SEVENTH HALF.
On July 1st we left Blantyre about 6·30 A.M. This was an unusually
early hour. It generally happens that people wishing to start at six in
the morning are detained till nine. The carriers may come about seven
o’clock, but they say that they must go back to their homes for food.
Some of our carriers, although they had been warned beforehand, neglected
to bring provisions with them, but so many natives had come that we had
no difficulty in filling their places.
Once fairly started, the carriers proceeded at a rattling pace. The
road for a long way was filled with the school children and other
acquaintances who wished again to say farewell. Among others Kumlomba
made his way through the crowd a little above his village, and placed a
knife in my hand as a keepsake. Great numbers of the school children came
running along for nearly two miles. One of the last to leave was Kanjira,
who had been the first to meet us on our arrival in 1878, and had since
then been a very regular attendant at school. He was now regretting the
departure of his ‘teacher’ in very touching words, and expressing his
intention to go with me. I had to impress upon him that this idea could
not be entertained, but the little fellow did not go back till we were
near the Nampele, a stream four miles from Blantyre. Another lad was
more determined still, and resisted every argument. As a last resource I
filled both his hands with beads to see if this would not make him fall
behind, but notwithstanding our rapid pace he persisted in following.
Farther on we met a company of men going to Blantyre, but he could not be
induced to return with them. He answered me much in the words of Ruth to
Naomi, “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after
thee”. Now he was so far on that it would have been unsafe for him to go
back alone. But as we were approaching Mbami we met more men going to
Blantyre, and as we now insisted on his return, he sorrowfully obeyed.
The little fellow must have been tired, having come about twelve miles.
We reached Mbami about ten o’clock, here the carriers rested a short
time, while I talked with the headman and his people.
Soon we started again; to see that no one fell behind I went last. The
carriers marched in single file—often forming a line which might extend
for a mile or more, as they did not keep close together. Scarcely was
I out of sight of the village when I heard a great commotion—people
were running and shouting. All the inhabitants of Mbami seemed to be in
pursuit of a girl who was running as if in desperation. When within a
few yards of me, she was caught by a young man, but she struggled most
violently. I asked what was the matter, when the girl whose face was wet
with tears, cried out, “I wish to go with you”. She laid hold of me with
the greatest earnestness just as the other pursuers were coming near.
The girl’s mother was there reproving her with “Will you leave your own
mother?” I tried to calm the girl and told her to stay contentedly at her
home. All the people said, “Do you hear that now? he tells you to stay at
your home,” but by this time her little fingers had clutched my coat. I
put beads into her hands, as this is usually an infallible way of getting
the hands of a native diverted—so great is the desire for the money of
the land. But this creature held on and let the beads fall. It was the
mother that let go her hold of the girl in order to pick them up. Again I
tried to soothe the child while her mother and all the women coaxed her
by saying she would get to Blantyre to school and the Msungu (white man)
would come back again and teach her, but after all she went away weeping
most bitterly. I was myself deeply affected. Perhaps the girl was a poor
slave who had been stolen away from her true mother. One may know natives
a long time without making out their true relationships (59.)
Mbami is a pretty spot, and has a good supply of water. It may one day
form a small Mission station. A little beyond it we could hear the sound
of a waterfall. The headman lived once with the Magololo, but he disliked
their laws, and now he is practically a chief himself. But if a war broke
out between the Yao and the Anyasa he would have to join either the one
party or the other, else he would be liable to the attacks of both.
The next places we pass are Mazibango (water-reeds), Makoka, and
Chipindu, which are of great interest to the traveller, as being the only
places where water can be found to quench his thirst. After Chipindu
the road, which is hitherto level, descends rapidly to the plain of the
Chiri. Just as we entered on the plain we were agreeably surprised to
meet Katunga’s sons, and, after advancing a little, we found the chief
himself with about sixty men engaged in making a canoe, beside a stream
called the Namyala. Having now walked about twenty-five miles, I was
very thirsty, not to say hungry. Katunga was sitting on a box, which he
gave up for me. I pressed him to share it, but he sat down beside me on
the ground. We had now some refreshment. The Chief explained that he was
not able to walk, as he had been for some time suffering from bad legs,
but he said his men would carry him to the village, to say good-bye. A
march of another hour brought us to Katunga’s capital. All his sons had
accompanied us, and I told them to write out a few lines of their books,
that I might shew my friends in England how they could write. They soon
finished this little task.
Now came another of those sad farewells. When the carriers had finished
their work they came to us for the last time. We knew most of these men
so well—men of Kapeni’s, men of Matache’s, and men of Blantyre were
there. There, too, were Ndiagani’s mother and little sister,—the latter
a small child, whom I had often carried along the road during the day.
I wished to give her all the beads I had, but though I turned out my
pocket, I could not find as many as would fill her tiny hand. We were
now left among the Anyasa, all of whom, except the chief and his family,
were strangers to us. Just as it was getting dark, the chief came in, as
he had promised. He gave me a present of two goats and a bag of rice. I
pointed out that one goat would be enough, but he said, thoughtfully,
that we had better take them both ‘for the journey’. On going down to the
boat, I found Mrs. Macdonald and the children preparing for the night.
Much was yet to be done in arranging the boxes, so as to make a level
place for our beds. The Anyasa, whether from want of acquaintance with us
or from the more enervating nature of their climate, were not so ready to
render help as the Yao. We had to do all this work ourselves; the natives
merely looking on, with the exception of the chief’s sons, who soon found
their way down to the boat.
What a magnificent river glided past! How glorious it seemed to us, who,
for three years, had seen nothing bigger than a mountain-stream. The
native girl, Ndiagani, was in ecstasy at the sight, while our little
boy lay over the boat, apparently lost in contemplation. The great
silent river was smooth as a vast mirror: and yet on its surface we
could see thousands of little ripples passing down in quiet succession,
and speaking of the individual men and women that pass down the great
stream of time. How insignificant is each ripple in itself, yet none is
small enough to be overlooked: all are carried silently on and on—to the
eternal shore!
After the boat was ready for the night, I went up to the chief’s again.
He was sitting outside in his courtyard, all alone, beside a bright fire,
expecting my return. The shades of night were now gathering round us,
and his thoughts reverted to days gone by. He talked of Dr. Livingstone,
and Mr. Waller, and others that had long-lived in his memory. Before we
separated he wished me to remember him to Dr. Kirk (the British Consul at
Zanzibar), and to report to him that Katunga’s gun was broken! Then he
found a boy to conduct me through his village to the boat. Just outside
the village, we passed a herd of pigs. These animals seemed quite wild:
they run at large all day, and come in to the villages at night.
Our bedroom was the small open boat. Mosquitoes were numerous and
vicious, and the children were bitten severely. Next morning as soon
as it was dawn, I went up to the chief to get boatmen as quickly as
possible. He was sitting where I had left him last night, and a little
boy was by him cooking a fowl for his breakfast. The natives cook fowls
in a very primitive method, which, however, we have often adopted
with satisfaction. The legs and wings are turned backwards and joined
together, so as to hold a small stick which goes along the back of the
fowl. The stick is fixed in the ground, and the fowl at the end of it is
so placed as to get the full benefit of the fire.
The Chief promised to send men soon, and to come down himself to see
us off, but he wished to find something to give us as a keepsake. In a
short time he came and had a second breakfast with us (two breakfasts
are nothing to an African!) Then he produced a small tusk of ivory. This
present we could not fail to regard as a token of sincere friendship, and
the only return we could then make was to write out an order for tea,
sugar, and such food as the Chief could not readily procure for himself.
Soon the boat was off, and we were afloat on the beautiful river. What a
pity that such a spot should be the chosen abode of malaria; only a few
yards up the stream were the graves of certain martyrs of the Magomero
Mission. As we passed out of sight there was a waving of hats and hands,
which continued till we could see our friends no longer.
The Chiri here is about 150 yards broad, sometimes more, but it is
not very deep. In many places the boat would touch the bottom and
unskilful boatmen often run aground on sandbanks; but as our men were
well acquainted with this part of the river and kept in the middle of
the strongest currents we went at a delightful speed, the current doing
the greater part of the work. A favourable sail brought us to Maseo’s
about mid-day. I went up to the Chiefs residence and soon found myself
surrounded by all his boys who conducted me to the Chief himself. He is
one of the kindest of the Magololo, and yet the sight of a man lying in
the slave-stick reminded us that even he needs to exercise stringent
jurisdiction. He went back with me to the boat carrying with him a
gazelle’s skin which he asked us to accept that we might remember him in
the distant land of our “home”. (There is a striking pathos and poetry
about many of the expressions of the native.) In return Mrs. Macdonald
gave his children some books and the chief was much interested in hearing
them read. They also wrote out something for us, but this performance
on board an unsteady boat scarcely did justice to the little fellows’
handwriting.
Maseo warned us as we left that if Chiputula had gone to war with
Matekenya we should not try to pass on. Katunga had also touched on this
subject, and now we thought that we had heard the last of it. We reached
Kumbewe, Chiputula’s upper village, in the middle of the afternoon. The
lower village is within sight of this on the opposite side of the river.
We were now told that Chiputula had gone away four days ago to hunt.
This Chief’s large house is an object of interest. It is of fabulous
dimensions. Palm trees enter largely into its construction, and the
rooms are of their height! Chiputula’s sons and wives were very active
in finding fowls and a goat for us: we accepted these presents as we did
not wish to call at more villages for some time. That evening we reached
a spot where we had spent a night on our journey up to Blantyre. A little
incident brought the place to our recollection. One of our party had been
for a long time greatly puzzled at the brightness of the night. He looked
everywhere but could see no trace of the moon. Having been familiar with
the position of the moon in Scotland, he had not thought of looking
directly overhead.
Next day was Sunday but we went on. The African traveller, must sometimes
find a difficulty in deciding how to act on the Lord’s day. With regard
to the Jewish Sabbath the doubts would be fewer perhaps. Now we were far
from any human dwelling, and to remain for a single day on the banks of
the Elephant marsh with the thermometer above 100° would be to invite an
attack of fever. We _might_ be none the worse, it is true, just as the ox
that falls into the pit might sometimes be none the worse of being left
in the pit till Monday morning. Hence although we claimed a fair share
of the Scottish idea as to the strict observance of the Sabbath day, it
seemed to dawn upon us without the severe sanctity that surrounds it in
our native land. As we were quietly moving along, one of our natives
startled us by firing his gun; and very soon it became my turn to break
the sacred stillness of the day by following his example. At this spot
the Chiri is full of islands. We took one side of an island while the
canoe that accompanied us took the other, and had not proceeded far,
before it had the misfortune to disturb some hippopotami. To clear a
passage one of the canoe men fired upon them. Just at this moment we
came down the other channel to find the huge beasts rounding the corner
in their retreat. After the shot they had kept under the water so that
we hardly thought of them. I was standing at the bow of the boat looking
back on the beautiful hills we were leaving, when all of a sudden we
received a shock which made us feel as if our little craft were going
from under us. A hippopotamus had struck it and not satisfied with that,
it seemed determined to come on board. One of our rowers received a
severe wound from its tusks whereupon all the men at that side rushed
over to the other with a violence which threatened to upset us. Again
and again the enraged animal charged, till, finding my gun I fired upon
it, when it ultimately withdrew after making two deep dents on the
steel side of the boat, and leaving the point of one of its tusks beside
me. The men were all much excited, but they were thankful that we were
in deep water else, they said, the hippopotamus would have undoubtedly
come in. They told us that one of the Mazaro men that had come up with
us three years ago had been “cut in two and devoured by a hippopotamus”.
“But,” I remarked, “the hippopotamus does not eat flesh!” “Oh yes,” said
one, “it will devour a man very fast.” “But then,” replied another, “it
has always its companion the crocodile (ngwena) with it.” That day we
were beset with hippopotami at every other turning. In some herds we
counted over 20. They detained us a long time; we had expected to sleep
at the Ruo, but sunset found us considerably short of this, so that we
had to spend another night in the Elephant Marsh.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE OF THE ANYASA ON THE LOWER CHIRI.]
_Monday, July 4._—We started early without waiting to cook any food, as
we intended to breakfast at the Ruo, at Chiputula’s lowest settlement (Ku
Chilomo). On reaching this village we landed, and soon met one of our
Blantyre pupils who paid us special attention. In passing through the
village we saw many signs of mourning, and heard the “wails” rendered in
the same pathetic way as at Blantyre. On returning for breakfast in order
that we might resume our journey without delay, great was our surprise,
on reaching the boat, to find nothing but a scene of confusion. No
cooking had been attempted, and our boatmen were removing all their goods
as if they meant to desert us. What could be the matter?
“We cannot go any farther,” they said. “There is war! Matekenya will kill
us all without any reason!”
I expostulated with them for a long time. At first I could not even
entertain the idea of turning back. Katunga’s men agreed with me, but
Maseo’s strongly opposed, and pointed out that their chief had told them
not to proceed if Chiputula had gone to fight with Matekenya. I now
learned that Chiputula had gone away not for hunting but for war. Still I
did everything in my power to prevail upon the boatmen to proceed. I went
to hurry them with their cooking, and to divert their minds as much as
possible. Still, after talking with them a good while, I began to be less
confident. They had much to say. “Why,” I asked, “should you be afraid
to go down with an Englishman?” “They replied that they were specially
afraid to go with an Englishman. Matekenya’s headmen blamed the English
for giving the Magololo guns and powder.
“But not the Mission people?” “Yes, the Mission people.” Unfortunately,
though all the people more intimately associated with Blantyre were
innocent in this matter, there was too good foundation for the charge.
The deputation that visited us had thoughtlessly begun to present guns.
The natives said, “Had not a stout man seen at Blantyre given Makukani a
gun?” I also found that the inhabitants of this village were trying to
dissuade the men from proceeding. When I was present with the boatmen
those villagers protested that there was “nothing—nothing to fear”. But
when I was not by, they said there was everything to fear. Indeed, they
had terrified the boatmen so much that at one time I was on the verge
of despair. I feared that none of the rowers would enter the boat again.
They had got the idea that Matekenya’s men would make an attack on the
boat even if we went back the way we came. Their plan was to run away and
leave us to our fate, while they escaped to their homes by land. This
would have been a terrible calamity for such a party as we were, for some
of us must have perished through the hardships that would have ensued.
But the over-ruling Providence which had shielded us hitherto did not
now forsake us. After a long time of intense suspense we were relieved
to see the men enter the boat again, and turn her bow up the river. On
considering all the particulars we saw they had some cause for alarm.
Chiputula had destroyed several villages of the enemy, and had a number
of prisoners here, while several men of this very village were already
known to have fallen in battle.
But the idea of a return journey was dismal enough. Our boat, being laden
for going down the stream, would give much trouble. We had descended in
two days, but we should require six or eight days to go up. Mr. Rowley
tells how Dr. Livingstone and the Magomero party took twenty-four days
to accomplish the journey that we had now before us. We had been able to
buy several fowls. Fortunately, we did not now know that our supply was
rather scanty, else we might have had more anxiety. That night we stayed
in the place where we had slept the previous night. Rain came on and
drenched us thoroughly.
_Tuesday, July 5_, was a wet day, and we made but slow progress. At
night there was again a very heavy shower, of which we had the full
benefit. Wednesday was a repetition of Tuesday in every particular. This
morning I was quite ill. A traveller often finds it very trying to watch
the native boatmen lazily doing their work. They make such a mess of it
that one cannot look on without disappointment and irritation. The best
preventive of such feelings is to lay hold of a pole or a paddle and
engage in assisting the men. This I was quite unable to do to-day. A
soaking in bed does not fit one for physical exertion under a tropical
sun. But one refuge was open still. We had brought some newspapers with
us, and these were all acceptable now, no matter what their date might
be. When, however, I could not read, I was obliged to be a spectator
of the boatmen, but I tried to observe their work as a piece of mere
curiosity and to forget that we had any interest in it. The defect in
this Anyasa crew was that they had not learned to concentrate their
energy in an emergency. The poor fellows expended much more force than
would have been necessary had they employed it well. The Mazaro lads are
much better boatmen, but since the arrival of the Missions many of the
Anyasa have made trips to Mazaro, and now know all about the journey.
On his engagement each man gets a fathom of cloth (value 5d. in
Scotland, and 9d. here) to buy food, and meet the ordinary expenses
of the voyage. The first thing he does with this money is to buy a
bed, which is just a bag made of strips of mlasa woven together like a
straw hat. At night the owner, and one or more friends crawl into this
bag, which is placed near a fire on the bank. Once in they are very
comfortable, the mosquitoes cannot touch them, and in this climate they
cannot suffer from cold. As soon as morning dawns the boatmen may be
seen emerging one by one from their sacks. But they are in no hurry to
make a start. There are generally a few logs smouldering in what had
been the fire-place last night. Round these they gather, and put on a
few handfuls of grass, and seem preparing to—watch the course of events.
Happy for the traveller if he has decided that the boat must start at
once, for the slightest semblance of cooking risks at least an hour’s
detention. But many travellers believe that a hot cup of coffee keeps off
fever, and stay a few minutes to boil water. The natives themselves in
ordinary circumstances do not eat at this hour; all they do is to pass
round a large pipe, of which each man takes a whiff, and desires nothing
more. But when water has to be boiled, everyone takes advantage of the
occasion. The traveller’s captain or interpreter, or whatever he may
be termed, will be the first to entertain the idea of prolonging “the
boiling of the water” till a great deal of other cooking can be done.
The traveller, if a stranger, must depend much on his “captain”; and the
latter distinguishes himself by shouting to the others to “make haste”.
But although he bawls at the top of his voice, they sit quite unmoved
by the terrible earnestness of this functionary. The traveller is much
puzzled! On such occasions he finds it instructive to watch the position
of affairs on the bank. It then appears that all the delay arises from
the gallant captain himself, who is quietly cooking some dainty for
his own personal use, while the rest of the crew listen calmly to his
terrible threatenings, knowing that they are all “kindly meant”.
After the “water has been boiled” to the satisfaction of everybody, the
captain’s awful voice is again heard, and now words of mutual exhortation
pass round. One man lays hold of the anchor, while the rest stand in an
attitude of respectful attention! Only after the anchor has been put
into the boat does it occur to the others to pick up their beds, and,
one by one, each carries his own property with his own hands, and with
his own hands deposits it in the boat! Occasionally one man that happens
to be in the boat already, will receive a companion’s consignment, but
oftener this companion is allowed to enter and deposit his goods without
any help, while the man who is already in the boat goes to the bank
to fetch his own property. This is not because they wish to disoblige
each other. But they see no reason why anything should be done quickly,
and consequently they undervalue every method that savours of haste.
Livingstone well speaks of this country as “that blissful land where time
is of no importance”. The language of a great part of their actions is,
“Why should we do to-day what may as well be done tomorrow?”
After all are in the boat one man pushes it off with his pole—the others
meanwhile watching the operation. As soon as the boat is clear of the
bank, the current begins to carry it back over last day’s track; when
it occurs to them to get their paddles. One man who had left his paddle
at the other side of the boat calls for it; another begins to search;
while the rest await the result with the most exemplary patience. By and
by, another boatman finds that the paddle he has is not the one that he
used last day, and a great search is instituted by his companions, who
are duly waited for. The poor traveller will now ask whether the captain
is going down to Mazaro, and this question produces the desired effect,
for the captain begins to charge all and sundry in accents of thunder.
But though the paddles are all plied with the utmost strength, little
progress is made against the rapid current. The great hope of the boatmen
is to keep close to the bank; if reeds grow there, they can pull the
boat along by laying hold of them; or, if the bank is clear, they can
land and draw the boat by means of a long rope. Another thing that helps
them is the shallow water. There they make wonderful speed. They have
long poles which reach the bottom of the river, and propel the boat very
effectively; the boat becomes a kind of land animal and may be described
as walking along on these legs. Such walks along the sandbanks are by
far our happiest times. The only drawback is that they will come to an
end; and what will the end be? Sometimes we find ourselves in places
so shallow that the boat touches the bottom. While we were coming down
stream this was the cause of much delay, the force of the current having
often carried the boat far along the sandbank before we could stop; and
then we stuck fast for a long time. But now that the current is against
us, we never get so much involved. Yet we become fixed again and again,
and the boatmen all get out (notwithstanding the risk of crocodiles) to
drag and push till we find deeper water. By and by, the water is too
deep for the poles to touch the bottom, and the men debate which bank
to make for. Much time is wasted in the discussion. But after their
resolution is formed, something like determination is seen in their faces
as they make for the bank of their choice. They ply their little paddles
with all their might. On our first journey up, the crew were equipped
with oars, but these had been taken away during the war between the
Natives and the Portuguese, and the paddles which have taken their place
are not nearly so powerful implements. Still the men now use them with
a will—there is no doubt as to their earnestness now. They advance very
well, and soon reach the very centre of the current. “Now pull, pull,
pull with all your might, pull as for your very lives! there!” The man
who was wounded by the hippopotamus is at the helm, because he is too ill
to be anywhere else. Of course he has never been at a helm before. The
critical moment has come, “Oh, turn the head of the boat right against
the stream! Quick! Quick!” The poor fellow has to consider which movement
of the rudder will do this; but in the midst of the terrible crisis, his
presence of mind is gone, he turns the wrong way, the boat wheels right
round and shoots down the stream swift as an arrow. A sad disappointment
this, but we must try again. Fortunately the sandbank that we had left
intercepts our downward course. If the disappointment affected the
traveller only, very likely no great effort would be made, but it is
getting towards sunset, and the men must reach the bank to cook their
supper. “Try again, my boys!” The little paddles are set in motion with
a terrible swiftness. The great captain himself has come to the rescue.
Once more they approach the same critical spot. “Now, then, all your
might!” but their previous exertions have weakened them—just as they feel
the full force of the opposing current, their energies flag. The captain
flies to his snuff box for a stimulant, all the others press round him to
share it. But, alas! the stimulant is a few seconds too late, the height
of the contest had come, and has now gone. The boat is completely beaten,
and makes her way, stern first, down the river.
This last trial illustrates what we often see among the natives. A vast
attempt is made, much strength is expended, and just at the nick of time
the whole result is nullified through utter childishness.[12]
Now for a third attempt. Meanwhile the sail had been dangling about. It
was believed to be unlucky, and as it did no good, it was taken down. A
third effort is now to be made. Our second trial had given us a little
hope, for after our defeat the current had brought us very near the bank
at one point in our downward journey. The method to be followed now is
to go up a little farther, and then trust that the current will bring
us a few yards nearer that spot. A drizzling rain and the approach of
darkness make our position more unpleasant. Another hard pull brings us
once more to the point where we had been twice before. Now they feel that
it is quite hopeless to work against the current, but they expect to
keep so near the bank as to be able to lay hold of the reeds while the
current carries us down. It is a moment of great suspense. The current is
stronger than the men, and is decidedly carrying us down again, but they
have come much nearer the bank and are quite confident that at yonder
point where the bank juts out they will catch hold of the reeds, or will
be able at the very least to reach something with their poles.
If the traveller be able to stand, he is certain to be standing now and
watching with the greatest anxiety, but see! the men are already able to
touch the bank with their poles! One has done so, but alas! his thrust
is ill timed, and the boat swings right round till its head is again
looking towards Mazaro. Oh! this is dreadful, is that foolish poke at the
bank to undo all our efforts? It looks as if it would, and the boat is
going at a terrible speed; but in a few minutes the doubt is solved, and
the prow of the boat runs full tilt against the bank just at the little
promontory that we are trusting to. The effect is quite magical. Everyone
knows what happens if, while he is riding at full speed, his horse stops
without giving the slightest warning. So it was here. The boat was
brought to a dead stand before the passengers had time to acquiesce in
the arrangement. The crew were jostled against each other at a terrible
rate: some spread themselves out at full length along the sides of the
boat while others narrowly escaped a ducking in the river. But the great
study was the white man. All the natives like to see how the Englishman
behaves in an emergency. This personage is standing on a narrow platform
a few inches higher than the rest, and just at the most interesting
point in the collision, he is observed, apparently quite regardless of
consequences, to make a desperate dive headforemost into the bottom of
the boat, his head coming into contact with a pile of plates and pots
that had been stowed away there. From this adventure he returns with his
face cut and bleeding, but he ought to have remembered his “mechanics”
more promptly. Still the situation was much better than being carried
down the stream again. The boatmen after their success held on by the
reeds and pulled the boat along the side of the bank with all their
might, and in a short time we were above the dreaded current.
Poor fellows, how much work they might have spared themselves by a little
method! I began to speculate on how different our situation would have
been if our boat had been manned by Scotch fishermen: but I remembered
that the sun which shone so pleasantly all day on these negroes might
have been too much for my countrymen.
At last we are to stay for the night. We must try to find a clear space
where the natives will have room to light a fire and arrange their beds.
Besides, the clearer a place is, the fewer are the mosquitoes. There
is difficulty in finding a spot in the Elephant marsh even with these
slender qualifications. To-night, moreover, everything is wet. But the
natives, in cases where cooking is required, can soon work wonders. One
of them lands, exclaiming, “I am like a monkey—without a knife, without
a fire”. In his story of the Magomero Mission, Mr. Rowley tells us that
this place was destitute of firewood, and we find it so still. But the
native gets hold of a knife with which he cuts down a few of the tall
reeds, and in a short time there is a blazing fire, and the cooking goes
on in excellent style. The party then dry their beds and their clothes,
and keep talking till midnight.
The roar of the lion is occasionally heard, and the hippopotami are
quite close—snorting and splashing. Since our adventure on Sunday their
presence has always caused some remark, and now we are specially warned
that it is dangerous to keep a light burning in the boat in case they
should charge us again.
On _Thursday_ the rains have cleared off, and a special effort is to be
made to reach the palm trees. We saw them before us yesterday, and had
hoped to reach them. The Missionaries of Magomero had this “immense grove
before them for several days”. On reaching them we shall have firewood,
but for the present the men pick up any stray piece of wood that they
see and carefully put it in the boat. We stop at noon, and then the
crew have breakfast. This consists of porridge and a “relish,” which
may be ground nuts, beans or a piece of flesh or fish. Their method of
eating would strike a new comer as being very unrefined, but when we
remember that the use of knives and forks (especially of the latter)
is quite an innovation, we can easily excuse the manners of the native.
Besides, he does not at once acknowledge the superiority of the European
methods. As soon as the porridge is produced, all the boatmen wash their
hands very slightly, and then fall upon the “mess” with their fingers.
Each man helps himself to a large handful of porridge. This he gives
an affectionate squeeze for the purpose of adapting part of it to the
size of his mouth, and then the business proceeds. One hand is occupied
with the relish, while the other supplies the porridge and makes it into
proper morsels. When the large dish is emptied they all lick their hands,
and one man whirls his finger round the inside of the plate and takes
off all the porridge that remains. They next wipe their hands on their
loin cloth (their only garment) or on the grass; and then these simple
children of nature have finished their repast.
On coming to islands we sometimes have great difficulty in deciding which
channel to take. We often try one where the heavy boat will not pass at
all, and to our great disappointment we have to go back. Our boatmen
bathe very frequently, using a charred stick as a flesh brush. They
have no tooth brush, but they rub their teeth very carefully with their
fingers.
The appearance of herds of hippopotami[13] always causes much excitement.
The Mission boat has done good service for five years, but it is hardly
seaworthy now, and a well directed knock would at once admit the water.
Accordingly, we pass these animals in great suspense. Towards sunset we
are just approaching the palm trees (mivumu), and our hearts are full
of thankfulness; only I have to record a report that I heard yesterday
forenoon. It was so painful that I did not set it down at the time, and
I have been reasoning ever since that it is likely false. It is to the
effect that a white man has been killed by men of Matekenya’s. This
young man reached the Ruo on Saturday night, being just a day’s journey
before ourselves. He was told that Chiputula had gone to make war, and
was advised to proceed with the greatest haste so as to pass Matekenya’s
country before hostilities had actually commenced. He went on during
night, but on Sunday afternoon, they say, he was attacked and massacred
along with all his crew. The report was brought by Chiputula’s fighting
men, who passed along the bank. They said they had been told this by
prisoners. Our crew profess to believe it as it somewhat excuses them for
turning back.
_Friday 8._—We start from the palm trees. A dense vapour rises off the
river, as if its waters were beginning to boil. The sun is up for some
time before we can see it on account of the fog. To-night we reach a
village. Here there is great mourning for people slain in war. The
headman tells us that many of Chiputula’s men are dead. He points out
some of the neighbouring villages, and enumerates how many inhabitants
are mourned for in each.
Here nothing can be bought, which is unfortunate, as our provisions are
now nearly exhausted, and we may take three days to reach another hamlet.
Our men seem to take pleasure in teasing the villagers about their
poverty. They ask “Have you fowls”?—“_Pabe_,” “Have you maize”?—“_Pabe_,”
&c., &c. To dozens of such questions the answer was Pabe (There is not).
This made us all laugh, and I asked one of the boatmen why the villagers
would sell nothing. He explained that they had not very much after all,
as they lived by fishing. Down here fish are found in abundance, but
higher up the river they become less plentiful, and at Katunga’s there
are hardly any.
_Saturday 9._—The men are in good spirits. We expect to reach Chiputula’s
upper village, Kumbewe, at noon. In this we are disappointed. We meet
a strong current which baffles all our efforts, and carries us back a
long distance. Late in the afternoon Kumbewe is reached. We land and
look at the pleasant village. Meeting with Mrs. Chiputula, or rather
Mrs. Chiputula number one, we are taken round the harem where the chiefs
other wives are sitting in scores. We are shown his garden which is full
of pine apples. The boys’ house is a large circular building without any
walls, and supported by wooden pillars. Towards the outside the boys’
beds are suspended all round. In the centre there is a fireplace near
which are scattered cooking utensils of various sorts. More than forty
of the chief’s wives tell us that they are going to visit the boat with
a present for “little Kapeni”—as they called one of the white children.
This was a formidable matter. When the last party passed down an English
lady was reported to have been terribly frightened by a visit from Mrs.
Chiputula. On the present occasion about forty volumes of Mrs. Chiputula
contended for the privilege of entering our boat: but their kindness
and good feeling was unmistakeable. The natives are fond of bringing
us honey, but as the bees feed on the eucalyptus, much of the honey is
believed to be poisonous.
_Sunday[14] 10._—We again much missed the quietness of the Scottish
Sabbath. In the forenoon we reached Katunga’s lower villages. All these
chiefs have their important villages near islands to which they can
flee in case of danger. We had to ask Katunga for men to take us up
to Blantyre. We also saw Maseo, who promised to send us carriers. We
learned that we had been all mourned for as dead. To-night we reached our
destination. This day three years before, we had also come to the end of
our river journey, and it was the same day—the 10th of July—twenty years
ago, that the Magomero Missionaries had reached the same spot.
_Monday 11._—We have much anxiety about getting carriers. It seems
impossible to get as many as we want. Some are enrolled and sent away
with such loads as must go up with us again, but what gives us most
concern is to find no men for palanquins. The danger from fever makes us
anxious. What a relief we experience when we see Maseo himself coming
up with twenty carriers! In a little after, about as many of Katunga’s
men come direct from the chief himself, who has thoughtfully sent his
palanquin with them. Maseo with his own hands makes another palanquin
of one of our blankets, and we are soon able to start off. Our thoughts
revert to the 11th of July three years ago. We marvelled at the great
contrast! How much we felt at home among the natives now!
In the afternoon we reached Mbami. The first to come to salute us was
the little girl that had wished to accompany me. Our men were lazy,
and wanted to stay here for the night. I have always found the Anyasa
carriers from the Lower river inferior to the Yao. Perhaps it is because
the Magololo rule them as slaves.
We reached Blantyre at eight o’clock. The beautiful moon had lighted up
our way for us with as kindly an eye as it had done three years ago,
and we found the children had got out of bed and were meeting us before
we had well passed the stream. We were very glad after our hardships to
sleep for the night on the floor of our old dining room.