“I fruitless mourn to him who cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.”
GRAY.
Leaving Mowa—The whirling pools of Mowa—The _Jason_ swept over the
falls—The “Little Master” drowned—Too brave!—“Ah, Uledi, had you but
saved him!”—The sympathy of the savages.
_June 3._—The fatal 3rd of June found us refreshed after our halt of
seven days, and prepared to leave Mowa to proceed to Zinga, there to
establish a new camp above its great cataract, while the canoes should
be leisurely taken down with such caution as circumstances demanded.
Kachéché and Wadi Rehani, the store-keeper, who, in the absence of
Frank, were deputed to look after the land party, mustered their
following at break of day, which consisted of such invalids as were able
to travel by land, the women and children, and sixty men carrying the
stores, tents, and equipments of the Expedition.
Meanwhile, it was my duty to endeavour to reach Zinga—only two miles off
by river, while the circuitous route by land was fully three miles—in
advance of the land party, in order to prepare the aborigines for the
reception of the Expedition. As I set out from Mowa Cove, Frank crawled
on hands and knees to a rock overlooking the river to watch us depart,
and the same feeling attracted Manwa Sera and the natives to the spot.
Clinging close to the rock-lined shore, we rowed out of the cove, in
full view of the river and all its terrors. For three-fourths of a mile
to our left the river stormed down with long lines of brown billows.
Arriving at Massessé Point, or the neck of the walled channel which
separates Pocock Basin below from Mowa Basin, the river relaxed its
downward current, and discharged fully a sixth of its volume to the
right, which, flowing against the sharp edges and projections of the
Mowa cliffs, raised many a line of low waves, and rolling towards us
obliged us to hug the cliffs and take to our cables. But the base of the
cliffs in many places afforded no means of foothold, and, after a long
and patient attempt at passing those sharp angles, we were compelled to
abandon it and endeavour to breast the strong current of the eddy with
our oars. While, however, there was a strong current running against the
base of the Mowa cliffs and washing its boulders, there was also a slope
towards the vicinity of the giant billows discharged from the cataract;
and though we strenuously strove to keep midway between the cliffs and
the torrent-like career of the stream to the left, it became evident to
us that we were perceptibly approaching it. Then a wild thought flashed
across my mind that it would be better to edge along with it than to
contend against the eddy with our heavy, leaky boat, and we permitted
ourselves to be carried near its vicinity with that intention; but on
nearing the rushing stream we observed in time that this was madness,
for a line of whirlpools constantly plays between the eddy and the down
stream, caused by the shock of the opposing currents. The down stream is
raised like a ridge, its crest marked by ever-leaping waves, shedding a
great volume over its flanks, which comes rushing to meet that which is
ejected by the eddy. The meeting of these two forces causes one to
overlap the other, and in the conflict one advances or recedes
continually, and the baffled volumes create vortices, around which are
wheeling bodies of water of great velocity, until the cavities are
filled, when the whole becomes replaced by watery masses rising like
mounds. Every minute in endless and rapid succession these scenes
transpire. Such a one commenced before our terrified eyes. A whirlpool
had ceased revolving for a brief moment, and in its place there rose one
of those mounds whose rising volumes and horrid noise inspired the
desire to flee the scene. Fearing we should be unable to escape, I
doffed coat, shoes, and belt, and motioning to Uledi to keep off, I
shouted to the boat’s crew to do their best or die. Even had my actions
not been sufficiently significant of our dangerous position, the
stunning uproar would have informed them that we had been rash to
approach the terrible scene. Therefore, following the upheaved and
ejected waters, we retreated from the aqueous mound, for in its sudden
subsidence lay danger, but were halted on the verge of the fatal pit
which had now begun to replace the mound, and which angrily yawned
behind the stern of our boat. Desperately we rowed, happily maintaining
our position until a second convulsion occurred, by the efflux of which
we finally escaped.
The boat was by this time half full of water. Our repairs were found to
have been utterly insufficient, and we resolved therefore upon returning
to camp to renew the attempt in the new _Jason_, as its swiftness would
enable us to force our way against the current of the eddy, and reach
Massassa. When we returned to Mowa it was ten o’clock, and the boat-boys
were fatigued with their desperate exertions, and, probably unwilling to
risk the terrors of the river without fortifying themselves, had
scattered to search for food. But, unable to control my anxiety about
the reception of the Expedition by the Zinga chiefs, I concluded that,
in the absence of Frank, it would be unwise to delay appearing at the
new camp and secure their goodwill while we should be engaged with the
passage of the several falls.
I accordingly delivered my instructions to Manwa Sera, who had always
shown himself a trustworthy man, saying, “When the boat’s crew have
returned, give them that best light canoe—the _Jason_; tie ropes along
the sides, with strong cables at each end. Tell them to keep close to
the Mowa side, and pick their way carefully down river, until they come
to Massassa. On arriving there Uledi will be able to judge whether it
can be passed in a canoe, or whether we shall have to take the canoes
over the rocks. Above all things tell him to be careful, and not to play
with the river.”
Turning to Frank, I told him I should hurry to Zinga, and after
arranging with the chiefs would send him his breakfast and hammock; and
if I found the men still there I would detail six to carry him; if the
men were not there he might, upon the arrival of the hammock, take the
first men he saw, and follow me overland.
It was high noon when I arrived at our new camp, which was constructed
on Zinga Point, about a hundred feet above the great cataract. There
were four kings present, and hundreds of natives, all curious to view
the Mundelé. Though somewhat noisy in their greetings, we were soon on
an amicable footing, especially when a young fellow named Lazala began
to ask me if I were “Ingiliz, Francees, Dytche, or Portigase.” Lazala
further named many seaport towns he had visited, and discharged his
knowledge of the manners and customs of the whites by the sea with a
refreshing volubility. The great waves along the sea-beach he described
in a characteristic manner as being “Mputu, putu-putu, just like the big
waves of Zinga!” Whereupon a fast and sure friendship was soon
established, which was never broken.
At 1 P.M. breakfast was despatched to Frank, through Majwara, Benni, and
Kassim, and men were sent with a net-hammock.
The Zinga kings and most of their people had ascended to their homes
above, on the plateau; and in my camp there were about fourteen able-
bodied men besides the sick and women. And about three o’clock I took my
seat on a high rock above the falls, to watch for Uledi, as from the
Zinga Point, with a field-glass, I was enabled to view the river across
Bolo-bolo basin, both Massassa Falls and Massessé Rapids, and nearly up
to the Upper Mowa Falls. I was not long in my position before I observed
something long and dark rolling and tumbling about in the fierce waves
of Massassa. It was a capsized canoe, and I detected the forms of
several men clinging to it!
I instantly despatched Kachéché, Wadi Rehani, and ten men, with cane-
ropes, to take position in the bight in Bolo-bolo, near which I knew, by
the direction of the waves, the current would carry them before sweeping
them down towards Zinga. Meanwhile I watched the wrecked men as they
floated through the basin. I saw them struggling to right the canoe. I
saw them lift themselves on the keel, and paddling for dear life towards
shore, to avoid the terrible cataract of Zinga. Finally, as they
approached the land, I saw them leap from the wreck into the river, and
swim ashore, and presently the unfortunate _Jason_, which they had but a
moment before abandoned, swept by me with the speed of an arrow, and
over the cataract, into the great waves and the soundless depths of
whirlpools, and so away out of sight.
Bad news travels fast. Kachéché, breathless with haste and livid with
horror, announced that out of the eleven men who had embarked in the
canoe at Mowa, eight only were saved.
“Three are lost!—and—_one of them is the little master_!”
“_The little master_, Kachéché?” I gasped. “Surely not the little
master?”
“Yes, he is lost, master!”
“But how came he in the canoe?” I asked, turning to Uledi and his
dripping comrades, who had now come up, and were still brown-faced with
their late terrors. “Speak, Uledi, how came he—a cripple—to venture into
the canoe?”
In response to many and searching questions I obtained the following
account.
As Uledi and his comrades were about to push off, Frank had crawled up
near the river and bade them stop and place him in. Uledi expostulated
with him, upon the ground that I had not mentioned anything about taking
him, and Manwa Sera, in charge of the canoes, hurried up and coaxingly
tried to persuade him not to venture, as the river was bad; but he
repelled them with all a sick man’s impatience, and compelled the crew
to lift him into the canoe. The _Jason_, being swift and well-manned,
was propelled against the eddy with ease, and in half an hour it was
racing over the small rapids of Massessé down river. As they approached
Massassa, which was only a mile below Massessé, the booming of the
cataract made Uledi anxious not to venture too near, until he had viewed
the falls, and for that purpose, with Frank’s permission, he skirted the
intermediate cliffs, until they came to a little cove just above the
Massassa, where the crew held on to the rocks. Uledi soon climbed upward
and proceeded to the rocks overhanging the fall, where he was enabled to
view the extent of the danger at a glance. After only a few minutes’
absence he returned to Frank, who was still seated in the bottom of the
canoe, and addressing him said:—
“Little master, it is impossible to shoot the falls, no canoe or boat
can do it and live.”
“Bah!” said Frank contemptuously, “did I not see as we came down a strip
of calm water on the left which by striking across river we could easily
reach?”
“But, master, this fall is not directly across river, it is almost up
and down (diagonally); the lower part on the left being much farther
than that which is on the right, and which begins to break close by
here. I tell you the truth,” rejoined Uledi, as Frank shook his head
sceptically, “little master, I have looked at all the fall, and I can
see no way by water; it will be death to make the trial.”
“Well,” said Frank, “what shall we do?”
“We must send to the master,” replied Uledi, “and tell him that we have
brought our canoe to Massassa. Meantime we can tie up our canoe here
until he comes.”
“And what is to become of me?” asked Frank.
“We will not be long before we are back with a kitanda” (hammock), “and
you will reach camp by night.”
“What, carry me about the country like a worthless Goee-Goee,” he
replied, “for all the natives to stare at me? No, indeed! Anyhow, I must
wait here all day without food, eh?”
“It will not be long, master; in a quarter of an hour I can reach camp,
and in another half I can be back, bringing food and hammock.”
“Oh, it’s all mighty fine,” replied Frank, his temper rising at the idea
of being carried, which he supposed would cause him to be made a
laughing-stock to everybody. “I don’t believe this fall is as bad as you
say it is. The noise is not like that of the fall which we have passed,
and I feel sure if I went to look at it myself I would soon find a way.”
“Well, if you doubt me, send Mpwapwa and Shumari and Marzouk to see, and
if they say there is a road I will try it if you command me.”
Then Frank despatched two of them to examine, and after a few moments
they returned, saying it was impassable by water.
Frank laughed bitterly, and said, “I knew what you would say. The
Wangwana are always cowardly in the water; the least little ripple has
before this been magnified into a great wave. If I had only four white
men with me I would soon show you whether we could pass it or not.”
Frank referred, no doubt, to his companions on the Medway or Thames, as
by profession he was a bargeman or waterman, and being a capital swimmer
had many a time exhibited to the admiring people, especially at Nzabi
creek, his skill in the art of swimming and diving. At the death of
Kalulu he expressed great surprise that not one of the five then lost
had been saved, and declared his conviction that Kalulu Falls would
never have drowned him, upon which I had described a whirlpool to him,
and when, with an apparent instinct for the water, he sought occasions
to exhibit his dexterity, I had cautioned him against being too
venturesome, and kept him to his land duties. The success of Nubi, who
was also a good swimmer, at the whirlpool of the Lady Alice Rapids,
confirmed him in his idea that a perfect swimmer ran no danger from
them. At this moment he forgot all my caution, and probably his high
spirit had secretly despised it. But he was also goading brave men to
their and his own destruction. His infirmity manifested itself in
jeering at the men for whom with me he had not sufficient adjectives at
command to describe their sterling worth; for he, as well as I, was well
aware of Uledi’s daring, and of his heroic exploit at the Fifth Cataract
of the Stanley Falls he was himself a witness. Poor Frank, had some good
angel but warned me of this scene, how easily he had been saved!
“Little master,” said the coxswain gravely, stung to the quick, “neither
white men nor black men can go down this river alive, and I do not think
it right that you should say we are afraid. As for me, I think you ought
to know me better. See! I hold out both hands, and all my fingers will
not count the number of lives I have saved on this river. How then can
you say, master, I show fear?”
“Well, if you do not, the others do,” retorted Frank.
“Neither are they nor am I afraid. We believe the river to be impassable
in a canoe. I have only to beckon to my men, and they will follow me to
death—and it is death to go down this cataract. We are now ready to hear
you command us to go, and we want your promise that if anything happens,
and our master asks, ‘Why did you do it?’ that you will bear the blame.”
“No, I will not order you. I will have nothing to do with it. You are
the chief in this canoe. If you like to go—go, and I will say you are
men, and not afraid of the water. If not, stay, and I shall know it is
because you are afraid. It appears to me easy enough, and I can advise
you. I don’t see what could happen.”
Thus challenging the people to show their mettle, poor Frank steadily
hastened his fate.
Uledi then turned to the crew, and said, “Boys, our little master is
saying that we are afraid of death. I know there is death in the
cataract, but come, let us show him that black men fear death as little
as white men. What do you say?”
“A man can but die once.” “Who can contend with his fate?” “Our fate is
in the hands of God!” were the various answers he received.
“Enough, take your seats,” Uledi said.
“You are men!” cried Frank, delighted at the idea of soon reaching camp.
“Bismillah” (“in the name of God”), “let go the rocks, and shove off!”
cried the coxswain.
“Bismillah!” echoed the crew, and they pushed away from the friendly
cove.
In a few seconds they had entered the river; and, in obedience to Frank,
Uledi steered his craft for the left side of the river. But it soon
became clear that they could not reach it. There was a greasy
slipperiness about the water that was delusive, and it was irresistibly
bearing them broadside over the falls; and observing this, Uledi turned
the prow, and boldly bore down for the centre. Roused from his seat by
the increasing thunder of the fearful waters, Frank rose to his feet,
and looked over the heads of those in front, and now the full danger of
his situation seemed to burst on him. But too late! They had reached the
fall, and plunged headlong amid the waves and spray. The angry waters
rose and leaped into their vessel, spun them round as though on a pivot,
and so down over the curling, dancing, leaping crests they were borne,
to the whirlpools which yawned below. Ah! then came the moment of
anguish, regret and terror.
“Hold on to the canoe, my men; seize a rope, each one,” said he, while
tearing his flannel shirt away. Before he could prepare himself, the
canoe was drawn down into the abyss, and the whirling, flying waters
closed over all. When the vacuum was filled, a great body of water was
belched upwards, and the canoe was disgorged into the bright sunlight,
with several gasping men clinging to it. When they had drifted a little
distance away from the scene, and had collected their faculties, they
found there were only eight of them alive; and, alas for us who were
left to bewail his sudden doom! there was no white face among them. But
presently, close to them, another commotion, another heave and belching
of waters, and out of them the insensible form of the “little master”
appeared, and they heard a loud moan from him. Then Uledi, forgetting
his late escape from the whirling pit, flung out his arms, and struck
gallantly towards him, but another pool sucked them both in, and the
waves closed over them before he could reach him; and for the second
time the brave coxswain emerged, faint and weary—but Frank Pocock was
seen no more.
“My brave, honest, kindly-natured Frank, have you left me so? Oh, my
long-tried friend, what fatal rashness! Ah, Uledi, had you but saved
him, I should have made you a rich man.”
“Our fate is in the hands of God, master,” replied he, sadly and
wearily.
Various were the opinions ventured upon the cause which occasioned the
loss of such an expert swimmer. Baraka, with some reason, suggested that
Frank’s instinctive impulse would have been to swim upward, and that
during his frantic struggle towards the air he might have struck his
head against the canoe. Shumari was inclined to think that the bandages
on his feet might have impeded him; while Saywa thought it must have
been his heavy clothes which prevented the full play of the limbs
required in such a desperate situation.
All over Zinga, Mbelo, and Mowa the dismal tidings spread rapidly. “The
brother of the Mundelé is lost—lost at Massassa,” they cried; and,
inspired by pure sympathy, they descended to Zinga, to hear how the
fatal accident occurred. Good, kindly Ndala—who came accompanied by his
wives, and with a true delicacy of feeling would not permit the natives
to throng about me, but drove them outside the camp, where they might
wonder and gossip without disturbing us—old Monango, Kapata, and tall,
good-natured Itumba, and a few of the principal men, were alone
admitted.
After hearing the facts, Ndala informed me there was no doubt that it
was the “bad fetish” of Massassa people, and he proposed that the four
kings of Zinga and the three kings of Mbelo should unite and completely
destroy the Massassa people for their diabolical act. Said they, “It is
not the first time an accident has happened at Massassa; for, about two
months ago, one of our men, while standing on the rock, suddenly fell
into the river, and was never seen again; and one of Mowa’s people has
also been lost there in the same way.”
The suggestion that it was the fetish of Massassa which had caused this
sudden and sharp calamity was natural to the superstitious and awed
natives; but in a few words I informed them that I blamed no man for it.
“Say, Mundelé,” asked Ndala suddenly, “where has your white brother gone
to?”
“Home.”
“Shall you not see him again?”
“I hope to.”
“Where?”
“Above, I hope.”
“Ah! we have heard that the white people by the sea came from above.
Should you see him again, tell him that Ndala is sorry, and that he is
angry with Massassa for taking him from you. We have heard from Mowa
that he was a good, kind man, and all Zinga shall mourn for him. Drink
the wine of our palms, Mundelé, and forget it. The Zinga palms are known
throughout the lands of the Babwendé, and our markets are thronged with
buyers. The Zinga wine will comfort you, and you will not be troubled
with your sorrow.”
Sympathy, real and pure sympathy, was here offered after their lights,
which, though rude, was not unkind. The large crowds without spoke
together in low subdued tones, the women gazed upon me with mild eyes,
and their hands upon their lips, as though sincerely affected by the
tragic fate of my companion.
The effect on the Wangwana was different. It had stupefied them,
benumbing their faculties of feeling, of hope, and of action. From this
date began that exhibition of apathetic sullenness and lack of feeling
for themselves, and for their comrades, which distinguished their after-
life in the cataracts. The slightest illness would cause them to lean
against a rock, or crouch by the fire in the posture of despair. They
never opened their lips to request help or medicine, and as they were
inaccessible to solicitude for themselves, they had none to bestow on
others. After this fatal day I could scarcely get a reply to my
questions when anxious to know what their ailments were. Familiarity
with many forms of disease, violent and painful deaths, and severe
accidents had finally deadened, almost obliterated, that lively fear of
death which they had formerly shown.
As I looked at the empty tent and the dejected, woe-stricken servants, a
choking sensation of unutterable grief filled me. The sorrow-laden mind
fondly recalled the lost man’s inestimable qualities, his extraordinary
gentleness, his patient temper, his industry, cheerfulness, and his
tender friendship; it dwelt upon the pleasure of his society, his
general usefulness, his piety, and cheerful trust in our success with
which he had renewed our hope and courage; and each new virtue that it
remembered only served to intensify my sorrow for his loss, and to
suffuse my heart with pity and regret, that after the exhibition of so
many admirable qualities and such long faithful service he should depart
this life so abruptly, and without reward.
[Illustration:
In Memoriam.
FRANCIS JOHN POCOCK.
_Drowned June 3, 1877._
]
When curtained about by anxieties, and the gloom created by the almost
insurmountable obstacles we encountered, his voice had ever made music
in my soul. When grieving for the hapless lives that were lost, he
consoled me. But now my friendly comforter and true-hearted friend was
gone! Ah, had some one but relieved me from my cares, and satisfied me
that my dark followers would see their Zanjian homes again, I would that
day have gladly ended the struggle, and, crying out, “Who dies earliest
dies best,” have embarked in my boat and dropped calmly over the
cataracts into eternity.
The moon rose high above the southern wall of the chasm. Its white
funereal light revealed in ghostly motion the scene of death to which I
owed the sundering of a long fellowship and a firm-knit unity. Over the
great Zinga Fall I sat for hours upon a warm boulder, looking up river
towards the hateful Massassa, deluding myself with the vain hope that by
some chance he might have escaped out of the dreadful whirlpool,
picturing the horrible scene which an intense and morbid imagination
called up with such reality, that I half fancied that the scene was
being enacted, while I was helpless to relieve.
How awful sounded the thunders of the many falls in the silent and calm
night! Between distant Mowa’s torrent-rush, down to Ingulufi below, the
Massessé, Massassa, and Zinga filled the walled channel with their fury,
while the latter, only 30 yards from me, hissed and tore along with
restless plunge and gurgle, and roaring plunged, glistering white, into
a sea of billows.
Alas! alas! we never saw Frank more. Vain was the hope that by some
miracle he might have escaped, for eight days afterwards a native
arrived at Zinga from Kilanga, with the statement that a fisherman,
while skimming Kilanga basin for whitebait, had been attracted by
something gleaming on the water, and, paddling his canoe towards it, had
been horrified to find it to be the upturned face of a white man.