The discovery of the Cuando River by Livingstone in 1849 demolished the

theory of a burning desert occupying the interior of Africa from the

Mediterranean to the Cape, and went far to prove, what has since been

completely established, that the fabulous torrid zone of Africa, and its

burning sands, is a well watered region, resembling North America in its

mountains and lakes, and India in its hot humid plains, thick jungles,

and cool highlands. We have already seen that the South African desert

is not without vegetation, but its pride and glory are herds of big and

small game——antelopes, gnues, zebras, ostriches, elands, gemsbocks,

gazelles, various species of deer——that roam over its spacious plains.

Great deeds of slaughter have been done with the rifle, and told over and

over again in many a stirring book of African sport by Gunning, Anderson,

and other Nimrods, who were among the first of the army of hunters who

now annually go in search of hides, tusks, and horns, which every year

become more difficult to obtain. The lion is practically the only animal

of the cat tribe which they have to encounter, the tiger being unknown

in Africa, and the leopard comparatively rare. The lion seem to be more

at home in these salt deserts than in the rank forests further north,

probably because he finds food more plentiful. Livingstone had no great

opinion of this beast. He describes him as “about the size of a donkey

and only brave at roaring,” even the talk of his majestic roar he regards

as “majestic twaddle,” and he says he could never tell the voice of the

lion from the voice of an ostrich, except from knowing that the quadruped

made a noise by night and the bird by day. The lion would never dream of

putting himself against a noble elephant, though he will tear an elephant

calf if he finds one unprotected, and he would still less engage in a

contest with the thick skinned rhinoceros. Even a buffalo is more than a

match for the “King of Beasts.” Major Oswald once came across three lions

who were having much trouble in pulling a mortally wounded buffalo to the

ground.

Both the elephant and rhinoceros are hunted here by the natives with

packs of dogs. The yelping curs completely bewilder their heavy game,

and while he is paying attention to them and making attempts to kill

them, the native creeps up and plants his bullet or poisoned spear in a

vital spot. English sportsmen prefer to go out against the elephant on

foot or on horseback or, as Anderson, upon the back of a trained ox. In

former times as many as twenty have been killed on a single excursion.

The chase of the huge animal, which attains a maximum height of twelve

feet on the Zambesi, becomes really exciting and dangerous work, for the

African variety, owing to the formation of its skull, cannot be brought

down by a forehead shot like the Indian variety. The giraffe and ostrich

are also hunted on horseback, and the plan adopted by hunters is to press

them at a hard gallop from the first, which causes them to lose their

wind and sometimes to drop dead from excitement. The ostrich, when at the

top of his speed, has been known to run at the rate of thirty miles an

hour, so that there is no hope of overtaking him in a direct chase, but

the stupid bird often delivers itself into the hands of its pursuers by

running in curves instead of speeding straight ahead.

The people of the Kalihari Desert are as characteristic of the soil and

climate as its vegetable life and four-footed beasts. They are of two

kinds, first Bushmen, who are true sons of the wilderness, wild men

of the desert, who live by the chase. They are of diminutive stature

and, like the dwarfs further north, are supposed to represent the real

aborigines of Africa. The second are remnants of the Bechuana tribes.

These have been driven into the desert by the pressure of stronger

peoples behind. They are a people who cling to their original love for

domestic animals, and watch their flocks of lean goats and meagre cattle

with great care. On the edges of the desert are the Boers, emigrant Dutch

farmers, who have fled from British rule in the Transvaal, as their

fathers fled from Cape Colony and Natal. The coming of these always

betokens trouble with the natives, and as gold miners and diamond diggers

are penetrating into the Kalihari Desert, we may expect to see British

authority close on their heels, and perhaps at no distant day fully

established on the banks of the Zambesi, unless forsooth, some other

nations should see fit to interfere.

[Illustration: IN THE RAPIDS.]

In his trip to Loanda, Livingstone had been seeking an outlet to the

Atlantic for the Makalolo people. On his return, they were dissatisfied

with his route and preferred an outlet eastward toward the Indian Ocean.

He therefore resolved to explore a path in this direction for them.

With all his wants abundantly supplied by the friendly chief Sekelutu,

he set out for this great journey and after a fortnight’s laborious

travel reached the Zambesi at the mouth of the Chobe, in November 1855.

Sailing down the Zambesi, Livingstone saw rising high into the air before

him, at a distance of six miles, five pillars of vapor with dark smoky

summits. The river was smooth and tranquil, and his boat glided placidly

over water clear as crystal, past lovely islands, densely covered with

tropical vegetation, and by high banks with red cliffs peering through

their back-ground of palm trees. The traveller was not altogether

unprepared for the marvels that lay ahead. Two hundred miles away he

had heard of the fame of the great gorge Mozi-oa-Tunia——“the sounding

smoke,” where the Zambesi mysteriously disappeared. As the falls were

approached the pulse of the river seemed to quicken. It was still more

than a mile wide, but it hurried over rapids, and chafed around points

of rocks, and the most careful and skillful navigation was needed, lest

the canoe should be dashed against a reef, or hurried helplessly down

the chasm. The mystery in front became more inexplicable the nearer it

was approached, for the great river seemed to disappear suddenly under

ground, leaving its bed of hard black rock and well defined banks. By

keeping the middle of the stream and cautiously paddling between the

rocks, he reached a small island on the tip of the Victoria Falls——a spot

where he planted some fruit trees, and for the only time on his travels

carved his initials on a tree in remembrance of his visit.

It could not be seen what became of the vast body of water, until the

explorer had crept up the dizzy edge of the chasm from below, and

peeped over into the dark gulf. The river, more than a mile in width,

precipitated itself sheer down into a rent extending at right angles

across its bed. The walls of the precipice were as cleanly cut as if done

by a knife, and no projecting crag broke the sheet of falling waters.

Four rocks, or rather small islands, on the edge of the falls divide them

into five separate cascades, and in front of each fall rises one of the

tall pillars of smoke which are visible in time of flood at a distance of

ten miles. Only at low water can the island on which Livingstone stood

be approached, for when the river is high any attempt to reach it would

result in a plunge into the abyss below. Against the black wall of the

precipice opposite the falls two, three, and sometimes four rainbows,

each forming three fourths of an arc, are painted on the ascending clouds

of spray, which continually rush up from the depths below. A fine rain

is constantly falling from these clouds, and the cliffs are covered with

dense, dripping vegetation. But the great sight is the cataract itself.

The rent in the rocks seems to be of comparatively recent formation, for

their edges are worn back only about three feet.

[Illustration: VICTORIA FALLS, OR MOZI-OA-TUNIA.]

Since Livingstone’s first visit, the falls have been more minutely

examined by other explorers, so that we now know more accurately their

dimensions and leading features. The breadth of the river at the falls

has been ascertained to be over 1860 yards, and the depth of the

precipice below the island 360 feet, or twice that of Niagara. At the

bottom of the rent, all the waters that have come over the falls rush

together in the centre of the gulf immediately beneath the island where,

confined in a space of twenty or thirty yards, they form a fearful

boiling whirlpool. From this a stream flows through the narrow channel

at right angles to the course above and, turning a sharp corner, emerges

into another chasm parallel with the first; then through another confined

gap to a third chasm; and so backward and forward in wild confusion

through forty miles of hills, until it breaks out into the level country

of the lower Zambesi. The rush of the river through this inaccessible

ravine is not so turbulent as might be imagined from its being pent in

between walls less than forty yards apart. It pushes its way with a

crushing, grinding motion, sweeping around the sharp corners with a swift

resistless ease that indicates plainly a great depth of water. It was

through this gap, caused by some unrecorded convulsion of the earth, that

the great lake which must have at one time occupied South Central Africa,

has been drained, and it forms undoubtedly the most wonderful natural

feature in Africa, if not in the world.

At the great falls of the Zambesi, named the Victoria Falls in honor of

the Queen of England, we are still a thousand miles from the sea, and

hundreds of miles from the first traces of civilization, such as appear

in the Portuguese possessions of eastern Africa.

Nature has been exceedingly lavish of her gifts in the Lower Zambesi

Valley, giving it a fertile soil, a splendid system of river

communication, and great stores of mineral and vegetable wealth,

everything indeed, that is necessary to make a prosperous country, except

a healthy climate, and industrious population. Here as upon the borders

of the Nile, war and slave hunting have cursed the country with an

apparently hopeless blight. Around the falls themselves are the scenes

of some of the most noteworthy events in Central African warfare. The

history of what are called the “Charka Wars,” has not yet and never will

be written, nevertheless they extended over as great an area and shook

as many thrones and dominions as those of Bonaparte himself. Charka was a

chief of the now familiar Zulu tribe, and grandfather of that celebrated

Cetywayo, whose ill-starred struggle with the English cost him his

country and his liberty, and whom we read of the other day as a royal

captive in the streets of London. It is said that he had heard of the

feats of the first Napoleon, and was smitten with a desire to imitate his

deeds. He formed his tribes into regiments, and these became the famous

Zulu bands which immediately began to make war on all their neighbors.

Conquered armies were incorporated into the Zulu army, and Charka went

on making conquests in Natal, Caffaria, and Southern Africa, leaving

the lands waste and empty. He spread the fame of the Zulus far into the

possessions of the English and Portuguese.

Turning north, he occupied the country as far as the Zambesi. Crossing

this stream, he moved into the regions between the Lakes Nyassa and

Tanganyika, then he carried his power to the westward as far as the

Victoria Falls, where he was met by the Makalolos, with whom Livingstone

has just made us familiar. In this people, under their chief, Sebituane,

he found an enemy worthy of his steel. This tribe could not be conquered

so long as their chief lived, but at his death their kingdom began to go

to pieces under Sekelutu, though he was not less brave and intelligent

than his father. It was over the smouldering embers of these wars that

Livingstone had to pass in his descent of the Zambesi.

As he descended the Zambesi and approached the Indian Ocean, the stream

gathered breadth and volume from great tributaries which flow into it on

either side. The Kafue, hardly smaller than the Zambesi itself, comes

into it from the north. Its course has still to be traced and its source

has yet to be visited. Further down, the Loangwa, also a mighty river,

enters it, and its banks, like those of the Kafue, are thickly populated,

and rich in mineral treasures. The great Zambesi sweeps majestically

on from one reach of rich tropical scenery to another. On its shores

are seen the villages of native fisherman. Their huts and clearings for

cotton and tobacco are girded about by dense jungles of bamboo, back

of which rise forests of palm. Behind the forests the grand hills slope

up steeply, diversified with clumps of timber and fringed with trees to

their summits. Behind, extend undulated plains of long grass to the base

of a second range of hills, the outer bank of the Zambesi Valley. Now

and then, on either bank, a river valley opens, whose sides are thickly

overgrown with jungle, above which rise the feathery tops of the palms

and the stately stems of the tamarind; on their margins, or on the slopes

above, herds of buffaloes, zebras, roebucks and wild pigs may be seen

peacefully grazing together, with occasionally a troop of elephants or

a solitary rhinoceros. Dr. Livingstone says, nowhere in all his travels

has he seen such an abundance of animal life as in this portion of the

Zambesi.

Yet it is possible even here to be alone. The high walls of grass

on either side of the jungle path seem to the traveller to be the

boundaries of the world. At times a strange stillness pervades the air,

and no sound is heard from bird or beast or living thing. In the midst

of this stillness, interruptions come like surprises and sometimes in

not a very pleasant form. Once while Dr. Livingstone was walking in a

reverie, he was startled by a female rhinoceros, followed by her calf,

coming thundering down along the narrow path, and he had barely time to

jump into a thicket in order to escape its charge. Occasionally a panic

stricken herd of buffaloes will make a rush through the centre of the

line of porters and donkeys, scattering them in wild confusion into the

bush and tossing perhaps the nearest man and animal into the air. Neither

the buffalo nor any other wild animal, however, will attack a human being

except when driven to an extremity. The lion or leopard, when watching

for their prey, will perhaps spring on the man who passes by. The

buffalo, if it thinks it is being surrounded, will make a mad charge to

escape, or the elephant, if wounded and brought to bay, or in defense of

its young, will turn on its pursuers. A “rogue” elephant or buffalo, who

has been turned out of the herd by his fellows for some fault or blemish,

and has become cross and ill-natured by his solitary life, has been

known to make an unprovoked attack on the first creature, man or beast,

that presents itself to his sight. Thus, one savage “rogue” buffalo,

furiously charged a native of Livingstone’s party, in the ascent of the

Zambesi in 1860, and the man had barely time to escape into a tree when

the huge head of the beast came crashing against the trunk with a shock

fit to crack both skull and tree. Backing again, he came with another

rush, and thus continued to beat the tree until seven shots were fired

into him.

[Illustration: CHARGE OF A BUFFALO.]

But as a rule, every untamed creature flees in terror on sighting

red-handed man.

[Illustration: NATIVE SLAVE HUNTERS.]

The only real obstacle to a descent of the Zambesi by steamer between

Victoria Falls and the sea, is what are called Kebrabesa Rapids, and even

the navigation of these is believed to be possible in time of flood, when

the rocky bed is smoothed over by deep water. In the ordinary state of

the river these rapids cannot be passed, although the inhuman experiment

has been tried of fastening slaves to a canoe and flinging them into

the river above the rapids. Dr. Kirk had here an accident which nearly

cost him his life. The canoe in which he was seated was caught in one of

the many whirlpools formed by the cataract, and driven broadside toward

the vortex. Suddenly a great upward boiling of the water, here nearly

one hundred feet deep, caught the frail craft, and dashed it against

a ledge of rock, which the doctor was fortunately able to grasp, and

thus save himself, though he lost all his scientific instruments. When

Livingstone’s boat, which was immediately behind the doctor’s reached the

spot, the yawning cavity of the whirlpool had momentarily closed up and

he passed over it in safety. All along the line of the Lower Zambesi we

find traces of Portuguese colonies, and also of the slave trade. Nowhere

in all Africa has this traffic been more flourishing or ruinous in its

effects, than in the colony of Mozambique. Here too, Livingstone was the

champion who, almost single handed, marched out and gave battle to this

many headed monster. Like Baker in the north, he inflicted upon it what

we must hope is a fatal wound. As with the Egyptian authorities in the

north, so the Portuguese authorities in the south, seem to have been

actively concerned with the slave dealers. They not only connived at it,

but profited by it. At one time, before slave trading became a business,

European influence and Christian civilization under the auspices of the

Jesuit missionaries extended far into the interior. At the confluence of

the Loangwa and Zambesi is still to be seen a ruined church of one of

the furthest outposts of the Jesuit fathers, its bell half buried in the

rank weeds. The spot is the scene of desolation now. Livingstone bears

generous testimony to the zeal, piety and self abnegation of these Jesuit

priests. Their plans and labors hindered the slave-gatherers’ success,

and it became necessary to get rid of them by calumny and often worse

weapons. With the failure of their mission perished all true progress and

discovery, and when Livingstone visited the Portuguese colonies on the

Zambesi, he found complete ignorance of the existence of the Victoria

Falls and only vague rumors of the existence of Lake Nyassa from which

the Shiré, the last of the great affluents of the Zambesi, was supposed

to flow.

Only ninety miles from the mouth of the great Zambesi, empties the Shiré

from the north. It is a strong, deep river, and twenty years ago was

unknown. It is navigable half way up, when it is broken by cataracts

which descend 1200 feet in thirty-five miles. If this river is always

bounded by sedgy banks, magnificent mountains are always in view on

either side. No vegetation could be richer than that found in its valley,

and its cotton is equal to our own Sea Island. The natives have both

the skill and the inclination to work. It is not a healthy region along

the river, for often the swamps are impenetrable to the base of the

mountains. Animal life abounds in all tropical forms. The glory of the

marshes is their hippopotami and elephants. Livingstone, in 1859, counted

800 of these animals in sight at once. But they have been greatly thinned

out by hunters.

From the cataracts of the Shiré, Livingstone made several searches for

lakes spoken of by the natives. He found Lake Shirwa amid magnificent

mountain scenery. But the great feature of the valley is Lake Nyassa, the

headwaters of the stream. It was discovered by Livingstone, September

16, 1859. It is 300 miles long and 60 wide. It resembles Albert Nyanza

and Tanganyika, with which it was formerly supposed to be connected.

Its shores are overhung by tall mountains, down which cascades plunge

into the lake. But once on the tops of these mountains, there is

no precipitous decline; only high table land stretching off in all

directions. The inhabitants are the wildest kind of Zulus, who carry

formidable weapons and paint their bodies in fiendish devices. They are

the victims of the slave traders to an extent which would shock even the

cruel Arab brigands of the White Nile.

Lake Nyassa is a “Lake of Storms.” Clouds are often seen approaching on

its surface, which turn out to be composed of “Kungo” flies, which are

gathered and eaten by the natives. The ladies all wear lip rings. Some of

the women have fine Jewish or Assyrian features, and are quite handsome.

The fine Alpine country north of Nyassa has not been explored, except

slightly by Elton and Thompson, who found it full of elephants, and one

of the grandest regions in the world for sublime mountain heights, deep

and fertile valleys, and picturesque scenery. The mountains rise to a

height of 12,000 to 14,000 feet, and are snow capped.

In the valley of the Shiré lie the bones of many an African explorer.

Bishop Mackensie is buried in its swamps. Thornton found a grave at the

foot of its cataracts. A few miles below its mouth, beneath a giant

baobab tree repose the remains of Mrs. Livingstone, and near her is the

resting place of Kirkpatrick, of the Zambesi Survey of 1826.

[Illustration: HUAMBO MAN AND WOMAN.]

Yet the thirst for discovery in the Zambesi country has not abated. Nor

will it till Nyassa, Tanganyika, and even Victoria and Albert Nyanza, are

approachable, for there can be no doubt that the Zambesi is an easier

natural inlet to the heart of Africa than either the Nile or Congo.

[Illustration: SAMBO WOMAN.]

[Illustration: GANGUELA WOMEN.]

No account of the Zambesi can be perfect without mention of Pinto’s

trip across the continent of Africa. He started from Benguela, on the

Atlantic, in 1877, under the auspices of the Portuguese Government

and in two years reached the eastern coast. He was a careful observer

of the people, and his journey was through the countries of the Nano,

Huambo, Sambo, Moma, Bihé, Cubango, Ganguelas, Luchazes and others till

he struck the Zambesi River. His observations of manners and customs are

very valuable to the student and curious to the general reader. His work

abounds in types of African character, and in descriptions of that art

of dressing hair which Christian ladies are ever willing to copy but in

which they cannot excel their dusky sisters. It takes sometimes two or

three days to build up, for African ladies, their triumphs of barbers’

art, but they last for as many months. The Huambo people, male and

female, enrich their hair with coral beads in a way that sets it off with

much effect. The Sambo women, though not so pretty in the face, affect a

louder style of head dress, and one which may pass as more artistic. But

Pinto was prepared to wonder how human hair could ever be gotten into

the various artistic shapes found on the heads of the Ganguela women.

Their skill and patience in braiding seemed to be without limit. The Bihé

head dress was more flaunting but not a whit less becoming. Indeed there

seemed in all the tribes to be a special adaptation of their art to form

and features, but whether it was the result of study or accident, Pinto

could not of course tell, being a man and not up in ladies’ toilets. The

Quimbande girls wore their hair comparatively straight, but their heads

were covered with cowries bespangled with coral beads. The Cabango women

have a happy knack of thatching their heads with their hair in such a way

as to give the impression that you are looking on an excellent job of

Holland tiling, or on the over-lapping scales of a fish.

[Illustration: BIHE HEAD DRESS.]

[Illustration: QUIMBANDE GIRLS.]

[Illustration: CABANGO HEAD DRESS.]

The Luchaze women evidently take their models from the grass covers of

their huts. They make a closely woven mat of their hair which has the

appearance of fitting the scalp like a cap. The Ambuella head dress is as

neatly artistic as any modern lady could desire. Indeed there is nothing

in civilized countries to approach it in its combination of beauty and

adaption for the purposes intended.

[Illustration: LUCHAZE WOMAN.]

[Illustration: AMBUELLA WOMAN.]

Pinto’s journey across Africa was one of comparative leisure. He was

well equipped, and was scarcely outside of a tribe that had not heard

of Portuguese authority, which extends inland a great ways from both

the east and west sides of the Continent. He did not however escape the

ordinary hardships of African travel, even if he had time to observe and

make record of many things which escaped the eye of other explorers.

The high carnival, or annual festival, of the Sova Mavanda was a

revelation to him. He had seen state feasts and war dances, but in this

the dancing was conducted with a regularity seldom witnessed on the

stage, and the centre of attraction was the Sova chief, masked after the

fashion of a harlequin, and seemingly as much a part of the performance

as a clown in a circus ring.

The rivers of this part of Africa are a prominent obstacle in a

traveller’s path. Even where they are bordered by wide, sedgy swamps,

there is in the centre a deep channel, and nearly always an absence of

canoes. But the natives are quick to find out fording places which are

generally where the waters run swiftly over sand-bars. Pinto’s passage of

the Cuchibi was affected at a fording where the bar was very narrow, the

water on either side 10 to 12 feet deep, and the current running at the

rate of 65 yards a minute. It was a difficult task, but was completed in

less than two hours by his whole party, and without accident.

[Illustration: MASKED CHIEF AND SOVA DANCE.]

[Illustration: FORDING THE CUCHIBI.]

After striking the tributaries of the Zambesi, he followed them to their

junction with the main stream in the very heart of Africa. Then he

descended the Zambesi in canoes to the mouth of the Cuango, or Chobe,

in the country of the Makalolos. He passed by the Gonye Falls, and down

through the Lusso Rapids, where safety depends entirely on the skill of

the native canoemen. After passing these rapids, which occupy miles of

the river’s length, he came into the magnificent Barotze region where

the river waters a finer plain than the Nile in any of its parts. But

Livingstone has already made us familiar with the Zambesi throughout all

these parts. Yet it is due to Pinto to say he made, with the instruments

at his command, more careful observations of the great Victoria Falls

(Mozi-oa-tunia) than any previous explorer, especially from below. He

could not get a height of over 246 feet, owing to the difficulty of

seeing to the bottom of the gorge, and found the verge broken into three

sections, one of a width of 1312 feet, another of 132 feet, and the

remainder a saw-like edge over which the waters poured smoothly only when

the stream was full.

[Illustration: VICTORIA FALLS FROM BELOW.]

“These falls,” says Pinto, “can be neither properly depicted nor

described. The pencil and the pen are alike at fault, and in fact, save

at their western extremity, the whole are enveloped in a cloud of vapor

which, perhaps fortunately, hides half the awfulness of the scene. It is

not possible to survey this wonder of nature without a feeling of terror

and of sadness creeping over the mind. Up at the Gonye Falls everything

is smiling and beautiful, here at Mozi-oa-tunia everything is frowning,

and awful.”

Pinto’s journey was now southward across the great Kalihari Desert, and

thence to the eastern coast. We must go with him to the centre of this

desert, for he unravels a secret there in the shape of “The Great Salt

Pan.”

We remember Livingstone’s discovery of Lake Ngami, into which and out

of which pours the Cubango river, to be afterwards lost in the central

Salt Pan of the desert. Pinto discovered that this “Salt Pan” received,

in the rainy season, many other large tributaries, and then became an

immense lake, or rather system of pans or lakes, ten to fifteen feet deep

and from 50 to 150 miles long. This vast system, he says, communicates

with Lake Ngami by means of the Cubango, or Zonga River, on nearly the

same level. If Ngami rises by means of its inflow, the current is down

the Cubango toward the “Salt Pans.” If however the “Pans” overflow, by

means of their other tributaries, the current is up the Cubango toward

Lake Ngami. So that among the other natural wonders of Africa we have not

only a system of great rivers pouring themselves into an inland sea with

no outlet except the clouds, but also a great river actually flowing two

ways for a distance of over a hundred miles, as the one or the other lake

on its course happens to be fullest.

THE CONGO.

Lake Tanganyika had been known to the Arab slave hunters of the east

coast of Africa long before the white man gazed upon its bright blue

waters. These cunning, cruel people had good reasons for guarding well

the secret of its existence. Yet popular report of it gave it many an

imaginary location and dimension. What is remarkable about it is that

since it has been discovered and located, it has taken various lengths

and shapes under the eye of different observers, and though it has been

circumnavigated, throughout its 1200 miles of coast, no one can yet be

quite positive whether it has an outlet or not.

It is 600 miles inland from Zanzibar, or the east coast of Africa, and

almost in the centre of that wonderful basin whose reservoirs contribute

to the Nile, Zambesi and Congo. The route from Zanzibar half way to the

lake is a usual one, and we need not describe it. The balance of the way,

through the Ugogo and Unyamwezi countries, is surrounded by the richest

African verdure and diversified by running streams and granitic slopes,

with occasional crags. At length the mountain ranges which surround the

lake are reached, and when crossed there appear on the eastern shore the

thatched houses of Ujiji, the rendezvous of all expeditions, scientific,

commercial and missionary, that have ever reached these mysterious waters.

Burton and Speke were the white discoverers of Tanganyika. It seemed to

them the revelation of a new world——a sight to make men hold their breath

with a rush of new thoughts, as when Bilboa and his men stood silent on

that peak in Darien and gazed upon the Pacific Ocean.

Fifteen years later Cameron struck it and could not believe that the

vast grey expanse was aught else than clouds on the distant mountains of

Ugoma, till closer observation proved the contrary.

Livingstone struck it from the west side. It was on his last journey

through Africa, he had entered upon that journey at Zanzibar, in April

1866, and made for Lake Nyassa and its outlet the Shiré River, both of

which have been described in connection with the Zambesi.

[Illustration: BURTON AND SPEKE ON TANGANYIKA.]

Then began that almost interminable ramble to which he fell a victim.

He was full of the theory that no traveller had yet seen the true head

waters of the Nile——in other words that neither Victoria nor Albert

Nyanza were its ultimate reservoirs, but that they were to be found

far below the equator in that bewildering “Lake Region” which never

failed to reveal wonderful secrets to such as sought with a patience and

persistency like his own.

He was supported in this by the myths of the oldest historians, by

the earliest guesses which took the shape of maps, by the traditions

of the natives that boats had actually passed from Albert Nyanza into

Tanganyika, but above all by the delusion that the great river Lualaba,

which he afterwards found flowing northward from lakes far to the south

of Tanganyika, could not be other than the Nile itself.

On his way westward from Lake Nyassa, he came upon the Loangwa River, a

large affluent of the Zambesi from the north. Crossing this, and bearing

northwest, he confronted the Lokinga Mountains, from whose crests he

looked down into the valley of the Chambesi. It was clear that these

mountains formed a shed which divided the waters of the central basin,

or lake region, of Africa from those which ran south into the Zambesi.

Had he discovered the true sources of the Nile at last? Where did those

waters go to, if not to the Mediterranean? The journal of his last

travels is full of soliloquies and refrains touching the glory of a

discovery which should vindicate his theory and set discussion at rest.

And what was he really looking down upon from that mountain height?

The Chambesi——affluent of Lake Bangweola? Yes. But vastly more. He was

looking on the head waters of the northward running Lualaba, which proved

his _ignis fatuus_ and led him a six year dance through the wilderness

and to his grave. The Lualaba has been christened Livingstone River, in

honor of the great explorer. Then again it was only the Lualaba in name,

which he was pursuing, with the hope that it would turn out to be the

Nile. It was really the great Congo, for after the Lualaba runs northeast

toward Albert Nyanza, and to a point far above the equator, it makes a

magnificent sweep westward, and southwestward, and seeks the Atlantic at

a point not ten degrees above the latitude of its source.

Thus was Livingstone perpetually deceived. But for all that we must

ever admire his enthusiasm for research and his heroism under extreme

difficulties. When he plunged down the mountain side into the depths of

the forests that lined the Chambesi, it was to enter a night of wandering

which had no star except the meeting of Stanley at Ujiji in 1871, and no

morning at all. What a story of heroic adventure lies in those years!

Ere his death, his followers had deserted him, carrying back to the coast

lying stories of his having been murdered. Trusted servants ran away

with his medicine chest, leaving him no means of fighting the deadly

diseases which from that hour began to break down his strength. The

country ahead had been wasted and almost emptied of inhabitants by the

slave-traders. Hunger and thirst were the daily companions of his march.

Constant exposure to wet brought on rheumatism and ague; painful ulcers

broke out in his feet; pneumonia, dysentery, cholera, miasmatic fever,

attacked him by turns; but still, so long as his strength was not utterly

prostrated, the daily march had to be accomplished. Still more trying

than the fatigue were the vexatious delays, extending sometimes over

many months, caused by wars, epidemics, or inundation, that frequently

compelled him to retrace his steps when apparently on the verge of some

great discovery. Often, in order to make progress, he had no alternative

but to attach his party to some Arab expedition which, under pretence of

ivory-trading, had come out to plunder, to kidnap, and to murder. The

terrible scenes of misery and slaughter of which he was thus compelled to

be the witness, had perhaps a stronger and more depressing effect on his

mind than all the other trials that fell to his lot. “I am heart-broken

and sick of the sight of human blood,” he writes, as he turns, baffled,

weary, and broken in health from one line of promising exploration to

another.

He has left us only rough jottings of this story of wild adventure and

strange discovery. For weeks at a time no entries are found in his

journal. The hand that should have written them was palsied with fever,

the busy brain stunned into unconsciousness, and the tortured body borne

by faithful attendants through novel scenes on which the eager explorer

could no longer open his eyes. His letters were stolen by Arabs——both

those going to and coming from him. Yet his disjointed notes, written

on scraps of old newspapers with ink manufactured by himself out of the

seeds of native plants, tell a more affecting tale of valuable discovery

than many a carefully written narrative.

He gives us glimpses into the Chambesi jungles, whose population has

been almost swept away by the slave dealers. Fires sweep over the virgin

lands in the dry season. A single year restores to them their wonted

verdure. Song birds relieve the stillness of the African forests, but

those of gayest plumage are silent. The habits of bees, ants, beetles

and spiders are noted, and of the ants, found in all parts of Africa,

those in these central regions build the most palatial structures. The

most ferocious enemy of the explorer is not the portentous weapon of

lion’s claw, rhinoceros’ horn, or elephant’s tusk, but a small fly——the

notorious tsetse, whose bite is death to baggage animals, whose swarms

have brought ruin to many a promising expedition, and whose presence is a

more effectual barrier to the progress of civilization than an army of a

million natives.

[Illustration: ANT HILL 13 FEET HIGH.]

Then he is full of quaint observations on the lion, for which he had

little respect, and on the more lordly elephant and rhinoceros. A glade

suddenly opens where a group of shaggy buffaloes are grazing, or a herd

of startled giraffes scamper away through the foliage with their long

necks looking like “locomotive obelisks.” Then comes a description of a

hippopotamus hunt——“the bravest thing I ever saw.”

[Illustration: TOP: GIBBON. LEFT: CHIMPANZEE. RIGHT: ORANG. BOTTOM:

GORILLA.]

Again the night is often made hideous by the shrieks of the

soko——probably the gorilla of Du Chaillu, and of which Cameron heard on

Tanganyika and Stanley on the Lualaba. But only Livingstone has given

us authentic particulars of it. Its home is among the trees, but it can

run on the ground with considerable speed, using its long fore-arms as

crutches, and “hitching” itself along on its knuckles. In some respects

it behaves quite humanly. It makes a rough bed at night among the trees,

and will draw a spear from its body and staunch the wound with grass. It

is a pot-bellied, wrinkled-faced, human-featured animal with incipient

whiskers and beard. It will not attack an unarmed man or woman but will

spring on a man armed with a spear or stick. In attack it will seize the

intruder in its powerful arms, get his hand into its mouth, and one by

one bite off his fingers and spit them out. It has been known to kidnap

babies, and carry them up into the trees, but this seems to be more out

of sport than mischief. In his family relations the male soko is a model

of affection——assisting the mother to carry her young and attending

strictly to the proprieties of soko society. A young soko which was in

the doctor’s possession had many intelligent and winning ways, showed

great affection and gratitude, was careful in making its bed and tucking

itself in every night, and scrupulously wiped its nose with leaves. In

short, it must be allowed, that the native verdict, that the “soko has

good in him,” is borne out by the known facts, and that in some respects

he compares not unfavorably, both in character and manners, with some of

the men we make acquaintance with in our wanderings through Africa.

It was in April 1867, one year after his start from Zanzibar, that

Livingstone crossed the Chambesi, and soon afterwards found himself on

the mountains overlooking Lake Liemba, which proved to be none other

than the southern point of our old friend Lake Tanganyika. Thence he

zigzagged westward over sponge covered earth till he struck Lake Moero,

with a stream flowing into its southern end——really the Lualaba, on its

way from Lake Bangweola——and out at its northern——again the Lualaba——into

other lakes which the natives spoke of. Now, more than ever before, he

was persuaded that he was on the headwaters of the Nile, and he would

have followed his river up only to surprise himself by coming out into

the Atlantic through the mouth of the great Congo, if it had not been for

native wars ahead.

Then he put back to examine a great lake of this river system, which the

natives said existed south of Lake Moero. After a tramp of weeks through

wet and dry, he found himself on the marshy banks of Lake Bangweola.

Close by where he struck it, was its outlet, the Lualaba, here known as

Luapula. It is a vast reservoir, 200 miles long by 130 broad, and has no

picturesque surroundings, but is interspersed with many beautiful islands.

[Illustration: A SOKO HUNT.]

Confident now that he had the true source of the Nile——for the

water-shed to the south told him that every thing below it ran into the

Zambesi——nothing remained but for him to return to where he had left off

his survey of the Lualaba, far to the north, and to follow that stream

till he proved the truth of his theory. In going thither he would take

in Lake Tanganyika. It was a terrible journey. For sixteen days he was

carried in a litter under a burning sun, through marshy hollows and over

rough hills. Sight of Tanganyika revived his drooping spirits, but he

feared he must die before reaching Ujiji. It was March 1869, before he

reached the coveted resting place, but he found awaiting him no aid,

no medicines, no letters. He had been dead to the world for three long

years. King Mirambo was off on the war-path against the Arabs, and

Livingstone had to wait, undergoing slow recovery for many months.

At length, following in the trail of Arab slave dealers who had never

before penetrated so far westward of the lake, and frequent witness of

their barbarities, he reached a point on the Lualaba as far north as

Nyangwe, where the river already began to take the features of cliff

and cañon which Stanley found to belong to the lower Congo, and where

the natives showed the prevalence of those caste ideas which prevail on

the western coast but are unknown on the eastern. The region was also

one of gigantic woods, into which the sun’s rays never penetrated, and

beneath which were pools of water which never dried up. The river flats

were a mass of luxuriant jungle, abounding in animal life. Livingstone

was greatly annoyed at one of his halting places by the depredations

of leopards on his little flock of goats. A snare gun was set for the

offenders. It was heard to go off one night, and his attendants rushed to

the scene with their lances. The prize had been struck and both its hind

legs were broken. It was thought safe to approach it, but when one of the

party did so, the stricken beast sprang upon the man’s shoulder and tore

him fearfully before being killed. He was a huge male and measured six

feet eight inches from nose to tail.

[Illustration: A DANGEROUS PRIZE.]

Nyangwe, the furthest point of his journey up, or rather down, the

Lualaba, or Congo, is in the country of the Manyuema, the finest race

Livingstone had seen in Africa. The females are beautiful in feature and

form. The country is thickly peopled, and they have made considerable

progress in agriculture and the arts. Villages appear at intervals of

every two or three miles. The houses are neatly built, with red painted

walls, thatched roofs, and high doorways. The inhabitants are clever

smiths, weavers and tanners, and all around are banana groves and

fields tilled in maize, potatoes and tapioca. The chiefs are important

personages, who exercise arbitrary authority and dress regally.

Livingstone suspected they practised cannibalism, but could not prove

it. Stanley noticed a row of 180 skulls decorating one of their village

streets. He was told they were soko skulls, but carrying two away, he

presented them to Prof. Huxley, who pronounced them negro craniums of the

usual type.

[Illustration: NYANGWE MARKET.]

One of their great institutions is the market, held in certain villages

on stated days. People come to these from great distances to exchange

their fish, goats, ivory, oil, pottery, skins, cloth, ironware, fruit,

vegetables, salt, grain, fowls, and even slaves. There is a great variety

of costume, loud crying of wares, much bargaining and no inconsiderable

hilarity. The market at Nyangwe is held every four days, and the

assemblage numbers as many as 3000 people. Even in war times market

people are allowed to go to and fro without molestation.

The Arab slave traders are fast demoralizing these people. They set the

different tribes to fighting and then step in and carry off multitudes

of slaves. One fine market day these miscreants suddenly appeared among

the throng of unsuspecting people and began an indiscriminate firing.

They fled in all directions, many jumping into the river. The sole

object of the slave stealers was to strike terror into the hearts of the

inhabitants by showing the power of a gun. Livingstone witnessed this

unprovoked massacre and thought that five hundred innocent lives were

lost in it.

He found the Lualaba a full mile wide at Nyangwe, and still believed

it to be the Nile. In this firm belief he ceased to follow the stream

further and turned his weary feet back to Ujiji on Tanganyika. It will

always be a mystery how Livingstone could have nursed his delusion that

he was on the Nile, for so long a time. The moment Cameron set his eyes

on the Lualaba, he saw that it could not be the Nile, for its volume of

water was many times larger than that of the Nile, and moreover its level

was many hundred feet lower than the White Nile at Gondokoro. And though

Stanley had the profoundest respect for the views of the great explorer,

he hardly doubted that in descending the Lualaba he would emerge into the

Atlantic through the mouth of the great Congo.

Now while Livingstone is struggling foot-sore, sick, dejected, almost

deserted, back to Ujiji on the Lake Tanganyika, for rest, for medicine,

for news from home, after he has been lost for five long years, and after

repeated rumors of his death had been sent from Zanzibar to England, what

is taking place in the outside world?

On October 16, 1869, Henry M. Stanley, a correspondent of the New York

_Herald_, was at Madrid in Spain. On that date he received a dispatch

from James Gordon Bennett, owner of the _Herald_, dated Paris. It read,

“Come to Paris on important business.”

With an American correspondent’s instinct and promptitude, Mr. Stanley

knocked at Mr. Bennett’s door on the next night.

“Who are you?” asked Bennett.

“Stanley,” was the reply.

“Yes; sit down. Where do you think Livingstone is?”

“I do not know sir.”

“Well, I think he is alive and can be found. I am going to send you to

find him.”

“What! Do you really think I can find Livingstone? Do you mean to send me

to Central Africa?”

“Yes, I mean you shall find him wherever he is. Get what news you can of

him. And, may be he is in want. Take enough with you to help him. Act

according to your own plans. But——_find Livingstone_.”

By January, 1871, Stanley was at Zanzibar. He hired an escort, provided

himself with a couple of boats, and in 236 days, after an adventurous

journey, was at Ujiji on Tanganyika.

It was November, 1871. For weary months two heroes had been struggling

in opposite directions in the African wilds——Livingstone eastward from

Nyangwe on the Lualaba, to find succor at Ujiji on Tanganyika Lake,

Stanley westward from Zanzibar to carry that succor and greetings, should

the great explorer be still alive.

Providence had a hand in the meeting. Livingstone reached Ujiji just

before Stanley. On November 2, Stanley, while pushing his way up the

slopes which surrounded Tanganyika met a caravan. He asked the news, and

was thrilled to find that a white man had just reached Ujiji, from the

Manyuema.

“A white man?”

“Yes, a white man.”

“How is he dressed?”

“Like you.”

“Young, or old?” “Old; white hair, and sick.”

“Was he ever there before?”

[Illustration: STANLEY’S FIRST SIGHT OF TANGANYIKA.]

“Yes; a long time ago.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Stanley, “it is Livingstone. March quickly my men. He

may go away again!”

They pressed up the slopes and in a few days were in sight of Tanganyika.

The looked for hour was at hand.

“Unfurl your flags and load your guns!” he cried to his companions.

“We will, master, we will!”

“One, two, three——fire!”

[Illustration: MEETING OF LIVINGSTONE AND STANLEY.]

A volley from fifty guns echoed along the hills. Ujiji was awakened.

A caravan was coming, and the streets were thronged to greet it. The

American flag was at first a mystery, but the crowd pressed round the new

comers. Stanley pushed his way eagerly, all eyes about him.

“Good morning, sir!”

“Who are you?” he startlingly inquired.

“Susi; Dr. Livingstone’s servant.”

“Is Livingstone here?”

“Sure, sir; sure. I have just left him.”

“Run, Susi; and tell the Doctor I am coming.”

Susi obeyed. Every minute the crowd was getting denser. At length Susi

came breaking through to ask the stranger’s name. The doctor could not

understand it all, and had sent to find out, but at the same time in

obedience to his curiosity, had come upon the street.

Stanley saw him and hastened to where he was.

“Dr. Livingstone, I presume.”

“Yes,” said he with a cordial smile, lifting his hat.

They grasped each other’s hands. “Thank God!” said Stanley, “I have been

permitted to see you!”

“Thankful I am that I am here to welcome you,” was the doctor’s reply.

They turned toward the house, and remained long together, telling each

other of their adventures; hearing and receiving news. At length Stanley

delivered his batch of letters from home to the doctor, and he retired to

read them.

Then came a long and happy rest for both the explorers. Livingstone

improved in health and spirits daily. His old enthusiasm was restored and

he would be on his travels again. But he was entirely out of cloth and

trinkets, was reduced to a retinue of five men, and had no money to hire

more.

One day Stanley said, “have you seen the north of Tanganyika yet?”

“No; I tried to get there, but could not. I have no doubt that Tanganyika

as we see it here is really the Upper Tanganyika, that the Albert Nyanza

of Baker is the Lower Tanganyika, and that they are connected by a river.”

Poor fellow! Did ever mortal man cling so to a delusion, put such faith

in native stories and old traditions.

Stanley proposed to lend his assistance to the doctor, to settle the

question of Tanganyika’s northern outlet. The doctor consented; and now

began a journey, which was wholly unlike the doctor’s five year tramp. He

was in a boat and had a congenial and enthusiastic companion.

[Illustration: LIVINGSTONE AND STANLEY ON TANGANYIKA.]

Tanganyika, like the Albert Nyanza which pours a Nile flood, and Nyassa

which flows through the Shiré into the Zambesi, is an immense trough sunk

far below the table-land which occupies the whole of Central Africa.

Its surrounding mountains are high. Its length is nearly 500 miles, its

waters deep, clear and brackish. Whither does it send its surplus waters?

We have seen that Livingstone was sure it emptied through the Nile. This

was what he and Stanley were to prove. In November 1871, three weeks

after the two had so providentially met at Ujiji, they were on their

voyage in two canoes. They coasted till they came to what Burton and

Speke supposed to be the end of the lake, which turned out to be a huge

promontory. Beyond this the lake widens and stretches for sixty miles

further, overhung with mountains 7000 feet high. At length they reached

the northern extremity where they had been assured by the natives that

the waters flowed through an outlet. No outlet there. On the contrary

seven broad inlets puncturing the reeds, through which the Rusizi River

poured its volume of muddy water into the lake, from the north. Here

was disappointment, yet a revelation. No Nile source in Tanganyika——at

least not where it was expected to be found. Its outlet must be sought

for elsewhere. Some thought it might connect eastward with Nyassa. But

what of the great water-shed between the two lakes? Others thought

it might have its outpour this way and that. Livingstone, puzzled

beyond propriety, thought it might have an underground outlet into the

Lualaba, and even went so far as to repeat a native story in support of

his notion, that at a point in the Ugoma mountains the roaring of an

underground river could be heard for miles.

Nothing that Livingstone and Stanley did, helped to solve the mystery

of an outlet, except their discovery of the Rusizi, at the north, which

was an inlet. After a three weeks cruise they returned to Ujiji, whence

Stanley started back for Zanzibar, accompanied part way by Livingstone.

After many days’ journey they came to Unyanyembe where they parted

forever, Stanley to hasten to Zanzibar and Livingstone to return to the

wilds to settle finally the Nile secret. Stanley protested, owing to the

doctor’s physical condition. But the enthusiasm of travel and research

was upon him to the extent that he would not hear.

Stanley had left ample supplies at Unyanyembe. These he divided with the

doctor, so that he was well off in this respect. He further promised to

hire a band of porters for him at Zanzibar and send them to him in the

interior. They parted on March 13, 1872.

“God guide you home safe, and bless you, my friend,” were the doctor’s

words.

“And may God bring you safe back to us all, my dear friend! Farewell!”

“Farewell!”

This was the last word Doctor Livingstone ever spoke to a white man. They

wrung each other’s hands. Stanley was overcome, and turned away. He cried

to his men, “Forward March!” and the sad scene closed.

Livingstone waited at Unyanyembe for the escort Stanley had promised to

send. They came by August, and on the 14 of the month (1872) he started

for the southern point of Tanganyika, which he rounded, to find no

outlet there. Then he struck for Lake Bangweolo, intending to solve all

its river mysteries. That lake was to him an ultimate reservoir for all

waters flowing north, and if the Lualaba should prove to be the Nile,

then he felt he had its true source.

This journey was a horrible one in every respect. It rained almost

incessantly. The path was miry and amid dripping grass and cane. The

country was flat and the rivers all swollen. It was impossible to tell

river from marsh. The country was not inhabited. Food grew scarce. The

doctor became so weak that he had to be carried across the rivers on the

back of his trusty servant Susi. One stream, crossed on January 24, 1873,

was 2000 feet wide and so deep that the waters reached Susi’s mouth, and

the doctor got as wet as his carrier.

These were the dark, dismal surroundings of Lake Bangweolo. Amid such

hardships they skirted the northern side of the lake, crossed the

Chambesi at its eastern end, where the river is 300 yards wide and 18

feet deep, and turned their faces westward along the south side.

The doctor was now able to walk no further. When he tried to climb on his

donkey he fell to the ground from sheer weakness. His faithful servants

took him on their shoulders, or bore him along in a rudely constructed

litter. On April 27, 1873, his last entry reads, “Knocked up quite, and

remain——recover——sent to buy milch goats. We are on banks of the R.

Molilamo.”

[Illustration: THE STREAM CAME UP TO SUSI’S MOUTH.]

His last day’s march was on a litter through interminable marsh and rain.

His bearers had to halt often, so violent were his pains and so great his

exhaustion. He spoke kindly to his humble attendants and asked how many

days’ march it was to the Lualaba.

[Illustration: LIVINGSTONE’S LAST DAY’S MARCH.]

Susi replied that “it was a three days’ march.”

“Then,” said the dying man, “I shall never see my river again.” The

malarial poison was already benumbing his faculties. Even the fountains

of the Nile had faded into dimness before his mind’s eye.

He was placed in a hut in Chitambo’s village, on April 29, after his

last day’s journey, where he lay in a semi-conscious state through the

night, and the day of April 30. At 11 P.M. on the night of the 30, Susi

was called in and the doctor told him he wished him to boil some water,

and for this purpose he went to the fire outside, and soon returned with

the copper kettle full. Calling him close, he asked him to bring his

medicine-chest, and to hold the candle near him, for the man noticed he

could hardly see. With great difficulty Dr. Livingstone selected the

calomel, which he told him to place by his side; then, directing him to

pour a little water into a cup, and to put another empty one by it, he

said in a low, feeble voice, “All right; you can go out now.” These were

the last words he was ever heard to speak.

It must have been about 4 A.M. when Susi heard Majwara’s step once more.

“Come to Bwana, I am afraid; I don’t know if he is alive.” The lad’s

evident alarm made Susi run to arouse Chuma, Chowperé, Matthew, and

Muanuaséré, and the six men went immediately to the hut.

Passing inside, they looked toward the bed. Dr. Livingstone was not lying

on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew

backward for the instant. Pointing to him, Mujwara said, “When I lay

down he was just as he is now, and it is because I find that he does

not move that I fear he is dead.” They asked the lad how long he had

slept. Majwara said he could not tell, but he was sure that it was some

considerable time: the men drew nearer.

A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of the box, shed a light

sufficient for them to see his form. Dr. Livingstone was kneeling by the

side of his bed, his body stretched forward, his head buried in his

hands upon the pillow. For a minute they watched him: he did not stir,

there was no sign of breathing; then one of them, Matthew, advanced

softly to him and placed his hands to his cheeks. It was sufficient; life

had been extinct some time, and the body was almost cold: Livingstone was

dead.

[Illustration: DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE.]

His sad-hearted servants raised him tenderly up and laid him full length

on the bed. They then went out to consult together, and while there they

heard the cocks crow. It was therefore between midnight and morning of

May 1, 1873, his spirit had taken its flight. His last African journey

began in 1866.

The noble Christian philanthropist, the manful champion of the weak and

oppressed, the unwearied and keen-eyed lover of nature, the intrepid

explorer whose name is as inseparably connected with Africa as that of

Columbus is with America, had sunk down exhausted in the very heart of

the continent, with his life-long work still unfinished. His highest

praise is that he spent thirty years in the darkest haunts of cruelty

and savagery and yet never shed the blood of his fellow-man. The noblest

testimony to his character and his influence is the conduct of that

faithful band of native servants who had followed his fortunes so long

and so far, and who, embalming his body, and secretly preserving all his

papers and possessions, carried safely back over the long weary road to

the coast all that remained of the hero and his work.

Cameron was on his way toward Ujiji to rescue Livingstone when he heard

of his death. He pursued his journey and reached Lake Tanganyika,

determined to unravel the mystery of its outlet. He started on a sailing

tour around the lake in March 1874. His flag boat was the “Betsy.” He

only got half way round, but in this distance he counted the mouths of

a hundred rivers, and found the shores constantly advancing in bold

headlands and receding in deep bays. Both land and water teem with animal

life. Elephants abounded in the jungles, rhinoceri and hippopotami were

frequently seen, and many varieties of fish were caught. In one part the

cliffs of the shores were sandstone, in another they were precipices of

black marble, here were evidences of a coal formation, there crags of

chalk whose bases were as clearly cut by the waves as if done with a

knife. In many places cascades tumbled over the crags showing that the

table land above was like a sponge filled with moisture.

The native boatmen were lazy and full of superstitions. Every crag and

island seemed to be the resort of a demon of some kind, whose power for

harm had no limit in their imaginations. Never but once, and that in the

country of King Kasongo, had he seen the natives fuller of credulity nor

more subject to the powers of witchcraft and magic. Their stories of the

various forms of devils which dwelt in out of the way places were wilder

than any childish fiction, and their magicians had unbridled control of

their imaginations.

[Illustration: KING KASONGO’S MAGICIANS.]

Cameron’s course was southward from Ujiji. He turned the southern end

of the lake and found no outlet there. But he saw some of the most

extraordinary examples of rock and tree scenery in the world. There were

magnificent terraces of rock which looked as if they had been built by

the hands of man, and scattered and piled in fantastic confusion were

over-hanging blocks, rocking stones, obelisks, and pyramids. All were

overhung with trees whose limbs were matted together by creepers. It

was like a transformation scene in a pantomime rather than a part of

Mother Earth, and one seemed to await the opening of the rocks and the

appearance of the spirits. Not long to wait. The creepers sway and are

pulled apart. An army of monkeys swing themselves into the foreground

and, hanging by their paws, stop and chatter and gibber at the strange

sight of a boat. A shout from the boatmen, and they are gone with a

concerted scream which echoes far and wide along the shores.

The inhabitants are not impressive or numerous on the shores, yet

they show art in dress, and in manufactures. They have been terribly

demoralized by the slave traders, and many sections depopulated entirely.

While sailing up the western shore of the lake, Cameron thought he found

what was the long sought for outlet of Tanganyika——the traditional

connecting link between it and Lakes Ngami and Albert Nyanza. Of a sudden

the mountains broke away and a huge gap appeared in the shores. There was

evidently a river there, and his boat appeared to be in a current setting

toward it. The natives said it was the Lukuga, and that it flowed out of

the lake westward toward the Lualaba.

But alas for human credulity. Cameron ran into the Lukuga for seven or

eight miles, found it a reedy lagoon, without current, stood up in his

boat and looked seven or eight miles further toward a break in the hills,

beyond which he was told the river ran away in a swift current from the

lake, and then he returned home to tell the wondrous story. Tanganyika

had an outlet after all. The wise men all said, “I told you so; the lake

is no more mysterious than any other.” Why Cameron should have stopped

short on the eve of so great a discovery, or why he should have palmed

off a native story as a scientific fact, can only be accounted for by the

fact that he was sick during most of his cruise and at times delirious

with fever. While it was thought that he had clarified the Tanganyika

situation, it was really more of a mystery than when Burton and Speke, or

Livingstone and Stanley, left it.

We here strike again the track of our own explorer Stanley. We have

already followed him on his first African journey to Ujiji to find

Livingstone, in 1871-72. We have seen also in our article on “The Sources

of the Nile,” how he started on his second journey in 1874, determined

to complete the work of Livingstone, by clearing up all doubts about the

Nile sources. This involved a two-fold duty, first to fully investigate

the Lakes Victoria Nyanza and Albert Nyanza; second the outlets of

Tanganyika and the secret of the great Lualaba, which had so mystified

Livingstone.

In pursuit of this mission we followed him to Victoria Nyanza, on his

second journey, and saw how he was entertained by King Mtesa, and what

adventures he had on the Victoria Nyanza. He settled it beyond doubt

that the Victoria was a single large lake, with many rivers running into

it, the chief of which was the Alexandra Nile. This done, he had hoped

to visit Albert Nyanza, but the hostility of the natives prevented. He

therefore turned southwestward toward Tanganyika, and on his way fell

in with the old King Mirambo with whom he ratified a friendship by the

solemn ceremony of “blood brotherhood.” The American and African sat

opposite each other on a rug. A native chief then made an incision in

the right leg of Mirambo and Stanley, drew a little blood from each, and

exchanged it with these words:——“If either of you break this brotherhood

now established between you, may the lion devour him, the serpent poison

him, bitterness be his food, his friends desert him, his gun burst in his

hands and everything that is bad do wrong to him until his death.”

On May 27, 1876, Stanley reached Ujiji, where he had met Livingstone in

1871. Sadly did he recall the fact that the “grand old hero” who had

once been the centre of absorbing interest in that fair scene of water,

mountain, sunshine and palm, was gone forever. He came equipped to

circumnavigate the lake. He had along his boat, the “Lady Alice,” built

lightly and in sections for just this kind of work. Leaving the bulk of

his extensive travelling party at Ujiji, well provided for, he took along

only a sufficient crew for his boat, under two guides, Para, who had been

Cameron’s attendant in 1874, and Ruango who had piloted Livingstone and

Stanley in 1871.

Once again the goodly “Lady Alice” was afloat, as she had been on

Victoria Nyanza. He cruised along the shores for 51 days, travelled a

distance of 800 miles, or within 125 miles of the entire circumference of

the lake, and got back without serious sickness or the loss of a man. He

found it a sealed lake everywhere——that is, with waters flowing only into

it——none out of it.

What then became of Cameron’s wonderful story about the outlet of the

Lukuga? Stanley looked carefully into this. He found a decided current

running down the river into the lake. He pushed up the river to the

narrow gorge in the mountains, beyond which the natives said the Lukuga

ran westward toward the Lualaba. There he found a true and false story.

In this ancient mountain gap was a clear divide of the Lukuga waters.

Part ran by a short course into Tanganyika; part westward into the

Lualaba. Stanley was of the opinion that the waters of the lake were

rising year by year, and that in the course of time there would be a

constant overflow through the Lukuga and into the Lualaba, as perhaps

there had been long ages ago. Even now there is not much difference

between the level of the lake and the marshes found in the mountain gap

beyond, and Mr. Hore, who has since visited the Lukuga gap, says he found

a strong current setting out of the lake westward, so that the time may

have already come which Stanley predicted.

This Lukuga gap probably represents the fracture of an earthquake

through which the waters of the lake escaped in former ages and which

has been its safety-valve at certain times since. When it is full it

may, therefore, be said to have an outlet. When not full its waters

pass off by evaporation. It is only a semi-occasional contribution——if

one at all——to the floods of the great Congo, and in this respect has

no counterpart in the world. All of which settles the point of its

connection with the Nile, and leaves the sources of that river to the

north. Had Livingstone known this he could have saved himself the last

two years of his journey and the perils and sickness which led to his

death in the wilderness.

[Illustration: A WEIR BRIDGE.]

And now Stanley had clarified the situation behind him, which stretched

over 800 miles of African continent. But looking toward the Atlantic,

there lay stretched a 1000 miles of absolutely unknown country. Into this

he plunged, and pursued his course till he struck the great northward

running river——the Lualaba.

The path was broken and difficult. Rivers ran frequent and deep, and

crossing was a source of delay, except where, occasionally, ingeniously

constructed bridges were found, which answered the double purpose of

crossing and fish-weir. These are built of poles, forty feet long, driven

into the bed of the stream and crossing each other near the top. Other

poles are laid lengthwise at the point of junction, and all are securely

tied together with bamboo ropes. Below them the nets of the fishermen are

spread, and over them a person may pass in safety.

Stanley’s party had been greatly thinned out, but it still consisted

of 140 men. Cameron had found it impossible to follow the Lualaba.

Livingstone had tried it again and again, to meet a more formidable

obstacle in the hostility of the natives than in the forests, fens and

animals. Could Stanley master its secret?

He was better equipped than any of his predecessors, just as earnest,

and not averse to using force where milder means could not avail. He had

settled so many knotty African problems, that this the greatest of all

had peculiar fascination for him. He would “freeze to this river” and see

whether it went toward the Nile, or come out, as he suspected it would,

through the Congo into the Atlantic.

It was a mighty stream where he struck it, at the mouth of the

Luama——“full 1400 yards wide and moving with a placid current”——and close

to Nyangwe which was the highest point Livingstone had reached. Here he

marshalled his forces for the unknown depths beyond. He had only one

of his European attendants left——Frank Pocock. Not a native attendant

faltered. It would have been death to desert, in that hostile region.

Such woods, so tall, dense and sombre, the traveller had never before

seen. Those of Uganda and Tanganyika were mere jungle in comparison. Even

the Manyuema had penetrated but a little their depths. They line the

course of the Lualaba for 1500 miles from Nyangwe. At first Stanley’s

party was well protected, for ahead of it went a large group of Arab

traders. It was the opinion of these men that the “Lualaba flowed

northward forever.” Soon the Arabs tired of their tramp through the dark

dripping woods, and Stanley found it impracticable to carry the heavy

sections of the “Lady Alice.” It was resolved to take to the river and

face its rapids and savage cannibal tribes, rather than continue the

struggle through these thorny and gloomy shades.

The river was soon reached and the “Lady Alice” launched. From this on,

Stanley resolved to call the river the “Livingstone.” He divided his

party, so that part took to the boat, and part kept even pace on the

land. The stream and the natives were not long in giving the adventurers

a taste of their peculiarities. A dangerous rapid had to be shot. The

natives swarmed out in their canoes. The passage of the river was like a

running fight.

On November 23, 1877, while the expedition was encamped on the banks

of the river at the mouth of the Ruiki, thirty native canoes made a

determined attack, which was only repulsed by force. On December 8,

the expedition was again attacked by fourteen canoes, which had to be

driven back with a volley. But the fiercest attack was toward the end of

December, when a fleet of canoes containing 600 men bore down upon them

with a fearful din of war-drums and horns, and the battle cry “Bo-bo,

Bo-bo, bo-bo-o-o-oh!” Simultaneously with the canoe attack a terrible

uproar broke out in the forest behind and a shower of arrows rained on

Stanley and his followers.

There were but two courses for the leader, either to fight the best he

knew how in defense of his followers, or meet a surer death by surrender.

The battle was a fierce one for half an hour, for Stanley’s men fought

with desperation. At length the canoes were beaten back, and thirty-six

of them captured by an adroit ruse. This gave Stanley the advantage and

brought the natives to terms. Peace was declared.

Here the Arab traders declared they could go no further amid such a

country. So they returned, leaving Stanley only his original followers,

numbering 140. The year 1877 closed in disaster. No sooner had he

embarked all his force in canoes, for the purpose of continuing

his journey, than a storm upset some of them, drowning two men and

occasioning the loss of guns and supplies.

But the new year opened more auspiciously. It was a bright day and all

were happily afloat on the broad bosom of the Lualaba, where safety lay

in keeping in mid-stream, or darting to opposite shores when attacked.

What a wealth of affluents the great river had and how its volume had

been swelled! The Lomame had emptied through a mouth 600 yards wide.

On the right the Luama had sent in its volume through 400 yards of width,

the Lira with 300 yards, the Urindi with 500 yards, the Lowwa with 1200

yards, the Mbura with two branches of 200 yards each, and 200 miles

further on, the Aruwimi, 2000 yards from shore to shore.

The Lualaba (Livingstone) had now become 4000 yards wide and was flowing

persistently northward. The equator has been reached and passed. Can it

be that all these waters are the floods of the Nile and that Livingstone

was right? There was little time for reflection. The natives were ever

present and hostile, and the waters themselves were full of dangers.

But we have ran ahead of our party. Just after the mouth of the Lomame

was passed the expedition reached that series of cataracts, which have

been named Stanley Falls. Their roar was heard long before the canoes

reached them, and high above the din of waters were heard the war-shouts

of the Mwana savages on both sides of the stream. Either a way must be

fought through these dusky foes, or the cataract with its terrors must be

faced.

[Illustration: STANLEY FIGHTING HIS WAY.]

To dare the cataract was certain death. The canoes were brought to

anchor, and a battle with the natives began. They were too strong, and

Stanley retraced his course a little way, where he landed and encamped.

Another trial, a fierce surge through the ranks armed with lances and

poisoned arrows, gave them headway. The first cataract was rounded, and

now they were in the midst of that wonderful series of waterfalls, where

the Lualaba cuts its way for seventy miles through a range of high

hills, with seven distinct cataracts, in a channel contracted to a third

of its ordinary breadth, where the stream tumbles and boils, flinging

itself over ledges of rock, or dashing frantically against the walls that

hem it in, as if it were struggling with all its giant power to escape

from its prison. Within the gorge the ear is stunned with the continual

din of the rushing waters, and the attention kept constantly on the

strain to avoid the perils of rock, rapid, whirlpool, and cataract with

which the course is strewn. With extreme caution and good-luck the rapids

may be run in safety; but how are frail canoes to survive the experiment

of a plunge over a perpendicular ledge, in company with millions of tons

of falling water, into an abyss of seething and gyrating foam?

Ashore, the cannibal natives lie in wait to oppose a landing, or better

still, to slay or capture victims for their sport or larder. A toilsome

ascent has to be made to the summit of the bluffs forming the river banks

over rough boulders and through tangled forest. In places where the fall

of the stream is slight it may be possible to lower down the boats, by

means of strong hawsers of creepers, to the pool below; but in other

cases the canoes have to be dragged painfully up the cliffs, and launched

again with almost equal toil where the current seems a little calmer.

All this while the poisoned arrows are hissing through the air, spears

are launched out of every thicket, and stones are slung or thrown at the

unlucky pioneers from each spot of vantage. Only by van and rear guards

and flanking parties, and maintaining a brisk fire can the assailants

be kept at bay. The vindictive foe are as incessant in their attacks by

night as by day; and the whiz of the flying arrow, the hurtling of lances

through the temporary stockade and the sharp crack of the rifle, mingle

with the dreams of the sleeper.

The descent of Stanley Falls was not made without loss of life and

property. In spite of every precaution, canoes would be dragged from

their moorings and be sucked down by the whirlpools or swept over the

falls; or the occupants would lose nerve in the presence of danger, and

allow their craft to drift into the powerful centre current, whence

escape was hopeless.

During their passage occurred one of the most thrilling scenes in all

this long journey through the Dark Continent. The canoes were being

floated down a long rapid. Six had passed in safety. The seventh,

manned by Muscati, Uledi Muscati, and Zaidi, a chief, was overturned in

a difficult piece of the water. Muscati and Uledi were rescued by the

eighth canoe; but Zaidi, clinging to the upturned canoe, was swept past,

and seemed on the point of being hurled over the brink of the fall. The

canoe was instantly split in two, one part being caught fast below the

water, while the other protruded above the surface. To the upper part

Zaidi clung, seated on the rock, his feet in the water. Below him leapt

and roared the fall, about fifty yards in depth; above him stretched

fifty feet of gradually sloping water.

Mr. Stanley and a part of the expedition were at this time on the banks.

No more strange and perilous position than that of Zaidi can be imagined.

A small canoe was lowered by means of a cable of ratans; but the rope

snapped and the canoe went over the falls. Poles tied to creepers were

thrown toward him but they failed to reach. The rock was full fifty yards

from the shore. Stanley ordered another canoe, fastened by cables, to be

lowered. Only two men could be found to man it——Uledi, the coxswain of

the “Lady Alice,” and Marzouk, a boat boy. “Mamba Kwa Mungu,” exclaimed

Uledi, “My fate is in the hands of God.”

The two men took their places in the canoe and paddled across the stream.

The cables which held the boat against the current were slackened, and

it dropped to within twenty yards of the falls. A third cable was thrown

from the boat toward Zaidi, but he failed to catch it till the sixth

throw. Just as he grasped it the water caught him and carried him over

the precipice. All thought him lost, but presently his head appeared, and

he seemed still to have hold of the cable. Stanley ordered the canoemen

to pull. They did so, but the upper cables of the canoe broke and it was

carried toward the falls. Fortunately it caught on a rock, and Uledi and

Marzouk were saved. They still had hold of the cable which Zaidi clung

to. By dint of hard pulling they were enabled to save, for they dragged

him back up the falls to their own perilous position. There were three

now on the rock instead of one. Twenty times a cable loaded with a stone

was thrown to them before they caught it. They drew it taut and thus had

frail communication with the shore. But it was now dark and nothing more

could be done till light came. In the morning it was decided that the

cable was strong enough to hold the men if they would but try to wade and

swim to shore. Uledi dared it, and reached land in safety. The others

followed, and terminated an anxious scene.

[Illustration: RESCUE OF ZAIDI.]

Stanley was in the midst of these falls for twenty-two days and nights.

On January 28, 1878, his peril and hardship ended by passing the last

fall. By February 8, Rubanga, a village of the Nganza was reached,

where he found friendly natives. And not a moment too soon, for his men

were fainting for want of food. This was encouraging, but his heart was

further rejoiced that the Lualaba had not only assumed its wide, placid

flow, but had suddenly changed its northern direction to one almost

westward toward the Atlantic. He was then not going toward the Nile. No,

it was not a Nile water, but must be the Congo. What a rare discovery was

then in store for him!

And the natives verified the thought. For the Rubanga chief, on being

questioned, first mentioned the Congo. “Ikutu ya Kongo,” said he, “that

is the river’s name.” The words thrilled Stanley. The Lualaba had ceased

to flow, the Congo had taken up its song and would witness the further

adventures of the brave explorer. It was a mile and a half wide, with a

magnificent bosom. Green, fertile islands sprinkled its glassy surface.

The party enjoyed needed rest, in this paradise, and then February 10,

the boats pulled down stream again, the rowers bending gleefully and

hopefully to their arduous task.

On the 14 the mouth of the Aruwimi was passed and they were in the

Bangala country. Here they suffered from the most formidable attack yet

made. It was the thirty-first struggle through which the party had passed

on the Lualaba, or Congo, or Livingstone, though the latter name now

seems out of place since we know that all is Congo, clear to Bangweolo,

on whose shores Livingstone perished.

The shores of both the Congo and Aruwimi resounded with the din of

the everlasting war-drums, and from every cove and island swarmed a

crowd of canoes, that began forming into line to intercept and attack

the travellers. These crafts were larger than any that had yet been

encountered. The leading canoe of the savages was of portentous length,

with forty paddlers on each side, while on a platform at the bow were

stationed ten redoubtable young warriors, with crimson plumes of the

parrot stuck in their hair, and poising long spears. Eight steersmen were

placed on the stern, with large paddles ornamented with balls of ivory;

while a dozen others, apparently chiefs, rushed from end to end of the

boat directing the attack. Fifty-two other vessels of scarcely smaller

dimensions followed in its wake. From the bow of each waved a long mane

of palm fibre; every warrior was decorated with feathers and ornaments of

ivory; and the sound of a hundred horns carved out of elephants’ tusks,

and a song of challenge and defiance chanted from two thousand savage

throats, added to the wild excitement of the scene. Their wild war-cry

was “Yaha-ha-ha, ya Bengala.”

The assailants were put to flight after a series of charges more

determined and prolonged than usual. This time, however, the blood of the

strangers was fully up. They were tired of standing everlastingly on the

defensive, of finding all their advances repelled with scorn and hatred.

They carried the war into the enemy’s camp, and drove them out of their

principal village into the forest. In the centre of the village was found

a singular structure——a temple of ivory, the circular roof supported

by thirty-three large tusks, and surmounting a hideous idol, four feet

high, dyed a bright vermillion color, with black eyes, beard and hair.

Ivory here was “abundant as fuel,” and was found carved into armlets,

balls, mallets, wedges, grain pestles, and other articles of ornament and

use; while numerous other weapons and implements of iron, wood, hide,

and earthenware attested the ingenuity of the people. Their cannibal

propensities were as plainly shown in the rows of skulls that grinned

from poles, and the bones and other grisly remains of human feasts

scattered about the village streets.

[Illustration: ATTACK BY THE BANGALA.]

They had now a peaceful river for a time, or rather they were enabled

to float in its middle, or dodge from shore to shore, without direct

attack. But food became scarce. On February 20, they got a supply from

natives whom they propitiated. On the 23, Amima, wife of the faithful

Kacheche died. Her last words to Stanley were, “Ah, master, I shall never

see the sea again. Your child Amima, is dying. I have wished to see the

cocoa-nuts and the mangoes, but, no, Amima is dying, dying in a Pagan

land. She will never see Zanzibar again. The master has been very good to

his children, and Amima remembers it. It is a bad world master, and you

have lost your way in it. Good bye, master, and do not forget poor little

Amima.” The simple pathos of this African girl sweetened a death-bed

scene as much as a Christian’s prayer could have done.

For a distance of 1000 miles from Stanley Falls the river is without

cataracts, flowing placidly here, and there widening to ten miles,

with numerous channels through reedy islands. Every thing was densely

tropical——trees, flowers, plants, birds, animals. Crocodiles were

especially plenty in the water, and all the large land animals of the

equatorial regions could be seen at intervals. There were few adventures

with these, for the party clung rigidly to their boats; but once in a

while, a coterie, organized for a hunting bout, would come back with such

stirring tales of attack and escape as we are accustomed to read of in

connection with the eastern coasts of the continent where hunting the

elephant, rhinoceros, lion, hippopotamus, is more of a regular business,

and where spicy stories of adventure are accepted without question.

After a treacherous attack by the people of King Chumbiri——Stanley’s

thirty-second battle——the natives showed a more peaceable disposition.

They had heard of western coast white men and knew something of their

ways. So there was a pleasant flow of water and a safe shore, for many

days. But now the river was about to change. It received the Ikelemba, a

powerful stream of tea-colored water, 1000 yards wide. Its waters flowed

along in the same bed, unmixed with those of the Congo, for 150 miles.

This immense tributary and that of the Ibari, were reported to come

from great lakes, 800 miles to the south, and probably the same that

Livingstone and Cameron both mention in their travels.

For 900 miles the Congo has had a fall of only 364 feet, or a third of

a foot to the mile. We are now within 400 miles of the Atlantic, yet

1150 feet above it, and on the edge of the great table lands of Central

Africa. The days of smooth sailing are at an end. The mountains come

close to the stream, and the channel narrows. The white chalky cliffs

remind Frank Pocock of the coasts of Dover in his own England. A roar

is heard in advance. The cataracts have begun again, and they sound as

ominously as the war-cry of the natives hundreds of miles back in the

woods and jungles.

We have now been over four months on this river, and the next two

hundred miles are to be the most tedious, laborious and disastrous of

all. The terrors of Stanley Falls are here duplicated a thousand times.

Bluffs rise 1500 feet high. Between them the river rushes over piles of

boulders, or shoots with frightful velocity past the bases of impending

crags, up which one must quickly scramble or else be carried into the

boiling whirlpools below.

These falls we shall call the “Livingstone Falls.” In their general

features they are not like Niagara, or Victoria on the Zambesi, but

a succession of headlong rushes, as if the river were tearing down a

gigantic rock stairway.

Of the Great Ntamo Fall, Stanley says: “Take a strip of sea, blown over

by a hurricane, four miles in length by half a mile in breadth, and a

pretty accurate conception of its rushing waves may be obtained. Some of

the troughs were one hundred yards in length, and from one to another

the mad river plunged. There was first a rush down into the middle of an

immense trough, and then, by sheer force, the enormous volume would lift

itself upwards steeply until, gathering itself into a ridge, it suddenly

hurled itself twenty or thirty feet straight upwards before rolling down

into another trough. The roar was deafening and tremendous. I can only

compare it to the thunder of an express train through a rock tunnel.”

In this vast current, rushing along at the rate of thirty miles an hour,

the strongest steamer would be as helpless as a cockle-shell, and as for

frail canoes, they had to be dragged from rock to rock, or taken clear

from the water and borne by land around the obstructions. Frequently

canoes were wrecked and then a halt had to be ordered till new ones were

hewn from trees. Yet amid trial, sickness and sore distress they had to

pause at times in wonder before the imposing sights that opened on them.

One was that of the Edwin Arnold River which flings itself with a single

bound of 300 feet into the Congo, clearing the base of its cliff by ten

yards. Still more wonderful is the cascade of the Nkenke, which is a

plunge of a 1000 feet; and near by another with a fall of 400 feet.

Many gaps were made in the ranks of Stanley’s companions through this

“Valley of Shadow.” In one day (March 28) he saw eleven of his men swept

over a cataract and disappear in the boiling waters below. First a boat,

in which was Kalulu, an attendant of Stanley in all his journeys, was

sucked within the power of a fall and plunged into the abyss. Hardly had

the eye turned from this horror when another canoe was seen shooting

down the stream toward what appeared to be certain death. By almost a

miracle it made an easy part of the cataract and the occupants succeeded

in reaching the shore in safety. Close behind came a third with a single

occupant. As the boat made its plunge the occupant rose and shouted a

farewell to his companions on the shore. Then boat and man disappeared.

A few days afterwards he re-appeared like an apparition in camp. He had

been tossed ashore far below and held a prisoner by the natives, who had

picked him up more dead than alive.

[Illustration: THE LADY ALICE IN THE CONGO RAPIDS.]

On April 12, the “Lady Alice” herself, with her crew, came to the very

verge of destruction. The boat was approaching a bay in which the camp

for the night was to be made, when a noise like distant thunder fell on

the ears of the crew. The river rose before them into a hill of water.

It was a whirlpool, at its full. All hands bent to their paddles and

the boat was plunged into the hill of water before it broke. They thus

escaped being sucked into a vortex which would have sunk the boat and

drowned all. As it was, the boat was whirled round and round through a

succession of rapids, before the crew could bring her under control again.

Fortunately the natives were still friendly and of superior type. They

had many European manufactures, which pass from tribe to tribe in regular

traffic, and enjoyed a higher civilization than those of the Central

African regions. Stanley rested with these people for several days while

his carpenter made two new canoes.

On June 3, he lost his servant, comrade and friend, last of the

Europeans, the brave and faithful Frank Pocock. All the boats had been

taken from the water and carried past the Massase Falls, except the canoe

“Jason,” in which were Pocock, Uledi and eleven others. This had gotten

behind on account of Frank’s ulcerated feet. Chafing at the delay he

urged Uledi to “shoot the falls,” against the latter’s judgment, and even

taunted the crew with cowardice.

“Boys,” cried Uledi, addressing the crew, “our little master is saying

that we are afraid of death. I know there is death in the cataract; but

come, let us show him that black men fear death as little as white men.”

“A man can die but once!” “Who can contend with his fate?” “Our fate is

in the hands of God,” were the various replies of the men.

“You are men,” exclaimed Frank.

The boat was headed for the falls. They were reached, and in another

moment the canoe had plunged into the foaming rapid. Spun round like a

top in the furious waters, the boat was whirled down to the foaming pit

below. Then she was sucked below the surface and anon hurled up again

with several men clinging to her, among them Uledi. Presently the form

of the “little master” was seen floating on the surface. Uledi swam to

him, seized him, and both sunk. When the brave Uledi appeared again he

was alone. Poor Pocock’s tragic death was a blow to the whole expedition.

Most of the party gave way to superstitious dread of the river and many

deserted, but quickly returned, after a trial of the dreary woods.

[Illustration: DEATH OF FRANK POCOCK.]

On June 23, the carpenter of the expedition was swept over the Zinga

Falls, in the canoe, “Livingstone,” and drowned. Stanley’s food supply

was frequently very short amid the difficulties of Livingstone Falls.

Not that there was not plenty on the shores, but his means of buying

were exhausted, and such a thing as charity is not common to the African

tribes. Even where most friendly, they are always on the lookout for a

trade, and a bargain at that. It is a great hardship for them to give,

without a consideration.

The appearance of his attendants cut Mr. Stanley to the heart every

day——so emaciated, gaunt, and sunken-eyed were they; bent and crippled

with weakness who had once been erect and full of manly vigor. And

the leader’s condition was no better. Gone now was all the keen ardor

for discovery, the burning desire to penetrate where no white man had

yet penetrated which animated his heart at the outset of his journey.

Sickness that had drained his strength, anxiety that had strained to its

utmost pitch the mind, sorrow for loss and bereavement that had wearied

the spirit——these had left Mr. Stanley a very different man from that

which he was when he set out full of hope and ardor from Zanzibar. All

his endeavor now was to push on as fast as possible, to reach the ocean

with as little more of pain and death to his followers as possible.

At last Stanley struck a number of intelligent tribes who gave much

information about the rest of the river and the coast. There were three

great falls still below them, and any number of dangerous rapids. It

would be folly to risk them with their frail barks. Moreover, he learned

that the town of Boma, on the Atlantic coast, could be reached by easy

journeys across the country. His main problem, as to whether the Lualaba

and the Congo were the same, had long since been solved. He had been

following the Congo all the time, had seen its splendid forests and

mighty affluents, its dashing rapids and bewildering whirlpools and

falls, had even, through the spectacles of Livingstone, seen its head

waters in Lake Bangweolo, amid whose marshes the veteran explorer laid

down his life.

What need then to risk life further at this time, and in his very poor

condition. He resolved to leave the river and make direct for the

coast at Boma. When he assembled his followers to make this welcome

announcement to them, they were overcome with joy. Poor Safeni, coxswain

of the “Lady Alice,” went mad with rapture and fled into the forest.

Three days were spent in searching for him, but he was never seen more.

Relinquishing his boat and all unnecessary equipage at the cataract

of Isangila, the party struck for Boma, but only to give out entirely

when still three days distant. A messenger was sent in advance for aid.

He came back in two days with a strong band of carriers and abundance

of food. The perishing party was thus saved, and was soon receiving

the care of the good people of Boma. Here all forgot their toils and

perils amid civilized comforts and the pardonable pride aroused by their

achievements. Stanley’s exploit is unparalleled in the history of African

adventure. Though not the first to cross the Continent, he hewed an

unknown way and every step was a startling revelation. He did more to

unravel African mysteries and settle geographic problems than any other

explorer.

And, August 12, 1877, three years after his start from Zanzibar on the

Indian Ocean, and eight months after setting out from Nyangwe to follow

the Lualaba, he stood on the Atlantic shores at Boma and gazed on the

mouth of the Congo, whose waters shot an unmixed current fifty miles out

to sea. Though he had proved it to be so, he could still hardly believe

that this vast flood pouring 2,000,000 cubic feet of water a second into

the ocean, through a channel ten miles wide and 1300 feet deep, was the

same that he had followed through wood and morass, rapid and cataract,

rock bound channel and wide expanse, for so long a time, and that it was

the same which Diego Cam discovered by its color and reedy track four

hundred years before, while sailing the ocean out of sight of land.

In the journey of 7200 miles, one hundred and fourteen of Stanley’s

original party had perished. Many had fallen in battle or by treachery,

more were the victims of disease, and some had succumbed to toil or been

“washed down by the gulfs.” But a goodly remnant survived. These were

returned, according to contract, to their Zanzibar home. Stanley went

with them by steamer around the Cape of Good Hope.

It needs not to tell the joy with which the people again beheld their

home; how they leaped ashore from the boat; how their friends rushed

down to the beach to welcome back the wanderers; how wives and husbands,

children and parents, “literally leaped into each other’s arms,” while

“with weeping and with laughter” the wonderful story of the long and

terrible journey is told to the eager listeners.

Stanley, having paid his followers in full, according to the terms of his

contract, and rewarded some over and above their lawful claims, so that

not a few of the men were able to purchase neat little houses and gardens

with their savings, prepared to quit Zanzibar forever.

The scene on the beach on the day of Stanley’s departure was a strange

and an affecting one. The people of the expedition pressed eagerly around

him, wrung his hand again and again, and finally, lifting him upon their

shoulders, carried him through the surf to his boat. Then the men, headed

by Uledi the coxswain, manned a lighter and followed Mr. Stanley’s boat

to the steamer, and there bade their leader a last farewell.

Stanley’s own feelings at this moment were no less keen. As the steamer

which bore him home left the shore of Zanzibar behind, his thoughts

were busy with the past; he was living once again in retrospect the

three strange, eventful years, during which these simple black people

had followed him with a fidelity at once simple and noble, childlike

and heroic. For him, his comrades in travel through the Dark Continent

must ever remain heroes; for it was their obedient and loyal aid that

had enabled him to bring his expedition to a successful and noble issue,

to accomplish each of the three tasks he had set himself to do,——the

exploration of the great Victoria Nyanza Lake, the circumnavigation of

Tanganyika, and the identification of Livingstone’s Lualaba River with

the Congo.

Ever since this memorable journey, Mr. Stanley has been enthusiastically

working to found a great Congo free Government and commercial empire,

which all the nations shall recognize and to which all shall contribute.

He has projected a steamer system, of heavy draught vessels, from the

mouth of the river to the first cataracts. Here a commercial emporium

is to be founded. A railway is to start thence and lead to the smooth

waters above. This would open 7000 miles of navigable waters on the Upper

Congo and a trade of $50,000,000 a year. It would redeem one of the

largest fertile tracts of land on the globe and bring peace, prosperity

and civilization to millions of human beings. Only climate seems to be

against his plans, for it is undoubtedly hostile to Europeans. But if

native energies can be enlisted sufficiently to make a permanent ground

work for his ideal state, he may yet rank not only as the greatest of

discoverers but as the foremost of statesmen and humanitarians. The

possibilities of the Congo region are boundless.

A missionary just returned from the Congo country thus writes of it:

“The bounds of this ‘Congo Free State’ are not yet defined, but they will

ultimately embrace the main stream and its immense system of navigable

tributaries, some of which are 800 miles long. The Congo itself waters a

country more than 900 miles square, or an area of 1,000,000 square miles.

These rivers make access to Equatorial Africa and to the Soudan country

quite easy.

“The resources of this fine region are exhaustless. The forests are dense

and valuable. Their rubber wealth is untouched, and equal to the world’s

supply. Everywhere there is a vast amount of ivory, which lies unused or

is turned into the commonest utensils by the natives. There are palms

which yield oil, plantains, bananas, maize, tobacco, peanuts, yams, wild

coffee, and soil equal to any in the world for fertility. Europeans

must guard against the climate, but it is possible to get enured to it,

with care. In the day-time the temperature averages 90° the year round,

but the average of the night temperature is 70° to 75°. Rain falls

frequently, and mostly in the night. The natives are hostile, only where

they have suffered from invasion by Arab slave dealers.

“Already there are some 3000 white settlers in the heart of the Congo

country——Portuguese, English, Belgians, Dutch, Scandinavians and

Americans, and their influence is being felt for good. The completion of

Stanley’s railroad around the Congo rapids will give fresh impetus to

civilization and lay the basis of permanent institutions in this great

country.”

THE CAPE OF STORMS.

The little Portuguese ship of Bartholomew Diaz was the first to round the

“Cape of Storms” in 1486. When King John II. of Portugal, heard of his

success he said it should thereafter be called Cape of Good Hope. The

passage of this southermost point of Africa meant a route to India, on

which all hearts were set at the time.

Nearly two hundred years later, in 1652, the Dutch settled at the Cape.

They called the Quaique, or natives, Hottentots——from the repetition of

one of the words used in their dances.

The Colony became a favorite place for banished Huguenots——from France

and Peidmont. It grew, got to be strong, and at length tyrannical. The

more liberal members left it and pushed into the interior, where they

drove back the Kaffirs, and redeemed much valuable territory. The parent

Colony tried to force its government on these pioneers, who were called

“Boers”——the Dutch word for “farmers.” A rebellion ensued. The Prince of

Orange asked England to help suppress it (1795). She did so, and with

characteristic greed, kept it till 1803. It then passed to the Dutch, but

was retaken by England in 1806.

Settlement marched rapidly up the eastern coast of Africa, and a great

agricultural section was opened. The Kaffir tribes protested and five

fierce wars were fought, with the loss of all Kaffraria to the natives.

The Boers were never reconciled to British authority. They murmured,

rebelled, and kept migrating northward, till north of the Orange River

they founded the Natal, the Orange Free State, and the Transvaal Republic.

The high promontory of Cape of Good Hope——Table Mountain——is visible a

long distance from the sea, owing to the dry, light atmosphere. On its

spurs are many ruins of block-houses, used by the early settlers. Over

it, at times, hangs a veil of cloud, called the “Table Cloth,” which,

when dispersed by the sun, the inhabitants say is put away for future

use.

The town of Cape Colony, or Cape Town, is now perfectly modern, and very

pretty. It was here that the great missionary Robert Moffat began his

African career in 1816; here that Pringle started to found his ideal town

Glen Lynden.

In 1867 all Cape Colony was thrown into excitement by the discovery

that diamond fields existed inland near the Kalihari Desert. There was

a rush like that in our own country in 1849 when gold was discovered in

California. Exaggerated stories of finds of diamonds by natives, valued

at $50,000 a piece, were eagerly listened to, and in a few weeks there

was a population of 10,000 in a hitherto unknown region, with the road

thither, for hundreds of miles, literally alive with wagons, oxen, pack

mules and footmen.

The diamond territory is Griqualand, on the headwaters of the Orange and

Vaal Rivers and close to the desert——partly in it. The region is 16,000

square miles in extent and 3000 feet above the ocean. In the diamond

fields the diamonds are found in the sand by washing. This is the native

method of getting them, and also that adopted by thousands of people who

have no capital.

But it was soon found that they could be had in larger numbers and of

greater size and purity by digging. This brought capital, machinery, and

regular mining tracts, called “Claims.”

At first the mining towns were made up of tents, filled with a mixed

people, toiling willingly all day, and dancing, gambling, drinking and

rioting at night. At one time there were 60,000 persons in these diamond

fields, but now not more than 40,000.

The Kimberley mine is the favorite. It has been excavated to a depth of

250 feet and has proved very rich. It is now surrounded by quite a town,

and the people——mostly native diggers——are orderly and industrious. The

diggers delve with spade and pick in the deep recesses of the mine, and

the sand, rock and earth are pulled to the surface in buckets, where they

are sorted, sieved, and closely examined for diamonds.

Formerly the “claims” sold for fabulous prices. Many, only thirty by

sixteen feet, brought $100,000. And some rare finds have been made.

The great diamond, found a few years ago, and called the “Star of South

Africa,” was sold, before cutting, for $55,000. And while we are writing,

one is undergoing the process of cutting in Paris which is a true

wonder. It arrived from South Africa in August, 1884, and was purchased

by a syndicate of London and Paris diamond merchants. It weighs in the

rough 457 carats and will dress to 200 carats. The great Koh-i-noor,

weighs only 106 carats, the Regent of France 136-3/4 carats, the Star of

South Africa 125 carats, the Piggott 82-1/4 carats, and the Great Mogul

279 carats. But the latter is a lumpy stone, and if dressed to proper

proportions, would not weigh over 140 carats.

[Illustration: ZULUS.]

The Kaffraria country, lying between Cape Colony and Natal, is rich in

beautiful scenery and abounds in animal life. While the larger animals,

as the elephant and lion, have retreated inland, there are still many

beasts of prey, and the forests have not given over their troops of

chattering baboons. Its greatest scourge is periodical visits of immense

flights of locusts, which destroy all vegetation wherever they light. The

natives make them into cakes and consider them a great delicacy. These

natives are a brave, fine people, and have been conquered and held with

difficulty. As they yield to civilization they make an industrious and

attractive society.

Natal was so named, in honor of our Saviour, more than 300 years ago by

Vasco de Gama. It was the centre of the Zulu tribes, whom King Charka

formed into an all-conquering army, until the invasion of the country by

the Boers. It became a British colony in 1843, and has been held with the

greatest difficulty, for the Zulu warriors showed a bravery and method in

their warfare which made them formidable enemies even against forces with

superior arms and discipline. It was in the English wars with the Zulus

that the Prince Imperial, of France, lost his life. A writer describes

the Zulus “as a race of the most handsome and manly people found among

savages; tall, muscular, and of remarkable symmetry, beauty and strength.

Their carriage is upright, and among the chiefs, majestic.”

The Drackenberg Mountains, many of whose peaks are 10,000 feet high,

shut off Natal from the Transvaal Republic. This Transvaal region was,

as already seen, redeemed from the natives by the Boers, who are mostly

devoted to farming, but many to a pastoral life like that of the old

patriarchs, living in wagons or tents and leading, or rather following,

about immense herds of cattle and sheep. They are a hardy, strong, brave

people, and in subduing them and annexing their beautiful and fertile

country, it is very doubtful whether Great Britain has done herself

credit or humanity benefit. Boers may not be all that modern civilization

could desire. In their contact with the natives they may have retrograded

to a certain extent. But it is very probable they have made larger

and more beneficial conquests over nature than any other more highly

endowed and uncompromising people could have done in the same length

of time. There is hardly a product of the soil that does not grow in

the Transvaal——corn, tobacco, apricots, figs, oranges, peaches——two and

sometimes three crops a year. It is finely watered with noble mountain

streams, and is rich in iron, tin, copper, lead, coal and gold. The

capital, Pretoria, is the centre of a rich trade in ostrich feathers.

[Illustration: MY CATTLE WERE SAVED.]

Ostrich farming is a large industry in these South African States.

Farmers buy and sell these animals like cattle. They fence them in,

stable them, tend them, grow crops for them, study their habits, and cut

their precious feathers, all as a matter of strict business. The animals

begin to yield feathers at eight months old, and each year they grow more

valuable. They are nipped or cut off, not plucked. The ostrich feather

trade of South Africa is of the value of $1,000,000 a year. The birds

are innocent and stupid looking, but can attack with great ferocity,

and strike very powerfully with their feet. The only safe posture under

attack by them is to lie down. They then can only trample on you.

[Illustration: BUFFALO HUNTERS.]

The Transvaal region is a paradise for hunters. The elephant, rhinoceros,

hippopotamus, buffalo, giraffe, zebra, springbok, gnu, lion, and indeed

every African animal, finds a home amid its deep woody recesses and

sparkling waters. As he entered its borders from the desert, Pinto’s

camp was attacked by two lions, who scented his desert pony and herd

of cattle. The natives became demoralized, and Pinto himself could do

little toward saving his property on account of the darkness. Fortunately

he got his hand on a dark lantern, in which was a splendid calcium light.

Placing this in the hand of a native, he ordered him to go as near to the

growling intruders as was safe, Pinto following with a double-barreled

rifle. The glare of the light was then turned full in the faces of the

beasts. They were dazed by it, and cowered for a moment. That moment

was fatal. Pinto gave both a mortal wound and saved his cattle. And it

was here that Cummings lost one of his guides, who was pounced upon by

a lion as he lay asleep before a camp fire. Here also Lieutenant Moodie

and his party got the ill-will of a herd of elephants, which charged upon

them and gave furious chase, knocking the Lieutenant down and tramping

him nearly to death. One of his companions was killed outright by the

charging beasts and his body tossed angrily into the jungle with their

tusks.

But the finest sport is hunting the buffalo. He is stealthy, cunning and

swift. It requires a long shot or a quick ingenious chase to bag him.

He never knows when he is beaten and will continue to charge and fight

though riddled with bullets or pierced with many lances. Gillmore was

once intent on an elephant track when suddenly his party was charged by

five buffaloes. His horse saved him by a tremendous leap to one side, but

one of his attendants was tossed ten feet in the air, and another landed

amid the branches of a tree, one of which he fortunately caught.

NYASSALAND.

Threats of war between England and Portugal bring into prominence that

portion of Central Africa which is embraced in the title “Nyassaland.”

While ordinarily it might be embraced in the Zambesi system, it is a land

quite by itself, especially as to its topography and the position it

occupies in the commercial and political world, and is in many respects

the most interesting part of East Central Africa. It is a back-ground to

Portugal’s Mozambique possessions, but at the same time the very heart

of the British effort to cut a magnificent water way inland from the

mouths of the Zambesi to the mouths of the Nile. Hence the conflict of

interest there, a conflict which must go on by arbitration or by war,

till Great Britain secures what she wants——control of the Shiré river and

Lake Nyassa. The navigation of the Lower Zambesi is already open to all

nations.

The river Shiré, which we are now about to ascend, falls into the Zambesi

from the left, only some ninety miles from its mouth. Twenty years ago

its course was unknown, and its banks were wildernesses untrodden by

the foot of a white man. Now the stream is one of the best-known and

most frequented of the highways to the Lake Regions. The Shiré is much

narrower than the Zambesi, but of deeper channel, and in the upper and

lower portions more easily ascended by steamers. Midway in its course,

however, we meet a great impediment to the navigation of the river,

and consequently to the civilization and commercial development of the

regions beyond. In thirty-five miles the stream descends twelve hundred

feet in a series of rapids and cataracts over a rock-encumbered bed and

between sheer walls of cliff.

Beauty and use are badly adjusted on the Shiré. The scenery of the

unnavigable portion of the river is full of singular and romantic

beauty. In the picturesque diversity of its charms of crag and forest

and rushing water it is scarcely equalled by any other part of Africa.

Monotony, on the other hand, has set its stamp on the banks of the

useful, slow-flowing river beneath and above. Yet the ascent of one

hundred and fifty miles from the Zambesi to the cataracts is not without

its attractions. The landscape is intensely and characteristically

African. If the river is fringed on either shore by tall and sombre

reeds, the majestic mountains that bound the Shiré valley are always in

sight. A dense tropical vegetation covers these hills to the very tops,

except that patches of lighter tint show where the hands of the natives

have cleared the ground for the cultivation of crops of cotton, sorghum,

or maize; for these healthy uplands, above the reach of the mosquito and

the deadly marsh fog, and safe also, in some degree, from the ravages

of the kidnapper, are inhabited by an industrious race, the Manganjas,

who have made no small progress in agriculture and native iron and metal

manufactures.

This whole country is favorable for the raising of cotton, which here

grows a larger and finer staple, it is said, even than in Egypt. Every

Manganja village has its cotton patch, where sufficient is grown for the

use riot only of the community but of neighboring tribes. The demand

certainly is not large, the requirements of Africans in the matter of

clothing being modest——or immodest, if you will. There is a tribe, for

instance, on the Lower Zambesi, whose name, being interpreted, means the

“Go-Nakeds.” The full costume of a “Go-Naked” is a coat——of red ochre.

Livingstone met one of their men of rank once, and found his court suit

represented by a few beads and a pipe two feet long. Unfortunately

the Manganja, along with their ingenuity and industry as weavers,

blacksmiths, and farmers, are inordinately fond of beer and smoking, and

are great in the arts of brewing and tobacco-manufacturing. With all

these disadvantages, however, it is pleasant to find, in one corner at

least of Africa, a race with both the skill and the inclination to work,

and a native industry ready to spring up into large proportions so soon

as it receives a little encouragement.