How I Found Livingstone - Henry M. Stanley (best ereader for comics txt) 📗
- Author: Henry M. Stanley
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himself at the head of the caravan, and the pagazis, animals,
soldiers, and idlers were lined for the march, we bade a long
farewell to the dolce far niente of civilised life, to the blue
ocean, and to its open road to home, to the hundreds of dusky
spectators who were there to celebrate our departure with
repeated salvoes of musketry.
Our caravan is composed of twenty-eight pagazis, including the
kirangozi, or guide; twelve soldiers under Capt. Mbarak Bombay,
in charge of seventeen donkeys and their loads; Selim, my
interpreter, in charge of the donkey and cart and its load; one
cook and sub, who is also to be tailor and ready hand for all, and
leads the grey horse; Shaw, once mate of a ship, now transformed
into rearguard and overseer for the caravan, who is mounted on a
good riding-donkey, and wearing a canoe-like tepee and sea-boots;
and lastly, on, the splendid bay horse presented to me by Mr.
Goodhue, myself, called Bana Mkuba, “the “big master,” by my
people—the vanguard, the reporter, the thinker, and leader of
the Expedition.
Altogether the Expedition numbers on the day of departure three
white men, twenty-three soldiers, four supernumeraries, four
chiefs, and one hundred and fifty-three pagazis, twenty-seven
donkeys, and one cart, conveying cloth, beads, and wire,
boat-fixings, tents, cooking utensils and dishes, medicine, powder,
small shot, musket-balls, and metallic cartridges; instruments and
small necessaries, such as soap, sugar, tea, coffee, Liebig’s
extract of meat, pemmican, candles, &c., which make a total of 153
loads. The weapons of defence which the Expedition possesses
consist of one double-barrel breechloading gun, smooth bore; one
American Winchester rifle, or “sixteen-shooter;” one Henry rifle,
or “sixteen-shooter;” two Starr’s breech-loaders, one Jocelyn
breechloader, one elephant rifle, carrying balls eight to the
pound; two breechloading revolvers, twenty-four muskets (flint
locks), six single-barrelled pistols, one battle-axe, two swords,
two daggers (Persian kummers, purchased at Shiraz by myself),
one boar-spear, two American axes 4 lbs. each, twenty-four hatchets,
and twenty-four butcher-knives.
The Expedition has been fitted with care; whatever it needed was not
stinted; everything was provided. Nothing was done too hurriedly,
yet everything was purchased, manufactured, collected, and compounded
with the utmost despatch consistent with efficiency and means.
Should it fail of success in its errand of rapid transit to Ujiji
and back, it must simply happen from an accident which could not
be controlled. So much for the personnel of the Expedition and
its purpose, until its point de mire be reached.
We left Bagamoyo the attraction of all the curious, with much eclat,
and defiled up a narrow lane shaded almost to twilight by the dense
umbrage of two parallel hedges of mimosas. We were all in the
highest spirits. The soldiers sang, the kirangozi lifted his voice
into a loud bellowing note, and fluttered the American flag, which
told all on-lookers, “Lo, a Musungu’s caravan!” and my heart, I
thought, palpitated much too quickly for the sober face of a leader.
But I could not check it; the enthusiasm of youth still clung to
me—despite my travels; my pulses bounded with the full glow of
staple health; behind me were the troubles which had harassed me
for over two months. With that dishonest son of a Hindi, Soor
Hadji Palloo, I had said my last word; of the blatant rabble,
of Arabs, Banyans, and Baluches I had taken my last look; with
the Jesuits of the French Mission I had exchanged farewells,
and before me beamed the sun of promise as he sped towards the
Occident. Loveliness glowed around me. I saw fertile fields,
riant vegetation, strange trees—I heard the cry of cricket
and pee-wit, and sibilant sound of many insects, all of which
seemed to tell me, “At last you are started.” What could I
do but lift my face toward the pure-glowing sky, and cry,
“God be thanked!”
The first camp, Shamba Gonera, we arrived at in 1 hour 30 minutes,
equal to 3 1/4 miles. This first, or “little journey,” was
performed very well, “considering,” as the Irishman says.
The boy Selim upset the cart not more than three times. Zaidi,
the soldier, only once let his donkey, which carried one bag
of my clothes and a box of ammunition, lie in a puddle of
black water. The clothes have to be re-washed; the
ammunition-box, thanks to my provision, was waterproof.
Kamna perhaps knew the art of donkey-driving, but, overjoyful
at the departure, had sung himself into oblivion of the
difficulties with which an animal of the pure asinine breed has
naturally to contend against, such as not knowing the right road,
and inability to resist the temptation of straying into the depths
of a manioc field; and the donkey, ignorant of the custom in vogue
amongst ass-drivers of flourishing sticks before an animal’s nose,
and misunderstanding the direction in which he was required to go,
ran off at full speed along an opposite road, until his pack got
unbalanced, and he was fain to come to the earth. But these
incidents were trivial, of no importance, and natural to the first
“little journey” in East Africa.
The soldiers’ point of character leaked out just a little. Bombay
turned out to be honest and trusty, but slightly disposed to be
dilatory. Uledi did more talking than work; while the runaway
Ferajji and the useless-handed Mabruki Burton turned out to be true
men and staunch, carrying loads the sight of which would have caused
the strong-limbed hamals of Stamboul to sigh.
The saddles were excellent, surpassing expectation. The strong
hemp canvas bore its one hundred and fifty-pounds’ burden with the
strength of bull hide, and the loading and unloading of
miscellaneous baggage was performed with systematic despatch. In
brief, there was nothing to regret—the success of the journey
proved our departure to be anything but premature.
The next three days were employed in putting the finishing touches
to our preparations for the long land journey and our precautions
against the Masika, which was now ominously near, and in settling
accounts.
Shamba Gonera means Gonera’s Field. Gonera is a wealthy Indian
widow, well disposed towards the Wasungu (whites). She exports
much cloth, beads, and wire into the far interior, and imports
in return much ivory. Her house is after the model of the town
houses, with long sloping roof and projecting eaves, affording a
cool shade, under which the pagazis love to loiter. On its
southern and eastern side stretch the cultivated fields which
supply Bagamoyo with the staple grain, matama, of East Africa;
on the left grow Indian corn, and muhogo, a yam-like root of
whitish colour, called by some manioc; when dry, it is ground
and compounded into cakes similar to army slapjacks. On the
north, just behind the house, winds a black quagmire, a
sinuous hollow, which in its deepest parts always contains
water—the muddy home of the brake-and-rush-loving “kiboko”
or hippopotamus. Its banks, crowded with dwarf fan-palm,
tall water-reeds, acacias, and tiger-grass, afford shelter to
numerous aquatic birds, pelicans, &c. After following a
course northeasterly, it conflows with the Kingani, which,
at distance of four miles from Gonera’s country-house; bends
eastward into the sea. To the west, after a mile of cultivation,
fall and recede in succession the sea-beach of old in lengthy
parallel waves, overgrown densely with forest grass and marsh
reeds. On the spines of these land-swells flourish ebony,
calabash, and mango.
“Sofari—sofari leo! Pakia, pakia!”—” A journey—a journey to
day! Set out!—set out!” rang the cheery voice of the kirangozi,
echoed by that of my servant Selim, on the morning of the fourth
day, which was fixed for our departure in earnest. As I hurried
my men to their work, and lent a hand with energy to drop the tents,
I mentally resolved that, if my caravans a should give me clear
space, Unyanyembe should be our resting-place before three months
expired. By 6 A.M. our early breakfast was despatched, and the
donkeys and pagazis were defiling from Camp Gonera. Even at this
early hour, and in this country place, there was quite a collection
of curious natives, to whom we gave the parting “Kwaheri ” with
sincerity. My bay horse was found to be invaluable for the
service of a quarter-master of a transport-train; for to such was
I compelled to compare myself. I could stay behind until the last
donkey had quitted the camp, and, by a few minutes’ gallop, I could
put myself at the head, leaving Shaw to bring up the rear.
The road was a mere footpath, and led over a soil which, though
sandy, was of surprising fertility, producing grain and vegetables
a hundredfold, the sowing and planting of which was done in the
most unskilful manner. In their fields, at heedless labor, were
men and women in the scantiest costumes, compared to which Adam
and Eve, in their fig-tree apparel, must have been _en grande
tenue_. We passed them with serious faces, while they laughed and
giggled, and pointed their index fingers at this and that, which to
them seemed so strange and bizarre.
In about half an hour we had left the tall matama and fields of
water-melons, cucumbers, and manioc; and, crossing a reedy
slough, were in an open forest of ebony and calabash. In its
depths are deer in plentiful numbers, and at night it is visited by
the hippopotami of the Kingani for the sake of its grass. In
another hour we had emerged from the woods, and were looking down
upon the broad valley of the Kingani, and a scene presented itself
so utterly different from what my foolish imagination had drawn,
that I felt quite relieved by the pleasing disappointment. Here
was a valley stretching four miles east and west, and about
eight miles north and south, left with the richest soil to its own
wild growth of grass—which in civilization would have been a most
valuable meadow for the rearing of cattle—invested as it was by
dense forests, darkening the horizon at all points of the compass,
and folded in by tree-clad ridges.
At the sound of our caravan the red antelope bounded away to our
right and the left, and frogs hushed their croak. The sun shone
hot, and while traversing the valley we experienced a little of
its real African fervour. About half way across we came to a
sluice of stagnant water which, directly in the road of the
caravan, had settled down into an oozy pond. The pagazis crossed
a hastily-constructed bridge, thrown up a long time ago by some
Washensi Samaritans. It was an extraordinary affair; rugged tree
limbs resting on very unsteady forked piles, and it had evidently
tested the patience of many a loaded Mnyamwezi, as it did those
porters of our caravan. Our weaker animals were unloaded, the
puddle between Bagamoyo and Genera having taught us prudence.
But this did not occasion much delay; the men worked smartly
under Shaw’s supervision.
The turbid Kingani, famous for its hippopotami, was reached in a
short time, and we began to thread the jungle along its right bank
until we were halted point-blank by a narrow sluice having an
immeasurable depth of black mud. The difficulty presented by
this was very grave, though its breadth was barely eight feet;
the donkeys, and least of all the horses, could not be made to
traverse two poles like our biped carriers, neither could they be
driven into the sluice, where they would quickly founder. The
only available way of crossing it in safety was by means of a
bridge, to endure in this conservative land for generations as the
handiwork of the Wasungu. So we set to work, there being no help
for it, with American axes—the first of their kind the strokes of
which ever rang in this part of the
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