mining places, sleeping the night at a friendly _fazenda_; next day
we rode on to S. José de Morra Grande, Barro, Brumado, Santa Barbara,
and Cates Atlas. There we slept. Next morning we rode to Agua, Queule,
Fonseca, Morreia, and Affeixonada; from thence to Benito Rodriguez,
then Comargo, then S. Anna, and then Marianna. Here we slept, went
to church, visited the Bishop, the Seminary, the Sisters of Charity,
hospitals, orphanage, and schools, and rode to Passagem, where we
slept. Next day we went down the Passagem mines (gold), forty-five
fathoms down, and in another place thirty-two fathoms, and saw the
stamps; and then we went and did the same at the S. Anna mines. This
day we were so near Mr. Treloar's house, that we gave away all our
provisions, saying, "By breakfast-time to-morrow we shall be in a
English house." Imagine our horror, on arriving, to find that poor Mrs.
Treloar had died the evening before, and that her poor husband was in
such a state that it was impossible for him to receive us. He thanked
God for Richard's coming, because there was no church, no clergyman,
and no burial-ground, and an English Consul performing the burial
service is valid; so the sorrowful ceremony was performed, winding up
the hill-top, where she was buried, and I was left in charge of all
his negroes. They had prepared something for us to eat, for which I
had given them five _milreis_, about ten shillings. They all squabbled
so violently over this, as to draw their knives, and to begin to stab
each other; so, with that ascendency which whites generally have
over blacks, I ordered them all to come into my presence and to put
their knives down near me, and I asked them if they were not ashamed,
when their poor mistress was being carried up the hill to her last
burial-place, to behave in so unseemly a fashion, and, ordering them
all down upon their knees, I took out my Prayer-book and read the
burial service too; and I read it over and over again, until the party
came back from the grave.
We then started immediately for Ouro Preto. Here Richard went up the
Itacalumi, and I visited the two martyrs of Ouro Preto, the house of
Gonzaga. We then slept and dined, and had champagne, and we went to
tea at Mr. and Mrs. Spiers', who had a party. Next day we rode on
to Casa Branca, S. Vicente, to Rio das Pedras, where we joined some
American emigrants. Afterwards we had a very weary and hard ride to
Corele d'Agua, our old sleeping-place, where we took a cup of coffee
and rode to S. Antonio. We had a pelting rain, and we breakfasted at a
_troupeiro's_ ranch; thence to S. Rita, and from thence to Morro Velho,
six leagues away, arriving like wet dogs.
[Sidenote: _We go down the Big Mine._]
On the 24th of July we went down the big mine at Morro Velho. Now,
this was a great event; few men visitors had been down, and no woman.
I forget the positive depth of it, but am under the impression _now_
that it was three-quarters of a mile straight down into the bowels of
the earth, including the last thirty-five fathoms to the depths. We
were dressed in miners' dresses, with the usual candle in our caps,
and we got into a basket like a caldron hanging to the end of a long
chain, and then we began to descend. It seemed an eternity, going down,
down, and down, and of all the things we ever have done, it seemed to
me that it was the one that required the most pluck, so dark, so cold,
and slimy it looked, and yet suffocating, and if anything happened, you
felt that ne'er an arm or leg would ever be found; it realized more
than any amount of sermons could do "the bottomless pit." The chain had
broken a little while before, and we had seen the poor smashed negroes
brought up, and it did break the next day, but _our time was not yet
come_. I have got the broken link of that chain now; Mr. Gordon gave
it to me, and it is my one relic of those days. After an apparently
interminable time we began to see lights below, at a great distance, as
you see a seaport town from a mountain as you come down at night, and
by-and-by we began to hear voices, and finally we touched ground, and
were heartily received by those who had previously gone down to take
care of us, including Mr. Gordon himself. They gave us a hearty cheer.
We were shown all over the mine, and all its workings, and I must say
I think Dante must have seen a similar place wherewith to make his
Inferno.
Even Richard notes in his journal, "an awful sight."
RICHARD'S ACCOUNT[3] OF GOING DOWN THE MINE.
"A small crowd of surface workmen accompanied us to the mouth of
Walker's inclined plane, a hot and unpleasant hole leading to the
Cachoeira Mine. The negret Chico gave one glance at the deep dark
pit, wrung his hands, and fled the Tophet, crying that nothing in the
wide, wide world would make him enter such an Inferno. He had lately
been taught that he is a responsible being, with an 'immortal soul,'
and he was beginning to believe it in a rough theoretical way: this
certainly did not look like a place 'where the good niggers go.' Next
the descent:--
"Presently the bucket was suspended over the abyss, and we found in it
a rough wooden seat, comfortable enough. We were advised by the pitmen
not to look downwards, as the glimmer of sparks and light-points
moving about in the mighty obscure below causes giddiness and
sea-sickness. We did look down, however, and none of us suffered from
the trial. More useful advice was to keep head and hands well within
the bucket, especially when passing the up-going tub. We tipped and
tilted half over only once against a kibble-way drum, placed to fend
off the _cacamba_. We had three such collisions, which made us catch
at the chains, and describe them as 'moments of fearful suspense;' we
had been lowered in a kibble with a superfluity of chain.
"When our eyesight had become somewhat feline we threw a glance round.
Once more the enormous timbering under a bar, or to the east of the
shaft, called it to every one's attention."
After describing the great extent of the mine, whose vertical height
was 1134 feet, and breadth 108 feet, "unparalleled in the annals of
mining," and which suggested "a cavern, a huge stone quarry, a mammoth
cave raised from the horizontal to the perpendicular," the narrative
winds up as follows:--
ON NEARING THE BOTTOM.
"And now, looking west, the huge palace of darkness, dim in long
perspective, wears a tremendous aspect; above, at first only, there
seemed to be a sky without an atmosphere. The walls were either
as black as the grave or reflected slender rays of light glancing
from the polished watery surface, or were broken into monstrous
projections, half revealing and half concealing the cavernous, gloomy
recesses. Despite the lamps, the night pressed upon us, as it were,
with a weight, and the only measure of distance was a spark here and
there, glimmering like a single star. Distinctly Dantesque was the
gulf between the huge mountain sides apparently threatening every
moment to fall. Everything, even the accents of a familiar voice,
seemed changed; the ear was struck by the sharp click and dull thud of
the hammer upon the boring-iron, and this upon the stone; each blow
invariably struck was to keep time with the wild chants of the borer.
The other definite sounds, curiously complicated by an echo, which
seemed to be within reach, were the slush of water on the subterranean
paths, the rattling of the gold-stone thrown into the kibbles, and the
crash of chain and bucket.
"Through this Inferno gnomes and kobolds glided about in ghostly
fashion--half-naked figures muffled up by the mist. Here dark bodies,
gleaming with beaded heat-drops, hung in what seemed frightful
positions; there they swung like Leotard from place to place; there
they swarmed up loose ropes like the Troglodytes; there they moved
over scaffolds, which even to look up at would make a nervous
temperament dizzy. This one view amply repaid us. It was a place--
'Where thoughts were many, and where words were few.'
But the effect will remain upon the mental retina as long as our
brains do their duty. At the end of two hours we left this cathedral'd
cavern of thick-ribbed gold, and we were safely got out like ore to
grass.
"We found the last eighty-three fathoms of tunnel steep and dark,
but dry and comfortable. It was well timbered with beams and Candeia
trunks wherever the ceiling required propping. At length we reached
another vaulted cavern, thirty-five fathoms of perpendicular depth. It
was lit up with torches, and the miners--all slaves, directed by white
overseers--streamed with perspiration, and merrily sung their wild
songs and chorus, keeping time with the strokes of hammer and drill.
The heavy gloom, the fitful glare, and the savage chant, with the
wall hanging like the stone of Cisyphus, like the sword of Damocles,
suggested a sort of material Swedenborgian hell; and accordingly the
negret Chico faltered out, when asked his opinion on our return,
'Parece o Inferno!'"
[Sidenote: _Below._]
To continue my account. There were the large dark halls with vaults
and domes; they were covered with negroes, each with a candle stuck
in his black head, hammering in time to some tune to which they were
all singing. It would have been a wonderful picture for a painter. How
often all my life I have regretted not to have been an artist, instead
of musical! The negroes are healthy and well doing; they only work
eight hours a day, and have over-pay for anything extra. The mulattoes
were the most surly looking ones. After having seen everything we
ascended again, and if I may say so, I think the ascent was worse than
the going down, and nobody knows, until they have tried that sort of
darkness, what daylight and sunlight and fresh air mean. After long
mounting, you see at last one star sparkling in the distance like an
eye, which appears miles off, and that is the mouth of the shaft.
In the evening there was a concert and a ball amongst ourselves. On the
27th Richard lectured; there were some private theatricals in which I
took a part, and forgetting the drop behind the open-air, theatre when
I backed off, I fell. I sprained my ankle so badly that my leg was all
black, and I could not move. Now, the worst of it was that we were
going to canoe down the San Francisco river, to come out at the falls
of Paulo Affonso, issuing at Bahía, and back to Rio by steamer; but it
was impossible to take a woman who could not walk. We could embark at
Sabará, a short distance from where we were, and as Richard's time was
very short, and he could not take a lame woman, he had to start without
me, and I went in the litter to see him embark in the boat _Elisa_.
As soon as I got well, Mr. Gordon, who was an exceedingly liberal,
large-minded man, recognized that having three thousand Catholic
negroes under him, manned by twenty-five English Protestant officers,
it was quite possible that in a religious sense, things might be made
more comfortable to them, and he asked me, as an educated English
Catholic, to go the rounds of Church and Hospital, and find out if
there was anything that could improve their condition. Having been for
some time in Brazil, and seeing the wants of the negroes, I thought I
could put my finger on the right spot at once. There was one particular
ward in the hospital where incurables were put, and a black cross over
their beds told them Dante's old words, "Lasciate ogni speranza, voi
ch' entrate" ("Leave every hope (outside), all ye who enter (here)").
I dismissed the attendant, for fear they should be afraid to answer,
walked round the wards and sat by them, and I will take one case as
a specimen of the whole. She was dying of diseases which need not be
named here. I said to her--
"Has your case been given over by the doctor?"
"Alas! yes," she said; "I have only got to wait."
"Should you like to live?"
"Yes, of course I should."
"Has the priest been to hear your confession? Have you sent for him?"
"Oh no; I should not dare do that."
"Why not? What is he for?"
"Oh, lady, we must not _ask_, and he doesn't come to us in _this_ ward,
only to those who go to church."
"Do you mean to tell me that none of you in this ward get the last
Sacraments?"
"Oh no; we should be so ashamed to see his Reverence."
"Why, you are not ashamed to see the doctor? What is the difference
between the doctor and the priest, except that one is for your body
and one is for your soul? You say you are afraid of the priest; will
you not be more ashamed of God, whose servant he is?" That seemed to
strike them; so, wishing them good-bye, I trotted off to the _Padre_.
No matter his name, but he appeared to take things very easy when I
told him. He said he "could not administer the Sacraments, because he
had not a pyx nor any of the vessels to convey them in."
"Well," I said, "Father, I have been commissioned by the Superintendent
to examine into these things, and to report to him what _is_ done and
what _ought_ to be done, and he is going to see it carried out; so will
you oblige me by going to hear all those confessions, _now at once_,
and taking the holy ingredients in a wine-glass, and administering
Viaticum and Extreme Unction, and say a few consoling words to them,
and let us see the results? You know that you can break these glasses
into little atoms, and you can burn the remnants in one of the
furnaces, or keep them for that purpose until I send up the proper
things from Rio."
Well, this was done, and, to cut a long story short, that woman was
back to work in a fortnight; and when Mr. Gordon saw the immense
advantage produced by relief of mind, and the consideration of their
feelings, and the action of the brain upon the body, he made it an
institution, and commissioned me to send up all the necessary things
from Rio.
[Sidenote: _Chico and I start on a Fifteen Days' Ride alone._]
As soon as I was well enough for a long ride, Mr. Gordon supplied
me with horses--one for me, one for Chico, and one for our small
baggage--a sail and a few poles to make a tent in the day, a
gypsy-kettle on three prongs, a bag of maize for the horses, and rice
and other things for ourselves, and taking an affectionate leave of
the whole company there, and especially my kind host and family, whom
we have always remembered with the sincerest affection, and sadness
too, for poor Mrs. Gordon died eventually from a horrible shock (her
youngest and favourite son was caught in the machinery in an instant
and ground to death--a subject too sad to dwell upon), I commenced my
long ride home--a very pleasant ride.
I rose at dawn; we made some tea in our kettle. Replenishing our sack
of provisions at every village, and having fed, watered, and groomed
the horses, we rode until it was too hot. We put up our bit of sail
and rested during the heat, and then we rode on till nightfall; after
this we fed again, looked after the horses and picketed them. Some of
the country, and especially the forests, were lovely. Whenever we came
to a village or a ranch, we and our animals got housed; and when we
did not, which was rare, we camped out, for it was very warm. We never
met with a single scrap of danger the whole way, nor a rude word; for
defence we had only a penknife, our toasting-fork, and an old pistol
that would not go off. I had given my weapons to Richard, whose journey
was longer and more dangerous than mine.
At one place that we stopped at, we rose at half-past three, and whilst
dressing I heard what I supposed was thrashing out grain or beating
sacks. It went on for about fifteen minutes, and I did not pay any
attention to it, till at last I heard a sob issue from the beaten mass
at the other side of the thin partition wall. I knew then what was
taking place, and turned so sick I could hardly get to the door. I ran
to the room, caught hold of the man's arms, and called for Chico and
for everybody in the place, but I was fully ten minutes before I could
arouse any one's pity or sympathy; they seemed so used to it they would
not take the trouble to get up. The man who was beating only laughed,
and beat on. I very nearly fainted. I expected the poor wretch would
have been pounded to an ointment, but to my surprise, when he gave it
a kick and told it to get up, up rose quite a fine young woman, gave
herself a shake, and walked off like a Newfoundland dog. I went after
her, and asked her if she was hurt, and she said, "Oh no, not much;
he often goes on like that!" "But then," I said, "what did he do it
for? What did _you_ do?" She said, "Another black woman and I were
quarrelling, so he thrashed us both; but as you were sound asleep you
did not hear the first."
[Sidenote: _The Landlord of the Hotel is mystified._]
We arrived in Rio about the fifteenth day. I had never enjoyed anything
more; but as I had been out for three months without any change of
clothes, I was a very curious object to look at, to say nothing of my
face and hands being the colour of mahogany. I had been told before
getting in that the Estrangeiros, where I had left my maid and baggage,
was full, so I waited till night, and then went straight to the next
best hotel in the town. The landlord naturally did not recognize me,
and he pointed to a little place on the other side of the street, where
sailors' wives went, and he said, "I think that will be about your
place, my good woman, not here." "Well," I said, "I think I am coming
in here all the same." So, wondering, he took me upstairs and showed
me his rooms; but I was so mighty particular, that it was not till I
got to his best rooms that I stopped and said, "This will do. Be kind
enough to send up this letter for me to the Estrangeiros."
Presently down came my maid, who was a great swell, with my boxes.
After a bath and dressing, I rang the bell and ordered some supper. He
came up himself, as I was such an object of curiosity. When he saw me
again he said, "Did that woman come to take the apartments for you,
madam? I do beg your pardon; I am afraid I was rather rude to her."
"Well," I said, "I am that woman myself; but you need not apologize,
because I saw myself in the glass, and I don't wonder at it." He nearly
tumbled down, and when I had explained my adverse circumstances to him,
begged my pardon till I was quite tired of hearing it. I went up to
Santos for some time; and when I thought Richard could arrive, I went
down to Rio to meet him, and used to go on board every steamer that
came in from Bahía in the hopes of his being there. At this time came
out to Rio Mr. Wilfrid Blunt and his sister Alice. I went on board ship
after ship to meet Richard, but as he never came, I got at last very
anxious and miserable, and only used to make a fool of myself by crying
when I did not find him. He had been gone over four months. At last
the first steamer that I did _not_ go to meet, he arrived in, and was
quite angry to find that I was not on board to meet him. He had had a
very jolly journey, canoeing down the river to the "falls of the Paulo
Affonso," and sleeping at different ranches on the banks of the river.
It was something like fifteen hundred miles, coming out eventually at
Bahía, where he had a great friend, an old gentleman popularly known as
"Charley Williams," who gave him hospitality till he embarked, or could
catch a steamer to Rio. We then went down to Santos together.
As Richard was canoeing down the San Francisco river, he found a lot
of stones called Pingua d'Agua; they are formed by congealed rain in
the rocks; they get fossilized, and if polished have the glitter of
diamonds. Richard met an Englishman, who told him that he had come
over with all he had in the world, £1500, and expended it in diamonds,
of which he fondly believed he had got about £30,000 worth, and was
going home with them. So Richard told him that he had just come from
the diamond mines, and that he should immensely like to see them. When
he showed them to him, Richard's face fell, and he said, "What is the
matter?" "Well," he said, "I hardly like to tell you, but I am afraid
you have been done. Some one has passed off these Pingua d'Agua upon
you for diamonds, and I am afraid you have exchanged £1500 for thirty
shillings' worth." So the man said, "Oh, you must be a fool!" "Well,"
said Richard, "if it isn't that I am so sorry for you, I should say
'serve you right,' because I really do happen to know."
[Sidenote: _Richard dangerously Ill._]
About the 17th of April, 1868, Richard, who had been looking queer and
seedy for six weeks, but persisting all the time that he was perfectly
well, felt feverish and agueish, and went to bed. I gave him calomel
and castor oil, and then every sort of thing that I could think of. He
got worse and worse, and I was in despair, for there were no doctors;
but at last, after some days, a doctor did arrive from Rio, and I sent
for him at once, and he passed the night in the house. Of course it was
purely Brazilian treatment for a Brazilian disease, and nothing we knew
touched it. He had six cuppings, with thirty-six glasses and twelve
leeches, tartar emetic, and all sorts of other things, and there was
something to be given or rubbed every half-hour, of which a very large
ingredient was orange tea. The doctor came twice a day, and the number
of remedies was wonderful, every half-hour, and I never left him day or
night. They blistered him terribly.
When Richard thought he was dying, he sent me for Fray João, with whom
he had been learning astronomy; but Fray João was gone on an expedition
up country for two months, and he would not have anybody else for the
Sacraments; but he accepted the Scapular, which all Catholics will
understand, and to others it is not needful to explain, and he wore
it to the day of his death. One night he gave me a terrible fright;
he asked me to give him twenty drops of chlorodyne. I objected, but
he was so imperative about it that I thought he had been ordered it;
fortunately, I only gave him fifteen. He found it too strong, and,
also fortunately, he spat it out, and asked me to mix him another of
ten, which he drank. He soon frightened me by feeling sick and faint,
and I gave him lukewarm water to make him bring it up, and sent for
the doctor, who was very frightened about him. He was insensible an
hour. He gave ether pills, applied mustard to the calves of the legs
and inside the thighs, and then Richard had a calm and good sleep all
night, and from that got a great deal better. He was able to go into
his study after a month, and took his first drive five weeks after he
was taken ill, and at the end of seven weeks I was able to take him
down to the Barra, where Mr. Ford had kindly lent us his bungalow,
where Richard could sit on the sands and let the sea roll over him, and
here he got much better. I may now tell a horrid little story, as it
illustrates Richard's power of mesmerizing.
[Sidenote: _Mesmerizing._]
Richard was a great mesmerizer, a thing which everybody who knew him
will understand.[4] He always preferred women, and especially of the
blue-eyed, yellow-haired type. I need not say that he began with me
as soon as we married; but I did not like it, and used to resist it,
but after a while I consented. At first it was a little difficult,
but when once he had complete control, no passes or contact were
necessary; he used simply to say, "Sleep," and I did. He could also do
this at a distance, but with more difficulty if water were between us,
and if he tried to mesmerize anybody else and I was anywhere in the
neighbourhood, I absorbed it, and they took nothing. I used to grow at
last to be afraid to be in the same room with a mesmerizer, as I used
to experience the greatest discomfort, and I knew if there was one in
the room, the same as some people know if there is a cat in the room;
but I could resist _them_, though I could not resist Richard. He used
to mesmerize me freely, but he never allowed any one else, nor did I,
to mesmerize me. Once mesmerized, he had only to say, "Talk," and I
used to tell everything I knew, only I used to implore of him to forbid
me to tell him other people's secrets, and as a matter of honour he
did, but all my own used to come out freely; only he never took a mean
advantage of what he learnt in that way, and he used laughingly to tell
everybody, "It is the only way to get a woman to tell you the truth." I
have often told him things that I would much rather keep to myself.
In the particular instance that I am about to recount, he had
mesmerized me to consult about an expedition that he was going to take,
as he had previous to his illness meant to start, and I had said to
him, "Don't start, because you are going to have a very bad illness,
and you will want me and your home comforts;" so he now re-mesmerized
me to know what he should do, and I said to him, "Don't take the man
that you are going to take with you, because he is a scoundrel; don't
buy the things that you are going to buy for the expedition, because
you will never use them. You will go a long journey south for your
health." I then said to him, "Look! what a curious procession is
passing our door, a long procession of people in white, and headed by
Maria and Julia"[5]--who were our old cook and her daughter, aged about
seventeen--"they are all in white, with flowers on their heads. What
can it mean?" I raved all night about this procession, till Richard got
up and shut the shutters, and closed the door, which opened out on to
the sands, the night being very hot. The next day this procession made
an impression on him, and for curiosity's sake he sent up a mounted
messenger to São Paulo to know if anything had occurred, or if there
was any news. We had brought no servants with us, had left my maid and
everybody behind.
Now, on a former occasion, about three months back, he had mesmerized
me, and I had had this very cook called to me, and I had said to her,
"Maria, go to confession and communion, then send to a lawyer and make
your will. You have got a little cottage, and you have saved £150; you
have a few boxes of clothes and things. Leave everything to Little
Peter"--her son aged six--"and don't trouble about Julia." When I came
to, she told me the extraordinary things I had been saying to her, and
how frightened she was; but she said, "I will do all that you have told
me, only I can't leave Julia without anything;" and I said to her,
"I am not conscious of having said anything; but in that case, you
had better say that whatever you leave to Julia goes to Peter at her
death." Well, this was the news that we got by the mounted messenger:
The old cook had died that day in an apoplectic fit, and before the
maid had time to call or send for the daughter, she walked in, looking
very ill, and sat upon the sofa, rocking and moaning, and she said,
"I have come from my mistress to die _here_. I feel so very ill, I
will not leave you." From all she told the maid, and the strange way
she was going on, the maid inferred that the girl was in a particular
kind of trouble, and it would be impossible to keep her there, and she
begged of her to let her fetch a carriage and conduct her back to her
mistress, where at least if she was ill she could be taken care of,
and seeing her in such a state, she was afraid to inform her that her
mother was lying dead. One of the slaves fetched a carriage, and they
put her into it, and were conducting her home, but she was so bad on
the road they had to lift her out, and take her into a little _venda_
(a place where they sell wine), and run to fetch a priest, who was just
in time to give her the last Sacraments, when she expired. The blood
oozed from her eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and from all the pores of her
skin. She died very shortly and was buried, and the smell was so bad
in the _venda_ that the walls had to be scraped and rewhitewashed,
although she was only there a few hours. It was afterwards proved
that she and the black cook at her mistress's were both in love with
the same man, and as she had announced her intention of visiting my
house, the cook had given her a cup of coffee before she set out, and
had said, "Go! you will never come back." The body was exhumed. It
was supposed she had received in the coffee a Brazilian poison, mixed
with powdered glass, made of some herbs of which the negroes have the
secret. Little Peter would have now become practically, though not
theoretically, a Brazilian slave, and his little property would have
been absorbed; but by the will made at the Consulate, he was under the
protection of the Consul. His education was undertaken, and he was
sole inheritor of the cottage, £150, and the boxes of clothes and
other property.
[Sidenote: _Regatta._]
At Santos we had a regatta, a separate boat for each nation, about
nine or ten in all. The English blustered awfully, and the Americans
also--talked a great deal about "Bull's Run," and so forth. All the
other people sat very quiet, expecting to be beaten; the consequence
was the Portuguese won, and the English came in last, and we sent up
and hauled our flag down. The sea was very rough, and surrounded our
bungalow; we walked through bare-legged, and went into Santos, and then
went back again, and eventually to São Paulo, partly on an engine, and
partly walking--butterfly-catching.
[Sidenote: _We leave Brazil--Richard goes South._]
When we got back to São Paulo, Richard told me that he could not stand
it any longer; it had given him that illness, it was far away from the
world, it was no advancement, it led to nothing. He was quite right. I
felt very sorry, because up to the present it was the only home I had
ever really had quietly with him, and we had had it for three years;
but I soon sold up everything, and we came down to Santos, and embarked
on the 24th of July, 1868. Here he applied for leave, as the doctors
advised him not to go to England at once, but to go down south to
Buenos Ayres for a trip, and he asked me to go to England and see if I
could not induce them to give him another post. I saw Richard off down
south, and taking an affectionate leave of all kind friends, embarked
for England.
OUR SEPARATE JOURNEYS.
Richard had a splendid journey to the Argentine Republic and the rivers
Plata-Paraná and Paraguay, for the purpose of reporting the state of
the Paraguayan War to the Foreign Office. He crossed the Pampos and the
Andes to Chili and Peru amongst the bad Indians. He went to the Pacific
Coast to inspect the scene of the earthquake at Arica, returning by the
Straits of Magellan, Buenos Ayres, and Rio to London.
During his delightful trip, which completely recovered his health,
he fell in with the Tichborne Claimant, and travelled with him for
a week, and never having seen the real man, and as he appeared very
gentlemanly, and when he gambled, lost his money and won it without
any emotion, he concluded that he was the real thing until he came
home. He acquired all the history of the ins and outs of the war, and
later produced his book on Paraguay--"Letters from the Battle-Fields of
Paraguay," which did not see the light till 1870.
I had, as usual, all my work cut out for me. First I was to try and
work the Iporanga mines in London, whole mountains of lead and
quicksilver, also gold and copper (twenty-eight square miles). I was to
bring out his "Highlands of Brazil," the "Journey of Lacerda," and a
second edition of "Mecca," "Uruguay;" "Iracema," and "Manoel de Moraes."
I also had a small adventure on the way home at Bahía. I went ashore
with a friend from the ship to dine with "Charley Williams," my
husband's friend. He was very fond of keeping a menagerie; besides
having his garden stocked with wild beasts, his hall contained cages
of snakes, amongst them two rattlesnakes. After we had dined in his
_chacara_, he insisted on showing me his snakes, and he quietly took
one up (out of its cage) near its head. He was used to doing this, but
whether he was agitated or what I cannot say, but the snake slipped
through his hand, and bit him on the wrist. The friend had bolted
upstairs the moment the cage was opened; Mr. Williams just had time to
dash it back into the cage and lock it, and staggered against the wall.
Richard had always taught me how to be ready on such emergencies
travelling up the country, but the only thing in the hall was a box of
wooden lucifer-matches, so I struck them one after another, and kept
cramming them into the mark on his wrist made by the snake till I had
made a regular little hole. I tied my handkerchief tightly above it,
called out loudly for the servants, told them what had happened, and to
go and get a bottle of whisky. By degrees I got the whole bottle down
his throat, and then my friend and I and the negroes kept walking him
up and down for about three hours. We then allowed him to go to bed,
and next morning he was no worse for what had happened. I think the
bite must have been very feeble not to have done more harm--probably
the snake had only time to graze the skin; anyway, the dear old man was
so pleased, he brought me home a riding-whip of solid silver up to the
lash, which I keep now as a memento.
We had a bad sea and, strong trade winds most of the way; the ship,
was horribly lively off Finisterre, and the hatches down. We found,
it bitterly cold in August, and on the 1st of September my family met
me at Southampton. They were then all puffing and panting and fanning
themselves on account of the "tropical weather," as they called it, and
I found it so bitterly cold, I had to have several blankets and a big
fire, showing the difference of the climates. There was great amusement
when my sisters came on board. I took them to my cabin, which was
considered the best in the ship. The Captain was showing it off, when
one of them, who had never been, at sea in her life, turned round to me
and said, "Now, Isabel, do you _really_ mean to say that you have lived
in that housemaid's closet for a month, and slept on that shelf?" The
Captain laughed. "Really, ladies," he said, "this is considered a very
swell ship, and everybody fights for that cabin."
[Sidenote: _Lord Derby gives Richard Damascus._]
I did my work well, carrying out everything according to Richard's
directions, and Lord Derby, then Lord Stanley, whose sound sense and
great judgment knew exactly the man to suit the post, and the post
to suit the man, gave him the long-coveted Consulship of Damascus,
and was brave enough not to heed the jealousy and spite which did its
best to prevent his being allowed to take the post. The Missionaries
raised up their heads on the one side, and the people who wanted it
for their friends, did all they could to persuade Lord Stanley that
it would displease the Moslems, because he had been to Mecca. Richard
was delighted when he got the intelligence of his transfer from Brazil
to Damascus. He heard it casually in a _café_ at Lima, where he was
congratulated, having missed most of his letters. He hastened back at
once, and he wrote and guaranteed to Lord Stanley that all would be
well with the Moslems, as it had ever been from the starting of his
career in 1842 up to the present time, 1868--a period of twenty-six
years; consequently the appointment was signed, with a thousand a year.
Richard's prospects were on the rise, and it was hinted that if he
succeeded _there_ he might eventually get Marocco, Teheran, and finish
up at Constantinople. In fact, we were on the zenith of our career.
I had one very pleasant dinner at Mr. Froude's to meet Giffard
Palgrave, Mr. Ruskin, and Carlyle. I brought out Richard's "Highlands
of Brazil" for Christmas. I was not successful with the mines, and I
found no market for the Brazilian translations, though I published two
of them.
[Sidenote: _His Carbine Pistol._]
Amongst other things I must not forget--
[Illustration: CARBINE PISTOL.]
"CAPTAIN BURTON'S CARBINE-PISTOL AND PROJECTILE (PATENTED).
"The principle of the weapon is to avoid the use of the shoulder on
horseback. The weapon can be used either as a carbine with both
hands, the left arm extended as in archery: in this case the cartridge
contains eighty-four grains of gunpowder. Used with one hand, the
charge must be reduced to forty-five grains. The projectile serves to
blow up ammunition, to fire inflammable articles, and so forth. When
explosive projectiles are used with this weapon, a special _safety_
bullet has been provided by Captain Burton (see section). It will
neither explode if let fall on its point, nor on being fired through
brushwood.
"A CAVALRY PISTOL.
"Sir,--Will you kindly allow me to describe in your well-read columns
the pistol which is proposed for countries where the traveller's life
must often depend upon his weapons?
"I have lately inquired in vain, whilst inspecting stock at half the
armouries of the West End, for a single-barrel breech-loading pistol.
Of double-barrels there were plenty, but none pleased me. The system
of opening the breech is complicated by the presence of two cocks,
and it is not what a man requires when looking around at the enemy;
he must use the hands without the guidance of the eyes. Moreover, the
prices vary from £9 5_s._ to £16. This unconscionable sum is supposed
not to include any 'fixings,' even the normal hundred cartridges.
I come to the conclusion that the trade prefers the double-barrel
simply because the public has to pay double for it. The French are,
as usual of late years, well to the fore of us. M. Lefancheux, of Rue
Vivienne, has a good single-barrel, throwing a round ball of one ounce
(one-sixteenth of a pound); but the breech opening is in a manner
which I do not admire, and the price is three hundred francs.
"In conversation with a London gunsmith, I suggested as a
holster-pistol a central-fire Albini rifle--the weapon adopted in
Belgium--with barrel cut short to about one foot, and the stock
changed to a saw-handle; this should, for the purpose of leverage, be
made long and heavy. The gunsmith adopted the idea at once, wrote to
the Albini Company, and the result was a weapon which, with certain
unimportant improvements, will, I believe, presently supplant the
popular but uncertain and dangerous revolver, whilst by a tolerably
strong wrist it can be used as a pistol. It may be fired at rest on
the left arm, or held like a carbine in both hands. With bandolier or
cartridge-case bound to his breast, the soldier will readily do with
this weapon the work of a succession of revolvers, each holding only
five to six shots. The 'Albini pistol' cannot miss fire. How many good
lives have been lost by depending upon this revolver! And the pistol
deals a one-ounce ball; not the pellets of which many a backwoodsman
has taken a cylinderful, and yet has continued 'shyuting' till he
killed his man. Finally, it is economical. My weapon, with belt,
pouch, and a hundred charges, costs £6 10_s._; but a large demand will
readily bring down the price to £5.
"I am convinced that the Albini, or some similar system, will be the
pistol of the future, and I take the liberty of introducing it to you
immediately after its birth.[6]
"RICHARD F. BURTON, F.R.G.S.
"P.S.--In a forthcoming volume upon the Paraguayan War, I hope to show
that the pistol will be, _par excellence_, the future arm of cavalry."
FROM THE PRESS.
"A pistol that can kill at five hundred yards has not, we believe,
been yet introduced to the public. This boon has been left for Captain
Burton to invent, and he has invented, and, what is more, patented it.
The butt is that of an ordinary pistol; the barrel is that of a good
rifle, cut short, but leaving sufficient 'turn' to send the bullet
on its deadly errand with the proper spin. The chief object is to
send a rifle-bullet at an enemy or at game without having to use the
shoulder, especially when on horseback. And to accomplish this the
barrel is fitted with a steel handle to be grasped by the left hand,
while the arm is extended as in archery. The left arm is, in fact,
formed into a beam of your own flesh and blood, and the carbine-pistol
moves freely as on a pivot placed at the end of it, while the butt
is directed by the right hand, which takes aim and fires. The recoil
is scarcely felt by the rigid left arm; it does not affect the firer
so much as the kick to the shoulder would do. The advantage of this
arrangement in the case of ladies is obvious. The pistol can also
be used with one hand like an ordinary pistol. But in that case it
is recommended that the charge be reduced from eighty-four grains
of gunpowder to forty-five. The inventor has also provided a patent
safety bullet which will explode as a shell when it crashes against
the bones of large game, but will pass through brushwood or through
the skin of a wild animal like an ordinary ball. It will not explode
if let fall upon its apex, but if fired into a box of ammunition it
will blow up everything without fail. It is an invaluable projectile,
combining the best qualities of the bullet and shell, just the weapon
of precision which sends it to its destination, combines the best
features of the carbine and the pistol. The carbine-pistol is so light
and handy that it will become an indispensable _vade mecum_ with
people making excursions through jungles in India. No tiger could
afford to laugh at it, though in appearance it is as unpretending as a
horse-pistol."
This year, before Richard arrived, I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Sir Samuel and Lady Baker; I was very much fascinated
by the latter, and thought her very pretty. Next day I lunched with
them. I also saw a good deal of the Petherwicks, and amongst others
on his return we dined more than once with my husband's old Egyptian
friend, John Larking, at his place, "The Firs," Lea, Kent.
At last the time came round when I got a telegram to say that the
_Douro_, Royal Mail, would be at Southampton, with Richard on board; so
I went down to Southampton, and at four o'clock in the morning, when
Richard looked over the side, I was the first person he saw, and when
the plank was thrown across, I was the first to go on board. As far as
clothes went, he was pretty nearly in the same condition that I was in,
when I arrived from the mines; but for all that, as soon as he had had
bath and breakfast, we drove to Netley Abbey, and went to the flower
show; then came up to town, and drove to a haberdasher, tailor, and
hatter, that he might be fit to dine with my people, who had a party
and an enthusiastic reception for him.
He went straight to the Foreign Office next day to report himself,
and call on Lord Stanley and Lord Clarendon, who had succeeded to
the Foreign Office, and went a round of publishers, mappers, and
commissions. That night we had to go to the Admiralty party, and from
thence to the Foreign Office party, and the next night, at the Literary
Fund, Richard made a speech. He dined with Sir Roderick Murchison, and
he went to the Royal Geographical Society Meeting, found it slow, and
_was not satisfied with his reception_; he also went to the Levée.
We then went down to Shrewsbury, to stay with Mr. Henry Wace, a
bachelor lawyer and a faithful friend, and drove to Uriconium, the
Pompeii of Shrewsbury, and then to Haughmond ruins, formerly a
Cistercian monastery. Amongst other pleasant things was a lunch-party
at Bernal Osborne's, and delightful dinners at Shirley Brookes'.
[Sidenote: _Pleasant Days in Vichy and Auvergne._]
At last we crossed to France, visited our old haunts where we met
as boy and girl. Boulogne, however, was very much changed since our
days. She was then "a girl of the period;" she was now "_vieille_ and
_dévote_." From here he sent me back, as usual, to "pay, pack, and
follow." He was going to Vichy, to take a month's course of the waters,
after which he would drop down to Brindisi and go to Damascus.
Soon after Richard had started to Vichy, I began to get unhappy, and
wanted to join him, and I did not see why I could not have the month
there with him and make up double-quick time after; so I just started
off with Mr. J. J. Aubertin (of Brazil memory, whose many works have
made him well known, and whose charming "Wanderings and Wonderings" is
attracting the literary world now), who was also going there to join
him. It was the last _Fête Napoleon_. I never saw Paris so splendid; it
was lighter than day--from the Tuileries to the Barrière de L'Étoile
it was one mass of light. The Tuileries Gardens were hung with lamps
representing huge bunches of grapes, fastened together with festoons
and knots the whole length of the Champs Élysées. It was the last blaze
of glory; before that day year they were fighting the Germans. As soon
as I arrived at Vichy, Richard, with Swinburne, came to the station to
meet me, and we were joined by Sir Frederick Leighton, and later on,
Mrs. Sartoris.
Vichy is a dull small place, full of sickly people with liver
complaints. Like all other places, the baths and the water-drinking
fountains are the principal rendezvous. There is the usual band,
promenade under the trees, casino, garden, and theatre.
They were very happy days. We made excursions in the day, and in the
evenings the conversation, I need not say, was brilliant; everybody
contributed something that made him or her valuable. Swinburne recited
poetry, Mrs. Sartoris sang to us. All will remember her exquisite
contralto voice, and she sang _en intime_ without accompaniment.
We went to the Château Bourbonnais at Bussy, and then to Ardoisière
cascade and cave, and lovely walks to Malavaux, where there is a châlet
at the foot of the mountain and a steep ascent. Here is the ruin of a
convent of Templars, who are said to have committed atrocities, who
blew up a château containing their only neighbours with gunpowder.
There were no roads this way, and they were Lords of the soil. There
is a cemetery in the distance, and close to us the Devil's Well, said
to have no bottom, and also the Blessed Virgin's Well. Whilst we
were at the top, the harvest moon arose; there was a glorious scene
of beautiful lights and shadows. Swinburne has lately celebrated
this journey in a glorious elegy, of which I quote three verses (the
_Fortnightly Review_, July, 1892)--
"The huddled churches clinging on the cliffs
As birds alighting might for storm's sake cling,
Moored to the rocks as tempest-harried skiffs
To perilous refuge from the loud wind's wing;
* * * * *
"Deep down the Valley of the Curse, undaunted
By shadow and whisper of winds with sins for wings,
And ghosts of crime wherethrough the heights live haunted
By present sense of past and monstrous things."
The elegy ends--
"But not the soul whose labour knew no end--
But not the swordsman's hand, the crested head--
The royal heart we mourn, the faultless friend,
Burton--a name that lives till fame be dead."
[Sidenote: _The Fell Railway._]
From St. Armand there is a splendid view of Vichy, and also for
forty-four leagues, if it is clear enough to see around; and the
drives are lovely through the mountains and ravines. There was another
splendid view from the Montagne Vert. We went to St. Germain des
Fosses, and drove all over Clermont, where we visited the Cathedral,
all the Churches, Museums, and springs, and bought some of the
wonderful petrifactions.[7] We then made our way to Langéac, from
whence we drove thirty-six miles through a most interesting country
to Puy. The descent to Puy is very beautiful. It is a curious and
striking-looking town; mountains of rock, like huge combs, rise out of
its heart. On the top of one of these is a huge statue of the Blessed
Virgin, sixteen metres high, cast in iron from the metal cannons of
Sebastopol, and we got up into its head to look out of the eyes.
When we were in the head we were nearly five hundred feet high from
the plain. The Child's head holds three people. The Cathedral has a
miraculous black Virgin, and St. Michael has his church too. All these
great heights mean climbing five hundred feet, and then ascending
two or three hundred steps. On another cone stands an old church.
There are basaltic masses just like organ-pipes. We drove to the old
Castle and Fortress of Polignac, and to the basaltic rocks, and then
we went to see the Museum of Puy. We made our way by the train to
Lyons. The country was beautiful, with mountains, gorges, rivers, and
old ruined castles, which spoke of feudal times; but two hours before
reaching Lyons it is as bad as the black country in Lancashire. Here
Swinburne left us for Paris. Richard and I went to Fourvières to make
a pilgrimage.[8] We went to the Cathedral, and the great shrine of
Notre Dame de Fourvières. From here Lyons spreads out under your feet
like a map; on a clear day you may see Mont Blanc. We visited the
source of the Rhone and Saone, and then went on to Culoz; thence to
Aix les Bains, where we went to look at the Roman ruins. We changed
trains at S. Michel for "Fell's Company" across the Mont Cenis (the
railway not being made in those days as it is now). Mr. Bayless, the
superintendent, and his secretary met us, and took us on the engine,
and showed us everything. The scenery was splendid all day; the rise
began from S. Michel to Lanslebourg, which is four thousand four
hundred feet high. The ascent was most amusing; we whisked about in
the most frolicsome way, close to frightful gorges and over ravines.
From inside, you could sometimes hear little hysterical squeaks,
or people taken worse, as the curves were very sharp and the pace
good. Lanslebourg is a group of old broken-down châlets, and two
broken-down chapels, grouped in a corner. It has a new chapel now. A
mountain-torrent sweeps through the village, and the new railway runs
by it. Magnificent piles of mountains rose on all sides; the lower
range are pine-covered, the higher by snow and glaciers--the snow and
fresh mountain air are most exhilarating. I can remember passing this
place ten years before, in March, with a carriage and eleven mules,
and, owing to the snow, we were five days and nights travelling from
Venice to Geneva. It was then a savage country; now every available
spot is cultivated in little patches. We had a charming evening at
the inn, and dined on fresh mountain trout. The descent next day was
marvellous. How little Napoleon I. thought, when he was making a road,
that he was only the pioneer for an English railway, thereby making
their labour and expense only half of what it would have been! We went
from here to Susa and Turin, and from Turin we drove up the Collina,
and got a splendid view of the City and of Mount Rosa before going to
bed. Here I saw Richard off to Damascus; he was to catch the P. and O.
at Brindisi. My train Londonwards left a few hours after, and I did not
stop till I reached Paris.
[Sidenote: _Geographical Disagreeables._]
During this short time, Richard's absence permitted a few disagreeables
in the geographical line, and as he always relied upon me to answer for
him, when he was away, I did so. He said he felt like having a second
self on a spot where he could not be, when our affairs compelled us
to do double work. Therefore, in answer to a question of Sir Roderick
Murchison's, "Where is Livingstone?" I wrote--
"DR. LIVINGSTONE.
"To the Editor of the _Daily Telegraph_.
"Sir,--Will you spare me a little space in your columns to do a
service to Dr. Livingstone, by calling attention to Lucenda or Lunda
City, the capital of the African chief, known as the Muata (king)
Cazembe?
"He is not the least important of the eight negro monarchs--namely,
the Muata Ya Noo, vulgarly 'Matiamoo,' in the south; in the eastern
tropic, the despots of Karagwán, of Uganda, and of Unyoro; and, in the
western regions, the sanguinary tyrants of Benin, of Dahomè, and of
Asiante or Ashantee. And the name of this somewhat obscure potentate
has, during the last few weeks, come prominently before the Royal
Geographical Society of London.
"Not long ago Sir Roderick Murchison suggested in the _Times_ that
Dr. Livingstone, having found a discrepancy between the levels of the
'Albert Nyanza' and the Tanganyika lakes, probably turned westward,
and attempted to trace the drainage of the latter into the Atlantic
Ocean. My husband, Captain Burton, objected to this view of his
revered Chief, after whose image--to use the words of the late Lord
Strangford--our modern geographers are, so to speak, created. The
hydrography of the West African coast is now well known, and it shows
no embouchure capable of carrying off so vast an expanse of water
as the Tanganyika. The Congo mouth may suggest itself to some, more
especially as the north-eastern branch has long been reported to issue
from a lake. But the north-eastern is the smaller arm of the two.
Moreover, Captain Burton, during his visit to the Yellalah or Rapids,
in 1863, ascertained, by questioning the many slaves driven down from
the far interior to the Angolan coast, that the Congo lake is distinct
from the Tanganyika, and is probably that which figures in old maps as
Lake Aquilonda or Achelunda. It will not be forgotten that our good
friend Paul du Chaillu made sundry stout-hearted attempts to reach
that mysterious basin, concerning which he is also of opinion that it
is wholly independent of the Nile Valley.
"The latest intelligence touching Dr. Livingstone suggests the
possibility of his having been detained in the capital of the Cazembe,
and at once explains the non-appearance of the traveller, and the want
of communications, so heartrending to his host of friends. Why are we
whispering this to one another as a secret? The report, if we believe
in its truth, should be published throughout the length and breadth of
England, whose great heart will readily supply men and means to rescue
one of her favourite sons from a precarious and perhaps perilous
position.
"Unhappily for himself, Dr. Livingstone, unlike Captain Burton,
has never made a friend of the Moslem. He has openly preferred to
him the untutored African--in other words, the vile and murderous
Fetisheer--and his published opinions must be known even at Zanzibar
to the religion of the State. The Maskat Arabs are, as my husband
reported long ago, all-powerful at the city of Cazembe; and if Dr.
Livingstone be detained there, it is doubtless at their instigation.
"I should not have ventured to trouble you with this letter, but
Captain Burton is _en route_ for Damascus, and I have written to
him to supply the public with a complete account of the scene of
Dr. Livingstone's supposed captivity, which may tend to suggest the
properest measures for securing the safety of a Christian hero who has
offered up the flower of his days to the grand task of regenerating
the Dark Continent.
"I have the honour to be, Sir,
"Yours obediently,
"ISABEL BURTON.
"October 23, 1869."
[Sidenote: _Work._]
I worked in earnest during my few weeks in England, to be able to join
him the quicker. First, I had to go down to Stratford, to the Essex
flats, to see the tube-wells worked, as Richard was anxious to be able
to produce water, if possible, wherever we stopped in the desert. I had
many publishers and mappers to see. Not knowing exactly what Damascus
was like, I invested in a pony-carriage, and Uncle Gerard gave me a
very handsome old family chariot, which was out of fashion in England,
and must originally have cost at least three hundred guineas. Lord
Houghton made a great many jokes about our driving in our chariot drawn
by camels. I very prudently left it in England until I saw what sort of
place it was, but took out the pony-carriage. There was only one road
in the country, of seventy-two miles, so I sold it, and was actually
lucky enough to find a willing customer, who kept it as a curio. I took
lessons about taking off wheels and patent axles, and oiling them and
putting them together again, and taking my own guns and pistols also to
pieces, cleaning and putting them together again. The time passed in
buying things to stock the house with. Richard did not receive any of
my letters, just as at Pernambuco, so I had to telegraph to him.
During this time Mr. William Crookes and I visited the Mesmeric
Hospital, where, I regret to say, I did a good deal of unintentional
mischief, by absorbing the mesmerism from the patients; and I attended
the meetings of the Royal Geographical Society, and felt very angry
with Sir Roderick Murchison, which I expressed in two letters attached
to the Nile affair, as follows:--
"THE SOURCES OF THE NILE.
[Sidenote: _The Nile._]
"To the Editor of the _Times_.
"Sir,--As you daily devote a certain portion of the _Times_ to
redressing wrongs, I may hope that you will not make an exception to
the disadvantage of Captain Burton.
"Five African explorers have pined for the honour of discovering the
sources of the Nile, and each one in his turn has believed himself
to be that fortunate person, until now that Livingstone (the one who
cared the least for that honour) has discovered waters more southerly
still. We have all been looking forward with eagerness for this
news. Judge, then, of my mortification at the meeting of the Royal
Geographical Society on Monday night, to hear all the papers read
and discussed almost without reference to Captain Burton, who is _en
route_ to Damascus. His lake (Tanganyika), which lies the nearest to
Livingstone's new discovery, was almost skipped over, and my revered
friend, Sir Roderick Murchison, spoke of 'Central, or Equatorial
Africa, in which lie those great water basins which, thanks to the
labours of Speke, Grant, and Baker, are known to feed the Nile.'
After the meeting I went up to Sir Roderick Murchison and asked him
_why_ Captain Burton had been left out, and he replied in the kindest
manner, 'that if it had been so, it was a mere oversight, which he
was sorry should have occurred,' and I heard him give the order that
it should be rectified in the report before sent to press. I see by
your columns of Wednesday, the 10th, _that it was not done_, and I
therefore ask you in kindness and courtesy to insert these few lines,
that Captain Burton may not be counted for nothing by that large
meeting on Monday night in the matter nearest his heart.
"In 1854 and 1855 Captain Burton was employed in heading the Somali
Expedition (which ended so fatally), taking with him Captain Speke and
two others. From 1856 to 1859 he was occupied in exploring Central
Equatorial Africa, taking again Captain Speke as second in command.
He was the first to conceive the idea twenty years ago, the first to
enter and to penetrate that country, which he did under every obstacle
and difficulty, bringing back sufficient information to smooth the
path to all who chose to follow him. Lake Tanganyika was his first
discovery, Nyanza was Speke's.
"In 1860 Captain Speke started on his own account, taking Captain
Grant as second in command, whereby we gained some three hundred and
fifty geographical miles, only hitherto known by vague report. Captain
Burton spent those three years on the West Coast, at Dahomè and Du
Chaillu's country, making ten years, off and on, in Africa.
"Then followed Sir Samuel Baker's Lake, and now Livingstone's.
"It is therefore _impossible_ to ignore Captain Burton's services in
the Nile question. Dr. Livingstone has undoubtedly discovered _the_
sources,[9] and must rank the first, but no man can claim the second
honour, or the water nearest Livingstone's discovery, but Captain
Burton, and no one can deny the fact that he, so to speak, opened the
oyster for the others to get at the pearl.
"All our friends are asking me why he was left out the other night,
and the kind-hearted ones offer me the consoling proverb that 'good
wine needs no bush,' which, after all, is nonsense to any but
connoisseurs.
"I am, Sir, yours obediently,
"ISABEL BURTON.
"14, Montagu Place, Montagu Square,
"November 12th, 1869."
[Sidenote: _Still the Nile._]
I then sent to the _Athenæum_ the little tracing of 1856, which I have
inserted on page 255, with the following letter:--
"THE SOURCES OF THE NILE.
"To the Editor of the _Athenæum_.
"November 20th, 1869.
"I enclose you a copy of a small map which I have had for many years
in my possession, showing Captain Burton's theory respecting the
sources of the Nile as far back as 1856. In that year he left England
to command the Expedition for their discovery, which had been the
object of his thoughts and studies for many previous years--always
a disciple of Ptolemy. Captain Speke joined him, and after three
years of unheard-of difficulties and dangers, they returned, having
discovered Tanganyika. Whilst they were absent, Captain Burton,
being very ill for a short time, and experiencing a yearning to be
alone, sent Captain Speke on a twenty days' march to try and find
a lake, which his calculations, theories, and inquiries from the
Arabs, assured him ought to be there. Speke sighted a water then, and
subsequently found on his next expedition, but much farther north, a
lake which he called Victoria Nyanza.
"I quote a note from Captain Burton's 'Nile Basin,' p. 37, which
is the pivot of the whole affair: 'I distinctly deny that any
"misleading, by my instructions from the Royal Geographical Society as
to the position of the White Nile," left me unconscious of the vast
importance of ascertaining the Rusizi river's direction. The fact is,
Captain Speke was deaf and almost blind. I was paralytic, and we were
both helpless [he might have added penniless]. We did our best to
reach it, and failed.'
"Captain Burton always said from the first that the Nile must have
many sources, and that there were probably waters south of the
Tanganyika. In his 'Lake Regions' he speaks of a large river, Marungu,
draining the southern countries towards the Tanganyika, and entering
the lake at its southernmost point, which has now been proved by Dr.
Livingstone.[10] He was misled by Captain Speke's erroneous elevation
of the lake, and by the more than probably wrong information received
from the African chiefs, as interpreted by his negro servant Bombay.
In short, Captain Speke determined to have his own lake at all
hazards, and for a time he became master of the field.
"I am anxious, before I sail to join Captain Burton at Damascus--and
I have not many days left--to claim Captain Burton's proper position
amongst the five explorers of the lakes, having already had a reminder
that '_les absents ont toujours tort_.' That position means, _second_
to Livingstone as explorer, to whom he has shown the way to the Nile,
and _first_ as lake discoverer.
"The outlines of the map I refer to were drawn for me in 1856, and
where lakes are now correctly marked on maps stood pencil notes, which
said, 'Should be water here,' 'Supposed site of a lake.' The lakes
and names were successively filled up for me in 1859 and 1864. Perhaps
you may think it interesting enough to give it a place in your paper,
and will kindly allow this letter to accompany it; or the letter by
itself if there is no room for the map.
"ISABEL BURTON."
Then appeared in _Punch_--
"A CARD FROM THE ISLE OF AFRICA.
"Father Nile presents his respectful compliments to Mr. Punch, and
(with grateful remembrance of the delightful way in which that
gentleman depicted saucy Miss Britannia discovering the Father
among his rushes, a few years back) begs leave to inform Mr. Punch,
and therefore the world, that the Father, at the suggestion of the
REVEREND DOCTOR LIVINGSTONE, has removed his head-quarters
to a delightful region, about eleven degrees south of the Equator,
or Equinoxious line, where for the present he is to be found by his
friends. Carriages to set down at Cazembe, a couple of hundred miles
or so south of Burton's Lake Tanganyika.
"N.B.--You are heartily welcome to any refreshments which you may
bring with you. Niggers about here don't need to be shot."
"NAME! NAME!
"DEAR PUNCH,
"Over the signature 'Isabel Burton,' names belonging to the
accomplished wife of the Consul at Damascus, hath appeared (_Times_)
a wifely and spirited letter, pointing out that at the great
geographical meeting last week, recognition was not made of the
discovery, by Captain Burton, of Lake Tanganyika.
"Sir, I am glad of anything that causes Mrs. Burton to publish
anything. Unlike some of her sex (and of mine), that lady can think as
well as write.
"But I have two reasons for wishing that another system of
nomenclature, in regard to places, were adopted.
"(1) I am not good at spelling, even in English, and the barbarous
names given by savages worry me much, and send me across the room to
atlases, and the like, when it is a bother to me to get off my chair.
Perhaps on cold days, like to-day, my style, in the winter, is much
more involved than in summer. This is because, to avoid going into the
cold, I go into periphrase, and circumvent hard words.
"(2) Injustice, like that indicated by Mrs. Burton (in this case
accidental; Sir Roderick is _sans reproche_), would be impossible if
new discoveries were stamped properly.
"Henceforth call Lake Nyanza Lake Speke-Grant; the lake above
mentioned (which I pray you to excuse me from spelling a second
time), Lake Burton; and the new aggregation of water, now believed to
be the Nile source, Lake Livingstone, and oblige
"Your faithful friend,
"EPICURUS ROTUNDUS.
"Goneril Villa, Regan Park."
[Sidenote: _I sail for Damascus._]
At last the day came round when everything was bought and paid for, and
packed and sent off, and I was at liberty to start; and the same night
that my arrangements were complete, I left my mother's house for Dover.
It was blowing a hurricane, waves mountain high, and a black night, and
my brother and sisters, who accompanied me, decided that I must not
go on board. I have told that story in my "Inner Life of Syria." Next
morning, however, we picked up the poor passengers, who had crossed the
night before, and had come to grief. At Paris I found that two of my
nine boxes were missing; one contained all my ship comforts, and the
other £300 in gold--my little all. I had already taken my passage at
Marseilles, and I had to choose between losing my money and losing my
passage. I went to the station-master, registered my tale, omitting all
about the money, told him where to forward the baggage,[11] travelled
on, and was just in time to catch the P. and O. _Tanjore_ before she
steamed out, and I immediately, on arrival at Alexandria, took my
passage on board the first steamer for Beyrout, which was a Russian,
the _Ceres_, which passes or touches at Port Said and Jaffa, and Kaifa,
the ancient Helba of the tribe of Aser, St. Jeanne d'Acre, and then I
arrived at Beyrout.
[1] One of the lions of Cintra.
[2] In travelling, the mules are mostly difficult to treat, and one
never passes their noses or their heels without care. I have seen a
fine mule spring like a goat on the top of a piano case in the yard, to
avoid being saddled. I never before understood the French expression,
_Méchante comme une âne rouge_.
[3] "The Highlands of Brazil." By Captain Richard F. Burton, F.R.G.S.
[4] Captain Gambier tells me that he used to mesmerize him when he was
a child, and tell him to go up to some room in the dark, and fetch him
some particular article or book which he only thought of.
[5] We were then at the Barra.
[6] I keep two of these pistols in case any one would be willing to
order some, so as to push it.--I. B.
[7] Faubourg St. Alyre, "la Fontaine petrifiante" (like Matlock),
issues from volcanic tufa on granite. Carbonic acid dissolves
calcareous matter.
[8] There were three things Richard could never resist--a pilgrimage to
a holy shrine, mining, and talking with and enjoying gypsies' society.
[9] Which turned out afterwards to be an error--it was the head waters
of the Great Zaire or Congo River that he discovered.
[10] Dr. Livingstone died with this belief, but he had really
discovered the head-waters of the Great Zaire or Congo River (1892).
[11] They both arrived five months later, and, strange to say, intact.