How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley (read after .txt) đź“–
- Author: Henry M. Stanley
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The ascent of the ridge was rugged and steep, thorns of the
prickliest nature punished us severely, the acacia horrida was
here more horrid than usual, the gums stretched out their branches,
and entangled the loads, the mimosa with its umbrella-like top
served to shade us from the sun, but impeded a rapid advance.
Steep outcrops of syenite and granite, worn smooth by many feet,
had to be climbed over, rugged terraces of earth and rock had to
be ascended, and distant shots resounding through the forest added
to the alarm and general discontent, and had I not been immediately
behind my caravan, watchful of every manoeuvre, my Wanyamwezi
had deserted to a man. Though the height we ascended was barely
800 feet above the salina we had just left, the ascent occupied
two hours.
Having surmounted the plateau and the worst difficulties, we had
a fair road comparatively, which ran through jungle, forest, and
small open tracts, which in three hours more brought us to Munieka,
a small village, surrounded by a clearing richly cultivated by a
colony of subjects of Swaruru of Mukondoku.
By the time we had arrived at camp everybody had recovered his
good humour and content except Hamed. Thani’s men happened to set
his tent too close to Hamed’s tree, around which his bales were
stacked. Whether the little Sheikh imagined honest old Thani
capable of stealing one is not known, but it is certain that he
stormed and raved about the near neighbourhood of his best friend’s
tent, until Thani ordered its removal a hundred yards off. This
proceeding even, it seems, did not satisfy Hamed, for it was quite
midnight—as Thani said—when Hamed came, and kissing his hands
and feet, on his knees implored forgiveness, which of course Thani,
being the soul of good-nature, and as large-hearted as any man,
willingly gave. Hamed was not satisfied, however, until, with the
aid of his slaves, he had transported his friend’s tent to where it
had at first been pitched.
The water at Munieka was obtained from a deep depression in a hump
of syenite, and was as clear as crystal, and’ cold as ice-water—a
luxury we had not experienced since leaving Simbamwenni.
We were now on the borders of Uyanzi, or, as it is better known,
“Magunda Mkali “—the Hot-ground, or Hot-field. We had passed the
village populated by Wagogo, and were about to shake the dust of
Ugogo from our feet. We had entered Ugogo full of hopes, believing
it a most pleasant land—a land flowing with milk and honey. We
had been grievously disappointed; it proved to be a land of gall
and bitterness, full of trouble and vexation of spirit, where
danger was imminent at every step—where we were exposed to the
caprice of inebriated sultans. Is it a wonder, then, that all
felt happy at such a moment? With the prospect before us of
what was believed by many to be a real wilderness, our ardor
was not abated, but was rather strengthened. The wilderness
in Africa proves to be, in many instances, more friendly than
the populated country. The kirangozi blew his kudu horn much
more merrily on this morning than he was accustomed to do while
in Ugogo. We were about to enter Magunda Mkali. At 9 A.M.,
three hours after leaving Munieka, and two hours since we had
left the extreme limits of Ugogo, we were halted at Mabunguru
Nullah. The Nullah runs southwesterly after leaving its source in
the chain of hills dividing Ugogo from Magunda Mkali. During the
rainy season it must be nearly impassable, owing to the excessive
slope of its bed. Traces of the force of the torrent are seen in
the syenite and basalt boulders which encumber the course. Their
rugged angles are worn smooth, and deep basins are excavated where
the bed is of the rock, which in the dry season serve as reservoirs.
Though the water contained in them has a slimy and greenish
appearance, and is well populated with frogs, it is by no means
unpalatable.
At noon we resumed our march, the Wanyamwezi cheering, shouting,
and singing, the Wangwana soldiers, servants, and pagazis vieing
with them in volume of voice and noise-making the dim forest
through which we were now passing resonant with their voices.
The scenery was much more picturesque than any we had yet seen
since leaving Bagamoyo. The ground rose into grander waves—hills
cropped out here and there—great castles of syenite appeared,
giving a strange and weird appearance to the forest. From a
distance it would almost seem as if we were approaching a bit of
England as it must have appeared during feudalism; the rocks
assumed such strange fantastic shapes. Now they were round
boulders raised one above another, apparently susceptible to every
breath of wind; anon, they towered like blunt-pointed obelisks,
taller than the tallest trees; again they assumed the shape of
mighty waves, vitrified; here, they were a small heap of fractured
and riven rock; there, they rose to the grandeur of hills.
By 5 P.M. we had travelled twenty miles, and the signal was
sounded for a halt. At 1 A.M., the moon being up, Hamed’s horn and
voice were heard throughout the silent camp awaking his pagazis for
the march. Evidently Sheikh Hamed was gone stark mad, otherwise
why should he be so frantic for the march at such an early hour?
The dew was falling heavily, and chilled one like frost; and an
ominous murmur of deep discontent responded to the early call on
all sides. Presuming, however, that he had obtained better
information than we had, Sheikh Thani and I resolved to be governed
as the events proved him to be right or wrong.
As all were discontented, this night, march was performed in deep
silence. The thermometer was at 53°, we being about 4,500 feet
above the level of the sea. The pagazis, almost naked, walked
quickly in order to keep warm, and by so doing many a sore foot
was made by stumbling against obtrusive roots and rocks, and
treading on thorns. At 3 A.M. we arrived at the village of
Unyambogi, where we threw ourselves down to rest and sleep until
dawn should reveal what else was in store for the hard-dealt-with
caravans.
It was broad daylight when I awoke; the sun was flaring his hot
beams in my face. Sheikh Thani came soon after to inform me that
Hamed had gone to Kiti two hours since; but he, when asked to
accompany him, positively refused, exclaiming against it as
folly, and utterly unnecessary. When my advice was asked by
Thani, I voted the whole thing as sheer nonsense; and, in turn,
asked him what a terekeza was for? Was it not an afternoon march
to enable caravans to reach water and food? Thani replied than it
was. I then asked him if there was no water or food to be obtained
in Unyambogi. Thani replied that he had not taken pains to
inquire, but was told by the villagers that there was an abundance
of matamia, hindi, maweri, sheep; goats, and chickens in their
village at cheap prices, such as were not known in Ugogo.
“Well, then,” said I, “if Hamed wants to be a fool, and kill his
pagazis, why should we? I have as much cause for haste as Sheikh
Hamed; but Unyanyembe is far yet, and I am not going to endanger
my property by playing the madman.”
As Thani had reported, we found an abundance of provisions at the
village, and good sweet water from some pits close by. A sheep
cost one chukka; six chickens were also purchased at that price;
six measures of matama, maweri, or hindi, were procurable for the
same sum; in short, we were coming, at last, into the land of
plenty.
On the 10th June we arrived at Kiti after a journey of four hours
and a half, where we found the irrepressible Hamed halted in sore
trouble. He who would be a Caesar, proved to be an irresolute
Antony. He had to sorrow over the death of a favourite slave girl,
the loss of five dish-dashes (Arab shirts), silvered-sleeve and
gold-embroidered jackets, with which he had thought to enter
Unyanyembe in state, as became a merchant of his standing, which
had disappeared with three absconding servants, besides copper
trays, rice, and pilau dishes, and two bales of cloth with runaway
Wangwana pagazis. Selim, my Arab servant, asked him, “What are
you doing here, Sheikh Hamed? I thought you were well on the road
to Unyanyembe.” Said he, “Could I leave Thani, my friend, behind?”
Kiti abounded in cattle and grain, and we were able to obtain food
at easy rates. The Wakimbu, emigrants from Ukimbu, near Urori,
are a quiet race, preferring the peaceful arts of agriculture to
war; of tending their flocks to conquest. At the least rumor of
war they remove their property and family, and emigrate to the
distant wilderness, where they begin to clear the land, and to
hunt the elephant for his ivory. Yet we found them to be a fine
race, and well armed, and seemingly capable, by their numbers and
arms, to compete with any tribe. But here, as elsewhere, disunion
makes them weak. They are mere small colonies, each colony ruled
by its own chief; whereas, were they united, they might make a
very respectable front before an enemy.
Our next destination was Msalalo, distant fifteen miles from Kiti.
Hamed, after vainly searching for his runaways and the valuable
property he had lost, followed us, and tried once more, when he
saw us encamped at Msalalo, to pass us; but his pagazis failed him,
the march having been so long.
Welled Ngaraiso was reached on the 15th, after a three and a half
hours’ march. It is a flourishing little place, where provisions
were almost twice as cheap as they were at Unyambogi. Two hours’
march south is Jiweh la Mkoa, on the old road, towards which the
road which we have been travelling since leaving Bagamoyo was now
rapidly leading.
Unyanyembe being near, the pagazis and soldiers having behaved
excellently during the lengthy marches we had lately made, I
purchased a bullock for three doti, and had it slaughtered for
their special benefit. I also gave each a khete of red beads to
indulge his appetite for whatever little luxury the country
afforded. Milk and honey were plentiful, and three frasilah of
sweet potatoes were bought for a shukka, equal to about 40 cents of
our money.
The 13th June brought us to the last village of Magunda Mkali, in
the district of Jiweh la Singa, after a short march of eight miles
and three-quarters. Kusuri—so called by the Arabs—is called
Konsuli by the Wakimbu who inhabit it. This is, however, but one
instance out of many where the Arabs have misnamed or corrupted
the native names of villages and districts.
Between Ngaraiso and Kusuri we passed the village of Kirurumo, now
a thriving place, with many a thriving village near it. As we
passed it, the people came out to greet the Musungu, whose advent
had been so long heralded by his loud-mouthed caravans, and whose
soldiers had helped them win the day in a battle against their
fractious brothers of Jiweh la Mkoa.
A little further on we came across a large khambi, occupied by
Sultan bin Mohammed, an Omani Arab of high descent, who, as soon as
he was notified of my approach, came out to welcome me, and invite
me to his khambi. As his harem lodged in his tent, of course I was
not invited thither; but a carpet outside was ready for his visitor.
After the usual questions had been asked about my health, the news
of the road, the latest
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