A FIRST ASCENT.
Faithful to their promise, Mandara’s five soldiers, led by Kilaki,
arrived in our settlement at sunrise. They brought with them bags of
provisions, and three fat sheep, which were to constitute a further
supply of food, and one which would obligingly transport itself to the
desired goal.
Leaving Faraǰi, the cook, alone in charge of Kitimbiriu, we commenced
our ascent by following the upper road skirting the crest of our long
hill. We walked first between tall hedges of glossy-leaved dracænas and
gorgeous scarlet-flowered aloes, which grew from tall stems in
arborescent form. As we passed the wooden doorways of the different
congeries of huts which border these Čaga lanes the inhabitants rushed
out mirthfully to greet us. “Utoṅga ako, Maṅge Muzungu?” (Where are you
going, white chief?) they cried. “Ngatoṅga Kibô” (I am going to Kibô) I
joyfully answered. (Kibô is the giant summit of the mass.) From each
little tidy compound of Wa-čaga, from their trim fields and luxuriant
plantations, came merry girls, their arms linked together
affectionately, and accompanied by their brothers, fathers, and
husbands, all in perfect nudity and all in smiling good-humour. They
would range themselves along the sides of the narrow lane, backing, with
much giggling, into the fern-fronds and brambles as I approached, and
saluting my followers with many outspoken remarks as to their personal
appearance and the errand on which they were bound. In the rear of the
small company came the six soldiers of Mandara, wearing conspicuously
the white cloths I had given them, and loaded with their shields, arms,
and water-gourds. They urged along the upward path the three docile and
unsuspecting sheep, which were to serve as their stock of provisions
during our residence above the clouds. At about 5400 feet we quitted the
last signs of cultivation, and consequently missed the familiar runnels
of water which in the inhabited country intersect the land every few
yards. The surrounding scenery was now charmingly soft and pretty, so
exactly like Devonshire hills and coombes in general aspect that I need
not give it a more detailed description. At 6000 feet we halted for a
brief rest. The ascent had been very gradual. Here, where we first
rested, there were grassy downs of short springy turf scattered over
with magnificent clumps of forest; but higher up the woodland scenery,
though very pretty and “English” in look, did not offer remarkably fine
timber, the trees being short and twisted with dense undergrowth. The
wild flowers were beautiful. Parasitic begonias trailed their lovely
pink bells in long festoons; magenta-coloured balsams gleamed from among
the fern-fronds, and every now and then we would come across clumps of
crimson and salmon-tinted gladioli that provoked expressions of
admiration even from my followers, whose eyes were caught with the rich
displays of colour. The tree-trunks, even to the minor branches, were
densely hung with moss, orchilla-lichen, or delicate epiphytic ferns.
Other species of ferns grew luxuriantly at the side of the path, some of
them actually British in their extended range. There were polypodies,
holly ferns, bracken, maidenhair, identical apparently—I have since
found at Kew they were actually the same—with those we know in England.
Unfamiliar, though, to our English scenes were the magnificent
tree-ferns (of the species _Lonchitis pubescens_), which rose grandly
above the dense undergrowth, with fronds of a shiny bluish-green,
whenever the pale green light of the forest fell athwart their downy
leaflets or silky stems. At a greater altitude than 8000 feet these
tree-ferns were rarely met with; indeed, they were mostly confined to a
zone round the mountain between 7000 feet and 8000 feet above sea-level.
[Illustration:
Fig. 51.—Tree Fern (_Lonchitis pubescens_).
]
Our path was very wet with the moisture that dripped from the forest,
and often obstructed with huge tree-trunks that lay across it. It was
one of a series of tracks which converge from the different little
kingdoms on the mountain up to a height of about 9000 feet odd, where
they join a path running nearly due east and west from Šira to Useri. As
the inhabitants of the Kilima-njaro States are nearly always at war with
one another, and, consequently, have not free transit through the
hostile territory of their neighbours, they all resort, by means of the
upward road, to the neutral ground above, and at varying heights above
the inhabited district pursue their journey round the mountain. They do
not always do so peacefully, however, as it is the disagreeable custom
of the mountaineers to post themselves occasionally in ambush at the
cross-roads and leap out on any passing travellers too weak to resist
them, in which case the men are killed and the women are carried off in
triumph as slaves. As we were few in number, though presumably stout of
heart, our guides were very nervous during this ascent, and often paused
to listen anxiously to the murmurs of the forest, fearing to detect the
voices of their foes. Our conversation was held in a low tone, and my
servant, Virapan, who incautiously gave way to a peal of laughter when
amused by some incident on the route, was angrily checked by Kilaki,
Mandara’s captain, and told that he was risking the lives of the party.
However, throughout this day’s journey we heard nothing more alarming
than the occasional trumpeting of elephants or the mocking cry of the
blue-green touraco.
[Illustration:
KILIMA-NJARO, SHOWING BOTH ITS SNOW-CAPPED PEAKS.
To face page 234.
]
Owing to the absence of any drinking-water on our road ever since the
last streamlet we had crossed in Moši, we scarcely stopped anywhere to
rest until reaching our camping-place, at a height of 8600 feet. Here we
found a little rivulet flowing silently over mossy rocks, and forming
clear, deep pools every few yards. The water was icy cold. Above the
stream the path led us to a slight clearing in the forest, where we saw
a few rotting huts and wind shelters. “These,” said Mandara’s men, “we
made when we came to fight against Useri. We slept here, halfway.” My
men were enjoined by the Wa-čaga not to make any noise that might
attract the attention of enemies in the vicinity; they even objected to
our lighting big fires, in case the curling smoke might betray our
presence; but at this I became impatient, preferring to risk the chance
of a scuffle with the Wa-kibôšo to suffering from cold. Already, as the
sun was setting, the temperature rapidly sank, and the air became very
chilly, while a white rime settled on the grass. The forest and the
surrounding vegetation were weirdly strange. Giant heaths of the
familiar genus _Erica_ grew unfamiliarly as tallish trees. An
extraordinary composite plant (since named from my specimens _Senecio
Johnstoni_) flourished in the marshy ground near the rivulet and rose to
twenty feet in height. From a distance it appeared something like a
banana, with huge broad leaves at the summit of a slim, bare, black
trunk, but with yellow flowers like a groundsel—a humble plant, to which
indeed, it is not distantly allied. “Everlasting flowers,” of tender
rosy pink or yellow-white, grew in clusters where the forest was less
dense, and pretty star-like anemones, blush-colour with yellow centres,
sprang up like pale stars amid the dusky herbage. Things that resembled
chervil and hemlock grew in rank abundance, and the crimson gladioli
gleamed out vividly on all sides. There were also pretty irises and
ground orchids of a rich mauve-pink. Altogether, although the flora was
different from that at lower levels, it lost nothing in brilliancy of
colours. The men rapidly constructed wind shelters of branches, lit
roaring fires, and wrapped themselves in their scanty garments to resist
the increasing cold. The Čaga soldiers killed two of their sheep
recklessly, thinking nothing of economizing their food, and distributed
some of the meat among my men, offering me a really choice leg of
mutton. All through the night the tree-hyraxes kept us awake with their
ringing plaintive cry. After a long discussion the next morning, I
decided to move our permanent camp higher up the mountain, so that I
might be nearer the field of my researches, and also for the reason that
the men of Mandara continually dreaded an attack from their enemies, and
would not allow us to fire our guns at any bird or beast, fearing lest
the shots might reveal our existence. On reaching a height of 9000 feet
the continuous forest came to an end, and we emerged on tracts of
tussocky grass, interspersed here and there in parklike fashion with
clumps of trees. We were now on a kind of level table or shelf, which
stretched away round the southern slope of the mountain, and from which
the great central mass (the ridge culminating in the two peaks of Kibô
and Kimawenzi) arose with a somewhat abrupt ascent. In the hollows of
this further range there were clumps of forest up to 10,000 feet. Many
bright-coloured flowers grew up to this altitude, notably a vivid blue
cynoglossum (houndstongue), mauve and blue irises, and pink, waxy-white,
and yellow “everlastings.” Tufts of artemisia (southernwood) grew in
sheltered places. There were many heaths, a small kind of geranium, huge
proteas, and divers ferns and mosses. The foliage of the trees was
rather a dull grey-green, and their boughs and trunks were rendered
almost shapeless by the thick tapestry of moss and orchilla-lichen. A
black and white raven was frequently seen sailing overhead, two or three
white butterflies flitted about, and a small grey moth hovered over the
grass. A little lizard, nearly dull uniform black, with faint markings,
darted to and fro in the herbage, pursuing the drowsy-looking flies that
settled on the grass-blades in the sun.
[Illustration:
Fig. 53.—A Raven soaring.
]
Whilst my men were preparing lunch under the shade of a stunted tree I
made a rapid excursion upwards to collect some plants, and then returned
to my followers about noon. I had just got out my theodolite to take
some observations of the different peaks in sight, and had finished
“screwing up” the levels, when a cry from my men behind caused me to
look up. In the distance, coming from the west, a large band of
Wa-kibôšo—our most bitter foes—were to be seen approaching at a round
trot, covering themselves with their shields and waving their spears in
the air. I had just time to form my little force of sixteen men into a
square, and awaited with anxious heart the onset. Fortunately, in the
middle of their charge the Wa-kibôšo stopped short. There, between us
and them, unheeded by me, stood my theodolite, poised on its tripod
stand, with its levels, doubtless, as well adjusted as when I had
previously left it. This harmless instrument had filled the Wa-kibôšo
with sudden dread. It was, no doubt, considered some engine of sorcery
so powerful that I needed but to place it between myself and my foes,
and I could then await their onslaught with equanimity. The Wa-kibôšo,
therefore, paused, their war-cry ceased, they gazed uneasily at the
theodolite, and, to my intense relief, slowly withdrew to a neighbouring
hillock, from the top of which they watched our proceedings. After a
quarter of an hour of immobility on either side the Wa-kibôšo suddenly
left their post of observation at a gentle run, and disappeared into the
forest below. I had a short deliberation with my men, who insisted on at
once returning to Mandara’s country, alleging that the Wa-kibôšo would
return in greater numbers and cut off our communications below, thus
severing us from our food supplies. I then suggested that, instead of
returning direct to Moši, we should continue our exploration of the
mountain and then descend through Useri on the plains below, and thus
reach Taveita. This also was overruled, and, perhaps, wisely, as the
people of Useri were equally hostile to Mandara with the Wa-kibôšo, and
would possibly have massacred our little band of sixteen men had we
tried to pass through their country. Finally, I resolved to take the
advice of Mandara’s soldiers, and return to our settlement at once,
without further delay. We therefore re-entered the forest, and passed
our old camping-place of the night before, where we saw the print of
many feet, from which we concluded that the Wa-kibôšo must have come
here just after our departure, have discovered our route, and followed
our tracks up the mountain. We were discussing this question and
leisurely continuing the descent, when one of our guides stopped,
commanded silence, and listened intently. I naturally did the same, and
heard a faint ringing cry behind us. We looked at one another with
serious faces and said “The Wa-kibôšo!” Evidently they had rediscovered
our track, and were announcing it to their more distant comrades. An
unreasoning panic seized my people. They started off in a headlong
flight down the mountain, and for some time I feared the men might cast
away their loads and lose my collections, but fortunately they clung to
their burthens as Swahili porters do even “in extremis.” At length I
felt I could no longer keep up such a rapid descent over slippery
tree-trunks and glissades of mud. I had already nearly broken my leg and
effectually barked my shins, so I called repeatedly on the foremost men
of our party to stop, and we journeyed for a little while at a more
reasonable pace. Soon, however, we had another fright. Those who were in
front came to a sudden halt, cried out, and fell back in confusion.
“What is it?” I asked, panting. “The Wa-kibôšo,” gasped my men, and sure
enough, up the steep descent of the narrow path we could descry white
head-dresses and gleaming spears approaching. This time we no longer
made the least stand. The cook, Cephas, attempted to fly, slipped, and
fell into a ditch; others crept into the bush and hid; and I myself, too
utterly sick and exhausted to offer any resistance, sat down by the
wayside and awaited my fate. There was a hush, a whisper rising into a
shout, and then a sudden glad cry from my reassured followers, “Watu wa
Mandara! Watu wa Mandara” (Mandara’s people). I rose to my feet and
greeted the captain of the force with the usual Čaga salutation, “Mbuïa”
(friend). He informed me that Mandara had feared a difficulty with the
people of Kibôšo, and had sent 200 soldiers to escort us back. After
this last scare nothing further happened to cause us further anxiety.
Mandara’s soldiers went along their course behind us, and had a skirmish
with the Wa-kibôšo to cover our retreat, and we eventually reached our
settlement of Kitimbiriu thoroughly exhausted with our day’s adventures,
but feeling quite happy at once more coming “home.”
Mandara sent the next day his congratulations on my safe return, and a
fine goat wherewith to make merry. As I had almost given up the hope of
ever seeing my caravan from the coast—they were six weeks overdue, and I
imagined them annihilated by the Masai—I felt very uncertain as to my
chances of withdrawing from Mandara’s country, and consequently
congratulated myself on the improved relations subsisting between myself
and that chief. I now devoted myself entirely to natural history studies
and researches into the habits and customs of the Wa-čaga, and the
peculiarities of their interesting dialect. The days slipped by most
pleasantly, I ate and drank of the best, for my kitchen-garden yielded
me almost every well-known kind of vegetable in abundance, and the
native markets supplied such cheap and varied provisions that I scarcely
had cause to regret the exhaustion of my European stores. In short, I
was now resigned apparently to a long isolation on Kilima-njaro, without
any present hope of reopening communication with the coast, when, one
day—in fact on the 22nd of September—while I was working at my
collections of plants in the late afternoon, and preparing to clear the
table for dinner to be laid, two men, breathless and speechless, emerged
from the steep ascent on the eastern flank of our hill and stood before
me. I immediately recognized Abdallah and Kadu Stanley, whom I had left
behind at Taveita, to report the arrival of the caravan, but their
silence seemed so ominous that I could merely stare in suspended
apprehension. However, they were only speechless from their steep and
exhausting climb, and as soon as they had recovered their wind they
ambled forward with beaming faces, kissed my hands, and said, “Oh,
Bwana, nothing but good news! good news! Kiongwe has returned, and all
is well.” With these words; they threw at my feet a bag of letters, and
squatted down in my doorway to pant at their ease. The revulsion of
feeling within me was wonderful. I now lost my calm, contented
resignation of heretofore, and yearned to do great things. No longer
need I cajole Mandara and elude the bloodthirsty Wa-kibôšo. With the
reinforcements that were now arriving, I should have at my disposal a
force of over sixty men, with which I could disregard the goodwill of
the natives of Kilima-njaro, and quietly pursue my mission without fear
of hindrance.
However, I was not yet free from difficulties, though the termination of
my trials seemed at hand. Mandara, hitherto, especially after his recent
amiable behaviour, had cherished the notion that my residence in his
country would be perpetual, and would probably become very angry if he
found out I was entertaining a project of withdrawing from Moši and
transferring my expedition to the country of his enemies. Consequently
it behoved me to act discreetly so that I might carry away all my
property from Kitimbiriu without provoking any inimical action on his
part. Probably he would not actively intervene to prevent my departure,
or to rob me of my goods; but he had only to convey a hint to the Masai
in the plains below, and my caravan would have little chance of ever
reaching Taveita intact. To Taveita, as a neutral ground, I determined
to go before again attempting the ascent of Kilima-njaro from another
point in Čaga. Accordingly I had directed that the porters should leave
their new loads there before proceeding to Moši, so that they might come
nearly empty-handed, and be ready to transport my goods from Kitimbiriu.
Abdallah had carried out my secret orders very well. Kiongwe stayed
behind at Taveita with the sick and halting, and watched over the new
supplies which were there stowed away, while Abdallah and Kadu came on
to me with thirty porters, and carried nothing but the bag of letters
and some selected presents for Mandara.
The morning after the arrival of my reinforcements I went to Mandara’s
court to announce ceremoniously the safe coming of my long-looked-for
men, and to read to him some letters I had received from Sir John Kirk.
Dressed in my best clothes, and accompanied by several followers gaily
decked, and bearing presents—for I had fortunately received some gaudy
uniforms and other gifts for Mandara from Zanzibar—I made my way to his
little square of beehive huts, wherein he passes the hours of daylight.
As I crossed the village-green the groups of soldiers there stationed
preserved a sullen demeanour, evidently reflected from the present
disposition of their chief. But I was not abashed, and passed blithely
on into the very midst of Mandara’s circle. The chief was seated in
gloomy silence, surrounded by his usual Swahili courtiers. When I
saluted him cheerily he turned away his head and scowled. His parasites
did the same, in a somewhat exaggerated fashion. But I was determined to
force my good-humour on him. Laying a brilliant scarlet gold-braided
vestment on his lap, I shook his unwilling hand, and said, “Khabari
njema! (Good news!). Khabari njema, Mandara. Khabari za Baloza, sikiliza
(News of the Consul, listen).” Mandara grunted and turned his head half
round. Then I seated myself on one of the low stools near him and began
to rather freely interpret a letter I drew from my pocket. In this
supposed communication from Sir John Kirk I affected to find stringent
orders to leave Mandara’s country, and return to the coast without
delay. “I don’t believe a word of it,” said the Prince of Moši when I
had finished, “not one word! If the Baloza wants you to return, why does
he send your men back loaded with goods when, if what you say is true,
you don’t need them? No, you want to quit me and go to live with some
other chief on the mountain, and that is why you have left your goods
behind at Taveita, and your porters come here empty-handed.” I
protested, however, that his suspicions were unjust, and vowed that
although now obliged to leave him, I would some day return; but for a
little while Mandara was obdurate. He even muttered threats about
impeding my departure, although after uttering them he looked ashamed
and contradicted himself. At length when I had half forcibly thrown the
scarlet coat round his shoulders and laid out the other presents in
tempting array his set features relaxed into a regretful smile. “Well,
child of the Baloza!” he said, with a sigh, “if you must go, you must,
and I cannot prevent you. But you will promise to return, will you not?
And then, see what we will do together”—and he warmed to the theme as he
talked; “We will make a big shamba (plantation) and grow all the
vegetables of Europe; we will trade for ivory with the Masai; we will
get rich together, eh?” Four months of Mandara’s society had taught me
how illusory all his offers of partnership were. However, I soothed him
with assurances that sooner or later I would reappear in Moši and our
relations should be renewed in a satisfactory manner. “And you won’t
forget to bring me an iron bedstead and an iron chair, like yours, and a
European dog, will you?” I assented to all these requests, and
ultimately our meeting broke up with much mutual friendliness.
The next morning I bought some sheep and goats of Mandara, and bade him
an affectionate farewell. Then, having made all due preparations, and
taken a heartbreaking leave of my thriving plantations, where the beds
of potatoes and trailing cucumbers looked so prosperous, I gazed for the
last time at the country of Moši, where I had made my home during four
months, and then turned my back on Mandara and his kingdom, and set my
face once more towards Taveita.