The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile - Samuel White Baker (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📗

should the angry hippo again

attack us.

 

A few kicks bestowed by my angry men upon the recumbent boatmen restored

them to the perpendicular. The first thing necessary was to hunt for the

lost paddle that was floating down the rapid current. The hippopotamus,

proud of having disturbed us, but doubtless thinking us rather hard of

texture, raised his head to take a last view of his enemy, but sank too

rapidly to permit a shot. Crocodile heads of enormous size were on all

sides, appearing and vanishing rapidly as they rose to survey us; at one

time we counted eighteen upon the surface. Fine fun it would have been

for these monsters had the bull hippo been successful in his attempt to

capsize us; the fat black woman, Karka, would have been a dainty morsel.

Having recovered the lost paddle, I prevailed upon the boatmen to keep

the canoe steady while I made a sketch of the Murchison Falls, which

being completed, we drifted rapidly down to the landing place at the

deserted fishing village, and bade adieu to the navigation of the lake

and river of Central Africa.

 

The few huts that existed in this spot were mere ruins. Clouds had

portended rain, and down it came, as it usually did once in every

twenty-four hours. However, that passed away by the next morning, and

the day broke discovering us about as wet and wretched as we were

accustomed to be. I now started off four of my men with the boatmen and

the interpreter Bacheeta to the nearest village, to inquire whether our

guide Rabonga had arrived with our riding oxen, as our future travelling

was to be on land, and the limit of our navigation must have been well

known to him. After some hours the people returned, minus the boatmen,

with a message from the headman of a village they had visited, that the

oxen were there, but not the guide Rabonga, who had remained at Magungo,

but that the animals should be brought to us that evening, together with

porters to convey the luggage. In the evening a number of people

arrived, bringing some plantain cider and plantains as a present from

the headman; and promising that, upon the following morning, we should

be conducted to his village.

 

The next day we started, but not until the afternoon, as we had to await

the arrival of the headman, who was to escort us. Our oxen were brought,

and if we looked wretched, the animals were a match. They had been

bitten by the fly, thousands of which were at this spot. Their coats

were staring, ears drooping, noses running, and heads hanging down; all

the symptoms of fly-bite, together with extreme looseness of the bowels.

I saw that it was all up with our animals. Weak as I was myself, I was

obliged to walk, as my ox could not carry me up the steep inclination,

and I toiled languidly to the summit of the cliff. It poured with rain.

Upon arrival at the summit we were in precisely the same parklike land

that characterises Chopi and Unyoro, but the grass was about seven feet

high; and from the constant rain, and the extreme fertility of the soil,

the country was choked with vegetation. We were now above the Murchison

Falls, and we heard the roaring of the water beneath us to our left. We

continued our route parallel to the river above the Falls, steering

east; and a little before evening we arrived at a small village

belonging to the headman who accompanied us. I was chilled and wet; my

wife had fortunately been carried on her litter, which was protected by

a hide roofing. Feverish and exhausted, I procured from the natives some

good acid plums, and refreshed by these I was able to boil my

thermometer and take the altitude.

 

On the following morning we started, the route as before parallel to the

river, and so close that the roar of the rapids was extremely loud. The

river flowed in a deep ravine upon our left. We continued for a day’s

march along the Somerset, crossing many ravines and torrents, until we

turned suddenly down to the left, and arriving at the bank we were to be

transported to an island called Patooan, that was the residence of a

chief. It was about an hour after sunset, and being dark, my riding ox,

who was being driven as too weak to carry me, fell into an elephant

pitfall. After much hallooing, a canoe was brought from the island,

which was not more than fifty yards from the mainland, and we were

ferried across. We were both very ill with a sudden attack of fever; and

my wife, not being able to stand, was, on arrival at the island, carried

on a litter I knew not whither, escorted by some of my men, while I lay

down on the wet ground quite exhausted with the annihilating disease. At

length the remainder of my men crossed over, and those who had carried

my wife to the village returning with firebrands, I managed to creep

after them with the aid of a long stick, upon which I rested with both

hands. After a walk, through a forest of high trees, for about a quarter

of a mile, I arrived at a village where I was shown a wretched hut, the

stars being visible through the roof. In this my wife lay dreadfully ill

upon her angarep, and I fell down upon some straw. About an hour later,

a violent thunderstorm broke over us, and our hut was perfectly flooded;

we, being far too ill and helpless to move from our positions, remained

dripping wet and shivering with fever until the morning. Our servants

and people had, like all natives, made themselves much more comfortable

than their employers; nor did they attempt to interfere with our misery

in any way until summoned to appear at sunrise.

 

The island of Patooan was about half a mile long by 150 yards wide, and

was one of the numerous masses of rocks that choke the river between

Karuma Falls and the great Murchison cataract. The rock was entirely of

grey granite, from the clefts of which beautiful forest trees grew so

thickly that the entire island was in shade. In the middle of this

secluded spot was a considerable village, thickly inhabited, as the

population of the mainland had fled from their dwellings and had taken

refuge upon the numerous river islands, as the war was raging between

Rionga and Kamrasi. A succession of islands from the east of Patooan

continued to within a march of Karuma Falls. These were in the

possession of Rionga, and a still more powerful chief and ally, Fowooka,

who were the deadly enemies of Kamrasi.

 

It now appeared that after my departure from M’rooli to search for the

lake, Ibrahim had been instructed by Kamrasi to accompany his army, and

attack Fowooka. This had been effected, but the attack had been confined

to a bombardment by musketry from the high cliffs of the river upon the

people confined upon one of the islands. A number of men had been

killed, and Ibrahim had returned to Gondokoro with a quantity of ivory

and porters supplied by Kamrasi; but he had left ten of his armed men as

hostages with the king, to act as his guard until he should return on

the following year to Unyoro. Ibrahim and his strong party having

quitted the country, Fowooka had invaded the mainland of Chopi, and had

burnt and destroyed all the villages, and killed many people, including

a powerful chief of Kamrasi’s, the father of the headman of the island

of Patooan where we were now staying. Accordingly the fugitives from the

destroyed villages had taken refuge upon the island of Patooan, and

others of the same character. The headman informed us that it would be

impossible to proceed along the bank of the river to Karuma, as that

entire line of country was in possession of the enemy. This was

sufficient to assure me that I should not procure porters.

 

There was no end to the difficulties and trouble in this horrible

country. My exploration was completed, as it was by no means necessary

to continue the route from Patooan to Karuma. I had followed the

Somerset from its junction with the lake at Magungo to this point; here

it was a beautiful river, precisely similar in character to the point at

which I had left it at Karuma: we were now within thirty miles of that

place, and about eighteen miles from the point opposite Rionga’s island,

where we had first hit upon the river on our arrival from the north. The

direction was perfectly in accordance with my observations at Karuma,

and at Magungo, the Somerset running from east to west. The river was

about 180 to 200 yards in width, but much obstructed with rocks and

islands; the stream ran at about four miles per hour, and the rapids and

falls were so numerous that the roar of water had been continuous

throughout our march from Murchison Falls. By observations of Casella’s

thermometer I made the altitude of the river level at the island of

Patooan 3,195 feet; thus from this point to the level of the Albert lake

at Magungo there was a fall of 475 feet—this difference being included

between Patooan and the foot of Murchison Falls: the latter, being at

the lowest estimate 120 feet, left 355 feet to be accounted for between

Patooan and the top of the falls. As the ledges of rock throughout the

course of the river formed a series of steps, this was a natural

difference in altitude that suggested the correctness of the

observations.

 

At the river level below Karuma Falls I had measured the altitude at

3,996 feet above the sea level. Thus, there was a fall from that point

to Patooan of 801 feet, and a total of 1,276 feet in the descent of the

river from Karuma to the Albert N’yanza. These measurements, most

carefully taken, corroborated the opinion suggested by the natural

appearance of the river, which was a mere succession of cataracts

throughout its westerly course from Karuma.

 

To me these observations were more than usually interesting, as when I

had met my friend Speke at Gondokoro he was much perplexed concerning

the extraordinary difference in his observation between the altitude of

the river level at Karuma Falls, lat. 2 degrees 15’, and at Gebel Kookoo

in the Madi country, lat. 3 degrees 34’, the point at which he

subsequently met the river. He KNEW that both rivers were the Nile, as

he bad been told this by the natives; the one, before it had joined the

Albert lake—the other, after its exit; but he had been told that the

river was NAVIGABLE from Gebel Kookoo, lat. 3 degrees 34’, straight up

to the junction of the lake; thus, there could be no great difference in

altitude between the lake and the Nile where he met it, in lat. 3

degrees 34’. Nevertheless, he found so enormous a difference in his

observations between the river at Karuma and at Gebel Kookoo, that he

concluded there must be a fall between Karuma and the Albert lake of at

least 1,000 feet; by careful measurements I proved the closeness of his

reasoning and observation, by finding a fall of only 275 feet more than

he had anticipated. From Karuma to the Albert lake (although unvisited

by Speke), he had marked upon his map, “river falls 1,000 feet;” by

actual measurement I proved it to be 1,275 feet.

 

The altitudes measured by me have been examined, and the thermometer

that I used had been tested at Kew, and its errors corrected since my

return to England; thus all altitudes observed