Through the Dark Continent, Vol. 2 (of 2)

Tippu-Tib’s henchmen—In the primeval forest, a wilderness of trees—Primitive furniture—Our sufferings in the pagans’ forest—Tippu-Tib breaks down—A village blacksmith—Soko skulls; the missing link—Professor Huxley’s opinion thereon—The Livingstone—A day dream—The road to the ocean—Timid counsels—“The Wasambye!”—“Ooh-hu! ooh-hu!”—Successful diplomacy.

Nov. 5.—When, on the 5th of November, 1876, we had left Nyangwé behind us, and had ascended an elevated grassy ridge, we saw before us a black curving wall of forest, which, beginning from the river bank, extended south-east, until hills and distance made it indistinct.

I turned round to look at Nyangwé, which we were leaving. How loveable and cheerful it appeared as it crowned the shoulder of one of those lengthy grassy undulations overlooking the grey-brown Livingstone! How bright and warm appeared the plain-border of the river as the sun shone over its wind-fanned waves of grass! Even the hill-cones of Uzura and Western Manyema ranked in line between the forest and the grassy plain, which were now purpling and becoming like cloud-forms, seemed to me to have a more friendly and brighter appearance than the cold blackness of the dense forest which rose before us to the north!

What a forbidding aspect had the Dark Unknown which confronted us! I could not comprehend in the least what lay before us. Even the few names which I had heard from the Arabs conveyed no definite impression to my understanding. What were Tata, Meginna, Uregga, Usongora Meno and such uncouth names to me? They conveyed no idea, and signified no object; they were barren names of either countries, villages, or peoples, involved in darkness, savagery, ignorance, and fable.

Yet it is our destiny to move on, whatever direction it may be that that narrow winding path, running among tall grasses, and down into gullies and across small streams, takes us, until we penetrate that cold, dark, still horizon before us, and emerge whithersoever the narrow path will permit us—a distance of 240 hours’ travel.

The object of the desperate journey is to flash a torch of light across the western half of the Dark Continent. For from Nyangwé east, along the fourth parallel of south latitude, are some 830 geographical miles, discovered, explored, and surveyed, but westward to the Atlantic Ocean along the same latitude are 956 miles—over 900 geographical miles of which are absolutely unknown. Instead, however, of striking direct west, we are about to travel north on the eastern side of the river, to prevent it bending easterly to Muta Nzigé, or Nilewards, unknown to us, and to ascertain, if the river really runs westward, what affluents flow to it from the east; and to deduce from their size and volume some idea of the extent of country which they drain, and the locality of their sources.

A thousand things may transpire to prevent the accomplishment of our purpose: hunger, disease, and savage hostility may crush us; perhaps, after all, the difficulties may daunt us, but our hopes run high, and our purpose is lofty; then in the name of God let us set on, and as He pleases, so let Him rule our destinies!

After journeying a distance of nine miles and a half north-east, over a rolling plain covered with grass, we arrived at the villages of Nakasimbi; Tippu-Tib, with 700 people, men, women, and children, occupying two villages, while our Expedition occupied another overlooking a depression drained by a sluggish affluent of the Kunda river.

Tippu-Tib is accompanied by about a dozen Arabs, young or middle-aged, who have followed him in the hope of being rewarded by him or myself at the end of a prosperous journey.

Sheikh Hamed bin Mohammed, alias Tippu-Tib, alias Mtipula, we know already. To-day he is bland and courteous, enthusiastic, and sanguine that we shall succeed without trouble. The next in importance to him is an Arab—full-bearded, fine-featured, of a dark complexion, called Sheikh Abdallah, alias Muini Kibwana—a name adopted solely for Manyema. He is very ignorant, can neither read nor write, but has a vast regard for those who have mastered the secrets of literature, like Tippu-Tib. He is armed with a flintlock Brummagem musket, for which he has considerable affection, because—according to him—it has saved his life many a time. “It never lies.”

The next is Muini Ibrahim, a Mrima (coast) man, of Arab descent, though ruder and unpolished. Americans would have nothing much to do with him, because the negroid evidences are so great that he would be classed as a full-blooded negro. Yet he speaks Arabic well, and is a fervid Muslim, but withal as superstitious as any primitive African. He affects to be religious, and consequently is not bloodthirsty, having some regard for the lives of human beings, and for this receiving due praise from me. He is also armed with a flintlock musket. Sheikh Abdallah and he are bosom friends, and possess five or six female slaves each, and from thirty to forty male slaves, likewise armed with flintlocks.

Tippu-TibTippu-Tib’s Arab dependants, who dip their hands in the same porridge and meat-dish with the independent Sheikh Abdallah and Muini Ibrahim, consist of Muini Jumah (Master Friday), a nervous, tall young man; Chéché (Weasel) a short, light-complexioned young man of twenty-five years of age; Bwana Abed bin Jumah, the author of the dwarf story, who has consented to act as our guide; Muini Hamadi, a half-caste man of sturdy form and resolute appearance; and six or seven others of no special individuality or importance, except as so many dependants of Tippu-Tib.

The 700 followers who follow our Expedition at present consist of two parties; one party, composed of 300 men, women, and children, and commanded by Bwana Shokka (master of the axe), the confidential man of Tippu-Tib’s staff, of great strength, tall and gaunt of person, and a renowned traveller; a man of great tact, and worth a fortune to his master, as he is exceedingly cool, speaks slowly, and by some rare gift conciliates the savages (when not actually attacked on the road), and makes them friends. In a few days he is to part from us, striking north-easterly for some dozen marches, the utmost reach of Arab intercourse.

The 400 who are to accompany us for a distance of sixty camps consist of about 250 men—Arabs, half-castes, Wangwana, 100 Wanyamwezi, Ruga-Ruga—mostly armed with spears and bows and arrows; others possess flintlocks. One hundred men consist of Barua, Manyema, Bakusu, Ba-Samba, and Utotera slaves; most of these slaves are armed with flintlocks, the others with formidable spears and shields There are also about fifty youths, ranging from ten to eighteen years of age, being trained by Tippu-Tib as gunbearers, house servants, scouts, cooks, carpenters, house-builders, blacksmiths, and leaders of trading parties. Meanwhile such young fellows are useful to him; they are more trustworthy than adults, because they look up to him as their father; and know that if they left him they would inevitably be captured by a less humane man. The remainder of this motley force consists of women, twenty of whom belong to the household of Tippu-Tib, all purchased with ivory, guns, cloth, or beads. Thirty women are the properties of the Arab dependants, chiefly half-castes and Wangwana, following Tippu-Tib.

Two hundred and ten out of the 400 I have pledged to support until they shall return to Nyangwé, at the same rate of ration currency that may be distributed to the members of our Expedition.

Nov. 6.—On the 6th of November we drew nearer to the dreaded black and chill forest called Mitamba, and at last, bidding farewell to sunshine and brightness, entered it.

We had made one mistake—we had not been up early enough. Tippu-Tib’s heterogeneous column of all ages were ahead of us, and its want of order and compactness became a source of trouble to us in the rear.

We, accustomed to rapid marching, had to stand in our places minutes at a time, waiting patiently for an advance of a few yards, after which would come another halt, and another short advance to be again halted. And all this time the trees kept shedding their dew upon us like rain in great round drops. Every leaf seemed weeping. Down the boles and branches, creepers and vegetable cords, the moisture trickled and fell on us. Overhead the wide-spreading branches, in many interlaced strata, each branch heavy with broad thick leaves, absolutely shut out the daylight. We knew not whether it was a sunshiny day or a dull, foggy, gloomy day; for we marched in a feeble solemn twilight, such as you may experience in temperate climates an hour after sunset. The path soon became a stiff clayey paste, and at every step we splashed water over the legs of those in front, and on either side of us.

To our right and left, to the height of about twenty feet, towered the undergrowth, the lower world of vegetation. The soil on which this thrives is a dark-brown vegetable humus, the débris of ages of rotting leaves and fallen branches, a very forcing-bed of vegetable life, which, constantly fed with moisture, illustrates in an astonishing degree the prolific power of the warm moist shades of the tropics.

The stiff clay lying under this mould, being impervious, retains the moisture which constantly supplies the millions of tiny roots of herb, plant and bush. The innumerable varieties of plants which spring up with such marvellous rapidity, if exposed to the gale, would soon be laid prostrate. But what rude blast can visit these imprisoned shades? The tempest might roar without the leafy world, but in its deep bosom there is absolute stillness. One has but to tug at a sapling to know that the loose mould has no retentive power, and that the sapling’s roots have not penetrated the clays. Even the giants of the forest have not penetrated very deeply, as one may see by the half-exposed roots; they appear to retain their upright positions more by breadth of base than by their grasp of earth.

Every few minutes we found ourselves descending into ditches, with streams trending towards the Kunda river, discharged out of leafy depths of date-palms, Amoma, Carpodinæ, and Phrynia. Climbing out from these streams, up their steep banks our faces were brushed by the broad leaves of the Amomum, or the wild banana, ficus of various kinds, and climbing, crawling, obstructing lengths of wild vines.

Naturally our temper was not improved by this new travelling. The dew dropped and pattered on us incessantly until about 10 A.M. Our clothes were heavily saturated with it. My white sun-helmet and puggaree appeared to be weighted with lead. Being too heavy, and having no use for it in the cool dank shades, I handed it to my gun-bearer, for my clothes, gaiters, and boots, which creaked loudly with the water that had penetrated them, were sufficient weight for me to move with. Added to this vexation was the perspiration which exuded from every pore, for the atmosphere was stifling. The steam from the hot earth could be seen ascending upward and settling like a grey cloud above our heads. In the early morning it had been so dense that we could scarcely distinguish the various trees by their leafage.

At 3 P.M. we had reached Mpotira, in the district of Uzimba, Manyema, twenty-one miles and a half from the Arab depot on the Lualaba.

The poor boatmen did not arrive until evening, for the boat sections—dreadful burdens—had to be driven like blunted ploughs through the depths of foliage. The men complained bitterly of fatigue, and for their sake we rested at Mpotira.

The nature of the next two days’ experiences through the forest may be gathered by reading the following portions of entries in my journal:—

“November 8.—N. ½ W., nine miles to district of Karindi, or Kionga, Uregga.

“We have had a fearful time of it to-day in these woods, and Bwana Shokka, who has visited this region before, declares with superior pride that what we have experienced as yet is only a poor beginning to the weeks upon weeks which we shall have to endure. Such crawling, scrambling, tearing through the damp, dank jungles, and such height and depth of woods!... Once we obtained a side-long view from a tree on the crown of a hill, over the wild woods on our left, which swept in irregular waves of branch and leaf down to the valley of the Lualaba. Across the Lualaba, on the western bank, we looked with wistful eyes on what appeared to be green grassy plains. Ah, what a contrast to that which we had to endure! It was a wild weird scene, this outlook we obtained of the top of the leafy world!... It was so dark sometimes in the woods that I could not see the words, recording notes of the track, which I pencilled in my note-book. At 3.30 P.M. we arrived in camp, quite worn out with the struggle through the intermeshed bush, and almost suffocated with the heavy atmosphere. Oh, for a breath of mountain air!”

“November 9, 1876.—N. ½ W., ten and a half miles’ march to Kiussi, Uregga.

“Another difficult day’s work in the forest and jungle. Our Expedition is no longer the compact column which was my pride. It is utterly demoralized. Every man scrambles as he best may through the woods; the path, being over a clayey soil, is so slippery that every muscle is employed to assist our progress. The toes grasp the path, the head bears the load, the hand clears the obstructing bush, the elbow puts aside the sapling. Yesterday the boatmen complained so much that I organized all the chiefs into a pioneer party, with axes to clear the path. Of course we could not make a wide road. There were many prostrate giants fallen across the path, each with a mountain of twigs and branches, compelling us to cut roads through the bush a long distance to get round them. My boat-bearers are utterly wearied out.”

Nov. 10.—On the 10th we halted for a well-deserved rest. We were now in Uregga—the forest country. Fenced round by their seldom penetrated woods, the Waregga have hitherto led lives as secluded as the troops of chimpanzees in their forest. Their villages consist of long rows of houses, all connected together in one block from 50 yards to 300 yards in length. The doorways are square apertures in the walls, only 2 feet square, and cut at about 18 inches above the ground. Within, the long block is divided into several apartments for the respective families. Like the Manyema houses, the roofs glisten as though smeared with coal-tar. There are shelves for fuel, and netting for swinging their crockery; into the roof are thrust the various small knick-knacks which such families need—the pipe, and bunch of tobacco-leaves, the stick of dried snails, various mysterious compounds wrapped in leaves of plants, pounded herbs, and what not. Besides these we noted, as household treasures, the skins of goats, mongoose or civet, weasel, wild cat, monkey, and leopard, shells of land snails, very large and prettily marked, and necklaces of the Achatina monetaria. There is also quite a store of powdered camwood, besides curiously carved bits of wood, supposed to be talismans against harm, and handsome spoons, while over the door are also horns of goats and small forest deer, and, occupying conspicuous places, the gaudy war head-dress of feathers of the grey-bodied and crimson-tailed parrots, the drum, and some heavy broad-bladed spears with ironwood staffs.

In the “arts and sciences” of savage life, these exceedingly primitive Africans, buried though they have been from all intercourse with others, are superior in some points to many tribes more favourably situated. For instance, until the day I arrived at Kiussi village, I had not observed a settee. Yet in the depths of this forest of Uregga every family possessed a neatly made water-cane settee, which would seat comfortably three persons.

Another very useful article of furniture was the bench 4 or 5 feet long, cut out of a single log of the white soft wood of one of the Rubiaceæ, and significant as showing a more sociable spirit than that which seems to govern Eastern Africans, among whom the rule is, “Every man to his own stool.”

Another noteworthy piece of furniture is the fork of a tree, cut off where the branches begin to ramify. This, when trimmed and peeled, is placed in an inverted position. The branches, sometimes three or even four, serve as legs of a singular back-rest.

The southern Waregga who border upon Uzimba and Manyema say they came from the north some five or six generations ago; that they found the forest in possession of the Wavinza and Wazimba, and dispossessed them of the land. They retain the names of their forefathers from six to ten generations back. Sheikh Abdallah questioned the chief of Kiussi in my presence of his forefathers, and he gave in succession ten different names in answer to questions such as these: “What is your name?” “Who was your father?” and “Whose son was he?” “Then who was his father?”

All the adult males wear skull-caps of goat or monkey-skin, except the chief and elders, whose heads were covered with the aristocratic leopard-skin, with the tail of the leopard hanging down the back like a tassel.

The women were weighted with massive and bright iron rings. One of them, who was probably a lady of importance, carried at least 12 lbs. of iron and 5 lbs. of copper rings on her arms and legs, besides a dozen necklaces of the indigenous Achatina monetaria.

From Kiussi, through the same dense jungle and forest, with its oppressive atmosphere and its soul-wearying impediments, we made a journey of fourteen miles to Mirimo. Four streams were crossed, all trending westward to the Lualaba, the two principal being the Rugunsi and Rumuna rivers. Mirimo is a populous settlement, and its people are good natured.

The boatmen did not arrive at all on this day, the obstacles having been too great, but on the 12th, about noon, they appeared, utterly disheartened at the delays which had deprived them of their food and rest.

Nov. 13.—On the 13th we moved to Wanekamankua, crossing en route the Kariba river and two small streams.

Nov. 14.—Our next march was to Wane-Mbeza, in Uregga, eight miles in a north-westerly direction. We crossed the Kipembwé, a river 40 yards wide, deep and swift, which flows westward.

Uregga, it appears, occupies a broad belt of country lying north-east and south-west. Its people know nothing of the immediate settlements contiguous to them, and though within twenty miles of the Lualaba, many adult males at Wane-Mbeza had never seen it. They have been imprisoned now for some five or six generations within their almost impenetrable forest fastnesses, and the difficulty of travelling, and the danger that would be incurred unless they united in strong bands, are the causes of their knowing nothing of the world outside, and the outside world knowing nothing of them.

The Wangwana began at this place to murmur loudly, while the boatmen, though assisted by a dozen supernumeraries, and preceded by a gang of pioneers, were becoming perfectly savage; but the poor fellows had certainly cause for discontent. I pitied them from my soul, yet I dared not show too great a solicitude, lest they should have presumed upon it, and requested me either to return to Nyangwé or to burn my boat.

Even Tippu-Tib, whom I anxiously watched, as on him I staked all my hopes and prospects, murmured. Sheikh Abdallah was heard to growl ominously, and Bwana Ibrahim was particularly severe in his remarks upon “the pagans’ forest.” The evil atmosphere created sickness in the Arab escort, but all my people maintained their health, if not their temper.

At this camp we parted from Bwana Shokka and his 300, who were about to penetrate some eight or ten marches more to the north-east to Tata country. I have a suspicion that “Tata” is not a proper name, but that it simply signifies “farther in.”

Nov. 15.—On the 15th we marched six miles and a half to Wane-Kirumbu. From this village, which, like all the villages that we had passed, crowned a hill, we obtained the most extended view we had enjoyed since entering the forest. Towards the north and north-east the outlook was over a jumble of forest-clad hills separating narrow and deep valleys. The view was indeed most depressing and portentous.

Our march, short as it was, was full of incidents. The constant slush and reek which the heavy dews caused in the forest through which we had travelled the last ten days had worn my shoes out, and half of the march I travelled with naked feet. I had then to draw out of my store my last pair of shoes. Frank was already using his last pair. Yet we were still in the very centre of the continent. What should we do when all were gone? was a question which we asked of each other often.

The faces of the people, Arabs, Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and the escort, were quite a study at this camp. All their courage was oozing out, as day by day we plodded through the doleful, dreary forest. We saw a python 10 feet long, a green viper, and a monstrous puff-adder on this march, besides scores of monkeys, of the white-necked or glossy black species, as also the small grey, and the large howling baboons. We heard also the “soko” or chimpanzee, and saw one “nest” belonging to it in the fork of a tall bombax. A lemur was also observed; its loud harsh cries made each night hideous.

The path presented myriapedes, black and brown, 6 inches in length, while beetles were innumerable, and armies of the deep brown “hot-water” ants compelled us to be cautious how we stepped.

The difficulties of such travel as we had now commenced may be imagined when a short march of six miles and a half occupied the twenty-four men who were carrying the boat sections an entire day, and so fatigued them that we had to halt another day at Wane-Kirumbu, to recruit their exhausted strength.

The terrible undergrowth that here engrossed all the space under the shade of the pillared bombax and mast-like mvulé was a miracle of vegetation. It consisted of ferns, spear-grass, water-cane, and orchidaceous plants mixed with wild vines, cable thicknesses of the Ficus elastica, and a sprinkling of mimosas, acacias, tamarinds; llianes, palms of various species, wild date, Raphia vinifera, the elais, the fan, rattans, and a hundred other varieties, all struggling for every inch of space, and swarming upward with a luxuriance and density that only this extraordinary hothouse atmosphere could nourish. We had certainly seen forests before, but this scene was an epoch in our lives ever to be remembered for its bitterness; the gloom enhanced the dismal misery of our life; the slopping moisture, the unhealthy reeking atmosphere, and the monotony of the scenes; nothing but the eternal interlaced branches, the tall aspiring stems, rising from a tangle through which we had to burrow and crawl like wild animals, on hands and feet.

Nov. 16.—About 9 A.M. Tippu-Tib and the Arabs came to my hut at Wane-Kirumbu. After a long preamble, wherein he described the hardships of the march, Tippu-Tib concluded by saying that he had come to announce his wish that our contract should be dissolved!

In a moment it flashed on my mind that a crisis had arrived. Was the Expedition to end here? I urged with all my powers the necessity for keeping engagements so deliberately entered into.

“It is of no use,” Tippu-Tib replied, “to have two tongues. Look at it how you may, those sixty camps will occupy us at the rate we are travelling over a year, and it will take as much time to return. I never was in this forest before, and I had no idea there was such a place in the world; but the air is killing my people, it is insufferable. You will kill your own people if you go on. They are grumbling every day more and more. This country was not made for travel; it was made for vile pagans, monkeys, and wild beasts. I cannot go farther.”

“Will Tippu-Tib then return to Nyangwé, and break his word and bond? What will all the Arabs at Nyangwé, Mwana Mamba, and Kasongo’s say when they hear that Tippu-Tib, who was the first Arab to penetrate Rua, proceeded only a few days with his friend, and then returned?”

“Show me a man’s work, and I will do it.”

“Well, look here, Tippu-Tib. The land on the west bank of the Lualaba is more open than this, and the road that Mtagamoyo took to go to the Lumami is on that side. Though the land is more open, I hear that the people are worse there than on this side. However, we are not Mtagamoyo, and they may behave better with us. Let us try the other side.

“Now, I will give you choice of two contracts. Accompany me to the river, and wait while I transport my people across, and I will give you 500 dollars; or accompany me twenty marches farther along the west bank, and I will give you 2600 dollars. At the end of that time, if you see your way clear, I will engage you for another journey, until I am quite satisfied that I can go no farther. Provisions will be given your people until we part, and from that point back to Nyangwé.”

For two hours I plied him with arguments, and at last, when I was nearly exhausted, Tippu-Tib consented to accompany me twenty marches farther, beginning from the camp we were in. It was a fortunate thing indeed for me that he agreed to this, as his return so close to Nyangwé in the present dispirited condition of my people’s minds would have undoubtedly ensured the destruction of all my hopes.

The natives of Uregga are not liberally disposed. Wane-Kirumbu’s chief was the first who consented to exchange gifts with me. He presented me with a chicken and some bananas, and I reciprocated the gift with five cowries, which he accepted without a murmur. On witnessing this pleasing and most uncommon trait of moderation, I presented him with ten more, which appeared to him so bounteous that he left my presence quite affected, indeed almost overcome by his emotions of gratitude.

The men of these forest communities of Uregga, upon the decease of their wives, put on symbols of mourning, namely, a thick daub of charcoal paste over the face, which they retain for five “years”—two and a half European years. Widows also mourn for their husbands a like period, with the same disfigurement of features, but with the addition of bands of sere leaf of the banana round the forehead. In Uzimba and Manyema, of North Luama districts, the mourning only lasts two native years, or one European year.

At Wane-Kirumbu we found a large native forge and smithy, where there were about a dozen smiths busily at work. The iron ore is very pure. Here were the broad-bladed spears of Southern Uregga, and equally broad knives of all sizes, from the small waist knife, an inch and a half in length, to the heavy Roman sword-like cleaver. The bellows for the smelting furnace are four in number, double-handled, and manned by four men, who, by a quick up and down motion, supply a powerful blast, the noise of which is heard nearly half a mile from the scene. The furnace consists of tamped clay, raised into a mound about 4 feet high. A hollow is then excavated in it, 2 feet in diameter and 2 feet deep. From the middle of the slope four apertures are excavated into the base of the furnace, into which are fitted funnel-shaped earthenware pipes to convey the blasts to the fire. At the base of the mound a wide aperture for the hearth is excavated, penetrating below the furnace. The hearth receives the dross and slag.

Close by stood piled up mat-sacks of charcoal, with a couple of boys ready to supply the fuel, and about two yards off was a smaller smithy, where the iron was shaped into hammers, axes, war-hatchets, spears, knives, swords, wire, iron balls with spikes, leglets, armlets, and iron beads, &c. The art of the blacksmith is of a high standard in these forests, considering the loneliness of the inhabitants. The people have much traditional lore, and it appears from the immunity which they have enjoyed in these dismal retreats that, from one generation to another, something has been communicated and learned, showing that even the jungle man is a progressive and an improvable animal.

Nov. 17.—On the 17th of November we crossed several lofty hilly ridges, separated by appallingly gloomy ravines, through which several clear streams flowed westward, and after a march of eleven miles north-westerly through the dank, dripping forests, arrived at Kampunzu, in the district of Uvinza, where dwell the true aborigines of the forest country.

Kampunzu village is about five hundred yards in length, formed of one street thirty feet wide, flanked on each side by a straight, symmetrical, and low block of houses, gable-roofed. Several small villages in the neighbourhood are of the same pattern.

The most singular feature of Kampunzu village were two rows of skulls, ten feet apart, running along the entire length of the village, imbedded about two inches deep in the ground, the “cerebral hemispheres” uppermost, bleached, and glistening white from weather. The skulls were 186 in number in this one village. To me they appeared to be human, though many had an extraordinary projection of the posterior lobes, others of the parietal bones, and the frontal bones were unusually low and retreating; yet the sutures and the general aspect of the greatest number of them were so similar to what I believed to be human, that it was with almost an indifferent air that I asked my chiefs and Arabs what these skulls were. They replied, “sokos”—chimpanzees (?).

“Sokos from the forest?”

“Certainly,” they all replied.

“Bring the chief of Kampunzu to me immediately,” I said, much interested now because of the wonderful reports of them that Livingstone had given me, as also the natives of Manyema.

The chief of Kampunzu—a tall, strongly-built man of about thirty-five years of age—appeared, and I asked,

“My friend, what are those things with which you adorn the street of your village?”

He replied, “Nyama” (meat).

“Nyama! Nyama of what?”

“Nyama of the forest.”

“Of the forest! What kind of thing is this Nyama of the forest?”

“It is about the size of this boy,” pointing to Mabruki, my gun-bearer, who was 4 feet 10 inches in height. “He walks like a man, and goes about with a stick, with which he beats the trees in the forest, and makes hideous noises. The Nyama eat our bananas, and we hunt them, kill them, and eat them.”

“Are they good eating?” I asked.

He laughed, and replied that they were very good.

“Would you eat one if you had one now?”

“Indeed I would. Shall a man refuse meat?”

“Well, look here. I have one hundred cowries here. Take your men, and fetch one, and bring him to me alive or dead. I only want his skin and head. You may have the meat.”

Kampunzu’s chief, before he set out with his men, brought me a portion of the skin of one, which probably covered the back. The fur was dark grey, an inch long, with the points inclined to white; a line of darker hair marked the spine. This, he assured me, was a portion of the skin of a “soko.” He also showed me a cap made out of it, which I purchased.

The chief returned about evening unsuccessful from the search. He wished us to remain two or three days that he might set traps for the “sokos,” as they would be sure to visit the bananas at night. Not being able to wait so many days, I obtained for a few cowries the skull of a male and another of a female.^[9]

In this village were also observed those carved benches cut out of the Rubiaceæ already mentioned, backgammon trays, and stools carved in the most admirable manner, all being decorated around the edges of the seats with brass tacks and “soko teeth.”

Copper appeared to be abundant with the Wavinza. It was wound around their spear-staffs, and encircled the lower limbs and arms, the handles of their knives, walking-staffs, and hung from their necks in beads, and small shot-like balls of it were fastened to their hair.

In addition to their short broad-bladed spears, the Wavinza were armed with small but strong bows, the strings of which were formed of strips of the rattan cane. The arrows are about a foot in length, made of reeds, pointed, and smeared with vegetable poison. The Wavinza do not employ iron heads. It requires a peculiar skill for these weapons. The Wanyamwezi bowmen were unable to shoot the arrows farther than from fifty to seventy yards. An aboriginal, smiling at their awkwardness, shot an arrow a distance of 200 yards. The natives boast that the slightest scratch is sufficient to doom even an elephant, for it is by this means they have been able to obtain ivory for Molembalemba (Dugumbi of Nyangwé).

Blood-brotherhood being considered as a pledge of goodwill and peace Frank Pocock and the chief went through the ordeal, and we interchanged presents.

From this village a path leads to Meginna and Miango, near the Urindi river, on the south side of which the Arabs say there is abundance of coal, “very black and shining.” A path also leads north-east to Kirari, four hours’, and Makongo, seven hours’ distance from Kampunzu. They also say that a two months’ journey east-north-east (magnetic) would bring us to open country, where there is abundance of cattle.

The women of Uregga wear only aprons 4 inches square, of bark or grass cloth, fastened by cords of palm fibre. The men wear skins of civet, or monkey, in front and rear, the tails downwards. It may have been from a hasty glance of a rapidly disappearing form of one of these people in the wild woods that native travellers in the lake regions felt persuaded that they had seen “men with tails.”

The ficus trees, which supply Uganda, Unyamwezi, Ukonongo, Goma, and Uregga with bark cloth, register the age of the respective settlements where they are found, and may be said to be historical monuments of the people which planted them. In Uddu-Uganda, especially in Southern Uddu, I saw patriarchs which must have been four or five hundred years old. If a cloth-producing ficus is 2 feet in diameter, it may be regarded as a monument of antiquity; one ten inches in diameter as over a hundred years old; one six inches in diameter as over forty years. The oldest tree of this species in Southern Uregga that I saw could not have exceeded eighty years.

Nov. 19.—On the 19th a march of five miles through the forest west from Kampunzu brought us to the Lualaba, in south latitude 3° 35′, just forty-one geographical miles north of the Arab depot Nyangwé. An afternoon observation for longitude showed east longitude 25° 49′. The name Lualaba terminates here. I mean to speak of it henceforth as the Livingstone.

We found, when twenty miles from the river, that many of the Waregga had never seen it, though they had heard of it as the Lu-al-ow-wa. Had not Livingstone spoken of the river at Nyangwé as the Lualaba, I should not have mentioned the word except as a corruption by the Waguha of the Wenya term Lu-al-ow-wa, but as the river changes its name each time after receiving an affluent, it would be useless to endeavour to retain so many names in the memory.

The Livingstone was 1200 yards wide from bank to bank opposite the landing-place of Kampunzu. As there were no people dwelling within a mile of the right bank, we prepared to encamp. My tent was pitched about thirty feet from the river, on a grassy spot; Tippu-Tib and his Arabs were in the bushes; while the 550 people of whom the Expedition consisted began to prepare a site for their huts, by enlarging the open space around the landing-place.

While my breakfast (for noon) was cooking, and my tent was being drawn taut and made trim, a mat was spread on a bit of short grass, soft as an English lawn, a few yards from the water. Some sedgy reeds obstructed my view, and as I wished while resting to watch the river gliding by, I had them all cropped off short.

Frank and the Wangwana chiefs were putting the boat sections together in the rear of the camp; I was busy thinking, planning a score of things—what time it would be best to cross the river, how we should commence our acquaintance with the warlike tribes on the left bank, what our future would be, how I should succeed in conveying our large force across, and, in the event of a determined resistance, what we should do, &c.

Gentle as a summer’s dream, the brown wave of the great Livingstone flowed by; broad and deep. On the opposite bank loomed darkly against the sky another forest, similar to the one which had harrowed our souls. I obtained from my seat a magnificent view of the river, flanked by black forests, gliding along, with a serene grandeur and an unspeakable majesty of silence about it that caused my heart to yearn towards it.

“Downward it flows to the unknown! to night-black clouds of mystery and fable, mayhap past the lands of the anthropoids, the pigmies, and the blanket-eared men of whom the gentle pagan king of Karagwé spoke, by leagues upon leagues of unexplored lands, populous with scores of tribes, of whom not a whisper has reached the people of other continents; perhaps that fabulous being the dread Macoco, of whom Bartolomeo Diaz, Cada Mosto, and Dapper have written, is still represented by one who inherits his ancient kingdom and power, and surrounded by barbarous pomp. Something strange must surely lie in the vast space occupied by total blankness on our maps, between Nyangwé and ‘Tuckey’s Farthest!’”

“I seek a road to connect these two points. We have laboured through the terrible forest, and manfully struggled through the gloom. My people’s hearts have become faint. I seek a road. Why, here lies a broad watery avenue cleaving the Unknown to some sea, like a path of light! Here are woods all around, sufficient for a thousand fleets of canoes. Why not build them?”

I sprang up; told the drummer to call to muster. The people responded wearily to the call. Frank and the chiefs appeared. The Arabs and their escort came also, until a dense mass of expectant faces surrounded me. I turned to them and said:—

“Arabs! sons of Unyamwezi! children of Zanzibar! listen to words. We have seen the Mitamba of Uregga. We have tasted its bitterness, and have groaned in spirit. We seek a road. We seek something by which we may travel. I seek a path that shall take me to the sea. I have found it.”

“Ah! ah—h!” and murmurs and inquiring looks at one another.

“Yes! El hamd ul Illah. I have found it. Regard this mighty river. From the beginning it has flowed on thus, as you see it flow to-day. It has flowed on in silence and darkness. Whither? To the Salt Sea, as all rivers go! By that Salt Sea, on which the great ships come and go live my friends and your friends. Do they not?”

Cries of “Yes! yes!”

“Yet, my people, though this river is so great, so wide and deep, no man has ever penetrated the distance lying between this spot on which we stand and our white friends who live by the Salt Sea. Why? Because it was left for us to do.”

“Ah, no! no! no!” and desponding shakes of the head.

“Yes,” I continued, raising my voice; “I tell you, my friends, it has been left from the beginning of time until to-day for us to do. It is our work, and no other. It is the voice of Fate! The One God has written that this year the river shall be known throughout its length! We will have no more Mitambas; we will have no more panting and groaning by the wayside; we will have no more hideous darkness; we will take to the river, and keep to the river. To-day I shall launch my boat on that stream, and it shall never leave it until I finish my work. I swear it.

“Now, you Wangwana! You, who have followed me through Turu, and sailed around the great lakes with me; you, who have followed me, like children following their father, through Unyoro, and down to Ujiji, and as far as this wild, wild land, will you leave me here? Shall I and my white brother go alone! Will you go back and tell my friends that you left me in this wild spot, and cast me adrift to die? Or will you, to whom I have been so kind, whom I love as I would love my children, will you bind me, and take me back by force? Speak, Arabs? Where are my young men, with hearts of lions? Speak, Wangwana, and show me those who dare follow me?”

Uledi, the coxswain, leaped upward, and then sprang towards me, and kneeling grasped my knees, and said, “Look on me, my master! I am one! I will follow you to death!” “And I,” Kachéché cried; “and I, and I, and I,” shouted the boat’s crew.

“It is well. I knew I had friends. You then who have cast your lot with me stand on one side, and let me count you.”

There were thirty-eight! Ninety-five stood still and said nothing.

“I have enough. Even with you, my friends, I shall reach the sea. But there is plenty of time. We have not yet made our canoes. We have not yet parted with the Arabs. We have yet a long distance to travel with Tippu-Tib. We may meet with good people from whom we may buy canoes. And by the time we part I am sure that the ninety-five men now fearing to go with us will not leave their brothers, and their master and his white brother, to go down the river without them. Meantime I give you many thanks, and shall not forget your names.

The assembly broke up, and each man proceeded about his special duties. Tippu-Tib, Sheikh Abdallah, and Muini Ibrahim sat on the mat, and commenced to try to persuade me not to be so rash, and to abandon all idea of descending the river. In my turn I requested them not to speak like children, and, however they might think, not to disclose their fears to the Wangwana; but rather to encourage them to do their duty, and share the dangers with me, because the responsibility was all my own, and the greatest share of danger would be mine; and that I would be in front to direct and guide and save, and for my own sake as well as for their sake would be prudent.

In reply, they spoke of cataracts and cannibals, and warlike tribes. They depreciated the spirit of the Wangwana, and declaimed against men who were once slaves; refused to concede one virtue to them, either of fidelity, courage, or gratitude, and predicted that the end would be death to all.

“Speak no more, Tippu-Tib. You who have travelled all your life among slaves have not yet learned that there lies something good in the heart of every man that God made. Men were not made all bad, as you say. For God is good, and He made all men. I have studied my people; I know them and their ways. It will be my task to draw the good out of them while they are with me; and the only way to do it is to be good to them, for good produces good. As you value my friendship, and hope to receive money from me, be silent. Speak not a word of fear to my people, and when we part, I shall make known my name to you. To you, and to all who are my friends, I shall be ‘the white man with the open hand.’ But if not, then I shall be ‘Kiparamoto.’”

While I had been speaking, a small canoe with two men was seen advancing from the opposite bank. One of the interpreters was called, and told to speak to them quietly, and to ask them to bring canoes to take us across.

“Ndugu, O ndugu” (“Brother, O brother”), the interpreter hailed them, “we are friends; we wish to cross the river. Bring your canoes and take us to the other side, and we will give you plenty of shells and beads.”

“Who are you?”

“We are Warungwana” (Wangwana).

“Where from?”

“From Nyangwé.”

“Ah! you are Wasambye!” (the uncircumcised).

“No; we have a white man with us as chief, and he is kind.”

“If he fills my canoe with shells, I will go and tell the Wenya that you want to cross the river.”

“We cannot give so much as that, but we will give ten shells for each man.”

“We want a thousand shells for each man, or you shall never cross the river.”

“Ah, but, Ndugu, that is too much; come, we will give you twenty shells for each.”

“Not for ten thousand, brother. We do not want you to cross the river. Go back, Wasambye; you are bad! Wasambye are bad, bad, bad! The river is deep, Wasambye! Go back, Wasambye; you are bad, bad! The river is deep, Wasambye! You have not wings, Wasambye! Go back, Wasambye!”

After saying which they sang the wildest, weirdest note I ever heard, and sent it pealing across the river. “Ooh-hu, ooh-hu-hu-hu!” In response we heard hundreds of voices sing out a similar note—“Ooh-hu, ooh-hu-hu-hu!”

“That is a war-cry, master,” said the interpreter.

“Nonsense, don’t be foolish. What cause is there for war?”

“These wild people do not need cause; they are simply wild beasts.”

“I will prove to you before two hours you are wrong,” I said.

By the time I had finished my breakfast the Lady Alice was in the river, and a loud shout of applause greeted her appearance on her natural element.

The boat’s crew, with Uledi as coxswain, and Tippu-Tib, Sheikh Abdallah, Muini Ibrahim, Bwana Abed (the guide), Muini Jumah, and two interpreters and myself as passengers, entered the boat. We were rowed up the river for half an hour, and then struck across to a small island in mid-stream. With the aid of a glass I examined the shores, which from our camp appeared to be dense forest. We saw that there were about thirty canoes tied to the bank, and amongst the trees I detected several houses. The bank was crowded with human beings, who were observing our movements.

We re-entered our boat, and pulled straight across to the left bank, then floated down slowly with the current, meantime instructing the interpreters as to what they should say to the Wenya.

When we came opposite, an interpreter requested them to take a look at the white man who had come to visit their country, who wished to make friends with them, who would give them abundance of shells, and allow none of his men to appropriate a single banana, or do violence to a single soul; not a leaf would be taken, nor a twig burned, without being paid for.

The natives, gazing curiously at me, promised after a consultation, that if we made blood-brotherhood with them there should be no trouble, and that for this purpose the white chief, accompanied by ten men, should proceed early next morning to the island, where he would be met by the chief of the Wenya and his ten men, and that after the ceremony, all the canoes should cross and assist to carry our people to their country.

Nov. 20.—After thanking them, we returned to camp, highly elated with our success. At 4 A.M., however, the boat secretly conveyed twenty men with Kachéché, who had orders to hide in the brushwood, and, returning to camp at 7 A.M., conveyed Frank and ten men, who were to perform the ceremony of brotherhood, to the island. On its return, I entered the boat, and was rowed a short way up-stream along the right bank, so that, in case of treachery, I might be able to reach the island within four minutes to lend assistance.

About 9 A.M. six canoes full of men were seen to paddle to the island. We saw them arrive before it, and finally to draw near. Earnestly and anxiously I gazed through my glass at every movement. Other canoes were seen advancing to the island. It was well, I thought, that Frank had his reserve hidden so close at hand. A few seconds after the latest arrivals had appeared on the scene, I saw great animation, and almost at once those curious cries came pealing up the river. There were animated shouts, and a swaying of bodies, and, unable to wait longer, we dashed towards the island, and the natives on seeing us approach paddled quickly to their landing-place.

“Well, Frank. What was the matter?” I asked.

“I never saw such wretches in my life, sir. When that last batch of canoes came, their behaviour, which was decent before, changed. They surrounded us. Half of them remained in the canoes; those on land began to abuse us violently, handling their spears, and acting so furiously that if we had not risen with our guns ready they would have speared us as we were sitting down waiting to begin the ceremony. But Kachéché, seeing their wild behaviour and menacing gestures, advanced quietly from the brushwood with his men, on seeing which they ran to their canoes, where they held their spears ready to launch when you came.”

“Well, no harm has been done yet,” I replied; “so rest where you are, while I take Kachéché and his men across to their side, where a camp will be formed; because, if we delay to-day crossing, we shall have half of the people starving by to-morrow morning.”

After embarking Kachéché, we steered for a point in the woods above the native village, and, landing thirty men with axes, proceeded to form a small camp, which might serve as a nucleus until we should be enabled to transport the Expedition. We then floated down river opposite the village, and, with the aid of an interpreter, explained to them that as we had already landed thirty men in their country, it would be far better that they should assist us in the ferriage, for which they might feel assured they would be well paid. At the same time I tossed a small bag of beads to them. In a few minutes they consented, and six canoes, with two men in each, accompanied us to camp. The six canoes and the boat conveyed eighty people safely to the left bank; and then other canoes, animated by the good understanding that seemed to prevail between us, advanced to assist, and by night every soul associated with our Expedition was rejoicing by genial camp-fires in the villages of the Wenya.