THE MEETING OF LIVINGSTONE AND STANLEY.
The “Land of the Moon” -- Description of the Country and People --
Horrid Savage Rites -- Journey from Unyanyembe to Ujiji -- A Wonderful
Country -- A Mighty River Spanned by a Bridge of Grass -- Outwitting
the Spoilers -- Stanley’s Entry Into Ujiji and Meeting with
Livingstone -- The Great Triumph of an American Newspaper.
With the object of presenting to the curious a _fac simile_ of the
famous cable telegram announcing to an anxious world the discovery of
the great discoverer and of undertaking to preserve it in book form, as
vividly illustrative of the important part borne by journalistic
enterprise in opening up Africa to progress and civilization, that
despatch has been literally copied in the preceding chapter. But the
full particulars of the journey of the “Herald” special search
expedition, after leaving the main caravan track at Unyanyembe, are of
thrilling interest. Instead of going directly from the last named place
to Ujiji, Mr. Stanley was compelled, by reason of hostile tribes, to
make an extensive detour to the southwest, and then march up in a
northwesterly direction, not very far distant from the east shore of
Lake Tanganyika. But first let us have quotations from the letter
written just before the fourth and finally successful journey written
from Kwihara in the district of Unyanyembe, on the 21st of September,
1871:
“In the storeroom where the cumbersome moneys of the NEW YORK HERALD
Expedition lie piled up bale upon bale, sack after sack, coil after
coil, and the two boats, are this year’s supplies sent by Dr. Kirk to
Dr. Livingstone--seventeen bales of cloth, twelve boxes of wine,
provisions, and little luxuries such as tea and coffee. When I came up
with my last caravan to Unyanyembe I found Livingstone’s had arrived but
four weeks before, or about May 23 last, and had put itself under charge
of a half-caste called Thani Kati-Kati, or Thani ‘in the middle,’ or
‘between.’ Before he could get carriers he died of dysentry. He was
succeeded in charge by a man from Johanna, who, in something like a
week, died of smallpox; then Mirambo’s war broke out, and here we all
are, September 21, both expeditions halted. But not for long, let us
hope, for the third time I will make a start the day after to-morrow.
“Unyamwezi is a romantic name. It is ‘Land of the Moon’ rendered into
English--as romantic and sweet in Kinyamwezi as any that Stamboul or
Ispahan can boast is to a Turk or a Persian. The attraction, however, to
a European lies only in the name. There is nothing of the mystic,
nothing of the poetical, nothing of the romantic, in the country of
Unyamwezi. If I look abroad over the country I see the most inane and
the most prosaic country one could ever imagine. It is the most unlikely
country to a European for settlement; it is so repulsive owing to the
notoriety it has gained for its fevers. A white missionary would shrink
back with horror at the thought of settling in it. An agriculturist
might be tempted, but then there are so many better countries where he
could do so much better he would be a madman if he ignored those to
settle in this. To know the general outline and physical features of
Unyamwezi you must take a look around from one of the noble coigns of
vantage offered by any of those hills of syenite, in the debatable
ground of Mgunda Makali, in Uyanzi. From the summit of one of those
natural fortresses, if you look west, you will see Unyamwezi recede into
the far, blue, mysterious distance in a succession of blue waves of
noble forest, rising and subsiding like the blue waters of an ocean.
Such a view of Unyamwezi is inspiring; and, were it possible for you to
wing yourself westward on to another vantage coign, again and again the
land undulates after the same fashion, and still afar off is the same
azure, mystic horizon. As you approach Unyanyembe the scene is slightly
changed. Hills of syenite are seen dotting the vast prospect, like
islands in a sea, presenting in their external appearance, to an
imaginative eye, rude imitations of castellated fortresses and embattled
towers. A nearer view of these hills discloses the denuded rock,
disintegrated masses standing on end, boulder resting upon boulder, or
an immense towering rock, tinted with the sombre color age paints in
these lands. Around these rocky hills stretch the cultivated fields of
the Wanyamwezi--fields of tall maize, of holcus sorghum, of millet, of
vetches, &c.--among which you may discern the patches devoted to the
cultivation of sweet potatoes and manioc, and pasture lands where browse
the hump-shouldered cattle of Africa, flocks of goats and sheep. This is
the scene which attracts the eye, and is accepted as promising relief
after the wearisome marching through the thorny jungle plains of Ugogo,
the primeval forests of Uyanzi, the dim plains of Tura and Rubuga, and
when we have emerged from the twilight shades of Kigwa. No caravan or
expedition views it unwelcomed by song and tumultuous chorus, for rest
is at hand. It is only after a long halt that one begins to weary of
Unyanyembe, the principal district of Unyamwezi. It is only when one has
been stricken down almost to the grave by the fatal chilly winds which
blow from the heights of the mountains of Usagara, that one begins to
criticize the beauty which at first captivated. It is found, then, that
though the land is fair to look upon; that though we rejoiced at the
sight of its grand plains, at its fertile and glowing fields, at sight
of the roving herds, which promised us abundance of milk and cream--that
it is one of the most deadly countries in Africa; that its fevers,
remittent and intermittent, are unequalled in their severity.
“Unyamwezi, or the Land of the Moon--from U (country) nya (of the) mwezi
(moon)--extends over three degrees of latitude in length and about two
and a half degrees of longitude in breadth. Its principal districts are
Unyanyembe, Ugunda, Ugara, Tura, Rubuga, Kigwa, Usagazi and Uyoweh. Each
district has its own chief prince, king, or _mtemt_, as he is called in
Kinyamwezi. Unyanyembe, however is the principal district, and its king,
Mkasiwa, is generally considered to be the most important person in
Unyamwezi. The other kings often go to war against him, and Mkasiwa
often gets the worst of it; as, for instance, in the present war
between the King of Uyoweh (Mirambo) and Mkasiwa.
“All this vast country is drained by two rivers--the Northern and
Southern Gombe, which empty into the Malagarazi River, and thence into
Lake Tanganyika. On the east Unyamwezi is bounded by the wilderness of
Mgunda Makali and Ukmibu, on the south by Urori and Ukonongo, on the
west by Ukawendi and Uvniza, on the north by several small countries and
the Ukereweh Lake. Were one to ascend by a balloon and scan the whole of
Unyamwezi he would have a view of one great forest, broken here and
there by the little clearings around the villages, especially in and
around Unyanyembe.”
On account of troubles in the country, the Search Expedition was
detained some three months in Kwihara. Mr. Stanley lived in quite a
large, strong house for that country, consisting of a main room and
bathroom, built of mud about three feet thick. He thus describes “the
daily round”:
“In the early morning, generally about half-past five or six o’clock, I
begin to stir the soldiers up sometimes with a long bamboo, for you know
they are such hard sleepers they require a good deal of poking. Bombay
has his orders given him, and Feragji, the cook, who, long ago warned by
the noise I make when I rouse up, is told in unmistakable tones to bring
‘chai’ (tea), for I am like an old woman, I love tea very much, and can
take a quart and a half without any inconvenience. Kalulu, a boy of
seven all the way from Cazembe’s country, is my waiter and chief butler.
He understands my ways and mode of life exactly. Some weeks ago he
ousted Selim from the post of chief butler by sheer diligence and
smartness. Selim, the Arab boy, cannot wait at table. Kalulu--young
antelope--is frisky. I have but to express a wish and it is gratified.
He is a perfect Mercury, though a marvellously black one. Tea over,
Kalulu clears the dishes and retires under the kitchen shed, where, if I
have a curiosity to know what he is doing, he may be seen with his
tongue in the tea cup licking up the sugar that was left in it and
looking very much as if he would like to eat the cup for the sake of the
divine element it has so often contained. If I have any calls to make
this is generally the hour; if there are none to make I go on the piazza
and subside quietly on my bearskin to dream may be, of that far off land
I call my own, or to gaze towards Tabora, the Kaze of Burton and Speke,
though why they should have called it Kaze as yet I have not been able
to find out; or to look towards lofty Zimbili and wonder why the Arabs,
at such a crisis as the present, do not remove their goods and chattels
to the summit of that natural fortress. But dreaming and wondering and
thinking and marvelling are too hard for me; so I make some ethnological
notes and polish up a little my geographical knowledge of Central
Africa.
“I have to greet about four hundred and ninety-nine people of all sorts
with the salutation ‘Yambo.’ This ‘Yambo’ is a great word. It may mean
‘How do you do?’ ‘How are you?’ ‘Thy health?’ The answer to it is
‘Yambo!’ or ‘Yambo Sana!’ (How are you; quite well?) The Kinyamwezi--the
language of the Wanyamwezi--of it is ‘Moholo’ and the answer is
‘Moholo.’ The Arabs, when they call, if they do not give the Arabic
‘Spal-kher,’ give you the greeting ‘Yambo;’ and I have to say ‘Yambo.’
And, in order to show my gratitude to them, I emphasize it with ‘Yambo
Sana! Sana! Sana?’ (Are you well? Quite well, quite, quite well?) And if
they repeat the words I am more than doubly grateful, and invite them to
a seat on the bearskin. This bearskin of mine is the evidence of my
respectability, and if we are short of common-place topics we invariably
refer to the bearskin, where there is room for much discussion.
[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON MIRAMBO.]
“Having disposed of my usual number of ‘Yambos’ for the morning I begin
to feel ‘peckish,’ as the sea skipper says, and Feragji, the cook, and
youthful Kalulu, the chief butler, are again called and told to bring
‘chukula’--food. This is the breakfast put down on the table at the hour
of ten punctually every morning:--Tea (ugali) a native porridge made out
of the flour of dourra, holcus sorghum, or matama, as it is called here;
a dish of rice and curry. Unyanyembe is famous for its rice, fried
goat’s meat, stewed goat’s meat, roast goat’s meat, a dish of sweet
potatoes, a few ‘slapjacks’ or specimens of the abortive efforts of
Feragji to make dampers or pancakes, to be eaten with honey. But neither
Feragji’s culinary skill nor Kalulu’s readiness to wait on me can tempt
me to eat. I have long ago eschewed food, and only drink tea, milk and
yaourt--Turkish word for ‘clabber’ or clotted milk.
“After breakfast the soldiers are called, and together we begin to pack
the bales of cloth, string beads and apportion the several loads which
the escort must carry to Ujiji some way or another. Carriers come to
test the weight of the loads and to inquire about the inducements
offered by the ‘Muzungu.’ The inducements are in the shape of so many
pieces of cloth, four yards long, and I offered double what any Arab
ever offered. Some are engaged at once, others say they will call again,
but they never do, and it is of no use to expect them when there is war,
for they are the cowardliest people under the sun.
“Since we are going to make forced marches I must not overload my armed
escort, or we shall be in a pretty mess two or three days after we
start; so I am obliged to reduce all loads by twenty pounds, to examine
my kit and personal baggage carefully, and put aside anything that is
not actually and pressingly needed; all the ammunition is to be left
behind except one hundred rounds to each man. No one must fire a shot
without permission, or waste his ammunition in any way, under penalty of
a heavy fine for every charge of powder wasted. These things require
time and thought, for the HERALD Expedition has a long and far journey
to make. It intends to take a new road--a road with which few Arabs are
acquainted--despite all that Skeikh, the son of Nasib, can say against
the project.
“It is now the dinner hour, seven P. M. Feragji has spread himself out,
as they say. He has all sorts of little fixings ready, such as
indigestible dampers, the everlasting ugali, or porridge, the sweet
potatoes, chicken, and roast quarter of a goat; and lastly, a custard,
or something just as good, made out of plantains. At eight P. M. the
table is cleared, the candles are lit, pipes are brought out, and Shaw,
my white man is invited to talk. But poor Shaw is sick and has not a
grain or spirit of energy left in him. All I can do or say does not
cheer him up in the least. He hangs down his head, and with many a sigh
declares his inability to proceed with me to Ujiji.”
On the 15th of July, war was declared between Mirambo and the Arabs. In
this war, it will be recollected, Mr. Stanley with his men took part.
The result was disaster, ensuing from Mirambo’s stratagem, as so
graphically related in the cable telegram. The continuation of this war
is thus described:
“Mirambo, with one thousand guns, and one thousand five hundred
Watuda’s, his allies, invaded Unyanyembe, and pitched their camp
insolently within view of the Arab capital of Tabora. Tabora is a large
collection of Arab settlements, or tembes, as they are called here. Each
Arab house is isolated by the fence which surrounds it. Not one is more
than two hundred yards off from the other, and each has its own name,
known, however, to but few outsiders. South by west from Tabora, at the
distance of a mile and a half, and in view of Tabora is Kwihara, where
the HERALD expedition has its quarters. Kwihara is a Kinyamwezi word,
meaning the middle of the cultivation. There is quite a large settlement
of Arabs here--second only to Tabora. But it was Tabora and not Kwihara
that Mirambo, his forest thieves and the Watula came to attack. Khamis
bin Abdallah, the bravest Trojan of them all--of all the Arabs--went out
to meet Mirambo with eighty armed slaves and five Arabs, one of whom was
his little son, Khamis. As Khamis bin Abdallah’s party came in sight of
Mirambo’s people Khamis’ slaves deserted him, and Mirambo then gave the
order to surround the Arabs and press on them. This little group in this
manner became the targets for about one thousand guns, and of course in
a second or so were all dead--not, however, without having exhibited
remarkable traits of character.
“They had barely died before the medicine men came up, and with their
scalpels had skinned their faces and their abdominal portions, and had
extracted what they call ‘mafuta,’ or fat, and their genital organs.
With this matter which they had extracted from the dead bodies the
native doctors or waganga made a powerful medicine, by boiling it in
large earthen pots for many hours, with many incantations and shakings
of the wonderful gourd that was only filled with pebbles. This medicine
was drunk that evening with great ceremony, with dances, drum beating
and general fervor of heart.
“Khamis bin Abdallah dead, Mirambo gave his orders to plunder, kill,
burn, and destroy, and they went at it with a will. When I saw the
fugitives from Tabora coming by the hundred to our quiet valley of
Kwihara, I began to think the matter serious and began my operations for
defence. First of all, however, a lofty bamboo pole was procured and
planted on the roof of our fortlet, and the American flag was run up,
where it waved joyously and grandly, an omen to all fugitives and their
hunters.
[Illustration: A FIERCE BATTLE WITH THE NATIVES.]
“All night we stood guard; the suburbs of Tabora were in flames; all the
Wanyamwezi and Wanguana houses were destroyed, and the fine house of
Abid bin Sulemian had been ransacked and then committed to the flames,
and Mirambo boasted that ‘to-morrow’ Kwihara should share the fate of
Tabora, and there was a rumor that that night the Arabs were going to
start for the coast. But the morning came, and Mirambo departed with the
ivory and cattle he had captured, and the people of Kwihara and Tabora
breathed freer.
“And now I am going to say farewell to Unyanyembe for a while. I shall
never help an Arab again. He is no fighting man, or I should say, does
not know how to fight, but knows personally how to die. They will not
conquer Mirambo within a year, and I cannot stop to see that play out.
There is a good old man waiting for me somewhere, and that impels me on.
There is a journal afar off which expects me to do my duty, and I must
do it. Goodby; I am off the day after to-morrow for Ujiji; then,
perhaps, the Congo River.”
After this followed a number of telegrams to the “Herald” from the
expedition, but their substance has been given in what has preceded, to
show the general outline of explorations up to the time of the meeting
of Livingstone and Stanley at Ujiji. There are, however, but few
accounts of travel more interesting and valuable than the letter to the
“Herald” narrating the events of the journey from Unyanyembe to Ujiji,
and the meeting with Livingstone. The greater portion of this remarkable
narrative is appended:
“BUNDER, UJIJI, ON LAKE TANGANYIKA, }
“CENTRAL AFRICA, November 23, 1871. }
“Only two months gone, and what a change in my feelings! But two months
ago, what a peevish, fretful soul was mine! What a hopeless prospect
presented itself before your correspondent! Arabs vowing that I would
never behold the Tanganyika; Sheikh, the son of Nasib, declaring me a
madman to his fellows because I would not heed his words. My men
deserting, my servants whining day by day, and my white man endeavoring
to impress me with the belief that we were all doomed men! And the only
answer to it all is, Livingstone, the hero traveller, is alongside of
me, writing as hard as he can to his friends in England, India, and
America, and I am quite safe and sound in health and limb.
“September 23 I left Unyanyembe, driving before me fifty well-armed
black men, loaded with the goods of the expedition, and dragging after
me one white man. Once away from the hateful valley of Kwihara, my
enthusiasm for my work rose as newborn as when I left the coast. But my
enthusiasm was shortlived, for before reaching camp I was almost
delirious with fever. When I had arrived, burning with fever, my pulse
bounding many degrees too fast and my temper made more acrimonious by my
sufferings, I found the camp almost deserted. The men as soon as they
had arrived at Mkwenkwe, the village agreed upon, had hurried back to
Kwihara. Livingstone’s letter-carrier had not made his appearance--it
was an abandoned camp. I instantly dispatched six of the best of those
who had refused to return to ask Sheikh, the son of Nasib, to lend or
sell me the longest slave chain he had, then to hunt up the runaways and
bring them back to camp bound, and promised them that for every head
captured they should have a brand new cloth.
“Next morning fourteen out of twenty of those who had deserted back to
their wives and huts (as is generally the custom) had reappeared, and,
as the fever had left me, I only lectured them, and they gave me their
promise not to desert me again under any circumstances. Livingstone’s
messenger had passed the night in bonds, because he had resolutely
refused to come. I unloosed him and gave him a paternal lecture,
painting in glowing colors the benefits he would receive if he came
along quietly and the horrible punishment of being chained up until I
reached Ujiji if he was still resolved not to come. ‘Kaif Halleck’
Arabic for ‘How do you do?’ melted, and readily gave me his promise to
come and obey me as he would his own master--Livingstone--until we
should see him, ‘which Inshallah we shall! Please God, please God, we
shall,’ I replied, ‘and you will be no loser.’ During the day my
soldiers had captured the others, and as they all promised obedience and
fidelity in future, they escaped punishment.
“It is possible for any of your readers so disposed to construct a map
of the road on which the ‘Herald’ expedition was now journeying, if they
draw a line 150 miles long south by west from Unyanyembe, then 150
miles west northwest, then ninety miles north, half east, then seventy
miles west by north, and that will take them to Ujiji.
“We were about entering the immense forest that separates Unyanyembe
from the district of Ugunda, In lengthy undulating waves the land
stretches before us--the new land which no European knew, the unknown,
mystic land. The view which the eyes hurry to embrace as we ascend some
ridge higher than another is one of the most disheartening that can be
conceived. Away, one beyond another, wave the lengthy rectilinear
ridges, clad in the same garb of color. Woods, woods, woods, forests,
leafy branches, green and sere, yellow and dark red and purple, then an
indefinable ocean, bluer than the blueest sky. The horizon all around
shows the same scene--a sky dropping into the depths of the endless
forest, with but two or three tall giants of the forest higher than
their neighbors, which are conspicuous in their outlines, to break the
monotony of the scene. On no one point do our eyes rest with pleasure;
they have viewed the same outlines, the same forest and the same horizon
day after day, week after week; and again, like Noah’s dove from
wandering over a world without a halting place, return wearied with the
search.
[Illustration: SKETCH OF AN AFRICAN FOREST SCENE.]
“It takes seven hours to traverse the forest between Kigandu and Ugunda,
when we come to the capital of the new district, wherein one may laugh
at Mirambo and his forest thieves. At least the Sultan, or Lord of
Ugunda, feels in a laughing mood while in his strong stockade, should
one but hint to him that Mirambo might come to settle up the long
debt that Chieftain owes him, for defeating him the last time--a year
ago--he attempted to storm his place. And well may the Sultan laugh at
him, and all others which the hospitable Chief may permit to reside
within, for it is the strongest place--except Simba-Moeni and Kwikuru,
in Unyanyembe--I have as yet seen in Africa. Having arrived safely at
Ugunda we may now proceed on our journey fearless of Mirambo, though he
has attacked places four days south of this; but as he has already at a
former time felt the power of the Wanyamwezi of Ugunda, he will not
venture again in a hurry. On the sixth day of our departure from
Unyanyembe we continued our journey south. Three long marches, under a
hot sun, through jungly plains, heat-cracked expanses of prairie land,
through young forests, haunted by the tsetse and sword flies, considered
fatal to cattle, brought us to the gates of a village called Manyara,
whose chief was determined not to let us in nor sell us a grain of corn,
because he had never seen a white man before, and he must know all about
this wonderful specimen of humanity before he would allow us to pass
through his country. Having arrived at the khambi, or camp, I despatched
Bombay with a propitiating gift of cloth to the Chief--a gift at once so
handsome and so munificent, consisting of no less than two royal cloths
and three common dotis, that the Chief surrendered at once, declaring
that the white man was a superior being to any he had ever seen.
‘Surely,’ said he, ‘he must have a friend; otherwise how came he to send
me such fine cloths? Tell the white man that I shall come and see him.’
Permission was at once given to his people to sell us as much corn as we
needed. We had barely finished distributing five days’ rations to each
man when the Chief was announced.
“Gunbearers, twenty in number, preceded him, and thirty spearmen
followed him, and behind these came eight or ten men loaded with gifts
of honey, native beer, holcus sorghum, beans, and maize. I at once
advanced and invited the Chief to my tent, which had undergone some
alterations, that I might honor him as much as lay in my power.
Ma-manyara was a tall, stalwart man, with a very pleasing face. He
carried in his hand a couple of spears, and, with the exception of a
well-worn barsati around his loins, he was naked. Three of his principal
men and himself were invited to seat themselves on my Persian carpet.
The revolvers and Winchester’s repeating rifles were things so wonderful
that to attempt to give you any idea of how awe-struck he and his men
were would task my powers. My medicine chest was opened next, and I
uncorked a small phial of medicinal brandy and gave each a teaspoonful.
Suffice it that I made myself so popular with Ma-manyara and his people
that they will not forget me in a hurry.
“Leaving kind and hospitable Ma-manyara, after a four hours’ march we
came to the banks of the Gombe Nullah, not the one which Burton, Speke,
and Grant have described, for the Gombe which I mean is about one
hundred and twenty-five miles south of the Northern Gombe. The glorious
park land spreading out north and south of the Southern Gombe is a
hunter’s paradise. It is full of game of all kinds--herds of buffalo,
giraffe, zebra, pallah, water buck, springbok, gemsbok, blackbuck, and
kudu, besides several eland, warthog, or wild boar, and hundreds of the
smaller antelope. We saw all these in one day, and at night heard the
lions roar and the low of the hippopotamus. I halted here three days to
shoot, and there is no occasion to boast of what I shot, considering the
myriads of game I saw at every step I took. Not half the animals shot
here by myself and men were made use of. Two buffaloes and one kudu were
brought to camp the first day, besides a wild boar, which my mess
finished up in one night. My boy gun-bearers sat up the whole night
eating boar meat, and until I went to sleep I could hear the buffalo
meat sizzing over the fires as the Islamized soldiers prepared it for
the road.
[Illustration: A FINE COVEY OF THE NOBLE GAME.]
“From Manyara to Marefu, in Ukonongo, are five days’ marches. It is an
uninhabited forest now, and is about eighty miles in length. Clumps of
forest and dense islets of jungle dot plains which separate the forests
proper. It is monotonous owing to the sameness of the scenes. And
throughout this length of eighty miles there is nothing to catch a man’s
eye in search of the picturesque or novel save the Gombe’s pools, with
their amphibious inhabitants, and the variety of noble game which
inhabit the forests and plain. A travelling band of Wakonongo, bound to
Ukonongo from Manyara, prayed to have our escort, which was readily
granted. They were famous foresters, who knew the various fruits fit to
eat; who knew the cry of the honey-bird, and could follow it to the
treasure of honey which it wished to show its human friends. It is a
pretty bird, not much larger than a wren, and, ‘tweet-tweet,’ it
immediately cries when it sees a human being. It becomes very busy all
at once, hops and skips, and flies from branch to branch with marvellous
celerity. The traveller lifts up his eyes, beholds the tiny little bird,
hopping about, and hears its sweet call--‘tweet-tweet-tweet.’ If he is a
Makonongo he follows it. Away flies the bird on to another tree, springs
to another branch nearer to the lagging man as if to say, ‘Shall I, must
I come and fetch you?’ but assured by his advance, away again to another
tree, coquets about, and tweets his call rapidly; sometimes more earnest
and loud, as if chiding him for being so slow; then off again, until at
last the treasure is found and secured. And as he is a very busy little
bird, while the man secures his treasure of honey, he plumes himself,
ready for another flight and to discover another treasure. Every evening
the Makonongo brought us stores of beautiful red and white honey, which
is only to be secured in the dry season. Over pancakes and fritters the
honey is very excellent; but it is apt to disturb the stomach. I seldom
rejoiced in its sweetness without suffering some indisposition
afterwards.
“Arriving at Marefu, we overtook an embassy from the Arabs at Unyanyembe
to the Chief of the ferocious Watuta, who live a month’s march southwest
of this frontier village of Ukonongo. Old Hassan, the Mseguhha, was the
person who held the honorable post of Chief of the embassy, who had
volunteered to conduct the negotiations which were to secure the
Watuta’s services against Mirambo, the dreaded Chief of Uyoweh. Assured
by the Arabs that there was no danger, and having received the sum of
forty dollars for his services, he had gone on, sanguine of success, and
had arrived at Marefu, where we overtook him.
[Illustration: AFRICAN WARBLERS.]
“We left old Hassan the next day, for the prosecution of the work of the
expedition, feeling much happier than we had felt for many a day.
Desertions had now ceased, and there remained in chains but one
incorrigible, whom I had apprehended twice after twice deserting. Bombay
and his sympathizers were now beginning to perceive that after all there
was not much danger--at least not as much as the Arabs desired us to
believe--and he was heard expressing his belief in his broken English
that I would ‘catch the Tanganyika after all,’ and the standing joke was
now that we could smell the fish of the Tanganyika Lake, and that we
could not be far from it. New scenes also met the eye. Here and there
were upheaved above the tree tops sugar-loaf hills, and, darkly blue,
west of us loomed up a noble ridge of hills which formed the boundary
between Kamirambo’s territory and that of Utende. Elephant tracks became
numerous, and buffalo met the delighted eyes everywhere. Crossing the
mountainous ridge of Mwaru, with its lengthy slope slowly descending
westward, the vegetation became more varied and the outlines of the land
before us became more picturesque. We became sated with the varieties of
novel fruit which we saw hanging thickly on trees. There was the mbembu,
with the taste of an over ripe peach; the tamarind pod and beans, with
their grateful acidity, resembling somewhat the lemon in its flavor. The
matonga, or _nux vomica_, was welcome, and the luscious singwe, the plum
of Africa, was the most delicious of all. There were wild plums like our
own, and grapes unpicked long past their season, and beyond eating.
Guinea fowls, the moorhen, ptarmigans and ducks supplied our table; and
often the lump of a buffalo or an extravagant piece of venison filled
our camp kettles. My health was firmly established. The faster we
prosecuted our journey the better I felt. I had long bidden adieu to the
nauseous calomel and rhubarb compounds, and had become quite a stranger
to quinine. There was only one drawback to it all, and that was the
feeble health of the Arab boy Selim, who was suffering from an attack of
acute dysentery, caused by inordinate drinking of the bad water of the
pools at which we had camped between Manyara and Mrera. But judicious
attendance and Dover’s powders brought the boy round again.
“Mrera, in Ukonongo, nine days southwest of the Gombe Mellah, brought to
our minds the jungle habitats of the Wawkwere on the coast, and an
ominous sight to travellers were the bleached skulls of men which
adorned the tops of tall poles before the gates of the village. The
Sultan of Mrera and myself became fast friends after he had tasted of my
liberality.
[Illustration: CROSSING A LAGOON.]
“After a halt of three days at this village, for the benefit of the Arab
boy, we proceeded westerly, with the understanding that we should behold
the waters of the Tanganyika within ten days. Traversing a dense
forest of young trees, we came to a plain dotted with scores of ant
hills. Their uniform height (about seven feet high above the plain)
leads me to believe that they were constructed during an unusually wet
season, and when the country was inundated for a long time in
consequence. The surface of the plain also bore the appearance of being
subject to such inundations. Beyond this plain about four miles we came
to a running stream of purest water--a most welcome sight after so many
months spent by brackish pools and nauseous swamps. Crossing the stream,
which ran northwest, we immediately ascended a steep and lofty ridge,
whence we obtained a view of grand and imposing mountains, of isolated
hills, rising sheer to great heights from a plain stretching far into
the heart of Ufipa, cut up by numerous streams flowing into the Rungwa
River, which during the rainy season overflows this plain and forms the
lagoon set down by Speke as the Rikwa. We continued still westward,
crossing many a broad stretch of marsh and oozy bed of mellahs, whence
rose the streams that formed the Rungwa some forty miles south.
“At a camping place beyond Mrera we heard enough from some natives who
visited us to assure us that we were rushing to our destruction if we
still kept westward. After receiving hints of how to evade the
war-stricken country in our front, we took a road leading
north-northwest. While continuing on this course we crossed streams
running to the Rungwa south and others running directly north to the
Malagarazi, from either side of a lengthy ridge which served to
separate the country of Unyamwezi from Ukawendi. We were also attracted
for the first time by the lofty and tapering moule tree, used on the
Tanganyika Lake for the canoes of the natives, who dwell on its shores.
The banks of the numerous streams are lined with dense growths of these
shapely trees, as well as of sycamore, and gigantic tamarinds, which
rivalled the largest sycamore in their breadth of shade. The undergrowth
of bushes and tall grass, dense and impenetrable, likely resorts of
leopard and lion and wild boar were enough to appal the stoutest heart.
One of my donkeys while being driven to water along a narrow path,
hedged by the awesome brake on either side, was attacked by a leopard,
which fastened its fangs in the poor animal’s neck, and it would have
made short work of it had not its companions set up such a braying
chorus as might well have terrified a score of leopards. And that same
night, while encamped contiguous to that limpid stream of Mtambu, with
that lofty line of enormous trees rising dark and awful above us, the
lions issued from the brakes beneath and prowled about the well-set bush
defence of our camp, venting their fearful clamor without intermission
until morning.
“Our camps by these thick belts of timber, peopled as they were with
wild beasts, my men never fancied. But Southern Ukawendi, with its fair,
lovely valleys and pellucid streams nourishing vegetation to extravagant
growth, density and height, is infested with troubles of this kind. And
it is probable, from the spread of this report among the natives, that
this is the cause of the scant population of one of the loveliest
countries Africa can boast. The fairest of California scenery cannot
excel, though it may equal, such scenes as Ukawendi can boast of, and
yet a land as large as the State of New York is almost uninhabited. Days
and days one may travel through primeval forests, now ascending ridges
overlooking broad, well watered valleys, with belts of valuable timber
crowning the banks of the rivers, and behold exquisite bits of
scenery--wild, fantastic, picturesque and pretty--all within the scope
of vision whichever way one may turn. And to crown the glories of this
lovely portion of earth, underneath the surface but a few feet is one
mass of iron ore, extending across three degrees of longitude and nearly
four of latitude, cropping out at intervals, so that the traveller
cannot remain ignorant of the wealth lying beneath.
[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE.]
“What wild and ambitious projects fill a man’s brain as he looks over
the forgotten and unpeopled country, containing in its bosom such store
of wealth, and with such an expanse of fertile soil, capable of
sustaining millions! What a settlement one could have in this valley!
See, it is broad enough to support a large population! Fancy a church
spire rising where that tamarind rears its dark crown of foliage and
think how well a score or so of pretty cottages would look instead of
those thorn clumps and gum trees! Fancy this lovely valley teeming with
herds of cattle and fields of corn, spreading to the right and left of
this stream! How much better would such a state become this valley,
rather than its present deserted and wild aspect! But be hopeful. The
day will come and a future year will see it, when happier lands have
become crowded and nations have become so overgrown that they have no
room to turn about. It only needs an Abraham or a Lot, an Alaric or an
Attila to lead their hosts to this land, which, perhaps, has been wisely
reserved for such a time.
“After the warning so kindly given by the natives soon after leaving
Mrera, in Ukonongo, five days’ marches brought us to Mrera, in the
district of Rusawa, in Ukawendi. Arriving here, we questioned the
natives as to the best course to pursue--should we make direct for the
Tanganyika or go north to the Malagarazi River? They advised us to the
latter course, though no Arab had ever taken it. Two days through the
forest, they said, would enable us to reach the Malagarazi. The guide,
who had by this forgotten our disagreement, endorsed this opinion, as
beyond the Malagarazi he was sufficiently qualified to show the way. We
laid in a stock of four days’ provisions against contingencies, and
bidding farewell to the hospitable people of Rusawa, continued our
journey northward.
“The scenery was getting more sublime every day as we advanced
northward, even approaching the terrible. We seemed to have left the
monotony of a desert for the wild, picturesque scenery of Abyssinia and
the terrible mountains of the Sierra Nevadas. I named one tabular
mountain, which recalled memories of the Abyssinian campaign, Magdala,
and as I gave it a place on my chart it became of great use to me, as it
rose so prominently into view that I was enabled to lay down our route
pretty accurately. The four days’ provisions we had taken with us were
soon consumed, and still we were far from the Malagarazi River. Though
we eked out my own stores with great care, as shipwrecked men at sea,
these also gave out on the sixth day, and still the Malagarazi was not
in sight. The country was getting more difficult for travel, owing to
the numerous ascents and descents we had to make in the course of a
day’s march. Bleached and bare, it was cut up by a thousand deep ravines
and intersected by a thousand dry water courses whose beds were filled
with immense sandstone rocks and boulders washed away from the great
heights which rose above us on every side. We were not protected now by
the shades of the forest, and the heat became excessive and water became
scarce. But we still held on our way, hoping that each day’s march would
bring us in sight of the long-looked-for and much-desired Malagarazi.
Fortunately we had filled our bags and baskets with the forest peaches
with which the forests of Rusawa had supplied us, and these sustained us
in this extremity.
“Proceeding on our road on the eighth day every thing we saw tended to
confirm us in the belief that food was at hand. After travelling two
hours, still descending rapidly towards a deep basin which we saw, the
foremost of the expedition halted, attracted by the sight of a village
situated on a table-topped mountain on our right. The guide told us it
must be that of the son of Nzogera, of Uvinza. We followed a road
leading to the foot of the mountain, and camped on the edge of an
extensive morass. Though we fired guns to announce our arrival, it was
unnecessary, for the people were already hurrying to our camps to
inquire about our intentions. The explanation was satisfactory, but they
said that they had taken us to be enemies, few friends having ever come
along our road. In a few minutes there was an abundance of meat and
grain in the camp, and the men’s jaws were busy in the process of
mastication.
“During the whole of the afternoon we were engaged upon the terms
Nzogera’s son exacted for the privilege of passing through his country.
We found him to be the first of a tribute-taking tribe which
subsequently made much havoc in the bales of the expedition. Seven and a
half doti of cloth were what we were compelled to pay, whether we
returned or proceeded on our way. After a day’s halt we proceeded under
the guidance of two men granted to me as qualified to show the way to
the Malagarazi River. We had to go east-northeast for a considerable
time in order to avoid the morass that lay directly across the country
that intervened between the triangular mountain on whose top Nzogera’s
son dwelt. This marsh drains three extensive ranges of mountains which,
starting from the westward, separated only by two deep chasms from each
other, run at wide angles--one southeast, one northeast, and the other
northwest. From a distance this marsh looks fair enough; stately trees
at intervals rise seemingly from its bosom, and between them one catches
glimpses of a lovely champaign, bounded by perpendicular mountains, in
the far distance. After a wide detour we struck straight for this marsh,
which presented to us another novelty in the watershed of the
Tanganyika.
“Fancy a river broad as the Hudson at Albany, though not near so deep or
swift, covered over by water plants and grasses, which had become so
interwoven and netted together as to form a bridge covering its entire
length and breadth, under which the river flowed calm and deep below. It
was over this natural bridge we were expected to cross. Adding to the
tremor which one naturally felt at having to cross this frail bridge was
the tradition that only a few yards higher up an Arab and his donkey,
thirty-five slaves and sixteen tusks of ivory had suddenly sunk forever
out of sight. As one-half of our little column had already arrived at
the centre, we on the shore could see the network of grass waving on
either side, in one place like to the swell of a sea after a storm, and
in another like a small lake violently ruffled by a squall. Hundreds of
yards away from them it ruffled, and undulated one wave after another.
As we all got on it we perceived it to sink about a foot, forcing the
water on which it rested into the grassy channel formed by our
footsteps. One of my donkeys broke through, and it required the united
strength of ten men to extricate him. The aggregate weight of the donkey
and men caused that portion of the bridge on which they stood to sink
about two feet and a circular pool of water was formed, and I expected
every minute to see them suddenly sink out of sight. Fortunately we
managed to cross the treacherous bridge without accident.
“Arriving on the other side, we struck north, passing through a
delightful country, in every way suitable for agricultural settlements
or happy mission stations. The primitive rock began to show itself anew
in eccentric clusters, as a flat-topped rock, on which the villages of
the Wavinza were seen and where the natives prided themselves on their
security and conducted themselves accordingly, ever insolent and
forward. We were halted every two or three miles by the demand for
tribute, which we did not, because we could not, pay.
“On the second day after leaving Nzogera’s son we commenced a series of
descents, the deep valleys on each side of us astonishing us by their
profundity, and the dark gloom prevailing below, amid their wonderful
dense forests of tall trees, and glimpses of plains beyond, invited
sincere admiration. In about a couple of hours we discovered the river
we were looking for below, at the distance of a mile, running like a
silver vein through a broad valley. Halting at Kiala’s, eldest son of
Nzogera, the principal Sultan of Uvinza, we waited an hour to see on
what terms he would ferry us over the Malagarazi. As we could not come
to a definite conclusion respecting them we were obliged to camp in his
village.
“Until three o’clock P. M. the following day continued the negotiations
for ferrying us across the Malagarazi, consisting of arguments, threats,
quarrels, loud shouting and stormy debate on both sides. Finally, six
doti and ten fundo of sami-sami beads were agreed upon. After which we
marched to the ferry, distant half a mile from the scene of so much
contention. The river at this place was not more than thirty yards
broad, sluggish and deep; yet I would prefer attempting to cross the
Mississippi by swimming rather than the Malagarazi. Such another river
for the crocodiles, cruel as death, I cannot conceive. Their long,
tapering heads dotted the river everywhere, and though I amused myself,
pelting them with two-ounce balls, I made no effect on their numbers.
Two canoes had discharged their live cargo on the other side of the
river when the story of Captain Burton’s passage across the Malagarazi
higher up was brought vividly to my mind by the extortions which Mutware
now commenced.
[Illustration: A FLOATING ALLIGATOR.]
“Two marches from Malagarazi brought us to Uhha. Kawanga was the first
place in Uhha where we halted. It is the village where resides the first
mutware, or chief, to whom caravans have to pay tribute. To this man we
paid twelve and a half doti, upon the understanding that we would have
to pay no more between here and Ujiji. We left Kawanga cheerfully
enough. The country undulated gently before us like the prairie of
Nebraska, as devoid of trees almost as our plains. The top of every wave
of land enabled us to see the scores of villages which dotted its
surface, though it required keen eyes to detect at a distance the
beehived and straw-thatched huts from the bleached grass of the plain.
“Pursuing our way next day, after a few hours’ march, we came to
Kahirigi, and quartered ourselves in a large village, governed over by
Mionvu’s brother, who had already been advised by Mionvu of the windfall
in store for him. This man, as soon as we had set the tent, put in a
claim for thirty doti, which I was able to reduce, after much
eloquence, lasting over five hours, to twenty-six doti. I saw my fine
array of bales being reduced fast. Four more such demands as Mionvu’s
would leave me, in unclassic phrase, ‘cleaned out.’
“After paying this last tribute, as it was night, I closed my tent, and,
lighting my pipe, began to think seriously upon my position and how to
reach Ujiji without paying more tribute. It was high time to resort
either to a battle or to a strategy of some kind, possibly to striking
into the jungle; but there was no jungle in Uhha, and a man might be
seen miles off on its naked plains. At least this last was the plan most
likely to succeed without endangering the prospects almost within reach
of the expedition. Calling the guide, I questioned him as to its
feasibility. He said there was a Mguana, a slave of Thani Bin Abdullah,
in the Coma, with whom I might consult. Sending for him, he presently
came, and I began to ask him for how much he would guide us out of Uhha
without being compelled to pay any more Muhongo. He replied that it was
a hard thing to do, unless I had complete control over my men and they
could be got to do exactly as I told them. When satisfied on this point
he entered into an agreement to show me a road--or rather to lead me to
it--that might be clear of all habitations as far as Ujiji for twelve
doti, paid beforehand. The cloth was paid to him at once.
“At half-past two A. M. the men were ready, and, stealing silently past
the huts, the guide opened the gates, and we filed out one by one as
quickly as possible. At dawn we crossed the swift Zunuzi, which flowed
southward into the Malagarazi, after which we took a northwesterly
direction through a thick jungle of bamboo. There was no road, and
behind us we left but little trail on the hard, dry ground. At eight A.
M. we halted for breakfast, having marched nearly six hours, within the
jungle, which stretched for miles around us.
“At ten A. M. we resumed our journey, and after three hours camped at
Lake Musuma, a body of water which during the rainy season has a length
of three miles and a breadth of two miles. It is one of a group of lakes
which fill deep hollows in the plain of Uhha. They swarm with
hippopotami, and their shores are favorite resorts of large herds of
buffalo and game. The eland and buffalo especially are in large numbers
here, and the elephant and rhinoceros are exceedingly numerous. We saw
several of these, but did not dare to fire. On the second morning after
crossing the Sunuzi and Rugufu Rivers, we had just started from our
camp, and as there was no moonlight the head of the column came to a
village, whose inhabitants, as we heard a few voices, were about
starting. We were all struck with consternation, but, consulting with
the guide, we despatched our goats and chickens, and leaving them in the
road, faced about, retraced our steps, and after a quarter of an hour
struck up a ravine, and descending several precipitous places, about
half-past six o’clock found ourselves in Ukaranga--safe and free from
all tribute taking Wahha.
“Exultant shouts were given--equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon hurrah--upon
our success. Addressing the men, I asked them, ‘Why should we halt when
but a few hours from Ujiji? Let us march a few hours more and to-morrow
we shall see the white man at Ujiji, and who knows but this may be the
man we are seeking? Let us go on, and after to-morrow we shall have
fish for dinner and many days’ rest afterwards, every day eating the
fish of the Tanganyika. Stop; I think I smell the Tanganyika fish
even now.’ This speech was hailed with what the newspapers call
‘loud applause; great cheering,’ and ‘Ngema--very well, master;’ ‘Hyah
Barak-Allah--Onward, and the blessing of God be on you.’
“We strode from the frontier at the rate of four miles an hour, and,
after six hours’ march, the tired caravan entered the woods which
separate the residence of the Chief of Ukaranga from the villages on the
Mkuti River. As we drew near the village we went slower, unfurled the
American and Zanzibar flags, presenting quite an imposing array. When we
came in sight of Nyamtaga, the name of the Sultan’s residence, and our
flags and numerous guns were seen, the Wakaranga and their Sultan
deserted their village _en masse_, and rushed into the woods, believing
that we were Mirambo’s robbers, who, after destroying Unyanyembe, were
come to destroy the Arabs and bunder of Ujiji; but he and his people
were soon reassured, and came forward to welcome us with presents of
goats and beer, all of which were very welcome after the exceedingly
lengthy marches we had recently undertaken.
“Rising at early dawn our new clothes were brought forth again that we
might present as decent an appearance as possible before the Arabs of
Ujiji, and my helmet was well chalked and a new puggeree folded around
it, my boots were well oiled and my white flannels put on, and
altogether, without joking, I might have paraded the streets of Bombay
without attracting any very great attention.
“A couple of hours brought us to the base of a hill, from the top of
which the Kirangozi said we could obtain a view of the great Tanganyika
Lake. Heedless of the rough path or of the toilsome steep, spurred
onward by the cheery promise, the ascent was performed in a short time.
On arriving at the top we beheld it at last from the spot whence,
probably, Burton and Speke looked at it--‘the one in a half paralyzed
state, the other almost blind.’ Indeed, I was pleased at the sight; and,
as we descended, it opened more and more into view until it was revealed
at last into a grand inland sea, bounded westward by an appalling and
black-blue range of mountains, and stretching north and south without
bounds, a gray expanse of water.
“From the western base of the hill was a three hours’ march, though no
march ever passed off so quickly. The hours seemed to have been
quarters, we had seen so much that was novel and rare to us who had been
travelling so long on the highlands. The mountains bounding the lake on
the eastward, receded and the lake advanced. We had crossed the Ruche,
or Linche, and its thick belt of tall matete grass. We had plunged into
a perfect forest of them, and had entered into the cultivated fields
which supply the port of Ujiji with vegetables, etc., and we stood at
last on the summit of the last hill of the myriads we had crossed, and
the port of Ujiji, embowered in palms, with the tiny waves of the silver
waters of the Tanganyika rolling at its feet was directly below us.
“We are now about descending--in a few minutes we shall have reached the
spot where we imagine the object of our search--our fate will soon be
decided. No one in that town knows we are coming; least of all do they
know we are so close to them. If any of them ever heard of the white man
at Unyanyembe they must believe we are there yet. We shall take them all
by surprise, for no other but a white man would dare leave Unyanyembe
for Ujiji with the country in such a distracted state--no other but a
crazy white man whom Sheik, the son of Nasib is going to report to Syed
or Burghash for not taking his advice.
“Well, we are but a mile from Ujiji now, and it is high time we should
let them know a caravan is coming; so ‘Commence firing’ is the word
passed along the length of the column, and gladly do they begin. They
have loaded their muskets half full, and they roar like the broadside of
a line-of-battle ship. Down go the ramrods, sending huge charges home to
the breech, and volley after volley is fired. The flags are fluttered;
the banner of America is in front waving joyfully; the guide is in the
zenith of his glory. The former residents of Zanzita will know it
directly, and will wonder--as well they may--as to what it means. Never
were the Stars and Stripes so beautiful to my mind--the breeze of the
Tanganyika has such an effect on them. The guide blows his horn, and
the shrill, wild clangor of it is far and near; and still the cannon
muskets tell the noisy seconds. By this time the Arabs are fully
alarmed; the natives of Ujiji, Waguhha, Warundi, Wanguana, and I know
not whom, hurry up by the hundreds to ask what it all means--this
fusilading, shouting, and blowing of horns and flag flying. There are
Yambos shouted out to me by the dozen, and delighted Arabs have run up
breathlessly to shake my hands and ask anxiously where I came from. But
I have no patience with them. The expedition goes far too slow. I should
like to settle the vexed question by one personal view. Where is he? Has
he fled?
[Illustration: WARLIKE DEMONSTRATIONS.]
“Suddenly a man--a black man--at my elbow shouts in English, ‘How do you
sir?’
“‘Hello! who are you?’ ‘I am the servant of Dr. Livingstone,’ he says;
but before I can ask any more questions he is running like a madman
toward the town.
“We have at last entered the town. There are hundreds of people around
me--I might say thousands without exaggeration, it seems to me. It is a
grand triumphal procession. As we move they move. All eyes are drawn
towards us. The expedition at last comes to a halt; the journey is ended
for a time; but I alone have a few more steps to make.
“There is a group of the most respectable Arabs, and as I come nearer I
see the white face of an old man among them. He has a cap with a gold
band around it, his dress is a short jacket of red blanket cloth and
pants. I am shaking hands with him. We raise our hats, and I say:--
“Dr. Livingstone, I presume?
“And he says, ‘Yes.’
“_Finis coronat opus._”
And thus was the goal won after long and toilsome and dangerous
journeyings, many hundred miles of them never before looked upon by the
eye of white man. It was a triumph magnificently demonstrating the
progress of humanity, science, and civilization; and it must be
universally regarded as an achievement remarkably and most happily
representative of the spirit of the age, since it was accomplished, not
by the power and wealth of prince, or potentate, or government, but by
the irrepressible enterprise of an AMERICAN NEWSPAPER.
[Illustration]