How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley (read after .txt) 📖

guide led off, followed in solemn order by

forty-nine of his fellows, every man carrying a heavy load of

African moneys, besides his gun, hatchet, and stock of ammunition,

and his ugali-pot. We presented quite an imposing sight while thus

marching on in silence and order, with our flags flying, and the

red blanket robes of the men streaming behind them as the furious

northeaster blew right on our flank.

 

The men seemed to feel they were worth seeing, for I noticed that

several assumed a more martial tread as they felt their royal Joho

cloth tugging at their necks, as it was swept streaming behind by

the wind. Maganga, a tall Mnyamwezi, stalked along like a very

Goliah about to give battle alone, to Mirambo and his thousand

warriors. Frisky Khamisi paced on under his load, imitating a

lion and there was the rude jester—the incorrigible Ulimengo—

with a stealthy pace like a cat. But their silence could not

last long. Their, vanity was so much gratified, the red cloaks

danced so incessantly before their eyes, that it would have

been a wonder if they could have maintained such serious gravity

or discontent one half hour longer.

 

Ulimengo was the first who broke it. He had constituted himself

the kirangozi or guide, and was the standard-bearer, bearing the

American flag, which the men thought would certainly strike terror

into the hearts of the enemy. Growing confident first, then

valorous, then exultant, he suddenly faced the army he was

leading, and shouted

 

“Hoy! Hoy !

Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

 

Hoy! Hoy!

Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

 

Hoy! Hoy!

Chorus.—Hoy! Hoy!

 

Where are ye going?

Chorus.—Going to war.

 

Against whom?

Chorus.—Against Mirambo.

 

Who is your master?

Chorus.—The White Man.

 

Ough! Ough!

Chorus.—Ough! Ough!

 

Hyah! Hyah!

Chorus.—Hyah. Hyah!”

 

This was the ridiculous song they kept up all day without

intermission.

 

We camped the first day at Bomboma’s village, situated a mile to

the southwest of the natural hill fortress of Zimbili. Bombay

was quite recovered from his thrashing, and had banished the sullen

thoughts that had aroused my ire, and the men having behaved

themselves so well, a five-gallon pot of pombe was brought to

further nourish the valour, which they one and all thought they

possessed.

 

The second day we arrived at Masangi. I was visited soon

afterwards by Soud, the son of Sayd bin Majid, who told me the

Arabs were waiting for me; that they would not march from Mfuto

until I had arrived.

 

Eastern Mfuto, after a six hours’ march, was reached on the third

day from Unyanyembe. Shaw gave in, laid down in the road, and

declared he was dying. This news was brought to me about 4 P.M.

by one of the last stragglers. I was bound to despatch men to

carry him to me, into my camp, though every man was well tired

after the long march. A reward stimulated half-a-dozen to

venture into the forest just at dusk to find Shaw, who was

supposed to be at least three hours away from camp.

 

About two o’clock in the morning my men returned, having carried

Shaw on their backs the entire distance. I was roused up, and had

him conveyed to my tent. I examined him, and I assured myself he

was not suffering from fever of any kind; and in reply to my

inquiries as to how he felt, he said he could neither walk nor

ride, that he felt such extreme weakness and lassitude that he was

incapable of moving further. After administering a glass of port

wine to him in a bowlful of sago gruel, we both fell asleep.

 

We arrived early the following morning at Mfuto, the rendezvous

of the Arab army. A halt was ordered the next day, in order to

make ourselves strong by eating the beeves, which we freely

slaughtered.

 

The personnel of our army was as follows:

 

Sheikh Sayd bin Salim … … 25 half caste

 

” Khamis bin Abdullah … . 250 slaves

 

” Thani bin Abdullah … . 80 “

 

” Mussoud bin Abdullah … . 75 “

 

” Abdullah bin Mussoud … . 80 “

 

” Ali bin Sayd bin Nasib … 250 “

 

” Nasir bin Mussoud … . . 50 “

 

” Hamed Kimiami … … 70 “

 

” Hamdam … … . . 30 “

 

” Sayd bin Habib … … 50 “

 

” Salim bin Sayf … . . 100 “

 

” Sunguru … … . . 25 “

 

” Sarboko … … . . 25 “

 

” Soud bin Sayd bin Majid … 50 “

 

” Mohammed bin Mussoud … . 30 “

 

” Sayd bin Hamed … … 90 “

 

” The ‘Herald’ Expedition … 50 soldiers

 

” Mkasiwa’s Wanyamwezi … 800 “

 

” Half-castes and Wangwana . . 125 “

 

” Independent chiefs and their

followers … … . 300 “

 

These made a total of 2,255, according to numbers given me by

Thani bin Abdullah, and corroborated by a Baluch in the pay of

Sheikh bin Nasib. Of these men 1,500 were armed with guns—

flintlock muskets, German and French double-barrels, some

English Enfields, and American Springfields—besides these muskets,

they were mostly armed with spears and long knives for the

purpose of decapitating, and inflicting vengeful gashes in

the dead bodies. Powder and ball were plentiful: some men were

served a hundred rounds each, my people received each man sixty

rounds.

 

As we filed out of the stronghold of Mfuto, with waving banners

denoting the various commanders, with booming horns, and the roar

of fifty bass drums, called gomas—with blessings showered on us

by the mollahs, and happiest predications from the soothsayers,

astrologers, and the diviners of the Koran—who could have foretold

that this grand force, before a week passed over its head, would be

hurrying into that same stronghold of Mfuto, with each man’s heart

in his mouth from fear?

 

The date of our leaving Mfuto for battle with Mirambo was the

3rd of August. All my goods were stored in Mfuto, ready for the

march to Ujiji, should we be victorious over the African chief,

but at least for safety, whatever befel us.

 

Long before we reached Umanda, I was in my hammock in the

paroxysms of a fierce attack of intermittent fever, which did

not leave me until late that night.

 

At Umanda, six hours from Mfuto, our warriors bedaubed themselves

with the medicine which the wise men had manufactured for them—a

compound of matama flour mixed with the juices of a herb whose

virtues were only known to the Waganga of the Wanyamwezi.

 

At 6 A.M. on the 4th of August we were once more prepared for the

road, but before we were marched out of the village, the “manneno,”

or speech, was delivered by the orator of the Wanyamwezi:

 

“Words! words! words! Listen, sons of Mkasiwa, children of

Unyamwezi! the journey is before you, the thieves of the forest

are waiting; yes, they are thieves, they cut up your caravans,

they steal your ivory, they murder your women. Behold, the Arabs

are with you, El Wali of the Arab sultan, and the white man are

with you. Go, the son of Mkasiwa is with you; fight; kill, take

slaves, take cloth, take cattle, kill, eat, and fill yourselves!

Go!”

 

“A loud, wild shout followed this bold harangue, the gates of the

village were thrown open, and blue, red, and white-robed soldiers

were bounding upward like so many gymnasts; firing their guns

incessantly, in order to encourage themselves with noise, or to

strike terror into the hearts of those who awaited us within the

strong enclosure of Zimbizo, Sultan Kolongo’s place.

 

As Zimbizo was distant only five hours from Umanda, at 11 A.M.

we came in view of it. We halted on the verge of the cultivated

area around it and its neighbours within the shadow of the forest.

Strict orders had been given by the several chiefs to their

respective commands not to fire, until they were within shooting

distance of the boma.

 

Khamis bin Abdullah crept through the forest to the west of the

village. The Wanyamwezi took their position before the main

gateway, aided by the forces of Soud the son of Sayd on the right,

and the son of Habib on the left, Abdullah, Mussoud, myself, and

others made ready to attack the eastern gates, which arrangement

effectually shut them in, with the exception of the northern side.

 

Suddenly, a volley opened on us as we emerged from the forest

along the Unyanyembe road, in the direction they had been

anticipating the sight of an enemy, and immediately the attacking

forces began their firing in most splendid style. There were some

ludicrous scenes of men pretending to fire, then jumping off to one

side, then forward, then backward, with the agility of hopping

frogs, but the battle was none the less in earnest. The

breech-loaders of my men swallowed my metallic cartridges much

faster than I liked to see; but happily there was a lull in the

firing, and we were rushing into the village from the west, the

south, the north, through the gates and over the tall palings

that surrounded the village, like so many Merry Andrews; and

the poor villagers were flying from the enclosure towards the

mountains, through the northern gate, pursued by the fleetest

runners of our force, and pelted in the back by bullets from

breech-loaders and shot-guns.

 

The village was strongly defended, and not more than twenty dead

bodies were found in it, the strong thick wooden paling having

afforded excellent protection against our bullets.

 

From Zimbizo, after having left a sufficient force within, we

sallied out, and in an hour had cleared the neighbourhood of the

enemy, having captured two other villages, which we committed to

the flames, after gutting them of all valuables. A few tusks of

ivory, and about fifty slaves, besides an abundance of grain,

composed the “loot,” which fell to the lot of the Arabs.

 

On the 5th, a detachment of Arabs and slaves, seven hundred strong,

scoured the surrounding country, and carried fire and devastation

up to the boma of Wilyankuru.

 

On the 6th, Soud bin Sayd and about twenty other young Arabs led

a force of five hundred men against Wilyankuru itself, where it

was supposed Mirambo was living. Another party went out towards

the low wooded hills, a short distance north of Zimbizo, near

which place they surprised a youthful forest thief asleep, whose

head they stretched backwards, and cut it off as though he were a

goat or a sheep. Another party sallied out southward, and defeated

a party of Mirambo’s “bush-whackers,” news of which came to our

ears at noon.

 

In the morning I had gone to Sayd bin Salim’s tembe, to represent

to him how necessary it was to burn the long grass in the forest

of Zimbizo, lest it might hide any of the enemy; but soon

afterwards I had been struck down with another attack of

intermittent fever, and was obliged to turn in and cover myself

with blankets to produce perspiration; but not, however, till I

had ordered Shaw and Bombay not to permit any of my men to leave

the camp. But I was told soon afterwards by Selim that more than

one half had gone to the attack on Wilyankuru with Soud bin Sayd.

 

About 6 P.M. the entire camp of Zimbizo was electrified with the

news that all the Arabs who had accompanied Soud bin Sayd had

been killed; and that more than one-half of his party had been

slain. Some of my own men returned, and from them I learned

that Uledi, Grant’s former