How I Found Livingstone, Henry M. Stanley [best fantasy books to read txt] 📗

>mot du guet. As the kirangozi unrolled the American flag, and put

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