was not what I wanted him to do. I preferred that he
should go up the mountain and collect there. He soon began to grow
dissatisfied and became a continual grumbler. When Kiongwe was preparing
to go to the coast he asked leave to accompany him, pleading business of
his own to settle. I thought this utterly unreasonable, and knew the
excuse of private business was only meant to cover some other purpose.
At any rate, I reminded him of his contract and held him to it. This
only increased his sulkiness, and he began to listen to the suggestions
of Mandara’s Swahilis, who were trying actively to ruin me by causing
the desertion of my men. They persuaded Mabruki that if he left me and
entered Mandara’s service, he might become a great man. They pointed out
how lucrative the slave-trading business was, and how Mandara needed a
man like him to transact his business on the coast. Mabruki was won over
and only sought an excuse for breaking with me. It was not long in
coming. I found him one morning returning from Mandara’s town, when I
had sent him to a particular valley to collect. He had not a bird or a
flower to offer as an excuse. Nor did he try to excuse himself. When I
began to scold him, he said quietly, “That is enough; I don’t care for
this work, I have found something better to do: give me my food
allowance and let me return to the coast.” Like a simpleton, I believed
he intended to join Kiongwe, who had not long started, so I gave him
goods to buy food for a fortnight, lent him a gun and ammunition, paid
him the balance of his wages and let him go. The other collector,
Athmani, who was his slave, accompanied him. Having got out of me all he
could, he then turned his steps, not coastwards, but to Mandara’s court.
Here the Swahilis at once led him to the chief and said “Now, you
wouldn’t believe us when we told you this white man was bad; listen then
to what his own servants say.” Accordingly Mabruki and Athmani sat down
and told Mandara—not a string of falsehoods—but a number of inconvenient
truths so coloured with malicious interpretation as to be in Mandara’s
eyes the most damning of accusations. They revealed to him that I had a
beautiful elephant-gun (which had certainly been kept from Mandara’s
covetous gaze), and detailed, in fact, the entire contents of my
armoury—so many sporting guns, so many Sniders, cases of cartridges,
kegs of powder, bags of shot. They did not explain that these were
brought with a view to the slaughter of birds and beasts and for
purposes of just defence, but hinted that these weapons were intended to
overawe the chief of Moši and take possession of his country. “Well,
but,” interposed Mandara,[20] “how could he do that when I have 1000
soldiers and he only ten?” “Don’t you understand?” the traitors replied;
“he has sent Kiongwe to Zanzibar to bring back many soldiers—” “Forty,”
interposed Mandara. “Ah, he _says_ forty to you, but how do you know
what he may not have written in the letters? No, now is the time to
crush him, before his reinforcements come.” “But the Baloza, what will
he say?” “How do you know whether the Baloza really sent him?” “Why, he
brought letters—” “Yes, and read them himself—none of your men can
read.” Mandara here produced the two epistles, and remarked that the
seal of the Consulate was on them. This rather baffled Mabruki, but
Athmani took another tone. “What does it matter if you _do_ take away
all his goods—he has broken faith with you, he has concealed from you
many of his possessions.” “Well, but if he fights for them and is
killed, what will the Baloza say then, when he sends to ask for his
news?” “Why, you will just answer that he has gone away to the Masai
country and you know no more of him. Who can contradict you?” “And the
Aruša-ruša (fireworks)?” “All harmless, children’s playthings.”
Poor Mandara was racked with indecision. On the one hand the Swahili
courtiers had been poisoning his mind for days past by representing that
my views as to slavery and my displays of fireworks and other potent
magic had powerfully impressed the minds of the common people and had
seriously impaired Mandara’s authority; on the other hand, a remnant of
the friendly feeling I had once inspired still lingered in his mind. He
coveted my goods with all the intensity of his savage desires—think what
the possession of an elephant-gun would do to raise his prestige in the
eyes of the neighbouring chiefs!—and the European bed, so smart and
clean—and the silver forks and spoons—but no! I was his guest, I was the
sacred “mgeni,” the stranger-friend from whom nothing must be taken by
force, or God would be enraged. Still, why did I keep so many guns and
so much ammunition? _Was_ it for peaceful ends, or was the plea of sport
a hollow pretext? Was this white man black at heart after all? Did he
really intend to send for soldiers to Zanzibar that he might seize the
land and be master of it. Clearly it were better to get rid of him
quietly while he was weak and without supporters. No wrong should be
done, but the white man _must_ go.
Accordingly, his deliberations not having been sweetened by the frequent
cups of tembo thrust on him by his insidious courtiers, he dictated a
preremptory message to me, which one of his soldiers was sent to
deliver.
I was sitting, working tranquilly, in my little house that afternoon,
when the messenger of evil arrived. I had been going through some of
Mabruki’s recent work, and derived a melancholy satisfaction in finding
it so bad as to be useless. I reflected pleasantly that, though I should
have henceforth the sole charge of collecting, at least I should save
some forty rupees a month, and do the work better myself. Just then I
looked up, and saw Mandara’s man. “What does he want, Abdallah?” I asked
my servitor who ushered him in. “Oh, very bad news,” he replied in a low
tone, and then proceeded to interpret the message, for my men had made
greater progress in Ki-čaga than I at that time.
“Mandara sends to the white man, who calls himself Child of the Baloza,
and says, ‘Now I know your heart is black, and you have deceived me. You
have shown me only a part of your possessions, and you kept concealed
from me many guns, and powder, and engines of war (_mi-tambo_). This you
did that you might take my country by surprise and kill me, and make
yourself chief in my stead. And they tell me you have sent to Unguǰa
(Zanzibar), not for forty men, but for an army. Now, therefore, I say to
you, you are a guest and I may not take anything from you by force; but
give me all your guns, and the big one for elephants, all your powder,
and all your bullets, and I will buy them at a fair price. Then I shall
know, if this is done, that you do not wish to fight me, and you may
remain. But if not, then I say, pack up all your goods and go, for I
know you are my enemy.’” This curious message was written down by
Abdallah in Swahili, in order that I might confront Mandara with his own
words, and ask if he acknowledged them. In the meantime I dismissed the
soldier, saying I would reply later on. Then, side by side with the
message of Mandara’s, I wrote an answer to the effect that the “Sultan”
of Moši was deceived by bad and designing men, that time would right me
in his opinion, and that meanwhile I would neither sell him a gun nor an
ounce of powder, nor would I leave his country until Kiongwe should
return. (How, indeed, could I do so, when I had ten porters and
fifty-eight loads?) In the evening, Virapan, Cephas, and Abdallah
repaired to Mandara’s court to communicate this reply. As usual he had
begun to vacillate, and now let himself be convinced that I had no
sinister intentions affecting his rule, but complained that the real
fault he found with me was my mean disposition. He took Cephas to his
stronghold, and showed him the clothes, guns, pistols, and patent
medicines he had received from Thomson; even curious relics—the gifts
that Baron Von der Decken had made to Mandara’s mother, and the articles
which had been wrung from poor Charles New. “Now,” he said, “what has
your white man given me to compare with these? Fine words, good advice
(_šauri_), tales about hens laying golden eggs. I don’t want always talk
and nothing else; I want him to show his friendship by gifts, as a white
man should. And as he is so fond of fables (_hadii_), remind him of the
one I told him when he first came here—say to him, ‘the tree is now
well-rooted and mature, and if it does not soon begin to bear fruit, I
shall cut it down.’” There was some amount of truth in Mandara’s
complaints. From his point of view I had not been generous. I had paid
scrupulously for everything, I had always sent Mandara the equivalent of
his presents of cattle or sheep in various trade goods, or bright,
shining, silver rupees. I had supplied him with many useful European
seeds, and had frittered away nearly all my stock of medicines on his
soldiers and wives, and on arriving I had given him the articles
mentioned in Chapter V.; but I _could_ not lavish cloth and beads on him
continually, as I had only enough to last me till Kiongwe’s return, and
must pay for my daily food in these commodities; and I _would_ not
supply him with guns and powder, now that I knew the use to which he put
them, viz. to procure the Arabs slaves. However, although he had no
claim on my generosity, I thought it well spent if a little money would
secure his friendship, so I offered to pay 1_l._ a month (an immense sum
in this part of the world, especially when it is represented by twelve
rupees) in the form of rent, for the land which he had given me as a
plantation. At first he was beside himself with joy when I conveyed this
proposal to him in person, and patted my back with affection; but no
sooner had I left him, rejoiced at his change of manner, than Mabruki
entered on the scene, sneered at the chief’s delight, and said the white
man had bags upon bags of rupees—he had seen them—and that it was as
easy for him to pay 100 monthly as 12.
Mandara therefore sent word to me that he had consulted with his
advisers, and that he thought 100 rupees a month a reasonable rent for
the plantation (this plantation, be it noted, was a piece of wild,
uncultivated land given to me by Mandara on my arrival). To this
preposterous demand I returned the curt reply that he was talking
nonsense (_upumbafu_), and the matter dropped for a time. However,
shortly afterwards when I was out botanizing, a soldier of Mandara’s
came up and told me civilly but firmly, that I was not to pick any
flowers. I asked him what he meant, and he said those were the “Maṅge’s”
orders (Maṅge is the title given to Mandara), that I was to be followed
wherever I went, and prevented from collecting plants. I packed up the
specimens I had gathered and returned home, meaning to ask Mandara what
this meant. On my way I shot a little bird. The soldier at once ran
forward, picked it up, and took it, saying, “This is the Maṅge’s.” I
went to Mandara’s town, and desired to know what this hindrance meant.
He declined to see me, saying his heart was bitter that day, but sent
word to this effect—“All this land is mine, therefore all the flowers,
birds, butterflies, everything on it are mine also. If you can’t afford
the rent I ask, never mind, I have nothing more to say; but don’t rob me
of my property. If you want flowers, birds, or beasts, my slaves shall
collect them and sell them to you at a fair price; but if you go and
take any more without my leave, I will seize your goods.” Here was a
nice dilemma! I could not collect on Mandara’s territory without paying
an enormous tax, and I could not collect outside it without risking
death at the hands of his enemies. This was a difficulty in obtaining
specimens which would hardly have occurred to the consideration of the
scientific societies who sent me out to Kilima-njaro. Having provided
the funds, there seemed nothing simpler than to despatch some one to the
mountain to collect, and here I was, settled on Kilima-njaro, and yet
unable to touch a plant or an insect of those interesting regions around
me—at least unable in theory, and much thwarted in the practice,
although I still went stealthily to collect.
One day soon after this fresh aggravation, Mandara (in whose utmost
naughtiness there was always a spice of fun) sent me a dirty old basket
full of vegetable refuse, with a message to the effect that I might add
this to my collections on the payment of a few ells of cloth. I kicked
the basket from one end of the settlement to the other, and said, “that
was the only answer,” at which rash act my men were appalled, but when
Mandara heard of it, he gave a hearty laugh. However, matters did not
improve. Failing to extort anything from me by force, Mandara tried
starvation and ordered all his people to abstain from selling me any
article of food. One or two men who were detected smuggling food into my
settlement at night were sold as slaves. Another man who was heard to
call me “Mangé Muzungu,” “White Chief,” was severely beaten as
conferring on me a title equal to Mandara’s. Nevertheless, I offered no
sign of yielding, for I knew that would be fatal—it would mean that
little by little everything would be taken from me, and I should be left
to return as New did, under similar circumstances, broken-hearted with
the thought of failure. Accordingly, though my milkman politely
intimated he would be unable to continue sending his daily supply, and
though children left off coming to me with blackberries, and the women
ceased to bring me ripe bananas, I cheerfully dispensed with butter,
cream, fruit puddings, and banana fritters, and when Mandara, curious as
to my state of mind, set spies to sound me, I expressed myself perfectly
happy and self-contained. Indeed, thanks to a little foresight, I had so
developed my plantations and my live-stock that I produced enough to
sustain us on the premises. But at heart I was miserable. The feeling of
utter impotence and of letting day by day slip by without anything
accomplished towards the fulfilment of my mission, nearly made me ill,
and if the climate had not been such a peculiarly fine one, I should
have worried myself into a fever. What I felt most cruelly was the
complete want of a sympathizer, of any one to whom I might unbend. All
through my difficulties I had to assume a nonchalant air and
light-hearted manner I was far from feeling, in order that my men should
not be unduly alarmed at Mandara’s threats. In the last days of July,
matters began to come to a crisis. Mandara had sent to me to say he was
about to make war again on Kibôšo, and desired me to furnish him with
ten men, well armed, and several kegs of powder. I answered that my men
had other work to do, that Mandara’s quarrels were his own business,
and, that I had no powder to give or sell. No immediate notice was taken
of this refusal, but a day or two afterwards it was brought to my
tyrant’s knowledge, first, that I was secretly purchasing stores of
food, and secondly, that I had been seen catching butterflies and
gathering plants in contravention of his orders. Accordingly he resolved
on a decided stroke to crush my resistance and frighten me into
compliance with his requests.
One morning, the 30th of July, I was sitting at work in my house, when a
naked gentleman, with a broad-bladed shining spear and a monkey-skin
head-dress, strutted into our settlement with an easy nonchalance of
manner which made an evident impression on the Zanzibaris, for they did
not attempt to oppose his passage into my private compound, but allowed
him to enter unchallenged, and plant his spear into the ground with an
emphasis that made it quiver, and stand at ease in a conqueror’s _pose_.
[Illustration:
Fig. 44.—A Soldier of Mandara’s.
]
My temper had been already ruffled that morning. We had lost our
favourite milch goat in the night, carried off by hyenas; and I had
suddenly learned that the natives refused to sell milk, fowls, or other
provisions, in obedience to secret orders from their chief. Also—for
misfortunes never come singly—my servant had fallen sick, and my cook
had cut off his finger chopping wood. So when I looked up from my work,
skinning birds, that lent themselves badly to my taxidermist skill, and
saw the swarthy figure planted in front of my house, I wrathfully cried
out to my attendants, “What does this man want here, and why do you let
him in without telling me?” Abdallah came forward, and mildly questioned
the Čaga warrior as to his purpose. “Words from Mandara,” he laconically
replied, and then, the interpreter being summoned, proceeded to detail
the ultimatum of the chief—so many guns, barrels of powder, bags of
shot, tables, chairs, cups and saucers, knives, forks, and spoons to be
handed over at once, together with the greater part of my trade goods,
_or_—and then followed Mandara’s terrible threats of slaughter and
rapine. The purport of this speech I somewhat understood from the
occasional words and phrases of Ki-čaga that were familiar to me, and
any doubt as to the import of the threats which closed the message was
set aside by the man’s expressive gesture. When he came to talk of
killing, he drew the edge of his dexter finger across his throat,
severing in fancy his jugular vein. At the close of his speech the
Zanzibari interpreter repeated all that had been said, striving to
exaggerate as much as possible the gruesome nature of the threats and
the advisability of conceding everything asked for. But I had long since
decided that to yield to the “Sultan’s” demands would entail the loss of
all means of defence, of livelihood, and would be the ruin of the
expedition. Even if I succeeded in reaching the coast, it would mean
that I had failed in my attempt, and all this would be far worse than
the risk of assassination at Mandara’s hands, for I knew his moods
varied with his potations. So, affecting a calm manner which I did not
feel, I refused Mandara’s demands _in toto_. “Hatta sindano” (“Not even
a needle”), I added, taking one from my coat lappet and showing it. This
reply having been explained to the envoy, he withdrew stolidly to repeat
it to his master, and I was left alone with my men to discuss the
further proceedings to be taken. Of course only the leading men of the
caravan were consulted; the rank and file were supposed to be left in
ignorance of our danger, lest panic should seize them. They knew well
enough, however, having questioned the Čaga soldier, and now sat in a
melancholy group discussing the probability of having their throats cut,
and rueing openly the day that their ill fortune brought them to such a
country. However, I had finished my confabulations, and therefore
ordered the men to be about their work as if nothing had happened, or
was going to happen. One man was told to go and get firewood. He took an
axe, and reluctantly left the timorous group of gossipers, but behold!
he had scarcely got a hundred yards from the cleared ground of the
settlement, when we saw him turning about and hastily retracing his
steps, while from the brushwood and fern rose the glinting spears and
white head-dresses of Mandara’s soldiers. It was then, on going to
investigate, that I found we were regularly invested by an irregular
ring of armed warriors, who were squatted in the grass and fern,
without, however, any attempt at concealment. They had formed a cordon
which they intimated must not be broken until the demands of the “Mangé”
were satisfied. Though firm in their language they were not uncivil, and
were evidently only performing their duty. They were even respectful to
me personally, evidently assuming that a quarrel between the white man
and their chief was not their affair. We learned from them that Mandara
meant to try and starve us into submission, that he intended to place
these soldiers here to cut us off from all further food supplies. I
laughed at this. “What!” I asked, “does Mandara know I have eighty
fowls, a cow, a calf, four goats, and two sheep, beside a storehouse
crammed with grain and a garden full of vegetables? Say, how long can we
not live on those supplies, and does your chief intend to keep you here
for months?” They only shrugged their shoulders indifferently. “Theirs
not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die.” One man, however, suggested
that perhaps if my water supply were cut off at the river-head I might
not feel so comfortable. I then asked what the other Čaga people would
say, whom my little canal also supplied with water? Meanwhile my
message, with its decided refusal, had reached Mandara, and we could
from our height conjecture somewhat the effect produced. How anxiously
our gaze wandered over the intervening valley, and rested on the little
cluster of yellow beehive huts which masks Mandara’s capital! We had
seen the messenger enter the town, and after more than a quarter of an
hour’s interval he emerged alone, and once more took the winding
hill-path to our settlement. I was affecting to continue my work in my
hut, for it would not do to let either my own men or the natives
perceive that I was alarmed at the critical state of affairs, but as I
stooped over my bird-skins again I heard the clang of a spear-shaft
striking the hard ground, and again Mandara’s emissary stood before me.
“The Mangé wants to see two of your men,” he said.
“I will go myself,” I replied, getting my hat and stick.
“No,” answered the envoy, “Mandara does not want to see the white man.
His heart is bitter. Send two of your servants.”
After considerable parleying, for my men naturally felt that it was like
entering the lion’s den, Abdallah and another Zanzibari volunteered to
go on this dangerous errand. Accordingly they set out, secretly armed
with revolvers, and accompanied the soldier to Mandara’s town. Following
their progress with my opera-glass, I saw them enter the native
compound, and then ensued an anxious wait before they re-issued and made
their way alone back to Kitimbiriu. When they entered the settlement I
saw bad news painted on their lineaments, so I hurried them into my
house before they could communicate it to my quaking men. When they were
seated in the doorway of my dwelling, their dark bodies like silhouettes
against the flaming evening sky, they unfolded their ominous tale.
When they had reached Mandara’s place, it seemed, they found him seated
among his councillors and captains in a quivering rage. His one eye
gleamed with anger, and his whole frame trembled with convulsive wrath.
Speaking slowly and distinctly, evidently trying to keep control over
himself, he told them that there was but one ruler in the country, and
that one he. It sufficed for him to send an order to the white man and
it must be instantly obeyed, or the throat of every man in the
settlement should be cut. “What,” he exclaimed, “do I care for his
Consul or his Queeny? Have I not a thousand soldiers? Go and tell him!”
The men crept away from the precincts of the irate monarch thoroughly
cowed, but they were not gone far before he sent to recall them. On
again entering his presence, Mandara assailed them with imprecations and
horrible threats, and dismissed them a second time, summoned them back
again, hurled at them hoarsely more vituperation, and finally bade them
hurry to my presence and inform me what they had heard.
This they were in no way loth to do, fearing, indeed, for their lives in
this assemblage of warriors armed to the teeth, whom a word from their
chief would precipitate on any victim of his wrath. I suspected, even
when I heard their terrified account, that this scene was a good bit of
clever acting on Mandara’s part, meant to have its due effect on me by
the panic it should produce among my men.
At any rate, as we sat in the gloom of the early night still discussing
our situation, my dinner untouched on the table, and, to judge from the
gleam of their watch-fires in the bush, the soldiers of Mandara still
encircling us, the prospect seemed a sufficiently sombre one. Nor did
the night bring a temporary truce to my anxieties. I found it difficult
to compose myself to sleep, for my brain was continually forming
projects for escaping secretly from Mandara’s country, and yet carrying
away somehow my fifty-eight loads of goods; a well-nigh impossible feat
to accomplish with ten men. Every sudden noise from the bush, the
anxious whispers from my watching men, the distant blowing of a horn, or
firing of a gun made me start from bed wide-awake and expecting a
midnight attack from the savages. And when towards dawn I found a short
forgetfulness in fitful dozing, it was but to awake on a morrow of
similar anxiety.
However, the tension was fortunately relieved by an unexpected and
unintentional ally. The Wa-kibôso, whom Mandara had been recently
raiding, had routed his armies with considerable slaughter—he confessed
to the loss of 100 men, about ten per cent. of his entire force—and had
further sent a bombastic message to the effect that they were about to
arrive in Moši, with the intention of burning, harrying, robbing,
slaying everything in their way. Mandara therefore desired in such
contingency the moral support of the white man’s friendship and
co-operation. All the soldiers were naturally withdrawn from the
blockade of my settlement, I was once more at liberty to go forth and
botanize, and no restrictions were placed in the way of my purchasing
food. However, I was too angry with Mandara for what he had made me
suffer to respond very cordially to his advances. I refused to
co-operate in the defence of Moši, and said I would keep all my powder
and ammunition for the safeguarding of my own settlement. Of course the
Wa-kibôšo stopped short at the frontier on this occasion. I premised
they would from the fact that they had sent to say they were coming.
But, nevertheless, they had evidently inflicted a severe blow on
Mandara’s strength, and one which for a long time kept him quiet.
Gradually my relations with him began to improve. His people were so
decidedly my friends, that he was forced, despotic monarch though he
was, to come over to their opinion. They declared my coming had brought
wealth to them all. I bought all their products and paid for them
honestly. No man could ever accuse me of an unjust or unfriendly act.
When they were sick, they came for medicine, and were never denied.[21]
In short Mandara was compelled by popular opinion to own he had treated
me badly, and as a sign of this, he resumed friendly relations by paying
me a state visit in my “town.” Here he gossiped to his heart’s content,
and peered like an inquisitive child into all the recesses of my house.
It was the first time he had visited me since I had begun building, and
he was amazed at the progress made. Then he asked to see all my
“wonderful things,” and on the whole behaved very well, asking for
nothing. At length, after uneasily fidgeting on his chair, he said
hurriedly, “And now bring out your elephant-gun; I _must_ see it.” All
my men looked scared; now I was going to be fleeced. “_Must_ you see it,
Mandara?” I asked, gravely looking in his face. “No,” said the poor
savage, with a sudden effort to control his covetousness, “I will _not_
see it. Do not show it to me, lest I should desire it.”
Really, why I made such a fuss about this elephant-gun seems hard to
understand, for it turned out a useless and burdensome weapon,
unreliable for greater distances than twenty yards, but in those days it
seemed to us to sum up all the question of our resistance to Mandara’s
encroachments. We felt if we yielded the elephant-gun we should never be
able to make a stand on anything else, and then everything would go, and
we might be stripped as New was. However, on the occasion of this visit,
I did my best to be gracious, and opened a bottle of champagne—with some
trepidation, imagining Mandara would insist on the rest of the dozen—and
a tin of cocoanut biscuits. However, the champagne created but a poor
impression—I think it was too dry for his palate—while on the other
hand, he simply tucked the tin of biscuits under his arm and walked off
with it, enraptured with the first one he had scrunched. After this day,
although we sometimes disputed about commercial transactions (which were
always unprofitable to me, and only a disguised form of tribute to
Mandara), we never had another quarrel, and I had complete liberty of
action in Moši. Alas! this was after all but an extended durance—a
prison, though a spacious and lovely one. In vain I yearned for some
means of crossing the barrier of foes which intervened between me and my
goal, the snow-peaks of Kilima-njaro!