A MOVE TO MARAṄU.[24]
The people of Taveita were glad to welcome me once more to their midst,
and after the first few days, spent in rapidly building houses to store
my goods, and huts for my followers—from which efforts a small town
ultimately arose—I prepared to smooth the way by negotiations for a
peaceful ascent of Kilima-njaro. The chief of Maraṅu, a largish state (a
little bigger than Middlesex) on the south-eastern flank of the great
mountain, had latterly sent emissaries to Taveita, to question the
people of the forest sanctuary as to my real character and disposition.
News of my disputes with Mandara had reached him, and he thought,
perhaps, he might oust that chief in my good graces, and get me all to
himself with my (supposed) illimitable wealth, and my wonderful powers
of sorcery. I met his advances enthusiastically—perhaps _too_
enthusiastically, because it at first roused suspicion as to my real
motives in entering Maraṅu—and sent to say, by Taveitan intermediaries,
that I should be very happy to make peace. I invited, moreover, all the
different chieftains of Kilima-njaro to send delegates to Taveita, where
we might discuss our differences on neutral ground. The hope was in me
that now being duly supported by a well-equipped band of followers, and
residing on my own land, I might act as the peaceful arbiter of
Kilima-njaro, might show its foolish people that their quarrels were
only to the advantage of the Arab slave-traders, and induce them to band
together in a friendly confederation to resist the common enemy. My
proposal for a conference was well received. Representatives from
Kibôšo, Mamba, Mwika, Kirua, Useri, came to Taveita. I had also sent a
letter to Mandara, explaining my object and inviting him to co-operate,
but no immediate answer was given, nor did he send any delegate to
attend our conference. The naked ambassadors of the different states I
have mentioned were all of one opinion. “Make friends with Maraṅu, and
you are friends with all of us. As to forming a league with Mandara
against the coast people, perhaps we will see—later; but it is Mandara
who must first make amends; it is he who has for years past robbed,
enslaved, and harried us. Did Maraṅu ever fight with Kibôšo, or Useri
with Mamba and Mwika? Never! There would be peace on the mountain were
it not for Mandara. He began the war—let him make proposals of peace.
Where is his delegate to-day?”
I confess that having done my utmost I was not going to waste any more
time in trying to restore peace in troubled Čaga. Politics I only
meddled with inasmuch as they were contingent on the prosecution of my
scientific mission. As Mandara abstained from following my pacific
suggestions, all that remained to me was to make friends as speedily as
possible with Maraṅu—not for the pleasure of its chief’s acquaintance,
or for interest in its welfare, but in order to reside in the upper
regions in peace and quiet—and then proceed at once to the borders of
the snow, and make up for lost time by collecting as busily as possible.
Had the mission of pacifying and regenerating the states of Kilima-njaro
been confided to me I would have thrown my whole heart into it, and
might perhaps have done some real good, but it was not for that end that
I had received my grants from the Royal Society and the British
Association. They wanted plants and birds and beetles, not assurances
that certain obscure communities of savages in Central Africa had been
induced to abstain for a few months from killing and enslaving one
another. What would they say, when my six months’ residence on
Kilima-njaro was over, and I presented myself to their committee, and
said, “Oh, I am sorry to inform you I found the state of affairs in the
Čaga commonwealth so disorganized, that I set myself to work to restore
peace and prosperity, and this took up so much time that I wasn’t able
to collect”?
No, so anxious was I to effect the purpose for which I had come to
Eastern Africa, that I often, when worried by all these intrigues, could
find nothing more fitting to exclaim than “Bother your quarrels and your
wrongs, let me get to the snow.” Sometimes I longed for giant bombs
containing carbonic acid gas, that I might explode them on the mountain,
and painlessly asphyxiate its troublesome inhabitants. But as this was
out of the question, the only plan I could think of was to make friends
with Mandara’s enemies, whether Mandara liked it or not. Accordingly,
after the little conference referred to, I despatched a mission to
Maraṅu with handsome presents for its chief, and a warm acceptance of
his peaceful overtures. Kiongwe, who had a pleasant manner and knew a
little Ki-čaga, undertook this rather risky errand. Arrived in the
vicinity of the king’s residence he was long kept waiting outside,
because the timid young sovereign was afraid of being bewitched by the
white man’s emissary. The people of Maraṅu, no less than their chief,
still feared treachery on my part. They dreaded lest all these peaceful
overtures might not be a cunning means of penetrating the country and
then attacking it unawares, in league with the dreaded Mandara. So as
they still hesitated between accepting or rejecting my proposals they
resolved to ascertain the true character of my mission by a potent test.
A goat was brought before the young chief, and made to swallow a
poisonous drug. “Now,” said the Sultan of Maraṅu to the smiling but
secretly uneasy Kiongwe, “if the goat dies I shall know that your heart
is black and your mission deceitful, and I will kill you, that your
master may see how I hate a lie; but if the goat lives, good; I shall
then be convinced you have spoken the truth, and your master really
wishes to be my friend.” After a short period of suspense the goat began
to retch violently, and finally vomited the noxious dose, then it
shivered a little, shook itself, bleated, and began to browse. A loud
burst of delighted acclamation greeted this favourable outcome of the
ordeal, and Kiongwe was relatively safe. His moral sifting was not
altogether finished, however; he must submit to a further trial. The
queen-dowager, who was reputed a regular witch or wizard-finder, took
him by both hands and gazed earnestly into his eyes. If his look should
flinch or turn aside, then was his heart black and treacherous. So far
from flinching, however, he glared at the queen-mother for his very
life, and it was she who first blinked; consequently, this last
_épreuve_ had terminated in his favour, and further whoops and yells of
hysterical joy rent the air. Then sending for the fattest ram in his
dominions, the chief of Maraṅu dismissed Kiongwe with this
characteristic present, and bade him assure me that he and his subjects
anxiously awaited the happy day when I and my people would enter and
build in their country.
On the day following Kiongwe’s return a curious occurrence, savouring of
poetical justice, took place. One of my men informed me, early in the
morning, that in another part of Taveita the renegades of our
expedition, Mabruki and Athmani, had passed the night on their way to
the coast, whither they were convoying a band of slaves. (The reader may
remember that these two men had deserted from me during my first trials
in Moši, and had gone to live with Mandara to organize his slave-trade.)
At first I concluded that the information was of little value, as they
would be certain to rise with the dawn and pursue their road, and I
regretted bitterly that the news had reached me too late to cause an
effective intervention. But further reflection showed the possibility
that Mabruki and his confederate might still be within reach. The body
of the caravan would have quitted Taveita at dawn, but the two
ex-collectors, occupying now the position of independent traders, and
being no longer subservient to commands, might possibly linger behind
for an extra hour of sleep or to buy provisions for the day. At any rate
I resolved to see if I could catch them and release any of their
unfortunate slaves. Accordingly, assembling my followers round me, in
case there should be an appeal to force, we marched swiftly and silently
down to the camping-place indicated by my informer, and there had the
great joy to catch Mabruki and Athmani lying on the turf, half dozing,
with four slaves—three women and a boy—fastened round the trunk of a
tree, in whose grateful shade the renegades reposed. As I told my men in
a loud voice to cut the ropes which bound the slaves (the poor creatures
had their heads inserted in a kind of wooden pillory, which was tied to
the tree-trunk), Mabruki and Athmani started up in amazed anger, and the
former seized his gun as if meaning to shoot me, but I suppose a glance
at my well-armed followers made him refrain, so he broke out into angry
abuse instead. “Look here, Mabruki,” I said, “if you talk like that I
will have you tied to this tree and soundly thrashed. You are subjects
of the Sayyid of Zanzibar, and as such forbidden to trade in slaves. I
have a perfect right to free these people, and, what is more, if I
carried out my duty I should put you in irons, and hand you over to
justice when I reach Zanzibar; but as I am going back to Kilima-njaro
that is not convenient, so I let you go free for once, knowing that
sooner or later punishment will overtake you.” He changed his tone, and
fawned on me, and assured me that the slaves were not his, but
Mandara’s, and in taking them I should make Mandara my bitter enemy; but
I paid no attention, and carried off the slaves to my town. When we had
reached this place I questioned them, and found they were people of
Maraṅu captured by Mandara in war, and sold cheap to Mabruki, who was
taking them to the coast to sell on his own account, together with a
large number of other slaves which he was to dispose of for Mandara.
These latter had left Taveita, under the charge of one of Mandara’s
Swahilis, by early dawn, and Mabruki, who was the leader of the caravan,
was to have rejoined them by midday. Having learnt this, I ordered the
fetters of the slaves to be struck off, and told them they were now free
to go whithersoever they willed, but that if they feared to fall again
into the hands of their captors they might wait till the morrow, and
accompany my caravan to Maraṅu. This proposal they gladly accepted, and
when the fact was fully realized that their liberty was given back to
them and that they would soon be restored to their mountain home—for
these Čaga people are like the Swiss of old, passionately attached to
their native peaks and valleys—they burst into exclamations of delight,
calling me “Ndofu”—elephant—and “Great Chief,” and “Father,” and, what
was less agreeable, crawling to my feet after the manner of their people
and spitting on me continually, to manifest the esteem in which I was
held. Mabruki and Athmani returned to Mandara’s, vowing they would come
back with a big army to avenge their loss. But I knew it was a vain
threat, so I left my little town with but a small garrison, and started
for Kilima-njaro with a band of over forty men, some carrying loads and
others acting as guards, for we were not too sure that enemies might not
rise up somewhere to contest our progress, and I was resolved this time
to attain my end by force if necessary.
The country of Maraṅu was reached after one day’s long walk. Its
southern frontier was a very remarkable one, and formed a barrier
seemingly impossible to cross in the teeth of armed opposition. An
impetuous stream flowing between precipitous walls of rock separated
Maraṅu from the outer wilderness. When we arrived on the brink of this
ravine and looked across to the opposite side, transit seemed a feat for
birds alone; but under the guidance and with the help of the Wa-maraṅu,
who had come to meet us, we managed to cross this strange gulf. We were
first of all let down a sheer wall of rock twenty feet in height,
clinging to the stout ropes of creepers, and then received in the arms
of stalwart natives, who were standing thigh-deep in the rushing water
at the base of the cliff. Two men carried me over to the opposite shore,
oppressed, not with my weight, but by the force of the current, which
threatened to make them lose their footing and wash us all away.
Fortunately on the further side the cliff was not so precipitous, and
afforded a few feet of landing. Here I paused to watch the safe descent
of my men and goods down the opposite wall of cliff into the water, and,
when all were fairly over their difficulties, I began to scale the bank
behind me, and was able to reach its summit unaided otherwise than by
the friendly branches which the cresting woodland stretched towards me.
Then, when the climb was over, I found myself surrounded by silent
natives, well armed, but quite friendly, and by their directions I
continued my upward journey along a narrow slippery path until I arrived
at the gate of the town.
This perhaps is an incorrect phrase. It is rather the gate of the
country than of the town. Throughout Čaga, by which is meant the
inhabited district of Kilima-njaro, there is no such thing as a
congeries of habitations forming a town or village in our sense of the
word. Each family lives apart with its own two or three houses for men,
women, and beasts, surrounded by its plantations and gardens, with
plenty of room for expansion all round. In another sense, however, each
separate state of Čaga may be looked upon as a huge straggling city, one
vast capital of huts and gardens, equally inhabited and cultivated
throughout its extent. This little territory is more or less completely
surrounded by natural defences—indeed the girdle of ravines and cliffs
has formed the state by giving security to its inhabitants—but there is
almost always one easy means of approach which has been left open by
Nature, and that is, therefore, strongly fortified by man. Consequently
nearly all these tiny Čaga kingdoms have their “door” of entry, which is
at all times strongly guarded, and often serves as a pretext for toll.
In my case, however, as an honoured guest of the chief, I was not asked
for any “gate-money,” and the guards on the farther side of the barrier
invited me cordially to enter freely. This, in spite of goodwill on
their part, was not easy of accomplishment. The opening through which I
was expected to pass was a narrow delta-like slit or tunnel about three
feet high, three feet broad, and six feet long. Through this I had to
wriggle awkwardly, and consequently entered Maraṅu in the attitude of
the Enemy of our race when punished for the fall of man. However, as
this entailed no humiliation in the natives’ eyes, and as prince and
peasant quitted and entered their precincts in the same manner, I took
it very good-humouredly, picked myself up, dusted my habiliments and
smiled beamingly on all around. The smile was returned with many a broad
grin, but as yet no word of greeting passed their lips. They simply sat
on their haunches and stared at me. None of them, except two or three
who had acted as my guides, had ever seen a white man before, and they
wanted to examine the marvel visually before expending their energies in
talk. However, I was not so taciturn, but addressed a few friendly words
in Ki-čaga to the foremost men. A shout of surprise went up, “Amanya
mateta haru!” (He knows our language!) they cried, and we were friends
at once. I could not help feeling how satisfactory this was. Here there
were perhaps 400 savages assembled, all of them armed—in short, most of
the fighting-men of the country were present, and about 200 of them
provided—strange incongruity!—with Government Sniders. These had
recently been obtained from a Swahili trader who had bought rifles from
Thomson’s men and other discharged expeditions on the coast, and had
exchanged them in Maraṅu for ivory. Bravely as my forty followers might
have fought, we should inevitably have been massacred to a man in these
rocky defiles had the natives chosen to revenge on us their old quarrels
with Mandara, in which, until recently, I had been thought to bear an
active part. Fortunately they had no such evil intentions, and I felt
such confidence in the naïve wonder and awe with which I was regarded
that I walked about unarmed, and allowed my men to disperse in all
directions. I inquired for the Sultan, but I was told that he had gone
on a visit to his uncle of Kibôšo, and would not return until the next
day. His brother, however, a proud-looking, handsome boy, with an
ancient Egyptian cast of features and light complexion, was pointed out
to me, and I asked him to show me a place wherein we might camp, as
night was approaching. He set a soldier to lead the way, and we walked
upwards for about half an hour, finally settling on a village-green—a
smooth expanse of turf, intersected by a stream of running water. The
Sultan’s mother, a woman of middle age, came to greet us, and brought
the welcome present of a large fat goat, which was immediately killed,
cut up and distributed among my hungry followers, a nice loin-chop and
kidneys being cooked for me.
The next morning the worthy mother of the reigning chief sent me a bowl
of delicious fresh milk, and I received also many visits on the part of
the local notables, but had to dismiss them while my toilet was being
performed, though this brought little privacy, as many shoved their
heads under the skirting of the tent and watched me take my bath with
intense interest. As soon as I had dressed I set the men to work to cut
branches and make a necessary fence round the tent and kitchen—otherwise
the crowd of natives would have invaded every corner. Then I went on my
walks abroad to see Maraṅu in the fresh morning air, and pay various
visits of ceremony. First, I repaired to the Sultan’s mother to thank
her heartily for sending gifts of meat and milk. This lady received me
in a spacious compound under a kind of open shed, with seats placed all
round, and a handsome white ox-hide neatly stretched over the floor
within. The Sultan’s mother took me by both hands, and looked hard into
my eyes. This ordeal I was instructed (_sotto voce_ by Kiongwe) to bear
without flinching, and on no account to avoid the Sultana’s gaze.
Consequently I glared at her so fixedly that she was forced to lower her
eyes, upon which she turned to her attendants and declared she approved
of me thoroughly. Then I was desired to seat myself by her side on the
white ox-skin. I did so. A brief and embarrassed silence followed,
broken by the queen-mother, who expressed to Kiongwe somewhat
hesitatingly that she greatly desired to see the colour of my legs. On
hearing the request I had first thought to dissuade her by explaining
what a tedious process it would be to unlace and take off my long
shooting-boots, but, seeing she was seriously disappointed, I consented
so far as to pull up my knee-breeches and disclose the upper part of my
shin. Loud were the cries from the many lookers-on, and deep the
admiration of the Sultan’s mother at the sight of flesh so white. “It
looks like cloth which has been washed with soap from the coast,” she
said, and then added, with considerable acumen, “I know why his skin is
so pale; he always keeps it covered. _We_ show everything to the sun,”
which was strictly true, for not only the queen-mother, but most of the
ladies of this African court were really as devoid of apparel as could
well be, the only attempt at a covering being collars of beads and iron
bracelets. After this we went in a long procession to the Sultan’s
residence, the owner being temporarily absent. Here there was much more
constructive art displayed than at Moši. First a solid wall or
_enceinte_ of stones; then the divisions of the minor spaces formed by
neat—extremely neat—hedges of well-trimmed dracæna, and, lastly, stout
fences of large planks, constructed to divide and shut off the various
compartments of the Sultan’s rather _al fresco_ residence. These planks
had not been sawn, but simply split first and then planed by gentle
chopping with a small axe until the thickness was about equal. The
boards were fastened together by holes drilled in the side and stout
bands of leather cord passed through and through.
I extracted the following information from the queen-mother as to the
hereditary laws in this part of Čaga. It is not the eldest son who
succeeds his father as the ruling chief, nor the youngest, but usually
the second or third, because this fortunately placed individual
generally, for reasons too complicated to be here explained, acquires
the greater portion of his sire’s wealth, and is chosen to succeed him
by the elders of the nation as one likely to be munificent. Somiriali,
the present Sultan of Maraṅu, is quite a young man, and has fifty wives.
On the third day of my stay in his country the Sultan returned from his
expedition, and I went to see him early in the morning. After waiting
some minutes in a crowd of soldiers and women, a thin, mean-looking
youth at length appeared, and advanced somewhat timidly towards me. He
took my hand, and I shook his vigorously. Then there was an awkward
pause, and after smiling vaguely at one another, Mauki, one of the
Sultan’s men, called to me from the crowd that I had better withdraw and
see the Sultan afterwards in his house. Accordingly later on I repaired
to the chief’s residence, and there saw him sitting in a close, pokey
little compartment, his sleeping-chamber, in fidgety expectation of his
presents. He looked on restlessly while the tin box was opened, and, as
each fresh thing appeared, he asked, “What else? What else?” The
musical-box he somewhat appreciated, and turned its handle by jerks. The
cloth and beads were hardly looked at, and the coloured pictures which
had so delighted the æsthetic Mandara were received with suspicion and
distrust, as savouring somewhat of magic. After many words and fine
promises, all of which had little effect on the dissipated youth, who
was more concerned about the parasites that infested his person than
about the advantages to be derived from the white man’s friendship, we
withdrew and took our leave; but, shortly afterwards, the Sultan
followed on my footsteps, and appeared in the camp just as I was sitting
down to a quiet breakfast. I began to hate him, especially as he entered
my tidy tent and sat down in his greasy paint and dirt on my clean bed.
Now commenced my difficulties. I wanted, in reality, merely to pass
through this man’s country and obtain guides for the higher regions, and
wished his people to accompany me for the further reason that they would
be able to explain to the warlike Wa-kibôšo, with whom they were allied,
the change in my position, and how I had made friends with their chief
of Maraṅu, who was one of the principal leaders in the coalition against
Mandara.
The chief, however, looked on my arrival in his country as an excellent
opportunity for extortion; and, moreover, wanted me to live permanently
at his court, so that my stream of wealth might flow into his coffers
rather than his neighbours’. So it was I had to intrigue a little with
the Sultan of Maraṅu as to my ultimate intention of returning to
Taveita, and promise anything so that he should remain in good-humour,
and give me guides, and let me go to the snow-peaks. Therefore I was
obliged to control my repugnance at his filthy presence, and smile
sweetly at his inquisitive pryings into my private boxes. At one time he
suddenly seized my loaded revolver, hanging up from the tent-post, and,
before I could stop him, fired off every cartridge in it at random,
fortunately hitting nobody, but only missing my own person by a fluke.
Then he would take my greatcoat and try it on, and indeed endeavoured to
walk off with it, until forcibly detained. At length he calmed down, and
proceeded to formulate his demands, which he desired me to forward by
special messenger to Sir John Kirk, at Zanzibar, hinting that I should
be held a hostage until the goods arrived. I stipulated that meanwhile
he should send me up the mountain. He consented, and then I allowed him
to give the wildest scope to his covetous imagination. “See,” he said,
“I want you to give me this bed” (patting my tidy, clean white couch).
“Very well,” I replied, “when I come back from the mountain.” “And this
chair?” “Yes, and the chair, too.” “Very well, now take karatassi
(paper), and write down all the things I want the Baloza (Sir John Kirk)
to send me from the coast.” (I got out a sheet of note-paper and a
pencil, and affected to write.) “First, I want thirty barrels of
powder.” “Yes,” I answered with sweet compliance, and wrote busily.
“Next, 100 bunduki Sna-ider (Snider rifles), and 100 bunduki za fataki
(muzzle-loading guns), and 1000 viassi (cartridges), for the bunduki
Sna-ider, and a big ‘kinanda’ (concertina) like the Arabs have, and a
little box like this (my desk), and a table and a house of cloth (tent),
and thirty loads of big red beads, and thirty loads of fine blue beads,
and fifty loads of Merikani, and soruali (trousers—a palpable want),
&c.” Here he paused to think of some fresh item, and Kiongwe, enraged at
his rapacity, could no longer restrain his feelings, so he said to me,
in broken English, “This man plenty devilly.” The Sultan pricked up his
ears, and asked suspiciously, “Eh, what? Kitu gani devilly?” (What sort
of thing is “devilly”?) “Oh,” I replied, with much presence of mind, “a
sort of coat like this,” pointing to my jacket. “Very well, then,” he
answered, “write down _two_ devilly.” I affected to do so, and then once
more besought the Sultan that guides might be given me the next morning.
As his greed was now appeased by these lavish promises he assented, and
to my great relief, wrapped his unpleasant garment round him and left my
tent.
Accordingly it was decided that the following day we should commence our
second ascent of Kilima-njaro.
[Illustration:
Fig. 54.—Kibô Cloud-capped.
]