How I Found Livingstone - Henry M. Stanley (best ereader for comics txt) 📗
- Author: Henry M. Stanley
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shown himself well disposed towards me.
The palace is a large, roomy, lofty, square house close to the
fort, built of coral, and plastered thickly with lime mortar.
In appearance it is half Arabic and half Italian. The shutters
are Venetian blinds painted a vivid green, and presenting a
striking contrast to the whitewashed walls. Before the great,
lofty, wide door were ranged in two crescents several Baluch and
Persian mercenaries, armed with curved swords and targes of
rhinoceros hide. Their dress consisted of a muddy-white cotton
shirt, reaching to the ancles, girdled with a leather belt thickly
studded with silver bosses.
As we came in sight a signal was passed to some person inside the
entrance. When within twenty yards of the door, the Sultan, who
was standing waiting, came down the steps, and, passing through the
ranks, advanced toward us, with his right hand stretched out, and a
genial smile of welcome on his face. On our side we raised our
hats, and shook hands with him, after which, doing according as he
bade us, we passed forward, and arrived on the highest step near
the entrance door. He pointed forward; we bowed and arrived at
the foot of an unpainted and narrow staircase to turn once more to
the Sultan. The Consul, I perceived, was ascending sideways, a
mode of progression which I saw was intended for a compromise with
decency and dignity. At the top of the stairs we waited, with
our faces towards the up-coming Prince. Again we were waved
magnanimously forward, for before us was the reception-hall and
throne-room. I noticed, as I marched forward to the furthest end,
that the room was high, and painted in the Arabic style, that the
carpet was thick and of Persian fabric, that the furniture consisted
of a dozen gilt chairs and a chandelier,
We were seated; Ludha Damji, the Banyan collector of customs, a
venerable-looking old man, with a shrewd intelligent face, sat on
the right of the Sultan; next to him was the great Mohammedan
merchant Tarya Topan who had come to be present at the interview,
not only because he was one of the councillors of His Highness,
but because he also took a lively interest in this American
Expedition. Opposite to Ludha sat Capt. Webb, and next to him
I was seated, opposite Tarya Topan. The Sultan sat in a gilt chair
between the Americans and the councillors. Johari the dragoman
stood humbly before the Sultan, expectant and ready to interpret
what we had to communicate to the Prince.
The Sultan, so far as dress goes, might be taken for a Mingrelian
gentleman, excepting, indeed, for the turban, whose ample folds in
alternate colours of red, yellow, brown, and white, encircled his
head. His long robe was of dark cloth, cinctured round the waist
with his rich sword-belt, from which was suspended a gold-hilted
scimitar, encased in a scabbard also enriched with gold: His legs
and feet were bare, and had a ponderous look about them, since he
suffered from that strange curse of Zanzibar—elephantiasis. His
feet were slipped into a pair of watta (Arabic for slippers), with
thick soles and a strong leathern band over the instep. His light
complexion and his correct features, which are intelligent and
regular, bespeak the Arab patrician. They indicate, however,
nothing except his high descent and blood; no traits of character
are visible unless there is just a trace of amiability, and perfect
contentment with himself and all around.
Such is Prince, or Seyd Burghash, Sultan of Zanzibar and Pemba, and
the East coast of Africa, from Somali Land to the Mozambique, as he
appeared to me.
Coffee was served in cups supported by golden finjans, also some
cocoa-nut milk, and rich sweet sherbet.
The conversation began with the question addressed to the Consul.
“Are you well?”
Consul.—” Yes, thank you. How is His Highness?”
Highness.—“Quite well!”
Highness to me.—“Are you well?”
Answer.—“Quite well, thanks!”
The Consul now introduces business; and questions about my travels
follow from His Highness—
“How do you like Persia?”
“Have you seen Kerbela, Bagdad, Masr, Stamboul?”
“Have the Turks many soldiers?”
“How many has Persia?”
“Is Persia fertile?”
“How do you like Zanzibar?”
Having answered each question to his Highness’ satisfaction, he
handed me letters of introduction to his officers at Bagamoyo and
Kaole, and a general introductory letter to all Arab merchants
whom I might meet on the road, and concluded his remarks to me,
with the expressed hope, that on whatever mission I was bound,
I should be perfectly successful.
We bowed ourselves out of his presence in much the same manner that
we had bowed ourselves in, he accompanying us to the great entrance
door.
Mr. Goodhue of Salem, an American merchant long resident in
Zanzibar, presented me, as I gave him my adieu, with a blooded bay
horse, imported from the Cape of Good Hope, and worth, at least at
Zanzibar, $500.
Feb. 4.—By the 4th of February, twenty-eight days from the date
of my arrival at Zanzibar, the organization and equipment of the
“`New York Herald’ Expedition” was complete; tents and saddles had
been manufactured, boats and sails were ready. The donkeys brayed,
and the horses neighed impatiently for the road.
Etiquette demanded that I should once more present my card to the
European and American Consuls at Zanzibar, and the word “farewell”
was said to everybody.
On the fifth day, four dhows were anchored before the American
Consulate. Into one were lifted the two horses, into two others
the donkeys, into the fourth, the largest, the black escort, and
bulky moneys of the Expedition.
A little before noon we set sail. The American flag, a present to
the Expedition by that kind-hearted lady, Mrs. Webb, was raised
to the mast-head; the Consul, his lady, and exuberant little
children, Mary and Charley, were on the housetop waving the starry
banner, hats, and handkerchiefs, a token of farewell to me and
mine. Happy people, and good! may their course and ours be
prosperous, and may God’s blessing rest on us all!
CHAPTER IV. LIFE AT BAGAMOYO.
The isle of Zanzibar with its groves of cocoa-nut, mango, clove,
and cinnamon, and its sentinel islets of Chumbi and French, with
its whitewashed city and jack-fruit odor, with its harbor and ships
that tread the deep, faded slowly from view, and looking westward,
the African continent rose, a similar bank of green verdure to
that which had just receded till it was a mere sinuous line above
the horizon, looming in a northerly direction to the sublimity of
a mountain chain. The distance across from Zanzibar to Bagamoyo
may be about twenty-five miles, yet it took the dull and lazy
dhows ten hours before they dropped anchor on the top of the
coral reef plainly visible a few feet below the surface of the
water, within a hundred yards of the beach.
The newly-enlisted soldiers, fond of noise and excitement,
discharged repeated salvos by way of a salute to the mixed
crowd of Arabs, Banyans, and Wasawahili, who stood on the beach
to receive the Musungu (white man), which they did with a general
stare and a chorus of “Yambo, bana?” (how are you, master?)
In our own land the meeting with a large crowd is rather a tedious
operation, as our independent citizens insist on an interlacing of
fingers, and a vigorous shaking thereof before their pride is
satisfied, and the peaceful manifestation endorsed; but on this
beach, well lined with spectators, a response of “Yambo, bana!”
sufficed, except with one who of all there was acknowledged the
greatest, and who, claiming, like all great men, individual
attention, came forward to exchange another “Yambo!” on his own
behalf, and to shake hands. This personage with a long trailing
turban, was Jemadar Esau, commander of the Zanzibar force of
soldiers, police, or Baluch gendarmes stationed at Bagamoyo.
He had accompanied Speke and Grant a good distance into the
interior, and they had rewarded him liberally. He took upon
himself the responsibility of assisting in the debarkation of
the Expedition, and unworthy as was his appearance, disgraceful
as he was in his filth, I here commend him for his influence
over the rabble to all future East African travellers.
Foremost among those who welcomed us was a Father of the Society
of St.-Esprit, who with other Jesuits, under Father Superior
Horner, have established a missionary post of considerable
influence and merit at Bagamoyo. We were invited to partake of
the hospitality of the Mission, to take our meals there, and,
should we desire it, to pitch our camp on their grounds. But
however strong the geniality of the welcome and sincere the
heartiness of the invitation, I am one of those who prefer
independence to dependence if it is possible. Besides, my
sense of the obligation between host and guest had just had
a fine edge put upon it by the delicate forbearance of my kind
host at Zanzibar, who had betrayed no sign of impatience at the
trouble I was only too conscious of having caused him. I
therefore informed the hospitable Padre, that only for one night
could I suffer myself to be enticed from my camp.
I selected a house near the western outskirts of the town, where
there is a large open square through which the road from Unyanyembe
enters. Had I been at Bagamoyo a month, I could not have bettered
my location. My tents were pitched fronting the tembe (house) I
had chosen, enclosing a small square, where business could be
transacted, bales looked over, examined, and marked, free from the
intrusion of curious sightseers. After driving the twenty-seven
animals of the Expedition into the enclosure in the rear of the
house, storing the bales of goods, and placing a cordon of soldiers
round, I proceeded to the Jesuit Mission, to a late dinner, being
tired and ravenous, leaving the newly-formed camp in charge of the
white men and Capt. Bombay.
The Mission is distant from the town a good half mile, to the
north of it; it is quite a village of itself, numbering some
fifteen or sixteen houses. There are more than ten padres engaged
in the establishment, and as many sisters, and all find plenty of
occupation in educing from native crania the fire of intelligence.
Truth compels me to state that they are very successful, having
over two hundred pupils, boys and girls, in the Mission, and,
from the oldest to the youngest, they show the impress of the
useful education they have received.
The dinner furnished to the padres and their guest consisted of as
many plats as a first-class hotel in Paris usually supplies, and
cooked with nearly as much skill, though the surroundings were by
no means equal. I feel assured also that the padres, besides being
tasteful in their potages and entrees, do not stultify their ideas
for lack of that element which Horace, Hafiz, and Byron have
praised so much. The champagne—think of champagne Cliquot in East
Africa!—Lafitte, La Rose, Burgundy, and Bordeaux were of
first-rate quality, and the meek and lowly eyes of the fathers
were not a little brightened under the vinous influence. Ah! those
fathers understand life, and appreciate its duration. Their
festive board drives the African jungle fever from their doors,
while it soothes the gloom and isolation which strike one with awe,
as one emerges from the lighted room and plunges into the depths
of the darkness of an African night, enlivened only by the wearying
monotone of the frogs and crickets, and the distant ululation of
the hyena. It requires somewhat above human effort, unaided by the
ruby liquid that cheers, to be always suave and polite amid the
dismalities
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