of about ten miles in diameter. The surface was of a red clayey soil
dotted with small villages, huge calabashes, and stunted mimosas. Here
I was delayed four days to settle blackmail with Magomba, the most
powerful of the Wagogo chiefs. He was of a most avaricious nature.
First of all I acknowledged his compliments with two cottons. On
arrival at his headquarters, I was waited on by an oily Cabinet of
Elders, who would not depart without their “respects”――four cottons.
The next demand was made by his favourite, a hideous old Princess with
more wrinkles than hair, with no hair black and no tooth white; she
was not put right without a fee of six cottons. At last, accompanied
by a mob of courtiers, appeared the chief _in magnifico_. He was the
only chief who ever entered my tent in Ugogo――pride and a propensity
for strong drink prevented such visits. He was much too great a man to
call upon Arab merchants, but in our case curiosity mastered State
considerations. Magomba was an old man, black and wrinkled, drivelling
and decrepid. He wore a coating of castor-oil and a loin-cloth which
grease and use had changed from blue to black. He chewed his quid, and
expectorated without mercy; he asked many questions, and was all eyes
to the main chance. He demanded, and received, five cloths, one coil
of brass wire, and four blue cottons. In return he made me a present
of the leanest of calves, and when it was driven into camp with much
parade, his son, to crown all, put in a claim for three cottons. Yet
Magomba, before our departure, boasted of his generosity――and indeed
he was generous, for everything we had was in his hands, and we were
truly in his power. It was, indeed, my firm conviction from first to
last in this expedition that in case of attack or surprise by natives
I had not a soul except my companion to stand by me, and all those who
accompanied us would have either betrayed us or fled. We literally,
therefore, carried our lives in our hands.
We toiled on and on, suffering severely from the heat by day and
sometimes the cold by night, and troubled much with mutinous porters
and fears of desertion, until at last we reached the heart of the
great desert, or elephant ground, known as Fiery Field. On October
20th we began the transit of this Fiery Field. The waste here appeared
in its most horrid phase; a narrow goat-path serpentined in and out of
a growth of poisonous thorny jungle, with thin, hard grass straw
growing on a glaring white and rolling ground. The march was a severe
trial, and we lost on it three boxes of ammunition. By-and-by we
passed over the rolling ground, and plunged into a thorny jungle,
which seemed interminable, but which gradually thinned out into a
forest of thorns and gums, bush and underwood, which afforded a broad
path and pleasanter travelling. Unfortunately, it did not last long,
and we again had a very rough bit of ground to go over. Another forest
to pass through, and then we came out on October 27th into a clearing
studded with large stockaded villages, fields of maize and millet,
gourds and watermelons, and showing numerous flocks and herds. We had
arrived at Unyamwezi, and our traverse of Ugogo was over.
The people swarmed from their abodes, young and old hustling one
another for a better stare; the man forsook his loom and the girl her
hoe, and we were welcomed and escorted into the village by a tail of
screaming boys and shouting adults, the males almost nude, the women
bare to the waist, and clothed only knee-deep in kilts. Leading the
way, our guide, according to the immemorial custom of Unyamwezi,
entered uninvited and _sans cérémonie_ the nearest village; the long
string of porters flocked in with bag and baggage, and we followed
their example. We were placed under a wall-less roof, bounded on one
side by the bars of the village palisade, and surrounded by a mob of
starers, who relieved one another from morning to night, which made me
feel like a wild beast in a menagerie.
We rested some days at Unyamwezi――the far-famed “Land of the
Moon”――but I was urged to advance on the ground that the natives were
a dangerous race, though they appeared to be a timid and ignoble
people, dripping with castor and sesamum oil, and scantily attired in
shreds of cotton or greasy goat-skins. The dangers of the road between
Unyamwezi and Ujiji were declared to be great. I found afterwards that
they were grossly exaggerated, but I set forth with the impression
that this last stage of my journey would be the worst of all. The
country over which we travelled varied very much from day to day,
being sometimes opened and streaked with a thin forest of mimosas, and
at other times leading us through jungly patches. Going through a
thick forest, one of the porters, having imprudently lagged behind,
was clubbed and cruelly bruised by three black robbers, who relieved
him of his load. These highwaymen were not unusual in this part, and
their raids formed one of the many dangers we had to guard against.
On November 7th, 1857, the one hundred and thirty-fourth day from the
date of leaving the coast, we entered Kazeh, the principal village of
Unyamwezi, much frequented by Arab merchants. I always got on well
with the Arabs, and they gave me a most favourable reception. Striking
indeed was the contrast between the open-handed hospitality and hearty
goodwill of this truly noble race and the niggardliness of the savage
and selfish Africans. Whatever I alluded to――onions, plantains, limes,
vegetables, tamarinds, coffee, and other things, only to be found
amongst the Arabs――were sent at once, and the very name of payment
would have been an insult.
Kazeh is situated in Unyamyembe, the principal province of Unyamwezi,
and is a great meeting-place of merchants and point of departure for
caravans, which then radiate into the interior of Central
Intertropical Africa. Here the Arab merchant from Zanzibar meets his
compatriot returning from the Tanganyika and Uruwwa. Many of the Arabs
settle here for years, and live comfortably, and even splendidly.
Their houses, though single storied, are large, substantial, and
capable of defence; their gardens are extensive and well planted. They
receive regular supplies of merchandise, comforts, and luxuries from
the coast; they are surrounded by troops of concubines and slaves;
rich men have riding asses from Zanzibar, and even the poorest keep
flocks and herds.
I was detained at Kazeh from November 8th until December 14th, and the
delay was one long trial of patience.
It is customary for stranger caravans proceeding towards Ujiji to
remain six weeks or two months at Unyamyembe for repose and recovery
from the labours which they have endured; moreover, they are expected
to enjoy the pleasures of civilised society, and to accept the
hospitality offered them by the resident Arabs. In Eastern Africa, I
may mention, six weeks was the same as the three days’ visit in
England.
The morning after our arrival at Kazeh a great number of our porters
left us, and the rest of our party apparently considered that
Unyamyembe, and not Ujiji, was the end of the exploration. Several of
them were mutinous when I told them they would not be rewarded for
safe-conduct until we had reached the end of the up march, which was
not here; and these difficulties took a long time to settle. Kazeh,
indeed, proved in effect a second point of departure, easier only
because I had now gained some experience. Another cause of delay was
the sickness of many of our people, and it took some time for them to
shake off the ague which they had contracted. Indeed, the wing of
Azrael seemed waving over my own head. Nevertheless, on the morning of
December 15th I started off afresh, charmed with the prospect of a
fine open country, and delighted to get away from what had been to me
a veritable imprisonment.
I will not describe the details of our march, which went on without a
break. Christmas Day found us still marching, and so on day after day,
if I except an enforced halt of twelve days at Msene. On January 10th,
1858, I left Msene, with considerable difficulty through the mutiny of
porters; and so we pressed on, more or less with difficulty, until at
last a formidable obstacle to progress presented itself. I had been
suffering for some days; the miasmatic airs of Sorora had sown the
seeds of a fresh illness. On the afternoon of January 18th, 1858, I
was seized with an attack of fever, and then paralysis set in from the
feet upwards, and I was completely _hors de combat_. There seemed
nothing left for me but to lie down and die. One of my chief porters
declared that the case was beyond his skill: it was one of partial
paralysis, brought on by malaria, and he called in an Arab, who looked
at me also. The Arab was more cheerful, and successfully predicted
that I should be able to move in ten days. On the tenth I again
mounted my ass, but the paralysis wore off very slowly, and prevented
me from walking any distance for nearly a year. The sensation of
numbness in my hands and feet disappeared even more slowly than that.
I had, however, undertaken the journey in a “nothing like leather”
frame of mind, and was determined to press on. So we pressed.
We had now left the “Land of the Moon” behind us, and entered upon a
new district. The road before us lay through a howling wilderness, and
the march lay along the right bank of a malarial river, and the
mosquitoes feasted right royally upon our bodies, even in the daytime.
A good deal of the ground was very swampy, and it then stretched over
jungly and wooded hill-spires, with steep ascents and descents.
Everywhere was thick, fœtid, and putrescent vegetation. The heaviness
of this march caused two of our porters to levant and another four to
strike work. It was, therefore, necessary for me to again mount ass
ten days after an attack of paralysis. So we dragged on for the next
week, throughout the early days of February, a weary toil of fighting
through tiger and spear grass, over broken and slippery paths, and
through thick jungle. But these difficulties were lightly borne, for
we felt that we must be nearing the end of our journey.
On February 13th we resumed our travel through screens of lofty grass,
which thinned out into a straggling forest. After about an hour’s
march, as we entered a small savannah, I saw our Arab leader running
forward and changing the direction of the caravan. Presently he
breasted a steep and stony hill, sparsely clad with thorny trees.
Arrived at the summit with toil, for our fagged beasts now refused to
proceed, we halted for a few minutes and gazed.
“What is that streak of light which lies below?” I inquired of Seedy
Bombay, one of our porters.
“I am of opinion,” quoth Seedy, “that is the water.”
I gazed in dismay. The remains of my blindness, the veil of trees, and
broad ray of sunshine illuminating but one reach of the lake, had
shrunk its fair proportions. Prematurely I began to curse my folly in
having risked life and health for so poor a prize, and even thought of
proposing an immediate return with a view of exploring the Nyanza, or
Northern Lake. Advancing, however, a few yards, the whole scene
suddenly burst upon my view, filling me with wonder, admiration, and
delight. My longing eyes beheld the Tanganyika Lake as it lay in the
lap of the mountain, basking in the gorgeous tropical sunshine. Our
journey had not been in vain.
II
_THE LAKE REGIONS_
I shall never forget my first glimpse of Tanganyika. Below and beyond
a short foreground of rugged and precipitous hill-fold, down which the
footpath zigzagged painfully, a narrow strip of emerald green shelved
towards a ribbon of glistening yellow sand, here bordered by sedgy
rushes, there cleanly cut by the breaking wavelets. Further in front
stretched the waters, an expanse of soft blue, in breadth varying from
thirty to thirty-five miles, and sprinkled by the crisp east wind with
tiny crescents of snowy foam. The background in front was a high and
broken wall of steel-coloured mountain. To the south, and opposite the
long, low point, lay bluff headlands, and, as the eye dilated, it fell
upon a cluster of outlying islets, speckling a sea horizon. Villages,
cultivated lands, the frequent canoes of the fishermen on the waters,
and, as we came nearer, the murmur of the waters breaking upon the
shore, gave variety and movement to the landscape. The riant shores of
this vast lake appeared doubly beautiful to me after the silent and
spectral mangrove creeks on the East African seaboard, and the
melancholy, mononotous experience I had gone through of desert and
jungle, tawny rock and sunburnt plain, or rank herbage and flats of
black mire. Truly it was a feast of soul and sight. Forgetting toils,
dangers, and the doubtfulness of return, I felt willing to endure
double what I had endured. I had sighted the fabled lake, and all the
party seemed to join with me in joy. Even my purblind companion found
nothing to grumble at except the “mist and glare before his eyes.”
Arrived at Ukaranga I was disappointed to find there a few miserable
grass huts that clustered around a single “tembe,” or inn, then
occupied by its proprietor, an Arab trader. I found that that part of
Ukaranga contained not a single native canoe, and there seemed no
possibility of getting one, the innkeeper being determined that I
should spend beads for rations and lodgings among him and his
companions, and be heavily mulcted for a boat into the bargain. The
latter manœuvre was frustrated by my securing a solid-built Arab craft
for the morrow, capable of containing from thirty to thirty-five men.
It belonged to an absent merchant, and in point of size it was second
on Tanganyika, and, being too large for paddling, the crew rowed,
instead of scooping up the water like the natives. I paid an
exorbitant price for the hire of this boat.
Early in the morning of the following day, February 14th, we began
coasting along the eastern shore of the lake in a north-westerly
direction, towards the Kawele district, in the land of Ujiji. The view
was exceedingly beautiful, and the picturesque and varied forms of the
mountains, rising above and dipping into the lake, were clad in
purplish blue, set off by the rosy tints of the morning. As we
approached our destination, I wondered at the absence of houses and
people. By the Arabs I had been taught to expect a town, a port, and a
bazaar excelling in size that of Zanzibar, instead of which I found a
few scattered hovels, and our craft was poled up through a hole in a
thick welting of coarse grass to a level landing-place of flat
shingle. Such was the disembarkation quay of the great Ujiji.
We stepped ashore. Around the landing-place a few scattered huts
represented the port-town. Advancing some hundred yards through a din
of shouts and screams, tom-toms and trumpets, which defies
description, and mobbed by a swarm of black beings whose eyes seemed
about to start from their heads with surprise, I passed a relic of
Arab civilisation, the bazaar. It was on a plot of higher ground, and
there, between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m., weather permitting, a mass of
standing and squatting negroes buy and sell, barter and exchange,
offer and chaffer, with a hubbub heard for miles. The articles exposed
for sale were sometimes goats and sheep and poultry, generally fish,
vegetables, and a few fruits, and palm wine was a staple commodity.
Occasionally an ivory or a slave was hawked about. Such was the little
village of Kawele. The Tanganyika is ever seen to advantage from its
shores, and here I found a lodging in a ruinous tembe inn, built by an
Arab merchant, where I was lodged in comparative comfort, though the
tembe was tenanted only by ticks and slaves.
As the tembe was to be my home for a space, my first care was to
purify the floor by pastilles of asafœtida and fumigations of
gunpowder; the second to prepare the roof for the rainy season.
Improvement, however, was slow, for the natives were too lazy to work,
and the porters took the earliest opportunity of deserting. I,
however, managed to provide a pair of cartels, with substitutes for
chairs and tables. Benches of clay were built round the rooms, but
they proved useless, being found regularly every morning occupied in
force by a swarming, struggling colony of white ants. The roof, long
overgrown with tall grass, was fortified with mud; it never ceased,
however, to leak like a colander, and presently the floor was covered
with deep puddles, then masses of earth dropped from the soft sides of
the walls, and, at last, during the violent showers, half the building
fell in.
On the second day of my arrival I was called upon by Kannena, the
headman of Kawele. He was introduced, habited in silk turban and a
broadcloth coat, which I afterwards heard he had borrowed from the
Baloch. His aspect was truly ignoble; a short, squat, and broad-backed
figure, and his apology for a nose much resembled the pug with which
the ancients provided Silenus. On this, his first appearance, he
behaved with remarkable civility, and proceeded to levy his blackmail,
which was finally settled at ten coil-bracelets and two fundi of
beads. I had no salt to spare, or much valuable merchandise might have
been saved. Their return was six small bundles of grain. Then Kannena
opened trade by sending us a nominal gift, a fine ivory, weighing at
least seventy pounds, and worth, perhaps, £100. After keeping it a day
or two I returned it, saying I had no dealings in ivory and slaves.
This, it appears, was a mistake, as I ought, by a trifling outlay, to
have supported the character of a trader. The Wajiji did not
understand. “These are men who live by doing nothing!” they exclaimed,
and they lost no time in requesting me to quit their territory. To
this I objected, and endeavoured to bribe them off. My bribes, I
suppose, were not sufficient, for we at once began to see the dark
side of the native character. Thieves broke into our out-houses, our
asses were wounded by spears, and we were accused of having bewitched
and killed their cattle. Still, other travellers fared even worse than
we did.
At first the cold, damp climate of the lake regions did not agree with
us; perhaps, too, the fish diet was over-rich and fat, and the
abundance of vegetables led to little excesses. All energy seemed to
have abandoned us. I lay for a fortnight upon the earth, too blind to
read and write except at long intervals, too weak to ride, and too ill
to talk. My companion, Speke, who, when we arrived at the Tanganyika
Lake, was almost as groggy upon his legs as I was, suffered from a
painful ophthalmia and a curious distortion of face, which made him
chew sideways, like a ruminant. The Baloch complained of influenzas
and catarrhs, and their tempers were as sore as their lungs and
throats.
But work remained undone, and it was necessary to awaken from my
lethargy. Being determined to explore the northern extremity of the
Tanganyika Lake, whence, according to several informants, issued a
large river flowing northwards, I tried to hire from an Arab merchant
the only dhow, or sailing boat, then in existence, since the wretched
canoes of the people were quite unfit for a long cruise. I entrusted
the mission first of all to my Arab, Said bin Salim, but he shirked
it, and I therefore directed my companion to do his best. I got the
dhow, and set about stocking it with provisions for a month’s cruise.
I had great difficulty in obtaining sufficient provisions, the prices
demanded were so exorbitant. After many delays I at last sent my
companion away, supplied with an ample outfit, escorted by two Baloch,
and attended by his men, across the Bay of Ukaranga. I was then left
alone.
During my twenty-seven days of solitude the time sped quickly; it was
chiefly spent in eating and drinking, dozing and smoking. Awaking at 2
a.m. or 3 a.m., I lay anxiously expecting the grey light creeping
through the door chinks; the glad tidings of its approach were
announced by the cawing of the crows and the crowing of the village
cocks. When the golden rays began to stream over the red earth, my
torpid servant was called out, and he brought me a mass of suji, or
rice-flour boiled in water, with a little cold milk as a relish. Then
entered the “slavey” of the establishment, armed with a leafy branch,
to sweep the floor and slay the huge wasps that riddled the walls of
the tenement. This done, he lit the fire, as the excessive damp
rendered this precaution necessary. Then ensued visits of ceremony
from Said bin Salim and another, who sat, stared, and seeing that I
was not yet dead, showed disappointment in their faces and walked
away. So the morning wore on. My servant was employed with tailoring,
gun-cleaning, and similar light work, over which he grumbled
perpetually, whilst I settled down to diaries and vocabularies, a
process interrupted by sundry pipes. We had two hours’ sleep at noon,
and I may say that most of the day I lay like a log upon my cot,
smoking almost uninterruptedly, dreaming of things past and visioning
things present, and sometimes indulging myself in a few lines of
reading and writing.
Dinner was an alternation of fish and fowl, butchers’ meat being
extremely rare at Ujiji. At evening I used to make an attempt to sit
under the broad eaves of the tembe and enjoy the delicious spectacle
of this virgin nature. I was still very weak.
At 7 p.m., as the last flush faded from the occident, the lamp, a wick
in a pot full of palm oil, was brought in, Said bin Salim would
appear, and a brief conversation led to the hour of sleep. A dreary,
dismal day, yet it had its enjoyments.
On March 29th the rattling of the matchlocks announced my companion’s
return. I never saw a man so thoroughly moist and mildewed; he
justified even the French phrase, “Wet to the bone.” His paraphernalia
were in a similar state; his guns were grained with rust, and his
fireproof powder magazine had admitted the monsoon rain. I was sorely
disappointed; he had done literally nothing. I cannot explain where
the mismanagement lay, but the result was that he had come back to me
without boat or provisions to report ill-success.
It now became apparent that the rainy season was drawing to a close,
and the time for navigation was beginning. After some preliminaries
with Said bin Salim, Kannena, who had been preparing for a cruise
northward, was summoned before me. He agreed to convey me; but when I
asked him the conditions on which he would show me the mtoni, or
river, he jumped up, discharged a volley of oaths, and sprang from the
house like a baboon. I was resolved, however, at all costs, even if we
were reduced to actual want, to visit this mysterious stream. I made
other overtures to Kannena, made him many promises, and threw over his
shoulders a six-feet length of scarlet broadcloth, which made him
tremble with joy. I ultimately secured two large canoes and fifty-five
men.
On April 12th my canoe, bearing for the first time the British flag,
stood out of Bangwe Bay, and, followed by my companion in another
canoe, we made for the cloudy and storm-vexed north. There were great
rejoicings at our arrival at Uvira, the northernmost station to which
merchants had at that time been admitted. Opposite still, rose in a
high, broken line the mountains of the inhospitable Urundi, apparently
prolonged beyond the northern extremity of the waters. The breadth of
the Tanganyika here is between seven and eight miles. Now my hopes
were dashed to the ground; the stalwart sons of the chief Maruta
visited me, and told me that they had been to the northern extremity,
and that the Rusizi enters into, and does not flow out of, the
Tanganyika. I was sick at heart. It appears that my companion had
misunderstood, and our guide now told us that he had never been beyond
Uvira, and never intended to go; so we stopped here nine days, and I
got such a bad ulceration of the tongue that I could not speak. The
chiefs came and claimed their blackmail, and also Kannena, so I had to
pay up all for nothing, as the gales began to threaten, and our crews
insisted on putting to lake on May 6th.
We touched at various stages about the lake, and anchored at Mzimu,
but we left again at sunset; the waves began to rise, the wind also,
and it rained in torrents. It was a doubt whether the cockleshell
craft could live through a short, choppy sea in heavy weather. I
sheltered myself in my mackintosh as best I might. Fortunately the
rain beat down the wind and the sea, or nothing could have saved us.
The next morning Mabruki rushed into my tent, thrust a sword into my
hands, and declared the Warundi were upon us, and that the crews were
rushing to the boats and pushing them off. Knowing that they would
leave us stranded in case of danger, we hurried in without delay; but
no enemy appeared. It was a false alarm.
On May 11th we paddled about a grassy inlet; on the 12th we paddled
again, and the next day we spent in Bangwe Bay. We were too proud to
sneak home in the dark; we had done the expedition, and we wanted to
be looked at by the fair and howled at by the valiant.