Bagamoyo—Taming the dark brother—Bagamoyo in a ferment—An exciting
scene—The disturbance quelled—The Universities Mission, its origin,
history, decline and present condition—The Rev. Edward Steere—Notre
Dame de Bagamoyo—Westward ho!—In marching order—_Sub Jove fervido_—
Crossing the Kingani—The stolen women.
Bagamoyo, Whindi, and Saadani, East African villages on the mainland
near the sea, offer exceptionally good starting-points for the
unexplored interior, for many reasons. First. Because the explorers and
the people are strangers to one another, and a slight knowledge of their
power of mutual cohesion, habits, and relative influences, is desirable
before launching out into the wilds. Second. The natives of those
maritime villages are accustomed to have their normally languid and
peaceful life invaded and startled by the bustle of foreigners arriving
by sea and from the continent, Arab traders bound for the interior and
lengthy native caravans from Unyamwezi. Third. An expedition not fully
recruited to its necessary strength at Zanzibar may be easily reinforced
at these ports by volunteers from native caravans who are desirous of
returning to their homes, and who, day by day, along the route, will
straggle in towards it until the list is full and complete.
These, then, were the principal reasons for my selection of Bagamoyo as
the initial point, from whence, after inoculating the various untamed
spirits who had now enlisted under me, with a respect for order and
discipline, obedience and system (the true prophylactic against failure)
I should be free to rove where discoveries would be fruitful. This
“inoculation” will not, however, commence until after a study of their
natures, their deficiencies and weaknesses. The exhibition of force, at
this juncture, would be dangerous to our prospects, and all means
gentle, patient, and persuasive, have, therefore, to be tried first.
Whatever deficiencies, weaknesses, and foibles the people may develop
must be so manipulated that, while they are learning the novel lesson of
obedience, they may only just suspect that behind all this there lies
the strong unbending force which will eventually make men of them, wild
things though they now are. For the first few months, then, forbearance
is absolutely necessary. The dark brother, wild as a colt, chafing,
restless, ferociously impulsive, superstitiously timid, liable to
furious demonstrations, suspicious and unreasonable, must be forgiven
seventy times seven, until the period of probation is passed. Long
before this period is over, such temperate conduct will have enlisted a
powerful force, attached to their leader by bonds of good-will and
respect, even, perhaps, of love and devotion, and by the moral influence
of their support even the most incorrigible _mauvais sujet_ will be
restrained, and finally conquered.
Many things will transpire during the first few weeks which will make
the explorer sigh and wish that he had not ventured upon what promises
to be a hopeless task. Maddened by strong drinks and drugs, jealous of
their status in the camp, regretting also, like ourselves, that they had
been so hasty in undertaking the journey, brooding over the joys of the
island fast receding from them, anxious for the future, susceptible to
the first and every influence that assails them with temptations to
return to the coast, these people require to be treated with the utmost
kindness and consideration, and the intending traveller must be wisely
circumspect in his intercourse with them. From my former experiences of
such men, it will be readily believed that I had prepared for the scenes
which I knew were to follow at Bagamoyo, and that all my precautions had
been taken.
_Nov. 13._—Upon landing at Bagamoyo on the morning of the 13th, we
marched to occupy the old house where we had stayed so long to prepare
the First Expedition. The goods were stored, the dogs chained up, the
riding asses tethered, the rifles arrayed in the store-room, and the
sectional boat laid under a roof close by, on rollers, to prevent injury
from the white ants—a precaution which, I need hardly say, we had to
observe throughout our journey. Then some more ration money, sufficient
for ten days, had to be distributed among the men, the young Pococks
were told off to various camp duties to initiate them to exploring life
in Africa, and then, after the first confusion of arrival had subsided,
I began to muster the new _engagés_.
But within three hours Bagamoyo was in a ferment. “The white man has
brought all the robbers, ruffians, and murderers of Zanzibar to take
possession of the town,” was the rumour that ran wildly through all the
streets, lanes, courts, and bazaars. Men with bloody faces, wild,
bloodshot eyes, bedraggled, rumpled and torn dresses, reeled up to our
orderly and nearly silent quarters clamouring for rifles and ammunition.
Arabs with drawn swords, and sinewy Baluchis with matchlocks and tinder
ready to be ignited, came up threatening, and, following them, a
miscellaneous rabble of excited men, while, in the background, seethed a
mob of frantic women and mischievous children.
“What is the matter?” I asked, scarcely knowing how to begin to calm
this turbulent mass of passionate beings.
“Matter!” was echoed. “What is the matter?” was repeated. “Matter
enough. The town is in an uproar. Your men are stealing, murdering,
robbing goods from the stores, breaking plates, killing our chickens,
assaulting everybody, drawing knives on our women after abusing them,
and threatening to burn the town and exterminate everybody. Matter
indeed! matter enough! What do you mean by bringing this savage rabble
from Zanzibar?” So fumed and sputtered an Arab of some consequence among
the magnates of Bagamoyo.
“Dear me, my friend, this is shocking; terrible. Pray sit down, and be
patient. Sit down here by me, and let us talk this over like wise men,”
I said in soothing tones to this _enfant terrible_, for he really looked
in feature, dress, and demeanour, what, had I been an imaginative raw
youth, I should have set down as the “incarnate scourge of Africa,” and
he looked wicked enough with his bare, sinewy arms, his brandished
sword, and fierce black eyes, to chop off my innocent head.
The Arab, with a short nod, accepted my proposition and seated himself.
“We are about to have a _Shauri_—a consultation.” “Hush there! Silence!”
“Words!” “Shauri!” “Words—open your ears!” “Slaves!” “Fools!” “List,
Arabs!” “You Baluch there, rein in your tongue!” &c. &c., cried out a
wild mixture of voices in a strange mixture of tongues, commanding, or
imploring, silence.
The Arab was requested to speak, and to point out, if he knew them, the
Wangwana guilty of provoking such astonishing disorder. In an indignant
and eloquent strain he rehearsed his special complaint. A man named
Mustapha had come to his shop drunk, and had abused him like a low
blackguard, and then, snatching up a bolt of cotton cloth, had run away
with it, but, being pursued and caught, had drawn a knife, and was about
to stab him, when a friend of his opportunely clubbed the miscreant and
thus saved his life. By the mouths of several witnesses the complaint
was proved, and Mustapha was therefore arrested, disarmed of his knife,
and locked up in the dark strong-room, to reflect on his crimes in
solitude. Loud approval greeted the sentence.
“Who else?”
A score of people of both sexes advanced towards me with their
complaints, and it seemed as though silence could never be restored, but
by dint of threatening to leave the burzah from sheer despair, quietness
was restored. It is unnecessary to detail the several charges made
against them, or to describe the manner of conviction, but, after three
hours, peace reigned in Bagamoyo once more, and over twenty of the
Wangwana had been secured and impounded in the several rooms of the
house, with a dozen of their comrades standing guard over them.
To avoid a repetition of this terrible scene, I despatched a messenger
with a polite request to the Governor, Sheikh Mansur bin Suliman, that
he would arrest and punish all disorderly Wangwana in my service, as
justice should require, but I am sorry to say that the Wali (governor)
took such advantage of this request that few of the Wangwana who showed
their faces in the streets next day escaped violence. Acting on the
principle that desperate diseases require desperate remedies, over
thirty had been chained and beaten, and many others had escaped abuse of
power only by desperate flight from the myrmidons of the now vengeful
sheikh.
Another message was therefore sent to the Governor, imploring him to be
as lenient as possible, consistent with equitable justice, and
explaining to him the nature and cause of these frantic moods and
ebullitions of temper on the part of the Wangwana. I attempted to define
to him what “sprees” were, explaining that all men, about to undergo a
long absence from their friends and country, thought they were entitled
to greater freedom at such a period, but that some weak-headed men, with
a natural inclination to be vicious, had, in indulging this privilege,
encroached upon the privileges of others, and that hence arose collision
and confusion. But the Governor waxed still more tyrannical: beatings,
chainings, and extortionate exactions became more frequent and
unbearable, until at last the Wangwana appeared in a body before me, and
demanded another “Shauri.”
The result of this long consultation—after an earnest protest from me
against their wild conduct, calculated, as I told them, to seriously
compromise me, followed by expostulation with them on their evil course,
and a warning that I felt more like abetting the Governor in his
treatment of them than seeking its amelioration—was an injunction to be
patient and well-behaved during our short stay, and a promise that I
would lead them into Africa within two days, when at the first camp
pardon should be extended to all, and a new life would be begun in
mutual peace and concord, to continue, I hoped, until our return to the
sea.
There is an institution at Bagamoyo which ought not to be passed over
without remark, but the subject cannot be properly dealt with until I
have described the similar institution, of equal importance, at
Zanzibar, viz. the Universities Mission. Besides, I have three pupils of
the Universities Mission who are about to accompany me into Africa—
Robert Feruzi, Andrew, and Dallington. Robert is a stout lad of eighteen
years old, formerly a servant to one of the members of Lieutenant
Cameron’s Expedition, but discharged at Unyanyembé, for not very clear
reasons, to find his way back. Andrew is a strong youth of nineteen
years, rather reserved, and, I should say, not of a very bright
disposition. Dallington is much younger, probably only fifteen, with a
face strongly pitted with traces of a violent attack of small-pox, but
as bright and intelligent as any boy of his age, white or black.
The Universities Mission is the result of the sensation caused in
England by Livingstone’s discoveries on the Zambezi and of Lakes Nyassa
and Shirwa. It was despatched by the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge in the year 1860, and consisted of Bishop Mackenzie, formerly
Archdeacon of Natal, and the Rev. Messrs. Proctor, Scudamore, Burrup,
and Rowley. These devoted gentlemen reached the Zambezi river in
February 1861.
When the Universities Mission met Livingstone, then engaged in the
practical work of developing the discovery of the Zambezi and other
neighbouring waters, a consultation was held as to the best locality for
mission work to begin at. The Bishop and his followers were advised by
Livingstone to ascend the Rovuma river, and march thence overland to
some selected spot on Lake Nyassa. But, upon attempting the project, the
river was discovered to be falling, and too shallow to admit of such a
steamer as the _Pioneer_, and as much sickness had broken out on board,
the Mission sailed to the Comoro Islands to recruit. In July 1861 they
reached the foot of the Murchison Cataracts on the Shiré. Soon after,
while proceeding overland, they encountered a caravan of slaves, whom
they liberated, with a zeal that was commendable though impolitic.
Subsequently, other slaves were forcibly detained from the caravans
until the number collected amounted to 148, and with these the
missionaries determined to begin their holy work.
While establishing its quarters at Magomero, the Mission was attacked by
the Ajawas, but the reverend gentlemen and their pupils drove off the
enemy. Shortly after this, a difference of opinion arising with
Livingstone as to the proper policy to be pursued, the latter departed
to pursue his explorations, and the Bishop and his party continued to
prosecute their work with every promise of success. But in its zeal for
the suppression of the slave-trade, the Mission made alliance with the
Manganjas, and joined with them in a war against the Ajawas, whom they
afterwards discovered to be really a peaceable people. Thus was the
character of the Mission almost changed by the complicated politics of
the native tribes in which they had meddled without forethought of the
consequences. Then came the rainy season with its unhealthiness and
fatal results. Worn out with fever and privations, poor Bishop Mackenzie
died, and in less than a month the Rev. Mr. Burrup followed him. Messrs.
Scudamore, Dickinson, and Rowley removed the Mission to the banks of the
Shiré, where the two former died, and the few remaining survivors,
despairing of success, soon left the country, and the Universities
Mission to Central Africa became only a name with which the succeeding
Bishop, the Rev. Mr. Tozer, continued to denominate his Mission at
Zanzibar.
Nor is the record of this hitherto unfortunate and struggling Mission in
the city of Zanzibar, with access to luxuries and comforts, brighter or
more assuring than it was at primitive Magomero, surrounded by leagues
of fen and morass. Many noble souls of both sexes perished, and the good
work seemed far from hopeful. I am reminded, as I write these words, of
my personal acquaintance with the venerable figure of Pennell, and the
young and ardent West. The latter was alive in 1874, full of ardour,
hope, and zealous devotion. When I returned, he had gone the way of his
brother martyrs of the Zambezi.
[Illustration:
UNIVERSITIES MISSION AT KANGANI, ZANZIBAR.
(_From a photograph by Mr. Buchanan, of Natal._)
]
Almost single-handed remains the Rev. Edward Steere, faithful to his
post as Bishop and Chief Pastor. He has visited Lake Nyassa, and
established a Mission halfway, and another I believe at Lindi; he keeps
a watchful eye upon the operations of the Mission House established
among the Shambalas; and at the headquarters or home at Kangani, a few
miles east of Shangani Point, the old residence, he superintends, and
instructs lads and young men as printers, carpenters, blacksmiths, and
in the practical knowledge of other useful trades. His quarters
represent almost every industrial trade useful in life as occupations
for members of the lower classes, and are in the truest sense an
industrial and religious establishment for the moral and material
welfare of a class of unfortunates who deserve our utmost assistance and
sympathy. This extraordinary man, endowed with piety as fervid as ever
animated a martyr, looms grander and greater in the imagination as we
think of him as the one man who appears to have possessed the faculties
and gifts necessary to lift this Mission, with its gloomy history, into
the new life upon which it has now entered. With all my soul I wish him
and it success, and while he lives, provided he is supported, there need
be no fear that the Mission will resume that hopeless position from
which he, and he alone, appears to have rescued it.
From the same source that the Universities Missions have drawn their
pupils, namely, the youthful victims of the slave-trade, her Majesty’s
Consul has supplied to a great extent the French Catholic Missions at
Zanzibar and Bagamoyo. The Mission in the island which has now been
established for years is called the St. Joseph’s, that at Bagamoyo bears
the title of “Notre Dame de Bagamoyo.” The first possesses two priests
and four brothers, with one lay professor of music; the other, which is
the principal one, consists of four priests, eight brothers, and twelve
sisters, with ten lay brothers employed in teaching agriculture. The
French fathers superintend the tuition of 250 children, and give
employment to about 80 adults; 170 freed slaves were furnished from the
slave-captures made by British cruisers. They are taught to earn their
own living as soon as they arrive of age, are furnished with comfortable
lodgings, clothing, and household utensils.
“Notre Dame de Bagamoyo” is situated about a mile and a half north of
Bagamoyo, overlooking the sea, which washes the shores just at the base
of the tolerably high ground on which the mission buildings stand.
Thrift, order, and that peculiar style of neatness common to the French
are its characteristics. The cocoa-nut palm, orange, and mango flourish
in this pious settlement, while a variety of garden vegetables and grain
are cultivated in the fields; and broad roads, cleanly kept, traverse
the estate. During the Superior’s last visit to France he obtained a
considerable sum for the support of the Mission, and he has lately,
during my absence in Africa, established a branch mission at Kidudwe. It
is evident that, if supported constantly by his friends in France, the
Superior will extend his work still farther into the interior, and it
is, therefore, safe to predict that the road to Ujiji will in time
possess a chain of mission stations affording the future European trader
and traveller safe retreats with the conveniences of civilized life.
There are two other missions on the east coast of Africa, that of the
Church Missionary Society, and the Methodist Free Church at Mombasa. The
former has occupied this station for over thirty years, and has a branch
establishment at Rabbai Mpia, the home of the Dutch missionaries, Krapf,
Rebmann, and Erhardt. But these missions have not obtained the success
which such long self-abnegation and devotion to the pious service
deserved.
It is strange how British philanthropists, clerical and lay, persist in
the delusion that the Africans can be satisfied with spiritual
improvement only. They should endeavour to impress themselves with the
undeniable fact that man, white, yellow, red or black, has also material
wants which crave to be understood and supplied. A barbarous man is a
pure materialist. He is full of cravings for possessing something that
he cannot describe. He is like a child which has not yet acquired the
faculty of articulation. The missionary discovers the barbarian almost
stupefied with brutish ignorance, with the instincts of a man in him,
but yet living the life of a beast. Instead of attempting to develop the
qualities of this practical human being, he instantly attempts his
transformation by expounding to him the dogmas of the Christian Faith,
the doctrine of transubstantiation and other difficult subjects, before
the barbarian has had time to articulate his necessities and to explain
to him that he is a frail creature requiring to be fed with bread, and
not with a stone.
My experience and study of the pagan prove to me, however, that if the
missionary can show the poor materialist that religion is allied with
substantial benefits and improvement of his degraded condition, the task
to which he is about to devote himself will be rendered comparatively
easy. For the African once brought in contact with the European becomes
docile enough; he is awed by a consciousness of his own immense
inferiority, and imbued with a vague hope that he may also rise in time
to the level of this superior being who has so challenged his
admiration. It is the story of Caliban and Stefano over again. He comes
to him with a desire to be taught and, seized with an ambition to aspire
to a higher life, becomes docile and tractable, but to his surprise he
perceives himself mocked by this being who talks to him about matters
that he despairs of ever understanding, and therefore with abashed face
and a still deeper sense of his inferiority, he retires to his den,
cavern, or hut with a dogged determination to be contented with the
brutish life he was born in.
_Nov. 17._—On the morning of the 17th of November, 1874, the first
bold step for the interior was taken. The bugle mustered the people to
rank themselves before our quarters, and each man’s load was given to
him according as we judged his power of bearing burthen. To the man of
strong sturdy make, with a large development of muscle, the cloth bale
of 60 lbs. was given, which would in a couple of months by constant
expenditure be reduced to 50 lbs., in six months perhaps to 40 lbs.,
and in a year to about 30 lbs., provided that all his comrades were
faithful to their duties; to the short compactly formed man, the bead
sack of 50 lbs. weight; to the light youth of eighteen or twenty years
old, the box of 40 lbs., containing stores, ammunition, and sundries.
To the steady, respectable, grave-looking men of advanced years, the
scientific instruments, thermometers, barometers, watches, sextant,
mercury bottles, compasses, pedometers, photographic apparatus,
dry plates, stationery, and scientific books, all packed in 40-lb.
cases, were distributed; while the man most highly recommended for
steadiness and most cautious tread was entrusted with the carriage
of the three chronometers which were stowed in balls of cotton, in a
light case weighing not more than 25 lbs. The twelve Kirangozis, or
guides, tricked out this day in flowing robes of crimson blanket cloth,
demanded the privilege of conveying the several loads of brass wire
coils, and as they form the second advance guard, and are active, bold
youths—some of whom are to be hereafter known as the boat’s crew, and
to be distinguished by me above all others, except the chiefs—they
are armed with Snider rifles, with their respective accoutrements.
The boat-carriers are herculean in figure and strength, for they are
practised bearers of loads, having resigned their ignoble profession
of hamal in Zanzibar to carry sections of the first European-made boat
that ever floated on Lakes Victoria and Tanganika and the extreme
sources of the Nile and the Livingstone. To each section of the boat
there are four men, to relieve one another in couples. They get higher
pay than even the chiefs, except the chief captain, Manwa Sera,
and, besides receiving double rations, have the privilege of taking
their wives along with them. There are six riding asses also in the
expedition, all saddled, one for each of the Europeans—the two Pococks,
Barker, and myself—and two for the sick: for the latter there are
also three of Seydel’s net hammocks, with six men to act as a kind of
ambulance party.
[Illustration:
WIFE OF MANWA SERA.
(_From a photograph._)
]
Though we have not yet received our full complement of men, necessity
compels us to move from the vicinity of the Goanese liquor shops, and
from under the severe authority of Sheikh Mansur bin Suliman, whose
views of justice would soon demoralize any expedition. Accordingly
at 9 A.M. of the 17th, five days after leaving Zanzibar, we filed
out from the town, receiving some complimentary and not a few
uncomplimentary parting words from the inhabitants, male and female,
who are out in strong force to view the procession as follows: Four
chiefs a few hundred yards in front; next the twelve guides clad
in red robes of Joho, bearing the wire coils; then a long file 270
strong, bearing cloth, wire, beads, and sections of the _Lady Alice_;
after them thirty-six women and ten boys, children of some of the
chiefs and boat-bearers, following their mothers and assisting them
with trifling loads of utensils, followed by the riding asses,
Europeans and gun-bearers; the long line closed by sixteen chiefs who
act as rear-guard, and whose duties are to pick up stragglers, and
act as supernumeraries until other men can be procured: in all 356
souls connected with the Anglo-American Expedition. The lengthy line
occupies nearly half a mile of the path which at the present day is the
commercial and exploring highway into the Lake regions.
Edward Pocock is kind enough to act as bugler, because from long
practice at the military camps at Aldershot and Chatham he understands
the signals. He has familiarized Hamadi, the chief guide, with its
notes, so that in case of a halt being required, Hamadi may be informed
immediately. The chief guide is also armed with a prodigiously long horn
of ivory, his favourite instrument, and one that belongs to his
profession, which he has permission to use only when approaching a
suitable camping-place, or to notify to us danger in the front. Before
Hamadi strides a chubby little boy with a native drum, which is to beat
only when in the neighbourhood of villages, to warn them of the advance
of a caravan, a caution most requisite, for many villages are scattered
in the midst of a dense jungle, and the sudden arrival of a large force
of strangers before they had time to hide their little belongings might
awake jealousy and distrust.
In this manner we begin our long journey, full of hopes. There is noise
and laughter along the ranks, and a hum of gay voices murmuring through
the fields, as we rise and descend with the waves of the land and wind
with the sinuosities of the path. Motion had restored us all to a sense
of satisfaction. We had an intensely bright and fervid sun shining above
us, the path was dry, hard, and admirably fit for travel, and during the
commencement of our first march nothing could be conceived in better
order than the lengthy thin column about to confront the wilderness.
Presently, however, the fervour of the dazzling sun grows overpowering
as we descend into the valley of the Kingani river. The ranks become
broken and disordered; stragglers are many; the men complain of the
terrible heat; the dogs pant in agony. Even we ourselves under our solar
topees, with flushed faces and perspiring brows, with handkerchiefs ever
in use to wipe away the drops which almost blind us, and our heavy
woollens giving us a feeling of semi-asphyxiation, would fain rest, were
it not that the sun-bleached levels of the tawny, thirsty valley offer
no inducements. The veterans of travel push on towards the river three
miles distant, where they may obtain rest and shelter, but the
inexperienced are lying prostrate on the ground, exclaiming against the
heat, and crying for water, bewailing their folly in leaving Zanzibar.
We stop to tell them to rest a while, and then to come on to the river,
where they will find us; we advise, encourage, and console the irritated
people as best we can, and tell them that it is only the commencement of
a journey that is so hard, that all this pain and weariness are always
felt by beginners, but that by-and-by it is shaken off, and that those
who are steadfast emerge out of the struggle heroes.
Frank and his brother Edward, despatched to the ferry at the beginning
of these delays, have now got the sectional boat _Lady Alice_ all ready,
and the ferrying of men, goods, asses, and dogs across the Kingani is
prosecuted with vigour, and at 3.30 P.M. the boat is again in pieces,
slung on the bearing poles, and the Expedition has resumed its journey
to Kikoka, the first halting-place.
But before we reach camp, we have acquired a fair idea as to how many of
our people are staunch and capable, and how many are too feeble to
endure the fatigues of bearing loads. The magnificent prize mastiff dog
“Castor” died of heat apoplexy, within two miles of Kikoka, and the
other mastiff, “Captain,” seems likely to follow soon, and only “Nero,”
“Bull,” and “Jack,” though prostrate and breathing hard, show any signs
of life.
_Nov. 18._—At Kikoka, then, we rest the next day. We discharge two men,
who have been taken seriously ill, and several new recruits, who arrive
at camp during the night preceding and this day, are engaged.
There are several reasons which can be given, besides heat of the
Tropics and inexperience, for the quick collapse of many of the Wangwana
on the first march, and the steadiness evinced by the native carriers
confirms them. The Wangwana lead very impure lives on the island, and
with the importation of opium by the Banyans and Hindis, the Wangwana
and many Arabs have acquired the vicious habit of eating this drug.
Chewing betel-nut with lime is another uncleanly and disgusting habit,
and one that can hardly benefit the _morale_ of a man; while certainly
most deleterious to the physical powers is the almost universal habit of
vehemently inhaling the smoke of the _Cannabis sativa_, or wild hemp. In
a light atmosphere, such as we have in hot days in the Tropics, with the
thermometer rising to 140° Fahr. in the sun, these people, with lungs
and vitals injured by excessive indulgence in these destructive habits,
discover they have no physical stamina to sustain them. The rigour of a
march in a loaded caravan soon tells upon their weakened powers, and one
by one they drop from the ranks, betraying their impotence and
infirmities.
During the afternoon of this day, as I was preparing my last letters, I
was rather astonished by a visit paid to my camp by a detachment of
Baluchi soldiers, the chief of whom bore a letter from the governor of
Bagamoyo—Mansur bin Suliman—wherein he complained that the Wangwana had
induced about fifteen women to abandon their masters, and requested me
to return them.
Upon mustering the people, and inquiring into their domestic affairs, it
was discovered that a number of women had indeed joined the Expedition
during the night. Some of them bore free papers given them by H.M.
Political Resident at Zanzibar, but nine were by their own confessions
runaways. After being hospitably received by the Sultan and the Arabs of
Zanzibar, it was no part of my duty, I considered, unauthorized as I was
by any Government, to be even a passive agent in this novel method of
liberating slaves. The order was therefore given that these women should
return with the soldiers, but as this did not agree with either the
views of the women or of their loving abductors, a determined opposition
was raised, which bore every appearance of soon culminating in
sanguinary strife. The men seized their Snider rifles and Tower muskets,
and cartridges, ramrods and locks were handled with looks which boded
mischief. Acting upon the principle that as chief of my own camp I had a
perfect right to exclude unbidden guests, I called out the “faithfuls”
of my first expedition, forty-seven in number, and ranked them on the
side of the Sultan’s soldiers, to prove to the infuriated men that, if
they fired, they must injure their own friends, brothers, and chiefs.
Frank Pocock also led a party of twenty in their rear, and then, closing
in on the malcontents, we disarmed them, and lashed their guns into
bundles, which were delivered up to the charge of Edward Pocock. A small
party of faithfuls was then ordered to escort the Sultan’s soldiers and
the women out of camp, lest some vengeful men should have formed an
ambuscade between our camp and the river.
From the details furnished in this and the two preceding chapters, a
tolerably correct idea may be gained by the intending traveller, trader,
or missionary in these lands, of the proper method of organization, as
well as the quality and nature of the men whom he will lead, the manner
of preparation and the proportion of articles to be purchased.
As there are so many subjects to be touched upon along the seven
thousand miles of explored lines, I propose to be brief with the
incidents and descriptive sketches of our route to Ituru, because the
country for two-thirds of the way has been sufficiently described in
‘How I found Livingstone.’
[Illustration:
THE EXPEDITION AT ROSAKO.
(_From a photograph._)
]