July 15.—On the evening of the 15th of July we made the acquaintance of Kawe-Niangeh, the chief of the district on the south bank of the Lukuga Creek near the mouth. He remembered Cameron distinctly, described his person and dress, and informed me that he had accompanied him to the reeds which he said blocked the head of the creek. At the time of his visit, he said—pointing at the same time to a long line of breakers which marked three-fourths of the broad entrance from the lake to the creek—there were two spits of sand running from either side of the mouth, and there was a small fishing settlement on the one which projected from our side. As they were now covered up, he entertained a suspicion that Cameron had dropped some powerful medicine, which had brought on this destruction! If one white man had brought so much mischief, what might not two white men do? “Why,” said he, “the whole country will be inundated, and nothing will be left except the tops of the great mountains!”

We laughed at this, and, eventually joking him out of these ideas, succeeded in obtaining his guidance to explore the creek, and in eliciting the following items, which I jotted down in my journal the same evening:—

Cameron says, on p. 304, in vol. i. of his ‘Across Africa’:—

An inflowing river meeting the billows of the Tanganika might be supposed to form a “surf,” or a sandy sill, it being only natural that there should be a conflict between the opposing forces. To this struggle then must be attributed the formation of the “sill of sand” which Cameron said ran across the channel.

July 16.—On the 16th we sailed up the creek.

The mouth of the Lukuga, which was about 2500 yards wide, narrowed after a mile to 800 yards, and after another mile to 400 or 500 yards. Upon rounding the point of land on which Mkampemba stands, and where there is a considerable tract under tillage, I observed that the water changed its colour to a reddish brown, owing to the ferruginous conglomerate of which the low bluffs on either side are composed. This was also a proof to me that there was no outflowing river here. Clear water outflowing from the Tanganika, only two miles from the lake, ought never to be so deeply discoloured.

As we proceeded on, the chief told us to stop, and threw a stick into the water, asking us to note how, despite the ripple and wind from lakeward, the stick and the water-bubbles persisted in struggling against them towards the lake. His face was triumphant as he thought he had completely proved one part of his statement, that water came into the lake. It only remained now, as he thought, to prove that water flowed out towards the west.

Wherever there were indentations in the bluffs that banked it in, or a dip in the low grass-covered débris beneath, a growth of Mateté or water-cane and papyrus filled up these bits of still water, but mid-channel was clear and maintained a breadth of open white water ranging from 90 to 450 yards.

Within an hour we arrived at the extremity of the open water, which had gradually been narrowed in width, by the increasing abundance of papyrus, from 250 yards to 40 yards. We ceased rowing, and gently glided up to the barrier of papyrus, which had now completely closed up the creek from bank to bank, like a luxuriant field of tall Indian corn. We sounded at the base of these reeds along a breadth of 40 yards, and obtained from 7 to 11 feet of water! With a portable level I attempted to ascertain a current; the level indicated none! Into a little pool, completely sheltered by the broadside of the boat, we threw a chip or two, and some sticks. In five minutes the chips had moved towards the reeds about a foot! We then crushed our way through about twenty yards of the papyrus, and came to impassable mudbanks, black as pitch, and seething with animal life. Returning to the boat, I asked four men to stand close together, and, mounting their shoulders with an oar for support, I endeavoured with a glass to obtain a general view. I saw a broad belt some 250 or 300 yards wide of a papyrus-grown depression, lying east and west between gently sloping banks, thinly covered with scrubby acacia. Here and there were pools of open water, and beyond were a few trees growing, as it seemed to me, right in the bed. I caused some of my men to attempt to cross from one bank to the other, but the muddy ooze was not sufficiently firm to bear the weight of a man.

I then cut a disc of wood a foot in diameter, drove a nail in, and folded cotton under its head. I then rove a cord 5 feet in length through this, suspending to one end an earthenware pot, with which I tried an experiment. Along the hedge of papyrus I measured 1000 feet with a tape line, both ends of the track marked by a broad riband of sheeting tied to a papyrus reed. Then, proceeding to the eastern or lake end of the track, I dropped the earthenware pot, which, after filling, sank and drew the wooden disc level with the water. I noted the chronometer instantly, while the boat was rowed away from the scene. The wind from the lake blew strong at the time.

The board floated from lakeward towards the papyrus 822 feet in one hour and forty seconds.

In the afternoon, wind calm and water tranquil, the disc floated in the opposite direction, or towards the lake, 159 feet in nineteen minutes and thirty seconds, which is at the rate of about 600 feet in the hour.

This was of itself conclusive proof that there was no current at this date (July 16, 1876). Still I was curious to see the river flowing out. The next day, therefore, accompanied by the chief and fifteen men of the Expedition, we started overland along the banks of this rush- and mud-choked depression for three or four miles. The trend of the several streams we passed was from north-west to south-east—that is, towards the lake. At Elwani village we came to the road from Monyi’s, which is used by people proceeding to Unguvwa, Luwelezi, or Marungu on the other side of the Lukuga. Two men from the village accompanied us to the Lukuga ford. When we reached the foot of the hill, we first came to the dry bed of the Kibamba. In the rainy season this stream drains the eastern slopes of the Ki-yanja ridge with a south-east trend. The grass-stalks, still lying down from the force of the water, lay with their tops pointing lakeward.

From the dry mud-bed of the Kibamba to the cane-grass-choked bed of Lukuga was but a step. During the wet season the Kibamba evidently overflowed broadly, and made its way among the mateté of the Lukuga.

We tramped on along a path leading over prostrate reeds and cane, and came at length to where the ground began to be moist. The reeds on either side of it rose to the height of 10 or 12 feet, their tops interlacing, and the stalks, therefore, forming the sides of a narrow tunnel. The path sank here and there into ditch-like hollows filled with cool water from 9 inches to 3 feet deep, with transverse dykes of mud raised above it at intervals.

Finally, after proceeding some two hundred yards, we came to the centre of this reed-covered depression—called by the natives “Mitwanzi”--and here the chief, trampling a wider space among the reeds, pointed out in triumph water indisputably flowing westward!

The water felt cold, but it was only 68° Fahr., or 7° cooler than the Lukuga. I crossed over to the opposite or southern bank, on the shoulders of two of my men. The bed was uneven; sometimes the men rose until the water was barely over their ankles, then again they sank to their hips. The trees I had noticed from the open creek stood on a point projecting from the southern bank across the Mitwanzi, but they were now dead, as the former dry tract had become quaggy. The name Lukuga clings to the bed until a few miles west of Miketo’s, when it becomes known as the Luindi, Ruindi, or Luimbi.

The Mitwanzi is still daily traversed without trouble by men, women, and children.

We travelled another three miles along the Mitwanzi, until we came to the southern end of the Ki-yanja ridge, for it is through the gap between this and the Kihunga ridge, which terminates on the south bank, that the Lukuga flows toward the west. Even here it was but a trivial stream, oozing and trickling through a cane-grass grove.

The most interesting object here was the rounded end of the Ki-yanja ridge, sloping at an angle of 30°. As the highest point is probably between 600 and 1000 feet, there has been some agency at work to wear down this gap through the ferruginous conglomerate and soft sandstone—and some agency stronger than this trivial stream smothered in reeds, for it has no force or power.

We got back to Lumba Creek, where we had left our boat and canoe, late at night. The next day was devoted to sounding the creek from the Mitwanzi to the outer bar.

July 17.—The next morning I took a trip to the top of the conical hill behind Mkampemba, a village of Kawe-Niangeh, to lay out and take bearings.

I am of the opinion, after taking all things into consideration, that Kahangwa Cape was, at a remote period, connected with Kungwé Cape on the east coast—that the Lukuga was the effluent of the lake as it stood then, that the lake was at that period at a much higher altitude than it is at present, that the northern half of the lake is of a later formation, and that, owing to the subsidence of that portion, and the collapsing of the barrier or the Kahangwa Cape and Kungwé Cape ridge, the waters south emptied into that of the deep gulf north, and left the channel of the Lukuga to be employed as the bed of the affluents Kibamba and Lumba, or the eastern slope of the Ki-yanja ridge, to feed the lake. But now that the extension of the profound bed—created by some great earthquake, which fractured and disparted the plateau of Uhha, Urundi, Ubembé, Goma, &c.—is on the eve of being filled up, the ancient affluent is about to resume its old duties of conveying the surplus waters of the Tanganika down into the valley of the Livingstone, and thence, along its majestic winding course, to the Atlantic Ocean.

I say this after having circumnavigated the lake and examined it most thoroughly. Underground caverns are myths, the fables of Wangwana and superstitious natives. The great deep lengthy cañon occupied by the fathomless lake is not closed in by rocks of such a nature as to admit of the theory of underground passages. It is rimmed by mountains and hills—the least altitude is 600 feet, the highest 4000 feet, above the lake. But to those seeking an elucidation of the fact that an enormous fresh-water lake is without an out-flowing river, are presented as rational solutions the stream-worn gap in the conglomerate of the ridges Kihunga and Liyanja, the wave-washed rocks and boulders of Mpembwé and all along the eastern coast down to Urungu, the bare headlands of Tembwé, and the naked steeps and cliffs of Kungwé and Karinzi. It is an undeniable fact that if the evaporation from a body of water be greater than the supply, that water must necessarily become saline from the particles washed into it from salt-beds and salinas.

It is also as undeniable that, if the supply to a body of water be greater than its evaporation, the quantity of the water must be increased until the receptacle—whether pool, pond, or lake—overflows and obtains an outlet.

In the instance of the Tanganika we have a fresh-water lake, which—according to the evidence of native Arabs and the observation of several travellers—is steadily rising. We have also seen in the Lukuga the first symptoms of that overflowing which must come. At present there are only a few inches of mud-banks and a frail barrier of papyrus and reeds to interpose between the waters of the lake and its destiny, which it is now, year by year, steadily approaching. When the Tanganika has risen 3 feet higher, there will be no surf at the mouth of the Lukuga, no sill of sand, no oozing mud-banks, no rush-covered old river course, but the accumulated waters of over a hundred rivers will sweep through the ancient gap with the force of a cataclysm, bearing away on its flood all the deposits of organic débris at present in the Lukuga Creek, down the steep incline to swell the tribute due to the mighty Livingstone.

July 21.—On the 21st of July we sailed from the mouth of the future outlet Lukuga by Cape Kahangwa, to the Arab crossing-place near Kasengé Island.

The Waguha, along whose country we had voyaged south since leaving Tembwé, are an unusually ceremonious people. They are the first specimens of those nations among whom we are destined to travel in our exploration of the western regions.

The art of the coiffeur is better known here than in any portion of Africa east of Lake Tanganika. The “waterfall” and “back-hair” styles are superb, and the constructions are fastened with carved wooden or iron pins. Full dress includes a semicircle of finely plaited hair over the forehead painted red, ears well ochred, the rest of the hair drawn up taut at the back of the head, overlaid and secured by a cross-shaped flat board, or with a skeleton crown of iron; the head is then covered with a neatly tasselled and plaited grass cloth, like a lady’s breakfast-cap, to protect it from dust. In order to protect such an elaborate construction from being disordered, they carry a small head-rest of wood stuck in the girdle.

Their mode of salutation is as follows:—

A man appears before a party seated: he bends, takes up a handful of earth or sand with his right hand, and throws a little into his left—the left hand rubs the sand or earth over the right elbow and the right side of the stomach, while the right hand performs the same operation for the left parts of the body, the mouth meanwhile uttering rapidly words of salutation. To his inferiors, however, the new-comer slaps his hand several times, and after each slap lightly taps the region of his heart.

Kasengé Island is a small island with a grassy cone rising from its centre. It is well-cultivated, and grows papaws, pomegranates, lemons, and sweet limes, having been favoured for a long period by Arabs, when their intercourse with the western regions was but beginning.

Between the lately severed promontory of Katenga, in Goma, which is now a large island, and Mtowa, the southern end of the bay, there is quite a cluster of islets, of which the largest are Kirindi, Kivizi, and Kavala.

When we have passed the northern point of Katenga Island we behold the Goma mountains in an apparently unbroken range of vast height and excessive steepness, and lengths of steep and cliffy slope. But as we sail on to the northward, we observe that from Katenga we saw only the profile or the shoulders of great lofty spurs. Behind almost all of these are beautiful secluded inlets and bays, overshadowed by black-bearded mountains, which give birth to myriads of clear crystal streams. Deep chasms in their huge fronts are filled with forests of enormous trees, out of which the famous Goma canoes are cut. Through every gap in the range roars and tumbles a clear cold stream, and piled up behind are the loftiest alps of Goma. The eye cannot fail to be struck with the contrast between the serene blue of the sky, the gloom of the chasm, and the dark tops of the tree-crested ranges. The margins of these calm havens are lined with green water-cane and eschinomenæ, to which hundreds of yellow-breasted birds have suspended their nests, where the industrious little creatures may be seen in flocks together, clinging belly upward, or flying up and down, ever chirping their wheedling, persuasive song. On a firm bough extended over the wave sits the glossy and sleek diver, contented, sated with his finny prey; or, perched upon the tall branch of some towering sycamore or teak, may be seen the white-collared fish-eagle, uttering at intervals his weird shrill call to his mate—a despairing, wailing cry. Presently, from some distant tree, at a commanding height, is heard the response, in the same doleful strain.

But from Katenga, as far as the Bald Mount, near Mugolwé, the crests of the ridges are tawny and treeless. From Tanga to Mdanga Cape, gaps and chasms, inlets and bays, like those above described are numerous, and between Kabogo River and Missossi Mount there is a bay with five separate streams, descending from heights of 2000 feet in long silvery threads to the lake. The mountains seem to be dissolving in tears, for through every ravine or cleft or gap, chasm or rift, streams roll with impetuous course to the lake. Wherever foothold is obtained on a square-browed hill, terrace, or slope, cultivated fields and villages are seen, while on either side of them the cliffs drop sheer to profound depths.

The topmost height of Mount Missossi is about 3000 feet above the lake. As the lake is very wide between Goma and Ujiji—about forty miles—the waves rise very suddenly and drive in long billowy ridges against the massive and firm base of the mount, and when the south-easters prevail, the gale has command of sixty miles of clear water from Kabogo Cape. Navigation in canoes, while the wind is rising, is very dangerous.

We left Kabogo River’s safe haven about 7 P.M., and at nine were pulling by Missossi Mount, exposed to a rising gale of great power about half a mile off a lee shore. To avoid being swept on the rocks, which were all afoam, we had to row direct eastward, and to handle both boat and canoe very delicately to avoid foundering. For two hours we laboured hard to get a mile to windward, and then, hoisting sail, we flew northward, just grazing the dreadful rocks of Mdanga Cape.

Nature, as already seen, has been in most frantic moods along the western coast of the Tanganika, but in Goma, where she has been most wanton, she has veiled herself with a graceful luxuriance of vegetation. Where the mountains are steepest and highest, and where their springs have channelled deepest, there the pillared mvulé and meofu flourish most and attain their greatest height, and in loving fellowship they spread themselves up opposing slopes and follow the course of the stream in broad belts one either side down to the edge of the lake. Underneath their umbrageous foliage grows a tropical density of bush and plant, meshed and tangled, and of such variety that to class or specify them would require the labour and lifetime of an accomplished botanist.

As we look towards the lofty heights of Northern Goma we observe that they have a grassy pastoral aspect. We turn our eyes south to catch a farewell glimpse of those refreshing views which we had admired, and we see that distance has already transformed them into a long blue hazy outline.

We sailed all day within a stone’s-throw of the shore of Goma, and in the evening put in at Kaganza, just north of Kiringi Point.

July 25.—On the 25th, on leaving Kaganza, we bade farewell to Goma, whose bare majestic front, as we continued north, was terminated by the low rounded hills of Kavunweh, and then, steering north-east, we skirted a low grassy land whose highest ridge was only 200 feet above the lake. This is the isthmus which connects the promontory of Ubwari and Karamba with the mainland. It is seven miles across to the gulf which separates Ubwari promontory from Ubembé and Usansi.

Burton describes Ubwari thus:—

Livingstone calls it in his ‘Last Journals’ the islet Mozima, and in ‘How I Found Livingstone’ I called it the island Muzimu.

The end of the isthmus is distinguished by two or three palms, which served us as a landmark when we had voyaged round into the gulf of the western side. It is also indented with two or three deep bays.

Near Karamba Cape, south latitude 4° 29′, the land again rises into a ridge about 1500 feet above the lake, and runs north from the southern cape to Panza Point, a distance of twenty-seven miles. Some very fine mountain scenes are presented here also, but after stupendous Goma they appear almost tame and commonplace.

Near the little round island of Muzimu, or the Spirit, we made a very comfortable camp near a fine gravel beach. The photograph of the Spirit Island given opposite suffices for description.

The Wabwari are by no means a handsome race: nor indeed are the Wavira, Wagoma, or Wabembé (cannibals); but they are all industrious tribes, and the Wabwari, though somewhat ready to take offence, are very much liked by all. They cultivate an enormous quantity of cassava, or manioc, and at this season the flat rocks were strewn with the sliced root. Dried whitebait is another article of commerce, and bags of millet are exchanged with the Warundi on the other side for palm-oil and butter, and with the Wajiji for cloth and beads.

July 27.—On the 27th we rounded Panza Point, and skirted the much-indented western side of Ubwari, until we reached the extreme southern reach of Burton Gulf.^[3] At evening we camped in a tiny creek, near a grassy ridge, undisturbed. In the morning I ascended the ridge, and took bearings of Missossi Mount, Kiringi Cape, Karamba Cape, and by aid of the palms on the isthmus was able to identify the position. We rested until noon, and obtained south latitude 4° 22′. As Panza Point, the north end of Ubwari, is in south latitude 4° 2′, the length of Burton Gulf is twenty miles, by from five to seven miles in width.

Then coasting along the south end of Burton Gulf, we came to Masansi, which begins on the west side, and near each large village lowered our sail and inquired the names of the various rivers, villages, points, and countries. On coming near a village on the west bank of the Kasansagara river, we were forewarned of a rude reception. Approaching nearer, we were warned away by the Wabembé, who are most inimical to strangers. Wishing to test how far this hostile spirit would proceed, we continued to advance upon the shore. From wild gesture, such as striking the ground with their spears, beating the water, and frantic hopping up and down, they took to throwing stones of such large size as might well be termed dangerous missiles. Motioning a halt, we calmly surveyed the natives, watched the rocks fly through the air, and making deep pits in the water, as though we were simply looking on at an entertainment specially got up for our amusement. Not a word, gesture, or movement on our part indicated either resentment or pleasure, until the natives ceased their furious demonstrations. Para was then told to inform them that we would have nothing to say to such wild people, who at sight of strangers showed such foolish fury.

We turned away without another word, resumed our journey, and in an hour were abreast of Kiunyu, the village of the chief Mahonga. We spoke to them: they mocked us. We asked them if they would sell us some grain, but they replied that they were not our slaves, and that they had not sowed the land with grain to sell it to us. We pulled away from them without another word. The silly people cried out that we were running away, and at once launched about a dozen canoes and followed us. Encouraged by the infuriates and mockers on the shore, as also by our pacific behaviour, they became excited to a dangerous state, and gesticulated with their arrows and spears. Owing to the ferocious spirit of the people, we had to seek a camp among the reeds and papyrus in the delta of the Mtambara river, where, though troubled with mosquitoes, we slept undisturbed by the insensate ferocity of the Wabembé cannibals.

July 28.—On the 28th we skirted the low land which lies at the foot of the western mountains, and by noon had arrived at the little cove in Masansi, near the Rubumba or the Luvumba river, at which Livingstone and I terminated our exploration of the northern shores of Lake Tanganika in 1871. I had thus circumnavigated Lake Tanganika from Ujiji up the eastern coast, along the northern head, and down the western coast as far as Rubumba river in 1871, and in June-July 1876 had sailed south from Ujiji along the eastern coast to the extreme south end of the lake, round each inlet of the south, and up the western coast to Panza Point, in Ubwari, round the shores of Burton Gulf, and to Rubumba river. The north end of the lake was located by Livingstone in south latitude 3° 18′; the extreme south end I discovered to be in south latitude 8° 47′, which gives it a length of 329 geographical miles. Its breadth varies from ten to forty-five miles, averaging about twenty-eight miles, and its superficial area covers a space of 9240 square miles.

July 29.—On the 29th we crossed over from our haven near Muzimu Island, on the east side of Ubwari, to Kioga, in Urundi, where we were welcomed by our old friend Kinoza, the chief.

In mid-lake, I sounded, using a 3½-lb. sounding-lead with 1280 feet of cord, and found no bottom. I devoted an hour to this work, and tried a second time a mile nearer the Urundi coast, with the same results—no bottom. The strain at such a great depth on the whip-cord was enormous, but we met with no accident.

July 31.—On the 31st we arrived at Ujiji, after an absence of fifty-one days, during which time we had sailed without disaster or illness a distance of over 810 miles. The entire coast line of the Tanganika is about 930 miles.