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

valet, Mabruki Khatalabu

(Killer of his father), Mabruki (the Little), Baruti of Useguhha,

and Ferahan had been killed. I learned also that they had

succeeded in capturing Wilyankuru in a very short time, that

Mirambo and his son were there, that as they succeeded in

effecting an entrance, Mirambo had collected his men, and after

leaving the village, had formed an ambush in the grass, on each

side of the road, between Wilyankuru and Zimbizo, and that as the

attacking party were returning home laden with over a hundred

tusks of ivory, and sixty bales of cloth, and two or three hundred

slaves, Mirambo’s men suddenly rose up on each side of them, and

stabbed them with their spears. The brave Soud had fired his

double-barrelled gun and shot two men, and was in the act of

loading again when a spear was launched, which penetrated through

and through him: all the other Arabs shared the same fate.

This sudden attack from an enemy they believed to be conquered

so demoralized the party that, dropping their spoil, each man

took to his heels, and after making a wide detour through the

woods, returned to Zimbizo to repeat the dolorous tale.

 

The effect of this defeat is indescribable. It was impossible to

sleep, from the shrieks of the women whose husbands had fallen.

All night they howled their lamentations, and sometimes might be

heard the groans of the wounded who had contrived to crawl through

the grass unperceived by the enemy. Fugitives were continually

coming in throughout the night, but none of my men who were

reported to be dead, were ever heard of again.

 

The 7th was a day of distrust, sorrow, and retreat; the Arabs

accused one another for urging war without expending all peaceful

means first. There were stormy councils of war held, wherein

were some who proposed to return at once to Unyanyembe, and keep

within their own houses; and Khamis bin Abdullah raved, like an

insulted monarch, against the abject cowardice of his compatriots.

These stormy meetings and propositions to retreat were soon known

throughout the camp, and assisted more than anything else to

demoralize completely the combined forces of Wanyamwezi and

slaves. I sent Bombay to Sayd bin Salim to advise him not to

think of retreat, as it would only be inviting Mirambo to carry

the war to Unyanyembe.

 

After, despatching Bombay with this message, I fell asleep, but

about 1.30 P.M. I was awakened by Selim saying, “Master, get up,

they are all running away, and Khamis bin Abdullah is himself

going.”

 

With the aid of Selim I dressed myself, and staggered towards the

door. My first view was of Thani bin Abdullah being dragged away,

who, when he caught sight of me, shouted out “Bana—quick—Mirambo

is coming.” He was then turning to run, and putting on his jacket,

with his eyes almost starting out of their sockets with terror.

Khamis bin Abdullah was also about departing, he being the last

Arab to leave. Two of my men were following him; these Selim

was ordered to force back with a revolver. Shaw was saddling

his donkey with my own saddle, preparatory to giving me the slip,

and leaving me in the lurch to the tender mercies of Mirambo.

There were only Bombay, Mabruki Speke, Chanda who was coolly

eating his dinner, Mabruk Unyauyembe, Mtamani, Juma, and

Sarmean–only seven out of fifty. All the others had deserted,

and were by this time far away, except Uledi (Manwa Sera) and

Zaidi, whom Selim brought back at the point of a loaded revolver.

Selim was then told to saddle my donkey, and Bombay to assist

Shaw to saddle his own. In a few moments we were on the road,

the men ever looking back for the coming enemy; they belabored

the donkeys to some purpose, for they went at a hard trot,

which caused me intense pain. I would gladly have lain down

to die, but life was sweet, and I had not yet given up all

hope of being able to preserve it to the full and final

accomplishment of my mission. My mind was actively at work

planning and contriving during the long lonely hours of night,

which we employed to reach Mfuto, whither I found the Arabs had

retreated. In the night Shaw tumbled off his donkey, and would

not rise, though implored to do so. As I did not despair myself,

so I did not intend that Shaw should despair. He was lifted on

his animal, and a man was placed on each side of him to assist him;

thus we rode through the darkness. At midnight we reached Mfuto

safely, and were at once admitted into the village, from which we

had issued so valiantly, but to which we were now returned so

ignominiously.

 

I found all my men had arrived here before dark. Ulimengo, the

bold guide who had exulted in his weapons and in our numbers, and

was so sanguine of victory, had performed the eleven hours’ march

in six hours; sturdy Chowpereh, whom I regarded as the

faithfullest of my people, had arrived only half an hour later

than Ulimengo; and frisky Khamisi, the dandy—the orator—the

rampant demagogue—yes—he had come third; and Speke’s “Faithfuls”

had proved as cowardly as any poor “nigger” of them all. Only

Selim was faithful.

 

I asked Selim, “Why did you not also run away, and leave your

master to die?”

 

“Oh, sir,” said the Arab boy, naively, “I was afraid you would

whip me.”

 

CHAPTER IX. MY LIFE AND TROUBLES IN UNYANYEMBE-(continued).

 

It never occurred to the Arab magnates that I had cause of complaint

against them, or that I had a right to feel aggrieved at their

conduct, for the base desertion of an ally, who had, as a duty to

friendship, taken up arms for their sake. Their “salaams” the next

morning after the retreat, were given as if nothing had transpired

to mar the good feeling that had existed between us.

 

They were hardly seated, however, before I began to inform them

that as the war was only between them and Mirambo, and that as

I was afraid, if they were accustomed to run away after every

little check, that the war might last a much longer time than I

could afford to lose; and that as they had deserted their wounded

on the field, and left their sick friends to take care of

themselves, they must not consider me in the light of an ally

any more. “I am satisfied,” said I, “having seen your mode of

fighting, that the war will not be ended in so short a time as

you think it will. It took you five years, I hear, to conquer

and kill Manwa Sera, you will certainly not conquer Mirambo in

less than a year.* I am a white man, accustomed to wars after

a different style, I know something about fighting, but I never

saw people run away from an encampment like ours at Zimbizo for

such slight cause as you had. By running away, you have invited

Mirambo to follow you to Unyanyembe; you may be sure he will come.”

__________________

* The same war is still raging, April, 1874.

__________________

 

The Arabs protested one after another that they had not intended

to have left me, but the Wanyamwezi of Mkasiwa had shouted out

that the “Musungu” was gone, and the cry had caused a panic among

their people, which it was impossible to allay.

 

Later that day the Arabs continued their retreat to Tabora; which

is twenty-two miles distant from Mfuto. I determined to proceed

more leisurely, and on the second day after the flight from

Zimbizo, the Expedition, with all the stores and baggage, marched

back to Masangi, and on the third day to Kwihara.

 

The following extracts from my Diary will serve to show better

than anything else, my feelings and thoughts about this time,

after our disgraceful retreat:

 

Kwihara. Friday, 11th August, 1871.—Arrived to-day from Zimbili,

village of Bomboma’s. I am quite disappointed and almost

disheartened. But I have one consolation, I have done my duty by

the Arabs, a duty I thought I owed to the kindness they received

me with, now, however, the duty is discharged, and I am free to

pursue my own course. I feel happy, for some reasons, that the

duty has been paid at such a slight sacrifice. Of course if I

had lost my life in this enterprise, I should have been justly

punished. But apart from my duty to the consideration with

which the Arabs had received me, was the necessity of trying

every method of reaching Livingstone. This road which the war

with Mirambo has closed, is only a month’s march from this place,

and, if the road could be opened with my aid, sooner than without

it, why should I refuse my aid? The attempt has been made for

the second time to Ujiji—both have failed. I am going to try

another route; to attempt to go by the north would be folly.

Mirambo’s mother and people, and the Wasui, are between me and

Ujiji, without including the Watuta, who are his allies, and

robbers. The southern route seems to be the most practicable one.

Very few people know anything of the country south; those whom

I have questioned concerning it speak of “want of water” and

robber Wazavira, as serious obstacles; they also say that the

settlements are few and far between.

 

But before I can venture to try this new route, I have to employ

a new set of men, as those whom I took to Mfuto consider their

engagements at an end, and the fact of five of their number being

killed rather damps their ardor for travelling. It is useless to

hope that Wanyamwezi can be engaged, because it is against their

custom to go with caravans, as carriers, during war time. My

position is most serious. I have a good excuse for returning to

the coast, but my conscience will not permit me to do so, after

so much money has been expended, and so much confidence has been

placed in me. In fact, I feel I must die sooner than return.

 

Saturday, August 12th.—My men, as I supposed they would, have

gone; they said that I engaged them to go, to Ujiji by Mirambo’s

road. I have only thirteen left.

 

With this small body of men, whither can I go? I have over one

hundred loads in the storeroom. Livingstone’s caravan is also

here; his goods consist of seventeen bales of cloth, twelve boxes,

and six bags of beads. His men are luxuriating upon the best the

country affords.

 

If Livingstone is at Ujiji, he is now locked up with small means of

escape. I may consider myself also locked up at Unyamyembe, and

I suppose cannot go to Ujiji until this war with Mirambo is

settled. Livingstone cannot get his goods, for they are here with

mine. He cannot return to Zanzibar, and the road to the Nile is

blocked up. He might, if he has men and stores, possibly reach

Baker by travelling northwards, through Urundi, thence through

Ruanda, Karagwah, Uganda, Unyoro, and Ubari to Gondokoro. Pagazis

he cannot obtain, for the sources whence a supply might be

obtained are closed. It is an erroneous supposition to think that

Livingstone, any more than any other energetic man of his calibre,

can travel through Africa without some sort of an escort,

and a durable supply of marketable cloth and beads.

 

I was told to-day by a man that when Livingstone was coming from

Nyassa Lake towards the Tanganika (the very time that people

thought him murdered) he was met by Sayd bin Omar’s caravan, which

was bound for Ulamba. He was travelling with Mohammed bin Gharib.

This Arab, who was coming from Urunga,