How I Found Livingstone - Henry M. Stanley (best ereader for comics txt) 📗

doti of good cloths at once. We did

not think it the best way of proceeding, knowing as we did the

character of the native African; so we at once proceeded to

diminish this demand; but, after six hours’ hot argument, the

Mutware only reduced it by two. This claim was then settled,

upon the understanding that we should be allowed to travel through

Uhha as far as the Rusugi River without being further mulcted.

 

November 5th.—Leaving Kawanga early in the morning and

continuing our march over the boundless plains, which were bleached

white by the hot equatorial sun, we were marching westward full of

pleasant anticipations that we were nearing the end of our

troubles, joyfully congratulating ourselves that within five days

we should see that which I had come so far from civilisation, and

through so many difficulties, to see, and were about passing a

cluster of villages, with all the confidence which men possess

against whom no one had further claim or a word to say, when I

noticed two men darting from a group of natives who were watching

us, and running towards the head of the Expedition, with the object,

evidently, of preventing further progress.

 

The caravan stopped, and I walked forward to ascertain the cause

from the two natives. I was greeted politely by the two Wahha

with the usual “Yambos,” and was then asked, “Why does the white

man pass by the village of the King of Uhha without salutation

and a gift? Does not the white man know there lives a king in Uhha,

to whom the Wangwana and Arabs pay something for right of passage?”

 

“Why, we paid last night to the chief of Kawanga, who informed us

that he was the man deputed by the King of Uhha to collect the

toll.”

 

“How much did you pay?”

 

“Ten doti of good cloth.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Quite sure. If you ask him, he will tell you so.”

 

“Well,” said one of the Wahha, a fine, handsome, intelligent-looking

youth, “it is our duty to the king to halt you here until we find out

the truth of this. Will you walk to our village, and rest yourselves

under the shade of our trees until we can send messengers to Kawanga?”

 

“No; the sun is but an hour high, and we have far to travel;

but, in order to show you we do not seek to pass through your

country without doing that which is right, we will rest where we

now stand, and we will send with your messengers two of our

soldiers, who will show you the man to whom we paid the cloth.”

 

The messengers departed; but, in the meantime, the handsome youth,

who turned out to be the nephew of the King, whispered some order

to a lad, who immediately hastened away, with the speed of an

antelope, to the cluster of villages which we had just passed. The

result of this errand, as we saw in a short time, was the approach

of a body of warriors, about fifty in number, headed by a tall,

fine-looking man, who was dressed in a crimson robe called Joho,

two ends of which were tied in a knot over the left shoulder; a

new piece of American sheeting was folded like a turban around his

head, and a large curved piece of polished ivory was suspended to

his neck. He and his people were all armed with spears, and bows

and arrows, and their advance was marked with a deliberation that

showed they felt confidence in any issue that might transpire.

 

We were halted on the eastern side of the Pombwe stream, near the

village of Lukomo, in Kimenyi, Uhha. The gorgeously-dressed chief

was a remarkable man in appearance. His face was oval in form,

high cheek-bones, eyes deeply sunk, a prominent and bold forehead,

a fine nose, and a well-cut mouth; he was tall in figure, and

perfectly symmetrical.

 

When near to us, he hailed me with the words,

 

“Yambo, bana?—How do you do, master?” in quite a cordial

tone.

 

I replied cordially also, “Yambo, mutware?—How do you do, chief?”

 

We, myself and men, interchanged “Yambos” with his warriors; and

there was nothing in our first introduction to indicate that the

meeting was of a hostile character.

 

The chief seated himself, his haunches resting on his heels, laying

down his bow and arrows by his side; his men did likewise.

 

I seated myself on a bale, and each of my men sat down on their

loads, forming quite a semicircle. The Wahha slightly outnumbered

my party; but, while they were only armed with bows and arrows,

spears, and knob-sticks, we were armed with rifles, muskets,

revolvers, pistols, and hatchets.

 

All were seated, and deep silence was maintained by the assembly.

The great plains around us were as still in this bright noon as if

they were deserted of all living creatures. Then the chief

spoke:

 

“I am Mionvu, the great Mutware of Kimenyi, and am next to the

King, who lives yonder,” pointing to a large village near some

naked hills about ten miles to the north. “I have come to talk

with the white man. It has always been the custom of the Arabs

and the Wangwana to make a present to the King when they pass

through his country. Does not the white man mean to pay the King’s

dues? Why does the white man halt in the road? Why will he not

enter the village of Lukomo, where there is food and shade—where

we can discuss this thing quietly? Does the white man mean to fight?

I know well he is stronger than we are. His men have guns, and the

Wahha have but bows and arrows, and spears; but Uhha is large, and

our villages are many. Let him look about him everywhere—all is Uhha,

and our country extends much further than he can see or walk in a

day. The King of Uhha is strong; yet he wishes friendship only

with the white man. Will the white man have war or peace?”

 

A deep murmur of assent followed this speech of Mionvu from his

people, and disapprobation, blended with a certain uneasiness;

from my men. When about replying, the words of General Sherman,

which I heard him utter to the chiefs of the Arapahoes and

Cheyennes at North Platte, in 1867, came to my mind; and

something of their spirit I embodied in my reply to Mionvu,

Mutware of Kimenyi.

 

“Mionvu, the great Mutware, asks me if I have come for war.

When did Mionvu ever hear of white men warring against black men?

Mionvu must understand that the white men are different from the

black. White men do not leave their country to fight the black

people, neither do they come here to buy ivory or slaves. They

come to make friends with black people; they come to search for

rivers; and lakes, and mountains; they come to discover what countries,

what peoples, what rivers, what lakes, what forests, what plains,

what mountains and hills are in your country; to know the

different animals that are in the land of the black people, that,

when they go back, they may tell the white kings, and men, and

children, what they have seen and heard in the land so far from

them. The white people are different from the Arabs and Wangwana;

the white people know everything, and are very strong. When they

fight, the Arabs and the Wangwana run away. We have great guns

which thunder,, and when they shoot the earth trembles; we have

guns which carry bullets further than you can see: even with these

little things” (pointing to my revolvers) “I could kill ten men

quicker than you could count. We are stronger than the Wahha.

Mionvu has spoken the truth, yet we do not wish to fight. I could

kill Mionvu now, yet I talk to him as to a friend. I wish to be a

friend to Mionvu, and to all black people. Will Mionvu say what

I can do for him?”

 

As these words were translated to him—imperfectly, I suppose,

but still, intelligibly—the face of the Wahha showed how well

they appreciated them. Once or twice I thought I detected something

like fear, but my assertions that I desired peace and friendship

with them soon obliterated all such feelings.

 

Mionvu replied:

 

“The white man tells me he is friendly. Why does he not come to

our village? Why does he stop on the road? The sun is hot.

Mionvu will not speak here any more. If the white man is a friend

he will come to the village.”

 

“We must stop now. It is noon. You have broken our march. We

will go and camp in your village,” I said, at the same time rising

and pointing to the men to take up their loads.

 

We were compelled to camp; there was no help for it; the messengers

had not returned from Kawanga. Having arrived in his village,

Mionvu had cast himself at full length under the scanty shade

afforded by a few trees within the boma. About 2 P.M. the

messengers returned, saying it was true the chief of Kawanga had

taken ten cloths; not, however for the King of Uhha, but for

himself!

 

Mionvu, who evidently was keen-witted, and knew perfectly what he

was about, now roused himself, and began to make miniature faggots

of thin canes, ten in each faggot, and shortly he presented ten

of these small bundles, which together contained one hundred, to me,

saying each stick represented a cloth, and the amount of the “honga”

required by the King of Uhha was ONE HUNDRED CLOTHS!—nearly two bales!

 

Recovering from our astonishment, which was almost indescribable,

we offered TEN.

 

“Ten! to the King of Uhha! Impossible. You do not stir from

Lukomo until you pay us one hundred!” exclaimed Mionvu, in a

significant manner.

 

I returned no answer, but went to my hut, which Mionvu had cleared

for my use, and Bombay, Asmani, Mabruki, and Chowpereh were invited—

to come to me for consultation. Upon my asking them if we could not

fight our way through Uhha, they became terror-stricken, and Bombay,

in imploring accents, asked me to think well what I was about to do,

because it was useless to enter on a war with the Wahha. “Uhha is

all a plain country; we cannot hide anywhere. Every village will

rise all about us, and how can forty-five men fight thousands of

people? They would kill us all in a few minutes, and how would you

ever reach Ujiji if you died? Think of it, my dear master, and do

not throw your life away for a few rags of cloth.”

 

“Well, but, Bombay, this is robbery. Shall we submit to be robbed?

Shall we give this fellow everything he asks? He might as well ask

me for all the cloth, and all my guns, without letting him see that

we can fight. I can kill Mionvu and his principal men myself, and

you can slay all those howlers out there without much trouble.

If Mionvu and his principal were dead we should not be troubled much,

and we could strike south to the Malagarazi, and go west to Ujiji.”

 

“No, no, dear master, don’t think of it for a moment. If we went

neat the Malagarazi we should come across Lokanda-Mira.”

 

“Well, then, we will go north.”

 

“Up that way Uhha extends far; and beyond Uhha are the Watuta.”

 

“Well, then, say what we shall do. We must do something; but we

must not be robbed.”

 

“Pay Mionvu what he asks, and let us go away from here. This is

the last place we shall