WE START HOMEWARD FOR ZANZIBAR.
False reports of strangers at Mazamboni’s--Some of the Pasha’s
ivory--Osman Latiff Effendi gives me his opinions on the Wadelai
officers--My boy Sali as spy in the camp--Capt. Casati’s views of
Emin’s departure from his province--Lieut. Stairs makes the first
move homeward--Weights of my officers at various places--Ruwenzori
visible--The little girl reared by Casati--I act as mediator
between Mohammed Effendi, his wife, and Emin--Bilal and
Serour--Attempts to steal rifles from the Zanzibari’s huts--We hear
of disorder and distress at Wadelai and Mswa--Two propositions made
to Emin Pasha--Signal for general muster under arms sounded--Emin’s
Arabs are driven to muster by the Zanzibaris--Address to the
Egyptians and Soudanese--Lieut. Stairs brings the Pasha’s servants
into the square--Seroor and three others, being the principal
conspirators, placed under guard--Muster of Emin Pasha’s
followers--Osman Latif Effendi and his mother--Casati and Emin not
on speaking terms--Preparing for the march--Fight with clubs
between the Nubian, Omar, and the Zanzibaris--My judgments on the
combatants--We leave Kavalli for Zanzibar--The number of our
column--Halt in Mazamboni’s territory--I am taken ill with
inflammation of the stomach--Dr. Parke’s skilful nursing--I plan in
my mind the homeward march--Frequent reports to me of plots in the
camp--Lieut. Stairs and forty men capture Rehan and twenty-two
deserters who left with our rifles--At a holding of the court it is
agreed to hang Rehan--Illness of Surgeon Parke and Mr. Jephson--A
packet of letters intended for Wadelai falls into my hands, and
from which we learn of an important plot concocted by Emin’s
officers--Conversation with Emin Pasha about the same--Shukri Agha
arrives in our camp with two followers--Lieut. Stairs buries some
ammunition--We continue our march and camp at
Bunyambiri--Mazamboni’s services and hospitality--Three soldiers
appear with letters from Selim Bey--Their contents--Conversation
with the soldiers--They take a letter to Selim Bey from Emin--Ali
Effendi and his servants accompany the soldiers back to Selim Bey.
[Sidenote: 1889.
March 27.
Kavalli’s.]
_March 27th._--I heard to-day that strangers, supposed to be Zanzibaris,
had arrived at Mazamboni’s. I accordingly despatched Jephson with
forty-three rifles to ascertain the truth of this report, for it may be
Jameson, accompanied by Salim bin Mohamed and people.
[Sidenote: 1889.
March 29.
Kavalli’s.]
_March 29th._--Mr. Jephson returned from Undussuma, bringing fifty-six
native carriers. There were no strangers. It was a false report. Alas!
for Jameson. We all wonder what course he adopted upon receiving my
letters.
_March 31st._--Captain Nelson arrived in camp from Lake shore, bringing
132 loads. These bring up the total of loads carried from the Lake shore
to this camp to 1355. I am told there is nothing left except some large
ivories, weighing about 150 pounds each, which we cannot carry. The
Pasha brought with him sixty-five tusks, forty-five of which I proposed
paying to the Manyuema for their services, but they have declined taking
it, as they would prefer the monthly pay paid in goods to them on
arriving at the C. M. S. Mission at Msalala.
Osman Latif Effendi, the Lieut.-Governor of the Equatorial Province,
came to me this afternoon, and gave me his opinions on the Wadelai
officers. He says: “Selim Bey may join us. He is not a bad man. He is
fond of beer and indolent. If he comes, he will have about 350 soldiers
and officers with him, who form his party. Fadl-el-Mulla Bey is chief of
the opposite party. Since they received news that Khartoum had fallen
they have cast off all allegiance to the Pasha. That was just before Dr.
Junker left. Believing that perhaps they would change their minds upon
hearing of you, Emin Pasha proceeded to see them with Mr. Jephson, and
both were immediately arrested. Fadl-el-Mulla Bey and his clerk are
Mahdists. They hoped to get great honour from the Khalifa for delivering
the Pasha up to them. They have had an idea of getting you to visit
them, and by sweet words and promising everything, to catch you and send
you to Khartoum. If Fadl-el-Mulla Bey comes here with his party, all I
can say is that you must be very careful. I am tired of the land and
wish to go to Cairo. I want nothing to do with them.”
“What do you think of the people here, Osman Latif?”
[Sidenote: 1889.
March 31.
Kavalli’s.]
“Awash Effendi would not dare to be left behind. As the Major of the 2nd
Battalion he was said to be very severe. They hate him, and would kill
him; almost all the others, if Selim Bey came here, and advised them to
stop, would prefer living here to going with the Pasha. I and Awash
Effendi will follow you. If we died on the road that is the end of it.
We should be sure to die here if we stayed.”
“Why do they dislike the Pasha?”
“I do not know, except that Shaitan (the Devil) instigates them. He has
been very just, and good to them all, but the more he allows them to do
as they please the further their hearts are from him. They say, ‘Oh, let
him go on collecting beetles and birds. We don’t want him.’ The Pasha is
very happy when he travels, and is able to collect things, and does not
trouble himself about the men.”
“Do you think they would have liked him better if he had hanged a few?”
“Perhaps. God knows.”
“Do you think you would have liked him better if he had been severe to
you?”
“No, but I should have been more afraid of him.”
“Ah! Yes, of course.”
“But please don’t tell the Pasha I said anything, otherwise he would not
forgive me.”
“Have no fear. If you hear what is going on in the camp let me know.”
“Myself and my son are at your service. We shall hear all that goes on,
and will let you know.”
I saw Osman Latif proceed soon after to the Pasha’s quarters, and kiss
his hands, and bend reverently before him, and immediately I followed,
curious to observe. The Pasha sat gravely on his chair, and delivered
his orders to Osman Latif with the air of power, and Osman Latif bowed
obsequiously after hearing each order, and an innocent stranger might
have imagined that one embodied kingly authority and the other slavish
obedience. Soon after I departed absorbed in my own thoughts.
[Illustration: SALI, HEAD BOY.]
[Sidenote: 1889.
March 31.
Kavalli’s.]
Sali, my boy, is the cleverest spy in the camp. How he obtains his
information I do not know. But he appears to know a great deal more than
Osman Latif or Awash Effendi, or any of the young Egyptians. He is in
the counsels of the captains. He is intimate with Mohammed, the
engineer. He is apparently adored by Capt. Ibrahim Effendi Elham, and
his father-in-law, Ali Effendi. Of course he has many subordinate
informers to assist. The Zanzibaris are inveterate traders: they always
possess something to bargain with. During the preliminaries they shuffle
the affairs of the camp, and as they are detailed the traders piece this
and that together and pass it over when well digested to Sali, after
which I receive the benefit of it. Much naturally is pure gossip, but on
the whole it amounts to a sum of solid and valuable information.
I discover that there is a plot to break away completely from the
Pasha’s authority. The number of those actually faithful to-day in camp
is nine. I am told that they know the Pasha is so unsuspecting that they
have but to kiss his hand, and plead forgiveness, and he becomes pliant
to any schemer.
When a man becomes the jest of such rogues authority is weak indeed.
Dr. Vita Hassan and Mohammed the engineer say that the Pasha pays great
respect to Captain Casati’s opinion. I consider it is a very natural
thing that he should respect the opinion of the only European who has
been with him between Dr. Junker’s departure and our arrival. When
Casati is inclined to presume upon kindness, Mr. Jephson reports that
the Pasha knows exactly when to assume the governor.
The Pasha appeared this morning at my tent and informed me that Captain
Casati was not well pleased with his departure from the Equatorial
Province; that he thought it was his duty to stay.
“Where, Pasha?”
“With my people.”
“What people, please?”
“Why, with my soldiers.”
“Well now, really, I was under the impression that you wrote me some
time ago, with your own hand, besides endorsing Mr. Jephson’s letter,
that you were a prisoner to your own soldiers, that they had deposed
you, that they had threatened to take you in irons, strapped on your
bedstead, to Khartoum, and I am sure you know as well as I do what that
means.”
“That is true. But you must not think that I am about to change my mind.
As I said to you, I leave with you on the 10th of April next. That is
settled. I wish, however, you would see Casati about this and talk to
him.”
“I should be most happy to do so, but my French is wretched, and his is
still worse.”
“Oh, if you will send a boy to call me I will come in and be your
interpreter.”
What we have gleaned of Casati’s character is generally regarded as a
reflection of the Pasha himself. He has not been averse to declaring
that he would prefer Africa to Europe. There is some reason in the Pasha
seeking an excuse to remain here, but I can find none for Casati, though
he has a right to express his preference. But what good purpose can
influence either to stay here now I fail to see. When the Pasha
possessed force he declined the salary of £1500 a year and £12,000
annual subsidy for the government of his Province: he deferred accepting
a somewhat similar post under British auspices until it was too late.
The proposal to return home was so displeasing to him that he elected to
leave it unanswered until he could learn the wishes of his troops, in
the attempt to ascertain which he was deposed, and imprisoned, and is
now--let us speak the truth--a fugitive from their power.
But when these two men get together for a social chat, the result is
that the Pasha feels depressed, and vexes himself unnecessarily with
fears that he may be charged by his rebellious troops with deserting
them. Casati feels elated somewhat at having caused these doubts. What
Casati’s object is, more than to secure a companion in misery, is to me
unknown.
I proceeded to Captain Casati’s quarters, and presently, after an
ineffectual effort to be intelligible to him, sent a boy to request the
Pasha’s good offices. At once Casati commenced to lecture the Pasha in
the name of honour and duty, and to persuade him that he was
_moralement_ wrong in abandoning his troops, referring of course to the
Pasha’s declared intention of leaving with us on the 10th of April.
“But the Pasha, Captain Casati,” I said, “never had an intention of
abandoning his troops, as no person knows better than you. It is these
troops who have deposed him, and made him a prisoner from August 18th to
February 8th, or thereabouts, nearly six months. They have three times
revolted, they have said repeatedly they do not want him, nor will obey
him, and they have threatened to kill him. They would probably have sent
him to Khartoum before this, had not the mad Danaglas shown what little
mercy would have been shown to them.”
“The governor of a fort should never surrender his charge,” replied
Casati.
“I quite agree with you in that, if his troops remain faithful to him;
but if his troops arrest him, haul down the flag, and open the gates,
what can the poor governor do?”
“A captain of a warship should fight his guns to the last.”
“Quite so, but if the crew seize the captain, and put him into the hold
in irons, and haul down the flag, what then?”
“No, I do not agree with you,” said the Captain, with emphasis. “The
Pasha should remain with his people.”
“But where are his people? The rebels refuse to have anything to do with
him except as a prisoner to them. Do you mean to say that the Pasha
should return as a prisoner, and be content with that humiliating
position?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Perhaps you think that they would relent, and elevate him again to the
post of Governor?”
“I cannot say.”
“Do you think they would?”
“It may be.”
“Would you advise the Pasha to trust himself into the power of
Fadl-el-Mulla Bey and his officers again?”
“No.”
“Now, here are your servants. Supposing they lay hold of you one night,
and were going to kill you, and you were only saved because your cries
attracted your deliverers to the scene. Would you trust your life in
their hands again?”
“No.”
“Supposing your servants came to you this afternoon and told you they
would not obey you in the future, and if you insisted on their obedience
would shoot you, would you consider yourself as morally bound to command
them?”
“No.”
“Then, my dear Casati, you have answered the Pasha, and what you would
not do, the Pasha is not bound to do. Emin Pasha had two duties to
perform, one to the Khedive and one to his soldiers. It is because he
performed his duty nobly and patiently towards the Khedive that I and my
young friends volunteered to help him. The Khedive commands him to
abandon the Province, and forwards assistance to him for that purpose.
He appeals to his troops and requests them to express their views,
whereupon they seize him, menace him with death, and finally imprison
him for six months. His answer is given him, which is, ‘For the last
time, we have nothing to do with you.’”
Casati was not convinced, and I see that the Pasha is much troubled in
mind. They will meet again to-night, and argue the moral aspect of the
case again. God knows what their intentions will be to-morrow. Neither
of them realise the true state of affairs. I am convinced that their
minds are in a bewildered state, as their position would be desperate if
we left them to themselves for a few days.
Before retiring for the night the Pasha came to my tent and assured me
that he would leave on the 10th of April; that he is certain all the
Egyptians in this camp, numbering with their followers about 600, will
leave with him. But reports from other quarters prove to me that the
Pasha is grossly mistaken. How they will undeceive him I do not know. So
far I have not exchanged many words with any of the party, and I have
certainly not pretended to have any authority over them. I consider the
Pasha as my guest, and the Egyptians as his followers. I supply the
whole party with meat and grain, and Surgeon Parke attends to the sick
each morning and afternoon.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 1.
Kavalli’s.]
_April 1st_.--The first move homeward has been made to-day. Lieut.
Stairs has been despatched with his company, sixty-one effective rifles,
to form advance camp at Mazamboni’s to store contributions, &c., ready
for the huge column that will leave here on the 10th instant.
Accompanying him were Major Awash Effendi, Rushti Effendi, and two or
three other Egyptians and their followers, also fifty-seven of
Mazamboni’s, twenty-nine of Usiri’s, and thirty of Mpinga’s natives.
Besides loads of No. 2 Company, these carriers took eighty-eight loads
of ammunition, Remington, Winchester, and gunpowder.
Here is a curious table for medical men:
WEIGHTS OF OFFICERS AT
Banana Fort Bodo in Kavalli’s After
Point, the Forest, Camp, sickness,
1887. 1888. 1889. 1889.[10]
Stanley 168 lbs. 135 lbs. 145 lbs. 132 lbs.
Jephson 168 “ 132 “ 150½ “ 132 “
Dr. Parke 162 “ 148 “ 170 “
Major Barttelot 144 “ -- --
Lt. Stairs 164 “ 143 “ --
Capt. Nelson 176 “ 140 “ 146 “
Emin Pasha -- -- 130 “
_April 2nd_.--Ruwenzori has been visible the last three days. That
snow-covered range has been a most attractive and beautiful sight--pure,
dazzling, varying in colours with the hours, with infinite depth of
opaline blue all round it, until the sun set and dark night covered the
earth. The natives declared it could not be seen because the south hill
of the Baregga obstructed the view, but by our levels and triangulations
we knew it ought to be seen; and it has been seen. We pointed it out to
the natives. They turned and asked, “How did you know it could be seen
from here?”
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 3.
Kavalli’s.]
_April 3rd_.--The Pasha is slowly opening his eyes. He came to me this
afternoon and related that he had assembled his household of fifty-one
souls--servants, guards, orderlies, who have hitherto been attached to
him--and had asked them who were willing to accompany him on the 10th of
April. All but four declined. The rest say they will wait for their
“brethren.”
One of these four faithfuls is one who bluntly stated that he only
followed to seize a little girl whom Captain Casati was detaining by
force from him, and that after getting possession of her he would return
to Kavalli to await his “brethren.”
Upon asking the Pasha what claims Casati had upon the girl--who is
intensely black and about five years old--he said that Casati a few
years ago had applied to him for a female cook. She had accompanied him
to Unyoro while he had represented him in that country. During her
service with Casati the female cook gave birth to this child, who was
the offspring of a Soudanese soldier. For three years the child was
reared by Casati in his house. She became a pet, and with her artless
prattle and childish ways she relieved the solitary man’s tedious life.
On his expulsion from Unyoro by Rabba Rega and return to the province,
the woman was claimed by her husband, and likewise the child, but at the
same time he disclaimed paternity. Casati refused to deliver the child
up, and has obstinately refused to do so to this day.
The Pasha thinks it possible that the soldier has some sinister
intentions respecting Casati, and deplores Casati’s morbid attachment to
his servants, male and female. He is disinclined to exercise his
authority on Casati, who has been his guest and true friend for many
years, but he regrets that his friend will not be advised by him. This
conversation occurred between 5.30 to 6.30 P.M.
One hour later, while taking a short stroll before my tent in the
moonlight, I heard a fierce brawling voice uttering in Arabic guttural
imprecations. Amid the loud, strenuous, and voluble abuse, I
distinguished my name and the Pasha’s frequently, with determined
splutterings of “Enough--enough--enough!” I heard other voices coaxingly
crying, “For the Prophet’s sake.” “Have a little patience.” “Ease your
wrath,” and such like, and presently the Pasha’s voice rang out deep and
strong “What is the matter there? Peace, I charge you; peace,
then,--Well, go and tell Mr. Stanley; his tent is not far off. Go!”
Presently, one Mohammed Effendi, the engineer, a light skinned and not
unprepossessing Egyptian, thus challenged, rushed up to me, followed by
a large crowd, and poured--that is the term--a story strongly coloured
by jealousy and bitter with angry denunciations. His wife, he said, to
whom he had been lawfully married at Khartoum, had been allowed by him,
on the death of the Abyssinian mother of Ferida, to become nurse to the
child. This was thirty months ago. At first his wife could find time not
only to perform duty by the child, but also to him, but during the last
six months she had become estranged from him, and abused him violently
upon every occasion they met. During the last twenty-four hours he had
sent over a score of messages to her, each of which she had rejected
with increasing scorn. Was this right? Was there no justice for him?
“Really, my friend Mohammed,” I replied, “I have no authority to settle
such delicate questions. Have you been to the Pasha? Have you asked him
to try and exercise his authority? Seeing that she is a nurse in his
household, he is the person you should apply to; not me.”
“Go to him! Why should I go to him? Nay, then, if you will not do me
justice, I will either kill myself, or my wife, or the Pasha. I will do
one thing sure.”
He departed, storming loudly, so that the entire camp heard his threats.
I had scarcely ceased wondering what all this meant, when a white-robed
figure stole up rapidly towards my tent, evidently a female by her
dress.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“The wife of Mohammed Effendi.”
“In the name of God why do you choose to come here?”
“You must listen to my story, having heard that of Mohammed,” she
answered.
“Have you the Pasha’s permission to visit me?”
The permission being granted, the woman was shown into my tent by Mr.
Jephson and Dr. Parke.
“Well, speak; my ears are opened.”
The fair one crouched down, and made a mass of white in the darkest
corner of the tent, lit as it was by a single candle. A subtle fragrance
of Shiraz, or Stamboul oil filled the tent, and a perfectly pure and
delightful voice uttered such clear-cut Arabic that I imagined I
understood every word. A fortnight’s experience with such a voice would
make me an Arabic scholar.
The fair one’s story was to the effect that she disliked her husband
most heartily--yea, hated him altogether. He was simply a heathen brute.
He was too low to be worthy of her regard. He had robbed, torn her
clothes, beaten her, had half split her head one time. No; she would
never, never--no, never, &c., &c., have anything to do with him in
future.
“Have you finished your story?”
“Yes.”
“Serur! Take her back to the Pasha’s house.”
A few seconds elapsed, and the Pasha advanced to the tent and craved an
interview. He related that the woman with the husband’s consent had
become nurse to his little daughter, for which she received a liberal
wage in cloth, which was no sooner paid to her than her husband snatched
it away, and shamefully beat her. At her entreaties she obtained the
Pasha’s protection even against the husband. He had heard no objections
made, and knew nothing of this fury of jealousy until this evening when
he heard the wrathy voice of Mohammed denouncing him, and threatening to
shoot him. Thereupon he was obliged to ask for my protection, as the
fellow might in a fit of madness kill somebody.
“Do you leave this affair in my hands, Pasha?”
“Certainly.”
“Very well. I will ask you to retire to your quarters, guards will be
placed at every entrance leading to them, and I will guarantee the
safety of all within. I will call Mohammed and hear his story patiently,
and will let you know what arrangements have been made before you
sleep.”
The Pasha retired and Mohammed was called.
His story was that having given his wife permission to be nurse to
little Ferida, he had no intention of depriving the little girl of her
services; he simply wished that his wife should visit him occasionally
and prove herself amenable to marital duty.
“If you will conform to a few simple conditions, I will do my best to
bring your wife to her senses, but it is necessary you should meet me at
the Pasha’s house to-morrow morning and apologise to him for your
shocking violence to-night. Now, don’t interrupt me,” I said; “you have
been urged to this rude behaviour by your friends, Dr. Vita Hassan,
Bassili Effendi, and others to make a scene. Go to your house quietly,
and beware you utter no more words to-night. To-morrow morning we shall
meet again.”
This evening a mail has arrived from Wadelai, and the letters announce
the utmost disorder and the most extraordinary confusion at that
station.
_April 4th_.--At 8 A.M. I proceeded to the Pasha’s house and informed
him that I desired to call Mohammed to his presence. He consented, and
the man made a most submissive apology, though his angry features belied
his professions of penitence. He was then told to state to the Pasha
before me upon what conditions he was willing to let the woman continue
as nurse. He said he wished his wife to attend on Ferida until she was
put to sleep, from the first hour of the morning, that was all, to which
the Pasha expressed himself agreeable.
“On the following conditions only, Mohammed, do I agree:--
“1st. Your wife shall attend on Ferida during the daytime.
“2nd. Your wife shall return to your house after sunset.
“3rd. Your wife is not to be beaten or bruised.
“4th. Your wife’s personal property shall remain with the Pasha.
“5th. You shall assist, protect, and watch over your wife while on the
march, and allow her on reaching camp to serve Ferida.
“6th. You shall not trouble your wife and distract her with your demands
during the day--except in case of your illness.
“7th. The Pasha, in consideration of your wife’s service, shall feed and
clothe her, and see that she is carried on the march.”
Both the Pasha and Mohammed agreed.
The woman was then called, and the Pasha translated word for word the
above conditions. As she heard them she swept the white muslin from her
face, and in the absence of any superior attraction she appeared to me
to possess considerable beauty, with splendid large black eyes--a
distinctively fine Cairene face. The hut was filled with perfume from
her spotless white muslin robe. Under this overdress, she wore a scarlet
dress. In the wilds of Africa I never met anything approaching her.
After the conditions had been translated, she interjected a vigorous
“Never, never, no, never!” coupled with a free abuse of Mohammed, who
stood looking ridiculously angry and jealous. He appealed to me to
listen to her.
“Take her to you, Mohammed.”
The man gave the order to her to proceed to his house, which order she
contemptuously disregarded.
“She must go to your house now,” I said.
Again Mohammed extended his hand towards her, which she angrily pushed
aside. “Never, never, no, never!” she cried fiercely, with flashes of
anger from her beautiful gazelle eyes.
“Please to command her departure, Pasha.”
The Pasha delivered the order in his usual deep voice. She remained
immovable.
“You see she refuses to go,” said the Pasha. “What can be done?”
“My dear Pasha, we were prepared for a scene. This is exactly what we
both knew would happen. Despite her obstinacy, she must--she absolutely
must depart with her husband, and we must forbear, whatever happens,
unless the man strikes her. Please to command once more, Pasha, that she
accompany her own proper husband, or she shall be carried bodily to her
home.”
The Pasha did so, and after a second’s hesitation, during which it was
clear that she was measuring the strength of two wills, she walked out,
taking the sweet fragrance and loveliness of her presence with her.
“After her, Mohammed! but if you strike her with even a feather, she
shall become as a stranger to you until you reach Cairo. Let her scold
on, man, even until she faints with weariness. Does a man like you fear
wind? Be considerate with her for three or four days. She will come
round, never fear.”
Ten minutes later Mohammed again made his appearance, and anxiously
cried out that she was possessed of a devil and unmanageable, tearing
her robes, and pulling at her face as though she would destroy its
beauty for ever, &c., &c.
“Quite so, quite so, Mohammed; just what we expected she would do. Go
tie her up by the wrists, her hands behind her back, Mohammed. Do it
with a smile of confidence, and with soothing words, Mohammed. I know no
law to prevent you, Mohammed. She is your own lawful wife, Mohammed. But
beware of striking her, for if you do it you are a beast!”
The man went, and, in a matter-of-fact way, tied up the shrewish beauty.
Then she shrieked and wailed for half an hour, and the neighbours’ wives
came in to comfort her, and begged her to be submissive to her lord, and
promised her that her husband would become at once tender and kind if
she but showed due obedience. “It is the excess of his love for you,”
they said, “that makes him so fierce and angry. If you were only wise,
he would become the most docile slave.” Wise wives!
But their combined advice, and the cunning suggestions thrown in, had
not so much influence in subduing that raging temper, in my opinion, as
her bonds, which made the proud woman appear absurdly helpless before
the sneering husband.
At 3 P.M. she sent a pitiful message to me that I would cause her
release, but she was sternly told that her voice had no power, nor her
beauty any charms for me; that she must appeal to her husband.
Accordingly she turned to Mohammed, and meekly implored her lord to go
and plead for her, that her bonds pained her, and that she would in
future obey him devotedly.
Then Mohammed came, with his face radiant with triumphant emotions, and
relieved of those jealous wrinkles which had so disfigured it, and
interceded for her release. This was granted, with an advice not to let
his fondness become folly; to be commanding in tone, and austerely
distant for a few days, otherwise she would regain her lost advantages.
She was permitted to resume her duties in the Pasha’s household. At
night she meekly returned to her husband’s house of her own accord. Let
us hope that peace will spread her wings over the disturbed family for
the future. Amen!
_April 5th_.--This morning Serour, a boy of Monbuttu land, belonging to
the Pasha’s household, informed me that only two of the Pasha’s servants
intended to follow him out of this camp. He stated that after the Pasha
had questioned his servants, the day before yesterday, they had gone
apart and consulted among themselves, and that they had finally resolved
to let him depart without them--orderlies, guards, clerks, and servants,
all except Bilal and he, Serour.
“But are you sure that you will go with him?”
“I don’t know. If all my friends remain behind, what shall I do alone?”
“Well, then, only Bilal is certain of going?”
“Yes.”
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 5.
Kavalli’s.]
At 10.30, after the usual morning muster, Sali reported to me that the
Zanzibaris were talking of several attempts having been made, in various
parts of the camp, to steal rifles from their huts, but that on each
occasion the attempt was thwarted by the prompt wakefulness of the
people. I was glad to hear that at last the Zanzibaris had learned the
importance of securing their rifles close by them at night. There is a
general feeling in the camp that something is about to happen. The
whispering circles observed each day, the care they take that no
outsiders approach too near them, the discovery that the Pasha’s
servants had actually informed the Pasha plainly that they would not
accompany him, the huge packets of letters that were despatched by the
Egyptians to the ever-dilatory Egyptians at Wadelai, the heavy mails
that came from Wadelai in return, the insidious warnings of others not
to trust in the Egyptians, coupled with the former theft of a rifle by
the returning officers, and these bold attempts to steal a few more
rifles, all conspired to prove conclusively that between this date and
the 10th of April some daring scheme is about to be tried.
Up to this date I have regarded the Pasha and the people as our guests,
to be treated with all politeness and consideration, and myself as host
and guide merely, except when any matter was thrust and put into my
management. For the Pasha personally all of us entertained great respect
and sympathy. Not a day has passed without an exhibition of this feeling
from myself and officers, but we have been none the less aware that the
Pasha’s method fails utterly to constrain obedience. There has not been
a single order of any importance obeyed, nor any request regarded. As
often as we have observed this we have chafed and regretted that each
time we have been emboldened to speak to him he has believed himself
infallible in his judgment, from his thirteen years’ experience of them.
But now that the Egyptians had begun, from our quiet inoffensive manner,
to conceive that the whites were similar to their Pasha, and proposed to
accomplish some project involving our rights and liberties, the time was
come to act.
I proceeded to the Pasha’s house.
The Pasha, who was putting the final touches to some birds just stuffed
by his secretary, pulled himself up with his usual dignity, and gravely
prepared himself to listen.
“Emin Pasha,” I said, “last evening couriers arrived from Wadelai and
Mswa. They brought a large packet of letters from Selim Bey, Egyptian
clerks, and others, and each letter which you received described
disorder and distress. There are now half a dozen factions there, each
arrayed against the other. One Coptic clerk wrote you that no one seemed
to know what he was about, that the soldiers broke into the Government
magazines and took out whatever pleased them, that the officers were
unable to restrain them, and that Wadelai was like a settlement
consisting wholly of madmen; that Selim Bey had not begun to embark his
own family yet, that he had but few followers, and that these were
altogether unruly.
“Your people here also received many letters from their brethren, and,
as though in accordance with this fact, there was an attempt made last
night to appropriate our arms. Three separate times they entered the
Zanzibari huts and tried to abstract the rifles; but, acting after my
instructions, the Zanzibaris tied their rifles to their waists, and when
they were pulled, they were wakened, and the intending thieves decamped.
While you have been engaged with your collections and studies, I have
been observing.
“They have yet five nights before our departure on the 10th inst. The
attempt to rob us of our arms of defence failed last night. They will
try again, and perhaps succeed, for I credit them with being clever
enough, and it is quite clear that they have a design of some kind. Of
course, if they succeed in appropriating even one rifle, the punishment
will be summary, for I shall then forget what is due to them as your
people and my guests. But this is what I wish to avoid. I should be loth
to shed their blood, and create scenes of violence, when a better way
of safeguarding our arms and ammunition, and effecting a quiet and
peaceable departure from here, can be found.
“I propose to you one of two things. Sound the signal to muster all the
Arabs and Soudanese with you, and then find out gently who is willing to
leave with you. Those who are not willing, I shall order to leave the
camp. If they do not obey, then it will be for me to employ compulsion.
But as these people despise our Zanzibaris, they may very probably
attempt resistance. Well, in a land where there is no appeal but to our
fire-arms, it will certainly end violently, and we shall both regret it
afterwards.
“The other proposal is much more effective and more bloodless. Do you
order your baggage to be packed up quietly, and at dawn my people shall
all be ready to escort you to a camp about three miles from here. From
that camp we shall issue a request that those who intend following you
shall come in and be welcome, but no other person shall approach without
permission on pain of death.”
“Hum! May I inform Casati of this?” demanded the Pasha.
“No, sir. Casati is in no danger; they will not hurt him, because he is
not their governor or officer. He is only a traveller. He can come the
next day, or whenever he is inclined. If he is detained, I will attack
the rebel camp and rescue Casati quickly enough.”
The Pasha, while I spoke, shook his head in that melancholy, resigned
manner peculiar to him, which has always seemed to me to betray pitiable
irresolution.
“You do not like either plan, Pasha, I see. Will you, then, suggest some
plan by which I can avoid coming into conflict with these wretched,
misguided people, for as certain as daylight, it is impending? In my
camp indiscipline and unruliness shall not prevail.”
The Pasha, after a while, replied, “Your plan is not bad, but there is
not sufficient time.”
“Why, Pasha, you have told me you have been packing up for the last
fifteen days. Do you mean to say that between now and to-morrow morning
you cannot finish packing your baggage? In thirty minutes our Expedition
can start. If you cannot be awakened to the danger of bloodshed, and you
will not accept my plan, nor suggest anything that will relieve us of
the necessity of destroying one another, I must at once take measures
for the general safety; and should a drop of blood be spilled, it must
be upon your head that the guilt of it will lie. Adieu.”
I rose and sounded the signal for general muster under arms. Myself and
officers armed, and the Zanzibaris, Manyuema, Soudanese, and natives,
seeing us assume our weapons, knew that the case was urgent, and
hastened to the square with wonderful celerity. The natives of Kavalli
passed the alarm, and some hundreds came rushing up to take their share
in what they believed was a coming struggle.
Within five minutes the companies were under arms, and stood attentive
along three sides of the great square. The Pasha, seeing that I was in
earnest, came out, and begged me to listen to one word.
“Certainly; what is it?” I asked.
“Only tell me what I have to do now.”
“It is too late, Pasha, to adopt the pacific course I suggested to you.
The alarm is general now, and therefore I propose to discover for myself
this danger, and face it here. Sound the signal, please, for muster of
your Arabs before me.”
“Very good,” replied the Pasha, and gave the order to his trumpeter.
We waited ten minutes in silence. Then, perceiving that not much
attention was paid to the signal, I requested Mr. Jephson to take No. 1
company, arm the men with clubs and sticks, and drive every Arab,
Egyptian, and Soudanese into the square, without regard to rank, to
search every house, and drag out every male found within.
The Zanzibaris were deployed across the camp, and, advancing on the
run, began to shower blows upon every laggard and dawdler they came
across, until the most sceptical was constrained to admit that, when
commanded, the Zanzibaris were fit for something better than working as
a hamal for a lazy Egyptian and his slave.
For the first time the Egyptians and Soudanese formed a decent line. Not
until they had formed it with military exactitude and precision was a
word said to them. It was most amusing to see an ordinary Zanzibari
carrier straighten with his staff--which he flourished with a grim
face--the line of majors, Vakeels, captains, lieutenants, clerks, and
storekeepers.
When the line was satisfactory, I stepped up to them and informed them
that I heard they wished to fight, that they were eager to try what kind
of men the Zanzibaris were. They had seen how well they could work; it
would be a pity if they were not able to see how well they could fight.
The Vakeel--Lieutenant-Governor--replied, “But we don’t wish to fight.”
“Then what is this I hear, that one of you is as good as ten of my men,
of rifles being stolen, of plots and counterplots each day that you have
been here, of your resolve not to follow the Pasha after making us build
your houses and collect food for you, and carrying hundreds of loads the
last two months up this mountain from the lake, and last night three of
our houses were entered, and you laid your hands upon our arms. Speak,
and say what it all means.”
“Ah, Pasha, no one of us wishes to fight, and let the thieves, if found,
die.”
“If found! Will any thief confess his theft and deliver himself to be
shot. Will you, who are all of one mind, betray one another, and submit
yourselves to punishment? Do you intend to follow your Pasha?”
“We all do,” they answered.
“Stay. Those who intend following the Pasha form rank on that other
side, like soldiers, each in his place.”
At once there was a general and quick movement in regular order; they
then turned about and faced me again.
“So! Is there none desirous of staying in this fair land with Selim Bey,
where you will be able to make these natives do your work for you, cook,
and feed you?”
“None, not one. La il Allah il Allah!”
“Why, Pasha, you have been misinformed, surely? These people vow they
are all faithful. There is not a traitor here.”
“I do not see my servants and orderlies here,” replied the Pasha.
“Ah, Lieutenant Stairs, please take a party and roust every man out. On
the least resistance you know what to do.”
“Right, sir.”
Lieutenant Stairs took his company, gave his orders, and in a few
minutes the Pasha’s servants were brought into the square; they were
deprived of their rifles and accoutrements.
“Now, Pasha, please ask them severally before me what they intend
doing.”
Upon the Pasha asking them, they all replied they were willing to follow
their master to the end of the world, excepting one, Seroor.
The Pasha, pointing out Seroor, said, “That is the chief conspirator in
my household.”
“Oh, it will only take one cartridge to settle his business.”
“But I hope, for God’s sake, that you will try him first, and not take
my word for it.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear Pasha. We invariably give such people a fair
trial.”
Seroor was placed under guard with three others whom the Pasha pointed
out.
“Now, Pasha, this business having been satisfactorily ended, will you be
good enough to tell these officers that the tricks of Wadelai must
absolutely cease here, and that in future they are under my command. If
I discover any treacherous tricks I shall be compelled to exterminate
them utterly. No Mahdist, Arabist, or rebel can breathe in my camp.
Those who behave themselves and are obedient to orders will suffer no
harm from their fellows or from us. My duty is to lead them to Egypt,
and until they arrive in Cairo I will not leave them. Whatever I can do
to make them comfortable I will do, but for sedition, and theft of arms,
there is only death.”
MUSTER OF EMIN PASHA’S FOLLOWERS, APRIL 5th, 1889.
------------------------------------+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+--------
NAME. | | | | | | |Total of
|Loads.|Wives.|Children.|Men. |Women.|Infants.|People.
------------------------------------+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+--------
Emin Pasha, Governor | 51 | | 1 | 16 | 15 | 9 | 42
Captain Casati, traveller | 10 | | | 3 | 8 | 1 | 13
Signor Marco, merchant | 13 | 5 | 4 | 5 | 5 | 3 | 23
Vita Hassan, apothecary | 11 | | 2 | 7 | 7 | 2 | 19
Osman Effendi Latif, Vakeel }| | | | | | |
His mother }| | | | | | |
“ Abdul Rahman, his son, 17 years}| | | | | | |
“ Achmed “ 10 “ }| 11 | 2 | 4 | 3 | 5 | 1 | 17
“ Rejab “ 5 “ }| | | | | | |
“ Sadi-eddeen “ 4 “ }| | | | | | |
Ayoub Effendi (absent), clerk | 4 | | | 1 | | | 1
Achmet Effendi Ibrahim, captain | 9 | 3 | | 3 | 5 | 2 | 14
Abdul Wahid Effendi, captain | 8 | 1 | | 4 | 3 | 1 | 10
Ibrahim Effendi | | | | | | | 1
Assinaka, clerk | 7 | | | 3 | 7 | | 11
Ali Agha Shamruk, captain | 6 | 1 | | 2 | 1 | | 5
Rushdi Effendi, clerk | 5 | 2 | 1 | 3 | 4 | | 11
Ibrahim Effendi Telbass, lieutenant | 9 | 2 | | | 4 | | 7
Abu Zehr Achmed | 5 | | | | 2 | 1 | 4
Ali Effendi, captain }| | | | | | |
Mohammed, his son, 14 years }| | | | | | |
Ibrahim “ 11 “ }| 20 | 1 | 3 | 9 | 9 | | 23
Abdul Hamed “ 6 “ }| | | | | | |
Mohammed Mutlook, soldier | 3 | | | | 1 | | 2
Awash Effendi, major | 17 | | | 4 | 9 | 1 | 15
Hamdam, soldier | 2 | | 1 | | | | 2
Mohammed el Arabi, soldier | 4 | | | | 3 | | 4
Sulieman Effendi, 1st lieutenant | 12 | | 3 | 5 | 5 | 2 | 16
Faratch Ago, lieutenant | 20 | 4 | 5 | 5 | 12 | | 27
Mohammed Sulieman, soldier | 3 | 1 | | | | | 2
Bakheet, soldier | 2 | 1 | 1 | | | | 3
Azra Effendi, clerk }| | | | | | |
His mother }| 8 | 3 | 2 | 2 | 4 | | 13
Rafael Effendi, clerk | 5 | 2 | 1 | | 1 | | 5
Wasuf Effendi, clerk | 6 | 2 | | 1 | 2 | 2 | 8
Michael Effendi (deceased) }| | | | | | |
His children-- }| | | | | | |
Awab boy, 6 years }| | | | | | |
Bushara “ 4 “ }| | | | | | |
Girghis “ 2 “ }| | | | | | |
Fullah girl, 7 “ }| 10 | | 8 | 4 | 8 | | 20
Mustafia “ 10 “ }| | | | | | |
Mushtara “ 4 “ }| | | | | | |
Hamma “ 2 “ }| | | | | | |
Beheri “ 4 “ }| | | | | | |
Abrian Effendi, clerk | 9 | 3 | 2 | 7 | 8 | 1 | 22
Awad Effendi, clerk | 10 | 4 | 5 | 2 | 3 | | 15
Abdul Fettah (deceased) | 5 | 1 | 3 | | 1 | | 6
MUSTER OF EMIN PASHA’S FOLLOWERS, APRIL 5th, 1889--_continued_.
------------------------------------+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+--------
NAME. | | | | | | |Total of
|Loads.|Wives.|Children.|Men. |Women.|Infants.|People.
------------------------------------+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+--------
Mohammed Kher, clerk | 5 | 6 | 3 | 2 | 5 | | 17
Ibrahim Effendi, lieutenant | 5 | 1 | 1 | | | | 3
Mohammed Effendi Emin, soldier | 8 | 4 | | | | 3 | 8
Hamid Mohammed, soldier | 3 | 1 | | | 1 | 2 | 5
Yusuf Effendi }| | | | | | |
Mohammed, his son, 12 years }| 12 | 4 | 4 | 10 | 12 | | 32
Kahlil “ 11 “ }| | | | | | |
Ibrahim, his brother }| | | | | | |
Rajah Effendi, Pasha’s secretary | 7 | 2 | 2 | 2 | 3 | | 10
Arif Effendi, Pasha’s clerk | 5 | 2 | | 2 | 3 | | 8
Mabu, soldier | 2 | 1 | 1 | | | | 3
Merjan, soldier | 1 | | | | | | 1
Children of Mohammed Osman-- | | | | | | |
Ismail, son, 12 years }| | | | | | |
Bukra, girl, 13 “ }| 4 | 3 | 3 | 2 | 2 | | 10
Fatima “ 10 “ }| | | | | | |
Kur, sergeant | 2 | | | 2 | 2 | | 5
Feruzi, trumpeter | 2 | 1 | | | | | 2
Seeroor Adam, soldier | 5 | 3 | 2 | 3 | 3 | | 12
Ahmed Effendi Reif, storekeeper | 3 | | | 1 | 1 | | 3
Ahmed Effendi Ibrahim, clerk | 4 | 1 | 1 | | 1 | | 4
Abu Scherag, soldier | 4 | 1 | | 1 | | | 3
Basili Effendi} }| | | | | | |
Toma Effendi } three Coptic }| | | | | | |
Daoud Effendi } brothers, clerks }| 11 | | | 7 | 10 | | 22
and two sisters, captains }| | | | | | |
Awari, soldier | 3 | 2 | | | | 2 | 5
Farag Hashin, soldier | 3 | 1 | 1 | | | | 3
Fathel Mullah, soldier | 2 | 1 | | | | | 2
Ibrahim, soldier | 3 | | | | | | 1
Shukri Aga (absent), captain }| | | | | | |
His children-- }| | | | | | |
Achmed, his son, 13 years }| 15 | 6 | 4 | 4 | 7 | 3 | 24
Juma “ 12 “ }| | | | | | |
Adam “ 14 “ }| | | | | | |
Matyera, interpreter | 3 | 4 | 1 | 1 | | | 7
+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+------
| 397 | 82 | 69 |126 | 182 | 36 | 551[11]
------------------------------------+------+------+---------+-----+------+--------+--------
The Pasha translated, and the Arabs bowed their assent, and through the
Vakeel and two captains, vowed that they would obey their father
religiously.
“Good,” I replied; “and now that I assume command, I want to have a list
of your names and exact number of your families, and carriers will be
allotted to you according to your number, and on the fifth day we
leave.”
Poor Pasha! It was as clear as the noonday sun why 10,000 followers had
dwindled in number to Bilal, the solitary ONE! After a patient and
scrupulous analysis of the why and wherefore of these events, the result
is manifest, and we see the utter unfitness of the scientific student
and the man of unsuspecting heart to oppose these fawning, crafty
rogues, who have made fraud and perfidy their profession. At the same
time, it is not so clear that, had he penetrated their dissimulating
wiles, and grappled with these evil men boldly, and crushed the heads of
these veterans in falsehood and craft, that his position would have been
safer than it was. Each man, however, follows his own nature, and must
abide the consequences of his judgment and acts. But all must admit,
that what is so far written does infinite credit to his heart.
_April 6th._--Sixty-five natives have arrived here, sent by the chief
Mazamboni as carriers, to be ready for the 10th instant.
Osman Latif Effendi, the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province, was once
much addicted to inebriety, but of late years he has become a rigid
abstainer, and such an absorbed reader of the Koran that not long ago
his clothes were aflame before he was aware of it.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 6.
Kavalli’s.]
During the sudden muster of the day before yesterday, and the fierce
declaration of my intentions, he became energetic himself, and I found
that energy, as well as disease, becomes contagious. He had prepared for
an immediate start after us. His mother, an old lady, seventy-five
years old, with a million of wrinkles in her ghastly white face, was not
very fortunate in her introduction to me, for, while almost at white
heat, she threw herself before me in the middle of the square, jabbering
in Arabic to me, upon which, with an impatient wave of the hand, I
cried, “Get out of this; this is not the place for old women.” She
lifted her hands and eyes up skyward, gave a little shriek, and cried,
“O Allah!” in such tragic tones that almost destroyed my character.
Every one in the square witnessed the limp and shrunk figure, and
laughed loudly at the poor old thing as she beat a hasty retreat.
While arranging his eleven loads, consisting of baskets of provisions,
carpets, and cooking pots and family bedding, Osman Latif Effendi held
the Koran between thumb and finger, and alternately appealed to the
Arabic lines, and to the Arab lares and penates in the baskets.
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN LADY.]
Among the people yesterday I found forty-nine young fellows without
arms. As they drew up in line they preferred a request to be armed with
rifles. Not knowing their character, I sent to the Pasha to be good
enough to give me a list of the most deserving, that they might assist
in the defence of the column while on the march, but he begged to be
excused, as he did not feel well enough. Poor Casati is not on speaking
terms with the Pasha, because of his judgment against him in the matter
of the little black girl of the other day, and I suppose the Pasha will
not be on speaking terms with me, because of the shock of yesterday.
The march will do them all good. When the Pasha is in presence of
Ruwenzori--the Mountains of the Moon--he will recover tone.
_April 7th._--The Egyptians are now earnestly preparing for the march. I
have ordered every family to have a reserve of at least six days’
provisions on hand at all times, irrespective of the plenty that may be
in the vicinity. The Zanzibaris have become at last impressed with the
necessity of this, though it required eighteen months most woeful
experience and constant instruction to teach them this secret of African
travel.
_April 8th._--Mazamboni’s natives, who have been gathering here ready
for our departure, danced nearly the whole day. The women of the Bavira
turned out _en masse_ to exhibit a farewell performance. My vanity
induces me to publish the fact that the songs were merely extemporaneous
effusions in our honour for having as they say “fixed the country in
order.”
This afternoon Omar, sergeant of our Soudanese, created a scene because
of some supposed insult to his wife by the Zanzibaris. As the affair
waxed serious, the intending combatants were brought to the square and
requested, if they would not disperse, to fight the matter out before me
as umpire. Now Omar is a splendid specimen of manhood, an excellent
soldier and officer, but both he and the cantankerous Zanzibaris were
elated above reason by native beer. Omar and his Zanzibari antagonists
loudly clamoured for a fight. “With fists or clubs?” “Clubs for men,”
shouted the Zanzibaris--a very unfortunate choice for them, as it turned
out.
Omar stood like a colossus, with his coat sleeve rolled up. A Zanzibari
sprang to the front calling out, “I am Asmani, of Muscati; behold how I
will lay low this Nubian!” They made two passes, and Asmani was struck
to the ground senseless. He was taken up and placed in charge of Dr.
Parke.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 8.
Kavalli’s.]
“Next of ye who feel aggrieved by Omar.” Hajji, a tall Zanzibari,
responded, flourished his club, struck deftly one side, but the blow was
cleverly caught by Omar, and before he could recover his guard Hajji had
measured his length on the greensward. The applause was terrific. There
were some 900 people present. Hajji was dragged away like the gored
horse in the Plaza de Toros, and sent to the Doctor to be cured of his
skull-crack.
“Next;” and at the call bounded a sturdy, active little fellow named
Ulaiya--or England. “Ho, my lads, I am England--this Turki soldier shall
die!” In his brave confidence he flung his turban away, and exposed his
bare head. One, two, three! and, alas, for Ulaiya, the baton of Omar
came down on his unprotected cranium with a blow which would have killed
a white man, but only caused him to collapse and become too confused for
further effort. The sight of the blood streaming down his face
infuriated his comrades, and a general rush was made upon Omar, who,
before he was rescued, received an extremely sore back from the
multitude of blows showered on him, so that victor and vanquished had
received adequate punishment, and declared themselves perfectly
satisfied that each of their honours had been gratified by the display.
After their wounds, they were, however, taken to the guardhouse.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 9.
Kavalli’s.]
_April 9th._--This morning the combatants of yesterday were brought
before me at muster. Sergeant Omar was informed that, whereas he, being
an officer, had allowed himself to indulge in drink, his sentence was
that he should carry a box of ammunition while on the march until the
Zanzibaris’ heads were healed, and during their retirement from the
active list, he, being in the meanwhile, disrated. Three other Soudanese
were sentenced to do porter’s duty for a similar period for having
drawn steel weapons during the fight with intent to do deadly injury,
and one Soudanese received a dozen for putting a cartridge with intent
to shoot. Serur, the Monbuttu, servant of the Pasha, with his master’s
permission, received two dozen for employing a shovel to strike the
combatants, having been inspired by malice for the events of the 5th
instant.
Notice was also given that the march towards Zanzibar would commence
next morning, which announcement was received with “frantic applause.”
Mpinga, Msiri, Mwité, Malai, Wabiassi, Mazamboni, and Balegga have
furnished 350 carriers. They are assembled this evening, dancing,
singing, and feasting.
Shukri Agha, Commandant of Mswa, has not arrived yet, though he has sent
his children and women.
_April 10th._--March from Kavalli’s to Mpinga’s, four hours.
At 7.30 A.M. the column streamed out of camp led by No. 1 company, then
followed the Pasha and his people, with their allotted number of
carriers.
Roughly the number was as follows--
Expedition 230
Manyuema 130
Plateau natives 350
Kavallis 200
Pasha and people 600
-----
Total 1,510
-----
There was no disorder or disturbance. The column kept as close order as
though it was composed of veterans. The ridges and swells of land were
lined with women and children, who sang their farewells to us. Every one
was animated and happy.
Captain Nelson, in charge of the rear guard, set fire to the straw town
which had seen so many anxious weeks of our life. The fire was splendid;
the fearful flames seemed to lick the very sky from where we stood, and
the great cloud of black smoke announced to the country round about,
even as far as Pisgah, that the Expedition was homeward bound.
_April 11th._--Halt.
_April 12th._--March to Mazamboni’s, four and a half hours.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 12.
Mazamboni’s.]
Continued our journey to the territory of our good friend Mazamboni, but
the compact order was much broken. The Pasha’s people straggled over
many miles of the road. This will have to be corrected to avoid
wholesale casualities. There is no fear in this country, for this is our
own, and the natives are in a fair way of becoming civilized.
Lieutenant Stairs was discovered, having made ample provision for the
wants of the column, and had nothing but grateful news to deliver to us.
_April 13th._--Halt. I write this in bed, am in great pain; Dr. Parke
informs me I suffer from sub-acute gastritis, which I judge to be
something of an inflammation of the stomach; am under the influence of
morphia. Last night about 2 A.M. the first symptoms attacked me. A halt
has been ordered, which I fear will be a long one. This compulsory pause
will be a forced extension of time to those misguided people of the
Equatorial Province who may hear of our departure from Kavalli, and who
may take this halt as a further grace offered to them.
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 13.
Mazamboni’s.]
Now followed, one day after another, days of excessive pain and almost
utter weariness of life. The body pined for want of the nourishment that
the excoriated stomach invariably rejected. Nothing but milk and water
could be taken, and the agony caused by the digestion had to be eased by
hypodermic injections of morphia. For the first few days the devoted
surgeon enabled me to hope that, through his skilful nursing, I might
soon recover, and my mind became active in planning the homeward march,
and conceiving every unhappy circumstance attending it, and the
necessary measures that should be taken. I supposed Kabba Rega was aware
of the retreat of the Pasha and his people, and would do his utmost to
oppose our progress, conceded to him in imagination hundreds of rifles,
and thousands of spearmen with his allies, who use the long bows of the
Wahuma, and fancied that after him we should meet the brave and warlike
Wasongora, of whom I had heard in 1875, and then the Wanyankori, with
their king named the “Lion,” persecuting the column night and day, and
victim after victim dropping from among our living ranks; and then the
passage of the Alexandra Nile amid a rain of arrows, to encounter the no
less hostile people of Karagwé, assisted by the Waganda, and the column
daily decreasing in strength and numbers, until some day, a few, after
infinite struggles, would reach Msalala, and tell Mackay, the
missionary, the horrible scenes of disaster that had dogged us and
finally destroyed us; and lying helpless on my bed, with the murmur of
the great camp round about me, all these difficulties, arrayed by the
vividness of my imagination, had to be struggled against in some way,
and forthwith I lost myself in imaginary scenes of endless fights and
strategies along the base of the snowy range, seizing every point of
vantage, rushing into a palisaded village, and answering every shot with
two of most deadly aim; climbing a hill slope and repelling the enemy
with such spleen that they would be glad to cease the persecution. Or at
crossing of broad rivers, after a troublous search for the means, the
ambuscades protecting the ferry, or forming zeribas with frantic energy,
every man and woman assisting, the sharpshooters’ rifles keeping up the
incessant and venomous fire; Stairs, Nelson, Jephson, Parke halloing
their men with cheering voice, and every one aflame with desire to
defend the people entrusted to our charge. Or scenes of combat in the
underwood of the tropic forest, utterly heedless of the divine beauty of
tropic flowering, cool shades and merry streamlets, and absorbed only in
the sanguinary necessities of the moment. I sometimes worked myself into
such a pitch of exaltation that a fever came and clouded all, and caused
me to babble confusedly, and the Doctor, gently shaking his head, would
have to administer an opiate.
Nor were these the only bugbears raised in my dazed mind. Morning after
morning came the reports as usual of plots, and seditious circles of men
drawing new nets of craft to gain something I knew not what, and
pleasing their cruel hearts with foretelling the most ominous events.
Many a rumour seemed to be afloat that the rebels were advancing with a
soldiery bent on destruction, and the number of those deserting the camp
by night grew greater and greater, until I had counted eighty. And then
it was told me that someone was most active in disseminating falsehoods
and inventions of terrible scenes of starvation wherein nothing but
grass would be eaten, and that there was a grand effort to be made,
because the effect of these tales was so widespread that something like
a panic had seized the people.
The Pasha discovered one of his men as being most industrious at this
evil work, and had had him tried and convicted, and sent for a detail of
men to shoot him as an example. “No detail of Zanzibaris can be sent,” I
managed to whisper to Stairs. “Let the Pasha shoot his guilty man with
his own people. If he needs a guard for protection, let him have the
men, but we came to save life, not to destroy it.” And as his own people
could not be trusted to execute such an order, the man’s life was
spared.
Then it was told me that one of the Lieutenant-Governor’s men had shot a
friendly native through the head, because the poor fellow had not been
quick enough in collecting fuel to please the hard-hearted slave. “Put
him in chains,” I said, “but do not kill him. Feed him and fatten him
ready for the march. He will do to carry a reserve of ammunition.”
“In a few days there will be few officers left,” said Nelson. “They are
all going fast, and our labour has been in vain.” “Let them go,” I
replied. “If they do not wish to follow their Pasha, let them alone.”
Then came a report that Rehan had taken with him twenty-two people, with
several rifles belonging to us.
“Ah well, Stairs, my dear fellow, pick out forty good men, march to the
Nyanza. You will find the rendezvous of these fellows at the Lake Shore
camp. Be very wary, and let your capture of them be sudden and thorough,
and bring them back. By taking our rifles they have made themselves
liable.”
[Sidenote: 1889.
April 17.
Mazamboni’s.]
On the fourth day later Lieutenant Stairs returned, having made an
excellent haul of carefully guarded prisoners, among whom was Rehan, the
ringleader.
A court of officers was convened, the witnesses were summoned, and from
their evidence it was ascertained that his flight was to precede by two
days a general exodus of the Soudanese men, women, and children; that it
was a part of a deliberate plan to arm themselves at our expense, so
that, on the arrival of Selim Bey, who was daily expected, we should be
unable to make any prolonged defence. It was proved that he had
commenced his seditious practices soon after it was known that I was
seriously ill; that he had begun his intrigues by publishing the most
audacious statements respecting our cruelties when on the march; how
every officer and Soudanese would be laden with crushing loads on their
heads, that food would be denied them, and they would be told to feed on
grass. The final fall of the Equatorial Government resulted from the
scandalous falsehoods of an Egyptian clerk and lieutenant. Officers and
soldiers of the Pasha were summoned to bear witness to what they had
heard emanating from this man, and a mass of evidence, complete and
conclusive, was furnished to prove that Rehan had been guilty of most
atrocious practices, subversive of all discipline, and endangering the
safety of the Expedition and its charge. It was also proved that Rehan
had appropriated several rifles from the Expedition, with the intention
of joining Selim Bey, and finally employing our weapons and ammunition
against people who had done naught but good and kindness to him and his
friends. Thirdly, he was convicted of absconding with several women
belonging to the harems of the Egyptian officers. Fourthly, of
desertion; and fifthly, of having shot some friendly natives between our
camp and the Nyanza, after his flight from camp. The Court resolved
that on each specification the man Rehan deserved death.
To my suggestion, that possibly a milder sentence, such as chaining him,
or putting him in a forked pole, with a box of ammunition on his head,
would be preferable, the Court was immovable; and, reviewing the case
carefully, I concurred in the sentence, and ordered that all should
assemble to hear the charges, the finding, and the sentence.
I was borne out of my bed into the presence of the people, and though to
all present I seemed to be fast drifting into that dark and unknown
world whence none return who enter, I found strength to address the
doomed man.
“Rehan, we are both before God; but it is written in the book of Fate
that you shall precede me to the grave. You are a wicked man, unfit to
breathe the air among men. I found you the slave of Awash Effendi, and I
made you a freeman, and the equal of any soldier here. I remember when,
in the forest, our friends were dying daily from weakness and hunger, I
asked you to assist in carrying the ammunition for your Pasha; you
freely consented to do so for wages. When the men recovered their
strength you were relieved of your load. When you were ill, I looked
after you, and supplied you with that which made you well. You knew that
all our sufferings were undergone while carrying ammunition for you and
your friends. When the work was done, your heart became black, and you
have daily sought to do us harm. You have wished to rob us of the means
of returning home; you have tried your best, in the malice of your
heart, to wrong us; you have vilified us; you have entered the houses of
the Egyptians and stolen their women, and you have murdered our native
friends who have given us food gratuitously for the last three months;
for all of which you deserve death by suspension from that tree. A
number of men, who were your friends at one time, have tried your case
patiently and fairly, and they answer me with one voice that you shall
die.
“Now, I will give you one more chance for life. Look around on these men
with whom you have eaten and drunk. If there is any one of them who will
plead for you, your life is yours.
“What say you, Soudanese and Zanzibaris? Shall this man have life or
death?”
“Death!” came from every voice unanimously.
“Then _Yallah rabuna_! Depart to God!”
The Soudanese with whom he had gossipped and fraternally lived in the
forest briskly stepped forward and seized him, and the Zanzibaris flung
the fatal noose around his neck. A man climbed the tree, and tossed the
rope to a hundred pair of willing hands, and at the signal marched away,
and Rehan was a silent figure hanging between earth and heaven.
“Pass the word, Mr. Stairs, throughout the camp among the Pasha’s
people, and bid them come and look at the dead Rehan, that they may
think of this serious scene, and please God mend their ways.”
I had a relapse that night, and for days afterwards it appeared to me
that little hope was left for me. Then my good doctor was stricken
sorely with a pernicious type of fever which has so often proved fatal
on the African seaboard of the Atlantic. For many a day he was also an
object of anxiety, and the Pasha being a medical practitioner in past
times most kindly bestirred himself to assist his friend. Then Mr.
Mounteney Jephson fell so seriously ill that one night his life was
despaired of. He was said to be in a state of collapse, and our
priceless doctor rose from his sick bed and hastened with his men
supporting him to the side of his sick comrade, and applied
restoratives, and relieved our intense anxieties, and before retiring,
he called upon me to relieve my spasms. Thus passed these dreadful days.
On the 29th of April I was able to sit up in bed, and from this date to
the 7th of May there was a steady but sure improvement, though the
tongue which indicated the inflammation of the mucous membrane of the
stomach appeared to be obstinately unpromising.
[Sidenote: 1889.
May 3.
Mazamboni’s.]
_May 3rd._--Two packets of letters were brought to me by natives in the
neighbourhood of the Lake shore, and as they were in Arabic I sent them
to the Pasha. Presently the Pasha appeared and demanded an interview.
When he was seated he informed me that there had been a mistake, for one
of the packets was a mail for Wadelai despatched some days ago from our
camp, while the other packet was the mail from Wadelai.
As I was not aware of any mail having been sent away since we had
arrived at Mazamboni’s, such a packet must have been sent secretly, and
most probably with sinister intentions to us. “Therefore, Pasha, as we
are evidently in a state of war with your evil-minded people, I beg you
will be good enough to open the packet and read a few of those letters
to me, for you know everything is fair in war.”
The first letter was from Shukri Agha, and was a kindly letter to his
friend Selim Bey. There was not a syllable in it that was otherwise than
sterling honesty, and honest hopes of an early meeting.
The second was from Ibrahim Effendi Elham, a captain who was in the
camp. It said, “I hope you will send us fifty soldiers as soon as you
receive this letter. We have started, and are now waiting for a few days
here. _I pray you, in the name of God, not to delay sending these men,
because if we have them to help us, we can delay the march of the
Expedition in many ways, but if you came yourself with 200 soldiers we
could obtain all you and I wish._ Our friends are anxiously expecting
news from you every day. The necessity is urgent.”
“That is a discovery, Pasha! Now are you satisfied that these people are
incorrigible traitors?”
“Well, I should not have expected this of Ibrahim Effendi Elham. I have
been constantly kind to him. As for Selim Bey, I cannot see what he can
want.”
“It is this, Pasha. In reality few of these men wish to go to Egypt.
Even Selim Bey, despite all his promises, never intended to proceed to
Egypt. They were willing to accompany you until they reached some
promising land, where there was abundance of food and cattle, and
removed from all fear of the Mahdists; they then would tell you that
they were tired of the march, that they would die if they proceeded any
farther, and you, after conferring with me, would grant them ammunition,
and promise to send some more to them by-and-by. But this ammunition
would not be sufficient in their eyes, however liberal you were. Their
rifles would be too few, nothing would satisfy them but all the rifles
and ammunition and everything we possessed. Wait a moment, Pasha, and I
will reveal the whole plot to you.
“After Mr. Jephson received my order last January, of course the news
soon spread as far north as your farthest station that I had arrived
with all my people and stores. They knew, though they affected to
disbelieve it, that the Khedive had sent ammunition to you. But they
were clever enough to perceive that they could get nothing from me
without an order from you. But as Jephson had fled and conveyed the news
of your deposition and imprisonment to me, even an order would scarcely
suffice. They therefore, knowing your forgiving disposition, come to
you, a deputation of them, to profess regret and penitence; they kiss
your hand and promise greatly, which you accept, and as a sign of amity
and forgiveness of the past accompany them, and introduce them to me.
You ask for a reasonable time for them, and it is granted. But so strong
was the temptation, they could not resist stealing a rifle. If they
intend to go with us, what do they wish to do with this rifle while
steaming on the Lake? Is it not a useless incumbrance to them? I suppose
that the varying strength and influence of the factions have delayed
them longer than they thought, and we have been saved from proceeding to
extremes by their dissensions.
“Since I have heard Mr. Jephson’s story, and your own account which
differs but little from his, and the different versions of Awash
Effendi, Osman Latif Effendi, and the Zanzibaris, I have long ago made
up my mind what to do. These people are not those to whom you may
preach and reason with effect, their heads are too dense, and their
hearts are too hardened with lying. They can understand only what they
feel, and to make such as these feel they must receive hard knocks. When
I had thoroughly sounded the depths of their natures my mind began to
discover by what method I could master these men. There were half a
dozen methods apparently feasible, but at the end of each there was an
obstacle in my way.
“You could not guess what that obstacle was, Pasha?”
“No, I cannot.”
“This obstacle that presented itself constantly, at the end of every
well-digested method, was yourself.”
“I! How was that?”
“On the 5th of April you ceased to be so, but until then, I could not
carry any scheme into execution without reference to you. You were in
our eyes the Pasha still. You were the Governor and Commander of these
people. I could not propose to you to fight them. You believed in them
constantly. Each day you said, ‘They will come, but it never came across
your mind to ask yourself, ‘What will they do after they do come, if
they find they outnumber us three to one?’ Had they come before the 5th
of April, my plan was to separate from you and leave you with them, and
form camp, with every detail of defence considered, seven or eight miles
from you. All communications were to be by letter, and guides were to be
furnished after we had gone in the advance a day’s march, to show you
the road to our last camp. No force of any magnitude would be permitted
to approach my camp without a fight.
“But after the 5th of April this method was altered. I should have been
wrong were I to separate from you, because I had a proof sufficient for
myself and officers that you had no people, neither soldiers nor
servants; that you were alone. I proposed then as I propose now; should
Selim Bey reach us, not to allow Selim Bey, or one single soldier of his
force, to approach my camp with arms. Long before they approach us we
shall be in position along the track, and if they do not ground arms at
command--why, then the consequences will be on their heads. Thus you see
that since the 5th of April I have been rather wishing that they would
come. I should like nothing better than to bring this unruly mob to the
same state of order and discipline they were in before they became
infatuated with Arabi, Mahdism, and chronic rebellion. But if they come
here they must first be disarmed; their rifles will be packed up into
loads, and carried by us. Their camp shall be at least 500 yards from
us. Each march that removes them further from Wadelai will assist us in
bringing them into a proper frame of mind, and by-and-by their arms will
be restored to them, and they will be useful to themselves as well as to
us.”
The day following our arrival at Mazamboni’s, Shukri Agha, Commandant of
Mswa, had at length appeared. He had started from his station with
twenty soldiers. Arriving at Kavalli on the plateau, he had but ten
left; on reaching our camp he had but two, his trumpeter and
flag-bearer. All the rest had deserted their captain. It is needless to
comment on it.
It is now the 7th of May. I hear this evening that there is quite a
force at Lake Shore Camp. Preparations for departure have been made
during the last four days. We will start to-morrow. We have been in this
country since the 18th of January--110 days. If this force proposes to
follow us, they can easily overtake such a column as ours, and if they
impress me that they are really desirous of accompanying us, we will not
be adverse to granting them some more time.
On the 7th of May I requested Lieutenant Stairs to bury twenty-five
cases of ammunition in the ground-floor of his house, in order that if
the rebel officers appeared and expressed earnest penitence, and begged
to be permitted to stay at Mazamboni’s, they might have means of
defence. Mr. Stairs performed this duty thoroughly and secretly.
[Sidenote: 1889.
May 8.
Bunyambiri.]
[Illustration: RESCUED EGYPTIANS AND THEIR FAMILIES.]
_May 8th._--As I was too weak to walk more than fifty yards, I was
placed in a hammock, and was borne to the front to guide the column.
We advanced westward a few miles; then, abandoning our old route to the
forest, turned southwards by a well-trodden track, and travelled along
the base of the western slope of the group of hills known as Undussuma.
We were presently amongst the luxuriant fields, plantain and banana
plantations of the village of Bundegunda. The Indian corn and beans were
very flourishing, and these extended far into the fields and hollows of
the hills, a perfect marvel of exuberant plenty. It made a great and
favourable impression upon the Egyptians and their followers, and we
even wondered at the prodigious fertility of the soil and the happy
condition of the district. One reason for all this extraordinary
abundance was the protection and shelter from the cold winds blowing
from the Lake.
An hour’s march beyond the limits of the cultivation of Bundegunda,
through other fields of equal fertility and productiveness, we formed
camp, or rather located ourselves, in the village of Bunyambiri, which
Mazamboni had caused to be abandoned for our necessities.
As Mazamboni escorted us with 300 of his own men, and was with us in
person, free permission was given to each member of the column to range
at will among the plantations and fields. The people thus literally
feasted on the ripe fruit of the banana, and the new beans, yams, sweet
potatoes, colocassia, &c. In return for his services and hospitality,
Mazamboni received forty head of cattle and sixteen tusks of ivory,
averaging 52 lbs. each. To my shame, however, the chief complained that
his people were being detained as slaves, and Lieutenant Stairs and his
brother officers had to escort him round the villages, to discover and
restore them to him. This was so very Egyptian, however, to consider
every service performed as their due, for some virtues and graces which,
though possibly innate in them, remained hidden so long.
In the afternoon three soldiers, accompanied by Ayoub Effendi, an
Egyptian clerk, made their appearance with letters from Selim Bey. They
bring an extraordinary budget of news, which will bear being related, as
it is only one more final proof of how utterly lost to all sense and
reason were the officers and soldiers of the Equatorial Province, and
how utterly incapable they were to appreciate the nature of their late
Pasha and Governor.
They say that Fadl el Mulla Bey and his party appeared for a time to be
consenting to all orders received from Emin Pasha and myself through
Selim Bey Mator, and apparently busied themselves with the preparations
for departure. Selim Bey had transported all the garrison of Dufflé to
Wadelai by the steamers _Khedive_ and _Nyanza_, in doing which he had
broken his promise to us, and disregarded the orders to which, when
delivered to him, he swore obedience to the letter. It will be
remembered that he had been instructed to begin the transport of the
people from Wadelai to our Lake Shore camp, that we might assist the
people with the luggage to the plateau, while the transport on the Lake
by steamers would continue, and at the same time the garrisons of the
northernmost stations could march with their families and concentrate at
Wadelai. Thus we had idly waited from the 25th February until the 8th
May in the neighbourhood of the Lake, a period of ninety-two days, for
the appearance of some of them, as a proof that they were really in
earnest in their wish to depart with us.
While Selim Bey was thus carrying the troops and their families from the
lower stations to Wadelai, he was unwittingly strengthening the force of
the opposite faction, that of Fadl el Mulla Bey, and they had no sooner
joined their numbers to him than he resolved to throw off the mask. In
the dead of night he marched his troops to the magazines, and,
possessing himself of all the ammunition stored there, left Wadelai and
proceeded north-west to the country of the Makkaraka. When Selim Bey
woke next morning, he found his following to consist of 200 officers,
soldiers, and clerks, the magazines empty, and no ammunition remaining
but the forty rounds per head which had been distributed to his soldiers
a few days previously. Bitterly cursing his fate and his misfortune, he
commenced embarking his people on board the steamers, and then departed
for Mswa, where he arrived on the 22nd of April, to remove south as far
as possible from all danger of the Mahdists. He had still abundance of
time, if his crass mind could only realise his position. In an hour he
could have obtained fuel sufficient from the abandoned station, and
might easily have arrived at our Lake Shore camp in nine hours’
steaming. On the 7th May he bethinks himself of our Expedition and of
his Pasha, and dictates one letter to us, which when read by us, only
provokes a smile.
It says, “We wish to know why you convert Egyptian officers and soldiers
into beasts of burden. It has been reported to us that you have cruelly
laden all with baggage, and that you convert the soldiers into porters.
This is most shameful, and we shall strictly inquire into it.”
Another letter was of very different tenor. It related the treachery of
Fadl el Mulla, by whom he had been duped and abandoned, and begging us
to wait for him and his people, as absolute ruin stared them in the
face. They had but forty cartridges each, and if Kabba Rega attacked
them, they must be inevitably destroyed.
The soldiers were called, and they gave us the details. Twenty soldiers
had arrived at Mazamboni’s, but only these three had volunteered to
follow us. They also pleaded most abjectly for a further delay. The
Pasha and I exchanged looks.
“But, my friends,” I asked, “how can we be sure that Selim Bey intends
coming after all?”
“He will be sure to do so this time.”
“But why is he waiting at Mswa? Why not have come himself with his
steamer to the Lake Shore camp? It is only nine hours’ journey.”
“He heard through some deserters that you had gone on.”
“It might have been easy for him to have overtaken such a big caravan
as this, with the few people whom he leads.”
“But everything is going wrong. There are too many counsellors with
Selim Bey, and the Egyptian clerks fill his ears with all kinds of
stories. He is honest in his wishes to leave the land, but the others
bewilder us all with their falsehoods.”
“Well, we cannot stay here to await Selim Bey. I will go on slowly--a
couple of hours a day. I must keep these people marching, otherwise the
Pasha will be left alone. When we have crossed the Semliki River, we
will choose a place on the other side a few days, and then move slowly
again for a day or two, and halt. If Selim Bey is serious in his
intentions, he will soon overhaul us; and, besides, when we reach the
river we will send him a guide that will enable him to travel in four
days what will take us twelve days. You will carry a letter from the
Pasha to him explaining all this. But you must take care to be kind to
the natives, otherwise they will not help you.”
Among our Egyptians there was one called Ali Effendi, a captain, who
complained of heart disease. He had been ailing for months. He had nine
men and nine women servants, and, in addition to these, twelve carriers
were allotted to him. His baggage numbered twenty loads. He could not
travel 100 yards; he had also a child of six years that was too small to
walk. He required six carriers more, and there was not one to be
obtained, unless I authorised levying carriers by force from the
natives, an act that would have to be repeated day by day. We persuaded
this man to return, as a few days’ march would finish him. As he would
not return without his family of fifteen persons, we consigned them to
the charge of the couriers of Selim Bey, who would escort him back to
their chief.
The guides promised to this dilatory and obtuse Soudanese colonel were
despatched, according to promise, with a letter from the Pasha; and
though we loitered, and halted, and made short journeys of between one
and three hours’ march for a month longer, this was the last
communication we had with Selim Bey. What became of him we never
discovered, and it is useless to try to conjecture. He was one of those
men with whom it was impossible to reason, and upon whose understanding
sense has no effect. He was not wicked nor designing, but so stupid
that he could only comprehend an order when followed by a menace and
weighted with force; but to a man of his rank and native courage, no
such order could be given. He was therefore abandoned as a man whom it
was impossible to persuade, and still less compel.