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

before a crowd it was this gratuitous interference with

what I considered my own especial business; but I restrained

myself, though I told them, in a loud voice, that I did not choose

to be interfered with, unless they wished to quarrel with me.

 

“No, no, bana,” they all exclaimed; “we do not wish to quarrel

with you. In the name of God! go on your way in peace.”

 

“Fare you well, then,” said I, shaking hands with them.

 

“Farewell, master, farewell. We wish you, we are sure, all

success, and God be with you, and guide you!”

 

“March!”

 

A parting salute was fired; the flags were raised up by the

guides, each pagazi rushed for his load, and in a short time,

with songs and shouts, the head of the Expedition had filed

round the western end of my tembe along the road to Ugunda.

 

“Now, Mr. Shaw, I am waiting, sir. Mount your donkey, if you

cannot walk.”

 

“Please, Mr. Stanley, I am afraid I cannot go.”

 

Why?”

 

“I don’t know, I am sure. I feel very weak.”

 

“So am I weak. It was but late last night, as you know, that the

fever left me. Don’t back out before these Arabs; remember you

are a white man. Here, Selim, Mabruki, Bombay, help Mr. Shaw on

his donkey, and walk by him.”

 

“Oh, bana, bans,” said the Arabs, “don’t take him. Do you not see

he is sick? “

 

” You keep away; nothing will prevent me from taking him. He

shall go.”

 

“Go on, Bombay.”

 

The last of my party had gone. The tembe, so lately a busy

scene, had already assumed a naked, desolate appearance.

I turned towards the Arabs, lifted my hat, and said again,

“Farewell,” then faced about for the south, followed by my

four young gunbearers, Selim, Kalulu, Majwara, and Belali.

 

After half an hour’s march the scenery became more animated.

Shaw began to be amused. Bombay had forgotten our quarrel,

and assured me, if I could pass Mirambo’s country, I should

“catch the Tanganika;” Mabruki Burton also believed we should.

Selim was glad to leave Unyanyembe, where he had suffered so much

from fever; and there was a something in the bold aspect of the

hills which cropped upward—above fair valleys, that enlivened

and encouraged me to proceed.

 

In an hour and a half, we arrived at our camp in the Kinyamwezi

village of Mkwenkwe, the birthplace—of our famous chanter Maganga.

 

My tent was pitched, the goods were stored in one of the tembes;

but one-half the men had returned to Kwihara, to take one more

embrace of their wives and concubines.

 

Towards night I was attacked once again with the intermittent

fever. Before morning it had departed, leaving me terribly

prostrated with weakness. I had heard the men conversing with each

other over their camp-fires upon the probable prospects of the next

day. It was a question with them whether I should continue the

march. Mostly all were of opinion that, since the master was

sick, there would be no march. A superlative obstinacy, however,

impelled me on, merely to spite their supine souls; but when I

sallied out of my tent to call them to get ready, I found that

at least twenty were missing; and Livingstone’s letter-carrier,

“Kaif-Halek”—or, How-do-ye-do?—had not arrived with Dr.

Livingstone’s letter-bag.

 

Selecting twenty of the strongest and faithfulest men I despatched

them back to Unyanyembe in search of the missing men; and Selim

was sent to Sheikh bin Nasib to borrow, or buy, a long slave-chain.

 

Towards night my twenty detectives returned with nine of the

missing men. The Wajiji had deserted in a body, and they could

not be found. Selim also returned with a strong chain, capable of

imprisoning within the collars attached to it at least ten men.

Kaif-Halek also appeared with the letter-bag which he was to convey

to Livingstone under my escort. The men were then addressed, and

the slave-chain exhibited to them. I told them that I was the

first white man who had taken a slave-chain with him on his travels;

but, as they were all so frightened of accompanying me, I was obliged

to make use of it, as it was the only means of keeping them together.

The good need never fear being chained by me—only the deserters,

the thieves, who received their hire and presents, guns and

ammunition, and then ran away.

 

I would not put any one this time in chains; but whoever

deserted after this day, I should halt, and not continue the march

till I found him, after which he should march to Ujiji with the

slave-chain round his neck. “Do you hear?”—“Yes,” was the

answer. “Do you understand?”—” Yes.”

 

We broke up camp at 6 P.M., and took the road for Inesuka, at which

place we arrived at 8 P.M.

 

When we were about commencing the march the next morning, it was

discovered that two more had deserted. Baraka and Bombay were at

once despatched to Unyanyembe to bring back the two missing

men—Asmani and Kingaru—with orders not to return without them.

This was the third time that the latter had deserted, as the reader

may remember. While the pursuit was being effected we halted at

the village of Inesuka, more for the sake of Shaw than any one

else.

 

In the evening the incorrigible deserters were brought back, and,

as I had threatened, were well flogged and chained, to secure them

against further temptation. Bombay and Baraka had a picturesque

story to relate of the capture; and, as I was in an exceedingly

good humour, their services were rewarded with a fine cloth each.

 

On the following morning another carrier had absconded, taking with

him his hire of fifteen new cloths and a gun but to halt anywhere

near Unyanyembe any longer was a danger that could be avoided only

by travelling without stoppages towards the southern jungle-lands.

It will be remembered I had in my train the redoubtable Abdul

Kader, the tailor, he who had started from Bagamoyo with such

bright anticipations of the wealth of ivory to be obtained in the

great interior of Africa. On this morning, daunted by the reports

of the dangers ahead, Abdul Kader craved to be discharged. He

vowed he was sick, and unable to proceed any further. As I was

pretty well tired of him, I paid him off in cloth, and permitted

him to go.

 

About half way to Kasegera Mabruk Saleem was suddenly taken sick.

I treated him with a grain of calomel, and a couple of ounces of

brandy. As he was unable to walk, I furnished him with a donkey.

Another man named Zaidi was ill with a rheumatic fever; and Shaw

tumbled twice off the animal he was riding, and required an

infinite amount of coaxing to mount again. Verily, my expedition

was pursued by adverse fortunes, and it seemed as if the Fates had

determined upon our return. It really appeared as if everything

was going to wreck and ruin. If I were only fifteen days from

Unyanyembe, thought I, I should be saved!

 

Kasegera was a scene of rejoicing the afternoon and evening of our

arrival. Absentees had just returned from the coast, and the

youths were brave in their gaudy bedizenment, their new barsatis,

their soharis, and long cloths of bright new kaniki, with which

they had adorned themselves behind some bush before they had

suddenly appeared dressed in all this finery. The women “Hi-hi’ed”

like maenads, and the “Lu-lu-lu’ing” was loud, frequent, and

fervent the whole of that afternoon. Sylphlike damsels looked up

to the youthful heroes with intensest admiration on their

features; old women coddled and fondled them; staff-using,

stooping-backed patriarchs blessed them. This is fame in Unyamwezi!

All the fortunate youths had to use their tongues until the wee

hours of next morning had arrived, relating all the wonders they

had seen near the Great Sea, and in the “Unguja,” the island of

Zanzibar; of how they saw great white men’s ships, and numbers of

white men, of their perils and trials during their journey through

the land of the fierce Wagogo, and divers other facts, with which

the reader and I are by this time well acquainted.

 

On the 24th we struck camp, and marched through a forest of imbiti

wood in a S.S.W. direction, and in about three hours came to Kigandu.

 

On arriving before this village, which is governed by a daughter

of Mkasiwa, we were informed we could not enter unless we paid

toll. As we would not pay toll, we were compelled to camp in a

ruined, rat-infested boma, situated a mile to the left of Kigandu,

being well scolded by the cowardly natives for deserting Mkasiwa

in his hour of extremity. We were accused of running away from

the war.

 

Almost on the threshold of our camp Shaw, in endeavouring to

dismount, lost his stirrups, and fell prone on his face. The

foolish fellow actually, laid on the ground in the hot sun a

full hour; and when I coldly asked him if he did not feel

rather uncomfortable, he sat up, and wept like a child.

 

“Do you wish to go back, Mr. Shaw?”

 

“If you please. I do not believe I can go any farther; and

if you would only be kind enough, I should like to return very

much.”

 

“Well, Mr. Shaw, I have come to the conclusion that it is best,

you should return. My patience is worn out. I have endeavoured

faithfully to lift you above these petty miseries which you

nourish so devotedly. You are simply suffering from hypochondria.

You imagine yourself sick, and nothing, evidently, will persuade

you that you are not. Mark my words—to return to Unyanyembe,

is to DIE! Should you happen to fall sick in Kwihara who knows

how to administer medicine to you? Supposing you are delirious,

how can any of the soldiers know what you want, or what is

beneficial and necessary for you? Once again, I repeat, if you

return, you DIE!”

 

“Ah, dear me; I wish I had never ventured to come! I thought

life in Africa was so different from this. I would rather go

back if you will permit me.”

 

The next day was a halt, and arrangements were made for the

transportation of Shaw back to Kwihara. A strong litter was made,

and four stout pagazis were hired at Kigandu to carry him. Bread

was baked, a canteen was filled with cold tea, and a leg of a kid

was roasted for his sustenance while on the road.

 

The night before we parted we spent together. Shaw played some

tunes on an accordion which I had purchased for him at Zanzibar;

but, though it was only a miserable ten-dollar affair, I thought

the homely tunes evoked from the instrument that night were divine

melodies. The last tune played before retiring was “Home, sweet

Home.”

 

The morning of the 27th we were all up early: There was considerable

vis in our movements. A long, long march lay before us that day;

but then I was to leave behind all the sick and ailing. Only

those who were healthy, and could march fast and long, were to

accompany me. Mabruk Saleem I left in charge of a native doctor,

who was to medicate him for a gift of cloth which I gave him in

advance.

 

The horn sounded to get ready. Shaw was lifted in his litter on

the shoulders of his carriers. My men formed two ranks; the

flags were lifted; and between these two living rows, and under

those bright streamers, which were to float over the waters of

the Tanganika before he should see them again, Shaw was borne