How I Found Livingstone - Henry M. Stanley (best ereader for comics txt) 📗
- Author: Henry M. Stanley
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After the evening meal, which replenished my failing strength, and
for which I felt the intensest gratitude, the most advanced of the
pupils came forward, to the number of twenty, with brass instruments,
thus forming a full band of music. It rather astonished me to hear
instrumental sounds issue forth in harmony from such woolly-headed
youngsters; to hear well-known French music at this isolated port,
to hear negro boys, that a few months ago knew nothing beyond the
traditions of their ignorant mothers, stand forth and chant
Parisian songs about French valor and glory, with all the
sangfroid of gamins from the purlieus of Saint-Antoine.
I had a most refreshing night’s rest, and at dawn I sought out
my camp, with a will to enjoy the new life now commencing. On
counting the animals, two donkeys were missing; and on taking
notes of my African moneys, one coil of No. 6 wire was not to be
found. Everybody had evidently fallen on the ground to sleep,
oblivious of the fact that on the coast there are many dishonest
prowlers at night. Soldiers were despatched to search through
the town and neighbourhood, and Jemadar Esau was apprised of
our loss, and stimulated to discover the animals by the promise
of a reward. Before night one of the missing donkeys was found
outside the town nibbling at manioc-leaves, but the other animal
and the coil of wire were never found.
Among my visitors this first day at Bagamoyo was Ali bin Salim,
a brother of the famous Sayd bin Salim, formerly Ras Kafilah to
Burton and Speke, and subsequently to Speke and Grant. His
salaams were very profuse, and moreover, his brother was to be my
agent in Unyamwezi, so that I did not hesitate to accept his offer
of assistance. But, alas, for my white face and too trustful
nature! this Ali bin Salim turned out to be a snake in the grass,
a very sore thorn in my side. I was invited to his comfortable
house to partake of coffee. I went there: the coffee was good
though sugarless, his promises were many, but they proved valueless.
Said he to me, “I am your friend; I wish to serve you., what can
I do for you?” Replied I, “I am obliged to you, I need a good
friend who, knowing the language and Customs of the Wanyamwezi,
can procure me the pagazis I need and send me off quickly. Your
brother is acquainted with the Wasungu (white men), and knows
that what they promise they make good. Get me a hundred and
forty pagazis and I will pay you your price.” With unctuous
courtesy, the reptile I was now warmly nourishing; said,
“I do not want anything from you, my friend, for such a slight
service, rest content and quiet; you shall not stop here fifteen
days. Tomorrow morning I will come and overhaul your bales to
see what is needed.” I bade him good morning, elated with the
happy thought that I was soon to tread the Unyanyembe road.
The reader must be made acquainted with two good and sufficient
reasons why I was to devote all my energy to lead the Expedition
as quickly as possible from Bagamoyo.
First, I wished to reach Ujiji before the news reached Livingstone
that I was in search of him, for my impression of him was that he
was a man who would try to put as much distance as possible
between us, rather than make an effort to shorten it, and I should
have my long journey for nothing.
Second, the Masika, or rainy season, would soon be on me, which, if
it caught me at Bagamoyo, would prevent my departure until it was
over, which meant a delay of forty days, and exaggerated as the
rains were by all men with whom I came in contact, it rained every
day for forty days without intermission. This I knew was a thing
to dread; for I had my memory stored with all kinds of rainy
unpleasantnesses. For instance, there was the rain of Virginia and
its concomitant horrors—wetness, mildew, agues, rheumatics,
and such like; then there were the English rains, a miserable drizzle
causing the blue devils; then the rainy season of Abyssinia with the
flood-gates of the firmament opened, and an universal down-pour of
rain, enough to submerge half a continent in a few hours; lastly,
there was the pelting monsoon of India, a steady shut-in-house
kind of rain. To which of these rains should I compare this
dreadful Masika of East Africa? Did not Burton write much about
black mud in Uzaramo? Well, a country whose surface soil is
called black mud in fine weather, what can it be called when forty
days’ rain beat on it, and feet of pagazis and donkeys make paste
of it? These were natural reflections, induced by the circumstances
of the hour, and I found myself much exercised in mind in consequence.
Ali bin Salim, true to his promise, visited my camp on the morrow,
with a very important air, and after looking at the pile of cloth
bales, informed me that I must have them covered with mat-bags. He
said he would send a man to have them measured, but he enjoined me
not to make any bargain for the bags, as he would make it all
right.
While awaiting with commendable patience the 140 pagazis
promised by Ali bin Salim we were all employed upon everything
that thought could suggest needful for crossing the sickly
maritime region, so that we might make the transit before the
terrible fever could unnerve us, and make us joyless. A short
experience at Bagamoya showed us what we lacked, what was
superfluous, and what was necessary. We were visited one night
by a squall, accompanied by furious rain. I had $1,500 worth
of pagazi cloth in my tent. In the morning I looked and lo!
the drilling had let in rain like a sieve, and every yard of cloth
was wet. It occupied two days afterwards to dry the cloths, and
fold them again. The drill-tent was condemned, and a No. 5
hemp-canvas tent at onto prepared. After which I felt convinced
that my cloth bales, and one year’s ammunition, were safe, and
that I could defy the Masika.
In the hurry of departure from Zanzibar, and in my ignorance of
how bales should be made, I had submitted to the better judgment
and ripe experience of one Jetta, a commission merchant, to prepare
my bales for carriage. Jetta did not weigh the bales as he made
them up, but piled the Merikani, Kaniki, Barsati, Jamdani, Joho,
Ismahili, in alternate layers, and roped the same into bales.
One or two pagazis came to my camp and began to chaffer; they
wished to see the bales first, before they would make a final
bargain. They tried to raise them up—ugh! ugh! it was of no use,
and withdrew. A fine Salter’s spring balance was hung up, and a
bale suspended to the hook; the finger indicated 105 lbs. or
3 frasilah, which was just 35 lbs. or one frasilah overweight.
Upon putting all the bales to this test, I perceived that Jetta’s
guess-work, with all his experience, had caused considerable
trouble to me.
The soldiers were set to work to reopen and repack, which latter
task is performed in the following manner:—We cut a doti, or four
yards of Merikani, ordinarily sold at Zanzibar for $2.75 the
piece of thirty yards, and spread out. We take a piece or bolt
of good Merikani, and instead of the double fold given it by the
Nashua and Salem mills, we fold it into three parts, by which the
folds have a breadth of a foot; this piece forms the first layer,
and will weigh nine pounds; the second layer consists of six pieces
of Kaniki, a blue stuff similar to the blouse stuff of France, and
th blue jeans of America, though much lighter; the third layer is
formed of the second piece of Merikani, the fourth of six more
pieces of Kaniki, the fifth of Merikani, the sixth of Kaniki as
before, and the seventh and last of Merikani. We have thus four
pieces of Merikani, which weigh 36 lbs., and 18 pieces of Kaniki
weighing also 36 lbs., making a total of 72 lbs., or a little
more than two frasilahs; the cloth is then folded singly over these
layers, each corner tied to another. A bundle of coir-rope is
then brought, and two men, provided with a wooden mallet for
beating and pressing the bale, proceed to tie it up with as much
nicety as sailors serve down rigging.
When complete, a bale is a solid mass three feet and a half long,
a foot deep, and a foot wide. Of these bales I had to convey
eighty-two to Unyanyembe, forty of which consisted solely of the
Merikani and Kaniki. The other forty-two contained the Merikani
and coloured cloths, which latter were to serve as honga or tribute
cloths, and to engage another set of pagazis from Unyanyembe to
Ujiji, and from Ujiji to the regions beyond.
The fifteenth day asked of me by Ali bin Salim for the procuring
of the pagazis passed by, and there was not the ghost of a pagazi
in my camp. I sent Mabruki the Bullheaded to Ali bin Salim, to
convey my salaams and express a hope that he had kept his word.
In half an hour’s time Mabruki returned with the reply of the
Arab, that in a few days he would be able to collect them all;
but, added Mabruki, slyly, “Bana, I don’t believe him. He said
aloud to himself, in my hearing, `Why should I get the Musungu
pagazis? Seyd Burghash did not send a letter to me, but to the
Jemadar. Why should I trouble myself about him? Let Seyd
Burghash write me a letter to that purpose, and I will procure
them within two days.”’
To my mind this was a time for action: Ali bin Salim should see
that it was ill trifling with a white man in earnest to start.
I rode down to his house to ask him what he meant.
His reply was, Mabruki had told a lie as black as his face. He
had never said anything approaching to such a thing. He was
willing to become my slave—to become a pagazi himself. But here I
stopped the voluble Ali, and informed him that I could not think of
employing him in the capacity of a pagazi, neither could I find it
in my heart to trouble Seyd Burghash to write a direct letter to
him, or to require of a man who had deceived me once, as Ali bin
Salim had, any service of any nature whatsoever. It would be
better, therefore, if Ali bin Salim would stay away from my
camp, and not enter it either in person or by proxy.
I had lost fifteen days, for Jemadar Sadur, at Kaole, had never
stirred from his fortified house in that village in my service,
save to pay a visit, after the receipt of the Sultan’s letter.
Naranji, custom-house agent at Kaoie, solely under the thumb of
the great Ludha Damji, had not responded to Ludha’s worded request
that he would procure pagazis, except with winks, nods, and
promises, and it is but just stated how I fared at the hands of Ali
bin Salim. In this extremity I remembered the promise made to me
by the great merchant of Zanzibar—Tarya Topan—a Mohammedan
Hindi—that he would furnish me with a letter to a young man named
Soor Hadji Palloo, who was said to be the best man in Bagamoyo to
procure a supply of pagazis.
I despatched my Arab interpreter by a dhow to Zanzibar,
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