northern depôt for slaves, ivory, grain, bark-cloth, and ironware, and,
in the season, hardly a day elapses without canoes coming in for
merchandise or provisions. The imports are the kitindi, salt, beads,
tobacco, and cotton cloth. Rice does not grow there, holcus and maize
are sold at one to two fundo of common beads per masuta or small
load,--perhaps sixteen pounds,--and one khete is sufficient during the
months of plenty to purchase five pounds of manioc, or two and even
three fowls. Plantains of the large and coarse variety are common and
cheap, and one cloth is given for two goodly earthen pots full of
palm-oil. Ivory fetches its weight in brass wire: here the merchant
expects for every 1000 dollars of outfit to receive 100 farasilah (3500
lbs.) of large tusks, and his profit would be great were it not
counterbalanced by the risk and by the expense of transport. The prices
in the slave-mart greatly fluctuate. When business is dull, boys under
ten years may be bought for four cloths and five fundo of white and blue
porcelains, girls for six shukkah, and as a rule at these remote places,
as Uvira, Ujipa, and Marungu, slaves are cheaper than in the market of
Ujiji. Adults fetch no price, they are notoriously intractable, and
addicted to desertion. Bark-cloths, generally in the market, vary from
one to three khete of coral beads. The principal industry of the Wavira
is ironware, the material for which is dug in the lands lying at a
little distance westward of the lake. The hoes, dudgeons, and small
hatchets, here cost half their usual price at Ujiji. The people also
make neat baskets and panniers, not unlike those of Normandy, and pretty
bowls cut out of various soft woods, light and dark: the latter are also
found, though rarely, at Ujiji and in the western islets.
A gale appeared to be brewing in the north--here the place of
storms--and the crews, fearing wind and water, in the afternoon insisted
upon launching their canoes and putting out to sea at 10 A.M. on the 6th
May. After touching at the stages before described, Muikamba, Ngovi and
Murivumba of the anthropophagi, we crossed without other accidents but
those of weather--the rainy monsoon was in its last convulsions--the
western branch or supplementary channel separating the Lake from the
island of Ubwari. Before anchoring at Mzimu, our former halting-place,
we landed at a steep ghaut, where the crews swarmed up a ladder of rock,
and presently returned back with pots of the palm-oil, for which this
is the principal depôt.
On the 10th May the sky was dull and gloomy, the wind was hushed, the
“rain-sun” burnt with a sickly and painful heat; the air was still and
sultry, stifling and surcharged, while the glimmerings of lurid
lightning and low mutterings from the sable cloud-banks lying upon the
northern horizon, cut by light masses of mist in a long unbroken line,
and from the black arch rising above the Acroceraurian hills to the
west, disturbed at times the death-like silence. Even the gulls on the
beach forefelt a storm. I suggested a halt, but the crews were now in a
nervous hurry to reach their homes,--impatience mastered even _their_
prudence.
We left Mzimu at sunset, and for two hours coasted along the shore. It
was one of those portentous evenings of the tropics--a calm before a
tempest--unnaturally quiet; we struck out, however, boldly towards the
eastern shore of the Tanganyika, and the western mountains rapidly
lessened on the view. Before, however, we reached the mid-channel, a
cold gust--in these regions the invariable presage of a storm--swept
through the deepening shades cast by the heavy rolling clouds, and the
vivid nimble lightning flashed, at first by intervals, then incessantly,
with a ghastly and blinding glow, illuminating the “vast of night,” and
followed by a palpable obscure, and a pitchy darkness, that weighed upon
the sight. As terrible was its accompaniment of rushing, reverberating
thunder, now a loud roar, peal upon peal, like the booming of heavy
batteries, then breaking into a sudden crash, which was presently
followed by a rattling discharge like the sharp pattering of musketry.
The bundles of spears planted upright amidships, like paratonnerres,
seemed to invite the electric fluid into the canoes. The waves began to
rise, the rain descended, at first in warning-drops, then in torrents,
and had the wind steadily arisen, the cockle-shell craft never could
have lived through the short, chopping sea which characterises the
Tanganyika in heavy weather. The crew, though blinded by the showers,
and frightened by the occasional gusts, held their own gallantly enough;
at times, however, the moaning cry, “O my wife!” showed what was going
on within. Bombay, a noted Voltairian in fine weather, spent the length
of that wild night in reminiscences of prayer. I sheltered myself from
the storm under my best friend, the Mackintosh, and thought of the
far-famed couplet of Hafiz,--with its mystic meaning I will not trouble
the reader:--
“This collied night, these horrid waves, these gusts that sweep the
whirling deep!
What reck they of our evil plight, who on the shore securely sleep?”
Fortunately the rain beat down wind and sea, otherwise nothing short of
a miracle could have preserved us for a dry death.
That night, however, was the last of our “sea-sorrows.” After floating
about during the latter hours of darkness, under the land, but uncertain
where to disembark, we made at 7 A.M., on the 11th May, Wafanya, our
former station in ill-famed Urundi. Tired and cramped by the night’s
work, we pitched tents, and escaping from the gaze of the insolent and
intrusive crowd, we retired to spend a few hours in sleep.
I was suddenly aroused by Mabruki, who, rushing into the tent, thrust my
sword into my hands, and exclaimed that the crews were scrambling into
their boats. I went out and found everything in dire confusion. The
sailors hurrying here and there, were embarking their mats and
cooking-pots, some were in violent parley with Kannena, whilst a little
knot was carrying a man, mortally wounded, down to the waters of the
Lake. I saw at once that the affair was dangerous. On these occasions
the Wajiji, whose first impulse is ever flight, rush for safety to their
boats and push off, little heeding whom or what they leave behind. We
therefore hurried in without delay.
When both crews had embarked, and no enemy appeared, Kannena persuaded
them to reland, and proving to them their superior force, induced them
to demand, at the arrow’s point, satisfaction of Kanoni, the chief, for
the outrage committed by his subjects. During our sleep a drunken
man--almost all these disturbances arise from fellows who have the “_vin
méchant_”--had rushed from the crowd of Warundi, and, knobstick in hand,
had commenced dealing blows in all directions. Ensued a general mêlée.
Bombay, when struck, called to the crews to arm. The Goanese, Valentine,
being fear-crazed, seized my large “Colt” and probably fired it into the
crowd; at all events, the cone struck one of our own men below the right
pap, and came out two inches to the right of the backbone. Fortunately
for us he was a slave, otherwise the situation would have been
desperate. As it was, the crowd became violently excited, one man drew
his dagger upon Valentine, and with difficulty I dissuaded Kannena from
killing him. As the crew had ever an eye to the “main chance,” food,
they at once confiscated three goats, our store for the return voyage,
cut their throats, and spitted the meat upon their spears:--thus the
lamb died and the wolf dined, and the innocent suffered and the
plunderer was joyed, the strong showed his strength and the weak his
weakness, according to the usual formula of this sublunary world.
Whilst Kannena was absent, on martial purposes intent, I visited the
sole sufferer in the fray, and after seeing his wound washed, I forbade
his friends to knead the injured muscles, as they were doing, and to
wrench his right arm from side to side. A cathartic seemed to have a
beneficial effect. On the second day of his accident he was able to
rise. But these occurrences in wild countries always cause long
troubles. Kannena, who obtained from Sultan Kanoni, as blood-money, a
small girl and a large sheep, declared that the man might die, and
insisted upon my forthwith depositing, in case of such contingency,
eight cloths, which, should the wound not prove fatal, would be
returned. The latter clause might have been omitted; in these lands,
_nescit_ cloth _missa reverti_. As we were about to leave Ujiji, Kannena
claimed for the man’s subsistence forty cloths,--or as equivalent, three
slaves and six cloths--which also it was necessary to pay. A report was
afterwards spread that the wretch had sunk under his wound. Valentine
heard the intelligence with all that philosophy which distinguishes his
race when mishaps occur to any but self. His prowess, however, cost me
forty-eight dollars, here worth at least £100 in England. Still I had
reason to congratulate myself that matters had not been worse. Had the
victim been a Mjiji freeman, the trouble, annoyances, and expense would
have been interminable. Had he been a Mrundi, we should have been
compelled to fight our way, through a shower of arrows, to the boats;
war would have extended to Ujiji, and “England,” as usual, would have
had to pay the expenses. When Said bin Salim heard at Kazeh a distorted
account of this mishap--of course it was reported that “Haji Abdullah”
killed the man--he hit upon a notable device. Lurinda, the headman of
Gungu, had often begged the Arab to enter into “blood-brotherhood” with
him, and this had Said bin Salim pertinaciously refused, on religious
grounds, to do. When informed that battle and murder were in the wind,
he at once made fraternity with Lurinda, hoping to derive protection
from his spear. His terrors afterwards persuaded him to do the same with
Kannena: indeed at that time he would have hailed a slave as “Ndugu
yango!” (my brother!)
When Kannena returned successful from his visit to Kanoni, we prepared
to leave Wafanya. The fierce rain and the nightly drizzle detained us,
however, till the next morning. On the 11th May we paddled round the
southern point of Wafanya Bay to Makimoni, a little grassy inlet, where
the canoes were defended from the heavy surf.
After this all was easy. We rattled paddles on the 12th May, as we
entered our “patrie,” Nyasanga. The next night was spent in Bangwe Bay.
We were too proud to sneak home in the dark; we had done something
deserving a Certain Cross, we were heroes, braves of braves; we wanted
to be looked at by the fair, to be howled at by the valiant. Early on
the morning of the 13th May we appeared with shots, shouts, and a
shocking noise, at the reed-lined gap of sand that forms the ghaut of
Kawele. It was truly a triumphal entrance. All the people of that
country-side had collected to welcome the crew, women and children, as
well as men, pressed waist-deep into the water to receive friend and
relative with becoming affection:--the gestures, the clamour, and the
other peculiarities of the excited mob I must really leave to the
reader’s imagination; the memory is too much for me.
But true merit is always modest; it aspires to Honor, not honours. The
Wagungu, or whites, were repeatedly “called for.” I broke, however,
through the sudant, strident, hircine throng, and regaining, with the
aid of Riza’s strong arm, the old Tembe, was salaamed to by the
expectant Said bid Salim and the Jemadar. It felt like a return home.
But I had left, before my departure, with my Arab chargé-d’affaires,
four small loads of cloth, and on inspecting the supplies there remained
only ten shukkah. I naturally inquired what had become of the 110
others, which had thus prematurely disappeared. Said bin Salim replied
by showing a small pile of grain-bags, and by informing me that he had
hired twenty porters for the down-march. He volunteered, it is true, in
case I felt disposed to finish the Periplus of the Lake, to return to
Kazeh and to superintend the transmission of our reserve supplies; as,
however, he at the same time gave me to understand that he could not
escort them back to Ujiji, I thanked him for his offer, and declined it.
We had expended upwards of a month--from the 10th April to the 13th May,
1858--in this voyage fifteen days outward bound, nine at Uvira, and nine
in returning. The boating was rather a severe trial. We had no means of
resting the back; the holds of the canoes, besides being knee-deep in
water, were disgracefully crowded;--they had been appropriated to us and
our four servants by Kannena, but by degrees, he introduced in addition
to the sticks, spears, broken vases, pots, and gourds, a goat, two or
three small boys, one or two sick sailors, the little slave-girl and the
large sheep. The canoes were top-heavy with the number of their crew,
and the shipping of many seas spoilt our tents, and besides, wetted our
salt, and soddened our grain and flour; the gunpowder was damaged, and
the guns were honeycombed with rust. Besides the splashing of the
paddles and the dashing of waves, heavy showers fell almost every day
and night, and the intervals were bursts of burning sunshine.
The discomfort of the halt was not less than that of the boat. At first
we pitched tents near the villages, in tall, fetid grass, upon ground
never level, where stones were the succedanea for tent-pegs stolen for
fuel, and where we slept literally upon mire. The temperature inside was
ever in extremes, now a raw rainy cold, then a steam-bath that damped us
like an April shower. The villagers, especially in the remoter
districts, were even more troublesome, noisy, and inquisitive, than the
Wagogo. A “notable passion of wonder” appeared in them. We felt like
baited bears: we were mobbed in a moment, and scrutinised from every
point of view by them; the inquisitive wretches stood on tiptoe, they
squatted on their hams, they bent sideways, they thrust forth their
necks like hissing geese to vary the prospect. Their eyes, “glaring
lightning-like out of their heads,” as old Homer hath it, seemed to
devour us; in the ecstasy of curiosity they shifted from one Muzungu to
his “brother,” till, like the well-known ass between the two bundles of
hay, they could not enjoy either. They were pertinacious as flies, to
drive them away was only to invite a return; whilst, worst grief of all,
the women were plain, and their grotesque salutations resembled the
“encounter of two dog-apes.” The Goanese were almost equally honoured,
and the operation of cooking was looked upon as a miracle. At last my
experience in staring enabled me to categorise the infliction as
follows. Firstly, is the stare furtive, when the starer would peep and
peer under the tent, and its reverse, the stare open. Thirdly, is the
stare curious or intelligent, which, generally accompanied with
irreverent laughter regarding our appearance. Fourthly, is the stare
stupid, which denoted the hebete incurious savage. The stare discreet is
that of sultans and great men; the stare indiscreet at unusual seasons
is affected by women and children. Sixthly, is the stare flattering--it
was exceedingly rare, and equally so was the stare contemptuous.
Eighthly, is the stare greedy; it was denoted by the eyes restlessly
bounding from one object to another, never tired, never satisfied.
Ninthly, is the stare peremptory and pertinacious, peculiar to crabbed
age. The dozen concludes with the stare drunken, the stare fierce or
pugnacious, and finally the stare cannibal, which apparently considered
us as articles of diet. At last, weary of the stare by day, and the tent
by night, I preferred inhabiting a bundle of clothes in the wet hold of
the canoe; this, at least, saved the trouble of wading through the
water, of scrambling over the stern, and of making a way between the two
close lines of grumbling and surly blacks that manned the
paddle-benches; whenever, after a meaningless halt, some individual
thought proper to scream out “Safári!” (journey!)
Curious to say, despite all these discomforts our health palpably
improved. My companion, though still uncomfortably deaf, was almost
cured of his blindness. When that ulcerated mouth, which rendered it
necessary for me to live by suction--generally milk and water--for
seventeen days, had returned to its usual state, my strength gradually
increased. Although my feet were still swollen by the perpetual wet and
by the painful funza or entozoon, my hands partially lost their
numbness, and the fingers which before could hold the pen only for a few
minutes were once more able freely to write and sketch. In fact, I date
a slow but sensible progress towards a complete recovery of health from
the days and nights spent in the canoe and upon the mud of the
Tanganyika Lake. Perhaps mind had also acted upon matter; the object of
my mission was now effected, and this thought enabled me to cast off the
burden of grinding care with which the imminent prospect of a failure
had before sorely laden me.
The rainy monsoon broke up on the 14th May, the day after my return to
Kawele, and once more, after six months of incessant storm-wind and
rain, clouds and mists, we had fine, cool mornings, clear warm sun, and
deliciously cold nights. The climate became truly enjoyable, but the
scenery somewhat lost its earlier attractions. The faultless, regular,
and uniform beauty, and the deep stillness of this evergreen land did
not fail to produce that strange, inexplicable melancholy of which most
travellers in tropical countries complain. In this Nature all is
beautiful that meets the eye, all is soft that affects the senses; but
she is a Siren whose pleasures soon pall upon the enjoyer. The mind,
enfeebled perhaps by an enervating climate, is fatigued and wearied by
the monotony of the charms which haunt it; cloyed with costly fare, it
sighs for the rare simplicity of the desert. I have never felt this
sadness in Egypt and Arabia, and was never without it in India and
Zanzibar.
Our outfit, as I have observed, had been reduced to a minimum. Not a
word from Snay bin Amir, my agent at Kazeh, had arrived in reply to my
many missives, and old Want began to stare at us with the stare
peremptory. “Wealth,” say the Arabs, “hath one devil, poverty a dozen,”
and nowhere might a caravan more easily starve than in rich and fertile
Central Africa. Travellers are agreed that in these countries “baggage
is life:” the heartless and inhospitable race will not give a handful of
grain without return, and to use the Moslem phrase, “Allah pity him who
must beg of a beggar!” As usual on such occasions, the Baloch began to
clamour for more rations--they received two cloths per diem--and to
demand a bullock wherewith to celebrate their Eed or greater Festival.
There were several Arab merchants at Kawele, but they had exhausted
their stock in purchasing slaves and ivory. None in fact were so rich as
ourselves, and we were reduced to ten shukkah, ten fundo of coral beads,
and one load of black porcelains, which were perfectly useless. With
this pittance we had to engage hammals for the hammock, to feed
seventy-five mouths, and to fee several Sultans; in fact, to incur the
heavy expenses of marching back 260 miles to Unyanyembe.
Still, with an enviable development of Hope, Said bin Salim determined
that we should reach Kazeh unfamished. We made the necessary
preparations for the journey, patched tents and umbrella, had a grand
washing and scouring day, mended the portmanteaus, and ground the grain
required for a month’s march, hired four porters for the manchil,
distributed ammunition to Said bin Salim and the Baloch, who at once
invested it in slaves, and exchanged with Said bin Majid several pounds
of lead for palm-oil, which would be an economy at the Malagarazi Ferry.
For some days past rumours had reached here that a large caravan of
Wanyamwazi porters, commanded by an Arab merchant, was approaching
Kawele. I was not sanguine enough to expose myself to another
disappointment. Suddenly on the 22d May, frequent musket shots announced
the arrival of strangers, and at noon the Tembe was surrounded with
boxes and bales, porters, slaves, and four “sons of Ramji,” Mbaruko,
Sangora, Khamisi, and Shehe. Shahdad the Baloch, who had been left
behind at Kazeh in love, and in attendance upon his “brother,” Ismail,
who presently died, had charge of a parcel of papers and letters from
Europe, India, and Zanzibar. They were the first received after nearly
eleven months, and of course they brought with them evil tidings,--the
Indian mutinies. _En revanche_, I had a kindly letter from M. Cochet,
Consul of France, and from Mr. Mansfield, of the U.S., who supplied me
with the local news, and added for my edification a very “low-church”
Tract, the first of the family, I opine, that has yet presented itself
in Central Africa. Mr. Frost reported that he had sent at once a letter
apprising me of Lieut.-Colonel Hamaton’s death, and had forwarded the
medical supplies for which I indented from K’hutu: these, as has been
explained, had not reached me. Snay bin Amir also informed me that he
had retained all the packages for which he could find no porters; that
three boxes had been stolen from his “godown;” and finally, that the
second supply, 400 dollars-worth of cloth and beads, for which I had
written at Inenge and had re-written at Ugogo and other places, was
hourly expected to arrive.
This was an unexpected good fortune, happening at a crisis when it was
really wanted. My joy was somewhat damped by inspecting the packs of the
fifteen porters. Twelve were laden with ammunition which was not wanted,
and with munitions _de bouche_, which were: nearly half the bottles of
curry-powder, spices, and cognac were broken, tea, coffee, and sugar,
had been squeezed out of their tin canisters, and much of the rice and
coffee had disappeared. The three remaining loads were one of American
domestics,--sixty shukkahs--and the rest contained fifteen
coral-bracelets and white beads. All were the refuse of their kind: the
good Hindoos at Zanzibar had seized this opportunity to dispose of their
flimsy, damaged, and unsaleable articles. This outfit was sufficient to
carry us comfortably to Unyanyembe. I saw, however, with regret that it
was wholly inadequate for the purpose of exploring the two southern
thirds of the Tanganyika Lake, much less for returning to Zanzibar,
_viâ_ the Nyassa or Maravi Lake, and Kilwa, as I had once dreamed.
I received several visits from our old companion, Muhinna bin Sulayman
of Kazeh, and three men of his party. He did not fail to improve the
fact of his having brought up my supplies in the nick of time. He
required five coil-bracelets and sixteen pounds of beads as my share of
the toll taken from him by the Lord of the Malagarazi Ferry. For the
remaining fifteen coil-bracelets he gave me forty cloths, and for the
load and a half of white beads he exchanged 880 strings of blue
porcelains--a commercial operation by which he cleared without trouble
35 per cent. Encouraged by my facility, he proposed to me the propriety
of paying part of the kuhonga or blackmail claimed from new comers by
Rusimba and Kannena. But facility has its limits: I quietly objected,
and we parted on the best of terms.
[Illustration: A Mnyamwezi.
A Mjiji.
Mugungu Mbaya, “the wicked white man.”
A Mgogo.
Ferry Boat on the Malagarazi River.
A Mzaramo.]
CHAP. XV.
THE TANGANYIKA LAKE AND ITS PERIPLUS.
The Tanganyika Lake, though situated in the unexplored centre of
Intertropical Africa, and until 1858 unvisited by Europeans, has a
traditionary history of its own, extending through more than three
centuries.
“Accounts of a great sea in the interior of Africa obtained (partially
from native travellers) at Congo and Sofala,” reached the Portuguese
settlements on both shores of the continent.[6] The details of de
Barros (first printed in 1852), whilst affording substantially correct
details, such as the length of the Lake--100 leagues--the capability of
navigation, and the one large island--Ubwari--are curiously intermingled
with the errors of theoretical conclusion. Subsequently Pigafetta
(1591), writing upon the authority of Portuguese inquirers, affirms that
there is but one lake (the N’yassa) on the confines of Angola and
Monomotapa, but that there are two lakes (the Nyassa and the
Tanganyika), not lying east and west, as was supposed by Ptolemy of
Alexandria, but north and south of each other, and about 400 miles
asunder, which give birth to the Nile. From that epoch dates the origin
of our modern misconceptions concerning the Lake Region of Central
Intertropical Africa. The Nyassa and the Tanganyika were now blended,
then separated, according to the theories or the information of the
geographer; no explorer ventured to raise from the land of mystery the
veil that invested it; and the “Mombas Mission” added the colophon by
confounding, with the old confusion, the Nyanza or Ukerewe, a third
lake, of which they had heard at Mombasah and elsewhere. It is not
wonderful then that Dr. Vincent suspected the existence or the place of
the Central Lake, or that the more ignorant popularizers of knowledge
confounded the waters of the Nyassa and the Ngami.[7]