Glorious timber—Cutting canoes—Frank suffers from ulcers—The episode of the fetished axe—Rain-gauge readings—The rise of the river—“Goee-Goees”—The Lady Alice breached for the first time—A painful discovery: Uledi’s theft—His trial and release—The burning of Shakespeare—The bees of Massassa—Local superstitions—Frank’s cheery character.

April 29.—On the morning of the 29th of April, after giving the necessary instructions to Manwa Sera and his brother chiefs, and obtaining the promise of the Babwendé elders that they would do their utmost to help in transporting the vessels over the three miles of ground between Inkisi Falls and Nzabi, I led the caravan, loaded with the goods, down to a cove at the upper end of Nzabi. After erecting a rude camp, the more active men were directed to reascend the table-land to their duty, and in the afternoon two men were despatched to the old chief of Nzabi, desiring him to come and visit me. Meanwhile I explored a thick forest of tall trees, that flourished to an immense height along a narrow terrace, and up the steep slopes of Nzabi. For though cliffs were frequent on the left side of the river, a steep wooded slope distinguished the right side, especially along the whole front of Nzabi. As I wandered about among the gigantic trees, the thought struck me that, while the working parties and natives were hauling our vessels a distance of three miles over the table-land, a new canoe might be built to replace one of the nine which had been lost; but in order to obviate any rupture with our new friends, I resolved to wait until the next day, when the subject could be broached to the king.

Meanwhile, with Uledi, the coxswain, young Shumari, his brother, and their cousin Saywa, I went about, tape-line in hand, surveying the glorious timber, and from my note-book I take the following particulars, jotted down during the ramble:—

“Three specimens of cotton-wood. The largest, close to the cove, measured in girth 13 feet 6 inches; trunk unbranched for about 60 feet; its cotton used as tinder by the Babwendé. Eight specimens of the Bassia Parkii—or Shea butter-tree; bark rough, and 1½ inch thick; exudes a yellowish-white sticky matter, which my boat-boys called its “milk”: splendid timber, core dark and very hard; outside wood from two to three inches deep and whiter, easily worked; largest measured 12 feet round; height of unbranched stem, 55 feet: others measured 10, 11·9, 10 and 10½ feet. Ten specimens of the Ficus Kotschyana—or Mku, as Uledi called it; bark half an inch thick; largest, 13 feet in girth. Many specimens of African silver beech, African ash, wild olive, Zygia sp., or Mkundi—largest, 24 feet circumferential measurement—acacia, catechu (?), Grewia sp., Mkuma; good timber tree, for small canoes. A glorious Tamarindus Indica, with amplitude of crown branching far, and dense; 9 feet round. Several specimens of Rubiaceæ and Sterculiaceæ, candleberry-tree, the Lophira alata, Balsomodendrons, Landolphia florida (?), an india-rubber-producing creeper in very large numbers. Proteas, several Loranthaceæ, ivory button or nut-trees, wild betel, Anacardium occidentale, or cashew-tree, cola-nut-tree, wild mango-tree, Jatropha curcas (physic-nut tree), Kigelias, several Acacia Arabicas near the river, within a few feet of the cove, and other gums. Euphorbia antiquorum and E. Caput-Medusæ on the craggy ground above the cove. Orchids upon humus-covered granite fragments, and far aloft in the forks of trees; as well as several species of ferns and aloes, and wild pine-apples upon the rock-strewn slopes.”

Though there were a number of large and noble trees to choose from, I fixed upon a species of Burseraceæ, Boswellia, or gum-frankincense tree, 10 feet round at the base, and with 40 feet of branchless stem, which grew about a hundred yards from our camp. We “blazed” very many of the largest species with our hatchets, in order to discover the most suitable for lightness and softness, with sufficient strength, and the “ubani” or “lubani” as the Wangwana called it was pronounced the best. I discovered that the largest trees grew on the narrow terrace, which was from one hundred to two hundred yards wide, and about forty feet above the river; but this Boswellia grew about fifty yards above the terrace on the slope; from this the slope rose to the height of 1000 feet, at an angle of 45°, densely covered along its whole length with magnificent timber.

April 30.—The next day the chief came. He was a fine genial old man, bald-headed and jovial-featured; and would have made an admirable Uncle Tom. It was not long before we perfectly understood each other. He gave me permission to choose any of the largest trees in his country, and promised to visit me each day while in the cove. Meanwhile, as an earnest of his friendship, he begged my acceptance of a gourdful of palm-wine, and some ripe plantains, guavas, and papaws.

May 1.—On the 1st May, Uledi, with a cry of “Bismillah!” at the first blow, struck his axe into the tree, and two others chimed in, and in two hours, with a roaring crash which made the deep gorge of the river return a thundering echo, the ubani fell; but, alas! it fell across a gigantic granite rock, about thirty feet square. And then began the work of rolling the great tree by means of enormous levers, with cables of ficus attached to the end, and the suspended weight of fifteen people, and by noon, to the astonishment of the natives, it was lengthways along the ground. I measured out the log, 37 feet 5 inches; depth, 2 feet; breadth, 2 feet 8 inches, and out of this we carved the Stanley canoe, in place of the unfortunate Stanley which had been irretrievably lost on the 1st of April. In order to ensure both speed and systematic work, each of the boat’s crew, who were now converted into shipbuilders, was allotted 3½ feet as his share, with a promise of reward proportionate to the skill and energy which he displayed. It was refreshing to see, during the whole time he was employed on it, how Uledi swung his axe like a proficient workman who loved his work. He never gave a half-hearted stroke, but drove his axe into the tree with a vigour which was delightful to regard, eliciting the admiration of the aborigines, who would stand round us for hours wondering at the fact that there lived a man who could thus lend every fibre of his body to mere work, and was an enthusiast to duty. On the 8th the canoe was finished, except for a few finishing touches, which were entrusted to the chief carpenter of the Expedition, Salaam Allah.

Having yet a few days to spare, we cut another huge tree down—a teak—to replace the little Jason that Soudi Turu had lost at Kalulu Falls, which occupied us until the 16th, with fifteen men employed. It measured, when completed, 45 feet long, 2 feet 2 inches beam, and 18 inches deep, and was flat-bottomed, after the model of the Wyyanzi canoes.

May 15.—In the meantime Manwa Sera was steadily advancing each day from 500 to 800 yards, according to the nature of the ground, and by the evening of the 15th was in our camp to receive a hearty meed of praise for the completion of his task. It was singular, however, how quickly the people became demoralized the moment I turned away. The natives brought various complaints of robbery of fowls and spoliation of cassava gardens against them, and one, Saburi Rehani, was a prisoner in their hands, or, in other words, was liable to be sold by them unless redeemed by me. I spent an entire day in the negotiation of his freedom, but finally he was purchased by me for 150 dollars’ worth of cloth, which most wofully diminished my stock. Naturally this excessive price paid for the release of a thief drew most energetic threats from me should any crime of this nature be repeated. But my men had borne themselves in the most admirable manner since leaving Uguha, and, after crossing through a furnace of fire side by side with me, it would have been unnatural for me to have judged them very severely. At the same time the evil-dispositioned were not to be allowed to sacrifice the lives of their fellows either by slow hunger or in violent conflicts for their sakes. Frequent redemptions of thieves from the hands of those they had spoliated would at this period have ended in beggary and starvation. It was therefore explained, for the fiftieth time, that persons arrested by the natives while in the act of stealing would be left in their hands.

May 16.—During the afternoon of the 16th we embarked the goods, and the canoe-men, skirting the base of the rocky line, descended one mile to Nzabi Creek, which proved a calm haven, separated from the river by a rugged line of massive blocks, and after we had entered by the narrow entrance we obtained a view of the wide mouth of a ravine, which was like a deep indentation in the mountain line. From base to summit the table-land was wooded, and very many noble bombax and straight-shafted teaks rose above the grove in this happy and picturesque mountain fold.

After such a gigantic task as that of hauling the canoes up 1200 feet of a steep slope, and over three miles of ground, and then lowering them 1200 feet into the river again, the people deserved a rest. In the meantime, as absolute idleness would have been subversive of that energy which had to characterize us during this period, we set to work cutting down-a teak-tree, and for this job selected forty men, twenty of whom were allotted to Frank for nightwork, and twenty I reserved for a day party. The tree was 13 feet 3 inches in circumference, and when prostrate we possessed a clear branchless log 55 feet in length.

It was at this period that Frank began to be troubled with a small pimple on each foot, and even then he neglected the advice I persisted in giving him to protect them from being tainted by the poisonous fœtor which flies extracted from the exposed sores of the Wangwana. There was one poor fellow in our camp named Feruzi who was now in the seventh month of this virulent disease, and was a frightful object. Both of his feet were almost in a state of mortification, and the leg bones were attacked. That part of the camp devoted to the victims of this ulcerous disease was prudently avoided by the natives, many of whom bore the scars of ancient ulcers. Safeni, my coxswain on the Victoria Nyanza, and who was also the second in rank and influence among the chiefs, adopted a very singular treatment, which I must confess was also wonderfully successful. This medicine consisted of a mixture of powder of copper and child’s urine painted over the wound with a feather twice a day, over which he placed some fine cotton. In six weeks five patients recovered completely. The Babwendé have recourse to green herb poultices, and some of their medicines were sold to us for the sick, but I failed to observe any improvement. One kind, however, which was the powdered core of some tree, appeared to have a soothing effect.

The old chief of Nzabi informed us, to our astonishment that five falls were still below us, which he called Njari Nseto, Njari Kwa Mowa, or river at Mowa, Njari Zinga, or river opposite Zinga, Njari Mbelo, or Mbelo’s river, and Njari Suki, or Suki’s river, the Babwendé term for river being Njari.

May 18.—On the 18th five of our axes required to be repaired, and Kachéché, who had some days before returned from his explorations below, and confirmed the news given to us by Nzabi’s chief, was sent above to the table-land to seek a smithy. As a market-place is like a stock exchange to the natives of this region, most of the blacksmiths were absent, and Kachéché had proceeded for a long distance into the interior, when he came across a tribe north of Nzabi, armed with bows and arrows, and who were called Bizu-Nseké. A few seconds’ acquaintance with them sufficed to prove to Kachéché that he had overstepped the boundaries of the peaceable, and accordingly he and his fellows fled for their lives, not unquickened by flying arrows. When almost in despair of discovering a native mechanic, he at last came to a forge between Mowa and Nzabi, the owner of which undertook the job of repairing the axes.

The blacksmith’s children were playing about close to the anvil while he was at work, and it happened that a piece of glowing hot iron to be welded to an axe flew off on being struck and seared a child’s breast, whereupon the father got into a fearful rage and beat the war-drum, which soon mustered scores of his countrymen prepared for battle, but as yet quite ignorant of the cause. Kachéché, however, was a man of tact, and, knowing himself innocent, folded his hands, and appealed to the good sense of the people. But the angered father averred that the axe was fetish, and that as Kachéché had brought the fetished instrument he was guilty of malevolence, for only the property of an evilly disposed person could have wrought such hurt to an innocent child. While the argument was at its height the chief of Nzabi happily appeared on his way home from Mowa market, and through his influence the affair was compromised by Kachéché promising to pay fifteen cowries extra to the blacksmith. Hearty laughing, a convivial drink all round of palm-wine, hand-shakes, and many terrible stories of fetish wonders dispelled the little black cloud.

May 22.—On the 22nd of May the magnificent teak canoe Livingstone, perfectly complete, was launched with the aid of one hundred happy and good-humoured natives, into the Nzabi Creek, in presence of the Nzabi chief and his three wives. In order to prove its capacity we embarked forty-six people, which only brought its gunwales within six inches of the water. Its measurements were 54 feet in length, 2 feet 4 inches deep, and 3 feet 2 inches wide. With the completion of this third canoe, our flotilla now consisted of twelve large canoes and one boat, the whole being of sufficient capacity to transport the Expedition should we ever be fortunate enough in arriving at that “Tuckey’s Cataract” of which I was in search.

The rainy days of this season, which began at the change of the fifth moon, were as follows:—

Between the 15th of November and the 16th of January I recorded thirty-two rainy days, the total rainfall being of 115 hours’ duration. Between the 16th of January and the 24th of February no rain fell, but between the 24th of February and the 21st of May there was a total of thirty-nine rainy days. This interval composed the later or greater Masika, or monsoon.

On the 26th of April I observed the River begin to rise, but moving from Inkisi Falls to Nzabi Cove on April the 29th, I had better opportunities of testing the rate of the rise while cutting out my canoe, viz. until the afternoon of the 16th of May.

My notes regarding the rise were as follows:—

At Nzabi Creek the registered rise was as follows:—

During these storms of rain, the thunder-claps were fully as loud as those on the Victoria Nyanza during the rainy season of 1875, and the lightning fully as fierce, being quivering, flaring pennants of flame, accompanied by bursting shocks, in apparently such close proximity that we felt frequently half stunned by the sound, and dazed by the coruscating displays of the electric flame. The deep chasm in which we were pent while the season was at its height increased the sound and re-echoed it from side to side, until each thunder-clap was protracted like a file-fire of artillery. Our position at Nzabi Cove was by no means enviable or desirable, though our experiences did not nearly realize all that we had anticipated. As we were encamped on a low terrace, which was only 30 feet above the river when we first arrived, we feared that, at a period when it was rising so rapidly, a sudden increase of 20 or 30 feet was quite “on the cards,” from what we remembered of the sudden creation of rivers in Ugogo, where a few moments before, dry, sandy water-courses were alone visible. The increasing fury of the mighty stream, the deepening roar of the falls, the formation of new rapids, the booming chorus of a score of torrents precipitated in leaping columns from the summit of the opposite cliffs a height of 400 feet into the river, the continuous rain, the vivid flashes of lightning, and the loud thunder which crackled and burst overhead with overwhelming effect, sufficed to keep alive the anticipation of terrors happily never realized.

May 23.—The chief of Nzabi received in return for his fine trees and the cordial assistance and uniform kindness he had extended to us, a gift of goods, which exceeded even his hopes. The people were sufficiently rested after this agreeable interlude to resume the dangerous passage of the cataracts, and on the 23rd we made a movement down to the west end of Nzabi Creek, and began hauling the canoes over the rocky ridge which separated us from another small creek lower down. The next day we were also clear of the lower creek, and descended a mile, by which feat we had succeeded in getting below the Nséto Falls.

May 25.—On the 25th, Frank Pocock, being too lame, from his ulcers, to travel overland, the conduct of the canoe-party was given to Manwa Sera and Chowpereh, and the care of the boat to Uledi, the coxswain. Besides Frank, there were thirteen persons afflicted with ulcerous sores, dysentery, and general debility; upon whom, on account of their utter inability to travel by land or climb over the rocks, the humourist Baraka had bestowed, out of his fertile brain, the sobriquet of Goee-Goee, a term quite untranslatable as regards its descriptive humour, though “despairing, forlorn, good-for-nothings” would be a tolerably fair equivalent. With decent, sober Christian souls the party would have been distinguished as the “sick list”; but Baraka was not a Christian, but a reckless good-natured gamin, of Mohammedan tendencies. Turning to Frank, he said to him, with a broad grin, “Ah, ha! is our little master become a Goee-Goee too? Inshallah! we shall all become Goee-Goees now, if our masters get on the list.” Frank laughingly assented, and hobbled to the boat to take a seat.

I led the active members of the Expedition and the women and children up the mountain from the lower Nzabi Creek, and, having well surmounted the table-land, struck west from Nzabi to Mowa, a distance of three miles. The plateau was a rolling country, and extremely picturesque in the populated part which bordered the river, thickly sprinkled with clusters of the guinea-palm and plantain groves, under which nestled the elegant huts of the Babwendé. This palm furnishes the natives with a delicious wine, and also with a yellow butter, which may be turned into a good burning oil, an unguent for the body, or an oil for stewing their provisions, bananas, yams, or potatoes; or served up with herbs, chicken, and chilies, for “palm-oil chop”; or as an excellent sop, when hot, for their cassava pudding.

At the third mile we turned down a broad and steep ravine, escorted by scores of gentle and kind people, and descended to the debouchure of a mountain brook, which empties into a deep bay-like indentation below the lower Mowa Falls. As we approached the bottom the Mowa became visible. It consists of a ledge of igneous rocks, pumice and ironstone, rising 20 feet or so above the water, and though extending nearly three-fourths across, is pierced by various narrow clefts which discharge as many streams into the bay below. At the left side, between the end of the ledge and the perpendicular cliffs of iron-tinted rock, the river contracts, and in mighty waves leaps down with a terrific, torrent-like rush, whirling pools, and heaving mounds. From the debouchure of the brook by which we enter upon the scene to the cliffs across is about 1800 yards; the ledge of the Mowa rocks above it extends probably 800 yards, while the river beyond occupied perhaps 500 yards. The streams from the great river which falls into the bay through the gaps of the ledge have a drop of 12 feet; the great river itself has no decided fall, but, as already described, is a mere rush, with the usual tempestuous scene.

We occupied a beautiful camping place above the Mowa, on a long stretch of pure white river sand, under the shadow of such an upright and high cliff that the sunshine did not visit us until 9 A.M. I travelled up over the rocks until I reached a point at the base of which the Upper Mowa rapids broke out into waves, with intervals of unruffled glassy slope, and here I stood for an hour, pondering unspeakable things, as I listened to the moan and plaint of the tortured river. Far away below me extended the great cleft of the table-land, of savagely stern aspect, unmarked by aught to relieve its awful lonely wildness, with mountain lines on the right and on the left rising to 1500 feet, and sheer, for half their height, from unknown depths of water. The stately ranks of tall trees that had dignified the right side of the river at Nzabi up to the summit of the table-land, are exchanged from the Mowa down to Mpakambendi, for clear rock walls of from 300 to 600 feet high, buttressed by a thin line of boulders or splintered rock slabs of massive size.

One of the boys announced the boat coming. It soon appeared, Frank standing up in the bow, and Uledi, as usual, at the helm; but as this was the first time Frank had played the pioneer over cataracts, I observed he was a little confused—he waved his hand too often, and thereby confused the steersman—in consequence of which it was guided over the very worst part of the rapids, and though we signalled with cloth we were unheeded, and the boat, whose timbers had never been fractured before, now plunged over a rock, which crashed a hole 6 inches in diameter in her stern, and nearly sent Frank headlong over the bow. Naturally there was a moment of excitement, but by dint of shouting, frantic gestures, and energy on the part of the crew, the poor wounded boat was brought towards shore, with her bow in the air and her stern buried.

“Ah, Frank! Frank! Frank!” I cried, “my boat, my poor boat, after so many thousands of miles, so many cataracts, to receive such a blow as this on a contemptible bit of rapids like the Upper Mowa!” I could have wept aloud; but the leader of an Expedition has but little leisure for tears, or sentiment, so I turned to repair her, and this, with the aid of Frank, I was enabled to do most effectually in one day.

May 27.—All the canoes arrived successfully during the 25th and 26th without accident. On the 27th, after first conveying the goods of the Expedition and forming a new camp, below the Lower and Greater Mowa Falls, on a projection of terrace extending from the debouchure of the Mowa Brook, which overhung the Mowa Cove, we dropped our canoes down along the bank and through a cleft in the ledge already described, and by 3 P.M. had passed the Great Mowa Falls, and everybody was safe in camp.

An event occurred this day which I shall never forget. I would gladly leave it out, but as the historian of the journey, may not do so. It touches human nature, and reveals its weakness, despite the possession of grand and noble, even matchless, qualities. The incident relates to Uledi, the coxswain of the Lady Alice, the best soldier, sailor, and artisan, and the most faithful servant, of the Expedition. Up to this date Uledi had saved thirteen persons from drowning. Simply because I wished it he had risked his own life to save the lives of others; and this heroic obedience, though it did not really elevate him much above the other first-class men of the Expedition, such as Manwa Sera the chief, Safeni the councillor, Wadi Rehani the storekeeper, and Kachéché the detective, had endeared him to me above all the rest. Uledi was not a handsome man; his face was marred by traces of the small-pox, and his nostrils were a little too dilated for beauty; but “handsome is that handsome does.” He was not a tall man; he was short, and of compact frame; but every ounce of his strength he devoted to my service. I never sought in him for the fine sentiments which elevate men into heroes; but the rude man, with his untutored, half-savage nature, was always at my service. He was a devotee to his duty, and as such he was ennobled; he was affectionately obedient, as such he was beloved; he had risked his life many times, for creatures who would never have risked their own for his; as such he was honoured. Yet—this ennobled, beloved and honoured servant—ah! I regret to speak of him in such terms—robbed me.

After we had all reached camp, the boy Majwara came to me in the waning afternoon, and reported that in the transport of goods from the Upper Mowa camp a sack of beads had been ripped open, and a considerable quantity of the beads abstracted.

Beads abstracted! at such a period, when every bead is of more value to me than its bulk in gold or gems, when the lives of so many people depend upon the strictest economy, when I have punished myself by the most rigid abstinence from meat in order to feed the people!

“Who was the thief, Majwara? Speak, and I will make an example of him.”

He was not sure, but he thought it must be Uledi. “Uledi! not Uledi the cox-swain?”

“Yes,” Majwara replied timidly.

Uledi was called, and while he was kept waiting Kachéché was called and told in Uledi’s presence—while I watched his face—to seize upon everything belonging to him and his wife, and to produce everything before me unopened. Uledi was asked to confess if he possessed any beads to which he had no right. He replied: “None.” Kachéché was then told to open his mat, and in the mat were discovered over five pounds of the fine Sami Sami beads, sufficient for nearly two days’ provisions for the whole Expedition! He was placed under guard.

At sunset, after the Mowa natives had retired, the people of the Expedition—men, women, and children—were mustered. I addressed them seriously. For a long time, I said, both Frank and I had seen it necessary to exercise the strictest economy, and had sacrificed for the general good all our rights and privileges of investing moneys from the general store towards our own comfort, and had simply considered ourselves in the light of stewards of the goods for the public benefit. But it had been obvious to us for some time that the goods were rapidly diminishing during their transit from camp to camp over the rocks and table-land, and we had found it totally impossible to protect the goods from peculation, or to animate the people with our own fears that we should be reduced to starvation long before reaching the sea at the present rate of consumption. Entreaties we had perceived to be of no avail. There were some amongst them, it appeared, who through greed were resolved to cause everybody to suffer; yet if people died through hunger there was not the slightest doubt but that the dying would impute blame to us for having reduced them to such straits. To prevent the calamity which would surely follow absolute poverty, it was our duty to see that some measures should be adopted to punish those who would provoke such frightful suffering. A man had been found that afternoon with a large stock of beads, which he had filched from the general store—that man was Uledi. What ought to be done with him?

After much urging, Manwa Sera, the chief, said that it was a very hard case, seeing it was Uledi. Had it been any of the Goee-Goees, men who had for months been tenderly cared for, who had not toiled from morn to eve in the cataracts, nor borne the fatigue and toil of the day; who had never been distinguished for worth, but were always a shiftless and cowardly set, he would have given his vote for drowning him by hanging a great stone to his neck and pitching him into the river; but as it happened to be Uledi, he therefore proposed that he should receive a thorough flogging, to deter others from repeating the crime. The votes of the chiefs were in accord with Manwa Sera’s, and three-fourths of the people cried out for “flogging.”

Then I turned to the boat’s crew, and said, “Now, you boys, you who know Uledi so well, and have followed him like children through a hundred rough scenes, speak, what shall be done to him?”

Mpwapwa, whose duty was to watch the boat in camp, and who was one of the most reliable and steady men, replied, “Well, master, it is a hard question. Uledi is like our elder brother, and to give our voice for punishing him would be like asking you to punish ourselves. But the fathers of the people have demanded that he shall be beaten, and I am only like a boy among them. Yet, master, for our sakes beat him only just a little. Mpwapwa has said.”

“And you, Marzouk—Uledi’s companion on the rock at the fourth cataract of the Stanley Falls—what do you say?”

“Verily, master, Mpwapwa has spoken what my tongue would have uttered, yet I would say, remember it is Uledi.”

“And you, Shumari, who are Uledi’s brother, what punishment shall I mete to this thief who would starve everybody, you and me?”

“Ah, dear master, your words are as lead. Spare him! It is true Uledi has stolen, and he has done very wrong. He is always stealing, and I have scolded him often for it. I have never stolen. No man can accuse me of taking that which did not belong to me, and I am but a boy, and Uledi is my elder. But please, master, as the chiefs say he must be flogged, give me half of it; and knowing it is for Uledi’s sake I shall not feel it.”

“Now, Saywa, you are his cousin, what do you say? Ought not Uledi to receive the severest punishment to prevent others from stealing?”

“Will the master give his slave liberty to speak?”

“Yes, say all that is in your heart, Saywa.”

Young Saywa advanced, and kneeling, seized my feet and embraced them, and then said:—

“The master is wise. All things that happen he writes in a book. Each day there is something written. We, black men, know nothing, neither have we any memory. What we saw yesterday is to-day forgotten. Yet the master forgets nothing. Perhaps if the master will look into his books he may see something in it about Uledi. How Uledi behaved on Lake Tanganika; how he rescued Zaidi from the cataract; how he has saved many men whose names I cannot remember from the river, Bill Alli, Mabruki, Kom-Kusi, and others; how he worked harder on the canoes than any three men; how he has been the first to listen to your voice always; how he has been the father of the boat-boys, and many other things. With Uledi, master, the boat-boys are good, and ready; without him they are nothing. Uledi is Shumari’s brother. If Uledi is bad, Shumari is good. Uledi is my cousin. If, as the chiefs say, Uledi should be punished, Shumari says he will take a half of the punishment; then give Saywa the other half, and set Uledi free. Saywa has spoken.”

“Very well,” I said. “Uledi, by the voice of the people, is condemned, but as Shumari and Saywa have promised to take the punishment on themselves, Uledi is set free, and Shumari and Saywa are pardoned.”

Uledi, upon being released, advanced and said, “Master, it was not Uledi who stole. It was the devil which entered into his heart. Uledi will be good in future, and if he pleased his master before he will please his master much more in time to come.”

May 28.—On the 28th the natives appeared in camp by the hundred, to wonder, and barter, and be amused. Mowa is divided into two districts, governed by four kings. The brook, which empties into the cove, separates the two districts, which united are not more than eight square miles. The two principal chiefs are Manwana and Kintu.^[13] Each vied with the other in supplying Frank and myself with palm-wine, cassava bread, and bananas, in the hope, of course, of receiving munificent gifts in return, for the natives of this region are too poor to make gratuitous gifts to the Mundelé or merchant, as I was called, who is supposed to be a rich man, and who ought by all natural laws to respond liberally to their gifts. Yet the Babwendé are not illiberal, and my people gave them great credit for hospitality. They invariably, if any of the Wangwana passed them during their drinking bouts, proffered a glassful of their wine and some cassava bread.

The Babwendé have one peculiarity which is rather startling at first to a stranger. When, for instance, they have visited the camp bringing with them small gifts of wine and bread, and having seated themselves for a sociable chat, they suddenly begin grinding their teeth, as though in a mad rage! After a while we discovered that it was only a habit of the Babwendé and the Bakongo.

Many of the Babwendé from below Nzabi, as far as Manyanga, have been once in their lives to the sea, to the ports of Kinsembo, Kinzau, Mkura, Mkunga, Mbala, and a few had been to Embomma. They are consequently amiable, and disposed to be civil to strangers, though very little is required to stir them to fighting pitch, and to discharge their heavily loaded guns at strangers or at one another. The theft of the smallest article, or a squabble with a native, would be at once resented. Writing on paper, taking observations, sketching or taking notes, or the performance of any act new or curious to them, is sufficient to excite them to hostilities.

On the third day of our stay at Mowa, feeling quite comfortable amongst the people, on account of their friendly bearing, I began to write down in my note-book the terms for articles in order to improve my already copious vocabulary of native words. I had proceeded only a few minutes when I observed a strange commotion amongst the people who had been flocking about me, and presently they ran away. In a short time we heard war-cries ringing loudly and shrilly over the table-land. Two hours afterwards, a long line of warriors, armed with muskets, were seen descending the table-land and advancing towards our camp. There may have been between five hundred and six hundred of them. We, on the other hand, had made but few preparations except such as would justify us replying to them in the event of the actual commencement of hostilities. But I had made many firm friends amongst them, and I firmly believed that I would be able to avert an open rupture.

When they had assembled at about a hundred yards in front of our camp, Safeni and I walked up towards them, and sat down midway. Some half-dozen of the Mowa people came near and the shauri began.

“What is the matter, my friends?” I asked. “Why do you come with guns in your hands in such numbers, as though you were coming to fight? Fight! Fight us, your friends! Tut! this is some great mistake, surely.”

“Mundelé,” replied one of them, a tall fellow with a mop-head which reminded me of Mwana Saramba, who had accompanied me round Lake Victoria—“our people saw you yesterday make marks on some tara-tara” (paper). “This is very bad. Our country will waste, our goats will die, our bananas will rot, and our women will dry up. What have we done to you, that you should wish to kill us? We have sold you food, and we have brought you wine, each day. Your people are allowed to wander where they please, without trouble. Why is the Mundelé so wicked? We have gathered together to fight you, if you do not burn that tara-tara now before our eyes. If you burn it we go away and shall be friends as heretofore.”

I told them to rest there, and left Safeni in their hands as a pledge that I should return. My tent was not fifty yards from the spot, but while going towards it my brain was busy in devising some plan to foil this superstitious madness. My note-book contained a vast number of valuable notes; plans of falls, creeks, villages, sketches of localities, ethnological and philological details, sufficient to fill two octavo volumes—everything was of general interest to the public. I could not sacrifice it to the childish caprice of savages. As I was rummaging my book box, I came across a volume of Shakespeare (Chandos Edition), much worn and well thumbed, and which was of the same size as my field-book; its cover was similar also, and it might be passed for the note-book provided that no one remembered its appearance too well. I took it to them.

“Is this the tara-tara, friends, that you wish burnt?”

“Yes, yes, that is it!”

“Well, take it, and burn it or keep it.”

“M—m. No, no, no. We will not touch it. It is fetish. You must burn it.”

“I! Well, let it be so. I will do anything to please my good friends of Mowa.”

We walked to the nearest fire. I breathed a regretful farewell to my genial companion, which during many weary hours of night had assisted to relieve my mind when oppressed by almost intolerable woes, and then gravely consigned the innocent Shakespeare to the flames, heaping the brush-fuel over it with ceremonious care.

“Ah-h-h,” breathed the poor deluded natives, sighing their relief. “The Mundelé is good—is very good. He loves his Mowa friends. There is no trouble now, Mundelé. The Mowa people are not bad.” And something approaching to a cheer was shouted among them, which terminated the episode of the Burning of Shakespeare.

The boat had been in a leaky condition ever since she had received the shock at the Upper Mowa, and her constant portage by the falls of the Livingstone, the constant change from dry heat to wet, had almost ruined her, yet we persisted in caulking and repairing her. Some of the natives, observing my anxiety to render her water-tight, offered to bring me a substance which, they said, would be effectual for the purpose. In a few hours they had brought me a mixture of india-rubber and palm-butter. We experimented with it instantly, but it was a very poor substitute for pitch, and I expressed my dissatisfaction with it.