had his own ends in view. Being a Hindoo, he thought I was ignorant of
Cutchee; so one day I overheard the following conversation between him
and a native.
“Will he ever reach it?” asked the native, meaning the Sea of Ujiji;
to which Ramji replied:
“Of course not; what is he that he should pass through Ugogo?” (a
province about half way).
So I remarked at once that I did intend to pass Ugogo and also reach
the Sea of Ujiji, that I did know Cutchee, and that if he was up to
any tricks, I should be equal to him.
On June 26th, 1857, I set out in earnest on a journey into the far
interior.
On this journey I had several queer experiences. At Nzasa I was
visited by three native chiefs, who came to ascertain whether I was
bound on a peaceful errand. When I assured them of my unwarlike
intentions, they told me I must halt on the morrow and send forth a
message to the next chief, but as this plan invariably loses three
days, I replied that I could not be bound by their rules, but was
ready to pay for their infraction. During the debate upon this
fascinating proposal for breaking the law, one of the most turbulent
of the Baloch, who were native servants in my train, drew his sword
upon an old woman because she refused to give up a basket of grain.
She rushed, with the face of a black Medusa, into the assembly, and
created a great disturbance. When that was allayed, the principal
chief asked me what brought the white man into their country, and at
the same time to predict the loss of their gains and commerce, land
and liberty.
“I am old,” he quoth pathetically, “and my beard is grey, yet I never
beheld such a calamity as this.”
“These men,” replied my interpreter, “neither buy nor sell; they do
not inquire into price, nor do they covet profit.”
An extravagant present――for at that time I was ignorant of the price I
ought to pay――opened the chiefs’ hearts, and they appointed one of
their body to accompany me as far as the western half of the Kingani
valley. They also caused to be performed a dance of ceremony in my
honour. A line of small, plump, chestnut-coloured women, with wild,
beady eyes and thatch of clay-plastered hair, dressed in their
loin-cloths, with a profusion of bead necklaces and other ornaments,
and with their ample bosoms tightly corded down, advanced and retired
in a convulsion of wriggle and contortion, whose fit expression was a
long discordant howl. I threw them a few strings of green beads, and
one of these falling to the ground, I was stooping to pick it up when
Said, my interpreter whispered, in my ear, “Bend not; they will say
‘He will not bend even to take up beads.’”
In some places I found the attentions of the fair sex somewhat
embarrassing, but when I entered the fine green fields that guarded
the settlements of Muhoewee, I was met _en masse_ by the ladies of the
villages, who came out to stare, laugh, and wonder at the white man.
“What would you think of these whites as husbands?” asked one of the
crowd.
“With such things on their legs, not by any means!” was the unanimous
reply, accompanied by peals of merriment.
On July 8th I fell into what my Arab called the “Valley of Death and
the Home of Hunger,” a malarious level plain. Speke, whom I shall
henceforth call my companion, was compelled by sickness to ride. The
path, descending into a dense thicket of spear grass, bush, and thorny
trees based on sand, was rough and uneven, but when I arrived at a
ragged camping kraal, I found the water bad, and a smell of decay was
emitted by the dark, dank ground. It was a most appalling day, and one
I shall not lightly forget. From the black clouds driven before
furious blasts pattered raindrops like musket bullets, splashing the
already saturated ground. Tall, stiff trees groaned and bent before
the gusts; birds screamed as they were driven from their
resting-places; the asses stood with heads depressed, ears hung down,
and shrinking tails turned to the wind; even the beasts of the wild
seemed to have taken refuge in their dens.
Despite our increasing weakness, we marched on the following day, when
we were interrupted by a body of about fifty Wazaramo, who called to
us to halt. We bought them off with a small present of cloth and
beads, and they stood aside to let us pass. I could not but admire the
athletic and statuesque figures of the young warriors, and their
martial attitudes, grasping in one hand their full-sized bows, and in
the other sheaths of grinded arrows, whose black barbs and necks
showed a fresh layer of poison.
Though handicapped by a very inadequate force, in eighteen days we
accomplished, despite sickness and every manner of difficulty, a march
of one hundred and eighteen miles, and entered K’hutu, the safe
rendezvous of foreign merchants, on July 14th. I found consolation in
the thought that the expedition had passed without accident through
the most dangerous part of the journey.
Resuming our march through the maritime region, on July 15th we
penetrated into a thick and tangled jungle, with luxuriant and
putrescent vegetation. Presently, however, the dense thicket opened
out into a fine park country, peculiarly rich in game, where the giant
trees of the seaboard gave way to mimosas, gums, and stunted thorns.
Large gnus pranced about, pawing the ground and shaking their
formidable manes; hartebeest and other antelopes clustered together on
the plain. The homely cry of the partridge resounded from the brake,
and the guinea-fowls looked like large bluebells upon the trees. Small
land-crabs took refuge in pits and holes, which made the path a cause
of frequent accidents, whilst ants of various kinds, crossing the road
in close columns, attacked man and beast ferociously, causing the
caravan to break into a halting, trotting hobble. The weather was a
succession of raw mists, rain in torrents, and fiery sunbursts; the
land appeared rotten, and the jungle smelt of death. At Kiruru I found
a cottage and enjoyed for the first time an atmosphere of sweet, warm
smoke. My companion would remain in the reeking, miry tent, where he
partially laid the foundations of the fever which afterwards
threatened his life in the mountains of Usagara.
Despite the dangers of hyenas, leopards, and crocodiles, we were
delayed by the torrents of rain in the depths of the mud at Kiruru. We
then resumed our march under most unpromising conditions. Thick grass
and the humid vegetation rendered the black earth greasy and slippery,
and the road became worse as we advanced. In three places we crossed
bogs from a hundred yards to a mile in length, and admitting a man up
to the knee. The porters plunged through them like laden animals, and
I was obliged to be held upon the ass. At last we reached Dut’humi,
where we were detained nearly a week, for malaria had brought on
attacks of marsh fever, which, in my case, thoroughly prostrated me. I
had during the fever fit, and often for hours afterwards, a queer
conviction of divided identity, never ceasing to be two persons that
generally thwarted and opposed each other. The sleepless nights
brought with them horrid visions, animals of grisliest form, and
hag-like women and men.
Dut’humi is one of the most fertile districts in K’hutu, and, despite
its bad name as regards climate, Arabs sometimes reside here for some
months for the purpose of purchasing slaves cheaply, and to repair
their broken fortunes for a fresh trip into the interior. This kept up
a perpetual feud amongst the chiefs of the country, and scarcely a
month passed without fields being laid waste, villages burnt down, and
the unhappy cultivators being carried off to be sold.
On July 24th, feeling strong enough to advance, we passed out of the
cultivation of Dut’humi. Beyond the cultivation the road plunged into
a jungle, where the European traveller realised every preconceived
idea of Africa’s aspect at once hideous and grotesque. The general
appearance is a mingling of bush and forest, most monotonous to the
eye. The black, greasy ground, veiled with thick shrubbery, supports
in the more open spaces screens of tiger and spear grass twelve and
thirteen feet high, with every blade a finger’s breadth; and the
towering trees are often clothed with huge creepers, forming heavy
columns of densest verdure. The earth, ever rain-drenched, emits the
odour of sulphuretted hydrogen, and in some parts the traveller might
fancy a corpse to be hidden behind every bush. That no feature of
miasma might be wanting to complete the picture, filthy heaps of the
meanest hovels sheltered their miserable inhabitants, whose frames are
lean with constant intoxication, and whose limbs are distorted with
ulcerous sores. Such a revolting scene is East Africa from Central
K’hutu to the base of the Usagara Mountains.
After a long, long tramp the next day through rice swamps, we came to
the nearest outposts of the Zungomero district. Here were several
caravans, with pitched tents, piles of ivory, and crowds of porters.
The march had occupied us over four weeks, about double the usual
time, and a gang of thirty-six Wanyamwezi native porters whom I had
sent on in advance to Zungomero naturally began to suspect accident.
Zungomero was not a pleasant place, and though the sea breeze was here
strong, beyond its influence the atmosphere was sultry and oppressive.
It was the great centre of traffic in the eastern regions. Lying upon
the main trunk road, it must be traversed by the up and down caravans,
and during the travelling season, between June and April, large bodies
of some thousand men pass through it every week. It was, therefore, a
very important station, and the daily expenditure of large caravans
being considerable, there was a good deal of buying and selling.
The same attractions which draw caravans to Zungomero render it the
great rendezvous of an army of touts, who, whilst watching the arrival
of ivory traders, amuse themselves with plundering the country.
Zungomero is the end of the maritime region, and when I had reached
it, I considered that the first stage of my journey was accomplished.
I had to remain at Zungomero about a fortnight to await the coming of
my porters. In this hot-bed of pestilence we nearly found “wet
graves.” Our only lodging was under the closed eaves of a hut, built
African fashion, one abode within the other; the roof was a sieve, the
walls were a system of chinks, and the floor was a sheet of mud.
Outside the rain poured pertinaciously, the winds were raw and
chilling, and the gigantic vegetation was sopped to decay, and the
river added its quotum of miasma. The hardships of the march had upset
our Baloch guard, and they became almost mutinous, and would do
nothing for themselves. They stole the poultry of the villagers,
quarrelled violently with the slaves, and foully abused their temporal
superior, Said bin Salim.
When we were ready to start from Zungomero, our whole party amounted
to a total of one hundred and thirty-two souls, whom I need not, I
think, describe in detail. We had plenty of cloth and beads for
traffic with the natives, a good store of provisions, arms, and
ammunition, a certain amount of camp furniture, instruments, such as
chronometers, compasses, thermometers, etc., a stock of stationery,
plenty of useful tools, clothing, bedding, and shoes, books and
drawing materials, a portable domestic medicine chest, and a number of
miscellaneous articles. As life at Zungomero was the acme of
discomfort, I was glad enough to leave it.
On August 7th, 1857, our expedition left Zungomero to cross the East
African ghauts in rather a pitiful plight. We were martyred by miasma;
my companion and I were so feeble that we could hardly sit our asses,
and we could scarcely hear. It was a day of severe toil, and we loaded
with great difficulty.
From Central Zungomero to the nearest ascent of the Usagara Mountains
is a march of five hours; and, after a painful and troublesome
journey, we arrived at the frontier of the first gradient of the
Usagara Mountains. Here we found a tattered kraal, erected by the last
passing caravan, and, spent with fatigue, we threw ourselves on the
short grass to rest. We were now about three hundred feet above the
plain level, and there was a wondrous change of climate. Strength and
health returned as if by magic; the pure sweet mountain air,
alternately soft and balmy, put new life into us. Our gipsy encampment
was surrounded by trees, from which depended graceful creepers, and
wood-apples large as melons. Monkeys played at hide-and-seek,
chattering behind the bolls, as the iguana, with its painted
scale-armour, issued forth; white-breasted ravens cawed, doves cooed
on well-clothed boughs, and the field cricket chirped in the shady
bush. By night the view disclosed a peaceful scene, the moonbeams
lying like sheets of snow upon the ruddy highlands, and the stars
shone like glow-lamps in the dome above. I never wearied of
contemplating the scene, and contrasting it with the Slough of
Despond, unhappy Zungomero. We stayed here two days, and then resumed
our upward march.
All along our way we were saddened by the sight of clean-picked
skeletons and here and there the swollen corpses of porters who had
perished by the wayside. A single large body passed us one day, having
lost fifty of their number by smallpox, and the sight of their
deceased comrades made a terrible impression. Men staggered on,
blinded by disease; mothers carried infants as loathsome as
themselves. He who once fell never rose again. No village would admit
a corpse into its precincts, and they had to lie there until their
agony was ended by the vulture, the raven, and the hyena. Several of
my party caught the infection, and must have thrown themselves into
the jungle, for when they were missed they could not be found. The
farther we went on, the more we found the corpses; it was a regular
way of death. Our Moslems passed them with averted faces, and with the
low “La haul” of disgust.
When we arrived at Rufutah, I found that nearly all our instruments
had been spoilt or broken; and one discomfort followed another until
we arrived at Zonhwe, which was the turning-point of our expedition’s
difficulties.
As we went on, the path fell easily westwards through a long, grassy
incline, cut by several water-courses. At noon I lay down fainting in
the sandy bed of the Muhama, and, keeping two natives with me, I
begged my companion to go on, and send me back a hammock from the
halting-place. My men, who before had become mutinous and deserting,
when they saw my extremity came out well; even the deserters
reappeared, and they led me to a place where stagnant water was found,
and said they were sorry. At two o’clock, as my companion did not send
a hammock, I remounted, and passed through several little villages. I
found my caravan halted on a hillside, where they had been attacked by
a swarm of wild bees.
Our march presented curious contrasts of this strange African nature,
which is ever in extremes. At one time a splendid view would charm me;
above, a sky of purest azure, flecked with fleecy clouds. The plain
was as a park in autumn, burnt tawny by the sun. A party was at work
merrily, as if preparing for an English harvest home. Calabashes and
clumps of evergreen trees were scattered over the scene, each
stretching its lordly arms aloft. The dove, the peewit, and the
guinea-fowl fluttered about. The most graceful of animals, the zebra
and the antelope, browsed in the distance. Then suddenly the fair
scene would vanish as if by enchantment. We suddenly turned into a
tangled mass of tall, fœtid reeds, rank jungle, and forest. After the
fiery sun and dry atmosphere of the plains, the sudden effect of the
damp and clammy chill was overpowering. In such places one feels as if
poisoned by miasma; a shudder runs through the frame, and cold
perspiration breaks over the brow.
So things went on until September 4th, which still found us on the
march. We had reached the basin of Inenge, which lies at the foot of
the Windy Pass, the third and westernmost range of the Usagara
Mountains. The climate is ever in extremes; during the day a furnace,
and at night a refrigerator. Here we halted. The villagers of the
settlements overlooking the ravine flocked down to barter their
animals and grain.
The halt was celebrated by abundant drumming and droning, which lasted
half the night; it served to raise the spirits of the men, who had
talked of nothing the whole day but the danger of being attacked by
the Wahumba, a savage tribe. The next morning there arrived a caravan
of about four hundred porters, marching to the coast under the command
of some Arab merchants. We interchanged civilities, and I was allured
into buying a few yards of rope and other things, and also some asses.
One of my men had also increased his suite, unknown to me at first, by
the addition of Zawada――the “Nice Gift.” She was a woman of about
thirty, with black skin shining like a patent leather boot, a bulging
brow, little red eyes, a wide mouth, which displayed a few long,
scattered teeth, and a figure considerably too bulky for her thin
legs. She was a patient and hardworking woman, and respectable enough
in the acceptation of the term. She was at once married off to old
Musangesi, one of the donkey-men, whose nose and chin made him a
caricature of our old friend Punch. After detecting her in a lengthy
walk, perhaps not a solitary one, he was guilty of such cruelty to her
that I felt compelled to decree a dissolution of the marriage, and she
returned safely to Zanzibar. At Inenge another female slave was added
to our troop in the person of Sikujui――“Don’t Know”――a herculean
person with a virago manner. The channel of her upper lip had been
pierced to admit a bone, which gave her the appearance of having a
duck’s bill. “Don’t Know’s” morals were frightful. She was duly
espoused, in the forlorn hope of making her a respectable woman, to
Goha, the sturdiest of the Wak’hutu porters; after a week she treated
him with sublime contempt. She gave him first one and then a dozen
rivals, and she disordered the whole caravan with her irregularities,
in addition to breaking every article entrusted to her charge, and at
last deserted shamelessly, so that her husband finally disposed of her
to a travelling trader in exchange for a few measures of rice. Her
ultimate fate I do not know, but the trader came next morning to
complain of a broken head.
After Inenge we were in for a bad part of the journey, and great
labour. Trembling with ague, with swimming heads, ears deafened by
weakness, and limbs that would hardly support us, we contemplated with
horrid despair the apparently perpendicular path up which we and our
starving asses were about to toil.
On September 10th we hardened our hearts and began to breast the Pass
Terrible. After rounding in two places wall-like sheets of rock and
crossing a bushy slope, we faced a long steep of loose white soil and
rolling stones, up which we could see the porters swarming more like
baboons than human beings, and the asses falling every few yards. As
we moved slowly and painfully forward, compelled to lie down by cough,
thirst, and fatigue, the sayhah, or war-cry, rang loud from hill to
hill, and Indian files of archers and spearmen streamed like lines of
black ants in all directions down the paths. The predatory Wahumba,
awaiting the caravan’s departure, had seized the opportunity of
driving the cattle and plundering the village of Inenge.
By resting every few yards, we reached, after about six hours, the
summit of the Pass Terrible, and here we sat down amongst aromatic
flowers and pretty shrubs to recover strength and breath.
On September 14th, our health much improved by the weather, we left
the hilltop and began to descend the counterslope of the Usagara
Mountains. For the first time since many days I had strength enough to
muster the porters and inspect their loads. The outfit which had been
expected to last a year had been half exhausted within three months. I
summoned Said bin Salim, and told him my anxiety. Like a veritable
Arab, he declared we had enough to last until we reached Unyamyembe,
where we should certainly be joined by reinforcements of porters.
“How do you know?” I inquired.
“Allah is all-knowing,” said Said. “The caravan will come.”
As the fatalism was infectious, I ceased to think upon the subject.
The next day we sighted the plateau of Ugogo and its eastern desert.
The spectacle was truly impressive. The first aspect was stern and
wild――the rough nurse of rugged men. We went on the descent from day
to day until September 18th, when a final march of four hours placed
us on the plains of Ugogo. Before noon I sighted from a sharp turn in
the bed of a river our tent pitched under a huge sycamore, on a level
step. It was a pretty spot in the barren scene, grassy, and grown with
green mimosas, and here we halted for a while. The second stage of our
journey was accomplished.
After three days’ sojourn at Ugogo to recruit the party and lay in
rations for four long desert marches, we set forth on our long march
through the province of Ugogo. Our first day’s journey was over a
grassy country, and we accomplished it in comparative comfort. The
next day we toiled through the sunshine of the hot waste, crossing
plains over paths where the slides of elephants’ feet upon the last
year’s muddy clay showed that the land was not always dry. During this
journey we suffered many discomforts and difficulties. The orb of day
glowed like a fireball in our faces; then our path would take us
through dense, thorny jungle, and over plains of black, cracked earth.
Our caravan once rested in a thorny copse based upon rich red and
yellow clay; once it was hurriedly dislodged by a swarm of wild bees,
and the next morning I learnt that we had sustained a loss――one of our
porters had deserted, and to his care had been committed one of the
most valuable of our packages, a portmanteau containing “The Nautical
Almanac,” surveying books, and most of our papers, pen, and ink.
At last we arrived at Ziwa, a place where caravans generally encamped,
because they found water there. At Ziwa we had many troubles. One
Marema, the Sultan of a new settlement, visited us on the day of our
arrival, and reproved us for sitting in the jungle, pointing the way
to his village. On my replying we were going to traverse Ugogo by
another road, he demanded his customs, which we refused, as they were
a form of blackmail. The Sultan threatened violence, whereupon the
asses were brought in from grazing and ostentatiously loaded before
his eyes. He then changed his tone from threats to beggary. I gave him
two cloths and a few strings of beads, preferring this to the chance
of a flight of arrows during the night.
When we resumed our journey, the heat was awful. The sun burnt like
the breath of a bonfire, warm siroccos raised clouds of dust, and in
front of us the horizon was so distant that, as the Arabs expressed
themselves, a man might be seen three marches off.