At a swinging pace—Tippu-Tib, the Arab trader—News of Cameron and his
difficulties—The river that flows north for ever—In Dwarf-land,
fighting the dwarfs—Tippu-Tib’s conditions—Friends in council—Heads
or tails—Kalulu’s accident at Nyangwé—Its residents and market—A
muster of the Expedition.
_Oct._—We resumed our journey. The men, women, and children joined in a
grand chorus, while a stentor from Unyamwezi attempted, in a loud and
graphic strain, a description of the joy he felt.
How quickly we marched! What a stride and what _verve_ there was in our
movements! Faster, my friends, faster! that you may boast to the Arabs
at Nyangwé what veterans you are!
There was no word uttered enjoining quicker speed, but my people seemed
intuitively to know my wish; even the youthful gun-bearers vied with
each other in an exhibition of pedestrianism.
Over hill and dale we paced through Uzura, and about noon entered the
village of Mkwanga, eight miles north-north-west of the confluence of
the Luama and the Lualaba.
At Mkwanga we met two Wangwana, who informed us that the Arabs at Mwana
Mamba’s had just returned from an expedition into the forest of Manyema,
to avenge the murder of an Arab called Mohammed bin Soud, and his
caravan of ten men, by Mwana Npunda and his people.
The next day we crossed the Lulindi—a small river thirty-five yards
wide, and fordable—and made a brilliant march of eighteen miles north-
west, across a broad and uninhabited plain which separates Uzura from
Mwana Mamba’s district, Tubanda, where, having come by a “back door,”
and having travelled so quickly, we burst upon the astonished Arabs
before they were aware of our approach. Contrary, moreover, to the
custom of Arabs and Wangwana, I had strictly prohibited the firing of
musketry to announce our arrival; considering the drum and trumpet
sufficient, and less alarming.
Soon, however, the Arabs advanced—Sayid Mezrui, Mohammed bin Sayid,
Muini Hassan, and others, who conducted us to the broad verandah of
Mezrui’s tembé until quarters could be prepared for us.
Last came the famous Hamed bin Mohammed, alias Tippu-Tib, or, as it is
variously pronounced by the natives, Tipo-Tib, or Tibbu-Tib. He was a
tall black-bearded man, of negroid complexion, in the prime of life,
straight, and quick in his movements, a picture of energy and strength.
He had a fine intelligent face, with a nervous twitching of the eyes,
and gleaming white and perfectly-formed teeth. He was attended by a
large retinue of young Arabs, who looked up to him as chief, and a score
of Wangwana and Wanyamwezi followers whom he had led over thousands of
miles through Africa.
With the air of a well-bred Arab, and almost courtier-like in his
manner, he welcomed me to Mwana Mamba’s village, and his slaves being
ready at hand with mat and bolster, he reclined vis-à-vis, while a buzz
of admiration of his style was perceptible from the on-lookers. After
regarding him for a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that this Arab
was a remarkable man—the most remarkable man I had met among Arabs, Wa-
Swahili, and half-castes in Africa. He was neat in his person, his
clothes were of a spotless white, his fez-cap brand new, his waist was
encircled by a rich dowlé, his dagger was splendid with silver filigree,
and his tout ensemble was that of an Arab gentleman in very comfortable
circumstances.
The person above described was the Arab who had escorted Cameron across
the Lualaba as far as Utotera, south latitude 5°, and east longitude 25°
54′. Naturally, therefore, there was no person at Nyangwé whose evidence
was more valuable than Tippu-Tib’s as to the direction that my
predecessor at Nyangwé had taken. The information he gave me was
sufficiently clear—and was, moreover, confirmed by Sayid Mezrui and
other Arabs—that the greatest problem of African geography was left
untouched at the exact spot where Dr. Livingstone had felt himself
unable to prosecute his travels, and whence he had retraced his steps to
Ujiji never to return to Nyangwé.
This was momentous and all-important news to the Expedition. We had
arrived at the critical point in our travels: our destinies now awaited
my final decision.
But first I was anxious to know why Cameron had declined the journey.
Sayid Mezrui said it was because he could not obtain canoes, and because
the natives in the Mitamba or forest were exceedingly averse to
strangers. Tippu-Tib averred also that Cameron’s men decidedly opposed
following the river, as no one knew whither it went.
“In the same way I am told the old man Daoud Liviston”—David
Livingstone—“was prevented from going. The old man tried hard to
persuade the Arabs to lend him canoes, but Muini Dugumbi refused, upon
the ground that he would be rushing to his death. Cameron also asked for
canoes, and offered high prices for them, but Dugumbi would not be
persuaded, as he declined to be held responsible by the British Consul
at Zanzibar for any accident that might happen to him. Bombay, I
believe, wished to go, but Bilal was resolute in his objections to the
river, and each night intrigued with the Arabs to prevent his master.
When Cameron reached Imbarri at Kasongo’s, I offered to take him for a
sum of money as far as the Sankuru river, provided he would give me a
paper stating that I took him at his own request, and releasing me from
all responsibility in the event of a conflict with the natives. He
declined to go. I therefore, at his own request, supplied him with
guides to take him to Juma Merikani, at Kasongo’s, in Rua, where he
would meet Portuguese traders. I have received word from Juma Merikani
that Cameron, after many months’ stay with him, went on his way,
escorted by a large number of Portuguese traders, towards the western
sea. That is all I know about it.”
Out of this frank explanation, I had, therefore, elicited the
information that “want of canoes and hostility of the savages,”
reluctance of the Arabs to permit him to proceed by the river from an
officious regard for his safety, and the “cowardice of his followers,”
were the main causes that prevented the gallant officer from following
the river.
These were difficulties for me also to surmount in some manner not yet
intelligible. How was I to instil courage into my followers, or sustain
it, to obtain the assistance of the Arabs to enable me to make a fair
beginning, and afterwards to purchase or make canoes?
“I suppose, Tippu-Tib,” I said, “having offered the other white man your
assistance, you would have no objections to offer it to me for the same
sum?”
“I don’t know about that,” he replied, with a smile. “I have not many
people with me now. Many are at Imbarri, others are trading in Manyema.”
“How many men have you with you?”
“Perhaps three hundred—or say two hundred and fifty.”
“That number would be a grand escort, amply sufficient, if well managed,
to ensure perfect protection.”
“Yes, united with your party, it would be a very strong force, but how
would it be when I returned alone? The natives would say, seeing only my
own little force, ‘These people have been fighting—half of them are
killed, because they have no ivory with them; let us finish them!’ I
know, my friend, these savages very well, and I tell you that that would
be their way of thinking.”
“But, my friend,” said I, “think how it would be with me, with all the
continent before me, and only protected by my little band!”
“Ah, yes! if you Wasungu” (white men) “are desirous of throwing away
your lives, it is no reason we Arabs should. We travel little by little
to get ivory and slaves, and are years about it—it is now nine years
since I left Zanzibar—but you white men only look for rivers and lakes
and mountains, and you spend your lives for no reason, and to no
purpose. Look at that old man who died in Bisa! What did he seek year
after year, until he became so old that he could not travel? He had no
money, for he never gave any of us anything, he bought no ivory or
slaves, yet he travelled farther than any of us, and for what?”
“I know I have no right to expect you to risk your life for me. I only
wish you to accompany me sixty days’ journey, then leave me to myself.
If sixty days’ journey is too far, half that distance will do; all I am
anxious for is my people. You know the Wangwana are easily swayed by
fear, but if they hear that Tippu-Tib has joined me, and is about to
accompany me, every man will have a lion’s courage.”
“Well, I will think of it to-night, and hold a shauri with my relatives
and principal people, and to-morrow night we will have another talk.”
The next evening, at about eight o’clock, Hamed bin Mohammed, or Tippu-
Tib, appeared with his cousin, Mohammed bin Sayid, and others, to confer
upon the important business broached the evening before, and, after the
usual courteous and ceremonious greetings, I was requested to state my
intentions.
“I would like to go down the river in canoes until I reach the place
where the river turns for good either to the west or east.”
“How many days’ journey on land would that be?” asked Tippu-Tib.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“No; indeed, I was never in that direction; but I have a man here who
has reached farthest of all.”
“Where is he?”
“Speak, Abed, son of Jumah, what you know of this river,” said Tippu-
Tib.
The son of Jumah, thus urged by his superior, spoke and said, “Yes, I
know all about the river, El hamd ul illah!” (“the thanks be to God”).
“In which direction does it flow, my friend?”
“It flows north.”
“And then?”
“It flows north.”
“And then?”
“Still north!”
“Come, my friend, speak; whither does it flow after reaching the north?”
“Why, master,” replied he, with a bland smile of wonder at my apparent
lack of ready comprehension, “don’t I tell you it flows north, and
north, and north, and there is no end to it? I think it reaches the salt
sea, at least some of my friends say so.”
“Well, in which direction is this salt sea?”
“Allah yallim!” (“God knows!”)
“I thought you said you knew all about the river?”
“I know it goes north!” said he decisively, and sharply.
“How do you know?”
“Because I followed Mtagamoyo to Usongora Meno, and, crossing the
Ugarowa,[6] near the Urindi, went with him to the Lumami and to the
dwarf country.”
-----
Footnote 6:
The Ugarowa river is the Arab corruption of the word Lu-alowa, which
Livingstone called Lualaba.
-----
“How many days is it from here to the dwarf country?”
“About nine months.”
“And is the dwarf country near the Ugarowa?”
“It is not far from it.”
“Could you point with your hand the direction of the Ugarowa—near the
dwarf country?”
“Yes, it is there,” pointing north by west, magnetic.
“What are the dwarfs like?—but tell us the story of your journey with
Mtagamoyo.”
After clearing his throat and arranging his cleanly white dress, he gave
me the account of his wanderings to the unknown lands north, as
follows:—
“Mtagamoyo is a man who knows not what fear is—Wallahi! He is as bold as
a lion. When he gave out to the Arabs and Wangwana of Nyangwé that he
was about to proceed as far as possible to hunt up ivory, of course we
all felt that if any man could guide us to new ivory fields it was
Mtagamoyo. Many of the youngest Arabs prepared themselves to follow him,
and all of us mustering our armed slaves, followed in his track.
“We first reached Uregga, a forest land, where there is nothing but
woods, and woods, and woods, for days, and weeks, and months. There was
no end to the woods. The people lived surrounded by woods. Strangers
were few before they saw us, and we had shauri after shauri with them.
We passed along easily for a few days, and then came trouble; we struck
for the Ugarowa, and in about a month we reached Usongora Meno, where we
fought day after day. They are fearful fellows and desperate. We lost
men every day. Every man of ours that was killed was eaten. They were
hiding behind such thick bushes that we could not see them, and their
arrows were poisoned.
“Then the Arabs held another shauri. Some were for returning, for they
had lost many men, but Mtagamoyo would not listen. He said that the
pagans should not drive him away.
“Well, the end of the shauri was that we crossed the Ugarowa, and went
to Ukusu. Wallahi! the Wakusu were worse than those of Usongora Meno,
but Mtagamoyo heard of a country called Unkengeri, where the natives
were said to be better. We pushed on, and arrived at Kima-Kima’s. When
we reached Kima-Kima’s, we possessed 290 guns; we had lost twenty guns
and any number of slaves on the road.
“Kima-Kima, who is on the Lumami, told us about the land of the little
men, where the ivory was so abundant that we might get a tusk for a
single cowrie. You know, master, that when we Arabs hear of ivory being
abundant there is no holding us back. Oh! we started instantly, crossed
the Lumami, and came to the land of the Wakuna. Among the Wakuna, who
are big men themselves, we saw some six or seven of the dwarfs; the
queerest-looking creatures alive, just a yard high, with long beards and
large heads.
“The dwarfs asked us a lot of questions, where we came from, where we
were going, and what we wanted. They seemed to be plucky little devils,
though we laughed to see them. They told us that in their country was so
much ivory that we had not enough men to carry it, but they were very
curious to know what we wanted with it. Did we eat it? ‘No.’ ‘What
then?’ ‘We sell it to other men who make charms of it.’ ‘Oh! What will
you give us if we show the ivory to you?’ ‘We will give you cowries and
beads.’ ‘Good, come along.’
“We travelled six days, and then we came to the border village of their
country. They would not allow us to penetrate farther until they had
seen their king and obtained his consent. In the meantime they said we
might trade round about. We did trade. We purchased in two days more
ivory than the other countries could have supplied us with in two weeks.
“On the third day the little people came back and told us we might go
and live in the king’s village. It was a mere long street, you know,
with houses, extending a long distance on either side. They gave us a
portion of the village to live in. The king was kind, at least he
appeared so the first day; the next day he was not so kind, but he sold
us ivory in plenty. There was no lack of that. The dwarfs came from all
parts. Oh! it is a big country! and everybody brought ivory, until we
had about four hundred tusks, big and little, as much as we could carry.
We had bought it with copper, beads, and cowries. No cloths, for the
dwarfs were all naked, king and all.
“They told us that eleven days’ journey south-west was another country,
where there was even more ivory than they had, and four days beyond that
again was a great lake, where there were ships. The lake was near the
country of a king whom they called Ngombé.
“We did not starve in the dwarf land the first ten days. Bananas as long
as my arm, and plantains as long as the dwarfs were tall. One plantain
was sufficient for a man for one day.
“We thought, seeing that we had obtained as much ivory as we were able
to carry, that we had better return. We told the king that we wanted to
depart. To our surprise, the king—he was no longer than my leg—said that
we should not be allowed to go. ‘Why?’ we asked. ‘Because this is my
country, and you are not to go away until I say.’ ‘But we have finished
our business, and we have had trade sufficient; we don’t wish to buy any
more.’ ‘You must buy all I have got; I want more cowries;’ and he ground
his teeth, and he looked just like a wild monkey.
“Mtagamoyo laughed at him, for he was very funny, and then told him that
we would have to go away, because we had many friends waiting for us. He
said, ‘You shall not go from my country.’
“We held another shauri, when it was agreed that if we stayed longer we
might get into trouble and lose our ivory, and that it was better to
leave within two days. But we did not have to wait two days for the
trouble! It came even before we had finished our shauri. We heard a
woman scream loud. We rushed out, and met some Wangwana running towards
us, and among them a woman with a dwarf’s arrow in her breast.
“‘What’s this, what’s this?’ we asked, and they cried out, ‘The dwarfs
shot this woman while she was drawing water, and they are coming in
immense numbers towards us from all the other villages. It’s a war,
prepare yourselves!’
“We were not a bit too soon: we had scarcely put on our belts and seized
our guns before the vicious wretches were upon us, and shooting their
reed arrows in clouds. They screamed and yelled just like monkeys. Many
of our people fell dead instantly from the poison before we could get
together and fire on them. Mtagamoyo! he was everywhere brandishing his
two-handed sword, and cleaving them as you would cleave a banana. The
arrows passed through his shirt in many places. There were many good
fellows like Mtagamoyo there, and they fought well; but it was of no
use. The dwarfs were firing from the top of the trees; they crept
through the tall grass close up to us, and shot their arrows in our
faces. Then Mtagamoyo, seeing it was getting hot work, shouted ‘Boma!
Boma! Boma!’ (palisade), and some hundreds of us cut down banana-trees,
tore doors out, and houses down, and formed a boma at each end of the
street, and then we were a little better off, for it was not such rapid,
random shooting; we fired more deliberately, and after several hours
drove them off.
“Do you think they gave us peace? Not a bit; a fresh party came up and
continued the fight. They were such small things, we could not see them
very well; had they been tall men like us, we might have picked off
hundreds of them. We could not fight all the time, for some of us had to
sleep, so Mtagamoyo divided us into two parties, one party to go to
sleep, the other to watch the boma. All night we heard the reed arrows
flying past, or pattering on the roofs or the boma fence; all night we
heard their yells. Once or twice they tried to storm the boma, but we
had twenty muskets at each end.
“Well, the fight lasted all that night, and all the next day, and
throughout the next night. And we could get no water, until Mtagamoyo
called out a hundred fellows, fifty with muskets and fifty with big
water-pots, to follow him. Mtagamoyo was a lion; he held up a shield
before him, and looking around he just ran straight where the crowd was
thickest; and he seized two of the dwarfs, and we who followed him
caught several more, for they would not run away until they saw what our
design was, and then they left the water clear. We filled our pots, and
carried the little Shaitans (devils) into the boma; and there we found
we had caught the king!
“We all argued that we should kill him, but Mtagamoyo would not consent.
‘Kill the others,’ he said, and we cut all their heads off instantly and
tossed them outside. But the king was not touched.
“Then the dwarfs stopped fighting; they came to us, and cried ‘Sennené!
Sennené!’ (‘Peace, peace’). We made peace with them; and they said that
if we gave them their king we might go away unmolested. After a long
shauri we gave him up. But the war was worse than ever. Thousands came
towards us, and every man was as busy as he could be shooting them. We
fought all that day and night, and then we saw that the powder would not
last; we had only two kegs left.
“So our chiefs then mustered us all together, and told us all that the
only way was to rush out of the boma again and catch them and kill them
with our swords in the way that Mtagamoyo had fought.
“After making everything ready we rushed out, and every man, bending his
head, made straight for them. It was a race! When they saw us coming out
with our broad long swords, bright as glass, they ran away; but we
followed them like wolves for a couple of hours. Ah, we killed many,
very many, for they could not run as fast as we could.
“We then returned, packed up quickly, took up one half of our ivory, and
started for the forest. We travelled until night, and then, quite tired
out, we slept. Master, in the middle of the night they were again on us!
Arrows sounded ‘twit,’ ‘twit’ in all directions; some one was falling
down every minute. Our powder was fast going. At last we ran away,
throwing down everything except our guns and swords. Now and then we
could hear Mtagamoyo’s horn, and we followed it. But nearly all were so
weakened by hunger and want of water that they burst their hearts
running, and died. Others lying down to rest found the little devils
close to them when too late, and were killed. Master, out of that great
number of people that left Nyangwé, Arabs, Wangwana, and our slaves,
only thirty returned alive, and I am one of them.”
“What is your name, my friend?” I demanded.
“Bwana Abedi,” he replied.
“And you follow Tippu-Tib now, do you, or Mtagamoyo?”
“I follow Tippu-Tib,” he answered.
“Ah! good. Did you see anything else very wonderful on your journey?”
“Oh yes! There are monstrous large boa-constrictors in the forest of
Uregga, suspended by their tails to the branches, waiting for the
passer-by or a stray antelope. The ants in that forest are not to be
despised. You cannot travel without your body being covered with them,
when they sting you like wasps. The leopards are so numerous that you
cannot go very far without seeing one. Almost every native wears a
leopard-skin cap. The Sokos (gorillas) are in the woods, and woe befall
the man or woman met alone by them; for they run up to you and seize
your hands, and bite the fingers off one by one, and as fast as they
bite one off, they spit it out. The Wasongora Meno and Waregga are
cannibals, and unless the force is very strong, they never let strangers
pass. It is nothing but constant fighting. Only two years ago a party
armed with three hundred guns started north of Usongora Meno; they only
brought sixty guns back, and no ivory. If one tries to go by the river,
there are falls after falls, which carry the people over and drown them.
A party of thirty men, in three canoes, went down the river half a day’s
journey from Nyangwé, when the old white man was living there. They were
all drowned, and that was the reason he did not go on. Had he done so,
he would have been eaten, for what could he have done? Ah, no. Master,
the country is bad, and the Arabs have given it up beyond Uregga. They
will not try the journey into that country again, after trying it three
times and losing nearly five hundred men altogether.”
“Your story is very interesting, Abedi,” said I; “some of it, I think,
is true, for the old white man said the same thing to me when I was at
Ujiji some four years ago. However, I want to hear Tippu-Tib speak.”
During all the time that Abedi had related his wonderful experiences,
the other Arabs had been listening, profoundly interested; but when I
turned inquiringly to Tippu-Tib, he motioned all to leave the room,
except his cousin Mohammed bin Sayid.
When we were alone, Tippu-Tib informed me that he had been consulting
with his friends and relatives, and that they were opposed to his
adventuring upon such a terrible journey; but that, as he did not wish
to see me disappointed in my prospects, he had resolved to accompany me
a distance of sixty camps, each camp to be four hours’ march from the
other, for the sum of 5000 dollars, on the following conditions:—
1. That the journey should commence from Nyangwé in any direction I
choose, and on any day I mentioned.
2. That the journey should not occupy more time than three months from
the first day it was commenced.
3. That the rate of travel should be two marches to one halt.
4. That if he accompanied me sixty marches—each march of four hours’
duration—I should at the end of that distance return with him back again
to Nyangwé, for mutual protection and support, unless we met traders
from the west coast, whom I might accompany to the western sea, provided
I permitted two-thirds of my force to return with him to Nyangwé.
5. That, exclusive of the 5000 dollars, I should provision 140 men
during their absence from Mwana Mamba—going and returning.
6. That if, after experience of the countries and the natives, I found
it was impracticable to continue the journey, and decided upon returning
before the sixty marches were completed, I should not hold him
responsible, but pay him the sum of 5000 dollars without any deduction.
These terms I thought reasonable—all except article 4; but though I
endeavoured to modify the article, in order to ensure full liberty to
continue the journey alone if I thought fit, Tippu-Tib said he would not
undertake the journey alone, from a distance of sixty camps to Mwana
Mamba, even though 50,000 dollars were promised him, because he was
assured he would never return to enjoy the money. He would much prefer
continuing with me down to the sea, for a couple of thousand dollars
more, to returning alone with his 140 men for 50,000 dollars. He agreed,
however, after a little remonstrance, to permit the addition of article
7, which was to the effect that if he, Tippu-Tib, abandoned the journey
through faint-heartedness, before the full complement of the marches had
been completed, he was to forfeit the whole sum of 5000 dollars, and the
return escort.
“There is no hurry about it,” said I. “You may change your mind, and I
may change mine. We will both take twenty-four hours to consider it. To-
morrow night the agreement shall be drawn up ready for our seals, or
else you will be told that I am unable to agree to your conditions.”
The truth was that I had opened negotiations without having consulted my
people; and as our conversation had been private, it remained for me to
ascertain the opinion of Frank, before my next encounter with Tippu-Tib.
At 6 P.M., a couple of saucers, filled with palm-oil and fixed with
cotton-wick, were lit. It was my after-dinner hour, the time for pipes
and coffee, which Frank was always invited to share.
When he came in, the coffee-pot was boiling, and little Mabruki was in
waiting to pour out. The tobacco-pouch, filled with the choicest
production of Africa, that of Masansi near Uvira, was ready. Mabruki
poured out the coffee, and retired, leaving us together.
“Now Frank, my son,” I said, “sit down. I am about to have a long and
serious chat with you. Life and death—yours as well as mine, and those
of all the Expedition—hang on the decision I make to-night.”
And then I reminded him of his friends at home, and also of the dangers
before him; of the sorrow his death would cause, and also of the honours
that would greet his success; of the facility of returning to Zanzibar,
and also of the perilous obstacles in the way of advance—thus carefully
alternating the _pro_ with the _con._, so as not to betray my own
inclinations. I reminded him of the hideous scenes we had already been
compelled to witness and to act in, pointing out that other wicked
tribes, no doubt, lay before us; but also recalling to his memory how
treachery, cunning, and savage courage had been baulked by patience and
promptitude; and how we still possessed the power to punish those who
threatened us or murdered our friends. And I ended with words something
like these:—
“There is no doubt some truth in what the Arabs say about the ferocity
of these natives before us. Livingstone, after fifteen thousand miles of
travel, and a lifetime of experience among Africans, would not have
yielded the brave struggle without strong reasons; Cameron, with his
forty-five Snider rifles, would never have turned away from such a
brilliant field if he had not sincerely thought that they were
insufficient to resist the persistent attacks of countless thousands of
wild men. But while we grant that there may be a modicum of truth in
what the Arabs say, it is in their ignorant superstitious nature to
exaggerate what they have seen. A score of times have we proved them
wrong. Yet their reports have already made a strong impression on the
minds of the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi. They are already trembling with
fear, because they suspect that I am about to attempt the cannibal lands
beyond Nyangwé. On the day that we propose to begin our journey, we
shall have no Expedition.
“On the other hand, I am confident that, if I am able to leave Nyangwé
with the Expedition intact, and to place a breadth of wild country
between our party and the Arab depot, I shall be able to make men of
them. There are good stuff, heroic qualities, in them; but we must get
free from the Arabs, or they will be very soon demoralized. It is for
this purpose I am negotiating with Tippu-Tib. If I can arrange with him
and leave Nyangwé without the dreadful loss we experienced at Ujiji, I
feel sure that I can inspire my men to dare anything with me.
“The difficulty of transport, again, is enormous. We cannot obtain
canoes at Nyangwé. Livingstone could not. Cameron failed. No doubt I
shall fail. I shall not try to obtain any. But we might buy up all the
axes that we can see between here and Nyangwé, and travelling overland
on this side the Lulaba, we might, before Tippu-Tib’s contract is at an
end, come across a tribe which would sell their canoes. We have
sufficient stores to last a long time, and I shall purchase more at
Nyangwé. If the natives will not sell, we can make our own canoes, if we
possess a sufficient number of axes to set all hands at work.
“Now, what I wish you to tell me, Frank, is your opinion as to what we
ought to do.”
Frank’s answer was ready.
“I say, ‘Go on, sir.’”
“Think well, my dear fellow; don’t be hasty, life and death hang on our
decision. Don’t you think we could explore to the east of Cameron’s
road?”
“But there is nothing like this great river, sir.”
“What do you say to Lake Lincoln, Lake Kamolondo, Lake Bemba, and all
that part, down to the Zambezi?”
“Ah! that is a fine field, sir, and perhaps the natives would not be so
ferocious. Would they?”
“Yet, as you said just now, it would be nothing to the great river,
which for all these thousands of years has been flowing steadily to the
north through hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles, of which no one has
ever heard a word!”
“Let us follow the river, sir.”
“Yet, my friend, think yet again. Look at all these faithful fellows
whose lives depend on our word; think of our own, for we are yet young,
and strong, and active. Why should we throw them away for a barren
honour, or if we succeed, have every word we said doubted, and carped
at, and our motives misconstrued by malicious minds, who distort
everything to our injury?”
“Ah, true, sir. I was one of those who doubted that you had ever found
Livingstone. I don’t mind telling you now. Until I came to Zanzibar, and
saw your people, I did not believe it, and there are hundreds in
Rochester who shared my opinion.”
“And do you believe, Frank, that you are in Manyema now?”
“I am obliged to, sir.”
“Are you not afraid, should you return to England, that when men say you
have never been to Africa, as no doubt they will, you will come to
disbelieve it yourself?”
“Ah no, sir,” he replied. “I can never forget Ituru; the death of my
brother in that wild land; the deaths of so many Wangwana there; the
great Lake; Uganda; our march to Muta Nzigé; Rumanika; my life in Ujiji;
the Tanganika; and our march here.”
“But what do you think, Frank? Had we not better explore north-east of
here, until we reach Muta Nzigé, circumnavigate that lake, and strike
across to Uganda again, and return to Zanzibar by way of Kagehyi?”
“That would be a fine job, sir, if we could do it.”
“Yet, if you think of it, Frank, this great river which Livingstone
first saw, and which broke his heart almost to turn away from and leave
a mystery, is a noble field too. Fancy, by-and-by, after buying or
building canoes, our floating down the river day by day, either to the
Nile or to some vast lake in the far north, or to the Congo and the
Atlantic Ocean! Think what a benefit our journey will be to Africa.
Steamers from the mouth of the Congo to Lake Bemba, and to all the great
rivers which run into it!”
“I say, sir, let us toss up; best two out of three to decide it.”
“Toss away. Here is a rupee.”
“Heads for the north and the Lualaba; tails for the south and Katanga.”
Frank stood up, his face beaming. He tossed the rupee high up. The coin
dropped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Tails, sir!” said Frank, with a face expressive of strong disapproval.
“Toss again.”
He tossed again, and “tails” was again announced—and six times running
“tails” won.
We then tried straws—the short straws for the south, the long straws for
the river Lualaba—and again we were disappointed, for Frank persisted in
drawing out the short straws, and in leaving the long straws in my
hands.
“It is of no use, Frank. We’ll face our destiny, despite the rupee and
straws. With your help, my dear fellow, I will follow the river.”
“Mr. Stanley, have no fear of me. I shall stand by you. The last words
of my dear old father were, ‘Stick by your master.’ And there is my
hand, sir, you shall never have cause to doubt me.”
[Illustration: “HEADS FOR THE NORTH AND THE LUALABA; TAILS FOR THE SOUTH
AND KATANGA.”]
“Good, I shall go on then. I will finish this contract with Tippu-Tib,
for the Wangwana, on seeing him accompany us, will perhaps be willing to
follow me. We may also recruit others at Nyangwé. And then, if the
natives will allow peaceful passage through their countries, so much the
better. If not, our duty says, ‘Go on.’”
The next night Tippu-Tib and his friends visited me again. The contract
was written, and signed by the respective parties and their witnesses.
The Wangwana chiefs were then called, and it was announced to them that
Tippu-Tib, with 140 guns and seventy Wanyamwezi spearmen, would escort
us a distance of sixty camps, when, if we found the countries hostile to
us, and no hopes of meeting other traders, we should return with him to
Nyangwé. If we met Portuguese or Turkish traders, a portion of us would
continue the journey with them, and the remainder would return with
Tippu-Tib to Nyangwé. This announcement was received with satisfaction,
and the chiefs said that, owing to Tippu-Tib’s presence, no Arab at
Nyangwé would dare to harbour a runaway from the Expedition.
Cowries and beads were then counted out and given that evening to Tippu-
Tib, as ration money for ten days from the day of his departure from
Mwana Mamba.
_Oct. 24._—The next morning, being the 24th of October, the Expedition
left Mwana Mamba in high spirits. The good effect of the contract with
Tippu-Tib had already brought us recruits, for on the road I observed
several strange faces of men who, on our arrival at the first camp,
Marimbu, eleven miles north-west from Mwana Mamba, appeared before my
tent, and craved to be permitted to follow us. They received an advance
in cloth, and their names were entered on the muster-list of the
Expedition at the same rate of pay as the other Wanyamwezi and Wangwana.
_Oct. 25._—Through a fine rolling country, but depopulated, with every
mile marked by ruined villages, we marched in a north-westerly
direction, thirteen miles to Benangongo, from Marimbu, and, on the 25th,
arrived at Kankumba, after a journey of twelve miles, crossing the
Mshama stream by the way.
From our camp at Kankumba we were pointed out Nyangwé, and, as it was
only five miles distant, some of the people pretended to be able to see
it. About one mile from us was the marshy valley of the Kunda river,
another tributary of the Lualaba, which rises in Uzimba; to the east-
north-east of us, about eight miles off, rose some hilly cones, spurs of
the Manyema hills; on the west stretched a rolling grassy land extending
to the Lualaba.
The grass (genus _Panicum_) of Manyema is like other things in this
prolific land, of gigantic proportions, and denser than the richest
field of corn. The stalks are an inch in diameter, and about 8 feet
high. In fact, what I have called “grassy land” is more like a waving
country planted with young bamboo.
Young Kalulu, who, since his recapture at the Uguha port on Lake
Tanganika, had been well behaved, and was in high favour again, met with
a serious and very remarkable accident at Kankumba. A chief, called
Mabruki the elder, had retained a cartridge in his Snider, contrary to
orders, and, leaving it carelessly on the stacked goods, a hurrying
Mgwana kicked it down with his foot, which caused it to explode. Kalulu,
who was reclining on his mat near a fire, was wounded in no fewer than
_eight_ places, the bullet passing through the outer part of his lower
leg, the upper part of his thigh, and, glancing over his right ribs,
through the muscles of his left arm. Though the accident had caused
severe wounds, there was no danger; and, by applying a little arnica,
lint, and bandages, we soon restored him to a hopeful view of his case.
_Oct. 27._—On the morning of the 27th we descended from our camp at
Kankumba to the banks of the Kunda, a river about 40 yards wide, and 10
feet deep at the ferry. The canoe-men were Wagenya or Wenya fishermen
under the protection of Sheikh Abed bin Salim, alias “Tanganika.”
A rapid march of four miles brought us to the outskirts of Nyangwé,
where we were met by Abed bin Salim, an old man of sixty-five years of
age, Mohammed bin Sayid, a young Arab with a remarkably long nose and
small eyes, Sheikh Abed’s fundis or elephant hunters, and several
Wangwana, all dressed in spotless white shirts, crimson fezzes, and
sandals.
[Illustration: A CANOE OF THE WENYA OR WAGENYA FISHERMEN.]
Sheikh Abed was pleased to monopolize me, by offering me a house in his
neighbourhood.
The manner that we entered Nyangwé appeared, from subsequent
conversation, to have struck Sheikh Abed, who, from his long residence
there, had witnessed the arrival and departure of very many caravans.
There was none of the usual firing of guns and wild shouting and
frenzied action; and the order and steadiness of veterans, the close
files of a column which tolerably well understood by this time the
difference between discipline and lawlessness with its stragglers and
slovenly laggards, made a marked impression upon the old Arab. Ever
since the murder of Kaif Halleck in Ituru, our sick had never been
permitted to crawl to camp unaided and unprotected. The asses, four in
number, and supernumeraries were always at hand to convey those unable
to travel, while those only slightly indisposed were formed into a
separate company under Frank and six chiefs.
Another thing that surprised the Arab was the rapidity of the journey
from the Tanganika—338 miles in forty-three days, inclusive of all
halts. He said that the usual period occupied by Arabs was between three
and four months. Yet the members of the Expedition were in admirable
condition. They had never enjoyed better health, and we had not one sick
person; the only one incapacitated from work was Kalulu, and he had been
accidentally wounded only the very night before. Between the Tanganika
and the Arab depot of Nyangwé neither Frank nor I had suffered the
slightest indisposition.
Nyangwé is the extreme westernmost locality inhabited by the Arab
traders from Zanzibar. It stands in east longitude 26° 16′, south
latitude 4° 15′, on the right or eastern side of the Lualaba, on the
verge of a high and reddish bank rising some forty feet above the river,
with clear open country north along the river for a distance of three
miles, east some ten miles, south over seventy miles, or as far as the
confluence of the Luama with the Lualaba. The town called Nyangwé is
divided into two sections. The northern section has for its centre the
quarters of Muini Dugumbi, the first Arab arrival here (in 1868); and
around his house are the commodious quarters of his friends, their
families and slaves—in all, perhaps, 300 houses. The southern section is
separated from its neighbour by a broad hollow, cultivated and sown with
rice for the Arabs. When the Lualaba rises to its full amplitude, this
hollow is flooded. The chief house of the southern half of Nyangwé is
the large and well-built clay _banda_ of Sheikh Abed bin Salim. In close
neighbourhood to this are the houses and huts of those Arab Wagwana who
prefer the company of Abed bin Salim to Muini Dugumbi. Abed showed me
his spacious courtyard, wherein he jealously guards his harem of thirty
fine, comely, large-eyed women. He possesses two English hens which came
from India, and several chickens of mixed breed, two dozen tame pigeons,
and some guinea-fowls; in his store-room were about sixty or seventy
tusks, large and small.
Between the two foreign chiefs of Nyangwé there is great jealousy. Each
endeavours to be recognized by the natives as being the most powerful.
Dugumbi is an east coast trader of Sa’adani, a half-caste, a vulgar,
coarse-minded old man of probably seventy years of age, with a negroid
nose and a negroid mind. Sheikh Abed is a tall, thin old man, white-
bearded, patriarchal in aspect, narrow-minded, rather peevish and quick
to take offence, a thorough believer in witchcraft, and a fervid Muslim.
Close to Abed’s elbows of late years has been the long-nosed young Arab
Mohammed bin Sayid: superstitious beyond measure, of enormous cunning
and subtlety, a pertinacious beggar, of keen trading instincts, but in
all matters outside trade as simple as a child. He offered, for a
consideration and on condition that I would read the Arabic Koran, to
take me up and convey me to any part of Africa within a day. By such
unblushing falsehoods he has acquired considerable influence over the
mind of Sheik Abed. The latter told me that he was half afraid of him,
and that he believed Mohammed was an extraordinary man. I asked the
silly old Sheik if he had lent him any ivory. No; but he was constantly
being asked for the loan of ten Frasilah (350 lbs.) of ivory, for which
he was promised fifteen Frasilah, or 525 lbs., within six months.
Mohammed, during the very first day of my arrival, sent one of his
favourite slaves to ask first for a little writing-paper, then for
needles and thread, and, a couple of hours afterwards, for white pepper
and a bar of soap; in the evening, for a pound or two of sugar and a
little tea, and, if I could spare it, he would be much obliged for some
coffee. The next day petitions, each very prettily worded—for Mohammed
is an accomplished reader of the Koran—came, first for medicine, then
for a couple of yards of red cloth, then for a few yards of fine white
sheeting, &c. I became quite interested in him—for was he not a lovable,
genial character, as he sate there chewing betel-nut and tobacco to
excess, twinkling his little eyes with such malicious humour in them
that, while talking with him, I could not withdraw mine from watching
their quick flashes of cunning, and surveying the long, thin nose with
its impenetrable mystery and classic lines? I fear Mohammed did not love
me, but my admiration was excessive for Mohammed.
“La il Allah—il Allah!” he was heard to say to Sheik Abed, “that old
white man Daoud never gave much to any man; this white man gives
_nothing_.” Certainly not, Mohammed. My admiration is great for thee, my
friend; but thou liest so that I am disgusted with thee, and thou hast
such a sweet, plausible, villainous look in thy face, I could punch thee
heartily.
_Oct. 28._—The next morning Muini (Lord) Dugumbi and following came—a
gang of veritable freebooters, chiefest of whom was the famous
Mtagamoyo—the butcher of women and fusillader of children. Tippu-Tib,
when I asked him a few weeks after what he thought of Mtagamoyo, turned
up his nose and said, “He is brave, no doubt, but he is a man whose
heart is as big as the end of my little finger. He has no feeling, he
kills a native as though he were a serpent—it matters not of what sex.”
This man is about forty-four years of age, of middle stature and swarthy
complexion, with a broad face, black beard just greying, and thin-
lipped. He spoke but little, and that little courteously. He did not
appear very formidable, but he might be deadly nevertheless. The Arabs
of Nyangwé regard him as their best fighter.
Dugumbi the patriarch, or, as he is called by the natives, Molemba-
Lemba, had the rollicking look of a prosperous and coarse-minded old
man, who was perfectly satisfied with the material aspect of his
condition. He deals in humour of the coarsest kind—a vain, frivolous old
fellow, ignorant of everything but the art of collecting ivory; who has
contrived to attach to himself a host of nameless half-castes of
inordinate pride, savage spirit, and immeasurable greed.
The Arabs of Nyangwé, when they first heard of the arrival of Tippu-Tib
at Imbarri from the south, were anxious to count him as their fellow-
settler; but Tippu-Tib had no ambition to become the chief citizen of a
place which could boast of no better settlers than vain old Dugumbi, the
butcher Mtagamoyo, and silly Sheik Abed; he therefore proceeded to Mwana
Mamba’s, where he found better society with Mohammed bin Sayid, Sayid
bin Sultan, Msé Ani, and Sayid bin Mohammed el Mezrui. Sayid bin Sultan,
in features, is a rough copy of Abdul Aziz, late Sultan of Turkey.
One of the principal institutions at Nyangwé is the Kituka, or the
market, with the first of which I made acquaintance in 1871, in Ujiji
and Urundi. One day it is held in the open plaza in front of Sheik
Abed’s house; on the next day in Dugumbi’s section, half a mile from the
other; and on the third at the confluence of the Kunda and the Lualaba;
and so on in turn.
In this market everything becomes vendible and purchasable, from an
ordinary earthenware pot to a fine handsome girl from Samba, Marera, or
Ukusu. From one thousand to three thousand natives of both sexes and of
all ages gather here from across the Lualaba and from the Kunda banks,
from the islands up the river and from the villages of the Mitamba or
forest. Nearly all are clad in the fabrics of Manyema, fine grass
cloths, which are beautifully coloured and very durable. The articles
sold here for cowries, beads, copper and iron wire, and lambas, or
squares of palm cloth,[7] represent the productions of Manyema. I went
round the market and made out the following list:—
Sweet potatoes.
Yams.
Maize.
Sesamum.
Millet.
Beans.
Cucumbers.
Melons.
Cassava.
Ground-nuts.
Bananas.
Sugar-cane.
Pepper (in berries).
Vegetables for broths.
Wild fruit.
Palm-butter.
Oil-palm nuts.
Pine-apples.
Honey.
Eggs.
Fowls.
Black pigs.
Goats.
Sheep.
Parrots.
Palm-wine (Malofu).
Pombé (beer).
Mussels and oysters from the river.
Fresh fish.
Dried fish.
Whitebait.
Snails (dried).
Salt.
White ants.
Grasshoppers.
Tobacco (dried leaf).
Pipes.
Fishing-nets.
Basket-work.
Cassava bread.
Cassava flour.
Copper bracelets.
Iron wire.
Iron knobs.
Hoes.
Spears.
Bows and arrows.
Hatchets.
Rattan-cane staves.
Stools.
Crockery.
Powdered camwood.
Grass cloths.
Grass mats.
Fuel.
Ivory.
Slaves.
-----
Footnote 7:
Made from the fibre of the _Raphia vinifera_ palm.
-----
From this it will be perceived that the wants of Nyangwé are very
tolerably supplied. And how like any other marketplace it was! with its
noise and murmur of human voices. The same rivalry in extolling their
wares, the eager quick action, the emphatic gesture, the inquisitive
look, the facial expressions of scorn and triumph, anxiety, joy,
plausibility, were all there. I discovered, too, the surprising fact
that the aborigines of Manyema possess just the same inordinate ideas in
respect to their wares as London, Paris, and New York shopkeepers.
Perhaps the Manyema people are not so voluble, but they compensate for
lack of language by gesture and action, which are unspeakably eloquent.
During this month of the year the Lualaba reached its lowest level. Our
boat, the _Lady Alice_, after almost being re-built, was launched in the
river, and with sounding-line and sextant on board, my crew and I, eager
to test the boat on the grey-brown waters of the Great River, pushed off
at 11 A.M. and rowed for an island opposite, 800 yards distant, taking
soundings as we went.
The following are the figures, noted down after each trial with the
lead, beginning thirty yards from shore, and ending at the low brush-
covered island opposite Nyangwé:—
18 23 24 15
19 24 24½ 15
18 25 22 15½
18½ 24½ 23 14
20 25 22 13
20½ 26 21 12
19 27 19 9
21 27½ 17 9½
16 8
—-the total of which gives a mean of 18 feet 9 inches.
The easternmost island in mid-river is about 100 yards across at its
widest part, and between it and another island is a distance of from 250
to 300 yards. From the second island to the low shore opposite Nyangwé
is about 250 yards, and these channels have a slightly swifter flow than
the main river. The mean depth of the central channel was 12½ feet, the
westernmost 11 feet, and the entire width of clear water flow was about
1300 yards. During the months of April, May, and June, and the early
part of July, the Lualaba is full, and overspreads the low lands
westward for nearly a mile and a half. The Lualaba then may be said to
be from four thousand to five thousand yards wide opposite Nyangwé.
The Arabs, wherever they settle throughout Africa, endeavour to
introduce the seeds of the vegetables and fruit-trees which grow in
their beloved island of Zanzibar. At Unyanyembé, therefore, they have
planted papaws, sweet limes, mangoes, lemons, custard-apples,
pomegranates, and have sown wheat and rice in abundance. At Ujiji also
they have papaws, sweet limes, pomegranates, lemons, wheat, rice, and
onions. At Nyangwé, their fruit consists of pine-apples, papaws, and
pomegranates. They have succeeded admirably in their rice, both at
Nyangwé, Kasongo’s, and Mwana Mamba’s. Onions are a failure, the Arabs
say, because of a species of worm which destroys them. The banana (_Musa
paradisaica_) and plantain (_Musa sapientum_) are indigenous.
The Wagenya, as the Arabs call them, or Wenya—pronounced Wainya—as they
style themselves, are a remarkable tribe of fishers, who inhabit both
banks of the Lualaba, from the confluence of the Kamalondo on the left
bank down to the sixth cataract of the Stanley Falls, and on the right
bank from the confluence of the Luama down to Ubwiré or Usongora Meno.
The Wenya were the aborigines of Nyangwé, when the advanced party of
Muini Dugumbi appeared on the scene, precursors of ruin, terror, and
depopulation to the inhabitants of 700 square miles of Manyema.
Considering that the fertile open tract of country between the Luama and
Nyangwé was exceedingly populous, as the ruins of scores of villages
testify, sixty inhabitants to the square mile would not be too great a
proportion. The river border, then, of Manyema, from the Luama to
Nyangwé, may be said to have had a population of 42,000 souls, of which
there remain probably only 20,000. The others have been deported, or
massacred, or have fled to the islands or emigrated down the river.
The Arabs and Wangwana have murdered also the word Lualaba, or Lualowa.
They have given us instead Ugalowa, Ugarowa, which must be rejected, as
I never heard a single native west of the Tanganika use the term. It
originated, no doubt, from some slave of Uhiyau, or Nyassa, Bisa,
Unyamwezi, or other parts. Had an intelligent Arab heard the name first,
we should most probably have received something nearer the correct word.
Manyema is variously pronounced as Mani-yema, Manuema, Mani-wema, but
the first is the most popular.
For the spelling of the name Tanga-nika, I still maintain that that is
the most correct, and that it is purer African than Tanga-ny-ika.
Neither Arab, Mgwana, nor aborigine of the interior ever approached such
a sound. It is pronounced the same as Amerika, Afrika, Angel-ica,
Freder-ica. I have only heard one name throughout Africa resembling that
which I reject, and that was Ny-ika, king of Gambaragara, pronounced
Nye-ika.
_Nov. 2._—Tippu-Tib arrived at Nyangwé on the 2nd of November, with a
much larger force than I anticipated, for he had nearly 700 people with
him. However, he explained that he was about to send some 300 of them to
a country called Tata, which lies to the east of Usongora Meno.
_Nov. 4._—On the 4th of November the members of the Expedition were
mustered, and we ascertained that they numbered 146,[8] and that we
possessed the following arms—Sniders, 29; percussion-lock muskets, 32;
Winchesters, 2; double-barrelled guns, 2; revolvers, 10; axes, 68. Out
of this number of sixty-four guns, only forty were borne by trustworthy
men; the others were mere pagazis, who would prefer becoming slaves to
fighting for their freedom and lives. At the same time they were
valuable as porters, and faithful to their allotted duties and their
contract when not enticed away by outside influences or fear. The
enormous force that Tippu-Tib brought to Nyangwé quite encouraged them,
and when I asked them if they were ready to make good their promise to
me at Zanzibar and Muta Nzigé lake, they replied unanimously in the
affirmative.
-----
Footnote 8:
This number was finally increased by the addition of six stout young
fellows from Nyangwé, which made our total number of men, women, and
children (sons of the Wangwana, from Zanzibar), 154.
-----
“Then to-night, my friends,” said I, “you will pack up your goods, and
to-morrow morning at the first hour let me see you in line before my
house ready to start.”