TRANSIT OF THE VALLEY OF THE KINGANI AND THE MGETA RIVERS.

It was a gallant sight to see the Baloch, as with trailed matchlocks,

and in bravery of shield, sword, and dagger, they hurried in Indian file

out of the Kaole cantonments, following their blood-red flag and their

high-featured, snowy-bearded chief, the “Shaib Mohammed,”--old Mohammed.

The band, “like worms,” as they expressed its numbers, which amounted to

nearly a hundred, about one-third of the venerable Jemadar’s command,

was marching forth to bid us farewell, in token of respect, at Mgude or

Kuingani, “the cocoa-plantation near the sea.” It is a little

settlement, distant an hour and a half’s walk from Kaole: hither my

companion had preceded me, and hence we were to make our second

departure. Accompanied by Said bin Salim, Valentine my Goanese servant,

three Baloch, and two slaves, I followed in the wake of the main body,

bringing up the rear of the baggage on three Unyamwezi asses bought that

morning at the custom-house. The animals had been laden with difficulty:

their kicking and plunging, rearing and pawing, had prevented the nice

adjustment of their packs, and the wretched pads, which want of time had

compelled me to take, instead of panels or pack-saddles, loosely girthed

with rotten coir rope, could not support a heap of luggage weighing at

least 200 lbs. per load. On the road they rushed against one another;

they bolted, they shied, and they threw their impediments with such

persistence, that my servant could not help exclaiming, “Unká nám

gadha”--“Their name _is_ jackass.” At last, as the sun neared the salt

sea, one of these half-wild brutes suddenly sank, girth-deep, in a patch

of boggy mire, and the three Baloch, my companions, at once ran away,

leaving us to extricate it as best we could. This little event had a

peculiar significancy to one about to command a party composed

principally of asses and Baloch.

The excitement of finding myself on new ground, and the peculiarities of

the scenery, somewhat diverted melancholy forebodings. Issuing from the

little palisade of Kaole, the path winds in a south-westerly direction

over a sandy soil, thick with thorns and bush, which in places project

across the way. Thence ascending a wave of ground where cocoas and the

wild arrow-root flourish, it looks down upon park land like that

described by travellers in Kaffraria, a fair expanse of sand veiled with

humus, here and there growing rice, with mangoes and other tall trees,

regularly disposed as if by the hand of man. Finally, after crossing a

muddy grass-grown swamp, and a sandy bottom full of water when rain has

been heavy, the path, passing through luxuriant cultivation, enters

Kuingani. Such is the “nakl,” or preparatory-stage of Arab travellers,

an invariable first departure, where porters who find their load too

heavy, or travellers who suspect that they are too light, can return to

Kaole and re-form.

The little settlement of Kuingani is composed of a few bee-hive

huts, and a Bandani or wall-less thatched roof--the village

palaver-house--clustering orderless round a cleared central space.

Outside, cocoas, old and dwarfed, mangoes almost wild, the papaw, the

cotton shrub, the perfumed Rayhan or Basil, and a sage-like herb, the

sugarcane, and the Hibiscus called by the Goanese “Rosel,” vary the

fields of rice, holcus, and “Turiyan,” or the Cajanus Indicus. The

vegetation is, in fact, that of the Malabar coast; the habitations are

peculiarly African.

The 28th of June was a halt at Kuingani, where I was visited by Ramji

and two brother Bhattias, Govindji and Kesulji. The former was equipped,

as least becomes the Banyan man, with sword, dudgeon, and assegai. But

Ramji was a heaven-made soldier; he had taken an active part in the

military operations directed by His Highness the late Sayyid Said

against the people of the mainland, and about thirteen years ago he

defended Kaole against a host of Wazaramo, numbering, it is said, 3,000

men, when, lacking balls, he had loaded his honeycombed cannon and his

rusty matchlocks with pointed sticks. The Europeans of Zanzibar called

him “Rush,”--the murderer. His fellow-countrymen declared him to be a

“sharp practiser,” who had made a reputation by spending other people’s

money, and I personally had proofs which did not allow me to doubt his

“savoir faire.”

The nights at Kuingani were not pleasant. The air was stifling, the

mosquitoes buzzed without intermission, and I had neglected to lay in

“essence of pennyroyal” against certain other plagues. On the second

evening, seeing by the hang-dog look of my Jemadar that he was

travailing in mind, I sent for a Mganga or medicine-man, and having

previously promised him a Surat skull-cap for a good haul of prophecy, I

collected the Baloch to listen. The Mganga, a dark old man, of superior

rank, as the cloth round his head and his many bead necklaces showed,

presently reappeared with a mat-bag containing the implements of his

craft. After taking his seat opposite to me he demanded his fee--here,

as elsewhere, to use the words with which Kleon excited the bile of

Tiresias,

“Το μαντικον γαρ παν φιλαργυρον γενος;”

--without which prediction would have been impossible. When

gratified he produced a little gourd snuff-box and indulged himself with

a solemn and dignified pinch. He then drew forth a larger gourd which

contained the great medicine, upon which no eye profane might gaze: the

vessel, repeatedly shaken, gave out a vulgar sound as if filled with

pebbles and bits of metal. Presently, placing the implement upon the

ground, Thaumaturges extracted from the mat-bag two thick goat’s horns

connected by a snake-skin, which was decorated with bunches of

curiously-shaped iron bells; he held one in the left hand, and with the

right he caused the point of the other to perform sundry gyrations, now

directing it towards me, then towards himself, then at the awe-struck

bystanders, waving his head, muttering, whispering, swaying his body to

and fro, and at times violently rattling the bells. When fully primed

with the spirit of prophecy, and connected by ekstasis with the ghosts

of the dead, he spake out pretty much in the style of his brotherhood

all the world over. The journey was to be prosperous. There would

be much talking, but little killing.--Said bin Salim, in chuckling

state, confessed that he had heard the same from a Mganga consulted

at Zanzibar.--Before navigating the sea of Ujiji a sheep or

a parti-coloured hen should be killed and thrown into the

lake.--Successful voyage.--Plenty of ivory and slaves.--Happy return to

wife and family.

This good example of giving valuable advice was not lost upon Mr. Rush

Ramji. He insisted upon the necessary precautions of making a strong

kraal and of posting sentinels every night; of wearing a kerchief round

the head after dark, and of avoiding the dangerous air of dawn; of not

eating strange food, and of digging fresh wells, as the Wazaramo bewitch

water for travellers; of tethering the asses, of mending their ropes,

and of giving them three lbs. of grain per diem. Like the medical

directions given to the French troops proceeding to China, the counsel

was excellent, but impracticable.

The evening concluded with a nautch. Yusuf, a Baloch, produced a

saringi--the Asiatic viol--and collected all the scamps of the camp with

a loud scraping. Hulluk, the buffoon, acted dancing-girl to perfection.

After the normal pantomime, somewhat broadly expressed, he did a little

work in his own character; standing on his head with a peculiar

tremulousness from the hips upwards, dislocating his person in a sitting

position, imitating the cry of a dog, cat, ape, camel, and slave-girl,

and finally reproducing me with peculiar impudence before my face. I

gave him a dollar, when, true to his strain, he at once begged another.

All accounts and receipts being finally duly settled with the Hindus,

the last batch of three donkeys having arrived, and the baggage having

been laden with great difficulty, I shook hands with old Mohammed and

the other dignitaries, and mounting my ass, gave orders for immediate

departure from Kuingani. This was not effected without difficulty: every

one and everything, guide and escort, asses and slaves, seemed to join

in raising up fresh obstacles. Four P.M. sped before we turned out of

the little settlement. Among other unpleasant occurrences, Rahmat, a

Baloch knave, who had formed one of my escort to Fuga, levelled his long

barrel, with loud “Mimí ná pigá” (I am shooting him), when his company

was objected to. His Jemadar, Yaruk, seized the old shooting-iron, which

was probably unloaded, and Rahmat, with sotto-voce snarls and growls,

slunk back to his kennel. A turbaned Negroid, who appeared on the path,

was asked to point out the way, and, on his refusal, my bull-headed

slave Mabruki struck him on the face, when, to the consternation of all

parties, he declared himself a Diwan. The blow, according to the

Jemadar, would infallibly lead to bloodshed.

After a second short march of one hour and a half, we pitched tents and

obtained lodgings in Bomani, “the Stockade,” a frontier village, but

within the jurisdiction of Bagamoyo. On this road, which ascended the

old sea-beach, patches of open forest and of high rank grass divided

cultivated clearings, where huts and hamlets appeared, and where modest

young maidens beckoned us as we passed. The vegetation is here partly

African, partly Indian. The Mbuyu,--the baobab, Adansonia digitata,

monkey-bread, or calabash, the Mowana of the southern and the Kuka of

the northern regions,--is of more markedly bulbous form than on the

coast, where the trunk is columnar; its heavy extremities, depressed by

the wind, give it the shape of a lumpy umbrella shading the other wild

growths. There appear to be two varieties of this tree, similar in bole

but differing in foliage and in general appearance. The normal Mbuyu has

a long leaf, and the drooping outline of the mass is convex; the rarer,

observed only upon the Usagara Mountains, has a small leaf, in colour

like the wild indigo, and the arms striking upwards assume the

appearance of a bowl. The lower bottoms, where the soil is rich, grow

the Mgude, also called Mparamusi (Taxus elongatus, the Geel hout or

Yellow-wood of the Cape?) a perfect specimen of arboreal beauty. A tall

tapering shaft, without knot or break, straight and clean as a main-mast

forty or forty-five feet in height, and painted with a tender

greenish-yellow, is crowned with parachute-shaped masses of vivid

emerald foliage, whilst sometimes two and even three pillars spring from

the same root. The Mvumo,--a distorted toddy tree, or Hyphæna allied to

the Daum palm of Egypt and Arabia,--has a trunk rough with the drooping

remnants of withered fronds, above which it divides itself into branches

resembling a system of Y’s. Its oval fruit is of a yellowish red, and

when full-sized it is as large as a child’s head; it is eaten even

unripe by the people, and is said to be the favourite food of the

elephant. Pulpless, hard, and stringy, it has, when thoroughly mature, a

slight taste of gingerbread, hence it is also called the

Gingerbread-tree. The Ukhindu or brab, of whose fronds mats and the

grass kilts worn by many of the tribes are made, flourishes throughout

the country, proving that the date-tree might be naturalised. The Nyara

or Chamærops humilis, the dwarf fan-palm or palmetto of Southern Europe,

abounds in this maritime region. The other growths are the Mtogwe and

the Mbungo-bungo, varieties of the Nux vomica; the finest are those

growing in the vicinity of water. The fruit contains within its hard

rind, which, when ripe, is orange-coloured, large pips, covered with a

yellow pulp of a grateful agro-dolce flavour, with a suspicion of the

mango. The people eat them with impunity; the nuts, which contain the

poisonous principle, being too hard to be digested. The Mtunguja (the

Punneeria coagulans of Dr. Stocks), a solanaceous plant called by the

Indians Jangli bengan, or the wild egg-plant, by the South Africans

Toluane, and by the Baloch Panír, or cheese, from the effect of the

juice in curdling milk, is here, as in Somaliland, a spontaneous growth

throughout the country. The same may be said of the castor plant, which,

in these regions, is of two kinds. The Mbono (Jatropha curcas?) is the

Gumpal of Western India, a coarse variety, with a large seed; its fetid

oil, when burnt, fouls the lamp; yet, in Africa, it is used by all

classes as an unguent. The Mbarika, or Palma Christi, the Irindi of

India, is employed in medicine. The natives extract the oil by toasting

and pounding the bean, adding a little hot water and skimming off what

appears upon the surface. The Arabs, more sensibly, prefer it

“cold-drawn.” These plants, allowed to grow unpruned, often attain the

height of eighteen to twenty feet.

The 30th June was another forced halt, when I tasted all the bitterness

that can fall to the lot of those who explore regions unvisited by their

own colour. The air of Bomani is stagnant, the sun fiery, and clouds of

mosquitoes make the nights miserable. Despite these disadvantages, it is

a favourite halting-place for up-caravans, who defer to the last the

evil days of long travel and short rations. Though impressed with the

belief, that the true principle of exploration in these lands is to push

on as rapidly and to return as leisurely as possible, I could not

persuade the Baloch to move. In Asia, two departures usually suffice; in

Africa there must be three,--the little start, the great start, and the

start κατ’ εξοχην. Some clamoured for tobacco--I gave up my cavendish;

others for guitar-strings--they were silenced with beads; and all, born

donkey-drivers, complained loudly of the hardship and the indignity of

having to load and lead an ass. The guide, an influential Mzaramo,

promised by the Banyans Ladha and Ramji, declined, after receiving

twenty dollars, to accompany the Expedition, and from his conduct the

Baloch drew the worst of presages. Much ill-will was shown by them

towards the European members of the Expedition. “Kafir end, márá bandirá

na khenen” (they are infidels and must not carry our flag)--it was

inscribed with the usual Moslem formula--was spoken audibly enough in

their debased Mekrani to reach my ears: a faithful promise to make a

target of the first man who might care to repeat the words, stopped that

manner of nuisance. Again the most childish reports flew about the camp,

making these jet-bearded and fierce-eyed hen-hearts faint with fears.

Boxes had been prepared by the barbarians for myself, and gates had been

built across the paths to arrest my party. P’hazi Mazungera, M. Maizan’s

murderer, had collected a host that numbered thousands, and the Wazaramo

were preparing a levée _en masse_. To no purpose I quoted the Arab’s

proverb--“the son of fifty dieth not at thirty”; all _would_ be heroic

victims marching to gory graves. Such reports did real damage: the

principal danger was the tremulous alacrity with which the escort

prepared upon each trivial occasion for battle and murder, and sudden

death. At one place a squabble amongst the villagers kept the Baloch

squatting on their hams with lighted matches from dusk till dawn. At

another, a stray Fisi or Cynhyæna entering the camp by night, caused a

confusion which only the deadliest onslaught could have justified. A

slave hired on the road, hearing these horrors, fled in dismay; this,

the first of desertions, was by no means the last. The reader may

realise the prevalence and the extent of this African traveller’s bane

by the fact that during my journey to Ujiji there was not a soul in the

caravan, from Said bin Salim the Arab, to the veriest pauper, that did

not desert or attempt to desert.

Here, at the first mention of slaves, I must explain to the reader why

we were accompanied by them, and how the guide and escort contrived to

purchase them. All the serving-men in Zanzibar Island and on the coast

of E. Africa are serviles; the Kisawahili does not contain even a word

to express a hired domestic. For the evil of slave-service there was no

remedy: I therefore paid them their wages and treated them as if they

were freemen. I had no power to prevent Said bin Salim, the Baloch

escort, and the “sons of Ramji,” purchasing whomever they pleased; all

objections on my part were overruled by, “we are allowed by our law to

do so,” and by declaring that they had the permission of the consul. I

was fain to content myself with seeing that their slaves were well fed

and not injured, and indeed I had little trouble in so doing, as no man

was foolish enough to spoil his own property. I never neglected to

inform the wild people that Englishmen were pledged to the suppression

of slavery, and I invariably refused all slaves offered as return

presents.

The departure from Bomani was effected on the 1st of July with some

trouble; it was like driving a herd of wild cattle. At length, by

ejecting skulkers from their huts, by dint of promises and threats, of

gentleness and violence, of soft words and hard words, occasionally

backed by a smart application of the “Bakur”--the local “cat”--by

sitting in the sun, in fact by incessant worry and fidget from 6 A. M.

to 3 P. M., the sluggish and unwieldy body acquired some momentum. I had

issued a few marching orders for the better protection of the baggage:

two Baloch were told off for each donkey, one to lead, the other to

drive; in case of attack, those near the head of the file, hearing the

signal, three shots, were to leave their animals and to hurry to the

front, where my companion marched, whilst the remainder rallied round my

flag in the rear: thus there would have been an attacking party and a

reserve, between which the asses would have been safe. The only result

of these fine manœuvres was, that after a two-mile tramp through an

umbrageous forest in which caravans often lose the way, and then down an

easy descent across fertile fields, into a broken valley, whose further

side was thick with luxuriant grass, tall shrubs, and majestic trees, a

confused straggling line,--a mere mob of soldiers, slaves, and

asses,--arrived at the little village of Mkwaju la Mvuani,--the

“Tamarind in the rains.”

The settlement is composed as usual of a few hovels and a palaver-house,

with a fine lime-tree, the place of lounging and gossip, grain-husking,

and mat-weaving, in the open centre. Provisions and rough muddy water

being here plentiful, travellers often make a final halt to polish their

weapons, and to prepare their minds for the Wazaramo. It is the last

station under the jurisdiction of Bagamoyo; from Changahera, the crafty

old Diwan, I obtained the services of his nephew Muinyi Wazírá, who

received seventeen dollars as an inducement to travel in the interior,

and was at once constituted linguist and general assistant to Said bin

Salim. The day passed as usual, a snake was killed, and a gun-shot heard

in the distance supplied conversation for some hours. The “sons of

Ramji” carefully lost half a dozen of the axes, bill-hooks, and dibbles,

with which they had been supplied, fearing lest they might be called

upon to build the Síwá or Bomá, the loose thorn-fence with which the

halting-place ought to be surrounded before the night, and 7 P. M. had

passed before I could persuade the Baloch to catch, tether, and count

the asses. One of the escort, Ismail, was attacked with dysentery and

required to be mounted, although we were obliged by the want of carriage

to wend our way on foot. During the last night, Said bin Salim had taken

charge of three Wanguru porters, who, freshly trapped by Said el

Hazrami, had been chained _pro tempore_ to prevent desertion. The Arab

boasted that he was a bad sleeper, but bad sleepers are worse watchers,

because when they do sleep they sleep in earnest. The men were placed

for the night in Said’s tent, surrounded by his five slaves, yet they

stole his gun, and carrying off an axe and sundry bill-hooks,

disappeared in the jungle. The watchful Said, after receiving many

congratulations on his good fortune--fugitive slaves sometimes draw

their knives across the master’s throat or insert the points into his

eyes--sent off his own attendants to recover the fugitives. In the

jungle, however, search was of scant avail: the Wanguru feared that if

caught by the Baloch, they would lose their ears; three days would

enable them to reach their own country; and their only risk was that if

trapped by the Washenzi before their irons--a valuable capture to the

captors--could be removed, they might again be sold to some travelling

trader. As the day wore on, Said’s face assumed a deplorable expression:

his slaves had not appeared, and though several of them were muwallid or

born in his father’s house, and one was after a fashion his

brother-in-law, he sorely dreaded that they also had deserted. He was

proportionably delighted when in the dead of the night, entering Mkwaju

la Mvuani, they reported ill-success; and though I could little afford

the loss, I was glad to get rid of this chained and surly gang.

On the next day we began loading for the third and final departure,

before dawn, and at 7.30 A. M. were on the dew-dripping way. Beyond the

settlement a patch of jungle led to cultivated grounds belonging to the

villagers, whose scattered and unfenced abodes were partially concealed

by dense clumps of trees. The road then sweeping parallel with the river

plain, which runs from N.W. to S.E., crossed several swamps, black muddy

bottoms covered with tall thick rushes and pea-green paddy, and the

heavily laden asses sunk knee-deep into the soft soil. Red copalliferous

sand clothed the higher levels. On the wayside appeared for the first

time the Khambi or substantial kraals, which evidence unsafe travelling

and the unwillingness of caravans to bivouac in the villages. In this

region they assumed the form of round huts and long sheds or boothies of

straw or grass supported by a framework of rough sticks firmly planted

in the ground and lashed together with bark-strips. The whole was

surrounded with a deep circle of thorns which--the entrance or entrances

being carefully closed at nightfall, not to reopen until dawn--formed a

complete defence against bare feet and naked legs. About half-way a

junction of the Mbuamaji road was reached, and the path became somewhat

broader and less rough. Passing on the right, a hilly district, called

Dunda or “the Hill,” the road fell from the ancient sea-beach into the

alluvial valley of the Kinganí River; presently rising again, it entered

the settlement of Nzasa, a name interpreted “level ground.”

Nzasa is the first district of independent Uzaramo. My men proceeded to

occupy the Bandani, in the centre of the hamlet, when Said bin Salim,

discovering with the sharp eye of fear a large drum, planted in

readiness for the war-signal or the dance-signal, hurried about till he

had turned all hands out of the village into a clump of trees hard by, a

propitious place for surprise and ambuscade. Here I was visited by three

P’hazi or headmen, Kizaya, Tumba Ihere or the “poison gourd,” and Kombe

la Simba or the “lion’s hide.” They came to ascertain whether I was

bound on peaceful errand or--as the number of our guns suggested--I was

marching to revenge the murder of my “brother” Muzungu. Assured of our

unwarlike intentions, they told me that I must halt on the morrow and

send forward a message to the next chief. As this plan invariably loses

three days,--the first being a _dies non_, the second being expended in

dispensing exoteric information to all the lieges squatting in solemn

conclave, whilst on the third the real message is privily whispered into

the chieftain’s ear,--I replied through Said 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, Yusuf, one

of the most turbulent of the Baloch, 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 provoked not very

peaceable remarks concerning the peaceful nature of our intentions. When

the excitement was allayed, the principal P’hazi began to ask what had

brought the white man into their country, and in a breath to predict the

loss of their gains and commerce, their land and liberty. “I am old,”

pathetically quoth the P’hazi, “and my beard is grey, yet I have never

beheld such a calamity as this!” “These men,” replied Said, “neither buy

nor sell; they do not inquire into price, nor do they covet profit.

Moreover,” he pursued, “what have ye to lose? The Arabs take your best,

the Wasawahili your second best, and your trifling tribute is reduced to

a yoke of bullocks, a few clothes, or half a dozen hoes.” An extravagant

present--at that time ignorance of the country compelled me to intrust

such matters to the honesty of Said bin Salim--opened the headmen’s

hearts: they privily termed me Murungwana Sana, a real free-man, the

African equivalent for the English “gentleman,” and they detached Kizaya

to accompany me as far as the western half of the Kingani Valley. At 4

P. M. a loud drumming collected the women, who began to perform a dance

of ceremony with peculiar vigour. A line of small, plump,

chestnut-coloured beings, with wild beady eyes, and a thatch of

clay-plastered hair, dressed in their loin-cloths, with a profusion of

white disks, bead necklaces, a little square bib of beads called a

t’hando, partially concealing the upper bosom, with short coils of thick

brass wire wound so tightly round the wrists, the arms above the elbows,

and the fat ankles, that they seemed to have grown into the flesh,

and,--hideous perversion of taste!--with ample bosoms tightly corded

down, advanced and retired in a convulsion of wriggle and contortion,

whose fit expression was a long discordant howl, which seemed to

“Embowel with outrageous noise the air.”

I threw them a few strings of green beads, which for a moment

interrupted the dance. One of these falling to the ground, I was

stooping to pick it up when Said whispered hurriedly in my ear, “Bend

not; they will say ‘he will not bend even to take up beads!’”

In the evening I walked down to the bed of the Kingani river, which

bisects a plain all green with cultivation,--rice and holcus, sweet

potato and tobacco,--and pleasantly studded with huts and hamlets. The

width of the stream, which here runs over a broad bed of sand, is about

fifty yards; it is nowhere fordable, as the ferry-boat belonging to each

village proves, and thus far it is navigable, though rendered dangerous

by the crocodiles and the hippopotami that house in its waters. The

colour is tawny verging upon red, and the taste is soft and sweet, as if

fed by rain. The Kingani, like all streams in this part of the

continent, is full of fish, especially a dark-green and scaleless

variety (a Silurus?) called Kambari, and other local names. This great

“miller’s thumb” has fleshy cirri, appears to be omnivorous, and tastes

like animal mud. The night was rendered uncomfortable to the Baloch by

the sound of distant drums, which suggested fighting as well as

feasting, and by the uproar of the wild men, who, when reconnoitred by

the scouts, were found to be shouting away the hippopotami.

In the hurry and the confusion of loading on the next morning one ass

was left behind, and the packs were so badly placed that the fatigue of

marching was almost doubled by their repeated falls. Whilst descending

the well-wooded river terrace, my portion of the escort descried an

imaginary white flag crossing the grassy valley below. This is the sign

of a Diwan’s expedition or commando: it is unwisely allowed by the

Arabs, whose proper colours are a plain blood-red. After marching a few

miles over undulating ground, open and parklike, and crossing rough and

miry beds, the path disclosed a view verging upon the pretty. By the way

side was planted the peculiarly African Mzimu or Fetiss hut, a penthouse

about a foot high, containing, as votive offerings, ears of holcus or

pombe-beer in a broken gourd. There, too, the graves of the heathen met

the eye. In all other parts of East Africa a mouldering skull, a

scattered skeleton, or a few calcined bones, the remains of wizards and

witches dragged to the stake, are the only visible signs of man’s

mortality. The Wazaramo tombs, especially in the cases of chiefs,

imitate those of the Wamrima. They are parallelograms, seven feet by

four, formed by a regular dwarf paling that encloses a space cleared of

grass, and planted with two uprights to denote the position of head and

feet. In one of the long walls there is an apology for a door. The

corpse of the heathen is not made to front any especial direction;

moreover the centre of the oblong has the hideous addition of a log

carved by the unartistic African into a face and a bust singularly

resembling those of a legless baboon, whilst a white rag tied turbanwise

round the head serves for the inscription “this is a man.” The Baloch

took notice of such idolatrous tendency by spitting and by pronouncing

certain national anathemas, which literally translated might sound

unpleasant in Europeans’ ears. The abomination of iconism is avoided in

the graves of Moslem travellers: they are usually cleared ovals, with

outlines of rough stone and a strew of smooth pebbles, according to the

custom of the Wasawahili. Several stumps of wood planted in the earth

show that the corpse faces Mecca, and, as amongst the Jinga of Western

Africa, the fragments of a china bowl or cup lying upon the ground are

sacred to the memory of the departed. In Zanzibar Island, also, saucers,

plates, and similar articles are mortared into the tombstones.

The number of these graves made the blackness of my companions pale.

They were hurrying forward with sundry “la haul!” and with boding shakes

of the head, when suddenly an uproar in the van made them all prepare

for action. They did it characteristically by beginning with begging for

ranjak--priming powder. Said bin Salim, much excited, sent forward his

messmate Muinyi Wazira to ascertain the cause of the excitement. One

Mviraru, the petty lord of a neighbouring village, had barred the road

with about a dozen men, demanding “dash,” and insisting that Kizaya had

no right to lead on the party without halting to give him the news. My

companion, who was attended only by “Bombay,” his gun-carrier, and a few

Baloch, remarked to the interferers that he had been franked through the

country by paying at Nzasa. To this they obstinately objected. The

Baloch began to light their matches and to use hard words. A fight

appeared imminent. Presently, however, when the Wazaramo saw my flag

rounding the hill-shoulder with a fresh party, whose numbers were

exaggerated by distance, they gave way; and finally when Muinyi Wazira

opened upon them the invincible artillery of his tongue, they fell back

and stood off the road to gaze. The linguist returned to the rear in

great glee, blowing his finger tips, as if they had been attached to a

matchlock, and otherwise deriding the overboiling valour of the Beloch,

who, not suspecting his purport, indulged in the wildest outbreak of

boasting, offering at once to take the whole country and to convert me

into its sultan. Towards the end of the march we crossed a shallow,

salt, bitter rivulet, flowing cold and clear towards the Kingani River.

On the grassy plain below noble game--zebra and koodoo--began to appear;

whilst guinea-fowl and partridge, quail, green-pigeon, and the cuculine

bird, called in India the Malabar-pheasant, became numerous. A track of

rich red copalliferous soil, wholly without stone, and supporting black

mould, miry during the rains, and caked and cracked by the potent suns

of the hot season, led us to Kiranga-Ranga, the first dangerous station

in Uzaramo. It is the name of a hilly district, with many little

villages embosomed in trees, overlooking the low cultivated bottoms

where caravans encamp in the vicinity of the wells.

Before establishing themselves in the kraal at Kiranga-Ranga, the two

rival parties of Baloch,--the Prince’s permanent escort and the

temporary guard sent by Ladha Damha from Kaole--being in a chronic state

of irritability, naturally quarrelled. With the noise of choughs

gathering to roost they vented their bile, till thirteen men belonging

to a certain Jemadar Mohammed suddenly started up, and without a word of

explanation set out on their way home. According to Said bin Salim, the

temporary guard had determined not to proceed beyond Kiranga-Ranga, and

this desertion was intended as a preliminary to others by which the

party would have lost two-thirds of its strength. I at once summoned the

Jemadars, and wrote in their presence a letter reporting the conduct of

their men to the dreaded Balyuz, the consul, who was supposed to be

still anchored off Kaole. Seeing the bastinado in prospect, the Jemadar

Yaruk shouldered his sabre, slung his shield over his arm, set out in

pursuit of the fugitives, and soon succeeded in bringing them back. He

was a good specimen of the true Baloch mountaineer--a tall, gaunt, and

large-boned figure, with dark complexion deeply pitted by small-pox,

hard, high, and sun-burnt features of exceeding harshness; an armoury in

epitome was stuck in his belt, and his hand seemed never to rest but

upon a weapon.

The 4th of July was a halt at Kiranga-Ranga. Two asses had been lost,

the back-sinews of a third had been strained, and all the others had

been so wearied by their inordinate burdens, to which on the last march

the meat of a koodoo, equal in weight to a young bullock, had been

superadded, that a rest was deemed indispensable. I took the opportunity

of wandering over and of prospecting the country. The scene was one of

admirable fertility; rice, maize, and manioc grew in the rankest and

richest crops, and the uncultivated lands bore the Corindah bush

(Carissa Carandas), the salsaparilla vine, the small whitish-green

mulberry (the Morus alba of India), and the crimson flowers of the

Rosel. In the lower levels near the river rose the giants of the forest.

The Mparamusi shot up its tall head, whose bunchy tresses rustled in the

breeze when all below was still. The stately Msufi, a Bombax or

silk-cotton tree, showed as many as four or five trunks, each two to

three feet in diameter, rising from the same roots; the long tapering

branches stood out stiffly at right angles from the bole; and the

leaves, instead of forming masses of foliage, were sparsely scattered in

small dense growth. The Msukulio, unknown to the people of Zanzibar, was

a pile of dark verdure, which dwarfed the finest oaks and elms of an

English park. No traces of game appeared in the likeliest of places;

perhaps it preferred lurking in the tall gross grass, which was not yet

in a fit state to burn.

At Kiranga-Ranga the weather began to be unpropitious. The Mcho’o, the

heavy showers which fall between the Masika or vernal, and the Vuli or

autumnal rains, set in with regularity, and accompanied us during the

transit of the maritime plain. I therefore refused to halt more than one

day, although the P’hazi or chiefs of the Wazaramo showed, by sending

presents of goats and grain, great civility--a civility purchased,

however, by Said bin Salim at the price of giving to each man whatever

he demanded; even women were never allowed to leave the camp

unpropitiated. I was not permitted in this part to enter the villages,

although the Wazaramo do not usually exclude strangers who venture upon

their dangerous hospitality. Girls are appointed to attend upon them,

and in case of sickness or accident happening to any one in the

settlement, they are severely interrogated concerning the morality of

the guest, and an unfavourable account of it leads to extortion and

violence. The Wazaramo, like the Wagogo, and unlike the other East

African tribes, are jealous of their women; still “damages” will act, as

they have acted in other lands, as salve to wounded honour and broken

heart.

On the 5th of July we set out betimes, and traversing the fields around

Kiranga-Ranga, struck through a dense jungle, here rising above, there

bending into the river valley, to some stagnant pools which supply the

district with water. The station, reached in 3^{hrs} 30′, was called

Tumba Ihere, after the headman, who accompanied us. Here we saw cocos

emerging from a fetid vegetation, and for the last time the Mwembe or

mango, a richly foliaged but stunted tree which never attains the

magnificent dimensions observed at Zanzibar. Several down-caravans were

halted at Tumba Ihere; the slaves brought from the interior were tied

together by their necks, and one obstinate deserter was so lashed to a

forked pole with the bifurcation under his chin, that when once on the

ground he could not rise without assistance. These wretches scarcely

appeared to like the treatment; they were not, however, in bad

condition. The Wanyamwezi porters bathed in the pools and looked at us

without fear or shame. Our daily squabble did not fail to occur. Riza, a

Baloch, drew his dagger on one of Said bin Salim’s “children,” and the

child pointed his Tower-musket at the Baloch; a furious hubbub arose;

the master, with his face livid and drawn like a cholera patient’s,

screamed shrilly as a woman, and the weapons returned to their proper

places bloodless as those wielded by Bardolph, Nym, and ancient Pistol.

My companion began to suffer from the damp heat and the reeking miasma;

he felt that a fever was coming on, and the fatigue of marching under

these circumstances prevented our mustering the party. The consequence

was, that an ass laden with rice disappeared,--it had probably been led

out of the road and unburdened by the Baloch;--whilst axes, cords, and

tethers could nowhere be found when wanted.

On the next morning we left Tumba Ihere, and tramped over a red land

through alternate strips of rich cultivation and tangled jungle, which

presently opened out into a forest where the light-barked Msandarusi, or

copal-tree, attains its fullest dimensions. This is one of the richest

“diggins,” and the roadsides are everywhere pitted with pockets two or

three feet deep by one in diameter. Rain fell in huge drops, and the

heaviness of the ground caused frequent accidents to the asses’ loads.

About noon we entered the fine grain-fields that gird the settlements of

Muhogwe, one of the most dreaded in dreaded Uzaramo. In our case,

however, the only peril was the levée _en masse_ of the fair sex in the

villages, to stare, laugh, and wonder at the white men. “What should you

think of these whites as husbands?” asked Muinyi Wazira of the crowd.

“With such things on their legs?--Sivyo!--not by any means!”--was the

unanimous reply, accompanied with peals of merriment.

Beyond Muhogwe all was jungle and forest, tall trees rising from red

copalliferous sand, and shading bright flowers, and blossoming shrubs.

After crossing a low mud overgrown with rush and tiger-grass, and a

watercourse dotted with black stagnant pools, we ascended rising

well-forested ground, and lastly debouched upon the kraals of Muhonyera.

The district of Muhonyera occupies the edge of the plateau forming the

southern terrace of the Kingani River; and the elevated sea-beach is

marked out by lines of quartsoze pebbles running along the northern

slope of the hill upon which we encamped. Water is found in seven or

eight reedy holes in the valley below; it acquires from decomposed

vegetation an unnaturally sweet and slimy taste. This part of the

country, being little inhabited by reason of its malarious climate,

abounds in wild animals. The guides speak of lions, and the cry of the

Fisi or Cynhyæna was frequently heard at night, threatening destruction

to the asses. The Fisi, the Wuraba of the Somal, and the Wilde Honde of

the Cape, is the wolf of Africa, common throughout the country, where it

acts as scavenger. Though a large and powerful variety, it seldom

assaults man, except when sleeping, and then it snatches a mouthful from

the face, causing a ghastlier disfigurement even than the scalping of

the bear. Three asses belonging to the Expedition were destroyed by this

beast; in all cases they were attacked by night with a loud wrangling

shriek, and the piece of flesh was raggedly torn from the hind quarter;

after affording a live rump-steak, they could not be driven like Bruce’s

far-famed bullock. These, however, were the animals brought from

Zanzibar; that of Unyamwezi, if not tied up, defends itself successfully

against its cowardly assailant with teeth and heels, even as the zebra,

worthy of Homeric simile, has, it is said, kept the lion at bay. The

woods about Muhonyera contain large and small grey monkeys with black

faces; clinging to the trees they gaze for a time at the passing caravan

imperturbably, till curiosity being satisfied, they slip down and bound

away with long plunging leaps, like a greyhound at play. The view from

the hill-side was suggestive. The dark green plain of sombre monotony,

with its overhanging strata of mist-bank and dew-cloud, appeared in all

the worst colours of the Oude Tirhai and the Guzerat jungles. At that

season, when the moisture of the rainy monsoon was like poison distilled

by the frequent bursts of fiery sunshine, it was a valley of death for

unacclimatised travellers. Far to the west, however, rose Kidunda, “the

hillock,” a dwarf cone breaking the blurred blue line of jungle, and

somewhat northward of it towered a cloud-capped azure wall, the

mountain-crags of Duthumi, upon which the eye, long weary of low levels,

rested with a sensation of satisfaction.

It was found necessary to halt a day at Muhonyera: according to some

authorities no provisions were procurable for a week; others declared

that there were villages on the road, but were uncertain whether rations

could be purchased. Said bin Salim sent Ambari, a favourite slave, back

to buy grain at Muhogwe, whence he had hurried us on in fear of the

Wazaramo; and the youth, after wasting a day, returned on the evening of

the 2nd July with about sixty lbs.,--a poor supply for eighty-eight

hungry bodies. This proceeding naturally affronted the Baloch, who

desired for themselves the perquisites proceeding from the purchases.

Two of their number, Yusuf and Salih Mohammed, came to swear officially

on the part of their men that there was not an ounce of grain in camp.

Appearing credulous, I paid them a visit about half an hour afterwards;

all their shuffling and sitting upon the bags could not conceal a store

of about 100 lbs. of fine white rice, whose quality,--the Baloch had

been rationed at Kaole with an inferior kind,--showed whence it came.

After repairing the “boma,” or fenced kraal,--it had been burnt down, as

often happens, by the last caravan of Wanyamwezi,--I left my companion,

who was prostrate with fever, and went out, gun in hand, to inspect the

country, and to procure meat, that necessary having fallen short. The

good P’hazi, Tumba Ihere, accompanied me, and after return he received

an ample present for his services, and departed. The Baloch employed

themselves in cleaning their rusty matchlock-barrels with a bit of

kopra,--dried cocoa-nut meat,--in weaving for themselves sandals, like

the spartelle of the Pyrenees, with green palmetto-leaves; in preparing

calabash fibre for fatilah or gun-matches, and in twisting cords for the

asses. The best material is supplied by an aloetic plant, the Hig or

Haskul of Somaliland, here called by the Arabs Bag, and by the natives

Mukonge. The Mananazi, or pine-apple, grows wild as far as three marches

from the coast, but its fibrous qualities are unknown to the people.

Ismail, the invalid Baloch, was the worse for remedies; and two other

men gave signs of breaking down.

During the first week, creeping along at a slug’s pace, we heard the

booming of the Artémise’s evening gun, an assurance that refuge was at

hand. Presently these reports ceased. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, seized

with mortal sickness, had left Kaole suddenly, and he died on board the

Artémise on the 5th July, shortly after his return to Zanzibar. The

first letters announcing the sad event were lost: with characteristic

African futility the porter despatched with the parcel from the island,

finding that the Expedition had passed on to the mountains of Usagara,

left his charge with a village headman, and returned to whence he came.

Easterns still hold that

“Though it be honest, it is never good,

To bring bad news.”

The report, spread by a travelling trader, was discussed throughout

the camp, but I was kept in ignorance of it till Khudabakhsh, a Baloch,

who had probably been deputed by his brethren to ascertain what effect

the decease of the consul would have upon me, “hardened his heart,” and

took upon himself the task of communicating the evil intelligence. I was

uncertain what to believe. Said bin Salim declared, when consulted, that

he fully trusted in the truth of the report, but his reasons were

somewhat too Arabo-African to convince me. He had found three pieces of

scarlet broadcloth damaged by rats,--an omen of death; and the colour

pointed out the nationality of the departed.

The consul’s death might have proved fatal to the Expedition, had its

departure been delayed for a week. The court of Zanzibar had required

the stimulus of a strong official letter from Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton,

before it would consent, as requested by the Foreign Office, “to procure

a favourable reception on the coast, and to ensure the protection of the

chiefs of the country” for the travellers. The Hindus, headed by Ladha

Damha, showed from first to last extreme unwillingness to open up the

rich regions of copal and ivory to European eyes: they had been deceived

by my silence during the rainy season at Zanzibar into a belief that the

coast-fever had cooled my ardour for further adventure; and their

surprise at finding the contrary to be the case was not of a pleasant

nature. The home-sick Baloch would have given their ears to return, they

would have turned back even when arrived within a few marches from the

Lake. Said bin Salim took the first opportunity of suggesting the

advisability of his returning to Zanzibar for the purpose of completing

carriage. I positively refused him leave; it was a mere pretext to

ascertain whether His Highness the Sayyid Majid had or had not, in

consequence of our changed position, altered his views.

Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton’s death, however, was mourned for other than

merely selfish considerations. His hospitality and kindness had indeed

formed a well-omened contrast with my unauspicious reception at Aden in

1855, before my departure to explore the Eastern Horn of Africa, when

the coldness of some, and the active jealousy of other political

authorities, thwarted all my projects, and led to the tragic disaster at

Berberah.[4] Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton had received two strangers like

sons, rather than like passing visitors. During the intervals between

the painful attacks of a deadly disease, he had exerted himself to the

utmost in forwarding my views; in fact, he made my cause his own. Though

aware of his danger, he had refused to quit, until compelled by

approaching dissolution, the post which he considered his duty to hold.

He was a loss to his country, an excellent linguist, a ripe oriental

scholar, and a valuable public servant of the old Anglo-Indian school;

he was a man whose influence over Easterns, based upon their respect for

his honour and honesty, his gallantry and determination, knew no bounds;

and at heart a “sad good Christian,”--the Heavens be his bed!

[4] Capt. R. L. Playfair, Madras Artillery and First Assistant Pol.

Resident, Aden, in a selection from the records of the Bombay

Government, (No. 49, new series, Bombay, printed for Government, at

the Education Society Press, Byculla, 1859,) curiously misnamed “A

History of Arabia Felix or Yemen,” transports himself, in a

“supplementary chapter,” to East Africa, and thus records his

impressions of what happened in the “Somali Country:”--

1855.--“During the afternoon of the same day (the 18th of April),

three men visited the camp, _palpably as spies_, and as such, _the

officers of the Expedition were warned against them by their native

attendants_. Heedless of this warning, they retired to rest at night

in the fullest confidence of security, and without having taken any

extra, _or even ordinary means_, to guard against surprise.”

The italics are my own: they designate mistatements unpardonable in an

individual whose official position enabled him to ascertain and to

record the truth. The three men were represented to me as spies, who

came to ascertain whether I was preparing to take the country for the

Chief Shermarkay, then hostile to their tribe, not as spies to spy out

the weakness of my party. I received no warning of personal danger.

The “ordinary measures,” that is to say, the posting of two sentinels

in front and rear of the camp during the night were taken, and I

cannot blame myself because they ran away.

I will not stop to inquire what must be the value of Capt. Playfair’s

193 pages touching the history of Yemen, when in five lines there are

three distinct and wilful deviations from fact.

I am well aware that after my departure from Aden, in 1855, an inquiry

was instituted during my absence, and without my knowledge, into the

facts of the disaster which occurred at Berberah. The “privileged

communication” was, I believe, in due course, privily forwarded to the

Bombay Government, and the only rebuke which this shuffling proceeding

received was from a gentleman holding a high and honourable position,

who could not reconcile himself to seeing a man’s character stabbed in

the back.

On the 8th of July we fell into what our Arab called Wady el Maut and

Dar el Jua--the Valley of Death and the Home of Hunger--the malarious

river-plain of the Kingani River. My companion was compelled by sickness

to ride, and thus the asses, now back-sore and weak with fatigue,

suffered an addition of weight, and a “son of Ramji” who was upon the

point of deserting openly required to be brought back at the muzzle of

the barrel. The path descending into a dense thicket of spear grass,

bush, and thorny trees based on sand, with a few open and scattered

plantations of holcus, presently passed on the left Dunda Nguru, or

“Seer-fish-hill,” so called because a man laden with such provision had

there been murdered by the Wazaramo. After 2^{hrs}. 45′ a ragged

camping-kraal was found on the tree-lined bank of a half-dry Fiumara, a

tributary of the neighbouring Kingani: the water was bad, and a mortal

smell of decay was emitted by the dark dank ground. It was a wild day.

From the black brumal clouds driven before furious blasts pattered

rain-drops like musket-bullets, splashing the already saturated ground.

The tall stiff trees groaned and bent before the gusts; the birds

screamed as they were driven from their perching places; the asses stood

with heads depressed, ears hung down, and shrinking tails turned towards

the weather, and even the beasts of the wild seemed to have taken refuge

in their dens. Provisions being unprocurable at “Sagesera,” the party

did what men on such occasions usually do--they ate double quantities. I

had ordered a fair distribution of the rice that remained, consequently

they cooked all day. Yusuf, a Jemadar of inferior rank, whose friends

characterised him as “sweet of tongue but bitter at heart,” vainly came

to beg, on plea of hunger, dismissal for himself and his party; and

another Baloch, Wali, reported as uselessly that a sore foot would

prevent him advancing.

Despite our increasing weakness, we marched seven hours on the 9th of

July, over a plain wild but prodigiously fertile, and varied by patches

of field, jungle and swamp, along the right bank of the Kingani river,

to another ragged old kraal, situated near a bend in the bed. This day

showed the ghost of an adventure. At the “Makutaniro,” or junction of

the Mbuamaji trunk-road with the other lines branching from various

minor sea-ports, my companion, who was leisurely proceeding with the

advance guard, found his passage barred by about fifty Wazaramo standing

across the path in a single line that extended to the travellers’ right,

whilst a reserve party squatted on the left of the road. Their chief

stepping to the front and quietly removing the load from the foremost

porter’s head, signalled the strangers to halt. Prodigious excitement of

the Baloch, whose loud “Hai, hui!” and nervous anxiety contrasted badly

with the perfect _sang froid_ of the barbarians. Presently, Muinyi

Wazira coming up, addressed to the headman a few words, promising cloth

and beads, when this African modification of the “pike” was opened, and

the guard moved forward as before. As I passed, the Wazaramo stood under

a tree to gaze. I could not but admire the athletic and statuesque

figures of the young warriors and their martial attitude, 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.

At Tunda, “the fruit,” so called from its principal want, after a night

passed amidst the rank vegetation, and within the malarious influence of

the river, I arose weak and depressed, with aching head, burning eyes,

and throbbing extremities. The new life, the alternations of damp heat

and wet cold, the useless fatigue of walking, the sorry labour of

waiting and re-loading the asses, the exposure to sun and dew, and last,

but not least, of morbific influences, the wear and tear of mind at the

prospect of imminent failure, all were beginning to tell heavily upon

me. My companion had shaken off his preliminary symptoms, but Said bin

Salim, attacked during the rainy gusty night by a severe Mkunguru or

seasoning-fever, begged hard for a halt at Tunda--only for a day--only

for half a day--only for an hour. Even this was refused. I feared that

Tunda might prove fatal to us. Said bin Salim was mounted upon an ass,

which compelled us to a weary trudge of two hours. The animals were

laden with difficulty; they had begun to show a predilection for lying

down. The footpath, crossing a deep nullah, spanned a pestilential

expanse of spear-grass, and a cane, called from its appearance

Gugu-mbua, or the wild sugar plant, with huge calabashes and natural

clearings in the jungle, where large game appeared. After a short march

I saw the red flag of the vanguard stationary, and turning a sharp

corner found the caravan halted in a little village, called from its

headman Ba̓ńá Dirungá. This was premature. I had ordered Muinyi Wazira

to advance on that morning to Dege la Mhora, the “large jungle-bird,”

the hamlet where M. Maizan’s blood was shed. Said and Wazira had

proposed that we should pass it ere the dawn of the next day broke; the

advice was rejected, it was too dangerous a place to show fear. The two

diplomatists then bethought themselves of another manœuvre, and led me

to Ba̓ńá Dirungá, calling it Dege la Mhora.

We halted for a day at the little hamlet, embosomed in dense grass and

thicket. On our appearance the villagers fled into the bush, their

country’s strength; but before nightfall they took heart of grace and

returned. The headman appeared to regard us with fear, he could not

comprehend why we carried so much powder and ball. When reassured he

offered to precede us, and to inform the chief of the “large

jungle-bird” that our intentions had been misrepresented,--a proposal

which seemed to do much moral good to Said, the Jemadar, and Wazira.

On the eleventh day after leaving Kaole I was obliged to mount by a

weakness which scarcely allowed me to stand. After about half an hour,

through a comparatively open country, we passed on the left a

well-palisaded village, belonging formerly to P’hazi Mazungera, and now

occupied by his son Hembe, or the “wild buffalo’s horn.” Reports of our

warlike intentions had caused Hembe to “clear decks for action;” the

women had been sent from the village, and some score of tall youths,

archers and spearmen, admirably appointed, lined the hedges, prepared,

at the levelling of the first matchlock, to let loose a flight of

poisoned arrows, which would certainly have dispersed the whole party. A

halt was called by the trembling Said, who at such conjunctures would

cling like a woman to my companion or to me. During the few minutes’

delay the “sons of Ramji,” who were as pale as blacks could be, allowed

their asses to bump off half a dozen loads. Presently Hembe, accompanied

by a small guard, came forward, and after a few words with Wazira and

Said, the donkey from which I had not dismounted was hurried forward by

the Baloch. Hembe followed us with a stronger escort to Madege Madogo,

the next station. Illness served me as an excuse for not receiving him:

he obtained, however, from Said a letter to the headmen of the coast,

bespeaking their good offices for certain of his slaves sent down to buy

gunpowder.

An account of the melancholy event which cut short at Dege la Mhora the

career of the first European that ever penetrated beyond this portion of

the coast may here be inserted.

M. Maizan, an _enseigne de vaisseau_, and a pupil of the Polytechnic

School, after a cruise in the seas off Eastern Africa, conceived, about

the end of 1843, the project of exploring the lakes of the interior, and

in 1844 his plans were approved of by his government. Arrived at

Bourbon, he was provided with a passage to Zanzibar, in company with M.

Broquant, the Consul de France, newly appointed after the French

Commercial Treaty of the 21st Nov. 1844, on board the corvette Le

Berceau, Capitaine, afterwards Vice-Admiral, Romain Desfossés,

commanding. At the age of twenty-six M. Maizan had amply qualified

himself by study for travel, and he was well provided with outfit and

instruments. His “kit,” however, was of a nature calculated to excite

savage cupidity, as was proved by the fact that his murderer converted

the gilt knob of a tent-pole into a neck ornament, and tearing out the

works of a gold chronometer, made of it a tobacco-pouch. He has been

charged with imprudence in carrying too much luggage--a _batterie de

déjeuner_, a _batterie de dîner_, and similar superfluities. But he had

acted rightly, when bound upon a journey through countries where outfit

cannot be renewed, in providing himself with all the materials for

comfort. On such explorations a veteran traveller would always attempt

to carry with him as much, not as little as possible,--of course

prepared to abandon all things, and to reduce himself, whenever the

necessity might occur, to the “_simple besace du pélerin_.” It is easy

to throw away a superfluity, and the best preparation for severe

“roughing it,” is to enjoy ease and comfort whilst attainable.

But M. Maizan fell upon evil times at Zanzibar. Dark innuendos

concerning French ambition--that nation being even suspected of a desire

to establish itself in force at Lamu, Pangani, and other places on the

coast of East Africa--filled Hindu and Hindi with fear for their

profits. These men influenced the inhabitants of the island and the

sea-coast, who probably procured the co-operation of their wild brethren

in the interior. For the purpose of learning the Kisawahili, M. Maizan

delayed nearly eight months at Zanzibar, and, seeing a French vessel

entering the harbour, he left the place precipitately, fearing a recall.

Vainly also M. Broquant had warned him against his principal confidant,

a noted swindler, and Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton had cautioned him to no

purpose that his glittering instruments and his numerous boxes, all of

which would be supposed to contain dollars, were dangerous. He visited

the coast thrice before finally landing, thus giving the Wasawahili time

and opportunity to mature their plans. He lowered himself in the eyes of

the Arabs by “making brotherhood” with a native of Unyamwezi. Finally,

fearing Arab apathy and dilatoriness, he hastened into the country

without waiting for the strong armed escort promised to him by His

Highness the late Sayyid Said.

These were grave errors; but they were nothing in comparison with that

of trusting himself unarmed, after the fatal habit of Europeans, and

without followers, into the hands of an African chief. How often has

British India had to deplore deaths “that would have dimmed a victory,”

caused by recklessness of danger or by the false shame which prevents

men in high position from wearing weapons where they may be at any

moment required, lest the safe mediocrities around them should deride

such excess of cautiousness!

After the rains of 1845 M. Maizan landed at Bagamoyo, a little

settlement opposite the island of Zanzibar. There leaving the forty

musketeers, his private guard, he pressed on, contrary to the advice of

his Mnyamwezi brother, escorted only by Frédérique, a Madagascar or

Comoro man, and by a few followers, to visit P’hazi Mazungera, the chief

of the Wákámbá, a subtribe of the Wazaramo, at his village of Dege la

Mhora. He was received with a treacherous cordiality, of which he

appears to have been completely the dupe. After some days of the most

friendly intercourse, during which the villain’s plans were being

matured, Mazungera, suddenly sending for his guest, reproached him as he

entered the hut with giving away goods to other chiefs. Presently

working himself into a rage, the African exclaimed, “Thou shalt die at

this moment!” At the signal a crowd of savages rushed in, bearing two

long poles. Frédérique was saved by the P’hazi’s wife: he cried to his

master to run and touch her, in which case he would have been under her

protection; but the traveller had probably lost presence of mind, and

the woman was removed. The unfortunate man’s arms were then tightly

bound to a pole lashed crosswise upon another, to which his legs and

head were secured by a rope tied across the brow. In this state he was

carried out of the village to a calabash-tree, pointed out to me, about

fifty yards on the opposite side of the road. The inhuman Mazungera

first severed all his articulations, whilst the war-song and the drum

sounded notes of triumph. Finding the sime, or double-edged knife,

somewhat blunt, he stopped, when in the act of cutting his victim’s

throat, to whet the edge, and, having finished the bloody deed, he

concluded with wrenching the head from the body.

Thus perished an amiable, talented, and highly educated man, whose only

fault was rashness--too often the word for enterprise when Fortune

withholds her smile. The savage Mazungera was disappointed in his

guest’s death. The object of the torture was to discover, as the Mganga

had advised, the place of his treasures, whereas the wretched man only

groaned and implored forgiveness of his sins, and called upon the names

of those friends whose advice he had neglected. The P’hazi then

attempted to decoy from Bagamoyo the forty musketeers left with the

outfit, but in this he failed. He then proceeded to make capital of his

foul deed. When Snay bin Amir, a Maskat merchant,--of whom I shall have

much to say,--appeared with a large caravan at Dege la Mhora, Mazungera

demanded a new tribute for free passage; and, as a threat, he displayed

the knife with which he had committed the murder. But Snay proved

himself a man not to be trifled with.

Frédérique returned to Zanzibar shortly after the murder, and was

examined by M. Broquant. An infamous plot would probably have come to

light had he not fled from the fort where he was confined. Frédérique

disappeared mysteriously. He is said now to be living at Marungu, on the

Tanganyika Lake, under the Moslem name of Muhammádí. His flight served

for a pretext to mischievous men that the prince was implicated in the

murder: they also spread a notoriously false report that Mazungera, an

independent chief, was a vassal of the suzerain of Zanzibar.

In 1846 the brig-of-war Le Ducoüedic, of the naval division of Bourbon,

M. Guillain, Capitaine de Vaisseau, commanding, was charged, amongst

other commercial and political interests, with insisting upon severe

measures to punish the murderers. In vain His Highness Sayyid Said

protested that Mazungera was beyond his reach; the fact of the

robber-chief having been seen at Mbuamaji on the coast after the murder

was deemed conclusive evidence to the contrary. At length the Sayyid

despatched up-country three or four hundred musketeers, mercenaries, and

slaves, under command of Juma Mfumbi, the late, and Bori, the present,

Diwan of Saadani. The little troop marched some distance into the

country, when they were suddenly confronted by the Wazaramo, commanded

by Hembe, the son of Mazungera, who, after skirmishing for a couple of

days, fled wounded by a matchlock-ball. The chief result of the

expedition was the capture of a luckless clansman who had beaten the

war-drum during the murder. He was at once transferred to Zanzibar, and

passed off by these transparent African diplomatists as P’hazi

Mazungera. For nearly two years he was chained in front of the French

Consulate; after that time he was placed in the fort heavily ironed to a

gun under a cadjan shed, where he could hardly stand or lie down. The

unhappy wretch died about a year ago, and Zanzibar lost one of its

lions.

After the slaughter of M. Maizan the direct route through Dege la Mhora

was long closed, it is said, and is still believed, by a “ghul,” a

dragon or huge serpent, who, of course, was supposed to be the

demon-ghost of the murdered man. The reader will rejoice to hear that

the miscreant Mazungera, who has evaded human, has not escaped divine

punishment. The miserable old man is haunted by the P’hepo or spirit of

the guest so foully slain: the torments which he has brought upon

himself have driven him into a kind of exile; and his tribe, as has been

mentioned, has steadily declined from its former position with even a

greater decline in prospect. The jealous national honour displayed by

the French Government on the occasion of M. Maizan’s murder has begun to

bear fruit.

Its sensitiveness contrasts well with our proceedings on similar

occasions. Rahmat, the murderer of Captain Milne, still wanders free

over the hills in sight of Aden. By punishing the treacherous slaughter

of a servant of Government, the price of provisions at the coal-hole of

the East would have been raised. Au Ali, the murderer of Lieut. Stroyan,

is still at large in the neighbourhood of Berberah, when a few dollars

would have brought in his head. The burlesque of a blockade,--Capt.

Playfair, in a work previously characterised, has officially mistermed

it, to the astonishment of Aden, “a rigid blockade,” a “severe

punishment,” and so forth,--was considered sufficient to chastise the

Somal of Berberah for their cowardly onslaught on strangers and guests;

and though the people offered an equivalent for the public and private

property destroyed by them, the spirit of Centralisation, by an exercise

of its peculiar attributes, omniscience and omnipresence, decided that

the indemnity, which in such cases is customary throughout the East,

must not be accepted, because--forsooth!--it was not deserved by the

officers. This is a new plan, a system lately adopted by the nation once

called “la plus orgueilleuse et la plus perilleuse”--to win and preserve

respect in lands where prestige is its principal power. The Arabs of

Yemen have already learned from it to characterise their invaders as

Sahib Hilah,--a tricky, peddling manner of folk. They--wiser men than

we--will not take upon themselves the pains and penalties of

subject-hood, without its sole counterweight, the protection of their

rulers, in cases where protection is required.

At Madege Madogo, the “little birds,” so called in contradistinction to

its western and neighbouring district, Madege Makuba, the “great birds,”

we pitched tent under a large sycamore; and the Baloch passed a night of

alarms, fancying in every sound the approach of a leopard, a

hippopotamus, or a crocodile. On the 13th July, we set out after dawn,

and traversing forest, jungle, and bush, chequered with mud and morass,

hard by the bending and densely-wooded line of the Kingani River,

reached in three hours’ march an unwholesome camping-ground, called from

a conspicuous landmark Kidunda, the “little hill.” Here the scenery is

effective. The swift, yellow stream, about fifty yards broad, sweeps

under tall, stiff earth-works, ever green with tangled vegetation and

noble trees. The conical huts of the cultivators are disposed in

scattered patches to guard their luxuriant crops, whilst on the northern

bank the woody hillock, and on the southern rising ground, apparently

the ancient river-terrace, affect the sight agreeably after the

evergreen monotony of the river-plain. A petty chief, Mvirama,

accompanied by a small party of armed men, posted himself near the

cantonment, demanding rice, which was refused with asperity. At this

frontier station the Wazaramo, mixed up with the tribes of Udoe, K’hutu,

and Usagara, are no longer dreaded.

From Kidunda, the route led over sandy ground, with lines and scatters

of water-worn pebbles, descended the precipitous inclines of sandstone,

broken into steps of slabs and flags, and crossed the Manyora, a rough

and rocky Fiumara, abounding in blocks of snowy quartz, grey and pink

syenites, erratic boulders of the hornblende used as whetstones, and

strata of a rude sandstone conglomerate. Thence it spanned grass, bush,

and forest, close to the Kingani, and finally leaving the stream on the

right hand, it traversed sandy soil, and, ascending a wave of ground,

abutted upon the Mgeta or rivulet, a large perennial influent, which,

rising in the mountains of Duthumi, drains the head of the River-valley.

This lower portion of the Mgeta’s bed was unfordable after the heavy

rains: other caravans, however, had made a rude bridge of trees, felled

on each side, lashed with creepers, and jammed together by the force of

the current. The men perched upon the trunks and boughs, tossed or

handed to one another the loads and packages, whilst the asses, pushed

by force of arm down the banks, were driven with sticks and stones

across the stream. Suddenly a louder cry than usual arose from the mob;

my double-barrelled elephant-gun found a grave below the cold and

swirling waters. The Goanese Gaetano had the courage to plunge in; the

depth was about twelve feet; the sole was of roots and loose sand, and

the stream ran with considerable force. I bade farewell to that gun;--by

the bye it was the second accident of the kind that had occurred to

it;--the country people cannot dive, and no one ventures to affront the

_genius loci_, the mamba or crocodile. I found consolation in the

thought that the Expedition had passed without accident through the most

dangerous part of the journey. In 18 days, from the 27th of June, to the

14th of July, I had accomplished, despite sickness and all manner of

difficulties, a march of 118 indirect statute miles, and had entered

K’hutu, the safe rendezvous of foreign merchants.

Resuming our march on the 15th July, we entered the “Doab,”[5] on the

western bank of the Mgeta, where a thick and tangled jungle, with

luxuriant and putrescent vegetation, is backed by low, grassy grounds,

frequently inundated. Presently, however, the dense thicket opened out

into a fine park country, peculiarly rich in game, where the calabash

and the giant trees of the seaboard gave way to mimosas, gums, and

stunted thorns. Large gnus, whom the porters regard with a wholesome

awe, declaring that they are capable of charging a caravan, pranced

about, pawing the ground, and shaking their formidable manes; hartebeest

and other antelopes clustered together on the plain, or travelled in

herds to slake their thirst at the river. 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 the 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, ludicrous to behold. Whilst crossing a sandy Fiumara,

Abdullah, a Baloch, lodged by accident four ounces of lead, the contents

of my second elephant-gun, in the head of an ass. After a march of six

hours we entered Kiruru, a small, ragged, and muddy village of Wak’hutu,

deep in a plantation of holcus, whose tall, stiff canes nearly swept me

from the saddle. The weather was a succession of raw mist, 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 remained in the

reeking, miry tent, where he partially laid the foundation of the fever

which threatened his life in the mountains of Usagara.

[5] This useful word, which means the land embraced by the bifurcation

of two streams, has no English equivalent. “Doab,” “Dhun” (Dhoon),

“Nullah,” and “Ghaut,” might be naturalised with advantage in our

mother tongue.

Despite the danger of hyænas, leopards, and crocodiles to an

ass-caravan, we were delayed by the torrents of rain and the depth of

the mud for two days at Kiruru. According to the people, the district

derives its name “palm leaves,” from a thirsty traveller, who, not

knowing that water was near, chewed the leaves of the hyphæna-palm till

he died. One of the Baloch proposed a “Hammam,”--a primitive form of the

“lamp-bath,” practised in most parts of Central Asia,--as a cure for

fever: he placed me upon one of the dwarf stools used by the people, and

under the many abas or hair-cloaks with which I was invested he

introduced a bit of pottery containing live coal and a little

frankincense. At Kiruru I engaged six porters to assist our jaded

animals as far as the next station. The headman was civil, but the

people sold their grain with difficulty.

On the 18th July we resumed our march over a tract which caused sinking

of the heart in men who expected a long journey under similar

circumstances. Near Kiruru the thick grass and the humid vegetation,

dripping till midday with dew, rendered the black earth greasy and

slippery. The road became worse as we advanced over deep thick mire

interlaced with tree-roots through a dense jungle and forest, chiefly of

the distorted hyphæna-palm, in places varied by the Mparamusi and the

gigantic Msukulío, over barrens of low mimosa, and dreary savannahs cut

by steep nullahs. In three places we crossed bogs from 100 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. This “Yegea Mud,” caused by want of water-shed after rain, is

sometimes neck-deep; it never dries except when the moisture has been

evaporated by sun and wind during the middle of the Kaskazi or N. E.

monsoon. The only redeeming feature in the view was a foreground of

lovely hill, the highlands of Dut’humi, plum-coloured in the distance

and at times gilt by a sudden outburst of sunshine. Towards the end of

the march, I forged ahead of the caravan, and passing through numerous

villages, surrounded by holcus-fields, arrived at a settlement tenanted

by Sayf bin Salim, an Arab merchant, who afterwards proved to be a

notorious “mauvais sujet.” A Harisi from Birkah in Oman, he was a tall

thin-featured venerable-looking man, whose old age had been hurried on

by his constancy to pombe-beer. A long residence in Unyamwezi had

enabled him to incur the hostility of his fellow-merchants, especially

one Salim bin Said el Sawwafi, who, with other Arabs, persuaded Mpagamo,

an African chief, to seize upon Sayf, and after tying him up in full

view of the plundering and burning of his store-house, to drive him out

of the country. Retreating to Dut’humi, he had again collected a small

stock in trade, especially of slaves, whom he chained and treated so

severely that all men predicted for him an evil end. “Msopora,” as he

was waggishly nicknamed by the Wanyamwezi, instantly began to backbite

Said bin Salim, whom he pronounced utterly unfit to manage our affairs;

I silenced him by falling asleep upon a cartel placed under the cool

eaves of a hut. Presently staggered in my companion almost too ill to

speak; over-fatigue had prostrated his strength. By slow degrees, and

hardly able to walk, appeared the Arab, the Baloch, the slaves and the

asses, each and every having been bogged in turn. On this occasion

Wazira had acted guide, and used to “bog-trotting,” he had preferred the

short cut to the cleaner road that rounds the swamps.

At Dut’humi we were detained nearly a week; the malaria had brought on

attacks of marsh fever, which in my case lasted about 20 days; the

paroxysms were mild compared with the Indian or the Sindhian type, yet,

favoured by the atonic state of the constitution, they 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, hag-like women and men with heads protruding from their breasts.

My companion suffered even more severely, he had a fainting-fit which

strongly resembled a sun-stroke, and which seemed permanently to affect

his brain. Said bin Salim was the convalescent of the party; the two

Goanese yielded themselves wholly to maladies, brought on mainly by hard

eating, and had they not been forced to rise, they would probably never

have risen again. Our sufferings were increased by other causes than

climate. The riding asses having been given up for loads, we were

compelled, when premonitory symptoms suggested rest, to walk, sometimes

for many miles in a single heat, through sun and rain, through mud and

miasmatic putridities. Even ass-riding caused over-fatigue. It by no

means deserves in these lands the reputation of an anile exercise, as it

does in Europe. Maître Aliboron in Africa is stubborn, vicious and

guilty of the four mortal sins of the equine race, he shies and

stumbles, he rears and runs away: my companion has been thrown as often

as twice in two hours. The animals are addicted to fidgetting, plunging

and pirouetting when mounted, they hog and buck till they burst their

frail girths, they seem to prefer holes and hollows, they rush about

pig-like when high winds blow, and they bolt under tree-shade when the

sun shines hot. They must be led, or, ever preferring the worst ground,

they disdain to follow the path, and when difficulties arise the slave

will surely drop the halter, and get out of harm’s way. If a pace

exceeding two miles an hour be required, a second man must follow and

flog each of these perfect slugs during the whole march. The roundness

of their flanks, the shortness of their backs, and their want of

shoulder, combine to make the meagre Arab packsaddle unsafe for anything

but a baboon or a boy, whilst the straightness and the rigidity of their

goat-like pasterns render the pace a wearisome, tripping hobble. We had,

it is true, Zanzibari riding-asses, but the delicate animals soon chafed

and presently died; we were then reduced to the Koroma or half-reclaimed

beast of Wanyamwezi. The laden asses gave us even more trouble. The

slaves would not attend to the girthing and the balancing of

parcels--the great secret of donkey-loading--consequently the burdens

were thrown at every mud or broken ground: the unwilling Baloch only

grumbled, sat down and stared, leaving their Jemadars with Said bin

Salim and ourselves to reload. My companion and I brought up the rear by

alternate days, and sometimes we did not arrive before the afternoon at

the camping ground. The ropes and cords intended to secure the herd were

regularly stolen, that I might be forced to buy others: the animals were

never pounded for the night, and during our illness none of the party

took the trouble to number them. Thus several beasts were lost, and the

grounding of the Expedition appeared imminent and permanent. The result

was a sensation of wretchedness, hard to describe; every morning dawned

upon me with a fresh load of cares and troubles, and every evening

reminded me as it closed in, that another and a miserable morrow was to

dawn. But “in despair,” as the Arabs say, “are many hopes;” though

sorrow endured for the night--and many were “white” with anxiety--we

never relinquished the determination to risk everything, ourselves

included, rather than to return unsuccessful.

Dut’humi, one of the most fertile districts in K’hutu, is a plain of

black earth and sand, choked with vegetation where not corrected by the

axe. It is watered by the perennial stream of the same name, which,

rising in the islands, adds its quotum to the waters of the Mgazi, and

eventually to the Mgeta and the Kingani Rivers. In such places

artificial irrigation is common, the element being distributed over the

fields by hollow ridges. The mountains of Dut’humi form the northern

boundary of the plain. They appear to rise abruptly, but they throw off

southerly lower eminences, which diminish in elevation till confounded

with the almost horizontal surface of the champaign; the jagged broken

crests and peaks argue a primitive formation. Their lay is to the

N.N.W.; after four days’ journey, according to the guides, they

inosculate with the main chain of the Usagara Mountains, and they are

probably the southern buttress of Ngu, or Nguru, the hill region

westward of Saadani. This chain is said to send forth the Kingani River,

which, gushing from a cave or fissure in the eastern, is swollen to a

large perennial stream by feeders from the southern slopes, whilst the

Mgeta flows from the western face of the water-parting, and circles the

southern base. The cold temperature of these cloud-capped and rainy

crags, which never expose their outlines except in the clearest weather,

affects the plains; by day bleak north-east and north-west gusts pour

down upon the sun-parched Dut’humi, and at night the thermometer will

sink to 70°, and even to 65° F. Water is supposed to freeze upon the

highlands, yet they are not unhealthy; sheep, goats, and poultry abound;

betel-pepper grows there, according to the Arabs, and, as in the

lowlands, holcus and sesamum, manioc and sweet-potatoes (Convolvulus

batata), cucumbers, the turai (Luffa acutangula), and beans, plantains,

and sugar-cane, are plentiful. The thick jungle at the base of the hills

shelters the elephant, the rhinoceros in considerable numbers, the gnu,

and the koodoo, which, however, can rarely be found when the grass is

high; a variety of the ngole--a small Dendraspis--haunts the patriarchs

of the forest, and the chirrup of the mongoose, which the people enjoy,

as Europeans do the monotonous note of the cricket, is heard in the

brakes at eventide. This part of the country, about six hours’ march

northward from Dut’humi, is called the Inland Magogoni; and it is

traversed by the “Mdimu” nullah, which falls into the Mgeta River. The

fertile valleys in the lower and southern folds are inhabited by the

Wákumbáku(?),[6] and by the Wásuop’hángá tribes; the higher elevations,

which apparently range from 3000 to 4000 feet, by the Waruguru. They are

compelled to fortify themselves against the cold and the villanous races

around them. The plague of the land is now one Kisabengo, a Mzegura of

low origin, who, after conquering Ukami, a district extending from the

eastern flank of the Dut’humi hills seawards, from its Moslem diwan,

Ngozi, _alias_ Kingaru, has raised himself to the rank of a Shene

Khambi, or principal headman. Aided by the kidnapping Moslem coast clans

of Whinde, a small coast town opposite the island of Zanzibar, and his

fellow tribemen of Uzegura, he has transferred by his frequent commandos

almost all the people of Ukámí, chiefly Wásuop’hángá and Wárúgúrú, to

the slave-market of Zanzibar, and, thus compelled to push his

depredations further west, he has laid waste the lands even beyond the

Mukondokwa river-valley. The hill tribes, however, still receive

strangers hospitably into their villages. They have a place visited even

by distant Wazaramo pilgrims. It is described as a cave where a P’hepo

or the disembodied spirit of a man, in fact a ghost, produces a terrible

subterraneous sound, called by the people Kurero or Bokero; it arises

probably from the flow of water underground. In a pool in the cave women

bathe for the blessing of issue, and men sacrifice sheep and goats to

obtain fruitful seasons and success in war. These hill-races speak

peculiar dialects, which, according to the guides, are closely connected

with Kik’hutu.

[6] This unsatisfactory figure of print will often occur in these

pages. Ignorance, error, and causeless falsehood, together with the

grossest exaggeration, deter the traveller from committing himself to

any assertion which he has not proved to his own satisfaction.

Despite the bad name of Dut’humi as regards climate, Arabs sometimes

reside there for some months for the purpose of purchasing slaves

cheaply and to repair their broken fortunes for a fresh trip to the

interior. This keeps up a perpetual feud amongst the chiefs of the

country, and scarcely a month passes without fields being laid waste,

villages burnt down, and the unhappy cultivators being carried off to be

sold.

At Dut’humi a little expedition was sent against Manda, a petty chief,

who, despite the presence of the Sayyid’s troops, had plundered a

village and had kidnapped five of the subjects of Mgota, his weaker

neighbour. I had the satisfaction of restoring the stolen wretches to

their hearths and homes, and two decrepid old women that had been

rescued from slavery thanked me with tears of joy.

This easy good deed done, I was able, though with swimming head and

trembling hands, to prepare accounts and a brief report of proceedings

for the Royal Geographical Society. These, together with other papers,

especially an urgent request for medical comforts and drugs, especially

quinine and narcotics, addressed to Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, or, in case

of accidents, to M. Cochet, Consul de France, were entrusted to Jemadar

Yaruk, whom, moreover, I took the liberty of recommending to the prince

for the then vacant command of the Bagamoyo garrison. The escort from

Kaole, reduced in number by three desertions, was dismissed. All the

volunteers had been clamouring to return, and I could no longer afford

to keep them. Besides the two supplies of cloth, wire, and beads, which

preceded, and which were left to follow us, I had been provided by Ladha

Damha with a stock of white and blue cottons, some handsome articles of

dress, 20,000 strings of white and black, pink, blue, and green, red and

brown porcelain-beads, needles, and other articles of hardware, to

defray transit-charges through Uzarama. This provision, valued at 295

dollars, should have carried us to the end of the third month; it lasted

about three weeks. Said bin Salim, to whom it had been entrusted, had

been generous, through fear, to every half-naked barbarian that chose to

stretch forth the hand of beggary; moreover, whilst too ill to

superintend disbursements, he had allowed his “children,” aided by the

Baloch and the “sons of Ramji,” to “loot” whatever they could seize and

secrete. Ladha Damha, unable to complete our carriage, had hit upon the

notable device of converting eighteen pieces of American domestics into

saddle-cloths for the asses: the stuff was used at halts as bedding by

the Baloch and others; and,--a proof that much had fallen into wrong

hands,--the thirteen men composing our permanent guard, increased the

number of their laden asses from two to five; moreover, for many weeks

afterwards, the “sons of Ramji” could afford to expend four to five

cloths upon a goat. On the 21st July the escort from Kaole departed with

a general discharge of matchlocks. Their disappearance was hailed as a

blessing; they had pestered me for rations, and had begged for asses

till midnight. They were the refuse of their service; they thought of,

they dreamed of, nothing but food; they would do no work; they were

continually attempting violence upon the timid Wak’hutu, and they seemed

resolved to make the name of Baloch equally hateful and contemptible.

I had been careful to bring from Zanzibar four hammocks, which, slung to

poles, formed the conveyance, called by the Indians “manchil;” by the

Portuguese “manchila;” and in West Africa “tipoia.” Sayf bin Salim

agreed for the sum of ten dollars to hire his slaves as porters for

ourselves and our outfit. On the 24th July, feeling strong enough to

advance, we passed out of the cultivation of Dut’humi. Crossing a steep

and muddy bed, knee-deep even in the dry season, we entered fields under

the outlying hillocks of the highlands. These low cones, like similar

formations in India, are not inhabited; they are even more malarious

than the plains, the surface is rocky, and the woodage, not ceasing as

in higher elevations, extends from base to summit. Beyond the

cultivation the route plunges into a jungle, where the European

traveller realises every preconceived idea of Africa’s aspect, at once

hideous and grotesque. The general appearance is a mingling of bush and

forest, which, contracting the horizon to a few yards, is equally

monotonous to the eye and palling to the imagination. 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

from root to twig with huge epiphytes, forming heavy columns of densest

verdure, and clustering upon the tops in the semblance of enormous

bird’s nests. The foot-paths, in places “dead,”--as the natives

say,--with encroaching bush, are crossed by llianas, creepers and

climbers, thick as coir-cables, some connecting the trees in a curved

line, others stretched straight down the trunks, others winding in all

directions around their supports, frequently crossing one another like

network and stunting the growth of even the vivacious calabash, by coils

like rope tightly encircling its neck. 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. To this

sad picture of miasma the firmament is a fitting frame: a wild sky,

whose heavy purple nimbi, chased by raffales and chilling gusts,

dissolve in large-dropped showers; or a dull, dark grey expanse, which

lies like a pall over the world. In the finer weather the atmosphere is

pale and sickly; its mists and vapours seem to concentrate the rays of

the oppressive “rain-sun.” The sensation experienced at once explains

the apathy and indolence, the physical debility, and the mental

prostration, that are the gifts of climates which moist heat and damp

cold render equally unsalubrious and uncomfortable. That no feature of

miasma might be wanting to complete the picture, filthy heaps of the

rudest hovels, built in holes in the jungle, sheltered their few

miserable inhabitants, whose frames are lean with constant intoxication,

and whose limbs, distorted by ulcerous sores, attest the hostility of

Nature to mankind. Such a revolting scene is East Africa from central

K’hutu to the base of the Usagara Mountains.

Running through this fetid flat the path passed on the left sundry

shallow salt-pits which, according to the Arabs, are wet during the dry

and dry during the wet season. Presently after breaking through another

fence of holcus, whose cane was stiffer than the rattans of an Indian

jungle, we entered, and found lodgings in Bakera, a pretty little hamlet

ringed with papaws and plantains, upon which the doves disported

themselves. Here, on our return in 1859, a thick growth of grass waved

over the ground-marks of hearth and roof-tree. The African has a

superstitious horror of stone walls; he is still a semi-nomade, from the

effects of the Wandertrieb, or man’s vagabond instinct, uncurbed by the

habits of civilisation. Though vestiges of large and stable habitations

have been discovered in the barbarous Eastern Horn, in these days,

between the parallels of Harar and the ruined Portuguese towns near

the Zambezi Rivers, inner Africa ignores a town of masonry. In

our theoretical maps, the circlets used by cartographers to denote

cities serve only to mislead; their names prove them to be

Saltanats--lordships, districts or provinces.

Resuming our course on the next day through hollows and rice-swamps,

where almost every ass fell or cast its load, we came after a long tramp

to the nearest outposts of the Zungomero district; here were several

caravans with pitched tents, piles of ivory and crowds of porters. The

gang of thirty-six Wanyamwezi, who had preceded us, having located

themselves at a distant hamlet, we resumed our march, and presently were

met by a number of our men headed by their guard, the two “sons of

Ramji.” Ensued a general sword and spear play, each man with howls and

cheers brandished his blade or vibrated his missile, rushing about in

all directions, and dealing death amongst ideal foes with such action as

may often be observed in poultry-yards when the hens indulge in a little

merry pugnacity. The march had occupied us four weeks, about double the

usual time, and the porters had naturally began to suspect accidents

from the Wazaramo.

Zungomero, the head of the great river-valley, is a plain of black earth

and sand, prodigiously fertile. It is enclosed on all sides except the

eastern, or the line of drainage; northwards rise the peaks of Dut’humi;

westwards lie the little Wigo hills and the other spurs of Usagara,

uncultivated and uninhabited, though the country is populous up to their

feet; and southwards are detached cones of similar formation, steep,

rocky, and densely wooded. The sea-breeze is here strong, but beyond its

influence the atmosphere is sultry and oppressive; owing to maritime

influences the kosi, or south-west wind, sometimes continues till the

end of July. The normal day, which varies little throughout the year,

begins with the light milky mist which forms the cloud-ring; by degrees

nimbi and cumuli come up from the east, investing the heights of

Dut’humi, and, when showers are imminent, a heavy line of stratus

bisects the highlands and overlies the surface of the plain. At the

epochs of the lunar change rain falls once or twice during the day and

night, and, when the clouds burst, a fiery sun sucks up poison from the

earth’s putridity. The early nights are oppressive, and towards the dawn

condensation causes a copious deposit of heavy dew, which even the

people of the country dread. A prolonged halt causes general sickness

amongst the porters and slaves of a caravan. The humidity of the

atmosphere corrodes everything with which it comes in contact; the

springs of powder-flasks exposed to the damp snap like toasted quills;

clothes feel limp and damp; paper, becoming soft and soppy by the loss

of glazing, acts as a blotter; boots, books, and botanical collections

are blackened; metals are ever rusty; the best percussion caps, though

labelled waterproof, will not detonate unless carefully stowed away in

waxed cloth and tin boxes; gunpowder, if not kept from the air, refuses

to ignite; and wood becomes covered with mildew. We had an abundance of

common German phosphor-matches, and the best English wax lucifers; both,

however, became equally unserviceable, the heads shrank and sprang off

at the least touch, and the boxes frequently became a mere mass of

paste. To future travellers I should recommend the “good old plan;” a

bit of phosphorus in a little phial half full of olive oil, which serves

for light as well as ignition. When accompanied by matchlock-men,

however, there is no difficulty about fire; their pouches always contain

a steel and flint, and a store of cotton, or of the wild Bombex, dipped

in saltpetre or gunpowder solution.

Yet Zungomero is the great Bandárí or centre of traffic in the eastern,

as are Unyanyembe and Ujiji in the middle and the western 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.

Kilwa formerly sent caravans to it, and the Wanyamwezi porters have

frequently made that port by the “Mwera road.” The Arab merchants

usually pitch tents, preferring them to the leaky native huts, full of

hens and pigeons, rats and mice, snakes and lizards, crickets and

cockroaches, gnats and flies, and spiders of hideous appearance, where

the inmates are often routed by swarms of bees, and are ever in imminent

danger of fires. The armed slaves accompanying the caravan seize the

best huts, which they either monopolise or share with the hapless

inmates, and the porters stow themselves away under the projecting eaves

of the habitations. The main attraction of the place is the plenty of

provisions. Grain is so abundant that the inhabitants exist almost

entirely upon the intoxicating pombe, or holcus-beer,--a practice

readily imitated by their visitors. Bhang and the datura plant, growing

wild, add to the attractions of the spot. The Bhang is a fine large

species of the Cannabis Indica, the bang of Persia, the bhang of India,

and the benj of Arabia, the fasukh of northern, and the dakha of

southern Africa. In the low lands of East Africa it grows before every

cottage door. As in hot climates generally, the fibre degenerates, and

the plant is only valued for its narcotic properties. The Arabs smoke

the sun-dried leaf with, and the Africans without tobacco, in huge

waterpipes, whose bowls contain a quarter of a pound. Both ignore the

more luxurious preparations, momiya and hashish, ganja and sebzi, charas

and maajun. Like the “jangli” or jungle (wild)-bhang of Sindh, affected

by kalandars, fakirs, and other holy beggars, this variety, contracting

the muscle of the throat, produces a violent whooping-cough, ending in a

kind of scream, after a few long puffs, when the smoke is inhaled; and

if one man sets the example the others are sure to follow. These

grotesque sounds are probably not wholly natural; even the boys may be

heard practising them; they appear to be a fashion of “renowning it”; in

fact, an announcement to the public that the fast youths are smoking

bhang. The Datura stramonium, called by the Arabs and by the Wasawahili

“muranhá,” grows in the well-watered plains; it bears a large whitish

flower and a thorn-apple, like that of India. The heathen, as well as

their visitors, dry the leaves, the flowers, and the rind of the

rootlet, which is considered the strongest preparation, and smoke them

in a common bowl or in a water-pipe. This is held to be a sovereign

remedy against zik el nafas (asthma) and influenza; it diminishes the

cough by loosening the phlegm. The Washenzi never make that horrible use

of the plant known to the Indian dhaturiya, or datura-poisoners: many

accidents, however, occur from ignorance of its violent narcotism. Meat

is scarce: the only cattle are those driven down by the Wanyamwezi to

the coast; milk, butter, and ghee are consequently unprocurable. A sheep

or a goat will not cost less than a shukkah, or four cubits of

domestics, here worth twenty-five cents. The same will purchase only two

fowls; and eggs and fruit--chiefly papaws and plantains, cocos and

limes--are at fancy prices. For the shukkah eight rations of unhusked

holcus, four measures of rice--which must here be laid in by those

travelling up-country--and five cakes of tobacco, equal to about three

pounds, are generally procurable. Thus the daily expenditure of a large

caravan ranges from one dollar to one dollar fifty cents’ worth of cloth

in the Zanzibar market. The value, however, fluctuates greatly, and the

people will shirk selling even at any price.

The same attractions which draw caravans to Zungomero render it the

great rendezvous of an army of touters, who, whilst watching for the

arrival of the ivory traders, amuse themselves with plundering the

country. The plague has now spread like a flight of locusts over the

land. The Wak’hutu, a timid race, who, unlike the Wazaramo, have no

sultan to gather round, are being gradually ousted from their ancient

seats. In a large village there will seldom be more than three or four

families, who occupy the most miserable hovels, all the best having been

seized by the touters or pulled down for firewood. These men--slaves,

escaped criminals, and freemen of broken fortunes, flying from misery,

punishment, or death on the coast--are armed with muskets and sabres,

bows and spears, daggers and knobsticks. They carry ammunition, and thus

are too strong for the country people. When rough language and threats

fail, the levelled barrel at once establishes the right to a man’s house

and property, to his wife and children. If money runs short, a village

is fired by night, and the people are sold off to the first caravan. In

some parts the pattering of musketry is incessant, as it ever was in the

turbulent states of Independent India. It is rarely necessary to have

recourse to violence, the Wak’hutu, believing their tyrants to be

emissaries, as they represent themselves, from His Highness the Sultan,

and the chief nobles of Zanzibar, offer none but the most passive

resistance, hiding their families and herds in the bush. Thus it happens

that towards the end of the year nothing but a little grain can be

purchased in a land of marvellous fertility.

As has been mentioned, these malpractices are severely reprobated by His

Highness the Sultan, and when the evil passes a certain point remedial

measures are taken. A Banyan, for instance, is sent to the coast with

warnings to the Diwans concerned. But what care they for his empty

words, when they know that he has probably equipped a similar party of

black buccaneers himself? and what hope can there be of reform when

there is not an honest man in the country to carry it out? Thus the

Government of Zanzibar is rendered powerless;--improvement can be

expected only from the hand of Time. The Wak’hutu, indeed, often

threaten a deputation to entreat the Arab Sultan for protection in the

shape of a garrison of Baloch. This measure has been retarded for sound

reasons: no man dares to leave his house for fear of finding it a ruin

on his return; moreover, he would certainly be shot if the touters

guessed his intention, and, even if he escaped this danger, he would

probably be sold, on the way to the coast, by his truculent neighbours

the Wazaramo. Finally, if they succeeded in their wishes, would not a

Baloch garrison act the part of the man who, in the fable, was called in

to assist the horse against the stag? The Arabs, who know the temper of

these mercenaries, are too wise ever to sanction such a “dragonnade.”

The reader will readily perceive that he is upon the slave-path, so

different from travel amongst the free and independent tribes of

Southern Africa. The traffic practically annihilates every better

feeling of human nature. Yet, though the state of the Wak’hutu appears

pitiable, the traveller cannot practise pity: he is ever in the dilemma

of maltreating or being maltreated. Were he to deal civilly and

liberally with this people he would starve: it is vain to offer a price

for even the necessaries of life; it would certainly be refused because

more is wanted, and so on beyond the bounds of possibility. Thus, if the

touter did not seize a house, he would never be allowed to take shelter

in it from the storm; if he did not enforce a “corvée,” he must labour

beyond his strength with his own hands; and if he did not fire a village

and sell the villagers, he might die of hunger in the midst of plenty.

Such in this province are the action and reaction of the evil.

[Illustration: Party of Wak’hutu Women.]