CHAPTER XVI.

Final warnings against theft—Humiliating a protectionist—Kindly

tribes—Five of the Expedition abandoned to slavery for theft—Safeni

goes mad from joy—Goaded to crime—Ali Kiboga’s adventures—The

cataract of Isangila—Only five marches from white faces!—Staunch to

the death—Rum—My appeal to Embomma—The forlorn hope—The “powerful

man” insults us—Struggling on—“We are saved, thank God!”—“Enough

now; fall to”—My letter of thanks—Approaching civilization—Amongst

whites—Boma—The Atlantic Ocean.

_July 6._—Strongly impressed with the knowledge that nothing but a

persevering, persistent, even impetuous advance towards the sea could

now save us from the pangs of famine, we only halted two days at

Kilanga. Therefore on the 6th July the goods were transported to a

distance of two miles to Kinzoré, beyond the district Suki, or “Hair.”

Having ascertained that no rapids of a dangerous nature, during the

quick recession of the flood, troubled the narrow and tortuous gap,

Uledi was directed to lead the canoes past Kinzoré and camp to

Mpakambendi, which enabled us to move forward next morning to join them

without delay or accident.

Mpakambendi terminates the narrow, walled chasm which we had followed

since leaving the Kalulu Falls, and in which we had spent 117 days—that

is, from 29th March to 6th July. The distance from Mpakambendi to Ntamo

along the course of the river is only 95 geographical miles, and we were

131 days effecting this journey! At Mpakambendi the defile through which

the river rushes opens to a greater width, and the mountains slope away

from it with a more rounded contour, and only at intervals do they drop

down abrupt in cliffs. Consequently the river expands, and, being less

tortured by bouldery projections and cliffy narrows, assumes somewhat of

a milder aspect. This is due to the change in the character of the

rocks. Above, we had horizontally stratified gneiss and sandstone with

an irregular coping of granite masses, and here and there a protrusion

of the darker trappean rocks. Below Mpakambendi, the river is disturbed

by many protruded ledges of the softer greenish shales, which have been

so pounded and battered by the river that we have merely rapids without

whirlpools and leaping waves to interrupt our descent. Every other mile

or so of the river shows symptoms of interruption, and its surface is

here marked by thin lines of low waves, and there by foamy stretches.

From Mpakambendi to the rounded mount-shoulder on which Nsenga is

situate stretches about a mile and a half of calm river, deep and

majestic, and a long strip of land along the right side affords

admirable camping-places or sites for fishing-stations.

The Wangwana still persisted in robbing the natives. Two were here

apprehended by them for stealing the fowls and maltreating the women,

and of course I had either to redeem them or leave them in the hands of

those whom they had injured. We consented to redeem them, and paid so

largely that it left us nearly beggared and bankrupt. Again a warning

was given to them that such a course must end in my abandoning them to

their fate, for they must never expect me to use force to release them

from the hands of the natives, or to adopt any retaliatory measures on

behalf of thieves.

Two poor souls succumbed to life’s trials and weariness here—one of them

from mortification supervening on ulcers; the other of chronic

dysentery. This latter disease worried many of the people, and scant and

poor food had reduced us all to hideous bony frames.

The Western Babwendé, from Mpakambendi to the lands of the Basundi are

wilder in appearance than those farther east, and many adopt the mop

head, and bore the lobes of their ears, like the Wasagara and Wagogo on

the east side of the continent. Some Bakongo and Bazombo natives of

Congo and Zombo were seen here as they were about to set off east for a

short trading trip. It appeared to me on regarding their large eyes and

russet-brown complexions that they were results of miscegenation,

probably descendants of the old Portuguese and aborigines; at least,

such was my impression, but if it is an erroneous one, the Bakongo and

Bazombo are worthy of particular study for their good looks and clear

brown complexions. They are of lower stature than the negro Babwendé,

Basessé, and Bateké.

They did not seem to relish the idea of a white Mundelé in a country

which had hitherto been their market, and they shook their heads most

solemnly, saying that the country was about to be ruined, and that they

had never known a country but was injured by the presence of a white

man. Poor aboriginal conservatives! But where is the white or the black,

the yellow or the red man who does not think himself happier with his

old customs than with new? The history of mankind proves how strong is

the repugnance to innovations. I questioned an old growler who was

rapidly beginning to win sympathizers among my Babwendé friends by

asking him in their presence where he obtained his gun.

“From the Mputu” (coast), said he.

“Where did you obtain that fine cloth you wear?”

“From the Mputu.”

“And those beads, which certainly make you look handsome?”

He smiled. “From the Mputu.”

“And that fine brass wire by which you have succeeded in showing the

beauty of your clear brown skin?”

He was still more delighted. “From the Mputu; we get everything from the

Mputu.”

“And wine too?”

“Yes.”

“And rum?”

“Yes.”

“Have the white men been kind to you?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Now,” said I, turning to my Babwendé friends, “you see this man has

been made happy with a gun, and cloth, and beads, wire, wine, and rum,

and he says the white men treat him well. Why should not the Babwendé be

happier by knowing the white men? Do you know why he talks so? He wants

to sell those fine things to the Babwendé himself, for about double what

he paid for them. Don’t you see? You are wise men.”

The absurd aboriginal protectionist and conservative lost his influence

immediately, and it appeared as though the Babwendé would start a

caravan instantly for the coast. But the immediate result of my

commercial talk with them was an invitation to join them in consuming a

great gourdful of fresh palm-wine.

_July 10._—On the 10th of July we embarked the goods, and descended two

miles below Mpakambendi, and reached the foot of the Nsenga Mount. The

next day we descended in like manner two miles to the lofty mountain

bluff of Nsoroka, being frequently interrupted by the jagged shaly dykes

which rose here and there above the stream, and caused rapids.

Two miles below Nsoroka we came to Lukalu, which is a point projecting

from the right bank just above the Mansau Falls and Matunda Rapids,

which we passed by a side-stream without danger on the 13th. Between

Matunda Rapids and Mansau Falls, we were abreast of Kakongo, that

warlike district of which we had heard. But though they crossed the

river in great numbers, the men of Kakongo became fast friends with us,

and I was so successful with them that five men volunteered to accompany

me as far as the “Njali Ntombo Mataka Falls,” of which we had heard as

being absolutely the “last fall.” “Tuckey’s Cataract,” no doubt, I

thought, for it was surely time that, if there was such a fall, it ought

to be seen.

Below Matunda Falls, in the district of Ngoyo, are a still more amiable

people than the Upper Babwendé, who share the prevalent taste for boring

their ears and noses. We held a grand market at Ngoyo, at which bananas,

pine-apples, guavas, limes, onions, fish, cassava bread, ground-nuts,

palm-butter, earthenware pots, baskets, and nets, were exchanged for

cloth, beads, wire, guns, powder, and crockery.

_July 16._—On the 16th, accompanied by our volunteer guides, we embarked

all hands, and raced down the rapid river a distance of three miles to

the great cataract, which on the right side is called Ntombo Mataka, and

on the left Ngombi Falls, or Njali Ngombi. On the right side the fall is

about 15 feet, over terraces of lava and igneous rocks; on the left it

is a swift rush, as at Mowa, Ntamo, Zinga, Inkisi, with a succession of

leaping waves below it.

There was a large concourse of natives present, and all were exceedingly

well-behaved and gentle. Three chiefs, after we had camped, advanced and

offered their services, which were at once engaged, and the next morning

409 natives conveyed the canoes and boat below the fall in admirable

style, though one small canoe was wrecked. They expressed as much

concern about the accident as though they had been the authors of it,

but I paid them even more liberally than I had contracted for, and the

utmost good feeling prevailed. Indeed, the chiefs were so grateful that

they offered to take the canoes themselves a distance of three miles to

the sand-beaches on the right bank opposite Kinzalé Kigwala—and the

offer was gladly accepted.

The Ntombo Mataka people I regarded as the politest people I had

encountered in Africa, and they certainly distinguished themselves by a

nobility of character that was as rare as it was agreeable.

Arrived at the beautiful camping-place below the falls, I proceeded in a

canoe to a cluster of low rocky islets, to view the cataract which we

had so agreeably and pleasantly passed, and it struck me at the time

that this was the great cataract described by Tuckey as being above that

“Farthest,” which has been printed on so many charts. The cataract has a

formidable appearance from the centre of the river as one looks upward,

and during the rainy season the whole of the rocky dyke is covered with

water, which would then give a direct fall of 20 feet. The natives of

Ntombo Mataka were not aware of any more obstructions below of any

importance. About five miles north-north-east of this point is the large

and popular market-place of Manyanga, where the natives of Ngoyo,

Kakongo, Ntombo Mataka, Ngombi, Ilemba, Kingoma, Kilanga, Kinzoré, Suki,

Nguru, Mbelo, Zinga, Mowa, and Nzabi, up river, meet the natives of

Ndunga, Mbu, Bakongo, and Bassessé.

_July 19._—On 19th of July we cautiously descended three miles to

Mpangu, on the right bank. From the slope of the table-land there is

projected a line of lower hills, tawny with sere and seeding grass, and

gently sloping sides, smooth shores marked by extensive lengths of

sandbanks, and here and there on the lower levels a cassava garden. But

though the river is much wider, the rapids are frequent, rocky

projections from the schistose rocks on the right breaking the river’s

surface, while along the centre sweeps the mighty stream fiercely and

hoarsely.

The schistose dykes which thus interrupt the river are from a few

hundred yards to a mile apart, and between them, in the intermediate

spaces, lie calm basins. Nor is the left bank free from them, though all

the force of the river has been for ages mainly directed against it.

_July 20._—We descended on the 20th to Mata river, on both sides of

which the natives were sulky, and disposed to resent our approach, but

no outbreak occurred to mar our peaceful progress to the sea. They would

not, however, part with food except at extravagant prices. They are

devoted to whitebait or minnow-catching, which they dry on the rocks for

sale in the markets, and here, all day long, we found them, crouched

behind the shelter of large rocky fragments with their enormous hand-

nets resting close by them, whistling to the minnows. As soon as the

shoal advanced about them, they swam out in a body forming line with

their nets laid diagonally across in front of them to meet the shoal;

and then, returning to the shore, would empty their “finds” on a large

slab-like rock, amid boasts, and jests, and rude excitement. At the same

time the canoes would be employed skirmishing in the deeper portions,

and the crews with the handle of their hand-nets laid under their legs,

paddling up and down with long silent strokes, would thus secure large

hauls.

By a daring rush down river we passed the rapids of Ungufu-inchi, and,

proceeding six miles along low sandy shores, and alluvial folds between

low hills, we came to the rapids between Kilemba and Rubata, and were

halted abreast of the Rubata Cauldron, near the village of Kibonda,

which occupies the summit of a bluff opposite Elwala river on the left

bank.

The natives here are given up to the cultivation of ground-nuts and

cassava, and minnow-catching. Food was therefore so scarce, and so

unsuitable for the preservation of working men’s strength, that our

sick-list was alarmingly increased. The Basundi are a most wretched,

suspicious, and degraded race, quarrelsome, and intensely disposed to be

affronted. I was unable to purchase anything more than a few ground-

nuts, because it involved such serious controversy and chaffer as

sickened the hungry stomach. The Wangwana were surprised, after their

recent experiences, to meet people more extortionate than any they had

yet seen, and who abated nothing of the high demands they made. One of

them, unable to obtain food, proceeded to the cassava gardens and coolly

began to dig up a large stock of tubers, and when warned off behaved

very violently. The natives, indisposed to brook this, closed round him,

and, binding him hand and foot, carried him to their village.

On hearing of it I despatched men to ascertain the truth, and they

brought the chief and some of his elders to camp to obtain the price of

his freedom. Unfortunately the price was so large—being four times the

total value of all our store—that, despite all our attempts to induce

them to lower their demands, we saw that the captive was doomed. One of

my chiefs suggested that we should lay hands on the chief of Kibonda,

and retain him until Hamadi, the captive, was released; but this

suggestion I positively refused to entertain for one moment. We were too

poor to buy his freedom, and it would have been an injustice to employ

violence. He was therefore left in captivity.

_July 24._—I hoped this would have stopped the Wangwana from venturing

to appropriate the property of such determined aborigines; but on the

24th, after descending 3½ miles to Kalubu, another man was arrested for

theft of fowls and cloth. The case was submitted to the captains and

members of the Expedition, and it was explained to them, that if the

man’s liberty could be purchased, half of the goods were at their

disposal; but that if they determined to fight for his release, they

must give me warning, so that I might move down river with those who

preferred to be guided by me. The captains unanimously condemned him to

captivity, and their decision was gravely delivered in presence of all.

Just above Kalubu, on the right side of the river, a lofty reddish cliff

stands, which, upon examination, presents many traces of igneous

eruptions. From the elbow below it are visible the remains of an old

cataract, and lava is so abundant that it gives quite a volcanic

appearance to the scene. A lofty ridge south of Kalubu strikes towards

the north-north-east, and formed a notable feature as we descended from

Mata river.

_July 25._—Four miles farther down brought us, on the 25th, to a little

cove above Itunzima Falls, where was another furious display of the

river, and a most dangerous cataract. Crossing over to the left bank, we

succeeded next day in passing it, after a laborious toil of eight hours,

and camped in a beautiful bend below.

At this camp we first met natives who were acquainted with the name

Yellala, but they informed us that there were several great rapids below

Itunzima, upon which I finally abandoned the search for “Tuckey’s

Cataract,” and instead of it strove to ascertain if any were acquainted

with the name of “Sangalla.” None of them had ever heard of it; but they

knew “Isangila,” which we were informed was about five days’ journey by

water; but that no native journeyed by river, it being too dangerous.

The Wangwana, weakened by scant fare and suffering from pining vitals,

were intensely affected when I announced to them that we were not far

from the sea. Indeed one poor fellow—distinguished in the first volume

as the coxswain of the _Lady Alice_ during the adventurous

circumnavigation of Lake Victoria—was so intoxicated with joy that he

became outrageous in his behaviour. Still I did not suspect that this

was madness, and when he advanced to me and embraced my feet, saying,

“Ah, master ! El hamd ul Illah! We have reached the sea! We are home! we

are home! We shall no more be tormented by empty stomachs and accursed

savages! I am about to run all the way to the sea, to tell your brothers

you are coming!” the idea of his lunacy was far from my mind. I

attributed his tears and wildness simply to excess of emotion and

nervous excitement. I replied to him soothingly; but he, seizing his

parrot and placing it on his shoulder, plunged into the woods. After a

few seconds’ reflection, it occurred to me that the man was a lunatic,

and I sent three men instantly to bring him back, and to recover him by

force if necessary; but after four hours’ search they returned

unsuccessful, and I never saw the sage Safeni more. We probably might

have been able to recover him after several days’ search; but valuable

as he had been, and dear as he was, death by starvation threatened us

all, and we were compelled to haste—haste away from the baleful region

to kinder lands.

_July 26._—On the 26th of July I obtained by observation south latitude

5° 9′.

From the bend below Itunzima Falls we had a straight stretch of four

miles, on a river which recalled to our minds reminiscences of the

quiet-flowing stream below Chumbiri. Clinging to the left, we had a

glorious grey sandbank, backed by growths of wild olive and a narrow

belt of forest trees, in which the tracks of game were numerous. The

right bank was similar, and dome-like hills rose conspicuous in a deep

fold of the retreating table-land.

We reached at the end of this course, on the left bank, a small quiet

river, 30 yards wide at the mouth, entering the Livingstone between

steep alluvial banks about 20 feet high. The table-land had approached

the river again, and formed a high point opposite the place where the

little river debouched, and, directly below it, roared and thundered

another cataract. A large island rose, high, rocky, and steep, from the

centre. To the right it was utterly impassable; but after examining the

rapids on the left, and discovering that the main force of the stream

was on the other side, we raced down the waters with all hands on board

without accident.

_July 28._—On the 28th we began our journey early, and discovered that

the river was still much obstructed, rapids roaring at every short

distance, and requiring caution and vigilance. By noon however we had

passed four series without trouble. Above the islet line above Kilolo I

found we had reached south latitude 5° 19′.

There are but few natures among my own race, either in Europe or

America, who would not feel a curious pleasure in, and envy me the

opportunity of, exploring the beautiful and endless solitudes of this

region, were they but certain that they would be sustained the while by

nourishing food, and be secure from fatal harm. For in all civilized

countries that I have travelled in, I have observed how very large a

number of people indulge this penchant for travel in such unfrequented

corners and nooks of wild woodland, glen, or heath as present themselves

near home. I myself was conscious that the table-land on both sides of

the Livingstone, with its lofty ridges, which ran away north or south to

some complicated watershed, enclosing, no doubt, some awesome glens and

solemn ravines, or from whose tops I might gaze upon a world of wild

beauty never seen before, presented to me opportunities of exploring

such as few had ever possessed: but, alas! all things were adverse to

such pleasure; we were, to use a Miltonian phrase, subject to the

“hateful siege of contraries.” The freshness and ardour of feeling with

which I had set out from the Indian Ocean had, by this time, been quite

worn away. Fevers had sapped the frame; over-much trouble had strained

the spirit; hunger had debilitated the body, anxiety preyed upon the

mind. My people were groaning aloud; their sunken eyes and unfleshed

bodies were a living reproach to me; their vigour was now gone, though

their fidelity was unquestionable; their knees were bent with weakness,

and their backs were no longer rigid with the vigour of youth, and life,

and strength, and fire of devotion. Hollow-eyed, sallow, and gaunt,

unspeakably miserable in aspect, we yielded at length to imperious

nature, and had but one thought only—to trudge on for one look more at

the blue ocean.

[Illustration: CAMP AT KILOLO.]

Rounding, after a long stretch of tolerably calm water, a picturesque

point, we view another long reach, and halfway on the left bank we camp.

Maddened by sharp pangs of hunger, the people soon scatter about the

district of Kilolo. What occurs I know not. Likely enough the wretched

creatures, tormented by the insufferable insolence of the aborigines,

and goaded by a gnawing emptiness, assisted themselves with the wanton

recklessness of necessity, and appropriated food unpaid for. While I am

seated among a crowd from the right bank, who have come across the river

to elate me with stories of white men whom they have seen by the sea,

and from whom I learn the news that there are whites like myself at

Embomma, I hear shots on the cultivated uplands; and though I pretend to

take no interest in them, yet a bitter, restless instinct informs me

that those shots have reference to myself; and presently the people

return, some with streaming wounds from oxide of copper pellets and iron

fragments which have been fired at them. Uledi comes also, bearing a

mere skeleton on his back, whom, with his usual daring, he has rescued

from the power of the men who would shortly have made a prisoner of him;

and he and the rest have all a horrible tale to tell. “Several men have

been captured by the natives for stealing cassava and beans.”

“Why did you do it?”

“We could not help it,” said one. “Master, we are dying of hunger. We

left our beads and moneys—all we had—on the ground, and began to eat,

and they began shooting.”

In a very short time, while they are yet speaking, a large force of

natives appears, lusty with life and hearty fare, and, being angered,

dare us, with loaded guns, to fight them. A few of the men and chiefs

hasten to their guns, and propose to assume the defensive, but I

restrain them, and send my native friends from the right bank to talk to

them; and, after two hours’ patient entreaties, they relax their

vindictiveness and retire.

When I muster the people next morning, that we may cross the river to

Nsuki Kintomba, I discover that six men have been wounded, and three,

Ali Kiboga,[15] Matagera, and Saburi Rehani, have been detained by the

infuriated villagers. It would have been merely half an hour’s quick

work, not only to have released the three captives, but to have obtained

such an abundance of food as to have saved us much subsequent misery,

but such an act would have been quite contrary to the principles which

had governed and guided the Expedition in its travels from the eastern

sea. Protection was only to be given against a wanton assault on the

camp and its occupants; arms were only to be employed to resist

savagery; and though, upon considering the circumstances, few could

blame the hungry people from appropriating food, yet we had but sympathy

to give them in their distress. Sad and sorrowful, we turned away from

them, abandoning them to their dismal fate.

-----

Footnote 15:

Some two or three months after we had left Loanda, Ali Kiboga escaped

from his captivity, and after a desperate journey, during which he

must have gone through marvellous adventures, succeeded in reaching

Boma, whence he was sent to Kabinda, thence by the Portuguese gunboat

_Tamega_ to San Paulo de Loanda. After a short stay at Loanda, the

United States corvette _Essex_, Captain Schley, took him to Saint

Helena, and thence, through the kindness of the captain of one of

Donald Currie’s Cape Line steamers, he was carried gratuitously to

Cape Town. Again the Samaritan act of assisting the needy and

distressed stranger was performed by the agent of the Union Steamship

Company’s line, who placed him on board the _Kaffir_, which was bound

for Zanzibar. It is well known that soon after leaving Table Bay the

_Kaffir_ was wrecked. From the _Cape Times_, February 19, 1878, I clip

the following, in spite of its compliment to myself: “On the bow were

some natives of Zanzibar. Among them was the man who had gone through

Africa with Stanley. This man was supposed to have been drowned with

four others. But early in the morning he was found very snugly lying

under a tent made of a blanket, with a roaring fire before him. Of all

the wrecked people that night there was no one who had been more

comfortable than Stanley’s Arab. The power of resource and the genius

of the master had evidently been imparted in some degree to the man.”

-----

The river between Kilolo and Nsuki Kintomba was about fourteen hundred

yards wide, and both banks were characterized by calm little bays,

formed by projected reefs of schistose rock. Just above Nsuki Kintomba a

range of mountains runs north-west from some lofty conical hills which

front the stream. Below a pretty cove, overhung by a white chalky cliff,

in the centre of which there stood a tree-covered islet, we occupied a

camp near a high and broad tract of pure white sand.

The inhabitants of the settlement on the right side were unfriendly and

they had little, save ground-nuts and cassava, to sell. Whether

embittered by the sterility of their country, or suffering from some

wrongs perpetrated by tribes near Boma, they did not regard our advent

to their country with kindly eyes by any means. Indeed, since leaving

Ntombo Mataka we had observed a growing degradation of the aborigines,

who were vastly inferior in manners and physical type to the Babwendé.

They talked “largely,” but we had been accustomed to that, and our sense

of self-respect had long ago become deadened. We obtained a little

food—a supply of ground-nuts and bitter cassava; otherwise we must have

died.

_July 30._—On the 30th of July we continued our journey along the right

bank. We first passed several serrated schistose reefs; and behind these

we saw a deep creek-like cove—no doubt the Covinda Cove of Tuckey.

Observing at Rock Bluffs Point that the river was ruffled by rocks, we

struck again to the left bank, and, following the grove-clad bend, we

saw a fine reach of river extending north-west by north, with a breadth

of about eighteen hundred yards. Again we crossed the river to the right

bank, and a mile from Rock Bluffs Point came to some rapids which

extended across the river. We passed these easily, however, and

continued on our journey under the shelter of brown stone bluffs, from

fifty to eighty feet high. On the left side of the river I observed a

line of rock-islets close to the shore. At the end of this long reach

was a deep bend in the right bank, through which a lazy creek oozed

slowly into the Livingstone. From this bend the great river ran south-

south-west, and the roar of a great cataract two miles below became

fearfully audible, and up from it light clouds of mist, and now and then

spray showers, were thrown high into view. Towering above it, on the

left, was the precipitous shoulder of a mountain ridge, the summit of

which appeared crescent-shaped as we approached it from above. Picking

our way towards it cautiously, close to projected reefy points, behind

which are the entrances to the recesses in the mountainous bank already

described, we arrived within fifty yards of the cataract of Isangila, or

Tuckey’s “Second Sangalla.”

We drew our boat and canoes into a sandy-edged basin in the low rocky

terrace, and proceeded to view the cataract of Isangila. On the left

rises the precipitous shoulder of a mountain ridge, the highest summit

of which may be 900 feet. On the right a naked and low rocky terrace is

projected from a grassy and gently sloping shelf a mile deep, above

which the table-land rises 1200 feet with steep slopes. The rocky

terrace appears to be covered by the river in the flood season, but at

this period it is contracted to a width of 500 yards. The fall is in the

shape of a crescent, along which arise at intervals rocky protuberances

of an iron-rust colour, seven in number, one of which, near the middle

of the stream, is large enough to be called an islet, being probably a

hundred yards in length. Near the right side there is a clear drop of 10

feet, and close below it another drop of 8 feet; on the left side the

river hurls itself against the base of the cliff, and then swerves

abruptly aside to a south-west-by-south direction; it bounds down the

steep descent in a succession of high leaping billows, along a wild

tempestuous stretch of a mile and a half in length, disparted in its

course by a lofty island, below which it sweeps round into an ample

sand-lined basin on the left bank, south of the cataract. To study the

nature of the ground I proceeded to a point opposite this basin, and

observed the river continue in a westerly course (magnetic). There are

abundant traces of lava in the neighbourhood of this cataract, and the

cliffs opposite have the appearance of rock subjected to the influence

of a fierce fire.

After about two hours’ stay here, the inhabitants of Mwato Zingé, Mwato

Wandu, and Mbinda visited us, and we soon became on terms of sociable

and friendly intercourse with them; but, unfortunately, they possessed

nothing but ground-nuts, bitter cassava, and a few bananas. A couple of

goats were purchased at a ruinous price; a handful of ground-nuts cost a

necklace of beads, while cowries were worthless. Rum, gunpowder, and

guns would have purchased ample supplies; but such things required a

railway for transportation, and our own guns we could not part with. One

chief from the left bank above the cataract came over with his little

boy, a pure albino, with blue eyes, curly white hair, and a red skin, of

whom he appeared to be very proud, as he said he was also a little

Mundelé. The old chief’s hands were bleached in the palms, and in

various parts of the body, proving the origin of the peculiar disease.

We received the good news that Embomma was only five days’ journey,

rated thus:—

From Isangila to Inga 1 day.

” Inga ” Boondi ”

” Boondi ” Ntabo ”

” Ntabo ” Bibbi ”

” Bibbi ” Embomma ”

We heard also that there were three great cataracts below Isangila, and

“any number” of intermediate “Mputu-putu-putu” rapids. The cataracts

were Nsongo Yellala, a larger one than either Isangila, Yellala, or

Ngufu.

There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that the Isangila cataract

was the second Sangalla of Captain Tuckey and Professor Smith, and that

the Sanga Yellala of Tuckey and the Sanga Jelalla of Smith was the

Nsongo Yellala, though I could not induce the natives to pronounce the

words as the members of the unfortunate Congo Expedition of 1816 spelled

them.[16]

-----

Footnote 16:

I ascertained, upon studying carefully the accounts of the Congo

Expedition of 1816, that Professor Smith’s account in many respects is

much more reliable than Captain Tuckey’s. Professor Smith gives the

river above Isangila a general width of about one English mile, which

is quite correct, and at a place which the officers reached on the 8th

September, 1816, he estimates the width to be about half a Danish

mile, which Captain Tuckey has unaccountably extended to about four or

five English miles, that is to say, from 6640 to 8800 yards! Captain

Tuckey, according to Stanford’s Library Map of 1874, places the second

Sangalla by dead reckoning in east longitude 14° 36′, south latitude

4° 59′, which is very far from being its position. On July 28, 1877, I

obtained south latitude 5° 19′ by observation. Captain Tuckey is,

however, more reliable in his orthography than the botanist of his

Expedition. Both gentlemen have unaccountably passed the largest fall,

viz., Nsongo Yellala, with but a mere word of mention.

-----

As the object of the journey had now been attained, and the great river

of Livingstone had been connected with the Congo of Tuckey, I saw no

reason to follow it farther, or to expend the little remaining vitality

we possessed in toiling through the last four cataracts.

I announced, therefore, to the gallant but wearied Wangwana that we

should abandon the river and strike overland for Embomma. The delight of

the people manifested itself in loud and fervid exclamations of

gratitude to Allah! Quadruple ration-money was also distributed to each

man, woman, and child; but owing to the excessive poverty of the

country, and the keen trading instincts and avaricious spirit of the

aborigines, little benefit did the long-enduring, famine-stricken

Wangwana derive from my liberality.

_July 31._—Fancy knick-knacks, iron spears, knives, axes, copper, brass

wire, were then distributed to them, and I emptied the medicine out of

thirty vials; and my private clothes-bags, blankets, waterproofs, every

available article of property that might be dispensed with, were also

given away, without distinction of rank or merit, to invest in whatever

eatables they could procure. The 31st of July was consequently a busy

day, devoted to bartering, but few Wangwana were able to boast at

evening that they had obtained a tithe of the value of the articles they

had sold, and the character of the food actually purchased was

altogether unfit for people in such poor condition of body.

At sunset we lifted the brave boat, after her adventurous journey across

Africa, and carried her to the summit of some rocks about five hundred

yards north of the fall, to be abandoned to her fate. Three years

before, Messenger of Teddington had commenced her construction; two

years previous to this date she was coasting the bluffs of Uzongora on

Lake Victoria; twelve months later she was completing her last twenty

miles of the circumnavigation of Lake Tanganika, and on the 31st of

July, 1877, after a journey of nearly 7000 miles up and down broad

Africa, she was consigned to her resting-place above the Isangila

Cataract, to bleach and to rot to dust!

* * * * * * * *

_Aug. 1._—A wayworn, feeble, and suffering column were we when, on the

1st of August, we filed across the rocky terrace of Isangila and sloping

plain, and strode up the ascent to the table-land. Nearly forty men

filled the sick list with dysentery, ulcers, and scurvy, and the victims

of the latter disease were steadily increasing. Yet withal I smiled

proudly when I saw the brave hearts cheerily respond to my encouraging

cries. A few, however, would not believe that within five or six days

they should see Europeans. They disdained to be considered so credulous,

but at the same time they granted that the “master” was quite right to

encourage his people with promises of speedy relief.

So we surmounted the table-land, but we could not bribe the wretched

natives to guide us to the next village. “Mirambo,” the riding-ass,

managed to reach half-way up the table-land, but he also was too far

exhausted through the miserable attenuation which the poor grass of the

western region had wrought in his frame to struggle further. We could

only pat him on the neck and say, “Good-bye, old boy; farewell, old

hero! A bad world this for you and for us. We must part at last.” The

poor animal appeared to know that we were leaving him, for he neighed

after us—a sickly, quavering neigh, that betrayed his excessive

weakness. When we last turned to look at him he was lying on the path,

but looking up the hill with pointed ears, as though he were wondering

why he was left alone, and whither his human friends and companions by

flood and field were wandering.

After charging the chief of Mbinda to feed him with cassava leaves and

good grass from his fields, I led the caravan over the serried levels of

the lofty upland.

At the end of this district, about a mile from Mwato Wandu, we appeared

before a village whose inhabitants permitted us to pass on for a little

distance, when they suddenly called out to us with expostulatory tones

at an almost shrieking pitch. The old chief, followed by about fifty

men, about forty of whom carried guns, hurried up to me and sat down in

the road.

In a composed and consequential tone he asked, “Know you I am the king

of this country?”

I answered mildly, “I knew it not, my brother.”

“I am the king, and how can you pass through my country without paying

me?”

“Speak, my friend; what is it the Mundelé can give you?”

“Rum. I want a big bottle of rum, and then you can pass on.”

“Rum?”

“Yes, rum, for I am the king of this country!”

“Rum!” I replied wonderingly.

“Rum; rum is good. I love rum,” he said, with a villainous leer.

Uledi, coming forward, impetuously asked, “What does this old man want,

master?”

“He wants rum, Uledi. Think of it!”

“There’s rum for him,” he said, irreverently slapping his Majesty over

the face, who, as the stool was not very firm, fell over prostrate.

Naturally this was an affront, and I reproved Uledi for it. Yet it

seemed that he had extricated us from a difficult position by his

audacity, for the old chief and his people hurried off to their village,

where there was great excitement and perturbation, but we could not stay

to see the end.

Ever and anon, as we rose above the ridged swells, we caught the glimpse

of the wild river on whose bosom we had so long floated. Still white and

foaming, it rushed on impetuously seaward through the sombre defile.

Then we descended into a deep ravine, and presently, with uneasy

throbbing hearts, we breasted a steep slope rough with rock, and from

its summit we looked abroad over a heaving, desolate, and ungrateful

land. The grass was tall and ripe, and waved and rustled mournfully

before the upland breezes. Soon the road declined into a valley, and we

were hid in a deep fold, round which rose the upland, here to the west

shagged with a thin forest, to the north with ghastly sere grass, out of

which rose a few rocks, grey and sad. On our left was furze, with scrub.

At the bottom of this, sad and desolate, ran a bright crystal brook. Up

again to the summit we strove to gain the crest of a ridge, and then,

down once more the tedious road wound in crooked curves to the depth of

another ravine, on the opposite side of which rose sharply and steeply,

to the wearying height of 1200 feet, the range called Yangi-Yangi. At 11

A.M. we in the van had gained the lofty summit, and fifteen minutes

afterwards we descried a settlement and its cluster of palms. An hour

afterwards we were camped on a bit of level plateau to the south of the

villages of Ndambi Mbongo.

The chiefs appeared, dressed in scarlet military coats of a past epoch.

We asked for food for beads. “Cannot.” “For wire?” “We don’t want wire!”

“For cowries?” “Are we bushmen?” “For cloth?” “You must wait three days

for a market! If you have got rum you can have plenty!!” Rum ! Heavens !

Over two years and eight months ago we departed from the shores of the

Eastern Ocean, and they ask us for rum!

Yet they were not insolent, but unfeeling; they were not rude, but

steely selfish. We conversed with them sociably enough, and obtained

encouragement. A strong healthy man would reach Embomma in three days.

Three days! Only three days off from food—from comforts—luxuries even!

Ah me!

_Aug. 2._—The next day, when morning was greying, we lifted our weakened

limbs for another march. And such a march!—the path all thickly strewn

with splinters of suet-coloured quartz, which increased the fatigue and

pain. The old men and the three mothers, with their young infants born

at the cataracts of Massassa and Zinga, and another near the market town

of Manyanga, in the month of June, suffered greatly. Then might be seen

that affection for one another which appealed to my sympathies, and

endeared them to me still more. Two of the younger men assisted each of

the old, and the husbands and fathers lifted their infants on their

shoulders and tenderly led their wives along.

Up and down the desolate and sad land wound the poor, hungry caravan.

Bleached whiteness of ripest grass, grey rock-piles here and there,

looming up solemn and sad in their greyness, a thin grove of trees now

and then visible on the heights and in the hollows—such were the scenes

that with every uplift of a ridge or rising crest of a hill met our

hungry eyes. Eight miles our strength enabled us to make, and then we

camped in the middle of an uninhabited valley, where we were supplied

with water from the pools which we discovered in the course of a dried-

up stream.

Our march on the third day was a continuation of the scenes of the day

preceding until about ten o’clock, when we arrived at the summit of a

grassy and scrub-covered ridge, which we followed until three in the

afternoon. The van then appeared before the miserable settlement of

Nsanda, or, as it is sometimes called, Banza (town) N’sanda N’sanga.

Marching through the one street of the first village in melancholy and

silent procession, voiceless as sphinxes, we felt our way down into a

deep gully, and crawled up again to the level of the village site, and

camped about two hundred yards away. It was night before all had

arrived.

_Aug. 4._—After we had erected our huts and lifted the tent into its

usual place, the chief of Nsanda appeared, a youngish, slightly made

man, much given to singing, being normally drunk from an excess of palm-

wine. He was kindly, sociable—laughed, giggled, and was amusing. Of

course he knew Embomma, had frequently visited there, and carried

thither large quantities of _Nguba_ ground-nuts, which he had sold for

rum. We listened, as in duty bound, with a melancholy interest. Then I

suddenly asked him if he would carry a _makanda_, or letter, to Embomma,

and allow three of my men to accompany him. He was too great to proceed

himself, but he would despatch two of his young men the next day. His

consent I obtained only after four hours of earnest entreaty. It was

finally decided that I should write a letter, and the two young natives

would be ready next day. After my dinner—three fried bananas, twenty

roasted ground-nuts, and a cup of muddy water, my usual fare now—by a

lamp made out of a piece of rotten sheeting steeped in a little palm-

butter I wrote the following letter:—

“Village of Nsanda, _August 4, 1877_.

“_To any Gentleman who speaks English at Embomma._

“DEAR SIR,

“I have arrived at this place from Zanzibar with 115 souls, men,

women and children. We are now in a state of imminent starvation. We can

buy nothing from the natives, for they laugh at our kinds of cloth,

beads, and wire. There are no provisions in the country that may be

purchased, except on market days, and starving people cannot afford to

wait for these markets. I, therefore, have made bold to despatch three

of my young men, natives of Zanzibar, with a boy named Robert Feruzi, of

the English Mission at Zanzibar, with this letter craving relief from

you. I do not know you; but I am told there is an Englishman at Embomma,

and as you are a Christian and a gentleman, I beg you not to disregard

my request. The boy Robert will be better able to describe our lone

condition than I can tell you in this letter. We are in a state of the

greatest distress; but if your supplies arrive in time, I may be able to

reach Embomma within four days. I want three hundred cloths, each four

yards long, of such quality as you trade with, which is very different

from that we have; but better than all would ten or fifteen man-loads of

rice or grain to fill their pinched bellies immediately, as even with

the cloths it would require time to purchase food, and starving people

cannot wait. The supplies must arrive within two days, or I may have a

fearful time of it among the dying. Of course I hold myself responsible

for any expense you may incur in this business. What is wanted is

immediate relief; and I pray you to use your utmost energies to forward

it at once. For myself, if you have such little luxuries as tea, coffee,

sugar, and biscuits by you, such as one man can easily carry, I beg you

on my own behalf that you will send a small supply, and add to the great

debt of gratitude due to you upon the timely arrival of the supplies for

my people. Until that time I beg you to believe me,

“Yours sincerely,

“H. M. STANLEY,

“Commanding Anglo-American Expedition

for Exploration of Africa.

“P.S.—You may not know me by name I therefore add, I am the person that

discovered Livingstone in 1871.—H. M. S.”

I also wrote a letter in French, and another in Spanish as a substitute

for Portuguese, as I heard at Nsanda that there was one Englishman, one

Frenchman, and three Portuguese at Embomma; but there were conflicting

statements, some saying that there was no Englishman, but a Dutchman.

However, I imagined I was sure to obtain provisions—for most European

merchants understand either English, French, or Spanish.

The chiefs and boat’s crew were called to my tent. I then told them that

I had resolved to despatch four messengers to the white men at Embomma,

with letters asking for food, and wished to know the names of those most

likely to travel quickly and through anything that interposed to prevent

them; for it might be possible that so small a number of men might be

subjected to delays and interruptions, and that the guides might loiter

on the way, and so protract the journey until relief would arrive too

late.

The response was not long coming, for Uledi sprang up and said, “Oh,

master, don’t talk more; I am ready now. See, I will only buckle on my

belt, and I shall start at once, and nothing will stop me. I will follow

on the track like a leopard.”

“And I am one,” said Kachéché. “Leave us alone, master. If there are

white men at Embomma, we will find them out. We will walk, and walk, and

when we cannot walk we will crawl.”

“Leave off talking, men,” said Muini Pembé, “and allow others to speak,

won’t you? Hear me, my master. I am your servant. I will outwalk the

two. I will carry the letter, and plant it before the eyes of the white

men.”

“I will go too, sir,” said Robert.

“Good. It is just as I should wish it; but, Robert, you cannot follow

these three men. You will break down, my boy.”

“Oh, we will carry him if he breaks down,” said Uledi. “Won’t we,

Kachéché?”

“Inshallah!” responded Kachéché decisively. “We must have Robert along

with us, otherwise the white men won’t understand us.”

_Aug. 5._—Early the next day the two guides appeared, but the whole of

the morning was wasted in endeavouring to induce them to set off. Uledi

waxed impatient, and buckled on his accoutrements, drawing his belt so

tight about his waist that it was perfectly painful to watch him, and

said, “Give us the letters, master! we will not wait for the pagans. Our

people will be dead before we start. Regard them, will you! They are

sprawling about the camp without any life in them. Goee—Go-ee—Go-ee.”

Finally, at noon, the guides and messengers departed in company.

Meanwhile a bale of cloth and a sack of beads were distributed, and the

strongest and youngest men despatched abroad in all directions to forage

for food. Late in the afternoon they arrived in camp weakened and

dispirited, having, despite all efforts, obtained but a few bundles of

the miserable ground-nuts and sufficient sweet potatoes to give three

small ones to each person, though they had given twenty times their

value for each one. The heartless reply of the spoiled aborigines was,

“Wait for the zandu,” or market, which was to be held in two days at

Nsanda; for, as amongst the Babwendé, each district has its respective

days for marketing. Still what we had obtained was a respite from death;

and, on the morning of the 5th, the people were prepared to drag their

weary limbs nearer to the expected relief.

Our route lay along the crest of a ridge, until we arrived at a narrow

alluvial valley, in which the chief village of the Nsanda district is

situate, amidst palms, ground-nut, and cassava gardens, and small

patches of beans, peas, and sweet potatoes. From this valley we ascended

the grassy upland, until we came to what we might call Southern Nsanda.

We had proceeded about two hundred yards beyond it when a powerful man,

followed by a large crowd, advanced toward us, and, like him near Mwato

Wandu, demanded to know why we passed through without payment.

“Payment! Payment for what? Look at my people; they are skin and bone.

They are dying for want of food in your country. Brother, stand off, or

these men will be smelling food for themselves, and I would not stop

them.”

He became outrageous; he called for his gun; his followers armed

themselves. Observing matters getting serious, I disposed as a

precautionary measure twenty men as skirmishers in front of the road and

ten in rear, leaving the goods and sick people in the centre. Word was

then given to the powerful man that they had better not shoot, for our

people were angry, and were very different from any they had seen, and

nothing could stop them if they began; and it was possible they might

eat every soul in Nsanda. I observed that the last sentence had a potent

effect; the angry demonstrations were followed by a loud consultation;

the loud consultation subsided into whispers, and soon the “powerful

man” said “Enough,” and we advanced towards each other, laughed, and

shook hands heartily. At this juncture appeared the chief of the central

village, who had furnished us with guides, and he, upon hearing of the

intended injury to the Mundelé, insisted upon the “powerful man”

bringing forth a gourd and jug and wash-basin full of palm-wine, and

sealing our friendship by a “drink all round;” which was done, and I

promised to send the “powerful man” a present of a bottle of rum from

Embomma.

At 3 P.M., after a march of twelve miles, the van of the Expedition

descended the slope of the high wood-covered ridge of Ikungu, whence the

populous valley of Mbinda lay revealed. Halfway down the slope we

camped, being in view of eighteen villages. The entire population of

Mbinda—the valley, or basin, derives its name from the south-eastern

ridge, which is called Mbinda—I roughly estimated at being about three

thousand souls. Each of these villages bears a different name, but the

entire number is under three chiefs, who are styled “kings,” and are

extremely absurd in their pomposity. The people are sufficiently

amiable, but terribly extortionate and grasping, and so niggardly and

close in trade that the Wangwana became more and more weakened.

Festishism is carried to an extraordinary extent. Idols of wood,

tolerably well carved, are numerous, and the various ceremonies

practised by these people would fill a volume. Some hideous and ghostly

objects, with chalked bodies, wearing skirts of palm-leaves or grass,

hovered about at respectful distance, and I was told by the chief of

Nsanda that they had been lately circumcised. Ground-nuts are the chief

produce here, as well as of all the region from Manyanga of the

Babwendé, because they are in demand by the merchants of Embomma. By

means of the markets held alternately in each district, the ground-nuts

are being brought from immense distances. But while their cultivation

retards exploration, it proves that the natives are willing to devote

themselves to any branch of agriculture that may be profitable. In

former days the slave and the ivory-trade supported a vast portion of

this region, but perceiving that slaves are not now in demand, and ivory

not abundant enough to be profitable, the natives have resorted to the

cultivation of ground-nuts for the supply of the Europeans at Embomma,

palms for the sake of their intoxicating juice, and only a few small

patches of beans, vetches, sweet potatoes, &c., for home consumption.

[Illustration: MBINDA CEMETERY.]

Close to our camp was a cemetery of a village of Mbinda. The grave-

mounds were neat, and by their appearance I should judge them to be not

only the repositories of the dead, but also the depositories of all the

articles that had belonged to the dead. Each grave was dressed out with

the various mugs, pitchers, wash-basins, teapots, kettles, glasses, gin,

brandy, and beer bottles, besides iron skillets, kettles, tin watering-

pots, and buckets; and above the mound thus curiously decorated were

suspended to the branch of a tree the various net haversacks of palm-

fibre in which the deceased had carried his ground-nuts, cassava bread,

and eatables. The various articles of property thus exhibited,

especially the useful articles, had all been purposely rendered useless,

otherwise I doubt if, with all their superstition, thieves could have

been restrained from appropriating them.

_Aug. 6._—On the 6th we roused ourselves for a further effort, and after

filing through several villages separated from each other by intervals

of waste land, we arrived at 9 A.M. near Banza Mbuko. Haggard, woe-

begone invalids, with bloated faces, but terribly angular bodies, we

sought a quiet spot a mile beyond the outermost village of the

settlement. Mbinda’s wooded ridge was in view, and Ikungu’s bearded

summits were fast receding into distance and obscurity. Banza Mbuko

seemed prosperous; the inhabitants appeared to be well fed, but, as

though we were denizens of another world, nothing of warm sympathy could

I detect in the face of any one of all those that gazed on us. Ah! in

what part of all the Japhetic world would such a distressed and woful

band as we were then have been regarded with such hard, steel-cold eyes?

Yet not one word of reproach issued from the starving people; they threw

themselves upon the ground with an indifference begotten of despair and

misery. They did not fret, nor bewail aloud the tortures of famine, nor

vent the anguish of their pinched bowels in cries, but with stony

resignation surrendered themselves to rest, under the scant shade of

some dwarf acacia or sparse bush. Now and then I caught the wail of an

infant, and the thin voice of a starving mother, or the petulant

remonstrance of an older child; but the adults remained still and

apparently lifeless, each contracted within the exclusiveness of

individual suffering. The youths, companions of Uledi, and the chiefs,

sat in whispering groups, removed from the sick and grieving, and darkly

dotted the vicinity of the tent; the childless women were also seen by

twos and threes far apart, discussing, no doubt, our prospects, for at

this period this was the most absorbing topic of the camp.

Suddenly the shrill voice of a little boy was heard saying, “Oh! I see

Uledi and Kachéché coming down the hill, and there are plenty of men

following them!”

“What!—what!—what!” broke out eagerly from several voices, and dark

forms were seen springing up from amongst the bleached grass, and from

under the shade, and many eyes were directed at the whitened hill-slope.

“Yes; it is true! it is true! La il Allah il Allah! Yes; el hamd ul

Illah! Yes, it is food! food! food at last! Ah, that Uledi! he is a

lion, truly! We are saved, thank God!”

Before many minutes, Uledi and Kachéché were seen tearing through the

grass, and approaching us with long springing strides, holding a letter

up to announce to us that they had been successful. And the gallant

fellows, hurrying up, soon placed it in my hands, and in the hearing of

all who were gathered to hear the news I translated the following

letter:—

“EMBOMMA, “6.30 A.M.,

“ENGLISH FACTORY. “BOMA, _6th August, 1877_.

“H. M. STANLEY, Esq.

“DEAR SIR,

“Your welcome letter came to hand yesterday, at 7 P.M. As soon

as its contents were understood, we immediately arranged to despatch to

you such articles as you requested, as much as our stock on hand would

permit, and other things that we deemed would be suitable in that

locality. You will see that we send fifty pieces of cloth, each 24 yards

long, and some sacks containing sundries for yourself; several sacks of

rice, sweet potatoes, also a few bundles of fish, a bundle of tobacco,

and one demijohn of rum. The carriers are all paid, so that you need not

trouble yourself about them. That is all we need say about business. We

are exceedingly sorry to hear that you have arrived in such piteous

condition, but we send our warmest congratulations to you, and hope that

you will soon arrive in Boma (this place is called Boma by us, though on

the map it is Em-bomma). Again hoping that you will soon arrive, and

that you are not suffering in health,

“Believe us to remain,

“Your sincere friends,

“HATTON & COOKSON.

(_Signed_) “A. DA MOTTA VEIGA.

“J. W. HARRISON.”

Uledi and Kachéché then delivered their budget. Their guides had

accompanied them halfway, when they became frightened by the menaces of

some of the natives of Mbinda, and deserted them. The four Wangwana,

however, undertook the journey alone, and, following a road for several

hours, they appeared at Bibbi after dark. The next day (the 5th), being

told by the natives that Boma (to which Embomma was now changed) was

lower down river, and unable to obtain guides, the brave fellows

resolved upon following the Congo along its banks. About an hour after

sunset, after a fatiguing march over many hills, they reached Boma, and,

asking a native for the house of the “Ingreza” (English), were shown to

the factory of Messrs. Hatton and Cookson, which was superintended by a

Portuguese gentleman, Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, and Mr. John W. Harrison,

of Liverpool. Kachéché, who was a better narrator than Uledi, then

related that a short white man, wearing spectacles, opened the letter,

and, after reading awhile, asked which was Robert Feruzi, who answered

for himself in English, and, in answer to many questions, gave a summary

of our travels and adventures, but not before the cooks were set to

prepare an abundance of food, which they sadly needed, after a fast of

over thirty hours.

By this time the procession of carriers from Messrs. Hatton and

Cookson’s factory had approached, and all eyes were directed at the

pompous old “capitan” and the relief caravan behind him. Several of the

Wangwana officiously stepped forward to relieve the fatigued and

perspiring men, and with an extraordinary vigour tossed the

provisions—rice, fish, and tobacco bundles—on the ground, except the

demijohn of rum, which they called pombé, and handled most carefully.

The “capitan” was anxious about my private stores, but the scene

transpiring about the provisions was so absorbingly interesting that I

could pay no attention as yet to them. While the captains of the messes

were ripping open the sacks and distributing the provisions in equal

quantities, Murabo, the boat-boy, struck up a glorious loud-swelling

chant of triumph and success, into which he deftly, and with a poet’s

licence, interpolated verses laudatory of the white men of the second

sea. The bard, extemporizing, sang much about the great cataracts,

cannibals, and pagans, hunger, the wide wastes, great inland seas, and

niggardly tribes, and wound up by declaring that the journey was over,

that we were even then smelling the breezes of the western ocean, and

his master’s brothers had redeemed them from the “hell of hunger.” And

at the end of each verse the voices, rose high and clear to the chorus—

“Then sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended;

Sing aloud, O friends, sing to this great sea.”

“Enough now; fall to,” said Manwa Sera, at which the people nearly

smothered him by their numbers. Into each apron, bowl, and utensil held

out, the several captains expeditiously tossed full measures of rice and

generous quantities of sweet potatoes and portions of fish. The younger

men and women hobbled after water, and others set about gathering fuel,

and the camp was all animation, where but half an hour previously all

had been listless despair. Many people were unable to wait for the food

to be cooked, but ate the rice and the fish raw. But when the provisions

had all been distributed, and the noggin of rum had been equitably

poured into each man’s cup, and the camp was in a state of genial

excitement, and groups of dark figures discussed with animation the

prospective food which the hospitable fires were fast preparing, then I

turned to my tent, accompanied by Uledi, Kachéché, the capitan, and the

tent-boys, who were, I suppose, eager to witness my transports of

delight.

With profound tenderness Kachéché handed to me the mysterious bottles,

watching my face the while with his sharp detective eyes as I glanced at

the labels, by which the cunning rogue read my pleasure. Pale ale!

Sherry! Port wine! Champagne! Several loaves of bread, wheaten bread,

sufficient for a week. Two pots of butter. A packet of tea! Coffee!

White loaf-sugar! Sardines and salmon! Plum-pudding! Currant,

gooseberry, and raspberry jam!

The gracious God be praised for ever! The long war we had maintained

against famine and the siege of woe were over, and my people and I

rejoiced in plenty! It was only an hour before we had been living on the

recollections of the few pea-nuts and green bananas we had consumed in

the morning, but now, in an instant, we were transported into the

presence of the luxuries of civilization. Never did gaunt Africa appear

so unworthy and so despicable before my eyes as now, when imperial

Europe rose before my delighted eyes and showed her boundless treasures

of life, and blessed me with her stores.

When we all felt refreshed, the cloth bales were opened, and soon,

instead of the venerable and tattered relics of Manchester, Salem, and

Nashua manufacture, which were hastily consumed by the fire, the people

were reclad with white cloths and gay prints. The nakedness of want, the

bare ribs, the sharp protruding bones were thus covered; but months must

elapse before the hollow sunken cheeks and haggard faces would again

resume the healthy bronze colour which distinguishes the well-fed

African.

My condition of mind in the evening of the eventful day which was

signalized by the happy union which we had made with the merchants of

the west coast, may be guessed by the following letter:—

“BANZA MBUKO, _August 6, 1877_.

“MESSRS. A. DA MOTTA VEIGA AND J. W. HARRISON,

EMBOMMA, CONGO RIVER.

“GENTLEMEN,

“I have received your very welcome letter, but better than

all, and more welcome, your supplies. I am unable to express just at

present how grateful I feel. We are all so overjoyed and confused with

our emotions, at the sight of the stores exposed to our hungry eyes—at

the sight of the rice, the fish, and the rum, and for me—wheaten bread,

butter, sardines, jam, peaches, grapes, beer (ye gods! just think of

it—three bottles pale ale!) besides tea and sugar—that we cannot

restrain ourselves from falling to and enjoying this sudden bounteous

store—and I beg you will charge our apparent want of thankfulness to our

greediness. If we do not thank you sufficiently in words, rest assured

we feel what volumes could not describe.

“For the next twenty-four hours we shall be too busy eating to think of

anything else much; but I may say that the people cry out joyfully,

while their mouths are full of rice and fish, ‘Verily, our master has

found the sea, and his brothers, but we did not believe him until he

showed us the rice and the pombé (rum). We did not believe there was any

end to the great river; but, God be praised for ever, we shall see white

people to-morrow, and our wars and troubles will be over.’

“Dear Sirs—though strangers, I feel we shall be great friends, and it

will be the study of my lifetime to remember my feelings of

gratefulness, when I first caught sight of your supplies, and my poor

faithful and brave people cried out, ‘Master, we are saved!—food is

coming!’ The old and the young—the men, the women, the children—lifted

their wearied and worn-out frames, and began to chant lustily an

extemporaneous song, in honour of the white people by the great salt sea

(the Atlantic) who had listened to their prayers. I had to rush to my

tent to hide the tears that would issue, despite all my attempts at

composure.

“Gentlemen, that the blessing of God may attend your footsteps

whithersoever you go is the very earnest prayer of

“Yours faithfully,

“HENRY M. STANLEY,

“Commanding Anglo-American Expedition.”

_Aug. 7._—At the same hour on the morning of the 7th that we resumed the

march, Kachéché and Uledi were despatched to Boma with the above letter.

Then surmounting a ridge, we beheld a grassy country barred with seams

of red clay in gullies, ravines, and slopes, the effects of rain,

dipping into basins with frequently broad masses of plateau and great

dyke-like ridges between, and in the distance south-west of us a lofty,

tree-clad hill-range, which we were told we should have to climb before

descending to N’lamba N’lamba, where we proposed camping.

Half an hour’s march brought us to a market-place, where a tragedy had

been enacted a short time before the relief caravan had passed it the

day previous. Two thieves had robbed a woman of salt, and, according to

the local custom which ordains the severest penalties for theft in the

public mart, the two felons had been immediately executed, and their

bodies laid close to the path to deter others evilly disposed from

committing like crimes.

At noon we surmounted the lofty range which we had viewed near Banza

Mbuko, and the aneroid indicated a height of 1500 feet. A short distance

from its base, on two grassy hills, is situate N’lamba N’lamba, a

settlement comprising several villages, and as populous as Mbinda. The

houses and streets were very clean and neat; but, as of old, the natives

are devoted to idolatry, and their passion for carving wooden idols was

illustrated in every street we passed through.

[Illustration:

GROUP OF MR. STANLEY’S FOLLOWERS AT KABINDA, WEST COAST OF AFRICA,

JUST AFTER CROSSING THE “DARK CONTINENT.”

(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips, of Kabinda._)

]

_Aug. 8._—On the 8th we made a short march of five miles to N’safu, over

a sterile, bare, and hilly country, but the highest ridge passed was not

over 1100 feet above the sea. Uledi and Kachéché returned at this place

with more cheer for us, and a note acknowledging my letter of thanks.

In a postscript to this note, Mr. Motta Veiga prepared me for a

reception which was to meet me on the road halfway between N’safu and

Boma; it also contained the census of the European population, as

follows:—

“Perhaps you do not know that in Boma there are only eleven

Portuguese, one Frenchman, one Dutchman, one gentleman from St.

Helena, and ourselves (Messrs. Motta Veiga and J. W. Harrison),

Messrs. Hatton and Cookson being in Liverpool, and the two signatures

above being names of those in charge of the English factory here.”

_Aug. 9._—On the 9th of August, 1877, the 999th day from the date of our

departure from Zanzibar, we prepared to greet the van of civilization.

From the bare rocky ridges of N’safu there is a perceptible decline to

the Congo valley, and the country becomes, in appearance, more sterile—a

sparse population dwelling in a mere skeleton village in the centre of

bleakness. Shingly rocks strewed the path and the waste, and thin sere

grass waved mournfully on level and spine, on slope of ridge and crest

of hill; in the hollows it was somewhat thicker; in the bottoms it had a

slight tinge of green.

We had gradually descended some five hundred feet along declining spurs

when we saw a scattered string of hammocks appearing, and gleams of

startling whiteness, such as were given by fine linen and twills.

A buzz of wonder rang along our column.

Proceeding a little farther, we stopped, and in a short time I was face

to face with four white—ay, truly white men!

As I looked into their faces, I blushed to find that I was wondering at

their paleness. Poor pagan Africans—Rwoma of Uzinja, and man-eating

tribes of the Livingstone! The whole secret of their wonder and

curiosity flashed upon me at once. What arrested the twanging bow and

the deadly trigger of the cannibals? What but the weird pallor of myself

and Frank! In the same manner the sight of the pale faces of the Embomma

merchants gave me the slightest suspicion of an involuntary shiver. The

pale colour, after so long gazing on rich, black and richer bronze, had

something of an unaccountable ghastliness. I could not divest myself of

the feeling that they must be sick; yet, as I compare their complexions

to what I now view, I should say they were olive, sunburnt, dark.

Yet there was something very self-possessed about the carriage of these

white men. It was grand; a little self-pride mixed with cordiality. I

could not remember just then that I had witnessed such bearing among any

tribe throughout Africa. They spoke well also; the words they uttered

hit the sense pat; without gesture, they were perfectly intelligible.

How strange! It was quite delightful to observe the slight nods of the

head; the intelligent facial movements were admirably expressive. They

were completely clothed, and neat also; I ought to say immaculately

clean. Jaunty straw hats, coloured neck-ties, patent-leather boots,

well-cut white clothes, virtuously clean! I looked from them to my

people, and then I fear I felt almost like being grateful to the Creator

that I was not as black as they, and that these finely-dressed, well-

spoken whites claimed me as friend and kin. Yet I did not dare to place

myself upon an equality with them as yet; the calm blue and grey eyes

rather awed me, and the immaculate purity of their clothes dazzled me. I

was content to suppose myself a kind of connecting link between the

white and the African for the time being. Possibly familiarity would

beget greater confidence.

They expressed themselves delighted to see me; congratulated me with

great warmth of feeling, and offered to me the “Freedom of Boma!” We

travelled together along the path for a mile, and came to the frontier

village of Boma, or Embomma, where the “king” was at hand to do the

honours. My courteous friends had brought a hamper containing luxuries.

Hock and champagne appeared to be cheap enough where but a few hours

previous a cup of palm-wine was as precious as nectar; rare dainties of

Paris and London abundant, though a short time ago we were stinted of

even ground-nuts. Nor were the Wangwana forgotten, for plenty had also

been prepared for them.

My friends who thus welcomed me amongst the descendants of Japhet were

Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, Senhores Luiz Pinto Maroo, João Chaves, Henrique

Germano Faro, and Mr. J. F. Müller, of the Dutch factory. They had

brought a hammock with them, and eight sturdy, well-fed bearers. They

insisted on my permitting them to lift me into the hammock. I declined.

They said it was a Portuguese custom. To custom, therefore, I yielded,

though it appeared very effeminate.

[Illustration:

THE RECUPERATED AND RECLAD EXPEDITION AS IT APPEARED AT ADMIRALTY

HOUSE, SIMON’S TOWN, AFTER OUR ARRIVAL ON H.M.S. ‘INDUSTRY.’

]

It was a gradual slope through a valley, which soon opened into a low

alluvial plain, seamed here and there with narrow gullies, and then over

the heads of the tall grass as I lay in the hammock I caught a glimpse

of the tall square box of a frame-house, with a steep roof, erected on

rising ground. It brought back a host of old recollections; for

everywhere on the frontiers of civilization in America one may see the

like. It approached nearer and larger to the view, and presently the

hammock was halted by whitewashed palings, above which the square two-

storied box rose on piles with a strangeness that was almost weird. It

was the residence of those in charge of the English factory.

Looking from the house, my eyes rested on the river. Ah! the hateful,

murderous river, now so broad and proud and majestically calm, as though

it had not bereft me of a friend, and of many faithful souls, and as

though we had never heard it rage and whiten with fury, and mock the

thunder. What a hypocritical river! But just below the landing a steamer

was ascending—the _Kabinda_, John Petherbridge, master. How civilization

was advancing on me! Not a moment even to lie down and rest! Full-

blooded, eager, restless, and aggressive, it pressed on me, and claimed

me for its own, without allowing me even the time to cast one

retrospective glance at the horrors left behind. While still overwhelmed

by the thought, the people of the Expedition appeared, pressing forward

to admire and gaze wide-eyed at the strange “big iron canoe,” driven by

fire on _their_ river; for there were several Wanyamwezi, Waganda, and

east coast men who would not believe that there was anything more

wonderful than the _Lady Alice_.

Our life at Boma,[17] which lasted only from 11 A.M. of the 9th to noon

of the 11th, passed too quickly away; but throughout it was intensest

pleasure and gaiety.

-----

Footnote 17:

There were three little banquets given me at Boma, and I do believe

everybody toasted me, for which I felt very much obliged.

-----

There are some half-dozen factories at Boma, engaging the attention of

about eighteen whites. The houses are all constructed of wooden boards,

with, as a rule, corrugated zinc roofs. The residences line the river

front; the Dutch, French, and Portuguese factories being west of an

isolated high square-browed hill, which, by-the-bye, is a capital site

for a fortlet; and the English factory being a few hundred yards above

it. Each factory requires an ample courtyard for its business, which

consists in the barter of cotton fabrics, glass-ware, crockery, iron-

ware, gin, rum, gums and gunpowder, for palm-oil, ground-nuts, and

ivory. The merchants contrive to exist as comfortably as their means

will allow. Some of them plant fruits and garden vegetables, and

cultivate grape-vines. Pine-apples, guavas and limes may be obtained

from the market, which is held on alternate days a short distance behind

the European settlement.

Though Boma is comparatively ancient, and Europeans have had commercial

connections with this district and the people for over a century, yet

Captain Tuckey’s description of the people, written in 1816—their

ceremonies and modes of life, their suspicion of strangers and

intolerance, their greed for rum and indolence, the scarcity of food—is

as correct as though written to-day. The name “Boma,” however, has

usurped that of “Lombee,” which Captain Tuckey knew; the _banza_ of

Embomma being a little distance inland. In his day it was a village of

about one hundred huts, in which was held the market of the banza, or

king’s town.

The view inland is dreary, bleak, and unpromising, consisting of grassy

hills, and of a broken country, its only boast the sturdy baobab, which

relieves the nakedness of the land. But—fresh from the hungry wilderness

and the land of selfish men, from the storm and stress of the cataracts,

the solemn rock defiles of the Livingstone, and the bleak table-land—I

heeded it not. The glowing warm life of Western civilization, the

hospitable civilities and gracious kindnesses which the merchants of

Boma showered on myself and people, were as dews of Paradise, grateful,

soothing, and refreshing.

_Aug. 11._—On the 11th, at noon, after a last little banquet and songs,

hearty cheers, innumerable toasts, and fervid claspings of friendly

hands, we embarked. An hour before sunset the “big iron canoe,” after a

descent of about thirty-five miles, hauled in-shore, on the right bank,

and made fast to the pier of another of Hatton and Cookson’s factories

at Ponta da Lenha, or Wooded Point. Two or three other Portuguese

factories are in close neighbourhood to it, lightening the gloom of the

background of black mangrove and forest.

[Illustration]

1. Wife of Murabo.│4. Half caste of │7. Wife of Manwa │10. Wife of Muscati.

│ Gambaragara, whom│ Sera. │

│ Wadi Rehani │ │

│ married. │ │

2.    ”    Robert.│5. Zaidi’s wife. │8.    ”    Chowpereh.│11.    ”    Chiwonda.

3.    ”    Mana │6. Wife of Wadi │9.    ”    Muini │12.    ”     Multa.

Koko. │ Baraka. │ Pembé. │

After a very agreeable night with our hospitable English host, the

_Kabinda_ was again under way.

The puissant river below Boma reminded me of the scenes above Uyanzi;

the colour of the water, the numerous islands, and the enormous breadth

recalled those days when we had sought the liquid wildernesses of the

Livingstone, to avoid incessant conflicts with the human beasts of prey

in the midst of Primitive Africa, and at the sight my eyes filled with

tears at the thought that I could not recall my lost friends, and bid

them share the rapturous joy that now filled the hearts of all those who

had endured and survived.

A few hours later and we were gliding through the broad portal into the

Ocean, the blue domain of civilization!

Turning to take a farewell glance at the mighty River on whose brown

bosom we had endured so greatly, I saw it approach, awed and humbled,

the threshold of the watery immensity, to whose immeasurable volume and

illimitable expanse, awful as had been its power, and terrible as had

been its fury, its flood was but a drop. And I felt my heart suffused

with purest gratitude to Him whose hand had protected us, and who had

enabled us to pierce the Dark Continent from east to west, and to trace

its mightiest River to its Ocean bourne.

[Illustration:

AT REST: MY QUARTERS AT KABINDA BY THE SEA.

(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips._)]

]

CONCLUSION.

Kabinda—San Paulo de Loanda—Simon’s Bay—Cape Town—Natal—Zanzibar—Joy of

the returned—The martyrs to geography—Reverie—Laus Deo!

_Aug. 12-20._—After steaming northward from the mouth of the Congo for a

few hours, we entered the fine bay of Kabinda, on the southern shores of

which the native town of that name in the country of Ngoyo is situate.

On the southern point of the bay stands a third factory of the

enterprising firm of Messrs. Hatton and Cookson, under the immediate

charge of their principal agent, Mr. John Phillips. A glance at the

annexed photograph will sufficiently show the prosperous appearance of

the establishment, and the comfortable houses that have been

constructed. The Expedition received a cordial welcome from Messrs.

Phillips, Wills, Price, and Jones, and I was housed in a cottage

surrounded by gardens and overlooking the glorious sea, while the people

were located in a large shed fronting the bay.

The next morning, when I proceeded to greet the people, I discovered

that one of the Wangwana had died at sunrise; and when I examined the

condition of the other sufferers it became apparent that there was to be

yet no rest for me, and that to save life I should have to be assiduous

and watchful. But for this, I should have surrendered myself to the joys

of life, without a thought for myself or for others, and no doubt I

should have suffered in the same degree as the Wangwana from the effects

of the sudden relaxation from care, trouble, or necessity for further

effort. There were also other claims on my energies: I had to write my

despatches to the journals, and to re-establish those bonds of

friendship and sympathetic communion that had been severed by the lapse

of dark years and long months of silence. My poor people, however, had

no such incentives to rouse themselves from the stupor of indifference,

as fatal to them as the cold to a benighted man in a snowy wilderness.

Housed together in a comfortable, barrack-like building, with every

convenience provided for them, and supplied with food, raiment, fuel,

water, and an excess of luxuries, nothing remained for them to do; and

the consequence was, that the abrupt dead-stop to all action and

movement overwhelmed them, and plunged them into a state of torpid

brooding from which it was difficult to arouse them.

[Illustration:

EXPEDITION AT KABINDA.

(_From a photograph by Mr. Phillips._)]

]

The words of the poet—

“What’s won is done: Joy’s soul lies in the doing”—

or, as Longfellow has it—

“The reward is in the doing.

And the rapture of pursuing

Is the prize”—

recurred to me, as explaining why it was that the people abandoned

themselves to the dangerous melancholy created by inactivity. I was

charmed by it myself; the senses were fast relapsing into a drowsy

state, that appeared to be akin to the drowsiness of delirium. No novel

or romance interested me, though Mr. Phillips’s cottage possessed a

complete library of fiction and light reading. Dickens seemed rubbish,

and the finest poems flat. Frequently, even at meals, I found myself

subsiding into sleep, though I struggled against it heroically; wine had

no charm for me; conversation fatigued me. Yet the love of society, and

what was due to my friendly hosts, acted as a wholesome restraint and a

healthy stimulant; but what had the poor, untutored black strangers,

whose homes were on the east side of the continent, to rouse them and to

stimulate them into life?

“Do you wish to see Zanzibar, boys?” I asked.

“Ah, it is far. Nay, speak not, master. We shall never see it,” they

replied.

“But you will die if you go on in this way. Wake up—shake

yourselves—show yourselves to be men.”

“Can a man contend with God? Who fears death? Let us die undisturbed,

and be at rest for ever,” they answered.

Brave, faithful, loyal souls! They were, poor fellows, surrendering

themselves to the benumbing influences of a listlessness and fatal

indifference to life! Four of them died in consequence of this strange

malady at Loanda, three more on board H.M.S. _Industry_, and one woman

breathed her last the day after we arrived at Zanzibar. But in their sad

death, they had one consolation, in the words which they kept constantly

repeating to themselves—

“We have brought our master to the great sea, and he has seen his white

brothers, La il Allah, il Allah!—There is no God but God!” they said—and

died.

It is not without an overwhelming sense of grief, a choking in the

throat and swimming eyes, that I write of those days, for my memory is

still busy with the worth and virtues of the dead. In a thousand fields

of incident, adventure, and bitter trials they had proved their staunch

heroism and their fortitude; they had lived and endured nobly. I

remember the enthusiasm with which they responded to my appeals; I

remember their bold bearing during the darkest days; I remember the

Spartan pluck, the indomitable courage with which they suffered in the

days of our adversity. Their voices again loyally answer me, and again I

hear them address each other upon the necessity of standing by the

“master.” Their boat-song, which contained sentiments similar to the

following:—

The pale-faced stranger, lonely here,

In cities afar, where his name is dear,

Your Arab truth and strength shall show;

He trusts in us; row, Arabs, row”—

despite all the sounds which now surround me, still charms my listening

ear.

_Aug. 21-Sept. 27._—The Expedition, after a stay of eight days at

Kabinda, was kindly taken on board the Portuguese gunboat _Tamega_,

Commander José Marquez, to San Paulo de Loanda. The Portuguese officers

distinguished themselves by a superb banquet, and an exhibition of

extraordinary courtesy towards myself and great sympathy towards my

followers. Two gentlemen, Major Serpa Pinto and Senhor José Avelino

Fernandez, who were on board, extended their hospitalities so far as to

persuade me to accompany them to their residence in the capital of

Angola. To house the 114 Wangwana who accompanied me was a great task on

the liberality of these gentlemen, but the Portuguese Governor-General

of Angola nobly released them and myself from all obligations, and all

the expenses incurred by us from the 21st of August to the 27th of

September were borne by the colony. One of the first acts of Governor-

General Albuquerque was to despatch his aide-de-camp with offers of

assistance, money, and a gunboat to convey me to Lisbon, which received,

as it deserved, my warmest thanks. The Portuguese Commodore gave a

banquet to the Portuguese explorers, Major Serpa Pinto, Commander Brito

Capello, and Lieutenant Roberto Ivens, who were about setting out for

the exploration of the Kunené or Nourse river, as far as Bihé, thence to

Lake Nyassa and Mozambique, and upon the festive occasion they honoured

me. The Board of Works at Loanda also banqueted us royally; as also did

Mr. Michael Tobin, the banker, while Mr. Robert Newton was unceasing in

his hospitalities.

The Government hospital at Loanda was open to the sick strangers; Doctor

Lopez and his assistants daily visited the sick ward of our residence,

and a trained nurse was detailed to attend the suffering. Pure

Samaritanism animated the enthusiastic Senhor Capello, and free

unselfish charity inspired my friend Avelino Fernandez to watch and tend

the ailing, desponding, and exhausted travellers.

With a generosity unequalled, Serpa Pinto distributed a large sum of

money among them, that they might be enabled to suit their sick cravings

as they pleased in the markets.

Nor must the English officers of the Royal Navy be forgotten for their

chivalrous kindness. I shall ever remember Captain Maxwell Heron, of

H.M.S. _Seagull_, and Captain D. Hopkins, British Consul, as my friends;

and so also Captain John Childs Purvis, of H.M.S. _Danae_, who, when I

was wondering whether I should be compelled to lead the Wangwana across

the continent to their homes, solved my doubts and anxieties by offering

the Expedition a passage to Cape Town in H.M.S. _Industry_, Commander R.

C. Dyer. The offer of the Portuguese Governor-General to convey me in a

gunboat to Lisbon, and the regular arrivals of the Portuguese mail

steamers, were very tempting, but the condition of my followers was such

that I found it impossible to leave them. I resolved therefore to

accompany them to the Cape of Good Hope.

The cordial civilities that were accorded to us at Loanda were succeeded

by equally courteous treatment on board the _Industry_. Her officers,

Captain Dyer, Assistant-Surgeon William Brown, and Paymaster Edwin

Sandys, assisted me to the utmost of their ability in alleviating the

sufferings of the sick and reviving the vigour of the desponding. But

the accomplished surgeon found his patients most difficult cases. The

flame of life flickered and spluttered, and to fan it into brightness

required in most of the cases patience and tact more than medicine. Yet

there was a little improvement in them, though they were still heavy-

eyed.

_Oct. 21-Nov. 6._—Upon arriving at Simon’s Bay, Cape of Good Hope, on

the 21st of October, I was agreeably surprised by a most genial letter,

signed by Commodore Francis William Sullivan, who invited me to the

Admiralty House as his guest, and from whom during the entire period of

our stay at the Cape we met with the most hearty courtesy and

hospitality. He had also made preparations for transporting the

Expedition to Zanzibar, when a telegram from the Lords of the British

Admiralty was received, authorizing him to provide for the transmission

of my followers to their homes, an act of gracious kindness for which I

have recorded elsewhere my most sincere thanks.

Had we been able to accept all the invitations that were showered upon

us by the kind-hearted colonists of South Africa, from Cape Town to

Natal, it is possible we might still be enjoying our holiday at that

remote end of Africa, but her Majesty’s ship could not be delayed for

our pleasure and gratification. But during the time she was refitting,

the authorities of Cape Town and Stellenbosch, through the influence of

Lady Frere, Commodore Sullivan, and Captain Mills, Colonial Secretary,

exerted themselves so zealously to gratify and honour us, that I

attribute a large share of the recovery in health of my followers to the

cordial and unmistakable heartiness of the hospitalities they there

enjoyed. Here the Wangwana saw for the first time the “fire-carriage,”

and, accompanied by Commodore Sullivan, the Dean of Cape Town and

several of the leading residents of the Cape, the Expedition was whirled

to Stellenbosch at the rate of thirty miles an hour, which, of all the

wonders they had viewed, seemed to them the most signal example of the

wonderful enterprise and superior intelligence of the European. Lady

Frere and Commodore Sullivan devised several entertainments for the

Wangwana; and the “Great Lady,” as they called Lady Frere, presented

men, women, and children with many useful souvenirs of their visit to

the Governor’s palace. The Prime Minister, Mr. Molteno, in the name of

the colony, re-clothed them with comfortable “jerseys,” which were

suitable and necessary in the cold and raw climate. A special evening

was devoted to them at the theatre, at which the acrobats received

thunderous applause, the most hearty that was probably ever accorded

them. Nor must I forget the credit due to the journalists of the

metropolis of Cape Colony, who with unanimous cordiality tendered me and

mine honours such as are worthy of being treasured. But there was one

illustrious figure absent from the festive occasions to which his

presence would have given _éclat_—I mean Sir Bartle Frere. I should have

been glad to have thanked him for the kindness he has uniformly shown to

me, and for his chivalrous defence of me while absent, and to have shown

my followers the sterling friend of that pious hero whose bones many of

them assisted to carry from the distant camp on Lake Bemba to the Indian

Ocean.

I ought not to omit describing a little episode that occurred soon after

our arrival in Simon’s Bay. For the first three days after landing at

Simon’s Town, blustering gales prevented me from returning to the ship.

The people thereupon became anxious, and wondered whether this distant

port was to terminate my connection with them. On returning to the ship,

therefore, I found them even more melancholy than when I had left them.

I asked the reason.

“You will return to Ulyah” (Europe), “of course, now.”

“Why?”

“Oh, do we not see that you have met your friends, and all these days we

have felt that you will shortly leave us?”

“Who told you so?” I asked, smiling at the bitterness visible in their

faces.

“Our hearts; and they are very heavy.”

“Ah! And would it please you if I accompanied you to Zanzibar?”

“Why should you ask, master? Are you not our father?”

“Well, it takes a long time to teach you to rely upon the promise of

your father. I have told you, over and over again, that nothing shall

cause me to break my promise to you that I would take you home. You have

been true to me, and I shall be true to you. If we can get no ship to

take us, I will walk the entire distance with you until I can show you

to your friends at Zanzibar.”

“Now we are grateful, master.”

I observed no sad faces after this day, and Captain Dyer and his

officers noticed how they visibly improved and brightened up from this

time.

On the 6th of November H.M.S. _Industry_ was equipped and ready for her

voyage to Zanzibar. To the last moment the gallant commodore was

consistent in his kindness, and the blue-jackets of the _Active_ cheered

us heartily as we steered out of Simon’s Bay. On the twelfth of the

month the _Industry_ dropped anchor in the harbour of Natal to coal, and

until the fourteenth the Natal press and the mayor of the city of

D’Urban contributed generously to the courtesies and genial memories we

retain of the rising and prosperous states of South Africa.

Fourteen days afterwards the palmy island of Zanzibar rose into sight,

and in the afternoon we were bearing straight for port.

As I looked on the Wangwana, and saw the pleasure which now filled every

soul, I felt myself amply rewarded for sacrificing several months to see

them home. The sick had, all but one, recovered, and they had improved

so much in appearance that few, ignorant of what they had been, could

have supposed that these were the living skeletons that had reeled from

sheer weakness through Boma.

The only patient who had baffled our endeavours to restore her to health

was the woman Muscati, unfortunate Safeni’s wife. Singular to relate,

she lived to be embraced by her father, and the next morning died in his

arms, surrounded by her relatives and friends. But all the others were

blessed with redundant health—robust, bright, and happy.

And now the well-known bays and inlets, and spicy shores and red-tinted

bluffs of Mbwenni, enraptured them. Again they saw what they had often

despaired of seeing: the rising ridge of Wilezu, at the foot of which

they knew were their homes and their tiny gardens; the well-known

features of Shangani and Melindi; the tall square mass of the Sultan’s

palace. Each outline, each house, from the Sandy Point to their own

Ngambu, each well-remembered bold swell of land, with its glories of

palm and mango-tree, was to them replete with associations of bygone

times.

The captain did not detain them on board. The boats were all lowered at

once, and they crowded the gangway and ladder. I watched the first boat-

load.

To those on the beach it was a surprise to see so many white-shirted,

turbaned men making for shore from an English man-of-war. Were they

slaves—or what? No; slaves they could not be, for they were too well

dressed. Yet what could they be?

The boat-keel kissed the beach, and the impatient fellows leaped out and

upwards, and danced in ecstasy on the sands of their island; they then

kneeled down, bowed their faces to the dear soil, and cried out, with

emotion, their thanks to Allah! To the full they now taste the sweetness

of the return home. The glad tidings ring out along the beach, “It is

Bwana Stanley’s expedition that has returned.”

Then came bounding toward them their friends, acquaintances, countrymen,

demanding ever so many questions, all burning to know all about it.

Where had they been? How came they to be on board the man-of-war? What

had they seen? Who was dead? Where is So-and-so? You have gone beyond

Nyangwé to the other sea? Mashallah!

The boats come and go.

More of the returned braves land, jump and frisk about, shake hands,

embrace firmly and closely; they literally _leap_ into each other’s

arms, and there are many wet eyes there, for some terrible tales are

told of death, disaster, and woe by the most voluble of the narrators,

who seem to think it incumbent on them to tell all the news at once. The

minor details, which are a thousand and a thousand, shall be told to-

morrow and the next day, and the next, and for days and years to come.

The ship was soon emptied of her strange passengers. Captain Sullivan,

of the _London_, came on board, and congratulated me on my safe arrival,

and then I went on shore to my friend Mr. Augustus Sparhawk’s house. We

will pass over whatever may have transpired among the reunited friends,

relatives, acquaintances, &c., but I will give substantially what

Mabruki, a stout, bright-eyed lad, the Nestor of the youths during the

expedition, related of his experiences the next day.

“Well, Mabruki, tell me, did you see your mother?” Mabruki, knowing I

have a lively curiosity to know all about the meeting, because he had

been sometimes inclined to despair of seeing poor old “mamma” again,

relaxes the severe tightness of his face, and out of his eyes there

pushes such a flood of light as shows him to be brimful of happiness,

and he hastens to answer, with a slight bob of the head—

“Yes, master.”

“Is she quite well? How does she look? What did she say when she saw her

son such a great strong lad? Come, tell me all about it.”

“I will tell you—but ah! she is old now. She did not know me at first,

because I burst open the door of our house, and I was one of the

foremost to land, and I ran all the way from the boat to the house. She

was sitting talking with a friend. When the door opened she cried out,

‘Who?’

“‘Mi-mi, ma-ma. It is I, mother. It is I—Mabruki, mother. It is I,

returned from the continent.’

“‘What! Mabruki, my son!’

“‘Verily it is I, mother.’

“She could scarcely believe I had returned, for she had heard no news.

But soon all the women round about gathered together near the door,

while the house was full, to hear the news; and they were all crying and

laughing and talking so fast, which they kept up far into the night. She

is very proud of me, master. When the dinner was ready over twenty sat

down to share with us. ‘Oh!’ they all said, ‘you are a man indeed, now

that you have been farther than any Arab has ever been.’”

Four days of grace I permitted myself to procure the thousands of rupees

required to pay off the people for their services. Messages had also

been sent to the relatives of the dead, requesting them to appear at Mr.

Sparhawk’s, prepared to make their claims good by the mouths of three

witnesses.

On the fifth morning the people—men, women, and children—of the Anglo-

American Expedition, attended by hundreds of friends, who crowded the

street and the capacious rooms of the Bertram Agency, began to receive

their well-earned dues.

The women, thirteen in number, who had borne the fatigues of the long,

long journey, who had transformed the stern camp in the depths of the

wilds into something resembling a village in their own island, who had

encouraged their husbands to continue in their fidelity despite all

adversity, were all rewarded.

The children of the chiefs who had accompanied us from Zanzibar to the

Atlantic, and who, by their childish, careless prattle, had often

soothed me in mid-Africa, and had often caused me to forget my

responsibilities for the time, were not forgotten. Neither were the tiny

infants—ushered into the world amid the dismal and tragic scenes of the

cataract lands, and who, with their eyes wide open with wonder, now

crowed and crooned at the gathering of happy men and elated women about

them—omitted in this final account and reckoning.

The second pay-day was devoted to hearing the claims for wages due to

the faithful dead. Poor faithful souls! With an ardour and a fidelity

unexpected, and an immeasurable confidence, they had followed me to the

very death. True, negro nature had often asserted itself, but it was

after all but human nature. They had never boasted that they were

heroes, but they exhibited truly heroic stuff while coping with the

varied terrors of the hitherto untrodden and apparently endless wilds of

broad Africa.

The female relatives filed in. With each name of the dead, old griefs

were remembered. The poignant sorrow I felt—as the fallen were named

after each successive conflict in those dark days never to be forgotten

by me—was revived. Sad and subdued were the faces of those I saw, as sad

and subdued as my own feelings. With such sympathies between us we soon

arrived at a satisfactory understanding. Each woman was paid without

much explanation required—one witness was sufficient. There were men,

however, who were put to great shifts. They appeared to have no

identity. None of my own people would vouch for the relationship; no

respectable man knew them. Several claimed money upon the ground that

they were acquaintances; that they had been slaves under one master, and

had become freemen together on their master’s death. Parents and true

brothers were not difficult to identify. The settlement of the claims

lasted five days, and then—the Anglo-American Expedition was no more.

_Dec. 13._—On the 13th of December the British India Steam Navigation

Company’s steamer _Pachumba_ sailed from Zanzibar for Aden, on board

which Mr. William Mackinnon had ordered a state room for me. My

followers through Africa had all left their homes early that they might

be certain to arrive in time to witness my departure. They were there

now, every one of them arrayed in the picturesque dress of their

countrymen. The fulness of the snowy dish-dasheh and the amplitude of

the turban gave a certain dignity to their forms, and each sported a

light cane. Upon inquiring I ascertained that several had already

purchased handsome little properties—houses and gardens—with their

wages, proving that the long journey had brought, with its pains and

rough experience, a good deal of thrift and wisdom.

When I was about to step into the boat, the brave, faithful fellows

rushed before me and shot the boat into the sea, and then lifted me up

on their heads and carried me through the surf into the boat.

We shook hands twenty times twenty, I think, and then at last the boat

started.

I saw them consult together, and presently saw them run down the beach

and seize a great twenty-ton lighter, which they soon manned and rowed

after me. They followed me thus to the steamer, and a deputation of them

came on board, headed by the famous Uledi, the coxswain; Kachéché, the

chief detective; Robert, my indispensable factotum; Zaidi, the chief,

and Wadi Rehani, the storekeeper, to inform me that they still

considered me as their master, and that they would not leave Zanzibar

until they received a letter from me announcing my safe arrival in my

own country. I had, they said, taken them round all Africa to bring them

back to their homes, and they must know that I had reached my own land

before they would go to seek new adventures on the continent,

and—simple, generous souls!—that if I wanted their help to reach my

country they would help me!

They were sweet and sad moments, those of parting. What a long, long and

true friendship was here sundered! Through what strange vicissitudes of

life had they not followed me! What wild and varied scenes had we not

seen together! What a noble fidelity these untutored souls had

exhibited! The chiefs were those who had followed me to Ujiji in 1871;

they had been witnesses of the joy of Livingstone at the sight of me;

they were the men to whom I entrusted the safeguard of Livingstone on

his last and fatal journey, who had mourned by his corpse at Muilala,

and borne the illustrious dead to the Indian Ocean.

And in a flood of sudden recollection, all the stormy period here ended

rushed in upon my mind; the whole panorama of danger and tempest through

which these gallant fellows had so staunchly stood by me—these gallant

fellows now parting from me. Rapidly, as in some apocalyptic vision,

every scene of strife with Man and Nature through which these poor men

and women had borne me company, and solaced me by the simple sympathy of

common suffering, came hurrying across my memory; for each face before

me was associated with some adventure or some peril, reminded me of some

triumph or of some loss. What a wild, weird retrospect it was, that

mind’s flash over the troubled past! So like a troublous dream!

And for years and years to come, in many homes in Zanzibar, there will

be told the great story of our journey, and the actors in it will be

heroes among their kith and kin. For me, too, they are heroes, these

poor ignorant children of Africa, for, from the first deadly struggle in

savage Ituru to the last staggering rush into Embomma, they had rallied

to my voice like veterans, and in the hour of need they had never failed

me. And thus, aided by their willing hands and by their loyal hearts,

the Expedition had been successful, and the three great problems of the

Dark Continent’s geography had been fairly solved.

LAUS DEO!

APPENDIX.

SIMPLE RULES FOR PRONOUNCING AFRICAN WORDS.

The letter _u_, —inning or ending a word, is sounded like _oo_, or the

French _ou_, thus: Uchungu—Ouchungou, or

Oochungoo.

— ” _a_, whether at the commencement, middle, or termination of a

word, sounds like _ah_, thus: Asama,

or Ahsahmah.

— ” _e_, either commencing or terminating a word, as in the Yoruba

word éwuré, sounds like ehwureh.

” — _i_, when beginning a word, as in the Kinyamwezi term ifisi,

sounds like _i_ in the English words

if, is, it, in, ill; when it terminates

the word, _i_ has the shortened sound of _ee_; thus,

ifisi, with a phonetical exactitude,

would be spelled ifeesee.

The consonant M used as a prefix, as in Mtu, has a shortened sound of

Um. The South African colonists, I observe, invariably spell this

abbreviated sound as Um, as in Umtata, Umgeni, Umzila, which travellers

in Equatorial Africa would spell Mtata, Mgeni, Mzila.

------------------

The prefix Ki, as in Ki-Swahili or Ki-Sagara, denotes language of

Swahili or Sagara. The prefix U represents country; Wa, a plural,

denoting people; M, singular, for a person, thus:—

U—Sagara. Country of Sagara.

Wa—Sagara. People of Sagara.

M—Sagara. A person of Sagara.

Ki—Sagara. Language of Sagara, or after the custom, manner,

or style of Sagara, as English stands in like

manner for anything relating to England.

┌──────────┬─────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┬───────────────┐

│ENGLISH. │KI-SWAHILI. │KI-SAGARA. │KI-GOGO. │KI-NYAMWEZI. │KI-SUKUMA. │KI-NYAMBU. │KI-GANDA. │

├──────────┼─────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┼───────────────┤

│One │moyyi │mwe │limonga │solo │limo │nyimo │emu │

│Two │mbiri │wawiri │megeteh │biri │iwiri │ziviri │mbiri │

│Three │tato │watato │madato │tato │idato │sato │sato │

│Four │ena │ena │maena │ena │ena │nyineh │nya │

│Five │tano │tano │mahano │tano │tano │nysano │tano │

│Six │seta │seta │tandato │mkaga │tandato │mkaga │mkaga │

│Seven │saba │mfungati │mpungata │musamvu │mpungati │musamvu │musamvu │

│Eight │nani │minana │mnani │mnaneh │nani │mnana │mnana │

│Nine │kenda │kenda │mikenda │sienda │kenda │mwenda │mwenda │

│Ten │kumi │kumi │kumi │ikumi │ikumi │chumi │kumi │

│Eleven │kumi na moyyi│kumi na mwe │kumi na monga │kumi na imwe │kumi na limo │. . │kumi n’emu │

│Twelve │kumi na mbiri│kumi na awiri │kumi na megeteh│kumi na wiri │kumi ne wiri │. . │kumi n’mbiri │

│Thirteen │kumi na tato │kumi na watato │kumi na madato │kumi na sato │kumi ne idato │. . │kumi na sato │

│Fourteen │kumi na ena │kumi na ena │kumi na maena │kumi na ind │kumi na ena │. . │kumi na n’ya │

│Fifteen │kumi na tano │kumi na tano │kumi na mahano │kumi ni tano │kumi ni tano │. . │kumi na tano │

│Sixteen │kumi na seta │kumi na seta │kumi na tandato│kumi na mukaga │kumi na tandato│. . │kumi na mkaga │

│Seventeen │kumi na saba │kumi na fungati│kumi na │kumi na musamvu│kumi na │. . │kumi na musamvu│

│ │ │ │ mpungata │ │ mpungati │ │ │

│Eighteen │kumi na nani │kumi na minana │kumi na mnana │kumi na mnaneh │kumi ni nani │. . │kumi na mnana │

│Nineteen │kumi na kenda│kumi na kenda │kumi na kenda │kumi na sienda │kumi na kenda │. . │kumi na mwenda │

│Twenty │makumi-mawiri│mirongo-nawiri │makumi-megeteh │makumi-awiri │makumi-awiri │machumi-nawiri │kumi na wiri │

│Thirty │makumi-matato│mirongo-midato │kumi megeteh na│makumi-asato │makumi-adato │. . │kumi asato │

│ │ │ │ monga │ │ │ │ │

│Forty │makumi-maena │mirongo-maena │kumi megeteh na│makumi-aena │makumi aena │. . │kumi aana │

│ │ │ │ megeteh │ │ │ │ │

│Fifty │makumi-matano│mirongo-mitano │kumi megeteh na│makumi-atano │makumi atano │. . │kumi atano │

│ │ │ │ madata │ │ │ │ │

│Sixty │makumi-seta │mirongo-seta │makumi-tandato │makumi-mkaga │makumi atandato│. . │n’kaga │

│Seventy │makumi-saba │mirongo-fungati│makumi-mpungata│makumi-musamu │pungati │. . │samvu │

│Eighty │makumi-manani│mirongo-minana │makumi-mnana │makumi-munaneh │na minani │. . │kinana │

│Ninety │makumi-kenda │mirongo-kenda │makumi-n’kenda │makumi-sienda │na kenda │. . │kenda │

│Hundred │mia │mirongo-kumi │igana │igana │igana │igana │kikumi │

│Man │mtu │mutu │muntu │muntu │munhu │muntu │muntu │

│Woman │mwana-mke │mdereh │mchekuru │mukima │kima │mukazi │m’kazi │

│Cow │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │n’gombe │ente │n’te │

│Dog │m’bwa │suku │dibwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │m’bwa │

│Goat │m’buzi │mpeneh │mpeneh │m’buzi │m’buri │m’buzi │n’buzi │

│Sheep │kondoe │nhoro │n’koro │kolo │n’holo │ntama │n’diga │

│Foot │m’gu │wyu │kigereh │lugeri │lugeri │kirengi │kigeri │

│Finger │kidori │kidori │kahla │liala │liala │rukumu │n’garu │

│Head │kichwa │mutwi │litwe │itwe │m’twe │mutwe │m’twe │

│Stool │kiti │ligoda │kigoda │iteweh │isumbi │ntewi │n’tewi │

│Box │b’weta │.. │mtundu │iweta │iweta │terekero │bweta │

│Canoe │m’tumbwi │.. │.. │bwato │wato │amato │ryato │

│Paddle │kafi │.. │.. │msaha │ngyehi │ngassi │n’kassi │

│Tree │m’ti │mutti │biki │mutti │m’ti │mutti │mutti │

│House │niumba │niumba │n’ganda │numba │numba │enshu │myu │

│Arrow │m’shari │muvi │n’songa │wambi │songa │mwambi │kasari │

│Gourd │kibuyu │nhungu │toma │sikondo │suha │kisisi │kitta │

│Knife │kisu │magi │mwereh │keri │lushu │mwiyu │kambi │

│Bow │uta or mpindi│uta │pindi │utta │uta │uta │mtego │

│Spear │m’kuki │mgoha │mgoha │sumo │kima │ichumo │fumo │

│Chicken │kuku │nguku │nguku │koko │ngoko │enguku │n’koko │

│Pool │ziwa │didimazi │irambo │iziwa │irambo │kesero │kidiwa │

│Small Lake│kiziwa │.. │.. │.. │.. │.. │kiyanja-anja │

│Large Lake│ziwa │ziwa │.. │irambo │niyanza │niyanja │nyanja ngazi │

│River │m’toni │m’korongo │mongo │mongo │mongo │hamuga │mug-ga │

│Water │maji │maji │marenga │minzi │minzi │madzi │mazi │

│Fire │moto │moto │moto │muriro │moto │muriro │muriro │

│Air │baridi │mbeho │mbeho │mtaka │mbeho │rugoiye │mpewo │

│Smoke │moshi │mosi │liosh │lionsi │liochi │moshi │mukka │

│Sun │jiwa │jiwa │izuwa │iziowa │rimi │enzuwa │njiwa │

│Moon │mwezi │mrengi │mrengi │mwezi │mwezi │hwezi │mwezi │

│Stars │niota │nirezi │ntondwa │sonda │sonda │.. │m’yenyi │

│Sky │wingu │vundeh │vundeh │irundi │irundeh │vireh │bireh │

│Rain │mvuhha │mvula │tonya │mvula │mbula │enzura │nkuva │

│Lion │simba │simba │simba │simba │simba │ntari │porogoma │

│Leopard │chuwi │chuwi │nsuwi │ngwi │suwi │engo │ngo │

│Hyena │fisi │visi │biti │ifisi │iviti │mpisi │mpisi │

│Fish │sumaki │somba │chomba │somba │somba │nswi │chakulira │

│Meat │nyama │nyama │nyama │nama │nama │ehnyama │nyama │

│Bird │ndegeh │ndegeh │ndegeh │noni │noni │kihungu │nyonni │

│Country │in-chi │kirunga │hasi │siaro │chalo │itaka │ikaro │

│Mountain │mlima │kigongo │itunda │itunda │itunda │arusosyi │rusosyi │

│Hill │kirima │kirima │kigongo │vigongo │vigongo │kavanga │kusosyi │

│Plain │bondeh, │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │. . │

│ │or m’buga │ruanja │nika │miwondeh │mbuga │ruweyah │rusenyi │

│Food │chakula │ugali │uhemba │ugali │ugali │vyakulya │mer-reh │

│Stick │fimbo │m’hando │mranga │muranga │mlanga │n’koni │muggo │

│Cloth │n’guo │suke │mwenda │mwenda │mwenda │mwenda │rugoyi │

│Potatoes │viazzi │mhoka │niumbu │kafu │numbu │vijumba │rumondeh │

│Banana │n’dizi │n’howo │matokeh │matokeh │madogeh │kitokeh │tokeh │

│Salt │chumvi │munyu │munyu │mwenu │munu │munyu │munyu │

│Flour │oonga │usagi │usagi │ufuma │usu │usu │nsano │

│Farm │shamba │mugunda │mlegeheh │migunda │m’gunda │dimiro │rusuko │

│Road │injia │njia │njira │n’zira │n’zira │muhanda │kuvo │

│Stone │jiweh │dibwé │dibwé │igwé │iweh │ivareh │jinja │

│Island │kisiwa │. . │. . │. . │. . │kizinga │kisinga │

│Eye │gicho │gicho │diso │diso │diso │riso │diso │

│Nose │pua │pua │mpula │nindo │nindo │nindo │nindo │

│Mouth │kinwa │lulaka │kinwa │mulomo │m’lomo │amunwa │kamwa │

│Teeth │jino │meno │meno │lino │lino │hamyeno │dinyo │

│Lips │m’domo │mulomo │m’lomo │mulomo │iromo │minwa │mumwa │

│Ears │muskio │gutwi │makutu │matwi │matwi │matwi │kutu │

│Hair │n’yuweri │n’weri │muwiri │misasi │uvwiri │hysokeh │ruviri │

│Tongue │urimi │lulimi │lulimi │lulimi │ulimi │harurimi │dlimi │

│Hand │m’kono │ganja │muoko │kuoko │kono │akibatu │kibatu │

│Hide │ngozi │kwaru │nchingo │ndiri │diri │ruhu │diva │

│Leaf │jani │jani │mahanzi │mawasi │maswa │ikivavi │karagara │

│Day │mchana │hamisi │kinguru │siku │siku │musana │misana │

│Night │usiku │kiro │kiro │ufuku │uziku │chiro │kiro │

│Walk │kutembea │kudowara │kudowala │kwiumba │kwiumba │kuvunga │kuchara │

│Run │kukimbia │kutijia │kumaaka │kwiruka │kupera │kwiruka │kuduna │

│Jump │kuruka │kujumha │. . │kuguluka │kuguluka │yaguruka │kuvuka │

│Sleep │kulala │kugona │kugona │kulala │kulala │kuviyama │kwevaka │

│Dream │ku-otta │njozi │nalota │nalotera │nalotera │narosereh │kulota │

│Darkness │jiza │finji │kutitu │lizima │giti │kwagwiteh │kizi-kiza │

│Thanks │kushukuru │. . │. . │. . │. . │nepanzi │twiyanzi │

│Father │baba │baba │tata │tata │bava │tata │kitangi │

│Mother │mama │mye-yi │ya ya │mayu │mayu │maweh │n’yabo │

│Brother │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │ndugu │mrumuna │mganda │

│Dead │kufa │usira │sakapa │kufwa │kufwa │akavireh │afudeh │

│No │akuna │kuduhu │kuliza │wengo │kuduhu │nangu │nedda │

│Yes │ndio │mboga │vivyo │kwa-kwené │osheneh │mpaho │botyo │

│Good day │yambo │mbukwa │mbukwa │uhoro │mwadira, or │usivireji, or │utyano │

│ │. . │. . │. . │. . │angaruka │mirembe │. . │

└──────────┴─────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┴───────────────┘

These seven columns are original, collected by myself.